Every now and then, a simple classroom exercise reveals something profound about human nature. Jane Elliott’s famous “blue-eyes/brown-eyes” experiment did exactly that. Many of you will remember it: the day after Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated, Elliott, a third-grade teacher in Iowa, decided her students needed to understand prejudice in a way a lecture could never accomplish.

So she divided the children by eye color.

One group was told they were smarter, kinder, and better behaved. The other group — their own classmates and friends — were told they were not. Nothing about the children changed except the message they were given.

That was enough.

Within minutes, the “favored” students stood taller and spoke more confidently. They completed work more quickly and volunteered answers with pride. The disfavored group wilted. Their shoulders rounded. Their test scores dropped. Some withdrew, others grew angry. A few even began to believe the negative things said about them.

Elliott hadn’t created new children. She had created a new context — one in which the adults in power defined who deserved approval and who didn’t.

The experiment showed something we often forget: children are exquisitely sensitive to the attitudes and expectations of the people who guide them.

Even subtle cues from authority can become destiny. A raised eyebrow, a dismissive tone, a slogan on the wall — all of it shapes who children believe they are allowed to be.

Elliott’s students went through only a single day of being “favored” or “disfavored,” and it changed their behavior, confidence, and even cognitive performance.

Imagine, for a moment, what would happen if one group of children lived like this not for a day, but for years. Imagine if the message they heard — from teachers, media, curriculum, and culture — told them that something essential about them was wrong.

Imagine if they were boys.

That’s where we’re headed. But before we get there, we need one more piece of the puzzle.

Because psychologists later discovered that what Elliott demonstrated dramatically in a classroom is also happening quietly inside children every day. They even gave it a name.

It’s called stereotype threat.

And it explains far more about our boys’ struggles — and our cultural blind spots — than most people realize.

What We Learned From Girls and Math

Stereotype threat is a simple idea with enormous consequences.

It refers to what happens when a person fears confirming a negative stereotype about their group. That fear — often subtle, often unspoken — increases anxiety, reduces working memory, undermines confidence, and lowers performance.

It is not about ability.
It is about expectation.

And most people first learn about stereotype threat in one particular context: girls and math.

For decades, girls were surrounded by the quiet cultural rumor that “girls aren’t good at math.” Teachers didn’t always say it directly. They didn’t have to. It floated around in a thousand small ways: textbook examples, facial expression, who was called on in class, who was encouraged and who was consoled. Girls absorbed it the way plants absorb light.

Researchers found that when girls were subtly reminded of this stereotype—even by something as small as checking a gender box at the top of a math test—their scores dropped. Anxiety went up. They second-guessed themselves. They disengaged.

The story was not about intelligence.
It was about identity under pressure.

The response from the educational system was swift and well-funded. Millions of dollars flowed into programs designed to counteract the stereotype threat girls faced in math:

• teacher trainings

• new curricula

• role model programs

• classroom redesign

• mindset interventions

• special grants

• girls-only STEM groups

• national awareness campaigns

All created to make sure young girls never again felt that mathematics was “not for them.”

And let me say this clearly: I support that work completely. No child should carry the weight of a negative stereotype when they’re simply trying to learn.

But something interesting happened.

As we were rallying national resources to eliminate a relatively narrow, subject-specific stereotype affecting girls in one academic domain….we failed to notice a far larger, far more toxic stereotype spreading over boys.

A stereotype not about arithmetic or algebra, but about their very nature.

A stereotype not whispered quietly, but broadcast loudly.

And unlike the stereotype about girls and math, this one has no funding, no programs, no protections, and no advocates in the institutions that shape boys’ lives.

That brings us to the part of the story almost no one wants to discuss.

The Stereotype Threat No One Will Name: What Boys Hear Every Day

If stereotype threat can undermine a girl’s confidence in math, imagine what happens when the stereotype isn’t about a subject…but about who you are.

Unlike girls, boys today aren’t navigating a single academic stereotype. They are navigating a cultural identity stereotype — one that targets their character, their intentions, their value, and their future.

And it’s everywhere.

Walk into almost any school, turn on almost any youth-oriented media channel, look at the messaging in teacher trainings, HR seminars, political slogans, and popular entertainment. The language aimed at boys is unmistakable:

• “Boys are toxic.”

• “Masculinity is inherently dangerous.”

• “Men are oppressors.”

• “Patriarchy is your fault.”

• “You are privileged, even when you’re struggling.”

• “The future is female.”

• “Believe all women”

• “We need fewer men like you and more women in charge.”

• “Boys don’t mature, they get socialized into violence.”

Imagine hearing messages like this from every angle: teachers, counselors, the news, college brochures, viral videos, and political speeches. Even prime-time awards shows repeat the same theme: something is wrong with boys and men.

This is not a stereotype about ability. This is a stereotype about identity, morality, and worth.

And boys absorb it​, like plants absorb the light.

Even the well-behaved ones.
The gentle ones.
The kind-hearted ones.
Perhaps especially the kind-hearted ones.

Because they are the ones who listen most closely to adult expectations. They care what adults think. And when every signal suggests there is something wrong with being male, boys begin to feel it in the same way Jane Elliott’s “less favored” children did:

• some withdraw

• some grow angry

• some become depressed

• some try desperately to prove they’re “safe”

• some silence themselves around girls

• some tune out and give up

Many learn to walk on eggshells.
Many learn to mask who they are.
Some feel ashamed before they even understand why.

This is stereotype threat on a scale our culture has never been willing to examine.
It undermines boys’ confidence not only in school, but in relationships, leadership, belonging, and moral value. It doesn’t hit one subject — it hits the entire self-concept.

And here’s the tragic irony:

When girls faced a stereotype affecting a single academic domain (math), our entire educational system mobilized. But when boys face a stereotype that frames their entire identity as suspect, dangerous, or defective…we look away.

Worse — we call it “progress.”

No grants.
No programs.
No protective messaging.
No teacher training on “encouraging healthy masculinity.”
No funding streams labeled “male resilience,” “male identity support,” or “boys’ psychological development.”

Nothing.

And yet we know from the psychology: stereotype threat doesn’t care which direction it flows. It hurts anyone subjected to it. Girls. Boys. Adults. Elders. Anyone.

The difference is that girls’ stereotype threat is treated as a national emergency, while boys’ stereotype threat is treated as an inconvenient truth best left unmentioned.

But the boys feel it.
They feel it deeply.
And it is reshaping an entire generation.

When you place a child in the “disfavored” group in Jane Elliott’s classroom, the effects show up almost immediately: withdrawn posture, lowered confidence, anger, sadness, and declining performance. Now imagine that same dynamic stretched across a childhood—not for a day or two, but for years.

That is what today’s boys are living through.

We’re watching the results play out right in front of us, but we rarely connect the dots. The signs are everywhere, yet hidden in plain sight:

Boys are falling behind academically.

Not by a little.
By a lot.

They earn:

• lower grades,

• fewer honors,

• and far fewer college degrees.

Reading and writing gaps—never small—have now grown ​in size.

But we don’t ask whether constant negative messaging about male identity might be a factor. Instead, we say boys should “step up,” “apply themselves,” or “be less lazy,” as though shame has ever been a motivator.

Boys are disengaging from school.

Teachers say boys participate less. They’re more likely to tune out, act out, or withdraw. When a child believes he is viewed with suspicion, he stops coming forward.

This isn’t a mystery.
It’s textbook stereotype threat.

Boys are struggling socially.

A boy who believes his masculinity is problematic becomes hesitant. He won’t take risks socially. He won’t lead. He won’t assert himself. He won’t approach others. He is more likely to isolate or escape into online worlds where he is not judged simply for being male.

Boys are avoiding leadership roles.

They know one wrong move can be labeled “toxic,” “aggressive,” or “harmful.” So they hold back—especially in mixed-gender settings.
They self-limit long before anyone else has to.

Boys are losing their sense of belonging.

When you’re told repeatedly that your group is the source of society’s problems, you don’t imagine yourself as part of the community’s solution.
You imagine yourself on the outside.

Boys are suffering emotionally.

Rising rates of depression.
Rising rates of anxiety.
Rising suicide rates among adolescent boys.

And yet we never ask whether telling boys they’re dangerous or defective might be harming them psychologically. Just imagine telling any other group that the world would be better with less of them in it.

And then… boys stop asking for help.

Because why would you ask for help from a system that tells you that you’re the problem?

Boys, who already face the biological challenges of testosterone, the additional social push from precarious manhood, and the resulting male hierarchy, now carry an added layer of identity threat that undermines their confidence across every domain of life.

This isn’t subtle.
It isn’t accidental.
And it isn’t without consequences.

But here’s the part that should trouble us most:
We would never tolerate this treatment for girls. Ever.

If any institution—even unintentionally—sent girls negative messages about their identity, we would demand reform, new funding, and a national conversation.

But with boys?
We call it “accountability.”
We call it “progress.”
We call it “teaching them to be better.”

No.
It’s teaching them to disappear.

Part two will examine what creates and maintains this double standard.

Men Are Good.

This is a post I wrote in 2015 about a courageous 2009 journal article by Murray Straus, PhD, that exposed seven ways that feminists researchers twisted/distorted their data in order to maintain their narrative. It’s an important article for us all to see and understand.

_____________________________

There are millions of compassionate and loving people in the United States who have been given erroneous information about domestic violence. Over the years the media and academia have offered a steady stream of information that indicates that women are the only victims of domestic violence and men the only perpetrators. We have all been deceived. What most don’t know is that a part of that deception has been intentional and has come from the scientific community. As hard as it is to believe it is indisputable. Most of us had no idea of this deception until recently. More and more is now coming out about the symmetry of victimization in domestic violence between men and women.

One of the breakthroughs that have helped us identify this deception was the journal response of Murray Straus Ph.D. Straus has been an acclaimed researcher of family and interpersonal violence for many years. In his article he unveils the ways that this misinformation has been intentionally spread via “research.” He shows the seven ways that the truth has been distorted. It is a fascinating yet sobering article that shows how, without actually lying, the researchers were able to distort things and make it appear that it was something that is was not. We all know that once a research study is published the media will latch on and print the results as gospel truth, so the media became the megaphone to spread the misinformation once it was inked in the scientific journal. I would highly recommend your reading the full report by Straus which can be found here: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/228350210_Gender_symmetry_in_partner_violence_The_evidence_the_denial_and_the_implications_for_primary_prevention_and_treatment

Let’s go through the seven ways one by one.

1. Suppress evidence.

The first type of deceit that Straus describes is suppressing evidence. The researchers would ask questions about both men and women but only report on the answers from women. The half-story would leave readers with the impression that it was only women who were victims even though the researcher had the surveys of male victims on hand they simply didn’t report it. The data on male victims was simply buried while the data on female victims was reported. Straus discusses the Status on Women report from Kentucky in the late 1970’s that was the first to use this strategy. They collected data on both male and female victims but only the female victims were discussed in the publications. Scientific method is dependent upon creating a hypothesis and testing it. If you get data from your test that is contrary to your original hypothesis this is just as important as getting data that affirms the hypothesis and can be used to adjust your original hypothesis. To ignore ones own data that contradicts the hypothesis is the epitome of disregard to the foundations of scientific inquiry. It leaves the realms of research and enters the realms of propaganda and shaping the outcome to mislead.

2. Avoid Obtaining Data Inconsistent With the Patriarchal Dominance Theory.

The second method described by Straus was that of simply not asking the questions when you didn’t want to hear the answers. The surveys would ask the women about their victimhood and ask men about their perpetration but failed to inquire about women’s violence or men’s victimhood. If you ask questions that address only half the problem you are certain to conclude with only half the answers. Straus highlights a talk he gave in Canada where he evaluated 12 studies on domestic violence. Ten out of the twelve only asked questions about female victims and male perpetrators. If you don’t ask the questions you will never get the answers. Publishing half the truth is intentionally misleading.

3. Cite Only Studies That Show Male Perpetration

Straus reveals a number of situations where studies or official documents would cite only other studies that showed female victims and male perpetrators. He uses the Department of Justice press release as just one example where they only cite the “lifetime prevalence” data because it showed primarily male perpetration. They omitted referencing the “past-year” data even though it was more accurate since it showed females perpetrated 40% of the partner assaults. Straus shows journal articles and names organizations such as the United Nations, World Health Organization, the US Department of Justice and others who used this tactic to make it appear that women were the primary victims of domestic violence and men the primary perpetrators.

4. Conclude That Results Support Feminist Beliefs When They Do Not

Straus showed an example of a study by Kernsmith (2005) where the author claimed that women’s violence was more likely to be in self defense but data to support the claim didn’t exist. Apparently he had made the claim even without any supporting evidence. Straus shows that the self defense category was primarily about anger and coercion and not about self-defense at all but this didn’t stop the researcher from claiming the erroneous results which of course could be quoted by later studies as proof that such data does indeed exist.

5. Create “Evidence” By Citation

The “woozle” effect is described by Straus as when “frequent citation of previous publications that lack evidence mislead us into thinking there is evidence.” He lists the Kernsmaith study and a report from the World Health Organization as examples. Both made claims (without evidence to back it up) that women’s violence was largely in self-defense. The claims were quoted repeatedly and people eventually started to believe that the claims were correct.

6. Obstruct Publication of Articles and Obstruct Funding Research that Might Contradict the Idea that Male Dominance is the Cause of Personal Violence

Straus mentions two incidents that illustrate this claim. One was a call for papers on the topic of partner violence in December of 2005 from the National Institute of Justice where it was stated that “proposals to investigate male victimization would not be eligible.” Another was an objection raised by a reviewer of one of his proposals due to its having said that “violence in relationships was a human problem.” He also stated that the “more frequent pattern is self-censorship by authors fearing that it will happen or that publication of such a study will undermine their reputation, and, in the case of graduate students, the ability to obtain a job.”

7. Harrass, Threaten, and Penalize Researchers who Produce Evidence That Contradicts Feminist Beliefs Straus provides details of a number of incidents where researchers who found evidence of gender symmetry in domestic violence were harassed or threatened. He described a number of instances such as bomb scares at personal events, being denied tenure and promotions, or “shouts and stomping” meant to drown out an oral presentation. He relates being called a “wife-beater” as a means to denigrate both himself and his previous research findings.

Straus concludes that a “climate of fear has inhibited research and publication on gender symmetry in personal violence.” His words help us to understand the reasons that our public is so convinced that women are the sole victims of domestic violence and men the only perpetrators. It has been years and years of researchers telling only half the story and when we get only half the story and consider it the whole truth we are likely to defend our limited version of the truth and ostracize those who may offer differing explanations. The matter is further complicated due to the media having acted as a megaphone for the half story that has emerged so the “common knowledge” that has emerged from the media for many years has been half the story and due to its not telling both sides of the story, it is basically misinformation. What this tells us is that we need to stay on our toes when it comes to social science research. Straus’s paper has helped us immensely in seeing how research can be set up to appear to tell the truth but fail miserably in doing so. While the researchers are not technically lying, the end product is similar since it produces only a partial image of the reality of domestic violence and leaves people without the details to fill in the reality of the situation. It is likely a good idea to have a look at the way each study gets its data, the exact nature of the people being used as subjects, and the conclusion drawn and if they are congruous with the data that was gathered. Next we will look at a study that uses Straus’s first example, ignoring ones own data.

Men Are Good

The Psychology of Collective Victimhood

Part 2 of 3 in the series “The Victim Trap: How a Culture of Helplessness Took Hold”

When the mindset of victimhood spreads from individuals to entire groups, something powerful — and dangerous — begins to happen.

The sense of personal injury becomes a shared moral identity.
Suffering, once private, becomes political.

At first, this can bring solidarity and even healing. A wounded community finds its voice. People who once suffered in silence finally feel seen. But over time, the same force that unites can also divide. The story that once offered meaning starts to reshape how people see themselves, their nation, and even morality itself.

1. The Birth of a Moral Identity

When groups define themselves by what was done to them, they gain not only empathy but a sense of moral righteousness. The logic is simple — and intoxicating:

“We have suffered, therefore we are good. They have power, therefore they are bad.”

This moral binary simplifies a messy world. It provides clarity and belonging, offering the comfort of a single story where virtue and vice are clearly assigned. But it also freezes both sides into unchanging roles: one forever the victim, the other forever the oppressor.

These roles are psychologically powerful because they remove complexity — and with it, responsibility. Once a group becomes identified with innocence, it no longer needs to question its own motives. Its cause is automatically just.

Modern politics thrives on these fixed roles. They provide ready-made moral drama: heroes and villains, innocence and guilt. But like all drama, they require constant rehearsal to stay alive. Without conflict, the script falls apart.

2. The Emotional Rewards of Group Victimhood

Collective victimhood feels empowering at first. It transforms personal pain into a larger moral purpose. What was once chaos becomes coherence.

Being part of a group that has “suffered together” gives life meaning and creates unity. It offers protection from isolation. There’s comfort in saying, “We’re not crazy; we’ve been wronged.”

In social movements, this dynamic can quickly become a badge of belonging — a way to prove loyalty to the cause. Those who display the most outrage, or carry the most visible wounds, often gain the highest moral status.

Psychologists call this competitive victimhood: when groups begin to compete for recognition as the most wronged. The greater the suffering, the greater the virtue. But moral status can become addictive. Once a group learns that pain equals virtue, it begins to search for more pain — and when real injustices run out, it may start to manufacture offense to sustain its moral authority.

It’s a strange paradox: the more a group celebrates its wounds, the less it can afford to heal them.

3. Biases that Keep the Wound Open

Victim thinking doesn’t just change beliefs — it changes perception itself.
It amplifies cognitive biases that keep the wound raw and prevent ​healing.

• Confirmation bias: Interpreting every disagreement or policy change as proof of oppression. The mind filters the world for evidence of persecution.

• Attribution bias: Assuming malice rather than misunderstanding — reading intent where there may be none.

• Availability bias: Because the media highlights what shocks and wounds, stories of cruelty stay vivid in our minds while quiet acts of goodwill fade from view. We remember every injustice, not because it’s most common, but because it’s most visible.

• Moral typecasting: Once a group is labeled “the victim,” society struggles to see it as capable of harm — while the supposed “oppressor” becomes incapable of innocence.

This last bias deserves a closer look.

Social psychologists Kurt Gray and Daniel Wegner discovered that people intuitively divide the world into moral types: those who act (moral agents) and those who suffer (moral patients). Once someone is cast in one role, our minds tend to freeze them there.

That means when a group is seen as a victim, their actions are interpreted through a moral filter that excuses wrongdoing. Their pain becomes proof of virtue — and even when they cause harm, observers tend to explain it away as justified or defensive.
Conversely, those seen as oppressors carry a kind of permanent moral stain. Even their good deeds are reinterpreted as self-serving or manipulative.

The tragedy is that this bias prevents genuine empathy in both directions.
It denies accountability to those labeled as victims and compassion to those labeled as villains. In the end, everyone’s humanity gets flattened into a single moral role — and the cycle of grievance stays alive.

4. When Empathy Becomes a Weapon

Empathy is one of humanity’s most precious traits. But when victimhood becomes sacred, even empathy can be weaponized.

Claims of harm begin to override discussions of truth. Feelings become the final arbiter of morality. The question shifts from “Is this accurate?” to “Does this offend?”

The result is what might be called moral coercion: when guilt replaces persuasion and compassion becomes a tool of control. People censor themselves not because they’re wrong, but because they fear being seen as cruel.

You can see this dynamic almost anywhere today — in classrooms, offices, or online. A teacher hesitates to discuss a controversial historical event because one student might feel “unsafe.” A coworker swallows an honest disagreement during a diversity training, not because they’ve changed their mind, but because they dread being labeled insensitive. On social media, someone offers a mild counterpoint and is flooded with moral outrage until they apologize for the sin of questioning the narrative.

In each case, guilt ​ or shame ​becomes a weapon. The emotional threat of being branded heartless silences discussion more effectively than any argument could. And so compassion, meant to connect us, begins to control us.

Ironically, the groups that appear most powerless often become the most influential, because they wield the moral authority of suffering. When pain becomes proof of virtue, disagreement starts to look like aggression.

It’s a subtle but devastating inversion: empathy, meant to heal division, becomes a tool that enforces it.

5. The Emotional Toll on the Group

Living inside a collective grievance feels purposeful, but it’s emotionally draining.
Righteous anger brings a surge of meaning — a sense of clarity and mission — but like any stimulant, it requires constant renewal.

A group addicted to outrage cannot rest. It needs a steady supply of offenses, real or imagined, to keep its story alive. When none appear, it begins to see insult in the ordinary and oppression in mere difference.

Without new conflict, the group’s identity weakens. This is why peace, paradoxically, can feel threatening to movements built on pain. Reconciliation robs them of their reason to exist.

The emotional cost is high: anxiety, exhaustion, paranoia, and isolation. The group’s members live in a permanent state of alert, bonded by fear rather than love.

6. How Collective Victimhood Divides Society

The tragedy of group grievance is that it unites within but divides between.
Shared suffering bonds members of the in-group, but it hardens their hearts toward outsiders. Empathy becomes conditional — reserved only for those who share the same scar.

Once compassion is limited to “our people,” understanding dies. Dialogue collapses. Each side becomes trapped in its own moral narrative, convinced that it alone is righteous.

The cultural result is polarization — a society where everyone talks about justice while practicing vengeance, and where reconciliation feels like betrayal.

In such a climate, even kindness can be misinterpreted as manipulation. Every gesture is filtered through suspicion. Healing becomes nearly impossible because the wound has become the identity.

7. Toward a Healthier Collective Story

The way out is not to deny injustice but to transcend it.
Nations, communities, and movements can honor their suffering without making it their defining story.

That transformation begins with language.
Saying “We have suffered” keeps us anchored in the past.
Saying “We have endured” honors the same pain but adds strength.

The first sentence describes injury; the second describes resilience.
The difference seems small, but psychologically it’s immense — one keeps the wound open, the other begins to heal it.

Healthy cultures, like healthy people, move from grievance to growth. They tell stories not just of what was lost but of how they rose. They stop competing for sympathy and start competing for excellence.

Final Word

Victimhood once served a sacred purpose — to awaken empathy for the mistreated. It was meant to open our hearts, to remind us of our shared humanity and the moral duty to protect the vulnerable. When a culture witnesses suffering and responds with compassion, something profoundly good happens: justice grows, cruelty is restrained, and dignity is restored.

But somewhere along the way, that sacred purpose was replaced by something transactional. When victimhood becomes a currency, empathy turns into a market, and suffering becomes a brand.

You can see it in the way public life now rewards outrage and emotional display. A single personal story of harm, once told for healing, can now become a platform — drawing attention, sympathy, and sometimes even profit.
Organizations compete to showcase their pain as proof of virtue; individuals learn that expressing offense earns social status; corporations adopt slogans of solidarity not from conscience, but because compassion has become good marketing.

Imagine a town square where people once gathered to comfort the wounded. Over time, the square becomes a stage. The wounded are still there, but now they must keep their wounds visible, even open, because the crowd has learned to applaud pain more than recovery. The very empathy that was meant to heal now demands performance.

When compassion becomes currency, its value declines. What once flowed freely from the heart is now rationed, manipulated, and traded for attention or power.

The true mark of strength is not how loudly we proclaim our pain, but how gracefully we move beyond it. Real empathy — the kind that changes lives — begins when we stop spending suffering and start transforming it.

Our challenge now, as individuals and as a culture, is to remember that compassion and accountability must grow together — or both will die apart.

In the next and final part of this series, we’ll explore how modern institutions — academia, media, and politics — have learned to reward and monetize victimhood, and what that means for the future of honest conversation and human resilience.

Men Are Good.