At a recent celebration attended by President Trump and many prominent guests, a UFC fighter made a derogatory remark about Michelle Obama. What disturbed me was not merely the comment itself. Crude remarks are hardly new. What disturbed me was the apparent absence of objection. No one stood and said, “That is inappropriate.” No one publicly distanced themselves from the remark. No one reminded the crowd that disagreement with a person’s politics does not justify disrespecting their dignity. Instead, the moment passed as entertainment.
In recent years, we have heard much discussion about “toxic masculinity.” The phrase is often controversial because many men understandably feel it paints masculinity itself as something harmful. I do not accept that view. Masculinity is not the problem. The problem is the abandonment of the very virtues that have traditionally defined good men. Strength is a virtue. Bullying is not. Confidence is a virtue. Arrogance is not. Courage is a virtue. Cruelty is not. A good man does not measure his worth by how effectively he humiliates others. He measures it by how he treats those who cannot benefit him and how he conducts himself when a crowd invites him to be less than he should be.
The silence of good people has always been the ally of bad behaviour. History teaches us that indecency rarely prevails because it is embraced by everyone. It prevails because too many decent people convince themselves that speaking up is not worth the trouble. That is especially true for men. When a man demeans a woman, other men should be the first to object. When a public figure mocks another person’s appearance, gender, race, or dignity, other men should be the first to object. When vulgarity is celebrated as authenticity and cruelty is mistaken for strength, other men should be the first to object. Not because women need rescuing. Not because political opponents deserve special protection. Not because we must all agree with one another. We should object because character matters.
The measure of a society is not how it treats those it admires. It is how it treats those it dislikes. The measure of a man is not whether he can dominate a room. It is whether he can maintain his principles when the room is cheering for their abandonment.
What concerns me most is not the existence of bad role models. Every generation has had them. What concerns me is the disappearance of good ones.
There was a time when many children grew up surrounded by fathers, grandfathers, uncles, teachers, coaches, neighbours, faith leaders and community members who helped shape their understanding of right and wrong. Those influences were not always perfect, but they were present. Communities were smaller. People travelled less. Families often remained in the same place for generations. Expectations regarding behaviour were more commonly shared and reinforced. A child who behaved poorly might hear about it not only from a parent, but from a teacher, a coach, or even a neighbour. The message was often consistent.
Today’s world is very different. Through the internet, social media, entertainment, and politics, people are exposed to more ideas, opinions, lifestyles, and personalities than any generation before them. They can learn from people on the other side of the world. They can encounter cultures, beliefs, and experiences their grandparents never imagined. Much of that is positive. Exposure to different perspectives can foster understanding, empathy, curiosity, and personal growth. Diversity of thought is not something to fear. It is something to value.
The challenge is not diversity of thought. The challenge is discernment. A developing mind must somehow sort through an endless stream of competing messages about success, happiness, relationships, identity, and character. Some of those messages are thoughtful and constructive. Others are shallow, manipulative, or harmful. Yet they often arrive with equal volume and equal confidence. Alongside messages of respect and inclusion come messages of division and resentment. Alongside examples of courage and integrity come examples of cruelty and intimidation. Alongside healthy expressions of masculinity come voices that equate manhood with dominance, aggression, misogyny, and the humiliation of others.
For young people still forming their identities, the task is especially difficult. But young people are not alone. Adults are not immune to these influences. Life can leave people isolated, discouraged, angry, fearful, or searching for answers. Economic uncertainty, personal setbacks, loneliness, and the loss of community can make simplistic explanations and strong personalities particularly attractive.
The appeal is understandable. Complex problems rarely have simple solutions, yet simple solutions are often the easiest to sell. That is why movements built on resentment, division, misogyny, or hostility continue to find followers. They offer certainty where life provides ambiguity. They offer belonging to those who feel disconnected. They offer someone to blame when circumstances seem beyond control. The danger is not that people seek answers. The danger is that they stop questioning the answers they are given. Discernment is not a challenge faced only by the young. It is a lifelong responsibility.
All of us, regardless of age, education, background, or experience, can be drawn toward voices that tell us what we want to hear rather than what we need to hear. The loudest voices often receive the most attention. The most outrageous personalities often attract the largest audiences. Violence can be mistaken for strength. Misogyny can be mistaken for confidence. Intolerance can be mistaken for conviction.
None of these ideas are new. What is new is the speed and scale with which they can spread. Young men are not becoming worse because they are hearing bad voices. They are becoming vulnerable because they are hearing too few good ones. That is why the responsibility of good men has never been greater. If decent men remain silent, they leave a vacuum that others will gladly fill. If we want young people to admire character, we must display it. If we want them to reject cruelty, we must challenge it. If we want them to understand that manhood is measured by integrity rather than intimidation, we must demonstrate that truth every day.
The answer to bad role models is not censorship. It is better role models. The answer to vulgar voices is not silence. It is stronger voices. The answer to toxic behaviour is not less masculinity. It is better masculinity.
The fighter who made the remark is not the story. The applause is the story. The silence is the story.
More importantly, the response of good men should be the story. We cannot control every voice our children hear. We cannot shield them from every bad example. Nor should we try. But we can ensure that they hear better voices. In a world crowded with noise, good men have a duty to be heard. Not because masculinity is the problem. But because good masculinity is part of the solution.