Here's a question I ask men when I speak to groups: What did you do this week to keep yourself safe?
Blank stares. Nervous laughs. Nothing.
Then I ask the women the same question, and every hand goes up. They park under lights. They hold their keys between their fingers. They share their locations, cover their drinks, and fake phone calls on the walk home. Each of them has at least five things she does every week without thinking about it.
The reason for that list is almost always a man.
The women in my life, my wife, my three daughters, my sisters, have been asking me something lately: Why aren't men speaking up? When something terrible happens to a woman, women post, march, organize, and talk about it. Most men go quiet, tell themselves "I don't do that," and go back to their day.
My wife, Cathy, wrote about this last week in Can We Start by Noticing? She lists everything women do, automatically and every day, to keep themselves safe, and she asks men to simply notice. Read it before you finish this. It's the other half of what I'm trying to say.
The latest example is Cornell, where a former student alleges she was gang-raped at a fraternity in 2024. The courts will decide what happened in that room. What I can't stop thinking about is everyone outside it, the men who, according to the lawsuit, knew something was happening and did nothing.
Let me be clear: I believe the men who harm women are a small minority. But "I'm not one of them" isn't a moral achievement. It's the floor. And our silence on the floor speaks volumes.
Take a look at the Rape Culture Pyramid. At the top are the things we all agree are crimes: rape, drugging, molestation. When most of us say "I don't do that," that's what we're pointing to.
Now look at the bottom: sexist attitudes, rape jokes, locker room banter, catcalling. Move up a level and you'll find unwanted touching, sharing photos without consent, coercion, and victim blaming. Most men have been in the room for something on the bottom half. Many of us have laughed along. Some of us have joined in.
The point of the pyramid is simple. The top is built on the bottom. When the bottom levels go unchallenged, the behaviors above them seem a little more normal, a little more excusable. No one jumps straight to the top. They climb, and every laugh, shrug, and "boys will be boys" gives them a step up.
That's the good news, too. Most of us will never be in a position to stop an assault. But almost all of us are in a position to stop a joke.
So why do we stay quiet? From my own experience, three reasons:
"It's not my problem." We separate the woman in the headline from our wives, daughters, and sisters, as if they were different people.
The tribe. Men have an unwritten rule not to call out another man, and many of us would rather stay silent than risk being left out.
We don't feel it. We don't scan parking lots or plan our routes. Without the fear, we lack the urgency.
That's why phrase "women's safety issues." Is the wrong phrase. Women aren't creating the danger. These are men making women unsafe issues, and that makes them ours to address.
At MenLiving we showed Jackson Katz's film The Bystander Moment at one of our weekends (watch the trailer here). The men were moved. But a moving moment isn't a culture. Until speaking up becomes normal between men, in the group chat, at the bar, on the job site, nothing changes.
What speaking up can sound like
It doesn't have to be a speech. Usually two words and a short sentence are enough.
A sexist joke at the bar: "Not cool. That's not funny."
Locker room talk about a coworker: "Not cool. You wouldn't say that if she were standing here."
A buddy catcalling a woman on the street: "Not cool. Leave her alone."
Someone shares a photo or screenshot of a woman without her consent: "Not cool. Delete that."
Victim blaming ("What was she doing at that party anyway?"): "Not cool. Ask instead what he was doing."
You won't always say it perfectly. That's okay. The guys around you will remember that someone said something.
Here's my challenge. If you have a son, grandson, nephew, or a young man who looks up to you, talk with him this week about being an upstander. Don't lecture. Ask:
"What would you do if a friend sent something in a group chat about a girl who was drunk or passed out?"
"Have you ever laughed at a joke you knew wasn't okay? What made it hard not to?"
"What could you say that would actually work with your friends?"
"Who would you call to help get her home safe?"
Show him the pyramid. Ask him which levels he's seen at school, on his phone, or on the team. Then tell him the truth: he is not entitled to anyone's body, he can control himself, and a good man is defined as much by what he steps into as by what he stays out of.
If you don't have a young man in your life, start with the men around you. Pick one line from the list above and use it the next time it's needed.
I'll go first. I'm not on social media much, but I'll be posting this. Your turn.
Keep truckin',
Todd