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Spectator
12 hours ago
- Politics
- Spectator
The cult of safetyism harms us all
Last month, the government announced that 16-year-olds would be able to vote at the next general election. If these new voters had wanted to inform themselves about political issues over the weekend, they would have found it strangely difficult. Take, for example, a recent speech about the rape gangs made by the Tory MP Katie Lam in parliament. It was blocked on X, alongside transcripts of the trials of the perpetrators. X users also discovered that they were unable to watch videos of protests against illegal immigration, unless they could prove they were over 18. Even if 16-year-olds are now wise enough to vote, the government believes there is information that they are too childish to know. This mess was a consequence of the Online Safety Act, which was passed by the last government, and is supported by the current one. The act returned to the news last week as porn websites were made to implement age checks. The act is driven by a noble goal: to protect children from online pornography and the perversions of social media. But the legislation shows the problems with putting protection from harm ahead of everything else. We are turning a well-intentioned concern with safety into a cult of safetyism. For most of the 20th century, opposing safety meant opposing a more secure and better life. Resisting seat belts, for example, was a strange hobby for myopic libertarians; condemning the contraceptive pill the sign of an unrepentant reactionary. These protective measures were not only accompanied by unprecedented reductions in mortality – the RAC calculates that vehicle fatalities fell by 60 per cent in the three decades after seat belts became mandatory – but helped our lives become less burdened by fear. Yet the reduction of unnecessary evils has descended into the absurd. In their book The Coddling of the American Mind, Jonathan Haidt and Greg Lukianoff wrote that safety has become sacred, creating an unwillingness to make trade-offs. Over the past two decades, this has stunted the emotional, intellectual and moral development of young people, leaving them less psychologically resilient and more anxious. Safetyism has become a moral anaesthetic, tranquillising the free spirit that young people need. Haidt and Lukianoff charted safetyism's spread across American universities in the early 21st century, in the form of content warnings and safe spaces 'protecting' students from ideas that might upset them. But safetyism moved out of the campus and is now the defining mindset of our age. We have become obsessed with mitigating every potential harm or distress, with no thought given to the consequences. The Covid lockdowns represented the peak of safetyism. A fetishisation for protection spread rapidly through our political class, with politicians competing to demand ever-tighter restrictions. Stay-at-home orders, social distancing, mandatory mask-wearing: the overriding political goal was to achieve as few Covid deaths as possible. Concerns over the cost of the measures, the long-term effects on the nation's health and the resilience of freedom appeared to occupy less ministerial time than defining what a 'substantial meal' was. Not only did a generation of children see their educational and social development stunted by politicians' reaction to a disease that posed little danger to them, but voters also became far too used to their freedoms being curbed under the pretence of 'security'. The move to make smoking illegal for anyone born after 2009 was a natural outgrowth of a belief that the public can't be trusted with choosing whether to put themselves in harm's way. Overzealous ministers have questions to answer, but not all of the blame should be put on them. The sanctification of caution begins at home. The public supports the smoking ban and were hardline on lockdowns. At one point towards the end of the pandemic, one in four people polled by Ipsos Mori said that nightclubs should never reopen, regardless of the Covid risk. Last year, the TV presenter Kirstie Allsopp hit out at Britain's 'risk-averse' culture after she was reported to social services for allowing her 15-year-old son to join his friends on a post-GCSE interrailing trip. For some parents, we exist in a Brass Eye nightmare-world, where a paedophile or drug dealer lurks around every corner. Only a third as many children play outside regularly as they did 60 years ago. Plonking a child in front of an iPad is far less stressful than letting them out. Yet this overprotectiveness will only do children more harm in the long term. The best way to keep a child off social media is to encourage them to go out and play. What should be encouraged is not the worship of safety but the embrace of risk. Exposure to danger, to trauma, to heartbreak and to wickedness is the only way human beings develop experience and resilience. A nation that forgets that will lose its self-confidence. By the time he was the age of Allsopp's boy, Horatio Nelson had twice crossed the Atlantic, come within ten degrees of the North Pole and chased down a polar bear. While today's Royal Navy recruits might now have to be a little older, it didn't set the young Nelson up too badly. Both politicians and parents need to learn that putting safety first is not always the least dangerous option.
Irish Examiner
15-07-2025
- General
- Irish Examiner
Colman Noctor: Should parents allow their kids to take more risks and foster independence from a young age?
Like many latchkey children of my generation, I was granted considerable independence to explore our community. By the age of nine, I would cycle from my house to the local village 3km away to play with friends. During school holidays, there were days when my friends and I set off on our bikes 'Goonies-style' up the mountains for an adventure. I don't recall telling my parents where we were going or what our plans entailed — we simply went wherever the road led us. Looking back as a parent, I am horrified at the potential dangers my friends and I faced, such as crossing rickety, broken bridges in a disused quarry, all in the name of adventure. But paradoxically, I believe these childhood risky experiences had a profound impact on who I am today. Despite my confidence in the benefits those experiences gave me, I don't grant my children nearly as much freedom or independence. With much more traffic, it is understandable that parents are cautious about letting their children cycle on local roads. Additionally, our communities are now much more fragmented. When I was a child heading off on my BMX, I knew almost everyone in my locality, so I was never far from someone I could ask for help. Furthermore, if I were up to no good, no doubt my mother would have known before I got home. Essentially, many sets of eyes were watching over me, supporting the 'raised by the village' idea that has now almost disappeared from society. I would have far less confidence in my community today, looking out for our children, because people are so busy, or simply because they do not have the same level of community connectedness as before. Social psychologists Jonathan Haidt and Greg Lukianoff coined the term 'safetyism' in their book The Coddling of the American Mind, describing it as a cultural trend that prioritises safety over other values, such as resilience and freedom. Haidt and Lukianoff argue that this ideology has serious implications for education, parenting, public policy, and democracy. Although safety is unquestionably important, they warn that overemphasising it can produce unintended effects that leave children less prepared to face life's challenges. As someone who advocates for psychological safety and child protection, I sometimes worry about how, in the pursuit of safety, we might inadvertently create other issues. Removal of all possible risks In societies dominated by safetyism, institutions tend to develop policies aimed at removing all possible risks, whether real or imagined. For instance, some school playgrounds have a 'no running' rule to prevent children from falling and injuring themselves. Before implementing such policies, we must first carry out a cost-benefit analysis and consider what may be lost. Adding a 'no running' rule in the school playground could lower the number of falls and injuries. However, it will also have unintended effects, such as limiting children's ability to express themselves freely and hindering their physical and social development. Thinking about what may be lost in our pursuit of safety is especially relevant today, and it is something we must keep in mind when making these decisions. Over recent decades, parents have increasingly aimed to shield their children from danger. The rise of 'helicopter parenting' and 'snowplough parenting' has fostered an environment where children have fewer chances to build independence and resilience. With the best intentions, parents often micromanage their children's experiences, ensuring they are never left unsupervised, that playgrounds are free from potential hazards, and that conflicts with peers are promptly mediated by adults rather than left to the children to resolve themselves. One of the main reasons parents cite for giving their young children a smartphone is that it provides surveillance and tracking. This kind of overprotection can have unintended effects. Studies show that children who are not given opportunities to take small, manageable risks are more likely to develop anxiety and encounter difficulties with problem-solving later in life. A 2022 study, for example, by neuropsychologist Jacintha Tieskens and colleagues published in the Brain and Behaviour journal explored the link between risk-taking and anxiety in children aged eight to 12. They found that those who consistently avoid risk-taking may be more prone to developing anxiety disorders. So, why do parents who grew up in the free-range 1970s and '80s, myself included, seem so risk-averse when it comes to granting their children the same liberties? One reason for limiting children's independence is the fear of abduction, accidents, or even emotional distress, which has caused many parents to restrict their children's ability to roam freely or play unsupervised. However, despite notable declines in crime rates across many Western countries since the 1990s, concerns about danger are increasing. In an Irish context, the Irish Crime and Victimisation Survey (ICVS) has consistently shown that public perceptions of crime do not match actual crime rates. For example, a 2022 CSO survey found that some 45% of respondents believed crime was increasing, even though crime rates have fallen. Many of today's Irish parents grew up amid the shocking revelations surrounding child sex abuse by clerics in the 1990s and 2000s, emphasising the need for greater focus on child protection. Furthermore, multiple child sex-abuse scandals within scouting organisations, swimming clubs, and residential schools featured in the news for over a decade. Then came the disappearance of three-year-old Madeleine McCann from a Portuguese holiday apartment in 2007. The tragedy is imprinted in the minds of many who watched the story unfold in real time across global media, reinforcing their focus on child safety. The concern of parents is understandable. Nevertheless, the paradox of safetyism is that by attempting to eliminate all risks, we might reduce young people's ability to cope with adversity in the long run. Instead of dismissing safety as unimportant, we need to recognise that resilience and personal growth often develop through confronting challenges rather than avoiding them. Parents should allow children to take sensible risks, like playing independently, managing conflicts without immediate adult interference, and seeing failure as a chance to learn. However, it's not just parents who need to encourage more risk-taking in children. Policymakers should recognise the trade-offs involved in increasing safety measures for young people, including the long-term social, economic, and psychological costs. A society that aims to eliminate all risks may ultimately produce a less adaptable and more fearful population. When sociocultural narratives are based on perception and not fact, it can result in 'worst-case scenario assumptions', such as presuming that all teenagers engage in anti-social behaviour, thereby making them feel unwelcome in public spaces. While it is undoubtedly true that teens can be troublesome, the vast majority are not. Categorising them all in the same way profoundly limits their opportunities for freedom and independence within communities. As societies strive to find the delicate balance between protection and resilience, it is crucial to remember that safety does not come from eliminating every risk a child might encounter, but from developing their strength and resources to manage those risks effectively. Positive risk-taking Recognising that positive risk-taking is necessary, this summer, I am making a concerted effort to give my 15-, 12-, and 10-year-old children more opportunities for independence in the real world. This involves letting them go into shops on their own, encouraging them to use public transport, hang out with friends unsupervised, and prepare their own meals. Despite feeling anxious about allowing my children more independence and increasing their level of risk, I have to remind myself that fostering independence is essential for their emotional, cognitive, and social development. By providing developmentally appropriate opportunities for independence, they can build confidence, resilience, decision-making skills, and a sense of responsibility — critical attributes for successful adulthood. Independence must be encouraged within safe boundaries and tailored to each child's maturity level. Overloading a child with responsibility beyond their capabilities can lead to anxiety or failure. Conversely, overprotection may hinder their ability to cope with future challenges. This is not an easy balance to achieve. At the start of the summer, I committed to offering my children developmentally appropriate opportunities for independence to help them develop essential life skills. My plans were tested when a shooting incident happened at our local shopping centre in Carlow a few weeks ago. I could have easily justified restricting my children's freedom and independence. However, just as I cannot set policies based solely on the last disaster, I also cannot base my decisions solely on worst-case scenarios. In the spirit of incremental independence, I intend to increase the challenges as they show ability and responsibility. I may need to reconsider meal preparation, though, as I've already had to replace two pots after they burned the rice and pasta. Dr Colman Noctor is a child psychotherapist Read More Colman Noctor: Watching TV with your child can be educational for you both
Scroll.in
02-07-2025
- Politics
- Scroll.in
How the uncivility in India's gated communities is the result of deliberate political design
A recent piece in Scroll (Many Indians can't stand living with each other – today's uncivil politics reflects this) explored the paradox of Indian urban life, where the aspiration for peaceful, well-serviced housing enclaves often gives way to everyday violence and hostility. It astutely laid bare the contradictions of India's fraying urban fabric, where dreams of harmonious living collapse into a theatre of squabbles, a war zone of parking disputes, fistfights, and even urine-splashed vengeance. Longing for a more civil, collective ethic of neighbourliness, the author Ajay Gudavarthy concludes with a wistful reflection: Have Indian cities become 'urban battlefields' because we are constitutionally incapable of living with difference? But what if this incivility is not rooted in moral failure, or the overflow of casteism and communalism, but is a consequence of governance driven by free-market capitalism? In Indian cities, the dominant aspiration is not a shared commons but secure boundaries. From luxury towers to middle-income colonies, the urban dream has been reduced to a desire for private order with CCTV surveillance, biometric entry and exclusive schools. These spaces are more than class conveniences. They are miniature models of the larger political ethos. The disintegration of everyday life in the metropolis is not just a sign of social fragmentation; rather, it is a product of political engineering designed to erode any sense of a shared public life. Routine politics Gated communities, caste enclaves and hyper-surveilled colonies are not mere housing solutions; they are metaphors for our political time. Feeding on separation, fear and managed hostility, they normalise suspicion and embody principles that reward exclusion and punish presence. This is routine politics enacted at the level of the residential block. In this landscape, there are no collective struggles, only micro-disputes. No public grievances, only private ones. Neighbours who become enemies because of their proximity. In The Coddling of the American Mind, social psychologists Jonathan Haidt and Greg Lukianoff describe a mindset they call 'vindictive protectiveness'. It refers to a social phenomenon where people defend themselves, or their imagined values, by punishing others for perceived transgressions. It's a culture that encourages defensive aggression, transforming disagreement into offence, and discomfort into justification for revenge. Citizens no longer imagine themselves as active participants in a democracy, but as stakeholders guarding a fortress – be it their home, their gated community or their nation. As fortress politics deepens, trust erodes, and fear takes root. Consequently, the neighbour becomes a liable threat, the Muslim tenant a source of suspicion, the domestic worker a potential thief and the dog feeder a nuisance. This is what it means to be socially and politically abandoned but intimately policed. We have no tools to demand change, but every mechanism to punish deviation, whether it's a broken rule, a jarring noise or a person who doesn't belong. In the 2007 Hollywood film I Am Legend, the infected creatures (not quite zombies, not quite human) display remarkable solidarity when pursuing the living, but turn feral without a clear antagonist. Without direction, they turn on one another. This is our urban condition. Urban zombification The puzzle is not why neighbours fight, but why their anger doesn't travel upwards, toward the elites and institutions that fuel our anxieties. For historian Michael Katz, the answer lies in the strategic 'incapacitation' of a vibrant citizenry, through 'selective incorporation, mimetic reform, indirect rule, consumption, repression, and surveillance.' Under neoliberalism, where individual responsibility is glorified and structural critique discouraged, rage is deflected laterally. As bureaucracy turns opaque and the political class is insulated, our neighbours become the obstacle, not the system that makes housing unaffordable, schools inaccessible, or healthcare exploitative. When dissent is criminalised and solidarity pathologised, people increasingly channel frustration from systemic disappointment into interpersonal conflict. Not because they are irrational, but because punishing a neighbour feels more attainable than demanding systemic reforms. This is not an urban breakdown. It is urban zombification: a condition wherein public life exists without memory, meaning or direction. There was once a political language of the commons in India. Of maidan, basti, adda, sangathan, and andolan. Even when imperfect, these spaces created friction alongside fraternity, not against it. Today, we have replaced the commons with controlled access. Neighbourhoods no longer train us to live together; they teach us to avoid one another. No wonder many live in religious or caste-exclusive territories to preserve peace. But peace without encounter is not peace. It is withdrawal. When public schooling collapses, when the poor are fenced out of parks, when protestors are jailed and free speech stifled, the idea of a shared future is strangled. What rises in its place is a politics of resentment, where difference becomes injury and proximity a provocation. This prepares fertile ground for authoritarian populism. It does not need loyal citizens. It needs paranoid neighbours. The remedy to our urban predicament is not etiquette workshops or WhatsApp reminders about being respectful to our neighbours. In fact, it is not moral at all. It is political. We must recover the language of common purpose through public housing, neighbourhood councils, shared transport, and accessible education. Alternatively, we must fight for the right to cohabit meaningfully, not resentfully. Today, our neighbourhoods need more playgrounds, not surveillance; more assemblies, not FIRs; more forums, not fences. But it is one thing to call for constructing the commons and quite another to organise it. So, we must ask: who will champion the cause of the commons? And how can we build the solidarity that survives the atomisation, isolation, and mistrust of our times?
