Dr. Julie Sweetland is a sociolinguist and a senior advisor at the FrameWorks Institute, a nonprofit think tank. Their signature approach, Strategic Frame Analysis®, offers empirical guidance on what to say, how to say it and what to leave unsaid. In 2015, FrameWorks was one of six organizations worldwide recognized with the MacArthur Award for Creative and Effective Institutions, otherwise known as the “organizational genius grant.” Prior to joining FrameWorks, Sweetland spent over a decade working in education reform as a classroom teacher, teacher educator and advocate.

This article is even better when paired with our companion discussion guide.

Humans are hard-wired for story. Stories engage attention and awaken emotion. They shape how people understand themselves, their relationships and the context in which they live. Stories have the power to suspend disbelief, making it easier for us to consider and reconsider our thoughts about others—which, in turn, positions us to consider and reconsider social issues. All of this combined makes stories especially effective in motivating action. 

But what about stories that just aren’t true?

Some narratives about education have been around for years, if not decades: Our schools are falling down on the job. Our schools are wasting taxpayer money. Our schools should just get back to basics. Every school leader and communicator recognizes these stories and probably has practiced ways of navigating them.

Yet today’s public education landscape is rife with a specific type of story: manufactured controversies. These acrimonious public debates over social ills seem to come from nowhere; most people aren’t actually experiencing them, often because the phenomenon is either nonexistent or rare. Take just one example from the last few decades: the false and misleading claims that Common Core State Standards were a nefarious federal government plot to exercise inappropriate, complete control over school districts and teachers. 

More recently, manufactured controversies are escalating into full-blown moral panics. You may have heard the phrase “moral panic” used rhetorically or hyperbolically by social commentators. I saw it pop up frequently in progressive critiques, without definition, when the manufactured controversy over so-called critical race theory emerged. But I suspect very few people knew its meaning or the research behind it. If we consult the sociological literature, we’ll find “moral panic” described as an exaggerated social reaction to the perception that an event, person, group or condition is dangerously deviant and poses a threat to society’s values and interests.

In fact, according to scholars, moral panics rely on the identification of a “folk devil,” a scapegoat described as treacherous and out to get “us.” Typically, the folk devil is associated with a social position possessing less power. Take, for example, the Salem witch trials. Women were portrayed as outsiders, then blamed for crimes or other social problems. In addition to creating or magnifying hostility toward folk devils, moral panics can mobilize people to act out of fear of becoming victims. They sometimes ignite repressive policy that wouldn’t be introduced otherwise or simply stall momentum toward the inclusion of marginalized groups.

School leaders already know how powerful stories can be, but countering moral panics that affect public education will require more than the fundamentals of storytelling. If we want to shift mindsets and conversations in a positive direction, we must learn to undercut the power of moral panic. Appeasement isn’t the way to accomplish this task. Learning to respond strategically is the key. 

Moral Panic in Public Schools

Stanley Cohen’s book Folk Devils & Moral Panics was the first to describe different stages in a moral panic. The process begins when a “moral entrepreneur”—someone who makes intentional, targeted moves for the purpose of influencing society according to their agenda—defines something (or someone) as a threat. Once fear of the threat has gained traction, the ensuing moral panic eventually concludes in one of two ways: Either public fear recedes and attention moves elsewhere, or the sense of threat is built into society permanently. 

Not every emergent social fear moves to the next stage, but the stages are, for the most part, sequential and predictable. If you’re faced with a manufactured controversy that involves a scapegoat, locating where you are in the process of a moral panic’s escalation can help you formulate a well-timed response.

Let’s take the example of sharing one’s personal pronouns in an introduction, in an email signature or on a name tag. The practice of selecting and sharing one’s own personal pronouns has a longer history than most casual observers of language change probably realize. I remember first hearing about it in a linguistics class in the early 1990s during a discussion of women’s efforts to resist male bias in language across the ages. The American Dialect Society selected gender-neutral “they” as its word of the year in 2015, recognizing that its increased use reflected an important social shift in how people viewed and expressed gender identity. 

The longstanding LGBTQ+ community practice took on new life when people concerned about anti-transgender violence asked straight and gender-conforming allies to start sharing their own personal pronouns, perhaps most famously by successfully persuading Facebook to allow more gender identity options on the platform. The idea was that normalizing pronoun-sharing would make it less noticeable when transgender, gender-nonconforming or androgynous people did so, while also reducing the risk that someone would guess their gender incorrectly. The hope was also that creating a cultural shift in introduction etiquette would bring wider attention to the perspective that gender is something we all “do,” not something we “are.”

And while American social norms, social shifts and social experiments with personal pronouns go back to at least the 1870s, “pronouns” became the topic of a moral panic in the U.S. around the beginning of this decade. Here’s my telling of how this moral panic unfolded. 

Perception of threat: While it’s difficult to pinpoint a single “moral entrepreneur” who first characterized the proactive declaration of personal pronouns as a threat, a 2019 example comes from a National Review essay by Graham Hillard titled “Conservatives Shouldn’t Use Transgender Pronouns.” After a thoughtful exploration of the American values that support individual expression of gender, the author concludes that the threat of the “social contagion of transgenderism” is simply too great to cede even the use of everyday function words, claiming that “capitulation where language is concerned can only give aid and comfort to a movement whose success is inevitably attended by the sexualization of children, the sanctioning of brutality, and the dramatic curtailment of freedom of speech and thought.”

Amplification and simplification: Billionaire Elon Musk, who has expressed disapproval of his transgender daughter, began to comment regularly on “pronouns,” tweeting in 2020 that “pronouns suck” and mocking the practice by tweeting that “my pronouns are prosecute/Fauci.” What’s more, conservative media outlets provided extensive coverage of a few wrongful termination lawsuits—brought by teachers who called transgender students by names or pronouns that students did not want used—framing the schools’ policies and actions as “compelled speech.” 

Social fear and anxiety: Fears emerged of children being “peer pressured” into changing their gender identities and of teachers demonizing parents to their children. Parents started suing schools, demanding that schools tell families if a child asked to be referred to as a name or gender other than those assigned at birth. A 2021 Pew poll also highlighted social discomfort: When answering the question “Do you have a favorable, unfavorable, or neither favorable nor unfavorable view towards people identifying their pronouns in email, communication, or conversations,” double the amount of people (42%) chose “unfavorable” compared to “favorable” (21%). And when the poll asked how people felt about being asked to use “they/them” to address a gender-neutral person, 50% chose “unfavorable” compared to 18% who chose “favorable.”  

Gatekeepers: In 2023, a slew of anti-trans laws passed across the country. In April of that year,  Musk reversed anti-misgendering policies on the social media platform X, which Twitter had established to protect transgender and gender-nonconforming users from anti-trans bullying. 

Resolution: The resolution of this moral panic remains to be seen.

What other moral panics are you up against? Are manufactured controversies unfolding that might develop into dehumanizing, dangerous moral panics?

What Won’t Work

There are promising, evidence-backed tactics that can help to prevent or calm a moral panic. But before we dig into those, let’s talk through what won’t work—particularly, those easy-to-fall-into traps that do more harm than good.

Don’t avoid the problem.

Moral panics gain momentum when “loud” voices call out a supposed threat and their claim begins to echo across society. When it’s clear to you that the actual threat level is low or even nonexistent, you might be tempted to just wait for the noise to die down. But this can be a mistake—especially if the perceived threat is supposedly coming from a social group who has been caricatured or vilified in the past. 

Here’s why: If the public doesn’t hear from reasonable voices who understand that the threat is exaggerated, they will only hear from the hostile, fear-mongering “panic producers.” Ceding the discussion thus makes it more likely that the fear will grow, not recede. In other words, when it comes to stories that promote fear of a social “other,” simply trying to “stay out of it” usually makes “it” worse. If you choose not to respond, that should be a choice made for strategic reasons—such as deciding to support another trusted messenger as the spokesperson—and not by default or dread.

Don’t admire the problem.

Analyzing the situation at hand is essential to a strategic response—but it’s only the first step. It is not effective to endlessly dissect and diagnose the problem, refusing to take a single step until you’re certain you’ve identified the ideal solution. An effective approach may come with costs or downsides but still be the most strategic response. Don’t use the search for perfection as an excuse to refrain from acting. It helps to remember the wise words of social psychologist Dr. Harriet Braiker: “Striving for excellence motivates you; striving for perfection is demoralizing.” 

Don’t restate mistruths.

Experts often attempt to counter inaccurate beliefs with “the facts.” How many “myths vs. facts” explainers have you seen in your time? Whatever the count, it’s too many—because social science has revealed they don’t work as intended. Restating myths, even to debunk them, has the counterintuitive effect of reinforcing the incorrect information. That’s because our minds are more likely to remember and believe things we’ve already heard before (like those pesky myths!). I like to sum up the communications implications of this cognitive reality this way: Never remind people of something you wish they’d forget.

What Can Work

To quell a moral panic, the most important thing to remember is that it’s fueled by fear of becoming a victim of the “folk devil.” By implication, the overarching counterstrategy is to calm the fear. This doesn’t mean we should be patronizing, paternalistic or pandering. Nor should we dismiss people’s fears, offer false assurances or give in to unreasonable demands that offer a pretense of “safety” from a threat that doesn’t really exist. Rather, it means framing our conversations so that they best answer the needs of the moment. 

Frame the most important truth strategically.

When faced with an untrue accusation, it’s human nature to deny it. But when it comes to public responses to a manufactured controversy, a straight and simple “denial” is a tactical error. That’s because it gives more airtime and repetition to the problematic fiction, leaving less time for your bigger truth. 

For example, in responding to an inaccurate assertion that your school is “indoctrinating students with critical race theory,” a common response might be: “The truth is, we don’t teach critical race theory. In fact, I had to look it up when all this started. It’s a branch of scholarship primarily taught in law school.” While that statement is true, it’s only relevant within the world created by the manufactured controversy. Instead of reacting within the “frame” or picture established by the moral entrepreneurs, try telling your own story: “Our history, civics and current events curricula are clear, well-established and historically accurate. In all of them, our educators encourage students to explore different points of view.”

The point in both is the same: Indoctrination is irrelevant to our pedagogical practices. However, the second framing is more strategic. First, it hinges on a belief that is hard to dispute—the importance of encouraging students to explore different points of view. It also steers clear of the word “truth,” which may sound extreme to uncommitted segments of your audience. Notice, too, the use of “well-established” in the second framing. Terms like this—and others like “long-standing,” “commonplace” or “standard”—suggest that the position you’re taking is the norm, not the outlier. Subtle shifts in vocabulary have significant implications, and how you decide to frame a point affects how your audience understands it. 

Strategically correct misinformation.

As stated previously, correcting misinformation with hard facts is ineffective because simply rebutting an argument is not the same as reframing it. Instead, follow these steps to correct misinformation strategically.

Explain what is true. Give people a way to understand how the issue works in reality.

Normalize and humanize. Provide examples that offer an alternative to what moral entrepreneurs are painting as “deviance.”

Warn against the fallacy. Characterize the manufactured ideas as false and harmful.

Unmask the disinformation tactic. Name the ways false ideas are being presented (cherry picking data, mischaracterizing, etc.) and explain their effects.

And, when possible, proactively preempt the spread of misinformation or hateful speech in public forums. Take, for example, school board meetings—which are often hotbeds for contentious discourse.  Before the meeting even begins, consider taking the following preventative measures. 

Prepare the chair and facilitator for hot-button issues, especially those that are currently taking place in your school, district or community. 

Consider assigning different staff members to roles like addressing misinformation, monitoring social media and assisting with sign-in—where they can watch for known bad actors. 

Prepare and practice statements to respond to hate speech.

During the meeting itself:

Set time limits for public comments. 

Communicate your district’s emphasis on respect, inclusivity and anti-bias principles. 

Share speaking guidelines in advance. For example, when hate speech is expressed, you can respond by taking the opportunity to reiterate your district’s values. Call out hate speech in the moment by saying something like, “Comments like that are deeply problematic and inconsistent with our values and mission.” 

Tell aspirational stories. 

In a past research study, the FrameWorks Institute tested three ways of framing why community schools matter. We tried calling out privatization and vouchers. We tried centering our messaging on how more investment has led to more progress. And we tried placing community schools in an aspirational story. What we found is that just calling out the need to change public education isn’t enough. While showing examples of progress was more effective, the most effective framing was to tell stories about what public education could be. Aspirational stories give people a clear idea of what educational redesign could look like. They build collective efficacy and collective responsibility. 

Remember, too, that the ones stoking the flame of moral panic are likely beyond the scope of your persuasion. Devote your attention instead to the uninvolved, silent majority who may as yet not know what to think. And as you curate aspirational stories, ask whether or not you’re the right person to tell them. Call on advocates like teachers or parents who might have more credibility with certain segments of your audience. Ask if they’re willing to help share authentic stories about what is happening in your classrooms and what their hopes are for the future.

The fuel for moral panic is fear. The antidote to fear is clarity—and possibility. Calming moral panic—lowering the volume of the loud minority and the false stories they tell—requires us to prevent spirals of silence in favor of well-framed truths and strategically corrected falsehoods. That’s the clarity piece. The possibility piece means adopting a framework of aspiration that is centered on what’s best for kids. 

As author and speaker Charles Eisenstein said, “The world as we know it is built on a story. To be a change agent is, first, to disrupt the existing story of the world, and second, to tell a new story of the world so that people have a place to go.” All social change is rooted in dialogue—in communication. Framing your communication in a way that advances dignity for all people, centering it on our best, most hoped-for aspirations for our students—that’s how we make change. When the frame is “This is where we can go,” then the effect is, “This is on us. Let’s do it.”