‘Not All Men’—But Enough of Them: Unpacking a Frustrating Reality That Continues to Go Unheard.

by Ella O’Neal

Hold the Defense, Please

The reality is that nearly every woman has a story—whether it’s their own or that of a friend, colleague, or family member—of experiencing some form of sexual harassment, assault, or violence. It’s a universal truth among women, and how common these experiences are cannot be overstated. Yet, when you talk to men, many will claim they don’t know anyone who’s a perpetrator.

There’s a clear, troubling disconnect here: how can it be that almost all women have been affected, but so few men know someone responsible?

This disparity highlights a deeper issue: men often respond to conversations about sexual violence with, “not all men,” distancing themselves from the problem. “I’m not like that”, they say, eager to assert their innocence. However, statistically speaking, they almost certainly know someone who is.

The question is, are they truly paying attention? Are they willing to see the subtle coercions, the dismissive remarks, the jokes that trivialize consent? Or do they turn a blind eye because acknowledging it would mean confronting uncomfortable truths about their friends, their brothers, their teammates—even themselves?

Bystander Complicity

By failing to recognize and call out these behaviors, they become complicit. Complicity doesn’t always look like actively participating in harm; sometimes it’s the silence, the inaction, the unwillingness to hold other men accountable that perpetuates the problem. So, when women say “all men,” it’s not a literal accusation, but an indictment of a culture where too many men are content to remain bystanders. 

Moreover, the cultural narrative often portrays men as protectors and providers. Admitting that they’ve been complicit—or even just passive bystanders—disrupts this self-image. When men insist they’re needed for protection, they often don’t realize they’re reinforcing a system that paints women as vulnerable and in need of male safeguarding—while ignoring that, statistically, most of the threats women face come from men.

It’s a paradox that highlights the issue perfectly: they’re offering protection from the very group they’re defending.

It’s like creating a dangerous environment and then claiming to be the only ones who can save us from it. This argument glosses over the fact that the problem isn’t women needing protection; it’s the existence of a culture where women are so often unsafe, where violence and harassment are normalized, and where too many men are not held accountable for their actions. 

This Isn’t a ‘Not Me’ Moment

When men respond with, “not all men,” they’re not just defending themselves—they’re dismissing the lived realities of women and implying that women are just out here misjudging an entire gender based on the actions of a few. But this narrative misses the point entirely: it’s not about individual men, but about a culture where women are disproportionately at risk, and where many men, knowingly or unknowingly, contribute to the problem.

Imagine a woman walking down a dark street at night, a man approaching from the other direction. She doesn’t know him; he might be kind-hearted and harmless. But she can’t afford to make that assumption, because she’s been taught—through her own experiences and those of countless women around her—that the stakes are too high. She has to assume the worst, because if she’s wrong, the consequences could be devastating.

So yes, in a sense, it is all men, because women can’t afford the luxury to just assume a man she doesn’t know is safe.

To put it in layman’s terms, all men are perceived as potential threats until they show otherwise. Until men start seeing the problem as theirs to solve, women will continue to bear the burden of navigating a world that refuses to see them as fully deserving of safety and respect.

It shouldn’t be on women to discern who the good men are. It’s on men to ensure their actions and words actively dismantle the culture that makes women feel unsafe. Every man has a role to play in changing this narrative, not by insisting “I’m not one of them”, but by making it clear—through their actions, their words, their willingness to challenge other men—that they refuse to be complicit.

How Men Perceive Sexual Violence Versus the Actual Behaviors That Constitute Sexual Violence

Even men who would adamantly deny being part of the problem can, in fact, be contributing to it. There was a study that asked men, anonymously, if they had ever sexually assaulted someone. When directly asked, “Have you ever raped someone?” The overwhelming response was, “God no, I would never do that.” But then the questions got more specific: “Have you ever had sex with someone who was really drunk?” More than half of the participants answered “yes.” When asked, “Have you ever repeatedly asked a girl for sex until she gave in?” Again, over half said “yes.”

This study highlights why it’s so dangerous to rely on the narrative of “not all men.” They aren’t the faceless villains they imagine when they hear the word “rapist” or “abuser” or “predator”—they are often regular guys who don’t realize their actions are harmful. 

What does this tell us? It reveals a scary disconnect between how men perceive sexual violence versus the actual behaviors that constitute sexual violence. Many men don’t recognize coercion, manipulation, or taking advantage of someone’s impaired state as assault because these behaviors have been normalized. They don’t see themselves as perpetrators because the image of a “rapist” they have in their minds is someone violent, monstrous, and overtly malicious—someone else. But harm doesn’t always look like that. It’s often subtler, more insidious, hiding in what many men view as ordinary or acceptable behavior.

If so many men are willing to admit these actions anonymously, it’s clear the problem is far more widespread than we’d like to believe. This ignorance doesn’t absolve them; it’s a call to action for men to educate themselves, to reflect honestly on their past behavior, and to speak up when they see others crossing these lines.

Man or Bear? We Choose the Bear.

You know this disconnect I keep talking about? Well, it even came up earlier this year in the “I choose the bear” controversy. Women on social media shared that they would rather encounter a bear in the woods than a random man, sparking outrage and ridicule from many men who couldn’t fathom why. They mocked the idea, but what they failed to grasp is that women aren’t scared of a bear’s “creativity.” If you’re out in the woods and come across a bear, at least you can understand the bear’s nature and predict its intentions; but would you be able to accurately predict the intentions of a strange man?

Men have the unique capacity to inflict various types of unimaginable harm when given the chance, and its this unpredictability—this potential for brutality, exploitation, and violence—that women fear most.

When fathers of daughters were asked the same question—would you rather your daughter encounter a random man or a bear in the woods? One particular father on social media answered, “If she screams loud enough, the bear will probably leave her alone.” What does this tell us? It’s a very clear admission that even fathers, who love and want to protect their daughters, understand, on some level, that the threat posed by men is often far more complex and insidious than anything a bear could do. 

Listen, I get it. When people first hear about the whole “man vs. bear” debate, it can sound a little absurd, especially in a world where we supposedly have laws and systems to protect us. But imagine a post-apocalyptic setting, or in some foreign countries, where there are no laws, no consequences, and a man can do whatever he wants. What would and does happen then? You can probably start to imagine, right? 

So many men think of this debate on a surface level because they simply can’t comprehend what it’s like to live as a woman, to constantly calculate and recalibrate their safety.This isn’t just an exaggerated fear—there are countless real life stories that illustrate just how dangerous men can be. Take, for example the story of two young girls, Lyric Cook and Elizabeth Collins, were out riding their bikes outside their home in Iowa when they disappeared, later found murdered. Despite extensive investigations, the person responsible was never found. Or the horrifying story of the young woman in India who had to walk miles holding her own head, partially severed from her body, by her attacker, just to get help. The sheer savagery of that act is almost beyond comprehension, and there are so many other stories like this, not just from America but all over the world. Cases like these and thousands of others serves as a reminder of the dangers women and girls face, even in seemingly safe environments. The worst thing a bear can do is kill you, but men have the capacity for unspeakable cruelty, fueled by malice, hatred, or simply the belief that they have a right to another person’s body.

So no, it’s not just about the fear of death; it’s about the terror of what could happen before that. Until men are willing to acknowledge this reality the bear will continue to seem like the lesser of two evils.

Why’s This So Hard to Grasp, Guys? 

 Sometimes it feels like you can explain all of this and you still find yourself thinking “why don’t men get it?” It’s because they’ve never had to live with the constant fear and hyper-awareness that shape women’s daily lives. For most men, walking alone at night is just that—a walk, a time to clear their heads or unwind. They don’t think twice about passing a group of people or whether their outfit might attract unwanted attention. They’ve never had to text a friend their location “just in case” or change routes to avoid an alley that suddenly feels too dark and too quiet. Their reality doesn’t include clutching their keys between their fingers like a weapon or planning exit strategies before agreeing to a date.

This disconnect is deeply rooted in how men are socialized. From a young age, boys are rarely taught to fear others or see themselves as potential victims. The world has told them they’re safe and strong, that they have power and agency. Women, on the other hand, are conditioned to be cautious, to be polite but guarded, to always have a plan B if a situation turns threatening. This internalized fear begins early. Take school dress codes, for example—rules that disproportionately target girls, shaming them for “distracting” boys with their bodies. Instead of teaching boys to respect women and control themselves, we tell young girls that they’re responsible for how boys behave around them. It’s an early lesson that if something happens, it’s because of what they wore, how they acted, or where they were, planting the seeds of victim-blaming and self-doubt long before they’ve even fully understood their own bodies. 

We teach girls that their safety depends on managing the reactions of others, rather than holding boys accountable for their behavior. This toxic dynamic lays the groundwork for a lifetime of second-guessing, of wondering if they’re somehow to blame when something happens. It’s not just about policing clothing—it’s about reinforcing the idea that women are responsible for preventing their own victimization, instead of teaching men that they have no right to objectify, harass, or harm.

Men don’t get it because they’ve been allowed to move through life without the same constraints, without constantly second-guessing their own safety. They aren’t used to thinking of every stranger as a potential threat because they haven’t had to.

Even well-meaning men, those who consider themselves allies, often struggle to truly understand. They might hear about a woman’s fear or frustration and respond with logic or solutions, not realizing that what women need isn’t a fix but a fundamental shift in understanding. It’s hard to grasp the weight of carrying this fear every day when you’ve never had to. Men can go through their entire lives without experiencing the deep vulnerability that comes from knowing your body could be used against you at any moment. And because they don’t experience it, they often downplay it, thinking, “It can’t be that bad” or “You’re just being dramatic.”

This is why the “I choose the bear” and “not all men” controversies hit such a nerve. For many men, it seemed ludicrous that a woman would choose a wild animal over a fellow human being. They ridiculed the notion without pausing to consider what it really meant. It’s not just the fear of physical harm; it’s the potential for a profound violation, an invasion of autonomy, of being reduced to an object of someone else’s power and control.

Final Word: Let’s Get It Together, Guys

Men are taught that the world is theirs to navigate freely, while women have been taught to survive within it. The fear that women live with on a day to day basis is something they’ve only ever observed from a distance, like watching a movie and thinking they understand the plot without ever being inside the story. And until men are willing to step out of their own perspectives and genuinely listen—not to respond, but to understand—this disconnect will remain. It’s not enough to hear women; they need to be believed, supported, and ultimately, safe.

If after reading all of this, you still find yourself feeling defensive, it’s worth asking why. When someone describes an experience you haven’t lived, the impulse to argue or push back often comes from discomfort—an unwillingness to confront the possibility that you might be part of the problem, or at least complicit in allowing it to persist. 

Until men collectively confront these realities, the burden will remain on women to constantly navigate and survive in a world where they have to assume that every man could be a threat.

And to the women reading this, remember: if a man can hear all of this and STILL feel the need to argue, he’s exactly the kind of person we need to be wary of—the very problem we’re trying to address.