02/16/2026
"Jackson Katz stood before a conference room filled with male college administrators, coaches, and student leaders in the early 1990s. He'd been invited to discuss preventing violence against women on campus.
But he wasn't there to give the usual speech. He was there to completely transform the conversation.
""Let me start with something,"" he said. ""A woman was beaten by her husband last night. I'm going to ask you questions about this.""
The room leaned forward.
""What was she wearing? Had she been drinking? Why didn't she leave him? Why did she stay?""
Heads nodded. These were the questions everyone always asked.
Then Katz paused.
""Now let me ask you this: Why did John beat Mary? What's wrong with John? Where did John learn that violence against women was acceptable?""
The room went completely silent.
For over three decades, Jackson Katz has been teaching people to stop asking the wrong questions.
Because when we ask ""why didn't she leave?"" we focus on the victim's behavior. When we ask ""why did he hurt her?"" we focus on the perpetrator's behavior.
And that shift changes everything.
Katz grew up watching the violence prevention movement treat violence against women as a women's issue—something women needed to solve, with some supportive men occasionally helping. Self-defense classes for women. Safety strategies for women. Endless advice for women on avoiding assault.
""We were essentially telling women: 'Here's how to avoid being victimized,'"" Katz explains. ""But we weren't asking men: 'Here's how not to be violent.'""
The entire framework was backwards.
So in 1993, Katz created the Mentors in Violence Prevention program—the first large-scale violence prevention initiative designed specifically for men and boys. He started in college locker rooms and military barracks, places where disrespectful talk was dismissed as harmless and problematic behavior was excused.
His revolutionary approach: stop treating men only as potential perpetrators or protectors, and start treating them as empowered bystanders who could transform their peer culture.
He taught them to recognize when violence actually begins—not during the assault itself, but in the joke that demeans women, the comment that objectifies them, the culture that normalizes disrespect.
""If it takes a village to raise a child,"" Katz says, ""it takes a village to raise a ra**st.""
Perpetrators don't appear from nowhere. They're shaped by systems that excuse, minimize, and sometimes celebrate harmful behavior.
And here's what Katz discovered that others had missed: most men actually aren't comfortable with their peers' behavior.
In his workshops, when Katz privately asks men whether they've witnessed other men saying or doing things to women that made them uncomfortable, nearly every hand rises.
Then he asks: ""How many of you spoke up?""
Almost no hands.
""Why not?"" Katz asks.
The answers are always identical: fear of losing social standing, fear of mockery, fear of retaliation, fear of appearing weak or uncool or disloyal to the group.
So Katz completely reframed what speaking up meant.
He didn't call it being oversensitive or politically correct. He called it leadership. Strength. Being a genuine friend. Being authentically courageous—not the false version that requires putting others down.
""The person who speaks up when their friend makes a degrading joke isn't weak,"" Katz tells rooms full of young men. ""They're strong enough to risk their social status for what's right. That's genuine courage.""
It worked. The MVP program expanded to hundreds of colleges, high schools, and military installations. Athletes, fraternity members, and military personnel completed the training. Research demonstrated its effectiveness—participants became significantly more likely to intervene when witnessing disrespectful behavior.
But something profound happened over the years.Every father who teaches his son that women deserve full respect is creating change. Every coach who stops demeaning talk is creating change. Every young person who tells their friend ""that's not acceptable"" when someone is disrespected is creating change.
""We can't tell young people that bullying is wrong and then reward bullies with success,"" Katz emphasizes. ""We owe it to the next generation—all children who didn't choose the culture they were born into.""
His message remains crystal clear: we need to build a peer culture where harmful behavior is unacceptable not merely because it's illegal, but because it's fundamentally wrong.
Where the person who speaks up is respected, not ridiculed.
Where young people learn that real strength means protecting others, not dominating them.
Where violence against women is understood as everyone's issue that everyone must address.
""There's been far too much silence about this ongoing tragedy,"" Katz says. ""We need to break that silence. And we need more people to join this effort.""
Over thirty years ago, Jackson Katz walked into a room full of people and asked them why they were asking the wrong questions.
Today, he's still asking. Still teaching. Still believing that people can be part of the solution.
Because the alternative—remaining silent while disrespect becomes normalized—isn't acceptable.
""It's our moral, ethical, and human responsibility,"" Katz says, ""to participate in this effort together.""
Not as saviors. Not as heroes. But as human beings who understand that creating a culture of respect is everyone's responsibility.
The question he asked decades ago still echoes today: Are we focusing on the victim's choices, or the perpetrator's actions?
Because that's where real change begins—when we finally start asking the right questions."
