The Psychology of Moral Panic: Fear, Backlash and Culture Wars

“Moral panic doesn’t start with logic—it starts with fear. And when fear hijacks the conversation, we stop thinking clearly. In this episode, I trace how outrage becomes control, how identity gets weaponized, and how to recognize when we’re being emotionally manipulated by narratives that feel urgent but aren’t always true.”

— RJ Starr

Transcript

Today, we’re talking about something that plays out time and time again in society—moral panic. Maybe you’ve seen it before, maybe you’ve even been caught up in it. One moment, everything seems fine, and the next, there’s a public outcry: This new thing is destroying society! Corrupting our children! Ruining everything! It could be a new social movement, a shift in cultural values, a technological trend—whatever it is, it sparks intense fear.

Moral panics aren’t new. In fact, they follow predictable patterns, and psychology can help us understand why they happen. At their core, moral panics tap into some of our deepest emotions—fear of the unknown, fear of losing control, and fear that the world we’ve come to understand is slipping away.

So, why does this happen? Why do certain ideas, trends, or groups become the target of outrage? And most importantly—how do we recognize when a moral panic is happening so that we don’t get swept up in it?

I want to start with a moment from my own life. Back in the 1980s, there was a full-blown cultural hysteria about the influence of heavy metal music. You might remember this—if you were around back then, you couldn’t escape it. News reports claimed that listening to certain bands could lead to demonic possession, criminal behavior, even the destruction of the moral order. Parents were terrified. Preachers were calling it the devil’s work. Politicians were holding hearings about the dangerous influence of rock stars.

I was just a teenager at the time, and I loved music. I remember being fascinated by the sheer energy of it all—not just the music itself, but the reaction to it. Adults seemed absolutely convinced that this was the greatest threat to civilization. And yet, my friends and I—along with millions of other teenagers—listened to the music, enjoyed it, and somehow, society didn’t collapse.

Looking back, that entire panic seems almost ridiculous. But at the time, it was real to the people experiencing it. And that’s the thing about moral panic—it doesn’t feel irrational in the moment. It feels like a genuine, existential threat.

So, what was happening there? Why were so many people convinced that a style of music could corrupt an entire generation? And why does this same type of fear-driven backlash happen over and over again—whether it’s about books, social movements, new technology, or changes in cultural norms?

That’s what we’re going to break down today. We’ll start by defining what moral panic actually is, using historical examples to show how it unfolds. Then, we’ll dig into the psychology behind it—how fear hijacks our thinking, how social identity fuels backlash, and why political and media figures love to stoke these fears. Finally, we’ll talk about how to recognize when a moral panic is happening and how to resist getting swept up in it.

By the end of this episode, I hope you’ll have a new way of looking at the culture wars playing out around us. Because once you see the patterns of moral panic, you can’t unsee them. And that awareness? That’s powerful.

Alright—let’s get into it. What exactly is a moral panic? And why do they happen again and again? Let’s start there.

What Is a Moral Panic?

So, let’s start with the basics—what exactly is a moral panic?

Sociologist Stanley Cohen first introduced the term in the 1970s to describe how societies react to perceived threats. He defined a moral panic as a situation where a group—often a subculture or marginalized community—is suddenly labeled as a danger to societal values and interests. This group becomes a folk devil, a kind of symbolic villain that must be stopped to protect the moral fabric of society.

The thing about moral panics is that they’re almost never about the thing itself. Instead, they’re about what that thing represents. And they almost always follow the same script:

1. A perceived threat emerges—something new, different, or misunderstood begins to gain visibility.

2. Media amplifies the fear—headlines, news reports, and opinion pieces frame this thing as dangerous, corrupting, or immoral.

3. Authorities respond with outrage—politicians, religious leaders, and cultural commentators weigh in, warning of societal collapse.

4. Public anxiety escalates—people genuinely believe their way of life is under attack, and reactionary measures are taken.

5. The panic fades—until the next one—as time passes, people realize the threat wasn’t what they thought, and society moves on... until the next perceived crisis emerges.

This cycle has played out again and again throughout history.

One of the earliest and most extreme examples? The Salem Witch Trials. In 1692, fear gripped a Puritan community in Massachusetts when a handful of young girls accused local women of practicing witchcraft. Within months, the fear spread like wildfire—suddenly, people saw signs of witchcraft everywhere. Neighbors turned on each other, and before it was over, twenty people had been executed, and many more imprisoned.

Looking back, it’s easy to say, “How could they have believed that?” But at the time, it felt very real to them. Fear does something to the human brain—it overrides logic and makes us desperate for a sense of control.

And it didn’t stop in the 1600s.

Fast-forward to the 1980s, and we had the Satanic Panic. This was an era where people believed that secret cults were operating in daycare centers, kidnapping children, and performing satanic rituals. What started as a few isolated accusations turned into a full-blown national hysteria. Parents were terrified. Talk shows were filled with so-called “experts” warning about hidden messages in music, cartoons, and even toys. Some people were even convicted of crimes based on false accusations and flimsy evidence.

Again—fear was overriding logic. The idea of satanic cults secretly running daycare centers seems absurd now, but in the moment, it felt undeniable to those caught up in it.

And we see the same kind of moral panic today. Certain books get banned because they’re seen as too controversial. Social media trends are framed as existential threats to youth. Entire communities—whether based on gender identity, race, or political beliefs—become folk devils that must be resisted.

The specifics change, but the pattern is always the same:

• Something new challenges an old way of thinking.

• Fear kicks in.

• People in power amplify that fear.

• Society lashes out.

Now, why does this happen? Why are people so susceptible to moral panic? That’s where psychology comes in. Let’s talk about the neuroscience of fear and how it hijacks our thinking.

If moral panics follow the same pattern throughout history, then the real question is: Why do people react this way? Why does fear drive us to overreact, to create enemies, to lash out at things that, in hindsight, often seem completely irrational?

The answer lies deep in our psychology. At its core, moral panic is a fear response, and fear is one of the most powerful drivers of human behavior. When we feel threatened—whether it’s by a physical danger or a perceived cultural shift—our brains react in ways that are deeply instinctual, even when the threat isn’t real.

Let’s start with the neuroscience of fear.

Fear begins in the amygdala, the small almond-shaped part of our brain responsible for processing threats. When we perceive danger, the amygdala kicks into gear, triggering the fight-or-flight response. This is a good thing when you’re facing a real, immediate threat—say, a bear charging at you in the woods. Your brain doesn’t stop to analyze whether the bear intends to harm you; it just tells you to run.

But what happens when the “threat” isn’t a bear, but a new social movement? Or a changing cultural norm? Or a group of people who don’t fit into a traditional identity? The same fear response can kick in, even if the danger is imagined. Our brains don’t always distinguish between real threats and perceived ones—especially when those perceived threats are constantly reinforced by media, authority figures, and the people around us.

This is where confirmation bias comes in. Once we believe something is dangerous, we start looking for evidence to prove ourselves right. If we already think a new trend is corrupting society, we’ll pay attention to any headline that supports that belief and ignore anything that contradicts it.

And then there’s social identity theory, which explains why these fears often manifest as a battle between “us” and “them.”

Psychologist Henri Tajfel found that humans instinctively categorize ourselves into groups—our in-group, the people who share our values, our traditions, our way of life, and the out-group, the ones who seem different, unfamiliar, or even threatening. The moment a cultural shift challenges the status quo, some people interpret it as an attack on their identity. It’s not just that something new is happening—it’s that our way of life is being erased, our values are under attack, we are losing control.

This is why moral panics so often center around change. People don’t react this way to things they feel secure about—they react when they feel like their worldview is slipping away.

And when fear meets identity? That’s when backlash happens.

We see this pattern throughout history. Take desegregation in the 1950s and 60s—many white Americans at the time saw integration not just as a policy shift, but as an existential threat to their entire way of life. Schools were being forced to change, communities were evolving, and to those resistant to progress, it felt like they were losing something, even though nothing was actually being taken from them. That fear led to massive resistance, sometimes violent, sometimes legal, but always driven by the same emotion: loss.

We see it in the backlash to the feminist movement, the LGBTQ+ rights movement, even in something as seemingly trivial as fashion and music trends. Every time there’s a shift in the cultural landscape, there’s a wave of reactionary fear, often strongest among those who feel they have the most to lose.

And here’s where it gets even more interesting—leaders, politicians, and media personalities know this.

Fear is an incredible tool for influence. When people are afraid, they seek security. They look for authority figures who promise to “protect” them from the perceived threat. That’s why moral panics are so often fueled by powerful people who stand to gain something from the outrage—whether it’s political power, media ratings, or just control over public opinion.

Take the War on Drugs in the 1980s. Politicians and media outlets framed drugs not just as a public health issue, but as a moral crisis—a force that was corrupting society, destroying communities, and threatening children. This led to policies like mandatory minimum sentences and mass incarceration, which disproportionately affected Black and Latino communities. The fear was so intense that few people stopped to ask: Is this really the best way to handle the problem?

And that’s the thing about moral panic—it doesn’t just create fear. It justifies reactionary measures. It convinces people that extreme action is necessary to stop the threat, whether that means banning books, criminalizing behaviors, or outright attacking marginalized groups.

So where does this leave us today?

We’re living in a time where moral panic is more visible—and more powerful—than ever before. Social media fuels it at an unprecedented rate. What used to take months or years to build momentum can now explode into national controversy overnight. A single viral post can spark outrage. A misleading headline can ignite a movement.

But here’s the question we have to ask ourselves: Are we really in danger? Or are we being manipulated?

Because if we don’t understand how fear operates—how it hijacks our thinking, how it divides us, how it’s used as a tool for control—we’ll keep falling into the same cycle. Again and again.

So let’s go deeper. Why are moral panics such a big part of culture wars? Why does every generation have these fear-driven battles over identity, values, and change? And how do we step back and see these panics for what they really are?

So, if moral panic is just fear-driven overreaction, why does it happen so often in culture wars? Why does every major societal change spark a wave of backlash, outrage, and often extreme policy responses?

The answer lies in the psychology of cultural shifts.

Every society has a dominant worldview—a set of beliefs, traditions, and norms that most people accept as the way things are. But over time, as new ideas emerge and marginalized voices gain more influence, those dominant worldviews start to change.

And that’s where the conflict begins.

Psychologists call this Terror Management Theory—the idea that when people feel their worldview is threatened, they experience deep psychological distress, almost as if they’re confronting their own mortality. It sounds dramatic, but think about it: If you’ve spent your entire life believing the world works a certain way, and suddenly you’re being told that it doesn’t, that can feel destabilizing.

This is why moral panic almost always frames progress as an existential threat. It’s not just that things are changing—it’s that our way of life is being destroyed.

And one of the biggest recurring themes in moral panics?
“We have to protect the children.”

Over and over, moral panics frame change as a danger to the most vulnerable. It’s always about saving children from corruption, indoctrination, or harm—whether it’s banning books, restricting education, or attacking certain forms of expression.

We saw it with rock music and video games in the 80s and 90s—people claimed that violent video games would turn kids into criminals, or that heavy metal was leading them to Satanism. We see it today in debates over social media, gender identity, and even public school curricula. The pattern is the same:

• Something new emerges.

• It challenges traditional beliefs.

• It’s framed as dangerous, especially to children.

• A moral panic ensues.

And there’s a reason why this argument works so well.

Psychologists have found that people are far more likely to accept extreme measures when they believe those measures are necessary to protect children. It bypasses rational thought and goes straight to an emotional, primal instinct. After all, who wouldn’t want to protect kids from harm?

But here’s the problem: Most of these so-called “threats” don’t hold up under scrutiny.

Take the Momo Challenge hoax. A few years ago, news outlets were warning that children were being targeted by a viral online challenge that encouraged them to harm themselves. Schools sent out warnings. Parents panicked. Politicians called for investigations.

But it wasn’t real.

There was no widespread challenge. No evidence that children were engaging in self-harm because of it. Just a viral moral panic that felt real because of how it was framed.

And that’s the danger of moral panic—it feels real, even when it’s not. It creates enemies where there are none. It fuels outrage over things that aren’t actually happening. And it leads to harmful policies that don’t address real problems.

Social media has only amplified this.

It used to take months or years for moral panics to build up, spread through news outlets, and become mainstream. Now, they can take off in hours. A single misleading post can spark a nationwide controversy. Outrage spreads faster than facts. And because social media platforms prioritize engagement—meaning, they push the most emotional, attention-grabbing content to the top—moral panics can spiral out of control before anyone has time to step back and think critically.

But that’s exactly what we need to do.

Because if we don’t stop and analyze these cycles, if we don’t question why certain narratives are being pushed, we’ll keep falling for them. Again and again.

So, what can we do about it? How do we recognize when a moral panic is happening? And how do we resist being swept up in fear?

The first and most important step is recognizing fear-based narratives.

Moral panics thrive on emotional reasoning—the idea that if something feels scary, it must be dangerous. But emotions are not evidence. Just because a headline makes you feel outraged or afraid doesn’t mean the threat is real.

Next time you see a viral controversy, ask yourself:

• What is the actual evidence for this claim?

• Who benefits from spreading this fear?

• Is this fear based on facts, or on worst-case-scenario thinking?

Because here’s the truth: Most moral panics collapse under scrutiny. The fears are exaggerated, the evidence is weak, and the real motivation behind them is often political or ideological.

Take book bans, for example. There’s been a growing movement to remove certain books from schools under the claim that they’re “dangerous” or “inappropriate.” But when you actually look at the books being banned, they’re often written by marginalized authors, discussing topics like race, gender, and identity. The fear isn’t really about the books—it’s about what they represent.

So, another question to ask is: What is this panic actually about?

A lot of the time, moral panics aren’t about the supposed “threat” at all—they’re about maintaining social control. They’re about resisting change. They’re about keeping certain groups in power and others in check.

Which brings us to the next way to resist: Developing a tolerance for uncertainty.

One of the biggest reasons people fall for moral panic is because uncertainty makes them uncomfortable. Change is unsettling. The unknown feels threatening. And it’s easier to latch onto simple, black-and-white narratives than to sit with complexity.

But complexity is where truth lives.

The world is not as simple as good vs. evil or tradition vs. destruction. Progress is messy. Social change is complicated. And if we want to avoid being manipulated by fear, we have to get comfortable with nuance.

That means being okay with not having all the answers. It means questioning our own biases. It means being willing to engage with perspectives that challenge us.

I’ll give you a personal example.

Years ago, I found myself instinctively dismissing a new social movement. It felt reactionary. It felt extreme. And I caught myself thinking, This is going too far.

But then I asked myself: What do I actually know about this? Had I listened to the people involved? Had I looked at real data? Or was I just reacting emotionally?

So I did what I always encourage my students to do—I started reading. I sought out perspectives from people who actually knew what they were talking about. And I realized that my initial reaction wasn’t based on facts. It was based on a gut feeling of discomfort.

That was a humbling moment.

Because it’s easy to think that only other people fall for moral panics. But the truth is, we’re all susceptible to them.

And that’s why critical thinking is so important.

We have to ask better questions. We have to be willing to sit with discomfort. And we have to recognize when our emotions are being used against us.

Because at the end of the day, moral panics aren’t about protecting society. They’re about controlling it.

And once you see that, you start thinking differently.

So, the next time you see a news story that sparks outrage, the next time someone tells you that a new trend is corrupting the youth, the next time a politician warns you that we must act now before it’s too late—stop. Take a breath. And ask yourself:

Am I reacting to real danger? Or am I being emotionally manipulated?

Because the more we ask that question, the harder it becomes for fear to control us.

And that? That’s real power.

So, what have we learned today?

Moral panics are not new. They follow the same pattern throughout history—something challenges the status quo, fear spreads, authority figures amplify that fear, and before long, people are convinced that society itself is on the brink of collapse.

But when we step back and really analyze these moments, we see the truth: Moral panics are rarely about real threats. They’re about fear of change. They’re about power, control, and identity.

Psychologically, they tap into deep, instinctual fears—the fear of uncertainty, the fear of losing our way of life, the fear that the world we understand is slipping away.

And that fear? It’s powerful. It clouds judgment. It makes us reactive. It makes us believe things that, in hindsight, often seem absurd.

So, how do we resist?

We slow down. We ask questions. We analyze the evidence. We remind ourselves that fear feels real, but that doesn’t mean it is real.

And most importantly—we stay open.

We acknowledge that the world is changing, and that’s not always a bad thing. We recognize that progress is messy and that discomfort is not the same as danger. We remind ourselves that every generation has had its moral panics, and yet—somehow—society has not collapsed.

So the next time you see a moral panic unfolding, I want you to remember this conversation. Step back. Take a breath. And ask yourself: Is this about real harm? Or is this about fear of change?

Because the more we ask that question, the more we take control of our own minds.