Internet debates have a way of flattening important issues into little more than hashtags.
Serious studies of propaganda and misinformation have been undermined by politicians who call any unflattering story fake news. Ongoing research into the correlation between social media and mental health are reduced to jokes about “brain rot.”
Now some people are looking to debase the concept of a moral panic into the latest way of complaining about “cancel culture.”
As the world recoiled from the revelations in the U.S. government’s files on convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, separate essays from Quillette editor Claire Lehmann, British commentator Brendan O’Neill and National Review writer Noah Rothman labeled it a “moral panic.”
As a communication and media studies professor who studies moral panics, I want to be clear: The Epstein scandal is not one.
The term is commonly understood to refer to a disproportionate societal response to a perceived threat.
Coined in 1972 by sociologist Stanley Cohen, the term “moral panic” is commonly understood to refer to a disproportionate societal response to a perceived threat, hence the word “panic.” They are usually characterized by sensational media coverage and moral crusaders in positions of authority (religious leaders, politicians and doctors) who take it upon themselves to diagnose and treat the problem. Fear spreads like a social contagion.
Examples can be found throughout history, from the Salem witch trials to Japanese internment in World War II to the Satanic panic of the 1980s, but the targets are always people who are marginalized by some combination of factors such as age, gender, race or class. Cohen called these demonized targets “folk devils.”
That’s because, at their core, moral panics are not just about folks getting emotionally riled up over an issue. They are also about people in positions of power and privilege policing the status quo in the face of progress, whether it’s social, cultural or technological.
By definition, moral panics are short-lived. The fervor dies down, and the once-threatening change is eventually accepted by society. Women are no longer burned at the stake, the U.S. government has apologized for the unjust incarceration of more than 100,000 Japanese American citizens, and parents have stopped worrying about their kids playing Dungeons & Dragons (and started worrying about newer amusements, such as social media). These changes were, I think we can agree, a net gain for our society.
Now apply the logic of moral-panic theory to the fervor surrounding the release of the Epstein files.








