In November, I was in a middle school gymnasium in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, in between games at my 13-year-old son’s basketball tournament. Sheboygan is a city of 50,000 people on Lake Michigan in a county that had voted overwhelmingly in favor of Donald Trump for president just 18 days earlier.
I was sitting in the bleachers, scrolling through social media on my phone and waiting for the next game to start, when a young man — probably around 30 years old — came up to me and asked if I had a second to talk. He said he had heard me talking about anger on an episode of Theo Von’s podcast, “This Past Weekend,” and he wanted to chat.
I’m a dean and psychologist at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay, and I’ve been researching and writing about anger for over 25 years. For the last four years, I’ve been talking about anger and other emotions on social media using the handle @AngerProfessor. I had been on Von’s podcast a few weeks earlier talking about that work, which focuses on why people get angry, the consequences of that anger and what we can do about it.
This guy at the basketball tournament had listened to my episode and wanted to discuss it. We talked for only a few minutes, but he was very kind and complimentary. He told me he had struggled with anger throughout his life but was trying to be a better role model for his stepson. He told me he learned a lot from the episode and that he was going to buy my book. I found myself going over the conversation in my head for the next few days.
What struck me most was that he was very much the kind of person I had given up on trying to connect with over the last few years.
It wasn’t an intentional decision to stop trying to reach men — at least not at first. It just happened over time. My work had simply been more appealing to women, as evidenced by my social media following, which is overwhelmingly female — 80% on Instagram and 75% on TikTok. This is essentially the same gender breakdown in the courses I teach, too, where about 80% of my students are women.
When I wrote my first book, I was actually encouraged to think of my target audience as straight women who might buy the book to better understand their romantic partners, sons or even their fathers. It seemed clear that even though men could benefit from learning to manage their anger, they weren’t interested in what I had to say. Their female partners might be, so I decided to talk to them instead.
What’s more, the men who did follow me were often hostile. “You’re what’s wrong with this country,” I’d be told for sharing research about how spanking children led to long-term anger and aggression. When I noted research on the relationship between testosterone and anger, I was called a “beta cuck” and told not to worry because I “didn’t have any testosterone anyway.”
I started fighting back, bringing my own hostility to the comments and responding publicly to these cruel remarks using shame and ridicule. All of that arguing fed the algorithm, and my accounts became more popular. I was being rewarded for driving a wedge between me and a population — angry men — that I was uniquely qualified to help.
The irony here is that I’m a father of two teenage boys, and I certainly haven’t given up on them. I’m doing everything in my power to raise them to be emotionally sensitive, thoughtful and kind young men. I’m also trying to teach them that those qualities do not run in opposition to toughness or strength. In fact, I try to show them that true strength requires a willingness to be emotionally vulnerable in ways many men are unwilling to engage. In teaching my boys this, I try to offer them patience and understanding. I try to model kindness and sensitivity, and when we disagree, I certainly don’t shame them.
Then the 2024 presidential election happened, and I fully realized that raising two emotionally sensitive, strong and kind boys isn’t good enough — not when they exist in an ecosystem of boys and men who are becoming increasingly angry and hostile. In the wake of the election, I read article after article about how Trump won this election by capitalizing on anger, especially male anger. The same angry men I had given up on had voted overwhelmingly for Trump. That anger connects directly to their politics. Not only did it inform their vote, but it also made them more likely to share misinformation online and more likely to believe conspiracy theories.
Outside of the political realm, my own research shows that men get angry far more often than women — more than 60% say they are angry at least once a day, compared with only 38% of women. This is likely true for a variety of reasons, including upbringings in which boys are often taught that anger is a safer emotion than fear, sadness or other feelings. It is also likely true that in the current social and political climate, men, especially white men, are perceiving advances by historically marginalized groups as unfair, which leads to more anger.
The consequence of this increased anger, though, is that men are also more likely than women to get into a verbal or physical fight when angry, damage a relationship when angry, damage property when angry, drive recklessly when angry or abuse drugs (including alcohol and nicotine) when angry. When all of this is considered together, it is clear that angry men are directly and indirectly harming others and themselves. They’re suffering, and so are the people around them. Even worse, that anger spreads extraordinarily fast in the virtual world (faster than any other emotion, in fact), so the effect of that rage is magnified.
Knowing this and witnessing what has transpired in this country in recent years, I’m being forced to reconcile with the fact that I have a relatively significant platform and instead of using it to support young men who may need help and guidance, I’ve been using it to fight with them. Instead of modeling sensitivity and kindness, as I would with my sons, I’ve been modeling impatience and hostility.
I suspect the man I met in that gymnasium voted very differently from me. I would venture a guess that if we met under different circumstances ― if those likely political differences had come to the surface ― we might not have had as healthy and rewarding a conversation. This is what political anger is doing across the country right now. It’s discouraging dialogue and ending friendships, family connections and romantic relationships.
To be clear, I very much understand why people are choosing not to engage with those who are politically different from them. I understand why they are choosing to end relationships. Political decisions can be deeply personal and have very real consequences, particularly for marginalized groups. I certainly don’t want anyone to read this and think I’m championing the idea that people who are being harmed by our political system should have to talk peacefully with the people who are harming them.
At the same time, though, “agreeing to disagree” with no further communication isn’t going to repair the damage. Ignoring people that I might be able to help, support and learn to better understand isn’t going to get any of us to a better place. So the question I’ve been asking myself lately is how can I engage with people I disagree with — some of whom seem to actively hate me ― in a way that’s healthy? Can we learn from one another?
Interestingly, the gymnasium conversation was born out of another conversation I had with a man I tend to disagree with politically, Theo Von. I was anxious about going on Von’s show. The guests he’d had in the weeks before me included Vice President-elect JD Vance and Donald Trump. Though I haven’t heard Von talk much about his own politics, his comedy and his audiences are very conservative.
As I prepped for our discussion, a piece of me was worried that it could turn into yet another example of a conservative man coming after me for being too sensitive, too emotional and too weak. Ultimately I decided to go on his show for two reasons: First, because I wanted to speak to an audience I hadn’t been speaking to, and he gave me the opportunity to do that. I’m deeply thankful to him for that. Second, because going on that show required me to step into a space where I wasn’t necessarily comfortable. A big part of what I do is encourage people to step into emotional discomfort in order to learn, change and grow. What kind of role model could I possibly be if I’m unwilling to do that myself?
My anxiety was misguided, though. In practice, Von was a fantastic host. He was kind, contemplative and an excellent interviewer. He asked great questions, shared some really meaningful personal experiences and had some valuable insights that I took home with me. This was a case where two people with different opinions and perspectives had a thoughtful conversation and learned from one another. I have since realized that what he provided ― a meeting space in which ideas and big questions eclipsed political position ― allowed us to have the kind of conversations I wish more people, especially men, were having across the political landscape.
I want to have those conversations more often. Von offered me an inroad to a community where I hadn’t spent much time. He gave me an opportunity to engage in conversations that I hadn’t been having as often as I should. I realize, though, that I can’t count on others to provide such inroads. I need to create pathways that I and others can traverse in an effort to engage more deliberately.
The next four years will undoubtedly be full of emotion. We may be about to experience “the political being personal” in a way we never have before, and when things are that personal, strong feelings follow. Many people are scared, sad and angry right now. It is because of those strong feelings, though, that we should be talking to each other more often — not less.
I think the reason that moment in the gym struck me the way it did is that it made me realize something I’d been missing: that the chance of reconciliation — at least between some people — might be closer than I think. If that’s even a possibility, it’s worth pursuing. There’s an opportunity for all of us to have more aha moments like this if we’re willing to engage more regularly with people we might disagree with.
You don’t have to be an anger expert or have a Ph.D. in psychology to take potentially fruitful steps forward. We can all make a point of listening and reflecting when we encounter different opinions. We can all work on maintaining our composure so we are modeling kindness and civility in our disagreements. We can all be more intentional about stepping into emotional discomfort (when it won’t put us in danger) to expose ourselves to new ideas or ways of thinking that may be productive.
As for me, I want to speak more intentionally with men, especially young men, who may need help and support. I want to be a role model to those who need one. I want to listen more — while still pushing back when I disagree — but always leading with a desire to understand and support. I can’t promise that we’ll always agree (in fact, I’m fairly sure we won’t). I can’t promise that I’ll never make anyone angry (in fact, I’m fairly sure I will). What I can promise is that I’ll listen and that I’ll create a space to share ideas.
Ryan Martin, also known as the Anger Professor, is a leading expert on emotional wellness and anger management. As the author of “Why We Get Mad: How to Use Your Anger for Positive Change and How to Deal With Angry People,” he provides research-backed strategies to help people channel their emotions for personal growth. His TED Talk, “Why We Get Mad — and Why It’s Healthy,” and other public scholarship have made him a trusted voice on understanding and transforming anger. Ryan is also dean of the College of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay. For more info, visit his website, www.alltheragescience.com, and find him on Instagram @AngerProfessor.
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