Much has been written about Denmark’s consistently high scores in global happiness rankings, so it might not come as a surprise that Denmark is also rated the best place to raise children, according to U.S. News and World Report. The small Scandinavian nation also scores near the top for child well-being, a measure of physical health, mental health, education and social relationships.

Government policies like generous parental leave, robust public investment in education and universal healthcare have certainly played a role in these rankings. Danes also score high on social trust, with 74% of Danes agreeing that most people can be trusted, whereas only 37% of Americans say the same.

But another factor could be contributing to Danish children’s well-being: They’re often encouraged to take part in risky, unstructured play.

This might seem at odds with a parent’s desire to do what they can to keep their kids safe. But as a native of Denmark and a psychologist, I’ve explored how the country’s hands-off parenting style may be one key to raising more resilient, self-reliant kids.

The benefits of unstructured play

Danes have two words for the English word “play.” There’s “leg,” which refers to unstructured play; and “spille,” which is used for games or activities with pre-established rules, such as playing soccer, chess or the violin.

Each type of play has benefits. But studies have shown that unstructured, spontaneous play requires more compromise and creativity, since kids have the freedom to change or make up the rules. Children learn to take turns and work through problems – skills that are harder to develop when adults step in or when the rules are predetermined.

Then there’s risky play, a form of unstructured play that involves exciting activities with a possibility of physical injury. On a playground, this might mean climbing tall towers, going headfirst down a slide or roughhousing. Off the playground it might involve building a fire, swimming, biking or using tools like saws, hammers and knives.

Norwegian early childhood education researcher Ellen Beate Hansen Sandseter pioneered the study of risky play. She’s explored its evolutionary functions – specifically, how it helps children become competent, independent adults. Other researchers have shown that risky play boosts mental health by teaching children to be more resilient and manage their emotions.

Positive risks vs. negative ones

When it comes to risky play, it’s useful to distinguish between positive risks and negative ones.

On a playground, a positive risk is a challenge that a child can recognize and decide to take. They can weigh if they want to try a zip line, or determine when they’ve reached their limit while ascending a climbing net for the first time. The goal is for the child to explore boundaries and learn to manage emotions like fear and anxiety. Sure, there’s the risk of scrapes and bumps. But success can breed more self-confidence.

A negative risk, on the other hand, is a danger that the child does not have the experience or knowledge to foresee. Using playground equipment that has rotted wood, wielding a tool like a drill without proper instruction or swimming in rapids could lead to serious accidents without any learning benefits.

Many playgrounds in Denmark are designed to encourage positive risks. The country has become known for its junk playgrounds, the first of which was created during World War II. These are play areas built with discarded tires, boards and ropes instead of fixed equipment. Kids are often given access to tools so they can build structures and remake the space on their own terms.

The point ultimately isn’t to put kids in harm’s way. It’s to let them explore on their own, test their limits and try new things.

The competent child

Of course, no parent wants to see their child get injured. But research suggests that Danish parents and American parents have distinct perceptions of risk – and different thresholds for what they consider dangerous.

One study compared U.S. and Danish mothers’ reactions to pictures showing a child engaged in 30 different types of play, such as sledding, biking, using a saw to cut wood and climbing a tall tree. It found that Danish mothers, on average, were more likely to say that they would be comfortable with their own child in these situations. In subsequent interviews, Danish mothers were also more likely to talk about practicing risky activities with their kids, such as how to use tools. (One described how she showed her 5-year-old to use an axe to chop wood.)

In fact, Danish daycares often teach children how to use a sharp knife, with some handing out knife diplomas once children have learned the skill. Learning how to ride a bike, meanwhile, can be practiced on what are known as “traffic playgrounds,” which have child-sized streets, bike lanes, traffic lights and signs.

This difference in risk tolerance could stem from differences in parenting approaches. Danish parents see their children as innately competent, meaning they trust their ability to navigate risks and challenges. Adults, in turn, try to create environments for these natural competencies to flourish; they work to encourage cooperation instead of using control.

In contrast, American parents are more likely to see kids as vulnerable and in need of protection. Mental health is a major concern, with 40% of American parents extremely or very worried that their child will suffer from anxiety or depression at some point, according to a 2023 Pew Research Survey. Somewhat ironically, kids who have less independence are more likely to have mental health challenges.

When permissiveness goes too far

Letting kids take the lead can work well, but sometimes they can’t see or anticipate certain risks.

Danish youth, for example, drink more alcohol than their European peers. A recent survey showed that almost 7 out of 10 Danish ninth grade students had consumed alcohol in the last month, and 1 out of 3 had been drunk in the past month. One study found that Danish parents who are stricter about alcohol consumption are less likely to have teens who frequently drink. Danish culture, overall, has a very permissive attitude toward drinking alcohol, so those parents are few and far between.

Furthermore, Danish 10-year-olds have among the highest rate of smartphone ownership in the world, even as studies have shown that smartphone ownership among children is associated with higher rates of depression, stress and anxiety, as well as less sleep.

But these statistics don’t relate to risky play, which even emergency physicians and nurses champion. Instead, they show how permissive parenting styles can sometimes have negative effects.

The benefits of risky play – like learning to tolerate failure, distress and uncertainty – aren’t just important parts of being a kid. They’re important parts of being human.

Marie Helweg-Larsen has received funding from the National Institutes of Health.

Caring about future generations means believing that people who will live decades or centuries from now deserve ethical consideration. In practice, that means taking their interests into account when making all kinds of decisions across a range of issues – from aggressively cutting carbon emissions to investing in pandemic preparedness initiatives and regulating powerful emerging technologies, such as artificial intelligence.

While it may sound like a niche moral view to care about future generations in this way, our new research, published in the academic journal Futures, suggests otherwise. In fact, Americans appear to care substantially about future generations. Nevertheless, they also systematically underestimate how much other Americans care.

To study this, we conducted two online surveys of U.S. adults, totaling 1,000 respondents. The samples were built to roughly match the U.S. population in age, gender, race or ethnicity, and political affiliation. In one survey, people told us their own views about future generations. In the other, a different group told us what they thought the average American believes.

We examined this in three ways. First, we asked how many future generations people think society should keep in mind when making collective decisions. For example, when setting climate targets or designing pandemic response systems, how many future generations should count as stakeholders in that decision? Second, we asked how many future generations elected officials should keep in mind when making decisions about laws and public policy. Third, we asked how far into the future people still deserve “moral concern.”

For the third question, participants were shown a list of the present generation and the next 50 generations, with each generation defined as a 25-year period. They then indicated how many of those generations still belonged inside their “moral circle.” In plain terms: If someone will live 100, 200, or even 1,000 years from now, does their suffering matter – and do we have some responsibility to help make their lives go better?

We found that Americans, on average, extended at least some moral concern about 28 generations into the future, or roughly 700 years. But there was a mismatch about when other people’s concern faded – respondents guessed that it happened around 21 generations out, about 175 years sooner.

A similar pattern appeared on the policy questions. Americans said society and government should take into account people living roughly 16 to 17 generations ahead, respectively – around 400 to 425 years into the future. But they assumed other Americans would endorse a shorter horizon of only about 13 generations, or roughly 325 years. In other words, Americans are more future-oriented than they think their fellow citizens are.

Why it matters

Public support for long-term policies depends partly on what people think other people value. Research on climate policy, for example, shows that Americans often underestimate how much support already exists for major mitigation measures. When people wrongly think their view is unusual, they can become less likely to speak up, join with others or pressure leaders to act.

Our findings suggest a similar dynamic may shape support for future-oriented policies more broadly. For issues such as pandemic preparedness, nuclear risk and emerging technologies, decisions made now can affect people far into the future.

It’s possible that a person might support stronger emissions cuts, better disease-prevention systems or safeguards on high-risk technologies, but stay quiet if they assume most other Americans do not care about those kinds of long-term consequences.

What’s next

For climate change, misperceptions are partly driven by partisan polarization, visible disagreement among leaders and vocal opposition from skeptics. Together, they can make public support appear weaker than it is.

Concern for future generations, by contrast, is much less overtly politicized – meaning it does not divide along party lines the way climate policy does. Most Americans, regardless of political affiliation, say they care about people living centuries from now. Yet this concern is rarely voiced in everyday conversation, in media coverage or in political debate.

Future research needs to examine why concern for future generations isn’t more visible in public life, such as in the media or voiced in everyday conversations. As a result, people might assume that others do not care as much as they actually do.

The Research Brief is a short take on interesting academic work.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

From ancient epics to contemporary headlines, humans have spent centuries canonizing courage as a rare and admirable virtue. Aristotle writes, “You will never do anything in this world without courage.” But what does it really mean to be courageous, and what does it look like in a classroom or a checkout line?

On April 1, 2026, The Conversation hosted a webinar examining the virtue of courage. Panelists Greg Crawford, president of Miami University, and Cynthia Pury, professor of psychology at Clemson University, discussed the different ways we understand courage, how it can be built and why it is a worthwhile risk to take.

Crawford has leveraged his academic role to elevate entrepreneurship education, innovative research and entrepreneurial startups at Brown University, the University of Notre Dame and Miami University. Pury has consulted on courage with numerous national and international organizations. The webinar has been edited and condensed for print.

Beth Daley: What are the ingredients of courage?

Greg Crawford: I would break courage down into three areas: taking calculated risks, accepting the possibility of failure and taking action. That sometimes means choosing principles that you’re going to uphold no matter what because it’s a matter of purpose or mission. To quote Maya Angelou: “Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.”

I think the first component or ingredient of courage would be clarity of purpose. Courage isn’t just about action, it’s about a directive action. The second ingredient would be realistic awareness of that risk. You’re not trying to minimize risk nor exaggerate the danger; you’re trying to be balanced so as to understand the consequences of that decision. Finally, courage includes the willingness to act despite fear. We make these decisions, and it’s more about resolve. Fear is never absent in the face of courage.

BD: Are you born with courage, or is it a muscle one can build and teach and learn?

Cynthia Pury: Both yes and no. Even in animals, you see evidence of boldness or exploration despite risk. When we moved houses a few years ago, I watched our cats explore. It was clear that they were afraid, but they were still going to check it out. It’s hard for me to think that my cats learned how to do that. You see that in other animal species, too.

The longer I do this, the more I’m convinced that it all comes down to people’s evaluations of the goals and risks of a given situation. So, there are some goals that I would find very easy to be courageous for, like saving someone’s life. Other goals I might not share with others, like my love of doing theater.

Similarly, there are also some risks that we all agree are universal. Fire is dangerous for every human, and we all are susceptible to being burned. I think that’s one of the reasons firefighters are often the least controversial helper people who are seen as heroic and are part of this “monumental courage,” as professor Robin Kowalski and I call it.

We also have situations where people have particular fears or vulnerabilities that aren’t necessarily apparent to others. One of the bravest things I’ve ever seen is a former patient of mine wrapping a gift for his child. This person had experienced horrific wartime trauma at Christmastime and had never given his child a Christmas present and he really wanted to. Wrapping the Christmas present brought back all the terrible things that had happened, and in the context of that – and really understanding PTSD – it was quite courageous.

In a day-to-day setting, a lot of the things people report doing that they say are courageous in their everyday life are things that are particular to them or a form of personal courage.

BD: How do you develop courage as an individual?

GC: At Notre Dame I was involved in raising money for Niemann-Pick Type C, a rare disease. The research center reported to me, but I was a physicist, so I couldn’t do genomics and proteomics and those kinds of things, but I wanted to be involved with it. So I decided to ride my bicycle across the country and raise funds for the Ara Parseghian Medical Research Foundation. People would ask me how I got in shape to bike cross-country, and the fact of the matter is I never did. I just had the courage to start and get in shape along the way.

I would tell people today, you’ll take these leadership positions and jobs, and you’ll never be ready because everything changes and comes at you quicker than ever before. You need to have the courage to get in shape along the way, be flexible and have confidence.

At one point, earlier in my career, I was talking about how my hit rate on grants was 20% or 30%. A lay person had asked me if that means I waste 70% of my time. I think my answer today is absolutely not, because I spend 100% of my time developing courage. Sometimes you have to try things over and over again. You keep pushing, and a failure or a misstep often results in a great answer later down the road. So there’s an element of courage when you do fail, but you keep learning, progressing and advancing, and then it comes full circle and you finally get there.

BD: How does failure relate to courage?

CP: Failure is really tied, more than people think it is, to how courageous action is perceived. If you decide to move to the other side of the country to take your dream job, but then the company folds when you get there, you’re not as likely to think that the move was courageous in retrospect.

The Carnegie Medal for heroism, for example, has rewarded people’s acts of physical bravery mostly in instances where the would-be rescuer dies and the would-be victim lives. Not a single time was it rewarded when the would-be rescuer lived and the would-be victim died. And I find that kind of startling.

In my research, people say that a courageous thing they did was something that made a situation better and didn’t make it worse. When they try to do something and fail, people don’t report their action to be courageous. And even people who say that it doesn’t matter if you succeed or fail still end up rating the courageousness of failed things the same way as everybody else does. So that’s definitely something to be aware of and look out for.

BD: What does a courageous conversation actually look like in practice, especially when delivering difficult feedback or talking to people who don’t agree with us?

GC: It’s important to normalize dissent as part of the process. When you can control and manage dissent, you can advance ideas in a much better way. I would say sometimes when you get criticism and so forth, it’s a good thing. Some people would call it a gift that you’re able to have the courage to either push back or to be open to influence and change your mind.

In today’s world, criticism comes nonstop and all the time in these leadership roles. So there’s courage in accepting it and not being defensive about it, and there’s also courage in trying to find a solution and an answer to it, and in some cases acknowledging it and moving forward.

BD: In terms of political courage, when there seems to be a collective consensus about what the right thing to do is, why don’t people act when they want to or others feel like they should?

CP: I wonder how much of what we see with political courage is people having different views about what the right thing is to do in this situation. Is it the right thing to take a stand here? Is this the thing to have your political career die on? Or is it more courageous to just let this go and be there for whatever the next thing is?

I also wonder how much of the courage talk in politics is people signaling, “I value this, I don’t value this.” Having the humility to listen to another side seems to be an important and missing virtue.

Cynthia Pury has received funding from the American Psychological Association and the Department of Defense. She is affiliated with Alchemy Comedy Theater, Greenville, SC.

Gregory Crawford does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

In some African countries, more than 50% of women regularly use skin-lightening products. In South Africa, the rate is 32%, while in Nigeria it’s 77%. This dwarfs rates in other regions of the world.

The health consequences are not trivial. Over-the-counter skin lightening creams and pills have been linked to severe skin discoloration, organ damage, neurological conditions, and dangerous complications during surgery.

Yet researchers still don’t have a clear understanding of why women use these products. This is an important question to answer because it should guide the design of public health solutions.

One intuitive explanation, that women bleach their skin because they are dissatisfied with their skin colour, turns out to be surprisingly difficult to confirm.

Most research on body image relies on explicit measures – essentially, surveys where participants are asked directly how they feel about their appearance. But my work as a mixed-methods researcher and counselling psychologist suggests that the method has limits. People don’t always answer accurately. In contexts where preferring lighter skin can feel like – or be viewed as – an admission of self hatred, there are strong social pressures shaping how people respond to direct questions.

Read more: There’s a complex history of skin lighteners in Africa and beyond

To overcome this problem, my co-authors and I approached the issue differently. In our recently published study, we explored whether an implicit measure, the Skin Implicit Association Test (Skin IAT), might reveal something that self-report scales may miss.

The test, adapted from the Implicit Association Test by social psychologist Anthony Greenwald and colleagues, measures how quickly participants pair images of light and dark skin tones with positive or negative words. The logic is simple: if someone automatically associates light skin with positive words and dark skin with negative ones, that association shows up in their response time – even if they would never directly say so on a survey.

Developers of implicit measures suggest that these tests get around self-report biases by assessing automatic, instinctive associations rather than asking for expressed beliefs, attitudes, or self-evaluations. The tests may bypass the filter of what people feel comfortable admitting. Implicit association tests have also been used to assess other implicit preferences, including race, weight, religion and age.

Our findings uncovered a striking gap: nearly 79% of participants showed an automatic preference for lighter skin on the implicit test. The standard surveys in our study identified less than a third of those surveyed.

These findings matter because they underscore the fact that forces driving skin bleaching across the African continent can’t be reduced to a single psychological construct. They are embedded in centuries of colonial history, in the global circulation of Eurocentric beauty ideals, in economic systems that attach social capital to lighter skin, and in media environments that relentlessly reinforce those hierarchies.

A research design that rises up to this complexity must be equally multidimensional by combining implicit and explicit measures with qualitative approaches that create space for women to articulate, in their own terms, how skin colour operates in their lives.

Read more: What you need to know about rebranded skin-whitening creams

Measuring unconscious responses

Our study included a sample of 221 predominantly South African Black women. This sample represented the largest share of respondents for this online survey, which was targeted to Black African women across the continent.

Respondents were asked to complete two self-report measures of skin colour satisfaction as well as the Skin Implicit Association Test. To be eligible for the study, respondents had to identify as Black African women, be at least 18 years old, and be willing to answer questions about their physical appearance.

Following the implicit test, 78.5% showed a preference for lighter skin. The two self-report measures identified far fewer (18.5% and 29.8% respectively).

The implicit test results in our study (78.5% preferring lighter skin) more closely matched the higher limit of reported rates of skin bleaching on the continent (77% in Nigeria).

This measurement gap matters. It may suggest that for a substantial number of Black African women, lighter skin preferences may be operating below the level of conscious awareness. Or, perhaps, below the level of what feels safe to express. These are women who, on a survey, may report being satisfied with their skin, but whose automatic associations tell a different story.

Read more: Skin lighteners: fashion and family still driving uptake in South Africa

Better research

As researchers, we are not advocating that self-report measures should be abandoned. They capture things like conscious attitudes, values and beliefs. For many research questions, they remain indispensable.

Our findings, rather, point to the need to use more than one method of investigating what respondents think and feel.

Implicit measures probe associations that may operate below the threshold of deliberate reflection.

In-depth interviews, focus groups and community-based methods can reveal the varied texture of experiences that no scale, implicit or otherwise, can fully capture. Mixed methods, then, are not a compromise between imperfect tools. They are the appropriate response to a phenomenon that is at once structural, cultural, and deeply personal.

As African countries grapple with the public health dimensions of a practice that is common but poorly understood, the research community has an obligation to do better. That means investing in measurement tools developed specifically for, and with, Black African women. It means accounting for regional variety. It also means taking seriously the possibility that what women report about their bodies and their private feelings or unconscious experiences are not always the same thing.

Oyenike Balogun is an Assistant Professor of Psychology at Bentley University. Funding for the study on which this article is based, was awarded by the Bentley University Research Council.

Despite decades of legislation meant to boost children’s reading levels, literacy scores have remained relatively stagnant across the U.S. over the past 30 years.

Educators, policymakers and parents were genuinely excited in the late 2010s, when three Southern states – Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana – appeared to buck the literacy trend. All three of these states, which have long lagged in literacy scores, made notable gains in fourth grade reading scores from 2013 to 2024, as measured by the National Assessment of Educational Progress, or NAEP.

We are researchers in literacy and learning. Two of us are at the University of Alabama and Mercer University, where we educate elementary teachers. The other two work at Temple University, where we research early language and the science of learning. We all study how children develop as readers and how teaching styles and policies shape that development.

Some observers and scholars have called Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana’s reading gains the “Southern surge” and say this progress shows that recent literacy reforms are working.

A straightforward explanation has taken hold: As more schools spent additional time on phonics and implemented other “science of reading” reforms, students became stronger readers.

This narrative accurately captures some of the available evidence. But it also simplifies a complex set of patterns in literacy data, and it limits the discussion that policymakers should have.

Reading scores under pressure

Since the early 2000s, new federal and state policies have placed pressure on schools to improve students’ reading outcomes. The 2001 No Child Left Behind Act required all states to track and report literacy testing results. This law, which the Obama administration replaced in 2015 with the Every Student Succeeds Act, mandated annual testing in reading and math for students in third through eighth grades.

Many schools narrowed their curriculum to try to boost their students’ reading scores. They cut time for science, social studies, art and recess to focus on reading and math. Students entering school in the early 2000s – the first classes fully exposed to No Child Left Behind’s requirements – spent more time on reading instruction than any previous generation.

But sustained reading gains still didn’t follow.

The NAEP is often called the nation’s report card. It is the only federally administered test that allows meaningful comparisons in reading levels across states.

The NAEP found that fourth grade reading scores nationwide increased modestly beginning in 2005. They peaked around 2017 and have declined since.

But there’s a complication in how those scores are interpreted. NAEP’s mid-level score, called “proficient,” does not mean a student is reading at grade level – it reflects a high standard that most students do not reach. In the case of fourth grade readers, it means they can recognize a text’s structure and organization, explain how characters influence others and make other complex observations. Students can also receive a lower “basic” score, or a higher “advanced” one.

Alabama’s example illustrates the gap that can emerge between NAEP test results and a state’s assessments.

The state’s 2025 assessments show that 81% to 88% of second and third graders were reading “on grade level.” But the 2024 NAEP shows only about 30% of Alabama fourth graders – the youngest grade the NAEP measures for literacy – were “proficient” at reading.

Both numbers can be accurate. They reflect different definitions and measurement systems.

Understanding reading gains in the South

Despite differences in measuring reading, a small number of states have shown clear improvement over the past decade, according to the NAEP.

Mississippi has shown the strongest gains. In 2013, it was 49th out of all 50 states when it came to ranking fourth grade reading scores. In 2024, Mississippi climbed to ninth in fourth grade reading.

Mississippi’s progress predates recent national attention to the science of reading – meaning, the body of research on reading – suggesting its gains cannot be attributed solely to the current wave of related reforms.

In 2013, Mississippi passed the Literacy-Based Promotion Act, which combined early reading screening, teacher training, literacy coaching and additional support. Research shows that the policy could account for roughly five points of reading gains, on average. These gains reflect long-term, system-wide efforts rather than a rapid shift tied to a single policy change.

At the middle school level, however, the pattern in Mississippi looks different.

Improvements in fourth grade reading have not translated into similar gains in eighth grade reading. Early improvements in children’s ability to decode words do not necessarily lead to success with more complex texts that require additional vocabulary and background knowledge.

This gap does not negate Mississippi’s progress, but it does raise questions about what the next decade of work needs to look like.

Louisiana’s reading score trajectory is more modest. Recent NAEP scores for fourth grade students in Louisiana are similar to those from the mid-2010s – a rebound to a prior level.

While Louisiana ranked 50th in fourth grade reading in 2019, it rose to 38th in 2024.

A 32-point gap between Black and white students’ average fourth grade reading scores persists in 2024 data, nearly unchanged from the late 1990s. In this case, some reading progress happened. Yet the underlying inequities between students did not shift.

Alabama’s results illustrate a third pattern: relative stability in fourth grade reading scores during a period of national decline. The state ranked 35th in fourth grade NAEP reading in 2013 and remains in a similar position in 2024, showing little change. The state’s average NAEP score for fourth grade students shifted by a single point between 2019 and 2024 – not a surge, but a state holding its ground while others fell.

Meanwhile, chronic absenteeism has fallen in Alabama since 2019. As research links attendance to academic achievement, it makes it difficult to attribute the state’s small shift in reading scores to any single factor.

Across all three states, substantial gaps between Black and white students’ reading scores persist on NAEP scoring.

The same pattern extends nationally to Hispanic students, poor students and other groups. This shows that fourth grade students’ reading gains have not been accompanied by comparable reductions in social, racial and ethnic inequities.

A more complicated story

Still, parts of the Southern surge in reading is genuinely encouraging. It is also the latest chapter in a long story.

Mississippi’s gains, for example, came alongside coaching, professional development and early intervention.

Louisiana’s reading recovery unfolded alongside a 34% increase in education funding over the past decade.

Test score changes reflect a combination of policy decisions, classroom practices and broader conditions, often unfolding over many years. Reading is hard to teach, hard to sustain and not connected to any one policy shift.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

With the NFL draft taking place in Pittsburgh and an estimated 500,000 to 700,000 people expected to attend the events downtown and on the North Shore, conversations about sex trafficking have resurfaced – as they often do when major events draw large crowds to a city.

But how much of what people believe about trafficking and big events is actually supported by evidence? Mary Burke, a psychology professor at Carlow University who studies this intersection, breaks down what the data shows.

Burke partners with local nonprofit groups that fight human trafficking, such as Eden’s Farm. The organization offered three community training sessions ahead of the NFL draft that focused on recognizing the signs of exploitation, understanding grooming tactics and strengthening prevention strategies.

With Pittsburgh hosting the NFL draft, what does research show about how large events can influence sex trafficking activity?

Researchers have not found conclusive evidence that large events such as the NFL draft, the World Cup or other similarly sized, temporary events cause an increase in sex trafficking. However, experts do believe the crime of sex trafficking is underestimated in general due to a number of factors. Because so much effort goes into concealing trafficking, the crime goes unreported and undetected more often than it’s discovered. The true scale of the problem is likely much larger than the data reflects.

Large events that draw crowds even on a smaller scale than the draft, such as motorcycle rallies and large business conferences, often create opportunities traffickers may try to exploit, according to a 2016 study by researchers at Carnegie Mellon University.

Also, we do see an increased demand for commercial sex with events that draw a large male audience. Some of this demand is met through consensual means and some through force, fraud and coercion, which is the definition of sex trafficking.

How are organizations like Eden’s Farm working on the ground to prevent trafficking during the draft?

Eden’s Farm as well as the Social Impact Institute and Carlow University have led training. The hope is that this will equip citizens and those on the ground – law enforcement, ride share drivers and hotel and restaurant employees, for example – to know how to identify and respond to potential trafficking situations.

Additionally, these groups teach the public how to recognize signs of exploitation, how grooming works and how to strengthen online safety. The training also help families, educators, service providers and community members prevent people they know from being trafficked.

What are common misconceptions people have about sex trafficking during events like this?

One of the most common misconceptions about sex trafficking is the idea that trafficking includes abduction or physical captivity. While kidnapping can occur, many trafficking situations are carried out through psychological coercion rather than physical force. Victims may be controlled through grooming, fraud, intimidation, fear of retaliation against loved ones, or deep emotional dependency on the trafficker.

This translates into a victim not appearing to be restrained physically, which can make identification of a person in distress more difficult.

What signs should the general public look for that might indicate trafficking is happening?

This is tricky, as some of the indicators would be revealed through conversation, rather than observation at a distance. With that said, people should be on the lookout for patterns of control – for example, someone who does not seem to be able to speak freely or move about freely, has money or identification that is controlled by another person, or appears fearful.

In our training, we explain how to become aware of signs that someone is being pressured into commercial sex through manipulation rather than overt violence or consent. No single sign is definitive on its own, but there are some common situational red flags the public can take notice of regarding potential victims: They are coming and going from a hotel room at unusual hours with multiple different people, they are dressed in a way that seems inconsistent with the weather or setting, or they don’t seem to know basic details about where they are or where they’re going.

What are some prevention strategies Pittsburgh could adopt?

For this event and going forward, trafficking prevention should include a city- and county-level plan that can be implemented in relevant agencies. Pennsylvania’s plan focuses on prevention through public awareness and training, especially by equipping transportation workers and the public to recognize and report trafficking.

Prevention plans could include recommendations for the service and hospitality industries that require staff training on recognizing trafficking indicators, such as signs of coercion or restricted movement, and how to report to law enforcement or 911 for a rapid response. There are also a variety of ways to report suspected sex trafficking activity through the National Human Trafficking Hotline. When businesses and service workers interact with people who may be trafficking victims, they should do so in a way that is sensitive, nonjudgmental and doesn’t put the person in danger.

For example, a hotel employee who suspects a guest may be a trafficking victim shouldn’t confront the trafficker directly or make a scene – instead, they should know how to quietly offer help or alert the right people without escalating the situation or making the victim feel ashamed or accused.

Mary Burke is also the Director of the Social Impact Institute.

Rachel Seamans volunteers with the Social Impact Institute and Eden’s Farm.

Two new experiments show that most people do not even consider that a personal message could be AI-generated, even when they themselves use artificial intelligence to write.

To see how people judge someone based on their writing in the age of ChatGPT, my colleague Jiaqi Zhu and I recruited more than 1,300 U.S.-based participants, ages 18 to 84, and showed them AI-generated messages like an apology sent in an email. We split our volunteers into four groups: Some people saw the messages with no information about who or what wrote them, as in everyday life. Others were told the messages were definitely written by a human, definitely AI-generated, or that the source could be either.

We found a clear “AI disclosure penalty.” When people knew a message was AI-generated, they rated the sender much more negatively – “lazy,” “insincere,” “lack of effort” – than when they believed that the same text was written by a person – “genuine,” “grateful,” “thoughtful.”

But here is the twist: The participants who were not told anything about authorship formed impressions that were just as positive as those from people who were told the messages were genuinely human.

This complete lack of skepticism surprised us – and it raises new questions. Maybe participants were not familiar enough with AI to realize that today’s models can produce detailed and personal messages. (They can.) Or perhaps participants have never used AI themselves. (They likely have.) So we also tested whether participants’ own AI use changed how they judged senders.

To our even bigger surprise, we found little to no effect. People who use generative AI quite frequently in their daily lives – at least every other day – did penalize AI use slightly less when AI authorship was disclosed, compared with people who never or rarely use AI. But participants were no more skeptical by default: When authorship was not disclosed, heavy AI users, light AI users and nonusers all tended to assume the text was written by a person and formed essentially the same impressions.

Why it matters

Lack of skepticism and a lack of negative impressions matter because people make social judgments from text all the time. Recipients consider taking the time and effort to send written messages as an insight into the writer’s sincerity, authenticity or competence, and those impressions shape people’s decisions in friendships, dating and work.

Yet our main findings reveal a striking disconnect: People usually do not suspect AI use unless it is obvious. This unawareness creates a moral dilemma: People who use AI in secret can enjoy the benefits while facing almost no risk of detection. Meanwhile, paradoxically, people who are upfront and admit to using AI suffer a reputational hit.

Over time, lack of skepticism and awareness could reshape what writing means in everyday life. Readers might learn to treat writing as a less reliable signal of someone’s character or effort, and instead rely on other forms of communication. For example, widespread AI use has already prompted employers to discount the value of cover letters from job applicants. Instead, they are relying more on personal recommendations from an applicant’s current supervisor or connections made through in-person networking.

What other research is being done

Other researchers have documented a wide range of negative impressions about people who disclose their AI use. Studies show it makes job applicants seem less desirable and employees seem less competent. Readers of creative writing perceive AI users as less creative and inauthentic. People see personal apologies and corporate apologies that stem from AI as less effective. In general, disclosing AI use decreases trust and undermines legitimacy.

Yet without disclosure, there is clear evidence that most people cannot reliably detect AI-generated text, even with the help of detection tools, especially when the text is a mix of human-written and AI-generated content. Even when people feel confident about their ability to spot AI text, their confidence may be nothing more than a self-affirming illusion.

What’s next

Even though our experiments did not reveal suspicion of AI use, that doesn’t mean people never suspect it in the real world. In some settings, people may already be hypervigilant about AI. Use in academia is an obvious example. In our next studies, we want to understand when and why people naturally start to suspect AI use, and what flips the switch between trust and doubt.

Until then, if you want your personal message to be judged as heartfelt, the safest strategy may be to make a phone call, leave a voicemail or, better yet, say it in person.

The Research Brief is a short take on interesting academic work.

Andras Molnar does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

The war with Iran has led to a surge in anti-Muslim rhetoric – spilling into political discourse.

U.S. Rep. Randy Fine of Florida posted on X that “the choice between dogs and Muslims is not a difficult one,” and added in another post, “We need more Islamophobia, not less.” Similarly, U.S. Rep. Brandon Gill of Texas called for stopping the entry of “Muslims immigrating to America.”

A study by the Center for the Study of Organized Hate found that the average number of Islamophobic posts jumped from 2,000 to 6,000 each day on X alone in the first six days of the conflict.

I have studied the impact of Islamophobia on mental health over the past two decades, following soaring hate crimes in the wake of 9/11. Research consistently shows that negative portrayals of Muslims shape public attitudes toward Muslims and can lead to increased discrimination, hate crimes and psychological consequences.

Increase in Islamophobia

Islamophobia in the United States tends to surge during global conflicts, political campaigns and terrorist attacks. Human Rights First, an organization that works to promote human rights in the U.S. and abroad, documented surges in Islamophobia in 2015 following the Syrian refugee crisis, when a large number of people were displaced. That same year the 2015 attacks in Paris and shooting in San Bernardino, California, intensified public anxiety about terrorism, and a surge in crimes against Muslims followed.

Islamophobic rhetoric in the U.S. intensified during Donald Trump’s 2016 presidential campaign and continued into his presidency, often framing Muslims as a security threat. Burton Speakman, a scholar of digital media, and I found an increasing acceptance of such rhetoric among the political right in social media posts from 2016-19.

Social media posts and comments showed an increasing use of dehumanizing language toward Muslims. In a study I conducted in 2020, a majority of 830 Muslim Americans reported encountering the most Islamophobic content on Facebook, followed by Twitter and Instagram. This shift was also reflected in the language and coverage of Islam in right-wing media, which often portrayed Muslims as invaders wanting to impose Sharia law and as a drain on social welfare.

Mainstream media can also amplify negative depictions of Muslims by often discussing Islam within the context of terrorism and portraying Muslims more negatively than other racial, ethnic or religious minority groups.

Hate crimes tend to increase alongside Islamophobic rhetoric. During 2016, a period with high rates of Islamophobic rhetoric, there were 307 reported incidents – the highest recorded number immediately following 9/11. The numbers dropped the following year but were followed by an increase in 2024 with the start of the Israel-Hamas war; the number of reported anti-Muslim hate crimes was 288 that year.

A 2025 poll found that 63% of American Muslims reported experiencing religious discrimination, with many reporting at least one such incident every year since 2016.

Mental health of Muslim Americans

The cumulative effects of Islamophobia have an impact an American Muslims’ mental health and access to care.

Numerous studies since 9/11 link the high rates of discrimination experienced by the Muslim American community to higher rates of depression. Experiences of discrimination also lead some Muslim Americans to believe they are not viewed as being American.

Thirty-one percent of participants in my 2020 study described the impact of social media on their mental health: Many said they avoided displaying their Muslim identity in social media posts, supporting a Muslim political candidate on social media, or even sharing religious content or videos. Some just withdrew – 27% deactivated or deleted their social media accounts.

In addition, many Muslims report feeling discouraged from seeking both physical and psychological treatment from non-Muslim providers, leading Muslim Americans to significantly underutilize available services compared to other ethnic and religious minority groups.

A 2015 study found that nearly one-third of Muslim Americans report experiencing discrimination in health care settings, which has an impact on their trust in providers. The majority reported being treated rudely by providers, insensitivity regarding modesty requirements, or having their pain disregarded. One participant in that study said: “Going into a surgery, health care providers didn’t recognize the importance of me keeping my hijab on and wanting most of my body covered.”

In my 2023 study, a number of participants described personal experiences with mental health professionals who seemed not to see them as individuals beyond their religious affiliation. One participant described a provider as being “quick to attribute problems” to religion or culture. “I worry about them stereotyping and end up feeling as if I’m on the defense,” this participant said.

My most recent study, conducted in 2024, which is currently under review, asked 325 Muslim Americans who had used any psychological services about their health-seeking behavior: 56% said they were worried ; 57% were worried about being misunderstood.

Following Trump’s travel ban targeting several Muslim countries in 2017, a study conducted by researchers at the Yale School of Public Health found that many Muslim Americans skipped their primary care appointments; at the same time, their visits to the emergency room went up.

Addressing the challenges

In response, a number of initiatives have emerged at the local and national levels.

One approach involves increasing mental health literacy within Muslim communities and creating networks of mental health professionals working with Muslim clients.

For example, mental health professionals and community leaders are working to increase mental health literacy through in-person education and digitally. Muslim community members learn about symptoms of mental health disorders through training, such as Mental Health First Aid. Online directories of Muslim mental health providers have also been created.

Another approach involves training mental health professionals. A team at Stanford University has created a six-part training module that provides therapists with knowledge of religious norms and an opportunity to reflect on their own possible biases.

Finally, Muslim researchers and providers have begun to develop therapies and resources that integrate Muslim beliefs and spiritual approaches with treatment. These include psychotherapy that is inspired by the Quran, the teachings of the prophet and spiritual practices such as self-reflection, prayer and mindfulness.

Muslim Americans can often feel helpless in combating the hate they experience – more awareness and advocacy could reduce Islamophobia and address the mental health needs of an already vulnerable community.

Anisah Bagasra received funding from Meta's Content Policy Research on Social Media Platforms research award in 2019 to study Islamophobic rhetoric and imagery on social media platforms.

Sexual misconduct – including sexual harassment, stalking, intimate partner violence and sexual assault – is a common problem on U.S. college campuses.

According to the 2024 Higher Education Sexual Misconduct and Awareness Survey, about 1 in 5 women and transgender or nonbinary undergraduates experienced sexual assault during college. The survey included 180,323 undergraduate, graduate and professional students across 10 schools. One in 17 undergraduate men also reported experiencing sexual assault.

Despite how common these experiences are, only 16% of sexual misconduct victims reported the incident to a school resource, like campus police or a student counseling office. Among those who did seek formal support, fewer than half found the advice or support given to be helpful.

As a sociologist, psychologist and Ph.D. student who study sexual harm, we wanted to understand how members of a campus community expected their university would support students who experience sexual misconduct.

We found that many students, whether or not they had experienced sexual misconduct themselves or knew someone who had, did not trust their university to handle these situations appropriately.

Understanding people’s perceptions

In 2022, we surveyed about 2,500 students at a large U.S. university to examine their experiences and perceptions of sexual misconduct.

Before our 2022 survey, we also conducted interviews and focus groups with a separate group of 67 students, faculty and staff at the same university. These conversations provided detailed insights that helped us better understand our survey findings.

Because we were interested in general perceptions of university support, participants did not need to have personal experience with sexual misconduct.

We asked participants how they believed their university would support students who experienced sexual assault or other forms of sexual harm.

Although our questions focused on sexual misconduct, many participants brought up how their university handled other types of harm, such as racism and anti-LGBTQ+ incidents. They used these observations to surmise how they believed university officials might respond to sexual misconduct.

Lacking trust in their schools

Research shows that anywhere between 50% to 90% of college students who experience sexual assault also feel institutional betrayal.

Institutional betrayal refers to situations in which people feel their school or another institution failed to protect them from harm or to respond adequately after harm occurred.

Both sexual misconduct and institutional betrayal are linked to anxiety, post-traumatic stress symptoms and other negative mental health outcomes.

While some participants shared their own experiences of sexual misconduct, many displayed what scholars call secondary institutional betrayal. This occurs when people feel betrayed based on how they see their institution respond to others who have been harmed.

Anticipating a negative response

Many of those we talked to said they believed their university often responded inadequately to sexual misconduct.

Participants in our interviews and focus groups also pointed to what they saw as inadequate responses to other types of harm.

For example, multiple participants described their university failing to reprimand a student group for using words like “degeneracy” and “deviant” to publicly shame LGBTQ+ students.

Participants felt that their university’s failure to address harmful behavior signaled a lack of support for victims of sexual misconduct.

“If the university isn’t going to socially advocate for these students in terms of injustice and discrimination, what makes us think that they would trust us and validate us in situations of sexual violence?” one student said.

A common theme from our interviews and focus groups was that participants believed their university avoided addressing harmful behavior because administrators prioritized the institution’s reputation over student well-being. They described the university as risk-averse, seeking to stay out of the news and avoid lawsuits.

In the words of one participant, the university does more to exercise “damage control” than to “try and help the victim.”

Different kinds of harm are connected

Our study was conducted with a small sample on a single campus.

However, we suspect that our findings may be valuable to other college campuses.

Research shows that different forms of harm are connected: Sexual misconduct is more common on campuses where more students report discrimination based on marginalized identities.

For this reason, some scholars have recommended addressing sexual misconduct and discrimination simultaneously.

This approach may become more difficult in light of a 2025 Trump administration executive order banning diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives. Since the order was issued, universities have largely eliminated programs that support marginalized students. For example, some campuses have closed women’s centers and multicultural centers, leaving fewer avenues to report discrimination.

Universities could explore other ways to promote inclusion and protect students from harm.

For instance, universities could hold community meetings to better understand students’ experiences of harm on campus. They could also reach out to students and other community members to gather ideas for improvement.

These suggestions are starting points and have not yet been formally tested. It is important for campus administrators and researchers to evaluate strategies that prevent harm – both physical and otherwise – and to strengthen trust across the campus community.

Heather Hensman Kettrey has received funding from the Department of Justice Office on Violence Against Women. The perspectives expressed here are those of the authors and do not represent the perspectives of their employer.

Heidi Zinzow receives funding from the South Carolina Opioid Recovery Funds, the Bureau of Justice Assistance, and the Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality. The perspectives expressed here are those of the authors and do not represent the perspectives of their employer.

The perspectives expressed here are those of the authors and do not represent the perspectives of their employee.