What the Brock Horner Story Says About Selective Outrage

Assaulty McAssaultface, Brock Horner, on his silly little boat

What happened to Gage is disgusting. Those were my first thoughts upon seeing the now-viral video of 22-year-old Gage Towles being harassed on a Florida waterway. In the footage, a much older charter boat captain – later identified as Brock Horner – drives up aggressively, curses at the young fisherman over a petty dispute about boat lights, and even jumps onto Gage’s boat to confront him . This brazen attack caught on camera has rightly provoked outrage. Within days, the video racked up over 8.5 million views, with thousands of comments condemning Horner’s behavior . Authorities were flooded with calls demanding action; the incident is now under investigation by local police, Florida wildlife officers, and the Coast Guard . The public’s fury is palpable and justified – what Horner did was beyond the pale.

However, as I watch this firestorm of accountability unfold, I cannot help but ask: Where is this energy when the victim isn’t a young white man on a boat? Why did it take a viral video and millions of views for people to demand justice – and why do so many other victims of violence never get the same outpouring of empathy? The contrast between the response for Gage and past responses to even more extreme violence against Black boys and men is impossible to ignore. The selective outrage on display reveals a painful double standard in our society’s empathy.

Outrage for Some, Silence for Others

The swift, unanimous condemnation of Brock Horner’s attack on Gage stands in stark contrast to how the public and media have often responded when Black youth are the ones harmed – or even killed. We’ve seen this disparity again and again. Trayvon Martin was just 17 years old, unarmed and walking home with snacks, when a stranger with a gun decided he “looked suspicious.” Trayvon ended up shot dead in a Florida suburb in 2012. Police did not even arrest his killer, George Zimmerman, for weeks, initially accepting Zimmerman’s self-defense claim at face value . It took nearly three weeks and a national uproar for Trayvon’s story to gain mainstream media traction . Even then, much of the discussion shifted to politics – Florida’s gun laws, “Stand Your Ground” – rather than focusing on the lost life of a Black teenager . Instead of universal outrage at the needless death of a child, the public narrative split along partisan lines. On conservative outlets, commentators obsessed over “who Martin is,” digging for any hint of wrongdoing, and even defending Zimmerman . Trayvon was subtly put on trial for his own murder.

Contrast that with Gage: within hours of the video, thousands online rallied to his defense, implicitly recognizing him as a wronged innocent. In the Trayvon Martin case, it felt like half the country needed convincing that the unarmed Black teen bleeding on the pavement deserved justice at all. As one analysis noted, conservative media painted Trayvon not as an innocent kid with Skittles, but as a potential thug, seizing on pictures of him with gold teeth, his teen missteps, anything to justify fear . During Zimmerman’s trial, the defense infamously showed photos from Trayvon’s phone – him wearing grills, giving the middle finger – trying to characterize him as a “young, Black dangerous thug,” rather than a victim . That smear campaign worked on some Americans: a police officer in New Orleans even commented online, “Act like a thug, die like one,” regarding Trayvon’s death . It’s a pattern we know too well – when the victim is Black, empathy is not automatic. Their character and even right to live become up for debate in a way that would be unthinkable for Gage Towles or Brock Turner or any number of white victims who are immediately presumed innocent.

And Trayvon’s case was sadly not an outlier. Think of Tamir Rice, a 12-year-old Black boy shot by Cleveland police in 2014 for playing with a toy pellet gun. There was national outrage, yes – but local media quickly introduced a toxic narrative. Just four days after Tamir’s death, a Cleveland news outlet ran a story about Tamir’s father’s criminal history . Imagine the absurdity: instead of focusing on the officer who fired on a child within seconds, they scrutinized the victim’s family’s past, as if that somehow justified a boy’s killing. The outcry forced an editors’ note, but the damage was done . A police union official went on television to say Tamir was “in the wrong” because of his size, calling the child “menacing” and “not that little kid you’re seeing in pictures” . The local prosecutor later emphasized Tamir’s tall, 191-pound frame as making him look older . This is how Black victims – even children – are robbed of public sympathy: they’re cast as older, bigger, more threatening than they truly were. Tamir was a sixth-grader, but in the public narrative he became an “adult” who should’ve known better. Meanwhile, in the Gage Towles video, when Brock Horner was raging inches from his face, Gage actually pleaded, “I’m just a kid.” Even at 22, he knew to assert his youth and innocence – and viewers agreed. Tamir Rice never got the chance to grow into 22, and even in death he wasn’t afforded the innocence we reflexively grant to someone like Gage.

Consider also Jordan Davis, a 17-year-old Black teenager killed in 2012 – also in Florida – for the “crime” of playing loud music at a gas station. His killer, Michael Dunn, a middle-aged white man, felt entitled to demand the Black teens turn down their music. An argument ensued, and Dunn fired 10 rounds into the SUV, killing Jordan. Incredibly, Dunn claimed he was the one afraid – that he saw a phantom shotgun and had to shoot in self-defense . In the initial trial, a jury failed to convict Dunn of murder, deadlocking on that charge despite clear evidence the teens were unarmed . (They did convict on lesser counts after he shot into the vehicle as the boys tried to flee .) It took a retrial for Jordan’s family to finally see a murder conviction . Think about that: a Black teen’s life was taken over loud music, yet our justice system almost bought the killer’s story that he was justified to shoot. The case “reignited debate” about Florida’s self-defense laws because it came mere months after Zimmerman’s acquittal . But why did it take two high-profile deaths of Black teens for society to reconsider these laws at all?

And then there’s Ahmaud Arbery, a 25-year-old Black man jogging in a Georgia neighborhood in 2020, chased down and shot by a white father and son who decided a Black jogger must be a criminal. If Gage’s video hadn’t existed, would Horner have faced consequences? In Arbery’s case, there was video – yet it still took 74 days and a national outcry for authorities to arrest the killers . Local officials initially saw nothing wrong; one prosecutor allegedly told police not to charge the McMichaels at all . Without the graphic leaked footage sparking public fury, Arbery’s death might have been swept under the rug as “just another incident.” Seventy-four days of silence – compare that to the Punta Gorda police fielding so many calls about Gage’s case that they pleaded with people to stop tying up 911 lines . It’s a bitter illustration: society will mobilize overnight for some victims, while others wait months or forever in vain for basic acknowledgement.

The Racial Double Standard in Media and Justice

These examples underscore a painful truth: there is a double standard in how victims are portrayed and how passionately their cause is taken up, and race is often the dividing line. When the victim is white (or assumed innocent by default), media coverage and public opinion reflexively cast them as someone who matters. We see photos of them smiling with family; we hear about their hobbies and dreams. When the victim is Black, especially a Black male, that same media often engages in character assassination instead. One comprehensive study found that white victims were nearly four times more likely than Black victims to be shown in media photos alongside family or friends, a choice that humanizes the victim and elicits sympathy . Black victims, by contrast, are frequently shown in mugshots or not pictured at all, minimizing public empathy . The disparity even extends to how suspects are named: news outlets were 50% more likely to refer to white defendants by name (rather than as generic “suspect”) than Black defendants – subtle dehumanization that reinforces bias.

Look at how Gage Towles has been covered versus someone like Trayvon or Tamir. News headlines call Gage a “young fisherman” and emphasize the “disturbing” wrongdoing by the adult aggressor . In Tamir Rice’s case, one of the earliest local headlines was literally “Tamir Rice’s father has a history of domestic violence.” The victim’s father! This was rightfully blasted as journalistic malpractice – an attempt to taint a child victim’s innocence by association . But it happened, and it’s emblematic of how Black victims are treated as if they are on trial. Similarly, after Trayvon was killed, rather than universally mourning a lost 17-year-old, the public was fed irrelevant details: that he’d been suspended from school, that he once smoked marijuana, even absurd rumors that he was an “aspiring street thug” . Cable news debates actually entertained whether Trayvon might have been the aggressor, as if an unarmed teen would hunt down an adult neighborhood watchman with a gun. It’s a character double standard that has real consequences: it biases juries, influences whether charges are filed, and shapes public support for the victim or the perpetrator.

There is also a stark disparity in legal outcomes that tracks with these biases. Florida’s controversial “Stand Your Ground” law – which removes the duty to retreat and permits the use of deadly force if one believes they are in danger – looms large in these cases. It was cited as a reason George Zimmerman wasn’t arrested immediately, and many feared it would shield him entirely . Indeed, after Trayvon’s killing, “Stand Your Ground” entered the national spotlight, yet instead of being repealed, similar laws proliferated. In 2005, Florida was among the first; a decade later over 30 states had adopted some version of Stand Your Ground . These laws have been heavily criticized for empowering vigilante behavior and exacerbating racial biases. Statistical analyses support those fears: one study by the Urban Institute found that in states with Stand Your Ground, homicides were far more likely to be deemed “justified” when the shooter was white and the victim Black than the reverse. Specifically, when a white shooter killed a Black victim, 34% of the cases were ruled justifiable homicides, but when a Black shooter killed a white victim, only 3% were ruled justifiable . In other words, a white person who “fears” a Black person is ten times more likely to be legally vindicated for a killing than a Black person who fears a white person. This is the rotten core of selective self-defense: whose fear – and whose life – is valued under our laws?

We saw this play out: Michael Dunn tried to invoke the spirit of Stand Your Ground in claiming he was afraid of Jordan Davis; initially, it nearly worked. The men who shot Ahmaud Arbery weren’t charged at first because police accepted that they had acted lawfully, essentially giving them the benefit of the doubt under Stand Your Ground logic . Meanwhile, if the roles were reversed – if a Black man had hopped onto a white boat like Brock Horner did, or if a Black teen had shot a white man in “self-defense” – does anyone believe the outcome would be the same? Our collective reaction (or lack thereof) gives us the answer.

Not an Anomaly, but a Symptom

It would be comforting to think of Brock Horner – this man caught on video literally flexing, shouting “I’m the best” and terrorizing a young fisherman – as just a lone bad apple, an outlier. But that’s a delusion. Brock Horner is not an anomaly; he is a symptom of broader cultural and political forces in America. His behavior did not emerge from a vacuum. It’s rooted in toxic masculinity, white entitlement, and a society that has long excused violence as an acceptable way for certain people to get their way.

What do I mean by that? Start with the toxic masculinity aspect. Horner’s actions – using intimidation and physical aggression to assert dominance over a younger man for a perceived slight – is a textbook display of what our culture often teaches men about “being a man.” He felt his authority or pride was challenged (by something as trivial as a boat light issue), and instead of de-escalating, he chose to escalate dramatically, even boarding another person’s vessel to start a fight . This is hyper-aggressive, reckless behavior that many would describe as fueled by toxic masculine norms – the idea that real men settle conflicts with force and never back down. Unfortunately, our society often glorifies that mindset. It’s the same mindset that has fueled countless road rage incidents, bar fights, and yes, vigilante confrontations like Zimmerman’s. As psychologists note, when masculinity is threatened, some men respond with outsized aggression to reassert power . We saw that with Horner’s outburst; we arguably saw it with George Zimmerman, a wannabe cop who couldn’t let a “punk” get away in “his” neighborhood. This macho posturing turns deadly when guns or extreme force are involved, as in the cases of Zimmerman, Dunn, or the McMichaels. It’s not just personal anger – it’s a cultural script that equates violence with strength.

Then there’s white entitlement and racism intertwined. Brock Horner is a white boat captain in Florida – a state with a troubled history of racial violence and leniency for its perpetrators. His sense of entitlement was evident: he acted as if he owned the waterway, as if a young man (22 or not) owed him deference. He literally tried to police someone else’s behavior (incorrectly at that, since Gage had his lights on) and became enraged when his authority was not respected. This echoes the behavior of countless self-appointed white vigilantes who felt entitled to accost Black people minding their business. Zimmerman felt entitled to stalk and confront Trayvon “for the safety of the neighborhood.” The McMichaels felt entitled to grab guns and chase Ahmaud Arbery down like prey. In each case, underneath whatever excuses were given, there’s an uglier assumption: this is my space, and I have the right to control you. It’s the poisonous heirloom of a society built on racial hierarchy and domination.

Our political climate has only amplified these toxic attitudes in recent years. We’ve seen the rise of an extremist culture that valorizes vigilantes and encourages grievance-fueled violence. When George Zimmerman was acquitted, some hailed him as a hero; he even auctioned the gun he killed Trayvon with. When Kyle Rittenhouse shot protesters in Wisconsin, a large segment of the country rallied to fund his defense and celebrated his acquittal – even though, at 17, he had inserted himself with a rifle into a volatile situation and killed two people. This isn’t to re-litigate those cases, but to highlight a trend: a significant portion of our society celebrates “law and order” violence when the shooter is a white man and can claim fear as justification. That celebration sends a clear message to people like Brock Horner: Go ahead and unleash your rage; a lot of folks out there have your back. It’s the same cultural force that gave us Stand Your Ground laws spreading like wildfire instead of being repealed after Trayvon’s death. The notion that any slight provocation or perceived threat justifies a violent response has become ingrained – and it is disproportionately applied in favor of white aggressors, as the racial disparities show.

So no, Brock Horner isn’t just one cranky boat captain. He is a small part of a much larger pattern of systemic racism and aggressive entitlement. If anything, his case is instructive because – for once – the victim who lived to tell the tale was not Black, and the public reacted the way one should react to unjustified violence: with immediate disgust and demands for accountability. The curtain is momentarily lifted on what righteous anger and solidarity can look like. The question is, can we extend that same solidarity to all victims, not just those who look like the majority or fit a certain narrative?

Confronting Our Selective Empathy

It’s time we reckon with this selective empathy that pervades our culture. Every victim of senseless violence deserves the kind of support and outcry Gage Towles has received. Every community deserves prompt justice and attention when someone is harmed, not just when a video goes viral. We must ask ourselves: Why do so many Americans only “see themselves” in victims who share their background, while easily rationalizing the deaths of others? This toxic divide allows countless stories to be ignored or excused. It allows a 12-year-old with a toy gun to be gunned down without half the country losing its mind in outrage. It allows a teen walking home with candy to be posthumously labeled a thug and for his killer to walk free.

Enough. We have to consciously reject these double standards. That means holding media accountable for how they frame victims and perpetrators – no more demonizing the dead while white aggressors get the benefit of doubt. It means challenging laws like Stand Your Ground that encode selective fear into justice – laws under which, as one report put it, “Black lives…are not treated equally under the law.” It means calling out toxic narratives in our communities: when someone tries to argue that a victim “must have had it coming,” shut it down with facts and compassion. It means showing up at protests, city council meetings, in ballot boxes – everywhere – to demand that Black lives (and all lives) receive equal protection and concern.

Most of all, it requires some soul-searching. We each have to recognize any bias in our own gut reactions. If you felt immediate anger for Gage but caught yourself apathetic or neutral when hearing about a Trayvon or a Tamir in the news, ask yourself why. The goal isn’t to feel guilty – it’s to grow our circle of care until it covers everyone. We must refuse to let the comfort of ignorance enable injustice. As long as our society reserves its empathy for certain groups and withholds it from others, perpetrators of racist and misogynistic violence will continue to slip through the cracks, emboldened by our indifference.

What happened to Gage was disgusting, and I’m grateful he’s receiving support. But true justice will only be done when we treat every Gage, every Trayvon, every Tamir, every Ahmaud, every precious life lost or harmed by senseless violence, as equally worthy of our outrage and action. We owe it to them to show up every time, not just when the injustice comes with a viral video and a familiar face. Our humanity should not be selective. It’s time to demand a culture – and a legal system – that reflects that fundamental truth. No more ignored stories. No more selective outrage. Each and every victim deserves our voice. Let’s make sure we use it.