Cultural bias and collective punishment: why school systems resist feedback

Across cultures and institutions, punishment is often mischaracterised as a neutral or corrective act—something that emerges in response to wrongdoing, rather than something shaped by norms, loyalties, and group dynamics. But when we look closely at how people learn to punish (and more importantly, whom they choose to punish), a very different picture emerges—one that helps explain why school systems so often protect their own, rationalise harm, and punish vulnerable children in the name of fairness.

Reinforcement learning of altruistic punishment differs between cultures and across the lifespan, a study that examines reinforcement learning in the context of altruistic punishment, found that people do not respond to feedback in uniform ways. Rather, the strength of their ingroup identification—and the cultural norms they’ve internalised—deeply influence how they update their beliefs and behaviour when exposed to new information.

Altruistic punishment during intergroup interactions refers to situations in which an individual willingly incurs a personal cost to penalise someone from another group for violating fairness or cooperation norms—even when the punisher does not benefit directly from doing so, and may in fact experience social or material disadvantage as a result.

the study goes on to consider the differences with respect to willingness to engage in altruistic punishment according to whether your culture is collectivist or individualistic according to Hofstede’s cultural dimensions.

Collectivist cultures

In collectivist cultures, where group loyalty and social harmony are highly valued, individuals were significantly less likely to learn from social feedback when it involved punishing a member of their own group. They demonstrated slower learning rates and persistent biases in favour of protecting the ingroup (p. 5).

Individualistic cultures

In contrast, individuals from more individualistic cultures were more responsive to feedback that suggested a group member had behaved unfairly. They were more willing to adjust their behaviour and impose consequences, even if doing so disrupted group harmony (p. 6). These patterns became more pronounced with age—suggesting that such biases are acquired, practiced, and reinforced over time, not innate (p. 7).

School implications

Most people don’t need a psychological study to tell them what school feels like.

If you’ve ever watched a teacher excuse cruelty from a colleague, or a principal deflect accountability with charm and protocol, or a child get punished while the adult who provoked them is quietly defended—then you already know how ingroup bias works.

What this study offers is a frame for that experience: a way to explain why schools keep getting it wrong, even when the evidence is clear and the harm is real.

School staff—particularly in environments where collegial loyalty is prioritised—may resist acknowledging or acting upon harm caused by other adults, especially when doing so would threaten relationships, reputations, or established practices. Even when clear feedback is provided—whether by students, families, or external authorities—the system may fail to adjust because the internal reward structure favours cohesion over accountability (p. 9).

This bias does not merely prevent justice—it actively reshapes the narrative. Harm is minimised, blame is redirected, and resistance is pathologised. In such environments, the punishment of children becomes more legible and acceptable than the correction of staff. Children with disabilities, children of colour, and those who resist institutional norms become the default targets for ‘altruistic’ punishment—where compliance is framed as a community good, and dissent as disruption.

Understanding the cultural and computational underpinnings of this dynamic does not excuse it—it clarifies it. It allows us to see why appeals to fairness often fall flat, why families feel like they are shouting into a void, and why change feels so punishingly slow. It also suggests a path forward: systems must be reshaped to reward truth-telling and accountability, not just loyalty. Public feedback, structured consequences, and explicit norm disruption are essential if we want institutions that learn.

Because without those, they will simply continue to punish the child who speaks up—while protecting the adult who caused harm.

Relational independence as a new foundation

At the same time, it is important to recognise that the study itself remains confined within a binary framework—contrasting collectivist and individualist orientations without naming the possibility of a third model grounded in relational interdependence.

The research does not address school culture specifically, and it does not consider Indigenous, neurodivergent, or trauma-informed worldviews that approach justice not as punishment but an opportunity for repair. The kinds of school cultures we are fighting for are not best described as either collectivist or individualist. We argue for a school that is neither governed by group loyalty nor by individual self-interest, but by a principled, relational independence.

Orientation	Key values	Relational logic
Individualistic	Autonomy, rights, self-expression	Self as independent; justice as fairness and equality
Collectivist	Loyalty, harmony, group duty	Self as shaped by group; justice as maintaining order
Relational / Interdependent	Reciprocity, kinship, embeddedness	Self as in relationship; justice as repair and restoration

We are imagining schools that protect children by grounding themselves in procedural integrity, authentic care, and honest accountability. We want schools that honour each child’s distinct needs while safeguarding the dignity of the collective through deliberate and restorative connection.

This vision makes punishment largely obsolete because the response is structured around relational repair rather than retribution.

On collective punishment

Collective punishment is a logical outcome of systems where accountability flows around power rather than through it. When institutional loyalty prevents staff from confronting one another, the pressure to respond to disruption or noncompliance is displaced downward—onto the children who are least protected.

These punishments do not just happen in error; they are absorbed by the bodies of those perceived as outgroup, those least likely to disrupt the group’s internal harmony by their suffering.

Collective punishment is framed as fairness, but in truth it is a shield for ingroup impunity—a ritualised display that reasserts control by sacrificing those already marginalised.

Because without those changes, schools will simply continue to punish the child who speaks up—while protecting the adult who caused harm.

Disrupting this system

Disrupting these dynamics requires more than policy change—it requires a shift in empathy, structure, and visibility. When the system defaults to protecting its own, it becomes emotionally and cognitively harder for insiders to recognise harm against those they do not fully see. This means that advocacy alone is not enough.

Institutional change must be paired with deliberate norm interruption, clear pathways for public feedback, and strategic exposure of the ways in which outgroup status is constructed. Only then can schools become places where safety is not contingent on conformity, and where empathy is cultivated through proximity, truth-telling, and the refusal to sacrifice children for adult comfort.

Because without those changes, schools will simply continue to punish the child who speaks up—while protecting the adult who caused harm.