Epistemic Injustice in Healthcare: social contagion

In today’s post, Veronica Heney considers how skewed hermeneutical resources – in intimations of contagion around valid discussions of self-harm – can frame multiple layers of epistemic injustice.

Self-harm’s relation to culture – to society, to sociality, to cultural texts, to the arts – is most frequently framed through the theory (and ensuing fear) of contagion. From policy to public discourse and academic research, there is a recurrent fear both that seeing self-harm will lead to people beginning to self-harm, and that individuals discussing self-harm with their peers (primarily in healthcare or educational settings) will lead people to begin self-harming.

My assessment of the psychological theories and evidence behind social contagion as a broad theory is that it is not nearly as thorough or well-grounded as the theory’s popularity might lead us to believe. A much-referenced contemporary epidemiological study examined a large dataset and drew conclusions about the relative contagiousness of a wide range of phenomenon from smoking to obesity to depression to divorce to sexuality to tastes in music. This collection of research is repeatedly used to prove that social contagion exists – yet (as acknowledged by the researchers) it only evidences correlation not causation, and fails to account for any number of confounding factors.

Specific evidence on self-harm is similarly patchy. Sarah Chaney has pointed out that initial contagion research focused on the spread of self-harm in hospital wards, and often drew on small samples or used a flawed study design. Nevertheless, publications either drew unduly strong conclusions, or were cited in ways that ignored their limitations and extended their conclusions far beyond institutional healthcare settings.

Despite the flawed evidence base, literature review papers are often published stating definitively that self-harm is contagious. Even more concerningly, this supposedly well-established fact has expanded beyond the interpersonal to incorporate the realm of media and the internet, where conclusions are drawn based on general concepts in social psychology (such as script theory and disinhibition theory) and empirical research on suicide, without any acknowledgment that the state of play with regards to self-harm might be very different indeed.

First, all this epistemically weak evidence is taken very seriously, in part because it is quantitative, and therefore taken to be objective, firm fact. Almost none of this evidence involves in-depth qualitative research with people who self-harm specifically exploring experiences of contagion. As a result, the evidence about self-harm and contagion is knowledge in which people who self-harm function as an object of knowledge, but are never permitted to author knowledge.

This is, precisely, an example of epistemic injustice. What we know – or worse, what it is taken for granted that we know, but in fact might not be true at all – is knowledge that denies and silences the insight, experience, and expertise of people who self-harm. It is striking how easy it is to disregard people who self-harm, to trust psychology, neuroscience, and other medicalised frameworks and not to question what these approaches miss.

Second, it is important to notice that while this is an epistemic failing, it is one which has very tangible consequences. An interesting pre-cursor to the now widely-discussed social-media ban for young people was the Online Safety Act, which came into effect in 2023. The act introduced an offence which prohibited the deliberate encouragement of self-harm. While the offence itself seemed to prohibit bullying or coercion, it was framed by MPs and by campaigners as a response to recommendations from the Law Commission on the ‘glorification’ of self-harm online, and to recent inquest reports from the deaths of young people who engaged with self-harm content online and later died by suicide.

I was involved in a campaign led by my friend and colleague Courtney Buckler to encourage lawmakers to specify that the offence would apply only to ‘malicious’ content (which we agree should be prohibited). We felt cruel bullying should be distinguished from other content which might be deemed encouragement – for instance posts in which people shared positive feelings around their own self-harm, or harm minimisation resources designed to help people self-harm safely, and reduce the risk of unintentional serious injury.

The Conservative Party politicians who had proposed the law did not take our advice and we have yet to see what the consequences of this unnecessarily broad law might be. But I worry about how fears of contagion, fears of anything that frames self-harm positively, might be used against people who self-harm to limit what we can say, what we can share, and what we can know. I am frustrated that these fears are built up from so shaky an evidence base, and I am certain that to truly understand how people who self-harm may or may not be influenced by the world around them – by their friends, by social media posts, by TV shows or by anything else – we need to start by talking to them, listening to them, and placing them at the centre of the knowledge we create about self-harm.

My new project, Re-Knowing Self-Harm, tries to do just that, drawing on a range of different creative methods to rethink the relationship between self-harm and culture. I’ll be running a lived experience reading group around social contagion, and together we’ll decide how we might do research that begins with people who self-harm, rather than leaving them on the periphery of knowledge-making about their own lives.

Epistemic Injustice in Healthcare

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Wednesday, 16 September 2026

Contagion’s complexities: When persuasive theory takes priority