In the late 1800s, Parisians gathered at cafés to sip a luminous emerald elixir called "the Green Fairy" — a potent blend of wormwood, green anise, and fennel that had enchanted artists from Charles Baudelaire to Vincent van Gogh. By the early 1900s, France was consuming more absinthe than the rest of the world combined. Yet within decades, this beloved spirit had been reframed as a "national poison" and banned outright in 1915. What happened? According to research published in Organization Studies, the answer reveals something troubling about human nature that remains just as relevant today.
The study, which analyzed historical archives, newspapers, medical publications, and propaganda materials spanning 1870 to 1915, found a systematic scapegoating process unfolding across three escalating cycles. It began with genuine concerns: France was grappling with alarming alcoholism rates, the humiliating military defeat against Prussia, and widespread anxiety about national decline. Scientists, despite inconclusive evidence, coined "absinthism" as a distinct pathology, claiming the spirit caused epilepsy and madness.
What followed was a masterclass in manufactured blame. Producers of similar beverages — aperitifs made from nearly identical ingredients like anis and pastis — strategically distanced themselves from absinthe, advertising posters that contrasted "healthy" tonics with "deadly" absinthe. Wine producers, still recovering from the devastating phylloxera vine disease, framed their products as French heritage versus foreign poison, allying with temperance movements and politicians. Even absinthe makers turned on each other: producers from Pontarlier, the traditional region, attacked "bad absinthe" from Paris, hoping to save themselves by sacrificing rivals. When World War I erupted, the ban came swiftly, presented as a civilizing victory.
The researchers call this pattern "stigma opportunity structures" — conditions that open windows for further targeting. "Once a scapegoat is identified, the ongoing momentum shapes how evidence is perceived, rather than being corrected by it," they note. The COVID-19 pandemic offered a stark modern echo: people of Asian descent faced verbal and physical attacks despite epidemiological consensus establishing how the virus actually spread. Evidence proved beside the point.
Today, the debate over social media and youth mental health shows the same dynamics at work. Anxiety, depression, and self-harm rates among adolescents have risen sharply across Western countries since around 2012. Among parents concerned about teenage mental health, 44 percent point fingers at social media. But the absinthe case suggests we should ask harder questions before assigning blame — because the same mechanisms that turned a beloved spirit into a national villain remain disturbingly active, waiting for the next convenient target.