Six nights in an American jail: Thoughts on public shaming, mob mentality and cancel culture
Six years ago I was arrested in Benton Country, Washington.
On January 17, 2014 I was held on, what was, a 72 hour no-bail hold (in actuality it was six nights on account of the fact weekends don’t count towards your holding period, and I was booked at the start of a long weekend).
This would later evolve into a charge of one count of harassment with bail of $50,000 USD.
I would eventually be released on bail of $10,000 USD, and all charges were dropped. But more on that later.
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2014 was the year the Seattle Seahawks won the SuperBowl. I remember, vividly, because I watched them win the NFC Championship pressed up against the steel doors of a jail cell.
It was also the year Justin Bieber was arrested.
And, more importantly, the year of precedent-setting legal cases for online etiquette and liability.
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Over the past few weeks, like most of the world, I’ve been struggling to make sense of what’s happening.
Despite working in communications for a living, and my ability to communicate effectively on behalf of my clients, I have been unsure of how to communicate my own feelings and personal beliefs in a way that is authentic, without being painfully tone deaf.
To show sympathy, without being performative. To display empathy, compassion and most of all, lead by example with real action.
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Let me start by acknowledging the issue at hand: injustice is real, and we need to improve.
When it comes to tackling the right approach on how to do that, and what steps we should take to achieve it, we’re met with severely differing points of view. Rather than attempting to reconcile those two schools of thought, and meeting somewhere in the middle, these schools continue to be segregated and become increasingly polarized.
Polarization leads to this very primal sense of tribe culture — finding those who believe what you believe, and sticking with them — and mob mentality — fighting for the ‘cause’ with those like-minded individuals. Although the cause often gets lost in the madness.
Tribe culture is highly emotional. And while our feelings are valid and meaningful, emotion can not take precedence over fact and logic, nor will it lead to practical solutions or resolution.
I should know. I’ve made many mistakes at the expense of my emotions. Including my stint behind bars.
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When I was arrested, I was standing up for what I believed to be right.
My boyfriend cheated on me. I was pissed off. And I said some terrible things over text message, in the heat of the moment.
Were the messages misconstrued? Yes. Was it unfair? Sure, in a sense. An imperfect system allowed for a first-time offender to spend a week in jail over a series of immature emotionally-charged texts. Should my boyfriend have involved the police? Probably not.
But, what I learned years later, through my own personal growth, was that despite all of this, it was still me who sent those messages, and it was still me who willingly chose to be involved with someone who treated me this way.
It was my responsibility to take ownership of my mistakes.
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Today, I see a disturbing amount of public shaming, but very few acknowledgments of one’s own wrong-doing.
Many of the messages I see are hypocritical — calling for justice, while also negating others of their own right to justice. The court of public opinion favours spectacle. It’s a culture obsessed with seeing others fail (presumably to feel better about ourselves?).
These issues have been bubbling below the surface for quite some time now. And being locked down these past few months has left many people looking for someone, or something, to blame for all of the death, sickness and anxiety.
What’s worse, instead of coming together to solve these problems, we are more divided than ever before. Blaming everyone else for everything.
Our views are polarized and extremist, and buzzwords are being used so liberally, they’ve lost all meaning. Civil discourse and debate are misconstrued as opposition, and empathy is severely lacking.
Good people are losing their livelihoods at an alarming rate. But we forget that good people sometimes fuck up. They make mistakes. We all make mistakes.
When the pitch-fork mob demands wrong-doers be stripped of their last ounce of dignity, who really wins? You demand their head on a stake, and then what? Where do the shamed go for absolution? Does the punishment fit the crime?
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Jail is an ecosystem all its own.
The first couple of days I was scared. Really scared. Then I was angry. And when the anger subsided, I hit a deep depression.
To pass the time, I kept a journal of the women I met. Women of all different races, from different backgrounds, each one with a story that could break your heart. When I took the time to get to know them, and understand what led to their imprisonment, I felt deeply empathic towards them.
When I was eventually released, I discovered my story had made international headlines. My online reputation was destroyed, and I was publicly shamed. I received terrible messages, and even death threats, from strangers who had never even met me. I lost the career I had worked my whole life for, as well as my home, and would be in massive financial debt for years to come.
It hurt. And some days I thought it would be easier if I were dead.
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I don’t expect sympathy. But I do think you should admit, even if just quietly to yourself, that you have also made mistakes. Some that could ruin your life too, if they were publicly smeared across the Internet.
This current state of cancel culture strips us of our very human right to fuck up. To learn from it, to grow and to evolve into a better person.
Public shaming is ineffective and quite simply, out of control.
I believe we should seek to understand others, and give them an opportunity at reformative justice.
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The data clearly demonstrates that reform programs are far more effective than harsh punishment. Behavioural science also supports this theory. In effect, behaviour is extremely nuanced and complex, and requires thousands of small improvements to produce great change.
Instead of sitting on our pedestals, pointing fingers, we ought to look within, and start by improving ourselves.
Had I not had an opportunity at redemption, where would I be? I don’t even want to think about the possibilities.
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What I can tell you, is that the public shaming did not lead to my reformation. If anything, it only perpetuated the negative behaviour.
I eventually freed myself of the pain I felt, and improved my behaviour, when I took responsibility for my own actions. I forgave myself, and most importantly, I forgave others. And I felt a renewed sense of purpose when I devoted myself to impacting change and working passionately towards it — studying law and volunteering for justice reform programs that could help others, like those women I met in jail, and founding a crisis management firm to help others who have gone through their own public shaming.
While I still have a lot more learning and growing to do, I hope you’ll also consider the fact that you do too. Everything I do may not be perfect, but it’s human.
As for my arrest? All charges were dropped and the case was dismissed.
