I often wonder whether one of the reasons call-out culture has become so pervasive is because the people who harmed us most are often the people we can least reach.
The boss will never apologize. The institution will never take accountability. They’re still full of pedos and rapists who form a big boys club we can’t seem to dismantle. The state will never acknowledge the full extent of what it has done. The parent who harmed us may already be dead, unavailable, or incapable of repair.
The violence remains, but the relationship through which it entered our lives is gone.
So the question remains alive inside us:
What would be enough?
What would finally satisfy this ache?
What would accountability look like?
What would repair require?
The danger is that when those questions remain unanswered, they do not disappear. They simply migrate.
Call-out culture was, in part, born from a legitimate desire to hold powerful people accountable. I believe in call-out culture. Yet power is notoriously difficult to reach. The people at the top are often insulated from the consequences of the harm they create. They’re too rich and we’re too underpaid.
Meanwhile, the people closest to us remain accessible.
It is our friends, our comrades, our lovers, the people we barely know on IG.
The people who can still hear us and be impacted by our voices.
And so sometimes the hunger for accountability that properly belongs elsewhere gets displaced onto those nearest at hand.
They didn’t cause the original wound, but they definitely are the salt on it, and they are reachable. They might actually respond. We might even witness the consequences on their lives from our tiny screen. How satisfying.
It might, for a night, make us feel better, to yell our rage onto them from our phones.
While our abusers is still described as a nice guy by people who look like us.
Unlike the institution, they can feel shame. Unlike the state, they can hear our disappointment, lose their job, housing, community. Unlike our abuser, they might have to stay in the conversation.
If we are not careful, we can become what I think of as a dragon without a stomach: endlessly consuming accountability without ever feeling full.
This is why one of the most important questions in Transformative Justice is not only, “What harm occurred?”
it is also: what would be enough from the person who harmed me? What would be enough from the community? What would be enough FOR ME? Not my neighbour, not my friend: ME. That’s what healing is for: it centers you and only you.
What would be enough for me to stop pursuing punishment and begin pursuing healing?
Without an answer to that question, accountability can become an infinite project. And when accountability becomes infinite, no apology, no repair, and no amount of changed behavior will ever satisfy the wound that was created somewhere else.
Most importantly, not facing this question stops us from facing the deepest pain of all: there is no justice after pain. After flesh has been harmed, all it can (hope to) find is care. Healing takes time. It’s expensive. We can feel alone in it. No one carries the nightmares at night with us. No one shares the flashbacks with us. No one carries the pain. But us.
There is no justice. Not just in our institutions because they’re full of the rapists and pedophiles. What I mean is: justice is a lie. Repair is all there is. All of us deserve repair. With or without accountability.
One of the most surprising things about accountability is that it does not always bring the relief we imagine it will. We often spend years fighting to have our reality recognized, defending ourselves against denial, minimization, gaslighting, and the subtle ways people refuse to acknowledge the impact of what they have done. In those moments, accountability appears to be the thing standing between us and freedom. We tell ourselves that if only the person who harmed us would finally admit it, if only they would say, “You’re right. I did that. I hurt/harmed you. I was wrong,” then something inside us would finally settle.
But what happens when they do?
If you are into those questions, my next workshop on Sunday 21st might be for you.
We started last week, but price is for 2 days. Meaning, when you buy a ticket fro this Sunday, you will automatically receive the replay for Day 1. Replays are available so you don’t need to join us live.
1 ticket: 1 person!
