How "cancel culture" is fueling the collapse of civilized society

What happened to civility? Perhaps the conservative reaction to — and use of — “cancel culture,” as they call it, can offer us a clue.

The phrase has become something of a calling card, along with “political correctness,” that produces radically different knee-jerk reactions depending on where you fall on the ideological spectrum. But as with most catch phrases, it’s instructive to look behind the rhetoric and beyond the outrage to the root of the matter.

People are really angry about a couple of things when they talk about cancel culture:

1. Punishments that don’t fit the “crime” — whether it’s an actual crime or a social misstep.

2. And snap judgments that leave it an open question as to whether a “crime” has been committed at all.

The problem is that the court of public opinion seldom renders fair or accurate assessments. Unlike an actual court, judgments aren’t determined according to laws, and facts, and precedents; it’s basically a Wild West mentality, where everyone’s a posse, hanging judge, and potential outlaw. That’s a scary place if you’re someone who likes to think for yourself, especially if you’re trying to make a living and those who don’t like what you’re saying can target your business.

(To be clear, I’m of the opinion that a consumer has the right to patronize any business, or decline to do so, for any reason. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to make snap judgments based on social media outrage and accusations alone.)

Manipulating outrage

Back in the real Wild West, it took some time to carry out mob justice. You had to assemble a posse, round up the outlaw, and haul him back into town to face the music — if you didn’t hang him out on the trail. These days, it’s as easy as making an accusation, applying a hashtag, and watching the self-righteous vultures descend on the unfortunate victim.

The more outrageous the charge, the better, because it whips up the mob and draws attention to the accusation — true or not. It’s no mystery why QAnon chose to accuse their enemies of being Satan-worshipping pedophiles: Can you think of anything scarier? Satan is the spiritual embodiment of evil in our culture, and pedophiles are his human equivalent.  

These charges, whether they’re true or not, and whether they come from the left or the right, are tossed out casually and viciously online for everyone to see. Reputations are lost. So are jobs. Lives are ruined.

There was a time when things were handled differently, at least in what used to be called “polite society.”

If someone was suspected of committing a crime, they were judged in an actual court. They enjoyed a presumption of innocence, and until they were charged, the evidence was viewed and considered, as much as possible, behind closed doors by prosecutors or a grand jury.

Pitchforks and torches

The grand jury process leaves much to be desired (it seems patently unfair that only prosecutors get to present evidence), but the point is that it’s conducted in secret. The public doesn’t get to weigh in, and even when the evidence comes out, it’s a (supposedly) impartial jury that gets to decide guilt or innocence, not a crowd armed with pitchforks and torches. This is by design, to keep the pitchfork-and-torch brigade from ruining innocent lives. It doesn’t always work, but it’s better than mob rule.

Similar guardrails used to be in place for social interactions. If someone was thought to have behaved inappropriately, that person would be “taken aside” privately and admonished, given a chance to defend himself or change his ways, and only publicly shunned if the behavior was proven and continued. Public figures sometimes got publicly admonished, but by for the most part by reputable gatekeepers such as journalists, not brainwashed joes and josephines with itchy Twitter fingers.

These days, because of social media, everyone’s a public figure — not legally speaking, but for practical purposes, we’re all subject to be harassed and canceled, blocked, or deleted. And we’re not talking about the law here; we’re talking about the law of the jungle. Because there are no rules of evidence, our jungle tribes view what evidence there is selectively, and concoct what there isn’t out of thin air to suit their purposes.

Witness QAnon and other conspiracy theories. Isn’t it interesting that Donald Trump would rail against the mainstream media for relying on anonymous sources, yet at the same time embrace the epitome of an anonymous source — a shadowy figure with “anon” in its name — when it suited his purpose? And that purpose was to destroy, or cancel, his enemies.

Hypocrisy unbound

Make no mistake, the pseudo-Republican Trumpists who moan the loudest about cancel culture don’t adhere to the rules of evidence or polite society any more than their enemies do. The last thing you’d call Trump is polite. And evidence? All that matters to him is whether you support him or not. That’s the essence of tribalism: blind loyalty.

This is why Trump’s defenders continue to back him no matter what. He’s groomed them to assume that any accusations made against him are “fake news,” the product of people who are out to get him, and, by extension, out to get them, too. The more serious the accusations, the more they’re viewed as false and desperate attempts to discredit him.

So he can get away with, literally, anything. Forget shooting someone on Fifth Avenue. Try taking over the country.

Perceptions based on loyalty rather than evidence create two sets of contradictory facts: one for “us” and one for “them,” and never the twain shall meet. A real court can’t function using two sets of facts, and the court of public opinion can’t function effectively that way, either. What you get is identity-based conclusions, the same kind of bigotry that’s behind racism, sexism, anti-Semitism, and any other -ism you can name. Evidence is meaningless. Only loyalty counts.

And “freedom of speech” is used to justify spreading pernicious lies about your enemies, unless, perhaps, they have enough money to sue you.

Enemy mine

Those fixated on loyalty at the expense of facts obsess night and day on a single objective: canceling the enemy, by hashtag, by accusation, or if that doesn’t work, by more violent means. The impulse to “cancel” someone can’t get more brazen than QAnon rep Marjorie Taylor Greene suggesting that House Speaker Nancy Pelosi should be executed for treason.

“Hang Mike Pence!” is another example.

Republicans have every reason to be angry about self-appointed liberal watchdogs who rely on outrage-fueled social smears to convict people in the court of public opinion before all the information’s in. But instead of calling for a return to civility, restraint, and respect for the rules of evidence, they’ve upped the ante by resorting to an even baser form of the cancel culture they claim to detest, seeking first to cancel an election and then cancel Congress itself.

What we are witnessing, as a result of all this, is a breakdown of civilized society on a national scale, the Hatfields and McCoys writ large: enraged mobs of social media vigilantes and Second Amendment fanatics hell-bent on destroying any institutions that get in their way of canceling each, as they steadfastly refuse to address the real problems both sides face.

Because that would involve agreeing to a single set of facts, and admitting that the other side has a reason to be upset, too.

Perish the thought.

Or, just perish thought in general. 

Stephen H. Provost is a former journalist and author of three books about the Trump presidency, available on Amazon at www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08RC7L8X1.