Justice or Vengeance?

At its best, cancel culture can serve as a mechanism for accountability—particularly when formal institutions fail. The #MeToo movement, for instance, revealed how entrenched power protected predators. Social media enabled victims to find solidarity and amplify suppressed truths. In these instances, cancellation functioned not as mob justice, but as corrective justice.

Yet the moral high ground is unstable. Cancellation is often swift, disproportionate, and opaque. The alleged offence may be years old, contextually ambiguous, or even fabricated. Punishments are rarely scaled to severity. A clumsy joke and a serious crime can elicit similar levels of outrage. There is no appeals process, no formal reckoning—only reputational ruin.

This raises a troubling ethical question: when we punish without procedure, are we still pursuing justice, or indulging in retribution? Moral philosopher Martha Nussbaum warned of "uncivil punishments" that degrade rather than correct. When cancellation veers into harassment, deplatforming, or employment loss, it starts to resemble vengeance cloaked as virtue.

Forgiveness and the Ideal of Moral Growth

Cancel culture also strains our capacity for forgiveness. In its harshest form, it assumes a static view of character—that a person who once erred is forever tainted. But moral life is developmental. We learn, stumble, reflect. Ethical maturity involves not only making amends but being permitted to do so.

Historically, justice systems have included the possibility of rehabilitation. Cancel culture often does not. A single misstep can define an entire identity, eclipsing a lifetime of nuance. This is a kind of moral perfectionism—an expectation that public figures, or even private individuals, maintain a flawless ideological record. It leaves no room for human frailty.

Consider the philosopher Kwame Anthony Appiah’s argument for “constructive moral criticism”—calling in, not just calling out. The aim, he suggests, should be transformation, not banishment. If the goal is a more just society, then we must ask: what mechanisms best foster genuine moral improvement?

Social Media: Judge, Jury, Amplifier

Technology compounds the problem. Social media collapses context, rewards outrage, and blurs the line between private and public life. A tweet composed in seconds can be read by millions, stripped of intent, and framed to inflame.

Platforms like Twitter do not adjudicate—they amplify. Nuance is punished by the algorithm; emotion is rewarded. This dynamic creates a performative moral economy, where users compete to display the most virtuous indignation. Shaming becomes not just an act of correction, but a form of signalling.

Moreover, the memory of the internet is permanent. Even when apologies are issued, growth demonstrated, and harm repaired, the digital stain often lingers. This can lead to a chilling effect, where individuals—fearing cancellation—self-censor, disengage, or retreat into ideological silos.

Toward a More Humane Accountability

None of this is to excuse harmful behaviour. Some actions merit censure, and some platforms must be denied to those who abuse them. But the ethical question is not whether wrongdoers should face consequences—it is how, and to what end.

We might do better to revive older, slower models of moral discourse. Processes that allow for evidence, dialogue, and proportion. Practices that centre the harmed without dehumanising the accused. In short, a culture that distinguishes between accountability and annihilation.

The internet has given us extraordinary power to enforce moral norms. The question is whether we can wield that power justly. As we scroll, post, and condemn, we are shaping not only reputations, but the very nature of our shared moral life. The challenge is not just to be right—but to be fair, forgiving, and human.