It's been suggested by The New York Times that the practice of cancel culture can be traced back to the bible, when the Book of Leviticus introduced the “‘sa’ir la’aza’zel” — a sacrificed goat literally driven out of the community and into the wilderness that carried the people’s “guilt and misdeeds.” In recent memory, one of the first significant examples of it is Justine Sacco, a former communications director who, shortly before taking off on a flight to South Africa in 2013, tweeted, “Going to Africa. Hope I don’t get AIDS. Just kidding. I’m white!” The tweet caught the eye of the media, sparking a viral frenzy of outrage. By the time Sacco arrived, the hashtag #HasJustineLandedYet was not only trending, but she was also being villainized on a global scale. Despite a public apology and an explanation of her poor attempt at humor, she was fired from her job. As Politico explains, the reaction was about more than just punishing an individual, “it was to strike a blow for racial justice, putting Sacco’s head on a pike.”
Since then, countless others — both unknown citizens and high-profile personalities ranging from politicians to Hollywood stars and beyond — have been “canceled” for what’s been perceived as offensive, culturally inappropriate language or behavior. It should be noted that The New York Times points out cancellation is different than prosecution and conviction of criminal behavior, as was the case with film mogul Harvey Weinstein, who was sentenced to prison after being found guilty of rape and assault. But ten years after Sacco, we still struggle to define cancel culture’s meaning in hard terms. According to Politico, it can “be anything, and therefore nothing. The concept is so amorphous that it’s tempting to dismiss it altogether.” Of course, that’s hardly been the case.
Yet if we can’t define it, how do we measure what it’s done for us as a society?
At its best, cancel culture works when it gives a marginalized community the power to fight disparity, as demonstrated by the civil rights boycotts of the 1950s and ‘60s.
“The concept of being canceled is not new to Black culture,” Anne Charity Hudley, Ph.D, who, at the time of the interview was the chair of linguistics of African America for the University of Santa Barbara, told Vox in 2020. She goes on to describe canceling as “a survival skill as old as the Southern black use of the boycott.”
Louis C.K.
It can also lend a voice to victims of misconduct. In 2019, five women came forward in a New York Times story accusing the comedian Louis C.K. of sexual harassment. Louis C.K., in a public statement, admitted the stories were true, expressing deep regret and vowing to do better. Following 2020 allegations by several employees that Bon Appetit had created a “toxic” and racially biased work environment, the food publication pledged to start “tackling more of the racial and political issues at the core of the food world.” It was a first step in the right direction that many believed was long overdue.
At its worst, however, cancel culture is punishment that can seem doled out arbitrarily and can, in some cases, potentially become dangerous. As The New York Times observes, “the term is shambolically applied to incidents online and off that range from vigilante justice to hostile debate to stalking, intimidation and harassment.” Some, like writer Roxane Gay as cited in Politico, believe a more accurate description is “consequence culture” which translates into holding people accountable for their mistakes, even ones from years past. But the Times warns it can also encourage, “just the blood-sport thrill of humiliating a stranger as part of a gleeful, baying crowd.” In 2019, music executive Scooter Braun, embroiled in a public face-off with Taylor Swift over the rights to her music catalog, claimed in an Instagram post that members of Swift’s impassioned fanbase, while demanding his cancellation, had issued, “numerous threats directed at my family. I came home tonight to find my wife had received a phone call threatening the safety of our children.”
The effects of being canceled vary just as widely, whether they’re private citizens who go viral after being posted to social media or public figures who fall from grace. As Vox points out, very few high-profile celebrities have been permanently banned from their profession. Louis C.K. for example, returned to stand-up two years later and went on to win 2022 and 2023 Grammys for Best Comedy Album. Enormous public backlash against Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling over transphobic comments actually increased sales of her work in Great Britain, according to Vox.
Al Franken
In some cases, the extent of purgatory is dictated by the designee. When it was revealed that Jessica Krug, a professor of African studies at George Washington University, born white and Jewish, had been falsely posing as a Black woman, she led the charge for her own cancellation. “I should be canceled,” she wrote in a blog post. “You should absolutely cancel me and I absolutely cancel myself.” She subsequently resigned.
In 2019, when a female radio host accused Senator Al Franken of unwanted touching and kissing that had occurred in 2006, Franken stepped down from his role. He later expressed regret over the hastiness of his decision, saying he felt exceedingly pressured at the time by other members of Congress and the court of public opinion. “My committee work would be at risk. I mean, basically losing that, my staff would be isolated,” he later told Conan O’Brien in an interview. “But it really needed to have a process, but I just couldn’t stay either. It was awful. There were no good choices.”
Dave Chappelle
The comedian Dave Chappelle, in contrast, refuted calls for his cancellation as a result of transphobic material in his acts simply by rejecting the concept. “Apparently they dragged me on Twitter,” he joked onstage. “I don’t give a f--k because Twitter’s not a real place.” As the Daily Beast reported, he sold out the Hollywood Bowl days later, telling a cheering audience, “If this is what being canceled is like, I love it.” In recent years, Tom Cruise has never addressed — let alone apologized for or explained – public outcry for his cancellation over Scientology’s allegedly abusive practices. His movie “Top Gun: Maverick” went on to break box office records last summer and receive multiple Academy Award nominations including Best Picture.
Sarah Silverman
However, in instances where there have been significant repercussions — whether it’s someone losing a job or facing the wrath of the Internet — critics of cancel culture take issue that it allows little room for growth or redemption. “I hate that term,” actress Dakota Johnson told Vanity Fair. “People can change. I want to believe in the power of a human being to change and evolve and get help and help other people.” Comedian Sarah Silverman, expressing regret over past use of blackface in her act, recently said in a podcast interview: “Of course I look back on it and cringe, but with so many people, I just think if there’s no path to redemption, if it’s just canceled…do you want people to be changed as we draw these lines in the sand or do you want them to never be changed and to be able to point at them as wrong and yourself as right? It’s righteousness porn, ultimately.”
In the wake of innumerable cancellations which have arguably become so diluted that the consequences may have ceased to matter, wouldn’t it be wonderful if, instead of canceling a person or an organization, we moved on to open-minded communication?
Actor Colin Farrell, in a recent conversation with The Guardian, expressed similar hope. “It’s a world that is so quick to pull the trigger of judgment on each other, we’re so quick to cancel now with cancel culture and all these things,” he says. “But to actually have discourse, to have conversation and exchange ideas in a way that is as open to your opinion being changed as it is to being shared is a gorgeous thing.”