There’s a chapter in my book on public shaming that doesn’t get much attention for some reason. It’s about the shaming of the monologuist Mike Daisey. But whenever a new shaming lurches upon us, I remember the brilliant way Mike Daisey described what it feels like  to be on the end of one:

“It feels like they want
an apology, but it’s a lie.” 

Mike Daisey and I were sitting in a Brooklyn
restaurant. He was a big man and he frequently dabbed the perspiration from his
face with a handkerchief that was always within his reach. 

“It’s a lie because
they don’t want an apology,” he said. “An apology is supposed to be a communion
– a coming together. For someone to make an apology someone has to be
listening. They listen and you speak and there’s an exchange. That’s why we
have a thing about accepting apologies. There’s a power exchange that happens.
But they don’t want an apology.” He looked at me. “What they want is my
destruction. What they want is for me to die. They will never say this because
it’s too histrionic. But they never want to hear from me again for the rest of
my life, and while they’re never hearing from me they have the right to use me
as a cultural reference point whenever it services their ends. That’s how it would work out best for them. They would like me to never speak
again.” He paused. “I’d never had the opportunity to be the object of hate
before. The hard part isn’t the hate. It’s the object.”