The Cost of Erasure: Cancel Culture

“Cancel Culture — the modern version of the pillory.”

She says softly, as jazz drifts through the bar. Red wine glimmers in her glass, her crimson nails tapping lightly against the stem.

A sly smile crosses her lips.

“One wrong word. One clumsy phrase. And the verdict falls faster than the last drop of wine. People are no longer criticized — they’re erased.

Online. Publicly. Forever.

Who needs courts anymore? Social media is quicker.”

She leans back, black satin catching the light.

“The tragic part?

Behind every outrage sits a person. Flawed, yes.

But with a story, a life, perhaps a family.

Mistakes are human. But Cancel Culture allows no redemption, no reflection, no growth. Only exile.”

Her eyes glint in the half-light as she raises her glass.

“We may dissect. We may critique. We may expose what blinds us, seduces us, or dulls us — society, systems, institutions. But never individuals. That would be too cheap. Too cruel.”

Her gaze moves through the haze. Then, suddenly, it’s on you.

“You think you’re on the right side. But what if you’re next?”