Hear me out: Cancel culture isn’t justice; it’s judgment

Suddenly, everyone online seems to have become a moral police. Social media has turned into a courtroom where every mistake is a crime, and everyone feels entitled to pass judgment. This is how the “cancel culture” became a thing in the Philippines, and why it’s costing us more than just reputations.

We don’t want to end up getting cancelled

Before posting or publishing something online, whether it’s a simple quote that resonates with me such as a meme or an opinion about a social issue, I always feel a quiet fear of being cancelled or silently judged by my mutuals or followers who might see it. What if someone misunderstands me? What if a single word sounds wrong, or worse, offends someone?

To make sure they won’t judge me, I start off with my grammar. I reread and rephrase my words over and over again. There’s always that split second of hesitation, which includes deleting, rewriting, contemplating, before I finally hit the post button. As if every sentence has to be perfect, to avoid being called out.

Without realizing it, the internet has become a stage where one mistake can lead to a public execution, a phenomenon now known as “cancel culture.” What once felt like a space for self-expression now feels like a minefield, every opinion risks being misread, and every person risks being labeled.

Even writing this feels risky. Because talking about cancel culture, after all, is enough to be misunderstood. But someone has to say it: what began as a way to hold people accountable has slowly turned into a cycle of outrage, one that damages mental health and silences the very conversation it was meant to start.

What really is the “cancel culture”?

In a 2024 study published in ScienceDirect by Roldan and Ong, they define cancel culture as “a prevalent boycotting practice used to exert pressure, express disapproval, and enforce consequences online.” It can also be understood as a collective act of publicly rejecting or boycotting something or someone because of their offensive behavior or unacceptable views.

Another study revealed that in Southeast Asia, cancel culture most often sparks when public figures are linked to serious issues — racism (54%), sexual assault (50%), or physical violence (48%).

The thin line between accountability and aggression

What began as a movement for accountability quickly evolved into a form of digital justice, especially in countries where real justice feels unfair or usually delayed, or the traditional systems fail, like the Philippines.

Sometimes, these online reckonings worked as a tool to demand responsibility. Many have used their voices to call out corruption, exploitation, and privilege. This was previously seen a month ago when Filipinos called out “nepo babies” who are flaunting their lavish lifestyle from alleged corruption of their family by pocketing funds that are supposed to be for flood control, given that the country is hit by an outrageous number of typhoons. In moments like this, cancel culture felt like activism.

But somewhere along the way, the outrage began to miss its mark when people became more focused on cancelling these nepo babies than holding the true culprits, which are the corrupt politicians, accountable. Instead of calling out wrongdoings, the public often attacks the person, nitpicking appearances and throwing below-the-belt comments, sometimes even death threats. And time and again, the harshest blows seemed to land on women.

This cruelty was felt deeply by one of the most outspoken Gen Z voices of her generation, Emmanuelle “Emman” Atienza. The 19-year-old influencer used her platform to speak about issues many shy away from: bullying, mental health, and even global conflicts like the Israel-Palestine war. She was fearless in her opinions, but that courage came at a cost.

When Emman spoke about nepo babies, the backlash was swift and merciless. People didn’t just disagree with her — they dissected her looks, her family, her worth. What should have been a space for discourse became a ground of insults. It’s as if every cruel comment, people seemed to forget there was a young woman behind the screen who has feelings, vulnerable, and hurting behind the screen.

This only proves that the cancel culture that’s supposed to call for accountability also exposes a deeper contradiction and easily turns into tool of aggression. Public outrage spreads more than facts, and empathy often gets lost in the noise. So when outrage becomes the loudest voice online, what happens to everyone else who just wants to talk, learn, or grow? That’s where cancel culture leaves its quietest scars, not just on public figures, but on ordinary people who are now too afraid to speak at all.

The court of public opinion

This phenomenon grew louder alongside social media’s rise. It became a courtroom where guilt is decided by trending hashtags and verdicts delivered through comments and shares. Now, every post feels like standing trial before thousands of unseen jurors, each one ready to decide whether you’re “right” or “cancelled”.

That’s why the pressure to appear “morally correct” online has made people more careful but also more anxious, performative, and self-censoring. Some stop expressing humor or unpopular opinions altogether, fearing misinterpretation or backlash.

It then results to less conversation, more condemnation. Instead of learning from mistakes, people delete them. Instead of asking questions, they stay silent. The space that once connected communities has turned into one that isolates them, terrified of becoming the next hashtag.

But maybe that’s also part of what cancel culture has taught us– to think before we speak. To be more mindful of how our words affect others. In a way, the caution isn’t entirely wrong because it reminds us that freedom of speech comes with responsibility.

The mental health toll of cancel culture

For many creators, students, and even activists, the fear of being misunderstood has become part of everyday life. But without totally understanding the line of demanding accountability and aggression, cancel culture has slowly turned into bullying and a climate of anxiety.

When someone is cancelled, the aftermath cuts both ways. Those at the center disappear under the weight of shame, fear, and anxiety. Furthermore, social isolation and depression also take place, putting the person’s mental health at risk. While those doing the cancelling often carry frustration or quiet guilt followed by overthinking if they went too far, or if outrage had simply become a reflex. In the end, both sides are left in the same emotional cycle: outrage, silence, regret.

Simply put, as the saying goes, “words cut deeper than a knife.”

Accountability needs a heart

Cancel culture was meant to remind us that actions have consequences, that people should be held responsible for what they say or do. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about growth and started being about punishment. What used to be a call for awareness turned into a contest of who can judge the loudest. And in that noise, we lost something essential — compassion.

We forget that behind every username is a person, someone who can feel embarrassed, hurt, or broken. We forget that words, even typed carelessly, can leave a mark that lasts far longer than a post. Judging others too quickly has become second nature online, and it’s frightening how easy it is to forget that our screens don’t make us invincible. The people we cancel are still human, and no amount of likes or shares should make us forget that.

Growth doesn’t come from shame; it comes from reflection and guidance. True accountability should open doors for people to do better, not trap them in their worst moments. If we want genuine change, we need to stop tearing people down and start teaching them how to stand back up.

We should never say things we wouldn’t want to hear ourselves. Because when everyone is shouting, no one is really listening anymore. Kindness and conviction are not opposites; they belong together. It takes real strength to hold people accountable without stripping away their dignity, and it takes courage to choose compassion even when you’re right.

So the next time outrage takes over your feed, take a moment to breathe before you add to it. Ask yourself whether your words will help someone grow or just push them further away. In a world that cancels faster than it forgives, maybe the bravest thing any of us can do is to stay kind.