On Apologies
I have been thinking a lot about apologies lately. Particularly how powerful they are to aid healing and restore relationships, and how an apology that is half-baked or underdone or passive-agressive is worse than no apology. I mean, an apology that doesn’t include the words “I’m so sorry for [insert transgression here] and I now know this was [insert adjective here] and here is what I will do to a) ensure it doesn’t happen again and b) make it up to you by [insert restitution here] ” isn’t an apology. The crucial thing is for the apologiser to take responsibility or ownership for what they did because an “I’m sorry” without behaviour change is pure manipulation. And don’t get me started on the “I’m sorry you feel that way” non-apology, which is an insincere deflection that offers no accountability for the actions of the apologiser. In fact, this non-apology implies that the apologisee is either too senstive or their response is an irrational overreaction or both and is a gaslighty attempt to silence the wronged party. Grrr.
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The earliest recorded apology was attributed to Socrates, and recorded in Plato’s dialogue, “Apology”. Socrates was on trial in 399BC for (allegedly) corrupting the youth of Athens by encouraging them to question tradition and challenge authority. There was also a charge of impiety, where Socrates was accused of undermining the religious foundation of Athens with his refusal to acknowledge local gods. His apology was delivered during his defence, where Socrates apologised not only his manner of speech but also for any unintended offence or consequences caused by his philosophical enquiries and teachings. This speech is significant in the Western canon for a number of reasons, not least because it stands as a tesament to Socrates’ commitment to personal truth and virtue, even if it meant persecution and death. It provides insight into Socrates’ philosophy and his commitment to questioning assumptions, seeking truth and living an examined, ethical life.
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Last year, I made two formal complaints to the university about a course I had studied. My complaints were about 1) the poor quality of the content and sub-standard delivery of the course and 2) the administration of the exam at the end of the course. My complaints went all the way up the chain to the student ombudsman, where I said that one of the outcomes I wanted was an apology to the students. The university conceded that my claims were correct, and while they bumped up exam marks by an extra 5 (which didn’t affect my grade at all), no apology was forthcoming. Most students, including myself, received no benefit from an extra 5 marks, but what was noticed was the lack of apology from the Executive Dean, who notified me (us) of the outcome. Nothing about how shitty the course was. Nothing about how badly the exam was administered. Nothing about the stress and anxiety caused to students. Nothing. Nada. Zip. The university has form in delivering sub-standard courses, and no apology means no acknowledgement of responsibility, which means no commitment to improvement.
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An apology doesn’t weaken a person (or organisation). An apology shows empathy, compassion and strength. Kevin Rudd, former Prime Minister of Australia has/had many faults but his ability to make a significant apology to the Stolen Generations is not one of them. On 23 February 2008, he formally apologised to Indigenous Australians on behalf of the Australian Government for the past policies of forcibly removing Indigenous children from their families, a tragic legacy of UK colonisation. These policies were designed to “assimilate” Indigenous Australians into the general population, with the long-term view of (yes, this is true) wiping out the race. Rudd acknowledged the deep pain and suffering caused by the actions of the Government, and expressed remorse for the injustices inflicted on the Stolen Generations. He emphasised the importance of reconciliation, and pledged to work towards healing the wounds of the past and building a better future for all Australians, based on mutual respect and understanding. Previous Prime Ministers and Governments did not want to apologise, fearing litigation, which was pretty much baseless.
The Catholic Church has issued various apologies to victims of sexual abuse by clergy members over the years. In Australia, with the conviction of Cardinal George Pell (now deceased) overturned by the High Court, the damage is ongoing, although a National Redress Scheme has been set up to handle compensation (for want of a better word) for victims. The scheme was established after the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse. Royal Commissions are one of the best vehicles for harmed individuals’ voices to be heard, and while Royal Commissions don’t fall under the banner of a formal apology, they are an acknoweldgement that harm was done. As an addendum to the Pell case, the father of a victim (now deceased) is suing the Church as a secondary victim of child abuse; the Church tried to excuse itself, arguing that the man was not a direct victim. The High Court ruled otherwise and the claim is progressing through the Victorian Supreme Court. Restorative justice, while not exactly an apology, is powerful.
I always thought my mother was the villain in our family narrative, but the older I get and the more I ponder my family circumstances, the more I point the finger at my father. I have a clear memory of him on the front steps of our house — when I was four years old — saying that he was leaving my mother, and who would I like to live with? Of course, I said I wanted to stay with my mother. At four years old, what did I know? He then disappeared from the lives of my sister and I, leaving me in particular — as the oldest — to “experience” my mother’s brand of “love”. I met my father in my late twenties because I was curious; he was easy to track down. When we met, he told me he had always wanted to be a father and he had been robbed of that when he left my mother. He made the decision to leave, but he was the one who was robbed? There was no explanation as to why he ceased contact with us; there was certainly no apology, but it was I guess disappearing was the easiest course of action for him — he could move on with his life, and we were left to move on with ours without him. The thing is: he knew what my mother was like — apparently he developed a drinking problem while he was married to her because she was so nasty — and he left us, his supposedly beloved children, the children he wanted to be a father to, with her anyway. He wasn’t robbed: we were. I often wonder in what direction my life would have gone if I had have gone with my father all those years ago. Of course, I’ll never know because the damage was done.
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What to say when you get a shitty, no-apology “apology”:
Them: I’m sorry you feel that way.
You: Don’t apologise for my feelings. Apologise for what you did.
Them: Well, I’m sorry if you were offended.
You: Don’t apologise for my reaction. Apologise for your words.
Them: I’m sorry. I really am. But I’ve been so stressed lately.
You: You don’t need to apologise for what your stress has done to you. But you do need to apologise for what it did to me.
Adapted from the Jefferson inspire Facebook Page.
About the #12Essays2024 Challenge
I haven’t given my blog much love or attention over the last couple of years. I wasn’t in the headspace to write, at least not the personal essays I’m known for. But in the words of George Costanza: I’m back, baby. I’ve made a commitment to write one essay a month in 2024 — a slimmed down version of the #26Essays2017 challenge I set for myself in the first year I was in Vietnam. I will be experimenting with structure and form, so you might see some weird stuff. Please stick with me. Some essays will be short, and others will be split into parts because they are long. Maybe I’ll end up publishing them into a collection. Who knows?
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