I'm (not) sorry
by {modal content=joequeenan}Joe Queenan {/modal}
Afew years back, an epidemic of public contrition erupted. Parents began apologizing to children. Athletes began apologizing to fans. Corporations began apologizing to shareholders. Journalists began apologizing to readers. Politicians began apologizing to everyone under the sun, including long-dead victims of oppression and injustice. This did the victims no good, but to many people, including descendants of the victims, it seemed like a very nice gesture. After all, it was the thought that counted.
Yet despite this very ostentatious, very carefully orchestrated breast-beating, there has always been something hollow and insincere about the way people go around apologizing to others. A useful example is Bernard Madoff, mastermind of the most lucrative Ponzi scheme in history. At his March hearing at a U.S. federal courthouse in Manhattan, Madoff told everyone within earshot how bad he felt about the horrible things he had done, how he understood that he had caused tremendous harm to many innocent people. Just the same, he refused to tell the feds where he was hiding the money. This implied that he was sorry for the pain he had caused by heisting $60 billion, but not for the heisting itself. In other words, “If I knew you were going to take it so personally, I might have only stolen $30 billion.”
It didn’t help that Madoff read his apology from a script. It suggested that he might have had help with some of the big words, that the apology was not his idea. Herein lies the problem. Traditionally, to qualify as an apology, the person expressing contrition must display genuine, palpable remorse. In olden times, there was even an official uniform: sackcloth and ashes. There were also official punishments. Henry II, king of England, was publicly flogged for his role in the murder of Thomas Becket, archbishop of Canterbury. The flogging was in addition to an apology. He also had to walk all the way from London to Canterbury in sackcloth and ashes. By the time that ordeal was over, he really was sorry.
Even in more recent, less theatrically vindictive times, true regret for one’s transgressions has always required a willingness to accept punishment, even if the punishment consists of nothing more than humiliation. The wrongdoer must admit that he has behaved shamefully and then accept being shamed. This means that if he is going to apologize for his actions, his apology must be abject and mortifying, with no wheedling, no qualifications, no whining. The apology cannot be used as a justification for one’s misdeeds, nor can the apology be hijacked to make the penitent seem in some way noble. For an apology to work, the apologist must get down on his knees and grovel. It is not enough to ask for forgiveness. He must beg for it.
This rarely happens anymore. In the United States, apologies have become so rote, gutless, emaciated, tortuous, insincere, and self-aggrandizing that most victims would rather not hear them. The classic contemporary apology is the one where the offender never actually admits that he has done anything wrong, but merely apologizes if the perception that he has done wrong has inadvertently offended anyone’s sensibilities. A few years ago, a famous U.S. senator held a press conference to apologize for crimes he was “alleged” to have committed. This phrasing implied that the senator was not even sure he was guilty, and was certainly not fessing up to anything specific, but was willing to apologize in an entirely backhanded way for his putative failings, on the odd chance that the allegations might prove correct. It was – or at least this is how he viewed it – the sporting thing to do. This brand of preemptive penitence is not about morality; it is about etiquette.
Here is an example: “I’m sorry if my comments about people with bad haircuts caused any pain to the poorly coiffed, or to people who know the poorly coiffed, or to people who think the term ‘poorly coiffed’ in and of itself is offensive.” Translation: “I’m not sorry that I made fun of people’s haircuts, but I’m sorry that some people with ill-advised hairstyles are so thin-skinned that they would take offense at my remarks. After all, it’s not my fault that some people have hair that looks like it got run over by a lawn mower. In a better world, the world I thought I was living in, the follicly challenged would not be so prickly. But since they are, I now wish that I hadn’t made those remarks. The next time, I’ll keep my personal feelings about people with bad hairdos to myself. The same goes for my feelings about model train hobbyists and whittlers.”
Another useful example of an insincere apology is the one where the penitent distances himself from his actions by using the passive voice. “Mistakes were made” is a classic case of a halfhearted, and ultimately meaningless, apology. Without identifying who made the mistakes, and by placing the sentence in the passive voice, the apologist acts as if the mistakes made themselves, or were made by unidentified brigands, rakes, ne’er-do-wells, second-story men, rogues, or freelance high-steppers from out of town. In short, “Accidents will happen.”
This is very similar to the use of the reflexive condition in French. La chaise s’est cassée : “The chair broke itself.” By resorting to the reflexive mode or the passive voice, the speaker suggests that the misfortune occurred because of circumstances beyond anyone’s control – that the chair itself was complicit in its own demise, and perhaps even plotted it. The real truth is, the chair broke because somebody who weighed about 350 pounds tried to change a light bulb while standing on it. The chair didn’t break itself. It’s just not the sort of thing chairs do.
When we examine the emotions that have been substituted for shame and self-reproach and disappointment in recent years, what we find more often than not are pique, discomfort, and a niggling sense that the wrongdoer himself has been inconvenienced by his actions, as if the actions were not his but had been carried out by a mischievous alter ego, perhaps on a brief visit from Bizarro World.
One exquisitely lily-livered way of saying you’re sorry when you don’t really mean it is to phrase the apology as a question: “Looking back on things now, would I have chopped down that cherry tree? I would not. But I am man enough to admit it, as I cannot tell a lie.”
A variant on this craven brand of apology is the use of the collective noun “we,” suggesting that a miscreant who was flying solo at the time of the wrongdoing actually was part of a larger entourage. For example: “Looking back on things now, would we have chopped down that cherry tree? We would not. But we are man enough to admit it, as we cannot tell a lie. None of us.” Or: “Looking back on it, would we have done things differently? Yes, looking back on it, we would have done things differently. But that’s the benefit of hindsight.” Put into historical context, this apology might read: “Looking back on things now, would we have invaded Russia and left 483,000 of our original 500,000 troops behind? Probably not. Mais oui, les mecs,mistakes were made. And as soon as I get back to Paris, we’ll find out who made them.”
To which one can only reply, “What do you mean ‘we,’ kemosabe?”
What are the roots of the insincere apology? Consider how the subject of contrition is treated in popular culture. “Regrets? I’ve had a few / But then again, too few to mention” is a famous lyric from Frank Sinatra’s signature tune “My Way.” But, of course, therein is the problem: This is exactly the opposite of what the rest of us want to hear. If you have regrets, by all means mention them. We want to hear about them. Don’t spare us the juicy details. Similarly odious is the lyric, “I beg your pardon / I never promised you a rose garden.” Here, the faux self-flagellator first apologizes for her behavior, but then neutralizes the apology by telling her victim that he had no right to expect any more than he got. “It’s not my fault you expected me to behave properly. What are you, six?” This is a variation of the cloying expression “Nobody ever said life was fair,” which is always uttered by someone least in a position to have experienced life’s unfairness. Finally, there is “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” No, love means precisely the opposite. Just ask anyone who’s ever been in love.
What lies ahead for the Great American Mea Culpa? Obviously, at some point, it would be nice if some representative of the banking industry came forward and apologized for ruining life as we know it. The correct way to do so would be to say: “I’m really sorry that my colleagues and I in the banking industry deliberately designed a gigantic, intercontinental Ponzi scheme that has brought the global economy to a standstill and impoverished our children for generations. Mere words cannot tell you how sorry we are. If it’s any consolation at all, we promise we will never do it again.”
It might also be nice if a few stock analysts, money managers, and TV commentators came forward to say, “All things considered, that call on Bear Stearns may have been a wee bit bullish.”
Meanwhile, those of an apologetic frame of mind who do not yet know the contritional ropes might take these tips to heart:
If the ethnic group or society or animal species you are apologizing to has basically ceased to exist, no apology is necessary. It makes you look small and cheap, like you’re trying to get a freebie. It’s like giving a lifetime achievement award to the dead.
Never blame your wrongdoing on high spirits, youthful indiscretion, or dizziness. The public hates that. And for best results, never mention the zeitgeist.
Never say things like “I admit that I did it, and I’m genuinely sorry, but you have to take into account that I was off my lithium at the time.” That really gets on people’s nerves.
Avoid phrases like “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” For starters, it sounds arrogant. Worse still, he who is without sin – and there are usually quite a few of these people at things like zoning board meetings – will usually not hesitate to cast the first stone, and a lot of other stones after that. So the whole thing could backfire on you.
Stay away from phrases like “Hindsight is always 20/20,” “There’s nothing easier than being a Monday morning quarterback,” “This is a case of the pot calling the kettle black,” and “Those who can do; those who can’t criticize.” A simple “I’m sorry – I can’t imagine what I was thinking of when I bought Bank of America at 95” will do.
Finally, never, ever say “My bad.” We know that it’s your bad. You’re the one who threw the ball out of bounds. You’re the one who ran the red light. You’re the one who issued the bonuses to the big earners at AIG. It’s not as if we’re likely to confuse you with somebody else. We’ve got it all on tape. Again, a simple “I’m sorry – I deserve to be flogged” will do nicely.
Sorry if this has gone on a bit.
{modalcontent joequeenan}Joe Queenan is an essayist, a critic, and a man with a sharp sense of humor. He is a regular contributor to the New York Times Book Review , theLos Angeles Times , the Guardian , Playboy , and our pages. His memoir,Closing Time , was published this year. One thing he never does in print is suffer fools, and when you read his essay “I’m (not) sorry” this month, you will see why he is fed up with insincere apologies.{/modalcontent}