I’ll start this post with another song by Adamlar, because it sums up the topic in a single verse. I’ll also post the music video here so you can listen to it while you read:
The chorus goes like this:
“Be ashamed, be ashamed—can a person really not feel shame?
A conscience should be carried like a golden medallion.
Just as a single spark can set a whole forest ablaze,
they won’t forget, we won’t forget, I won’t forget.”
When I first heard these lines, I thought about them for a long time. Because when I look around me these past few years, I realize this is exactly what I feel has been missing the most.
The other day, I saw a debate on social media. A Fenerbahçe fan claimed that a Galatasaray player had received dozens of cards before joining GS but hadn’t received a single one since joining. We live in the internet age now. It’s very easy to find out that this is a lie—all the information is accessible. The truth came to light within minutes—there were sources, there were records.
But the person who shared it did so casually, without a shred of shame. Never mind that person—those defending the claim continued even more vocally, generating even more engagement. By the way, this has nothing to do with Fenerbahçe, because Galatasaray fans and fans of other teams do the same thing. Our topic is how the sense of shame is slowly changing shape and direction.
When I saw this post, my first reaction was, “Geez, don’t these people have any shame?”
Then I paused. Because that same day, I’d caught myself doing something similar in a different context. While defending a viewpoint I agreed with, I realized I didn’t actually have any evidence to support it at that moment. But I defended it anyway.
So the issue wasn’t “with them.” At least, it wasn’t just with them.
First, we need to talk about this, because in Turkish, we often use a single word to describe three distinct things: guilt, shame, and the feeling of being ashamed.
These are similar but completely different things. And understanding the difference between them changes the entire picture.
Guilt focuses on the act. It says, “What I did was wrong.”
The beauty of this statement is this: it’s the behavior that’s wrong, and behavior can be changed. That’s why guilt drives a person to make amends. You apologize, you correct it, and you don’t do it again.
Shame, on the other hand, focuses on the person. It says, “I am wrong.”
There’s nothing to change here, because you’re the one who’s flawed. That’s why shame drives a person to hide.
Psychologist June Tangney’s research on this topic shows something very clear: a person who feels guilt apologizes and tries to make amends. A person who feels shame, on the other hand, goes on the defensive, shifts the blame to others, and even gets angry. (1*)
I think this is a very important finding. Because it suggests that shame and aggression can stem from the same source.
So saying “let them feel more shame” might actually mean wanting them to be more defensive.
But there’s a third element as well. And I think that’s the one that’s really missing.
I’m not talking about the emotion that follows the incident, but rather what comes into play before it happens.
In our culture, this is called “ar,” “hayâ,” or the sense of shame. When we say “his sense of shame has been shattered,” this is exactly what we mean.
It’s not really an emotion—it’s a sensor. It kicks in before you even do the thing and asks: What will become of me if I do this?
Guilt comes later; shame comes later. But “ar” comes first.
And I think what we’ve lost as a society isn’t shame—it’s this sensor.
So how does this sensor work?
There’s something very critical here: the feeling of shame is always social.
No one feels shame alone in a room. The sensor is calibrated according to the community whose judgment you value. The question is: Who are the “they” in the question, “What will they say if I do this?”
Back in the day, that “they” was the neighborhood. It was relatives, neighbors, and coworkers—people who knew you as a whole, whom you’d run into again tomorrow, and who would remember what you did today.
Now, thanks to social media, that “they” has become your own circle.
And that brings me to the real issue.
The moral compass hasn’t died. It’s just shifted its focus.
Because your “side” now rewards behavior that used to be shameful. When you defend an obvious lie, your side doesn’t get angry at you—it cheers you on. You get likes, engagement, and comments like “that’s the way to do it.”
So it’s not that people aren’t ashamed. They’re more than ashamed. Just of other things.
Lying isn’t shameful anymore. Getting caught lying is shameful.
Changing your mind is shameful. Losing an argument is shameful. Admitting the other side is right is shameful. “Looking like a fool” is shameful.
The filter is working at full capacity. It’s just protecting the wrong things.
And I think that’s why saying “people used to feel ashamed, but now no one does” is an incomplete observation. The issue isn’t that the emotion has disappeared—it’s who it’s calibrated for.
This raises a question: so is shame a good thing or a bad thing?
To be honest, it’s both.
Jennifer Jacquet has a book titled *Is Shame Necessary?*, and her argument is this: shame is one of the rare tools that forces those in power to be held accountable. (2*) When the law falls short, when institutions fail, and when no one can impose punishment, this is sometimes the only social sanction left.
But there’s another side to the coin. In his book, in which he follows people who have been publicly shamed online, Jon Ronson describes how an ordinary person can lose their job, their social circle, and their life because of a single sentence. (3*)
In other words, the same tool becomes justice when used against the powerful, but becomes oppression when used against the powerless.
I think the difference lies here: against whom and for what purpose.
If a minister isn’t held accountable, shaming them is a legitimate tool. But collectively lynching an ordinary person over a bad joke isn’t justice—it’s a witch hunt.
And today, we’re mostly doing the latter. We’re shaming not the powerful, but whoever we can reach.
So what’s the solution?
I don’t think the way to bring back the “sensor” is to shame people even more. We’re already shaming people enough—we’re just aiming it at the wrong targets.
The only way is to be able to ask ourselves this question: Am I defending this because it’s right, or because it’s on my side?
And here’s the really hard part: being able to step back when the answer is “because it’s my side.”
Because that step back comes at a cost. Your own side will get angry at you, call you “weak,” or even “a sellout.” You won’t get likes, you won’t get engagement.
But that’s exactly where what we call “courage” needs to kick in—not when your side protects you, but when your side demands something of you.
Once again, I’d like to share these exercises I’ve prepared for myself with you:
Think about the last idea you defended. What would you say if the other side did the same thing? If your answer changes, then what you’re defending isn’t an idea.
This week, clearly tell someone that you’ve changed your mind on an issue. Pay attention to how it makes you feel.
Recall a moment when you felt embarrassed. Did you say, “What I did was wrong,” or “I’m a failure”? The two take you to very different places.
When you’re about to embarrass someone, stop and ask yourself: Is this person stronger or weaker than me?
Admit a mistake your side made without adding anything else to it. Without saying, “But they did it too.” Just try it once.
In a previous article, I wrote about the good things done by a government I didn’t support. That article drew reactions from both sides. One group said, “Have they brainwashed you too?” while the other said, “You’re still defending them.”
That’s when I realized: what really bothers people isn’t whether what you said is true or not, but the fact that you’ve strayed from the fold.
Now that I think about it, perhaps that’s exactly where your backbone is truly tested—in what you do the moment you realize no one will applaud you for speaking the truth.
I’d like to ask you, too: When was the last time you refused to defend a mistake made by your own side? And how did you feel inside when you did that?
See you in the next post. Until then, stay well.
(1*) June Price Tangney & Ronda L. Dearing, *Shame and Guilt* (2002)
(2*) Jennifer Jacquet, *Is Shame Necessary?* (2015)
(3*) Jon Ronson, *So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed* (2015)
