An apology is not only a statement of fact. It is an act of feeling.
And when a collective expresses true regret, it begins to heal not just the past—but itself.
In the realm of public life, apologies are often reduced to scripts. A press conference. A written statement. A ceremonial acknowledgment. The right phrases are spoken—carefully worded, legally vetted, emotionally distant.
The language might be flawless. But something is missing.
Regret.
Not the regret of inconvenience or image loss. But categorical regret—the kind that philosopher Nick Smith describes as the core emotional commitment of a true apology. Not just sorrow that harm happened, but sorrow that we did it. That we were wrong. That we failed in our deepest moral responsibilities.
When individuals feel categorical regret, we recognize it in their trembling voice, their broken silence, their unqualified sincerity.
But what does categorical regret look like when it’s not a person—but a collective?
Can a university grieve? Can a government feel shame? Can a church weep?
Smith argues: yes. And in fact, they must—if their apologies are to be more than performances.
What Is Categorical Regret?
Categorical regret is not simply an emotion. It is a moral emotion—an internal recognition that what was done was wrong, unjustifiable, and contrary to the values the apologizer claims to uphold.
For collectives, this means going beyond:
“Mistakes were made.”
“We regret the unfortunate circumstances.”
“We express deep concern over what occurred.”
These are passive expressions. They communicate inconvenience, sadness, or strategic sorrow.
Categorical regret, by contrast, sounds like:
“We failed. We did this. And we are morally grieved by our actions.”
“What we did violated the very principles we stand for. We are ashamed of our role.”
“This was not just harmful—it was wrong. And we carry sorrow not for the fallout, but for the betrayal itself.”
This kind of regret does not distance the speaker from the harm. It draws them closer to it.
It confesses—not just with the head, but with the heart.
Why Collective Regret Is So Rare—and So Necessary
Institutions are not built to feel. They are built to function. To protect themselves. To manage risk.
So when harm is exposed, many collectives respond with containment: legal language, vague sorrow, strategic silence.
But victims recognize the absence of real emotion.
They feel the coldness. The calculation. The insulation from human consequence.
And so, the apology fails.
Smith insists that categorical regret is what gives apology moral credibility. Without it, there is no real reckoning. There is only image management.
But with it, the collective becomes something more than an abstract body. It becomes a moral actor—capable not just of causing harm, but of feeling sorrow, and committing to change.
What Does Collective Regret Look Like?
While collectives cannot feel like individuals, they can communicate regret through shared voice, tone, and action:
- Through public statements that are unguarded, emotionally honest, and morally direct
- Through ceremonies and memorials that express mourning—not just for victims, but for the failure of the collective itself
- Through leaders who speak with humility and vulnerability, representing not only the institution but its soul
- Through visible grief—tears, silence, ritual—not as performance, but as recognition
- Through real transformation: policy reform, reparations, acts of repair that cost something
These expressions show that the regret is not surface-level. It lives in the bones of the institution.
When Collective Regret Is Most Powerful
There are moments when a collective apology rises to something sacred—when categorical regret is clear and unmistakable.
- When Germany mourns the Holocaust, not just in words but in national memory, education, and public monuments
- When South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission invited victims and perpetrators to cry, confess, and grieve—together
- When Australia apologized to the Stolen Generations, expressing not only policy failure but deep sorrow for a loss that cannot be undone
These are not just apologies. They are moments of collective lament.
And they carry moral weight because they were willing to grieve.
Reflection Questions for Readers:
- Have you ever witnessed a collective apology that felt emotionally empty? What was missing?
- What would it mean for an institution you’re part of to express not just accountability, but sorrow?
- What would it take for your community to say: “We are not just regretful. We are heartbroken for what we’ve done.”?
The Courage to Mourn Together
Apologies are not just about checking boxes. They are about mourning moral failure.
When collectives dare to show categorical regret, they do something remarkable: they become human again. They show that the institution is not just a machine—it is made of people. People who can remember. People who can feel. People who can change.
And that’s when the apology becomes real.
Because the deepest healing does not begin with facts or procedures.
It begins with sorrow.
It begins when we say—not strategically, but with full moral clarity:
“We are sorry.
We know what we did.
And we grieve it—together.”