An apology spoken is one thing.
An apology performed—lived, embodied, seen—is something else entirely.
We’ve all heard collective apologies before. Governments issuing statements. Universities publishing letters. Churches or corporations releasing carefully worded expressions of remorse.
But how often do those apologies truly move us?
How often do they feel sincere, deep, and morally transformative—not just for the audience, but for the apologizer?
In I Was Wrong: The Meanings of Apologies, philosopher Nick Smith argues that for apologies to be credible, especially when made by collectives, they must be performed. Not in the sense of theatricality or PR choreography—but in the sense of moral embodiment.
That is: the apology must be lived. Shown. Enacted. Not just said.
Because a real apology is not just a message. It’s a moral event.
Why Performance Matters in Collective Apologies
When an individual apologizes, we instinctively look for signs of sincerity: body language, tone of voice, facial expression, emotional resonance.
But collectives—institutions, governments, companies—don’t have a single voice or body. They speak through their leaders, their rituals, their decisions, their budgets.
So how do we know if a collective means it?
We look at how the apology is performed.
- Is it made in a meaningful setting or tucked into a press release?
- Is it accompanied by visible symbols of contrition or framed in self-preservation?
- Are those affected involved—or merely acknowledged?
- Does the apology cost the institution something—or is it a comfortable gesture?
Performance matters because it shows the world that the collective is not only aware of its wrongdoing—it is willing to show its vulnerability.
What a Performed Apology Looks Like
A performed apology is ritualized, embodied, and public. It communicates sincerity through actions as well as words.
Some examples include:
- Ceremonies or commemorations held at the sites of harm, involving survivors and descendants
- Moments of national silence, mourning, or lament, led by the highest representatives of the collective
- Physical gestures of humility, such as kneeling, bowing, or removing shoes
- Symbolic acts of return, such as restoring land, repatriating remains, or returning cultural artifacts
- Public memorials or educational installations that preserve the memory of harm and prevent forgetting
These are not dramatic for drama’s sake. They are moral performances—acts that invite witnesses to see, feel, and participate in the work of remorse and repair.
The Danger of Empty Ritual
Of course, not all performances are sincere. Apologies can be staged. Scripted. Managed by PR teams.
Smith warns that performance without substance becomes manipulation. It seeks to appear contrite without being accountable. It may involve tears and ceremonies—but no policy change, no redress, no risk.
This is why performance must always be grounded in:
- A detailed acknowledgment of specific harms
- A clear statement of moral wrongdoing
- Genuine regret and sorrow
- Commitments to structural change and repair
Performance amplifies apology—it doesn’t replace it.
When Performed Apology Heals
When done with integrity, performance deepens the moral impact of an apology.
- It allows communities to witness and participate in public reckoning.
- It provides space for ritualized grief and acknowledgment.
- It transforms apology into a shared moral memory, not a forgotten footnote.
- It says: “We do not hide this history—we remember it, and we change because of it.”
That kind of apology does not just speak to the past.
It speaks to future generations.
It becomes a living gesture—one that shapes identity, reforms institutions, and rebuilds trust.
Reflection Questions for Readers:
- Have you ever seen a collective apology that was deeply moving—not just because of the words, but because of how it was delivered?
- Are there public or institutional apologies you’ve seen that felt more like performance than sincerity? Why?
- What would it look like for an institution you belong to, or care about, to say sorry—not only with words, but through visible, courageous action?
When We Show We Mean It
Collective apologies are not just moral statements. They are moral acts.
And moral acts must be embodied—through presence, ritual, humility, and change.
A collective that apologizes with its whole self—with ceremony, with cost, with public witness—shows that it is not merely trying to be forgiven, but to become better.
So the next time we see an institution say “We’re sorry,” let us ask:
“How are you showing it?”
“Where are your hands, your feet, your resources, your policies?”
“How do we know you mean it?”
Because the world has enough hollow words.
What it needs now are visible apologies—apologies we can see, feel, and believe.