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From a tool of justice to a digital witch hunt, “cancel culture” divides opinion. Born in the mid-2010s and crowned Word of the Year in 2019, the term still sparks controversy in 2025. Who does it really target – the powerful or the vulnerable?
The debate is still alive in 2025: Is cancel culture a tool of justice or a weapon of excess? The term resurfaces regularly, from university debates to international headlines, because it captures one of the defining tensions of our digital era: the balance between accountability and freedom of expression. And with social media platforms now supercharged by algorithms and artificial intelligence, the practice of “canceling” someone is faster, louder and more divisive than ever.
Origins and Rise of a Phrase
According to Merriam-Webster, cancel culture is “the practice of engaging in mass canceling as a way of expressing disapproval and exerting social pressure.” In other words, it refers to the collective withdrawal of support from an individual, a brand or an institution judged to have crossed a moral or social line.
The verb to cancel had already been used in popular culture in the early 2010s, especially in African-American Twitter communities and in music lyrics, to mean “reject” or “drop.” But the expression cancel culture itself began to circulate widely around 2016. Its visibility exploded in 2019, when the Australian Macquarie Dictionary named it Word of the Year. Later in 2021, it was also on their shortlist for Word of the Decade.
What made it so powerful was not only the idea but the medium. Social media provided the perfect echo chamber: a hashtag, a viral video or a shared screenshot could propel a call-out to global attention within hours. Algorithms, designed to privilege engagement, amplify outrage and boost the reach of cancellations beyond the traditional scope of boycotts or critical op-eds.
The Great Debate: Justice or Witch Hunt?
Supporters of cancel culture argue that it finally gives a voice to the marginalized. The #MeToo movement, for example, allowed survivors of sexual harassment to hold powerful men such as Harvey Weinstein accountable in a way that courts had failed to do for decades. For many, cancel culture is simply the modern face of boycott – an old civic tactic that once fueled the civil rights movement. Others stress that it helps redress power imbalances: thanks to platforms like Twitter or TikTok, a young activist can challenge a corporation or celebrity with unprecedented visibility.
But critics warn of the darker side. When author J.K. Rowling voiced controversial opinions on gender identity, the backlash was so intense that it seemed less like a debate than a public trial. Bill Cosby’s case – first judged in the media before reaching the courts – also showed how reputations could be destroyed in the “court of public opinion.” Detractors see in this trend the signs of a digital mob, where nuance is lost, proportionality forgotten, and where even ordinary people can suddenly become global targets for a misplaced joke. Former US president Barack Obama captured the concern in 2019, “That’s not activism. If all you’re doing is casting stones, you’re probably not going to get that far.”
Who Gets Canceled?
Perhaps the most important question today is: Who does cancel culture really target?
Celebrities, billion-dollar brands and political figures are often in the spotlight, suggesting that cancel culture mainly challenges the powerful. Yet, countless lesser-known individuals have lost jobs, reputations or safety after being “canceled” online.
If the phenomenon strikes both the famous and the vulnerable, then the debate shifts: Is it an equalizing force, or a form of selective punishment that leaves society more fractured than before?
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