Before You Judge

Judging Before Verifying

When something happens in a community, people form opinions fast.

They see someone angry. They see someone apologizing. They assume the angry person must be justified and the apologizing person must be guilty.

This is not evidence. This is vibes.

The Witch Hunt Dynamic

Here’s what often happens:

1. Person A wrongs Person B (or B believes they were wronged)
2. Person B gets very angry, treats it as high severity
3. Person A fawns, apologizes, appeases
4. Bystanders see: angry person + apologizing person
5. Bystanders assume: “They must have done something bad”
6. A witch hunt begins based on zero actual information

The bystanders never asked what happened. They never heard from primary sources. They just read the room and picked a side.

Witch Hunts Never Ended

The Inquisition. The Crusades. The Salem witch trials. Centuries of torture, execution, and genocide—carried out by people who genuinely believed they were doing good.

The Inquisitors weren’t cartoon villains. They believed they were saving souls from eternal damnation. When they tortured someone into confessing heresy, they believed they were giving that person a chance at heaven. When they burned someone alive, they believed they were protecting their families, their communities, their God.

They had supreme goodness. They were acting from love—love of God, love of family, love of the very people they were destroying. What they lacked was wisdom. They couldn’t see that their beliefs were distorting reality. They couldn’t see that they were the monsters in the story.

“All people’s actions are sane and reasonable, given their beliefs about the world they are operating within.”
— Logan King

“Never assume malice, where belief will do.”
— Logan King

This is the Rescuer in its most dangerous form. The Inquisitor saw himself as saving souls — and the urgency of something terrible will happen if I don’t act now is exactly what drove him to cause harm. When you’re caught in the Rescuer role, becoming the Perpetrator is always a danger.

Most people today look back at the witch trials and think: Those people were insane. Witches don’t even exist. They were just murdering innocent people.

And because we don’t hear about literal witch hunts anymore, we assume the behavior stopped.

It didn’t. The label changed. The behavior never stopped.

We tell ourselves those people were different from us. Less civilized. Less educated. Stupider. We’ve evolved past that. We know better now.

We haven’t. We don’t.

Human nature hasn’t changed. The pattern of hearing a scary accusation, feeling righteous fear, and attacking someone before verifying what’s true — that happens just as often today as it did in Salem. We just use different words. “Witch” became “heretic” became “communist” became “predator.”

The certainty people feel that they’re doing good while causing extreme harm — that never stopped either. The Inquisitors didn’t feel guilty. They felt righteous. And so do the people launching witch hunts today. They genuinely believe they’re protecting the vulnerable. They genuinely believe they’re on the right side. They have no idea they’re the ones causing harm.

The only thing that changed is the target. The accusation. The scary word that activates the fear and bypasses verification.

Today, in sex-positive spaces, that word is often “predator.”

This is the uncomfortable truth: Being a good person is not enough.

You can have a pure heart. You can genuinely want to protect people. You can believe with absolute certainty that you’re fighting evil. And you can still be the one causing the most harm in the room.

The Inquisitors weren’t bad people. That’s what makes it terrifying. They were good people — faithful, devoted, sincere — who lacked the wisdom to see that their beliefs were wrong. And because they couldn’t see it, they tortured and killed with a clean conscience.

If you’re operating on belief without verifying reality, you could be doing the same thing right now. Smaller scale, maybe. But the same pattern. The same certainty. The same blindness.

You’re Not Immune

Here’s a test: If someone pricks a girl’s clitoris with a needle—reducing sensitivity slightly—we Americans call it genital mutilation. We despise the cultures that do it. We consider it barbaric.

If someone cuts off a section of a boy’s penis—removing tissue containing a significant portion of nerve endings—we call it circumcision. We consider it normal.

Whatever your opinion on circumcision—notice how differently you feel about these two procedures. That difference in feeling is the filter. That’s what we’re talking about.

(For the full story of how this practice became normalized—and why it’s a prime example of Rescuer harm at scale—see the case study.)

Most People Aren’t Predators

Here’s something important, based on lived experience in these spaces:

Nine times out of ten, when something goes wrong, it’s not malice. It’s a mistake made by a good person.

They weren’t trying to harm anyone. They misread a signal. They got caught up in a moment and forgot a boundary. They didn’t notice something they should have. They’re horrified when they realize what happened, and they want to fix it.

But we don’t act like this is true. We act like predators are everywhere.

The Fear That Distorts Everything

We carry stories in our heads:

• Stories of rapists
• Stories of abusers
• Stories of powerful people who don’t care who they hurt
• Cultural mythology that the wealthy/successful/confident are selfish and predatory

These stories make us afraid. And fear makes us see threats that aren’t there.

When something happens, our fear whispers: “This could be one of those people.” And we lean toward interpreting their actions as malicious—even when overwhelmingly, they’re not.

The Reality in These Spaces

In sex-positive and somatic communities specifically:

• These are often small, interconnected spaces where everyone knows each other
• Actual predators get identified and removed quickly
• Most people are there specifically because they value consent and care
• The overwhelming majority of incidents are good-faith mistakes

If you’ve been in these spaces, you’ve probably seen this: someone makes a mistake, gets treated like a monster, and everyone later realizes it was a miscommunication with a person who genuinely wanted to do better.

What This Means for You

Before you judge someone as malicious, consider:

• Is there a good-faith explanation for what happened?
• Would a well-meaning person have made this mistake?
• Are you assuming the worst because you’re afraid, not because you have evidence?

The person you’re judging is probably not a predator. They’re probably someone like you who messed up.

That doesn’t mean there are no consequences. That doesn’t mean harm didn’t happen. But it does mean your response should match the reality—a mistake by a good person—not the fear of what they could have been.

What “Predator” Actually Means

When people hear “predator,” they think: someone who intentionally causes harm. Someone who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t care.

But most people who get called “predator” aren’t that. Here’s what’s actually happening:

• Most “predators” — righteous predators. People operating from harmful beliefs they’ve never questioned. They genuinely think they’re in the right. They’re causing harm while feeling like heroes.
• Some “predators” — good people who made an unconscious mistake and got labeled before they could offer or complete repair. Autopilot errors. Moments of impairment. Often the primary victims of righteous predators.
• Very few “predators” — selfish predators. People who deliberately, knowingly cause harm for their own benefit.

The word “predator” implies the last category. But the reality is almost always the first two. Most predators aren’t selfish. They’re righteous. And that’s what makes them so hard to see — including when you’re being one.

90% of Predators Are Just Like You

Here’s the uncomfortable extension: even when someone IS causing real harm — high-severity harm, the kind that looks unmistakably predatory — they’re usually not a calculating monster.

They’re a scared human in rescuer mode. Certain they’re protecting someone. Certain they’re on the right side. Causing massive harm while feeling completely righteous.

The person making death threats? Probably terrified, convinced they’re defending the vulnerable. The person destroying someone’s reputation? Probably certain they’re warning the community about a real threat. The person launching the witch hunt? They ARE the predator in that moment — causing significant harm — while feeling like a hero.

90% of “predators” — meaning people causing significant harm — are just like you. Someone who hasn’t fully checked their stories. Someone whose fear is running the show. Someone who could wake up tomorrow and be horrified at what they did.

This doesn’t excuse the harm. It explains where it comes from. And it means: if you’re scared, certain, and ready to act — you might be about to become what you’re afraid of.

Facilitators Especially

It’s not that facilitators and those in authority roles are 10x more likely to be bad people. It’s that 10x more people are asking if they are.

The scrutiny is higher. The assumptions are darker. And when something goes wrong, the leap to “predator” is faster—even though the base rate of actual predators is no higher than anywhere else.

Being Selfish Is Hard

Most people assume being selfish is easy and being selfless takes strength. It’s the opposite.

(Yes, there are people for whom selfishness comes easy—and they tend to prefer it. But 9 out of 10 people reading this right now would have a comically painful time doing one thing they genuinely perceived as selfish. And if they managed it, the sinsickness would eat at them until they did something that felt like atonement.)

It’s easier to give than to receive. It’s easier to fold under pressure and say “okay, okay” than to stand up for yourself against wrongful accusations.

Standing up for yourself when you’re being attacked—especially when you made an honest mistake—is genuinely hard. Not because you’re weak, but because honoring the self is the ultimate act of courage.

At some workshops and retreats, there’s an exercise based on Betty Martin’s Wheel of Consent. Facilitators ask: “Which quadrant do you feel most comfortable in—serving, taking, allowing, or receiving?”

Most people step into serving. The smallest groups are always taking and receiving.

This isn’t a character flaw. It might be baked into our human nature as beings who need each other to survive. But our culture has also placed such negative weight on receiving—calling it selfish—that most people are scared out of any role that could be perceived that way.

And here’s the important distinction: for most people, the pain isn’t “what if others think I’m selfish?” The pain is “I don’t want to be a bad person.” They’ve internalized the story that receiving is bad—so receiving genuinely conflicts with their need to feel good about themselves. It’s not social fear. It’s foundational identity pain.

The irony: receiving is necessary. If you can’t receive income, you can’t take care of yourself or anyone else. In play spaces, there’s far more pleasure when you can allow moments of pure receiving—mixed with moments of pure giving later. But if someone’s trying to give you pleasure and you’re scrambling to serve them back simultaneously, that stops pleasure. For both of you.

And the Ones Who Are Selfish?

All of the above addresses the 9 out of 10 who find selfishness painful. But what about the ones who don’t?

People aren’t usually evil. They’re hungry and naive hunters.

Even the less empathetically inclined—the ones who default to taking more than they give, who operate transactionally, who genuinely don’t feel the pull toward generosity that most people do—are usually just meeting their needs with the only strategies they know. They have the same needs everyone has: connection, validation, safety, pleasure. Their strategies for meeting those needs just happen to be unpleasant for the people around them.

Selfishness is just unskilled need-seeking.

That doesn’t excuse the harm. But it reframes what you’re looking at. You’re not looking at an evil person who does evil things because they’re bad. You’re looking at a hungry person with bad tools.

Are You a Qualified Source?

Before you judge someone, before you assess severity, before you take any action—ask yourself:

Do I actually know what happened?

The Checklist

If you answered “no” to these, your opinion is unqualified.

Witnessing Isn’t Enough

Even if you saw something with your own eyes, you are not automatically qualified.

Why? Because the moment you witness something, you create a story about what you saw. And that story is filtered through your biases, assumptions, and trauma.

You might see:

• Two people interacting
• One person looking upset
• The other person leaving

And you create a story: “That person did something wrong.”

But you don’t know:

• What was said
• What was agreed to beforehand
• What either person was actually feeling
• Whether your interpretation matches reality

Witnessing is raw data. Your interpretation of that data can be completely wrong.

The only way to know if your story is true is to verify with the people involved. If you haven’t done that, you don’t actually know what happened—you just have a story you made up.

You don’t know what to believe yet. And that’s okay—it’s honest.

The Tool That Changes Everything

There’s a framework from Authentic Relating that is invaluable for checking your stories before you act on them. It’s called Notice, Feel, Story.

Here’s how it works:

1. Notice — State what you actually observed. Just facts, no interpretation.
2. Feel — State the emotion you experienced. Not a thought disguised as a feeling.
3. Story — State your interpretation explicitly as a story, then ask if it’s true.

Example

Instead of: “You abandoned me!” (accusation based on story)

Say: “I noticed you left without saying anything. I felt hurt and confused. My story is that you didn’t want to be around me anymore. Is there any truth to that?”

Why This Is Invaluable

It separates feelings from stories. Your feelings are valid. Your story might be completely wrong. This framework lets both be true simultaneously.

It reveals your interpretations as interpretations. When you practice saying “my story is…” you start to realize how much of what you “know” is actually made up. You saw something, you created a story, and you’ve been treating that story as fact.

It creates a non-charged way to verify. Instead of accusing, you’re inquiring. Instead of attacking, you’re checking. The other person can correct the story without invalidating your feelings.

It prevents witch hunts. If everyone used this tool before spreading information, most mob dynamics would never form. “My story is…” invites correction. “You did X!” invites war.

Use This Before You Judge

Before you:

• Make accusations
• Tell others what “happened”
• Respond with HIGH severity
• Form an opinion about someone’s character

Stop and ask yourself: Is this what happened, or is this my story about what happened?

Then go check.

See: Notice, Feel, Story — The full tool with examples

Primary Sources Matter

A primary source is someone who was directly involved in or witnessed the incident.

A secondary source is someone who heard about it from someone else.

If your only information comes from secondary sources:

• You don’t know if they did their due diligence
• You don’t know what was lost in translation
• You don’t know what was added or distorted
• You’re trusting human telephone

Human nature is to assume things without evidence. Don’t trust that others verified before forming their opinion.

The Fawning Trap

When someone fawns after being accused or confronted:

• They apologize reflexively
• They try to de-escalate
• They look guilty even when they’re not

Bystanders read this as confirmation: “See, they’re apologizing, they must have done it.”

Apology is not admission of guilt. It may be a trauma response.

The Hidden Disagreement

Here’s what bystanders don’t see: the person fawning may completely disagree that they deserve what’s happening.

If the accuser feels like a genuine threat—someone who could hurt their reputation, rally others against them, or escalate further—the fawner’s survival instinct kicks in. They appease. They don’t stand up for themselves. They just try to get through the moment alive.

Internally, they may be thinking:

• “This is bullshit, but I’m scared”
• “They’re overreacting, but they’re too angry to hear me”
• “If I push back, this gets worse”

So they apologize. Not because they agree. Because they’re afraid.

Apology under threat is not agreement. It’s survival.

The Explanation Trap

This might be the single most common way good people get destroyed.

When someone can’t explain why they made a mistake, we interpret the gap as guilt.

“Why did you do that?” We demand an explanation. And if they can’t give us a satisfying answer, we conclude: “If they can’t explain it, they must be hiding something. They must have meant to do it.”

This is almost always wrong. And it causes enormous harm.

Unconscious mistakes often don’t have satisfying explanations.

Think about the popcorn metaphor. When you burn popcorn, you can say “I wasn’t paying attention.” But you’ve been inattentive before without burning popcorn. So why this time?

Sometimes there isn’t a deeper reason. That’s what makes it an unconscious mistake—they weren’t thinking when it happened. And demanding an explanation they can’t give, then treating that absence as proof of malice, is how communities destroy innocent people.

And here’s the double bind: when someone tries to explain an unconscious mistake, their explanation often sounds like excuse-making or manipulation. Because they’re essentially figuring it out in real-time—explaining it to themselves while explaining it to you. The explanation won’t be clean. It won’t prove innocence. And observers interpret this fumbling as evidence of guilt too.

Sometimes the most honest answer is simply: “I don’t know why I did that.”

That answer feels unsatisfying. It doesn’t give closure. But it’s often the truth.

Lack of explanation is not evidence of guilt. It’s often just evidence that the mistake was unconscious.

This single misunderstanding is behind countless character assassinations, destroyed reputations, and people being removed from their communities — for a small mistake they simply couldn’t articulate why they made.

A Reflection

Think of the last time you formed an opinion about someone based on something you heard.

Did you talk to them directly? Did you hear their side? Or did you just hear an accusation, feel something rise in your chest, and let that feeling become your verdict?

Here’s what’s uncomfortable: that feeling of righteous certainty is the same feeling the Inquisitor had.

He wasn’t conflicted. He wasn’t suppressing guilt. He felt clear. He felt like he was protecting the innocent. He felt like he was on the right side of history.

That feeling wasn’t evidence he was right. It was evidence he was captured by a belief he couldn’t see past.

The next time you feel absolutely certain someone is a predator, a bad person, a threat — notice the certainty itself. That certainty is not proof. It’s a warning. It means you’ve stopped questioning. It means your filter is running the show.

The Inquisitor never questioned his certainty. That’s why he could torture with a clean conscience.

What makes you different?

Whatever you just answered — would the Inquisitor have said the same thing?

What To Do Instead

If you’re a bystander:

1. Suspend judgment until you have primary information
2. Ask directly: “Can you tell me what happened?”
3. Hear all sides before forming an opinion
4. Consider bias: Is this person angry? Hurt? Do they have stakes?
5. Recognize your limits: “I don’t know enough to have an opinion on this”

If you’re being judged unfairly:

1. Recognize that bystanders are operating on incomplete information
2. Consider telling your side to primary witnesses who can vouch
3. Ask: “Do you actually know what happened, or are you going on what you’ve heard?”

If you’re a facilitator:

1. Don’t let witch hunts form from vibes
2. Gather primary source accounts before taking action
3. Recognize when the “victim” may be over-responding
4. Protect people from mob judgment based on gossip

The Standard

Before I judge, I need to know. Before I know, I need to verify. If I haven’t verified, my opinion is unqualified.

Not having an opinion is more honest than having an uninformed one.

When You Can’t Verify

Sometimes verification is inconclusive. You’ve checked with primary sources, asked questions, done your due diligence — and you still don’t know what really happened. Maybe the accounts conflict. Maybe nobody witnessed it. Maybe determining the truth would cost more time and effort than you’re willing to spend. What then?

You still have honest options. You just don’t have the option of pretending you know.

“I don’t know, and I’m choosing to set a boundary.” You can decide not to interact with someone, not to invite them back, not to take the risk — while openly acknowledging that you don’t know what actually happened. That’s a conscious choice made from honest uncertainty. It’s fundamentally different from “they’re a predator and I know it.” One is a personal risk assessment. The other is a conviction based on a story you couldn’t verify.

“I don’t know, and I’m choosing to stay in connection with more awareness.” You can decide to keep someone in your life while paying closer attention going forward. Not because you’ve convicted them and are generously giving them a second chance — because the data was incomplete and you’re choosing trust while staying alert. You watch for patterns, not from suspicion, but because you’re being responsible about what you don’t know.

The dangerous option: “I couldn’t verify, so I’ll go with my gut.” Which in practice means going with your story. This is how most people handle inconclusive verification — and it’s exactly how righteous predators are born. The uncertainty feels uncomfortable, so the mind fills it with certainty it didn’t earn.

When others ask what happened. This is where it matters most. Whether you chose to set a boundary or stay in connection, when someone asks you about the situation, the honest answer is what you actually know — which is that you don’t know. “I noticed [what you observed]. I don’t know what actually happened. I chose to [what you chose] based on my own comfort level. Make your own assessment.”

That’s radically different from “I distanced myself because they’re dangerous” — which recruits others into your unverified story. Saying “I don’t know” lets others evaluate for themselves. Saying “they’re dangerous” turns your uncertainty into their certainty — and now you’ve become exactly the influence pattern this book warns about.

It’s always better to say “I don’t know” than to present a story as fact. Whether you’re setting a boundary or keeping someone close, owning your uncertainty honestly — to yourself and to others — is the difference between acting responsibly from incomplete information and playing Russian roulette with someone’s reputation.

Related

• Appropriate Response — Can’t respond appropriately without good info
• Fawning — Apology ≠ guilt
• Trauma & Filters — Anger ≠ justification
• Severity — Can’t assess without knowing what happened