By Greg Schaller
A moment of awkwardness at a Coldplay concert in Boston has turned into a full-blown public spectacle—and a troubling sign of the times. During a kiss cam segment during the concert, the now former CEO of tech company Astronomer was seen with his arms around the company’s director of Human Resources. The couple, who are not married to each other (and apparently already married to others), were no doubt in violation of the company’s HR policies. Within days, Andy Byron resigned.
As the video took social media by storm, what followed was an onslaught of public humiliation, mockery of the illicit couple, and the likely destruction of careers, families, and reputations. Millions of people have viewed the video, and the ensuing memes, satire, commentary, and video spoofs promoted by individuals and corporations alike have made this one of the most talked about controversies in recent weeks. Should the actions taken by the offending couple be protected? Absolutely not. Rather, we should consider why the masses decided to pile on the social media outrage machine and if the wide-spread onslaught of public shaming was a proportionate response.
Historically, shame was different. Families, churches, and local communities held their members to moral standards. If someone committed a grave offense—say, infidelity or betrayal—they could be confronted, corrected, even publicly admonished. But that rebuke came from people who knew them: their pastor, their spouse, their neighbors, or other mediating institutions. The goal wasn’t humiliation—it was repentance, reconciliation, and restoration.
Traditionally, moral failing was handled by the church or town elders—those who had actual standing in the life of the offender. Public confession was a means of repair, not destruction. The logic of that kind of shame was built on three pillars: known standards, relational proximity, and redemptive purpose.
But what happened to Andy Byron reflects none of these. While not defending him, we need to consider why there was public outrage. Our culture routinely glamorizes sex without commitment and treats marriage and fidelity as outdated. If we’re honest, most of the viral glee wasn’t moral outrage—it was schadenfreude, pure and simple.
And most of those judging Byron have no relationship to him. The internet mob doesn’t know his story, his family, his past, or even whether their assumptions are true. What they do know is that they were entertained by his humiliation—and that piling on gives them a quick dopamine hit of superiority.
Most disturbingly, there’s no redemptive arc here. The goal of the mob isn’t repentance, or accountability, or healing. It’s destruction. It’s a public stoning with smartphones instead of rocks, but no one wants to restore the accused—only ruin them.
Byron resigned within days. Whatever else may be true of his character or conduct, it’s unlikely that the digital mob made him a better man. More likely, it made him more guarded, more resentful, and more isolated. That’s what viral shame does. It doesn’t call people upward—it drags everyone down.
Even the harshest forms of historic public punishment—stocks, pillories, town-square rebukes—were generally imposed by a community with clearly defined values and moral purpose. They had an end in view. They were finite. Today’s digital mobs are permanent, infinite, indiscriminate, and driven more by amusement than by moral clarity.
So, what should we do? First, we should rediscover the lost art of minding our own business. The fact that something awkward or embarrassing is caught on camera doesn’t mean it’s ours to judge, share, or mock.
Second, we should rebuild and reinvest in the small, meaningful institutions that make real accountability possible: families, churches, neighborhoods. If Andy Byron did violate a moral standard, that’s a matter for his wife, his family, his friends, and perhaps his church to address—not TikTok.
Third, we should refuse to participate in digital shaming culture. When something goes viral, pause before you comment or share. Ask yourself: Do I know the whole story? Would I want this shared if it were me or someone I loved? Is this helping anyone?
Scripture tells us that “love covers a multitude of sins.” That doesn’t mean ignoring wrongdoing—it means dealing with it in love, in truth, and in person. That’s how correction works in a healthy society: locally, relationally, and redemptively.
The kiss cam scandal shouldn’t have been national news. And it certainly shouldn’t be a model for how we treat one another in the public square. True shame—the kind that calls people back to virtue—can be healthy. But viral shame, rootless and cruel, has no place in a moral society.
Greg Schaller serves as the director of the Centennial Institute, the conservative think tank of Colorado Christian University. He has taught politics at CCU, Villanova University and St. Joseph’s University. He holds a B.A. in political science and history from Eastern University and an M.A. in political science from Villanova University.
