Disrupting Punishment Logic For Good

I’ve got several thoughts I want to try to connect here today, so please hang in there with me. I have spent the last several weeks working on a report called Rethinking Viral Hepatitis Prevention: Confronting Systems That Create Risk. We will launch it later this week in Ottawa. It’s an effort in reframing hepatitis risk as a result of dangerous physical and policy environments instead of dangerous people, to make the system changes that are needed more logical.

The day I sent it to the printer, Barrie’s mayor announced another harmful and sweeping direct motion (no notice, no proper channels for public input) to address “lawlessness” in Barrie. I can’t link to the motion because it was never made publicly available, but I wrote a letter to the editor about it here. 

I felt like the report I had just written didn’t apply directly as an advocacy tool with our city council, but the framework could likely be adapted. But I also saw a very human, very real instinct playing out, one we hadn’t addressed in the hepatitis report, and I think until we talk about it, we’re going to stay stuck in this conversation about public order and consequences. 

That conversation, I think, is stuck because of a false binary: either you care about people, or you care about public order. Either you support compassion, or you support consequences. But real life isn’t that simple, and communities deserve better than these tired either/or frames.

The Instinctual Desire for Consequences
When people feel that something is wrong in a community, there is a very human instinct to want consequences.

As a parent, there have been moments when one or the other of my kids has become dysregulated and violent. In those moments, part of me has absolutely thought: they need to feel the consequences of this. I think it is an honest reaction. Maybe it comes from fear, frustration, or even a desire for safety.

But in my experience, while punishment might satisfy something in me, it rarely solves the problem in front of me. What I have learned actually helps is reducing stimulation, redirecting, creating safety, understanding what needs are not being met, and helping them return to regulation.

When I take myself out of the centre of the equation, the way forward becomes clearer. Because they are not giving me a hard time. They are having a hard time.

This week’s discussion at council reminded me of this internal mom struggle as councillors repeatedly described the consequences they wanted to be able to enforce on the “illegal activities” of homelessness, addiction, mental health, and “disorder” in our communities. It all felt a little Dr. James Dobson-y, honestly (IYKYK).

The Appearances Trap
I grew up in a church culture where appearances often seemed to matter more than wellbeing. Looking fine often mattered more than being whole. Despite everyone being relatively well-meaning, there was a lot of emphasis on how things appeared from the outside: smiling families, proper behaviour, polished faith.

Many people know some version of that story, whether from church, family, or school life.

A relevant takeaway for this conversation: institutions can become very invested in the image of wellbeing while neglecting the conditions that actually create wellbeing.

And that trap is not limited to religion.

Cities can fall into it, too:

• A downtown can be made to look orderly while people remain in deep distress. 
• Encampments can be cleared while homelessness grows. 
• Visible poverty can be pushed elsewhere while suffering intensifies. 
• Rhetoric can create the impression of action while underlying problems deepen.

We can create a veneer of wellbeing without the reality of wellbeing.

Why Punishment Appeals to Us
That heading feels uncomfortable to write, but again, I think until we confront it, we’re going to stay stuck in a face-off of ideologies.

Punishment and enforcement often feel attractive because they offer immediate rewards:

• emotional satisfaction
• a sense of control
• visible action
• moral clarity

Someone broke the rules. Authorities responded. Problem solved.
Except when it isn’t.

If someone is sleeping outside because housing is unaffordable, enforcement does not solve that. If someone is in crisis because treatment is unavailable, punishment does not solve that. If a person is dysregulated, isolated, traumatized, or desperate, consequences alone rarely create stability.

They may move the problem. They may hide the problem. They may even briefly contain the problem. But they rarely solve the problem.

Because here’s an uncomfortable truth: punishment often serves the emotional needs of observers more than the practical needs of the situation. Which raises the real question: whose needs are we putting first?

The Slower Work of Wellbeing
Real wellbeing is less dramatic.

It usually looks like:

• affordable housing
• accessible treatment and mental health care
• early intervention
• income supports
• supportive relationships
• de-escalation
• belonging
• prevention before crisis

These approaches are slower and less theatrical. They do not always produce a headline or a photo opp. They require nuance, patience, coordination, and investment.

They can also feel unsatisfying to people who want immediate relief, or who are seeking the emotional reassurance that someone has been held accountable and the world still makes sense.

I get it.

But if our goal is not just to feel like something was done, but to actually reduce suffering and improve safety, then we need to be honest about what works.

The Role of Mattering
Meanwhile, all of this has been the backdrop for my reading of Mattering by Jennifer Breheny Wallace, which explores another basic human need many of us underestimate: the need to know that we are valued and that we add value.

I’ve been thinking about how relevant that feels to recovery from the experience of homelessness.

We often talk about the need for housing, adequate income, or access to treatment, all of which are required to address homelessness and/or mental health and substance use struggles. But these struggles are also often connected to shame, disconnection, trauma, loneliness, and the internalized belief that one’s life no longer matters.

Punishment asks: “How do we control people?”
Wellbeing asks: “How do we help people matter again?”

What Do We Mean by Public Order?
This matters as municipal elections approach in Ontario, and as communities debate how to respond to visible distress in public spaces.

What do we mean by public order?

• Do we mean fewer reminders that some of our neighbours are struggling? Or do we mean fewer people struggling in the first place?
• Do we want a community that looks well? Or one that is becoming well?

Because those are not the same thing.

Maybe part of growing as communities is learning to mature past the instinct for punishment.

Not abandoning accountability, pretending harmful behaviour is harmless, or accepting chaos. But recognizing that the quickest emotional response is not always the wisest practical response.

What if we shifted from certainty about the solutions to curiosity about the causes? 

From appearances to wellbeing.
From symbolic action to real solutions.
From managing visible symptoms to building communities where fewer people reach crisis at all.

That work is slower. It is less tidy. It is often imperfect. 

But what if it works? 

I know this doesn’t solve society’s biggest problems. I’m simply offering a counter-narrative to a harmful prevailing one, and maybe a step out of this ideological stalemate. I’d love your feedback.