I was sitting in a conference in the basement of the Birks building, staring through the floor as the TA mumbled something about critical thinking… and I suddenly noticed that one of my classmates was still wearing his boots.

As a rule-following person in general, I’ve followed the Birks rule of removing my shoes upon entrance since hearing about it in first year. I had assumed it was to protect what look to me like nice marble floors in a beautiful building, but it wasn’t until earlier this year that I noticed the posters about the risk of slipping on wet stone floors and the ambulance ride that might follow. “Ah,” I thought to myself, “how sensible! If all of us wear our boots inside, the floors will be slippery from the snowmelt, and someone could break their neck while coming down the stairs. What smart staff we have.”

The risk of slipping and the clearly-displayed posters about it make the decision to remove my boots obvious, to me. So, why hadn’t my classmate? There, in my political science conference, the economics side of my brain switched on and delivered the answer: moral hazard.

After the 2008 financial collapse, everyone was talking about moral hazard. Technically speaking, moral hazard is the “lack of incentive to guard against risk where one is protected from its consequences.” In other words, if I’m gambling with someone else’s money, I will care less about the risk of losing it than I would if it was my own.

This is especially true where there is a cost to caution. Taking off your boots takes effort and time, two things not easily parted with for a harried student late to conference. There are also the risks of theft and of stepping in someone else’s icy snowmelt while protected by nothing but soft, absorbent cotton.

At the same time, my still-shod classmate is guarded against the consequences of leaving his boots on. Because few people do so, there isn’t much snowmelt for him to slip on, and slipping on his own wet footprints would require a walk of Monty Python-esque silliness. The discomfort of squelching through cold water in socks is also avoided, as is the risk of theft. So, he saves the ‘costs’ of caution and experiences none of the consequences by clunkily tip-toeing around the rules.

This idea, call it moral hazard or whatever else you will, explains why there are always a few that work against the interests of the whole in group settings. Whether it’s leaving an insured car unlocked in a sketchy parking garage, taking up smoking after taking out health insurance, or selling bundles of worthless loans to elderly pensioners, moral hazard is everywhere. It is enabled by global commerce and perpetuated by self-interested hunter-gatherer brains mismatched with collectively-minded societies—though to be fair to capitalism, it also makes communism unworkable.

To solve moral hazard, we need to catch transgressors, whether red-handed or red-booted, and punish them to dissuade further offences. Monitoring can be tricky; thankfully, punishment is quite easy. Legal measures may spring to mind first, but public shaming is sometimes even more effective—hence historical combinations like stockades and tomatoes. Modern forms of shaming exist as well, though usually in more whimsical forms. For example, the aptly-named Antanas Mockus, former mayor of Bogota, hired mimes to ridicule jaywalkers and litterers. His program was a massive success, dramatically improving traffic flows and tidiness in the city.

Once we have that sorted out, maybe we could take off our boots without fear once again.

Having spent much of my life growing up in the American South, I have experienced a number of events that have made me question my faith in human decency. In middle school, I was called a faggot, a fairy, and a queer—all in the derogatory sense. My classmates had parents and grandparents who were involved with the Ku Klux Klan. My synagogue had no windows facing the street to deter bombings, and we had to hire police officers to guard our Yom Kippur services due to threats from neo-Nazis.

Two years ago, I stood in front of my polling place urging my fellow North Carolinians to vote against a constitutional amendment that would ban same-sex marriage, depriving me of the right to marry the person I love. The amendment passed with over 60 per cent of the vote. So believe me when I say that I fully understand the need for equity, both on university campuses and larger society.

However, the recent controversy over Brian Farnan’s much ridiculed apology underscores a problem of alienation with the Students’ Society of McGill University’s (SSMU) approach to social justice. While fostering an environment free of discrimination and violence is certainly a worthwhile endeavour, our penchant for nitpicking and righteous indignation serves as an obstacle in addressing the systemic problems that impede the progress of historically marginalized groups. In a previous article that I wrote in these pages, I mentioned how policies such as policing costumes at 4Floors fail to rectify the lack of visible minorities on McGill’s faculty and within the student body.

Quick fixes such as these, whereby we avoid offence at the expense of combatting persistent forms of oppression, encourage criticism and contribute to an image of micromanaging and oversensitivity on the part of “the PC police.” The same holds true for Farnangate. By insisting on a belated apology for what many perceive as a minor, or even non-existent, offence, SSMU’s Equity Commissioners elicited an enormous degree of pushback which delegitimized their original intent. This insistence on publicly shaming every occurrence of even the most remotely offensive or inappropriate conduct can alienate supporters of initiatives that actually affect positive change. But through inclusive consultation and action, genuine success can be achieved.

Take, for example the student led initiative to establish a minor in Indigenous Studies. Proponents of this measure didn’t focus on abstract symbols of discrimination or divisive rhetoric. Instead, they chose to work closely with Indigenous leaders and to emulate successful programs at other universities in order to create a viable academic program. As a result of their diligent and well researched advocacy, students at McGill will be further educated and empowered to tackle the challenges facing aboriginal communities, such as unequal access to healthcare and the exploitation of native land for tar sands development.

In applying this principle to SSMU’s well-intentioned but overbearing equity policy, we can create a more transparent and inclusive process that protects the confidentiality of claimants and promotes equity while engaging students in dialogue. Right now, there are four Equity Officers, leading to a diffusion in accountablity; and participants in a complaint are forbidden to speak about the proceedings, even to those who are already involved. This prevents individuals and groups with a vested interest in a case from contributing relevant information that could lead to a more just and better informed outcome for all parties, in the same way that amicus briefs help Canadian courts render decisions on any number of divisive issues. By opening up the conversation and abandoning exclusive ideological purity, we can make McGill a more equitable environment and avoid future national embarrassments.