The national debate surrounding what constitutes inappropriate comments between two female legislators has opened an important conversation about civility, decorum, and the standards we expect from those who sit in the halls of Parliament. Different people will hold different views on where the line should be drawn. That is understandable in any democracy.

What is far more revealing, however, is not merely the comments themselves, but the loud chorus of condemnation now coming from some of the very voices that were once instrumental in normalising some of the most vicious, degrading, and deeply personal attacks ever directed at a political leader in Jamaica’s modern history, Jamaica’s first Black female Prime Minister, Portia Simpson-Miller.

For years, the nation witnessed relentless assaults on her character, appearance, mannerisms, speech, and intellect. The attacks were not occasional moments of political disagreement; they became a culture. Day after day, hour after hour, ridicule was packaged as commentary, disrespect disguised as analysis, and cruelty excused as political engagement.

Many who now speak passionately about dignity and respect were either silent then, complicit then, or active participants in creating that hostile environment. Some laughed. Some amplified it. Some profited politically and professionally from it. Others justified it as simply “part of politics.”

Today, those same individuals suddenly appear shocked that political discourse has deteriorated into personal attacks and inflammatory exchanges. But societies cannot sow contempt for years and expect to reap civility overnight.

Standards matter. Boundaries matter. Political culture matters.

Had the nation collectively rejected the degradation and humiliation directed at the country’s first female Prime Minister years ago, perhaps the tone of today’s political discourse would be different. Had there been universal outrage then, not selective outrage now, perhaps younger politicians entering public life would have inherited a healthier democratic culture.

Instead, Jamaica allowed a dangerous precedent to take root: that some women in leadership deserve protection while others deserve ridicule depending on their class, political affiliation, speech, or social presentation. That is not a principle. That is hypocrisy.

The truth is that respect cannot be conditional. Decency cannot be partisan. Outrage cannot only emerge when it becomes politically convenient.

A society that tolerates public degradation when directed at one woman in leadership cannot credibly claim moral shock when similar toxicity eventually spreads across the political landscape. What we permit, we normalise. What we normalise, we eventually become.

This moment should therefore be more than a debate about two legislators or one unfortunate exchange. It should force the country into honest reflection about the political culture we have cultivated over decades, a culture where cruelty often receives applause, where humiliation becomes entertainment, and where humanity is too frequently sacrificed at the altar of political tribalism.

Jamaica deserves better than selective morality.

If we truly want a more respectful political environment, then the standard must apply equally to everyone, regardless of gender, party colour, social background, or political popularity. Because the credibility of outrage is measured not by when it is convenient to speak, but by whether one was willing to speak when it was difficult.