Justice Notes: Willful Blindness
A White-Collar Journal forum for criminal justice, lived experience, and the personal search for redemption
This week’s guest essay comes from Stuart Anderson, a member of the White-Collar Support community and a fellow traveler on the road from accountability to renewal. In “Willful Blindness,” he explores the moment when self-deception becomes moral failure — and how seeing the truth, however painful, becomes the beginning of change.
Willful Blindness: The Choice to See Nothing Meant Everything
By Stuart Anderson
“I didn’t do it, you didn’t see me do it, and you can’t prove a thing!”
— Bart Simpson
I used to love that famous (or infamous) Bart Simpson retort.
In response to my use of that quote, I always hear, “Nice try.” That Bart saying rarely flies as a legitimate defense, even when said jokingly to a friend or loved one.
That became even more painfully evident when the Postal Inspectors who came to my house, the Federal Prosecutor, and his F.B.I. sidekick all excoriated me in the same fashion:
You saw the red flags, you should have known, you were being willfully blind!
Willful blindness isn’t a crime you’ll ever see in the penal codes. No one gets charged with it by name. Instead, it’s a legal doctrine — a way courts instruct juries that choosing not to see can carry the same weight as actually knowing.
If someone suspects wrongdoing, has the means to confirm it, but deliberately avoids the truth, the law may treat that avoidance as knowledge itself.
But outside the courtroom, willful blindness is also a human condition. It’s the times we sense something isn’t right — in our work, our relationships, our choices — yet we look away. We convince ourselves we don’t see, because seeing would demand change. Seeing would change the outcome we were hoping for. It may cost us something.
That term still resonates with me. Willful blindness is not just legal language, but also a powerful metaphor for life: when we refuse to face uncomfortable truths, we become complicit in the consequences.
In my own story, there were red flags that I ignored, questions that I left unasked, and warnings that I brushed aside. The pieces of the puzzle were on the table, but I closed my eyes.
That refusal to see didn’t spare me; like an ostrich burying its head in the sand to avoid a predator, it left me facing consequences I could have avoided. That choice to see nothing meant everything.
Incarceration stripped away my excuses. I couldn’t hide behind “I didn’t know.” What I didn’t want to see was precisely what I was accountable for.
And yet, that’s where growth begins.
If willful blindness is the refusal to face reality, then willful sight is the decision to open our eyes — to admit harm, to acknowledge impact, to stop hiding from the truth. Painful as it is, that’s the place where change takes root — and where redemption becomes possible.
The bottom line is that doing the right thing is not always pleasant. You may lose business, money, or relationships, but it is a form of integrity that cannot be taken away from you.
So even in the small things — in the times that seem trivial, in the decisions that no one will know (so you tell yourself in the moment) — do the right thing. Walk away. Say no.
However, do not close your eyes to the truth. When your spider senses are going off, when your gut feeling talks to you — listen.
The real danger isn’t what we see — it’s what we refuse to see.
About the Author
Stuart Anderson is a speaker and writer who shares lessons learned from his personal experience with business failure and accountability. His work focuses on ethics, self-awareness, and the path to rebuilding integrity after loss.
If you’re drawn to the idea of storytelling as self-reckoning, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
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