ARCHITECT | ATTORNEY | ENTREPRENEUR
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VICARIOUS LIABILITY
Emily Hunt Turner
“Do you not believe that you’re inherently good?” A tender yet earnest probe from my wife last August, the lime song of the lush grass softening 43rd street. She was responding to my tormented state that afternoon. “What is it, exactly, that you feel you need to be redeemed from?” she inquired.
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Until this moment, I hadn’t examined my insatiable quest for redemption because I wasn’t aware it existed. Why do I need redeeming? I started to rattle off all the errors I’ve made, particularly over the last 7 years with founding and running an organization. “Honey,” my wife said. “These are mistakes, all of which are part of your growth—not mortal sins for which you need redeeming. Are you sure there’s not something deeper you’re battling?”
Until his death, I watched my dad wreak havoc on so many who held him dear; his darkness, manipulation, and sexual deviance leading to love lost and a host of lawsuits. As a child, I defended him. More importantly, I believed him. As I aged into adulthood, I began to understand, and detest, his masterful ability to dodge and deflect responsibility. Though I could feel my respect for him starting to wane, what I didn’t know then, and have only now learned, is that the liability for the harm he inflicted—an unspoken sentence—had quietly transferred to me. ​
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In law school, I was introduced to the concept of vicarious liability, or imputed liability, which holds a person responsible for actions committed by others. This legal doctrine is a way to prescribe liability to those who are in control of people who cause harm. Today, now that I am finally starting to understand my unspoken sentence, I find myself reflecting on this legal doctrine not as a legal remedy but rather as a way to heal; a way to release me from vicarious liability. Control of my dad’s behaviors never belonged to me. At last, I am free.