Where does Jonasi Live?

I have not yet watched the Netflix series The Polygamist, but from the conversations surrounding the film, one thing appears clear: many viewers have identified Jonasi as the villain.

He is described as a man who claims to love people while simultaneously using, deceiving, neglecting, or hurting them. A man whose actions contradict his words.

But what if Jonasi is more than a character… What if Jonasi is a mirror?

The temptation when we encounter a character like Jonasi is to distance ourselves from him. It’s to judge him, condemn him, and to reassure ourselves that we would never behave that way. Yet the truth is that human beings often engage in the same pattern, only in different forms.

A husband may cheat on his wife while expecting absolute loyalty from her.

A family may protect a relative known to be involved in crime while demanding severe punishment for criminals in other families.

A citizen may leave their home in a struggling province in search of opportunity in Johannesburg, Durban, or Cape Town, yet condemn someone who crosses a border seeking the very same thing.

A community may tolerate litter, sewage, and lawlessness within its own environment while blaming social decline entirely on outsiders.

The details differ, but the pattern remains the same.

At its core, the pattern is simple: we often justify behaviour when we benefit from it and condemn the same behaviour when we are harmed by it.

This is not merely a political problem. It is not merely a gender problem. It is not merely an economic problem.

It is a human problem.

The question we should be asking ourselves therefore, is not whether Jonasi exists. The real question is: Where does Jonasi live within me?

Where do I apply different standards to myself and to others?

Where do I demand understanding without extending it?

Where do I claim victimhood while exercising power over someone else?

Where do I avoid responsibility by locating the source of my problems outside of myself?

These are uncomfortable questions. But they are also transformative questions. Because every meaningful transformation begins with responsibility.

Not responsibility in the sense of blame, but in the sense of ownership. It’s about the willingness to ask ourselves “What part of this belongs to me?”

In coaching, I’ve learned that lasting change rarely occurs when people focus exclusively on changing others. Change begins when they become aware of the patterns through which they themselves participate in creating the reality they experience.

The same is true of families, organisations, nations.

We cannot blame our way into prosperity.

We cannot accuse our way into healing.

We cannot scapegoat our way into transformation.

The future belongs to those willing to look beyond the villain and examine the pattern.

Perhaps that is the real lesson of Jonasi.

Not that he is different from us. But that he may be far more like us than we would like to admit.