Fear the Mob

– An Explanation, Not a Defense

I want to share a story. It’s one I’ve shared with numerous students over my career. Whether it makes anyone think differently or not, whether it will even give pause, I don’t know. But maybe it will explain how easily and quickly people can get caught up in a mob, in a moment.

It was the summer of my junior year in high school. I was traveling with some of my classmates on a church!-sponsored youth experience, working with other students from multiple European countries to rehab a castle in Untergruppenbach  Germany. We were, if memory serves (and, sadly, it’s not as good a servant as it used to be), the largest single contingent in the “camp.”

Conditions were, at least from an affluent American kid’s perspective, Spartan, although hardly something out of Oliver!, had it been filmed yet. We slept on cots in a room repurposed as a dormitory. But it was the food that became the bone of contention. Breakfast consisted of a kind of mush or oatmeal, mint tea, and bread. Our morning break was dark bread and more mint tea. Lunch was a repeat of breakfast. Not typical fare for us.

Our alleged leader, a young minister, apparently either took this “abuse” personally or took advantage of our complaining to try weasel his way into our hearts. (I freely admit that this is not an unbiased assessment of him; I didn’t like him, didn’t respect him, although, in my defense, his actions, and not just the one related in this anecdote, on this trip were the primary causes of my negative opinion.) In any case, about 3-4 days (as I recall) into the trip, he stood up at lunch one day, banged his bowl, and said, “We’re not taking this any more. Let’s go!”

It was, at that moment, I officially lost my mind... ...to the mob. Most (at least) of us also stood up, bowls of mush in hand, and, following his lead, stormed out the room, looking for the owner of the castle. Not sure what we were going to do when we found him; there were no chickens about, so “mushing and feathering” would seem to have been out. It didn’t take much stomping randomly through the building for some of us to decide, “Uh, this is stupid and embarrassing;” the mob lost steam and dissipated. We went from sheep to sheepishly returning to finish our gruel. 

That should have been the end of it, but it wasn’t, not for me. In retrospect, it remains one of the most frightening events of my life. I don’t pretend to be particularly modest about my intellectual abilities. But, for those brief minutes, my mind was not mine; I was not in control. I was just another anonymous follower. It is a feeling, one that strikes fear into my heart to this day, that I never want to repeat.

Imagine, now, had the grievance been serious, legitimate (at least in our perception), of long-standing, simmering on low-heat over a period of years. Cooks know it doesn’t take much more heat to turn a simmer into a raging boil, bubbling over onto the stove. If there’s no one there to turn down the heat, but instead add fuel to the fire (e.g., media and agenda-driven “leaders”)....

Think it couldn’t happen to you? Armies have relied on this semi-controlled sublimation of individual will for centuries. It’s the only rational explanation of the irrational act of charging to a certain death. Sports mobs, in and out of stadiums, are another common example. Mass hysteria is well documented. We all like to think we’re exceptional, to believe that we wouldn’t act that way, but there’s too much scientific evidence to the contrary for that to be true. Something to think about before we rush to judgment of others or absolve demagogues of responsibility.

Note: This sat in draft form for over two years, dating back to Ferguson and other events. The more things change....

Before the Ferguson Announcement

The whole Ferguson thing makes me sad.  Some random thoughts before the announcement:

• Just because someone calls you racist doesn’t mean you are.

• Conversely, just because you don’t (want to) believe you’re a racist doesn’t mean you aren’t.

• Just because you don’t see (or understand [or it’s not your problem]) a problem doesn’t mean there is no problem.

• Protests, going back to before the American Revolution, have always been led by “radicals” and have always been opposed by those who favor the status quo.

• It only takes one random act to turn peace into violence. (See the Boston Massacre)

• If you’ve referred to protesters (as a group) in derogatory terms, you might think about the dangers of stereotyping. It damages both the typer and typee, because now both have to overcome preconceived identities.

• Name-calling has never, to my knowledge, helped to solve a problem.

• If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem, like it or not.

Cruise Diary Days 1-6: Awkward Dinner Conversations (Ferguson)

Any hope we had of insulating ourselves from the endless onslaught of Ferguson news and developments was naïve. I don’t mean to diminish its importance, but I confess to a certain level of fatigue as people on both sides of the issue (and, like most issues, it’s polygonal, not really two-sided) beat their respective drums.

One of the things we like about cruising, and I think it’s become the standard, is the chance to dine with a variety of people, different each night and afternoon, from all over the country and the world. The most common icebreaker, of course, is, “Where are you from?” Even non-Americans are aware of the Michael Brown tragedy, and everyone wants to know what is going on. (The red-typeface phrases are links to previous, perhaps relevant, articles from this blog.)

I am quick to remind them that just because I’m from the same metropolitan area that I have no special information, no real expertise. Of course, such a lack of knowledge hasn’t seemed to stop anyone else from offering their perspective, including, of course, some of those who were asking us the question. So-called experts have been weighing in for weeks now, because, in America, knowing what you’re talking about is not a prerequisite for opining. So what follows is, essentially, how I’ve been answering the questions:

It’s a mess and it’s going to continue to be a mess for some time. For me it’s kind of like the recent World Series (and apologies if this analogy seems to trivialize the tragedy, because that’s not my intent). While I didn’t have a team in the hunt, I was aware, did care, and had reasons to root for both sides. So I was interested, if not directly personally vested.

A significant number of my former students are, or have been, in law enforcement. We’re godparents to the daughter of a retired police officer. We are at least indirectly connected to a number of police officers. We understand, at least intellectually, the challenges and pressures of the job. There is a high level of empathy for how difficult that job is, and respect for the importance of the job, if not all individual practitioners. Kind of like teaching in that regard.

I also, as it turns out, taught a cousin of Michael Brown, and I remember her with only positive thoughts, an intelligent young woman. Other formers, students and softball players (mostly African-American, but some white, as well), have been involved in the protests. I know these people to be thoughtful and reasonable. Additionally, while I don’t exactly count Ferguson in their number, I’ve had enough of my own encounters with the 2-bit kingdoms, both north and south, that make up the predatory municipalities in St. Louis County, that it takes no imagination to understand the build up of frustrations of black citizens who constitute the majority of their prey. Empathy there, too. Nor am I so naïve as to believe that racism isn’t a continuing problem, in Ferguson, in St. Louis, in the United States.

It’s pure speculation, added to all the other speculation, but here’s my guess on what may have happened that afternoon. I don’t know; neither do you. I’m not sure that even the grand jury will claim full knowledge after it finishes its deliberations, although I am willing to give them credit for trying to come to a fair conclusion. The important thing: I may be wrong.

Michael Brown seemed to be on the verge of turning his life into something positive. Most important, he, at least, thought so. It may not have been via the traditional route, but he had graduated from high school and was seemingly proud of that. He had enrolled in Vatterott (another predatory institution, IMO, much more interested in its own profits than his future success), which would have opened a least a few doors to a brighter future. (Again, I think those schools open far more doors to bankruptcy or financial distress than personal success, but admit that they have worked for some.) It also seems clear that Mr. Brown had perhaps taken a step backward that day when he was rousted by Officer Darren Wilson.

For whatever reason, however, it would appear he panicked, perhaps out of frustration, perhaps out of the fear of seeing his dreams disintegrate, but no matter the reason, he made the mistake of confronting the officer physically. There seems little doubt that Officer Wilson was hurt; how badly or painfully is beyond my knowledge. But if you’ve even been physically hurt by another, you know that rational thinking can fly out the window quickly. Again, pure speculation, but I’m guessing that out of fear and pain (and I will neither dismiss nor accuse latent racism), the police officer also went into panic mode, with tragic, fatal consequences for Mr. Brown and at least tragic for Officer Wilson.

There are any number of scenarios where this tragedy could have played out differently, with minimal damage to life or property. But in the heat of that particular moment, at that particular time, the result was the ending of Michael Brown’s young life and (probably) Officer Darren Wilson’s career, and, in a sense, life as he knew it, as well. I don’t mean to equate the two, but this tragedy has had, and those numbers might well mount, more than just those named victims.

This is already too long, but a common thread, both at home and on this trip, has been condemnation of “outsiders.” This is, in fact, code for the reverends Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson. I’m not a big fan, but they have their constituencies and agendas and will play to them. They have their beliefs and codes, are legitimately working to end racism and its attendant problems, and are unlikely to miss an opportunity to promote them (or, it must be admitted, themselves).

But let’s be fair. They are not the only outsiders in play, here. Talking (screaming?) heads on radio and television and yes, social media, are just as much outsiders, just as much pot-stirrers, even if they’re not physically present. Their machinations, their agendas, which they no doubt justify as a response to others, have kept the pot simmering, just waiting for the next opportunity to bubble over in outrage, both feigned and real.

I’ll end with this: finger-pointing, at best, exercises only one muscle, and not a particularly productive one if it’s problem-solving that is our ultimate goal. Clearly, this is a complicated, multi-faceted issue, and not just one simple problem with a simple solution. General rule: the issue or solution that can be distilled to a bumper sticker slogan (or meme) is deserving of only as much consideration as the time it takes to read it.

Back to the cruise – I never really said all this at one time, of course; in most situations I wouldn’t have been allotted that much time from others’ self-promotion, but thanks for sticking with this until the end. I hope you don’t feel so alone now if you’re still not sure what to think.