As she looked across the sea of people, all marching and chanting in unison, she felt a shudder of disquiet forming a knot in her stomach. She hated being part of a crowd. It was something she took pains to admit to herself because she believed wholeheartedly in the cause and felt a kinship with her like minded friends, but at the same time repulsed by the feeling that it was all a show, a performance meant to mimic some studied idyll of protest against systemic oppression or just minor offenses. It was like the protest she was at was always harkening back to some picture of protest she’d seen in a history book. She needed to strike a particular pose or have the proper affect so it could register the right emotion in the audience and, if lucky, get photographed and remembered for posterity as a rupture in time, an opening or continuing salvo in a revolutionary act.
So when her friends would call to invite her to the latest crusade, which was often, she was forced to make up a variety of vague excuses – unbreakable plans, working later than usual, not feeling well. They were accepted with little fanfare, but after a time she began to realize that the invitations were drying up and she was losing her connection to her group of friends. She still engaged in the usual social media signaling and text chain outrages, but not being present, where the fight was ostensibly happening, left her ostracized.
It gave her mild anxiety to think of going back to the crowds. There was probably a sense of community that most people got out of the shared experience and rhythmic repetition of practiced chants. It’s what gave the crowd power, working in unison with one collective voice to focus attention on a social problem, and also the root of her fear of being swept up in groupthink, unable to think clearly for herself. She didn’t want to sacrifice her own mind for the will of the collective. Yet in the comfort of her own apartment, alone, she could watch footage of her friends, scan their social feeds, and feel a jolt of pride and excitement in the minimal progress achieved in tiny increments.
If she was being honest with herself it was all a defense against the inexplicable way she could give herself over and be led. It was a phenomenon she studied closely but was powerless to fight in the moments it was occurring.
Everybody is in some form following the crowd to its logical end, riding the wave of some trend, thumbing their nose at prevailing wisdom, fearing the crowd coming down the street, or joining the circus as it passes through town. Some choose to think about it and most do not.
GLAZ 