There was an ominous rumble in the city, mirrored only very weakly in the sky's attempts at a storm.
In a brightly lit spot, they had gathered, to try to shame the darkness into a yet darker place. It was a moot point, whether darkness was any sort of an answer. But then, no one really cared. This was a triumph.
So many had come, leaving the comfort of home and their habit of dissociation. No, today was a day for association. They felt enthralled at the change they were sure they had wrought. They had given up the safety of anonymity for the thrill of being in the firing line. And fired at they were. But that just fired them up even more.
This situation had escalated from a bunch of simple people enjoying their first vocalization of protest, into an inflamed, wronged group of protesters who now had more reason than ever to protest. The war had been ideological at some level earlier, but now it was personal. It was personal and it was so much larger than that. It was a mob.
It had thought behind it, inasmuch as the individuals that made up the mob were guided by thought. But subtly, they were guided less by thought and more by the perception of what everyone else was doing. Even the half-hearted protests became laced with anger. There was so much anger. Subtly, they lost selfhood in favour of an identification with the larger body they now made up a part of.
Even when they went home at last, that identification would not fall away from them. There would be meetings, there would be petitions, there would be debates and everyone would air their views, share their perspectives, and solidify their beliefs that the situation was terrible, and that it was their duty, and our duty, and everyone's duty, to join the movement. Join the mob.
No, it was not acceptable to have an ideological position contrary in any way to that of the mob. It was a movement now, except that it was still a mob. It was good to agree with the basic premise of the mob, but it was not acceptable to identify the root of the problem anywhere other than where the mob had identified it. And it was definitely not acceptable to prefer a different course of action.
The people began to forget their individual ideas, in the comfort and familiarity of following someone else's ideas. It was easier to focus on cohesion when they could leave it to someone else to plan their path for them. Besides, there was no time to waste in thinking, in mulling over possibilities... it was time to Act!
But the picture of the act is not one that I have the heart to paint. Nor is the aftermath. Their anger will die. They will tire. Life will catch up with them. They will turn into what they fought against. Their individual character will remain untouched. In taking on the garb of the mob, they made it possible to dissociate from their own actions easily enough.
They will move away from the darkness they have wrought. They will then consign it to a dark place, until they can highlight it as the darkness necessary to appreciate light. It has happened before, and it is likely to happen again. But still there is no light. Still, it is night, and a stormy one at that.
In a brightly lit spot, they had gathered, to try to shame the darkness into a yet darker place. It was a moot point, whether darkness was any sort of an answer. But then, no one really cared. This was a triumph.
So many had come, leaving the comfort of home and their habit of dissociation. No, today was a day for association. They felt enthralled at the change they were sure they had wrought. They had given up the safety of anonymity for the thrill of being in the firing line. And fired at they were. But that just fired them up even more.
This situation had escalated from a bunch of simple people enjoying their first vocalization of protest, into an inflamed, wronged group of protesters who now had more reason than ever to protest. The war had been ideological at some level earlier, but now it was personal. It was personal and it was so much larger than that. It was a mob.
It had thought behind it, inasmuch as the individuals that made up the mob were guided by thought. But subtly, they were guided less by thought and more by the perception of what everyone else was doing. Even the half-hearted protests became laced with anger. There was so much anger. Subtly, they lost selfhood in favour of an identification with the larger body they now made up a part of.
Even when they went home at last, that identification would not fall away from them. There would be meetings, there would be petitions, there would be debates and everyone would air their views, share their perspectives, and solidify their beliefs that the situation was terrible, and that it was their duty, and our duty, and everyone's duty, to join the movement. Join the mob.
No, it was not acceptable to have an ideological position contrary in any way to that of the mob. It was a movement now, except that it was still a mob. It was good to agree with the basic premise of the mob, but it was not acceptable to identify the root of the problem anywhere other than where the mob had identified it. And it was definitely not acceptable to prefer a different course of action.
The people began to forget their individual ideas, in the comfort and familiarity of following someone else's ideas. It was easier to focus on cohesion when they could leave it to someone else to plan their path for them. Besides, there was no time to waste in thinking, in mulling over possibilities... it was time to Act!
But the picture of the act is not one that I have the heart to paint. Nor is the aftermath. Their anger will die. They will tire. Life will catch up with them. They will turn into what they fought against. Their individual character will remain untouched. In taking on the garb of the mob, they made it possible to dissociate from their own actions easily enough.
They will move away from the darkness they have wrought. They will then consign it to a dark place, until they can highlight it as the darkness necessary to appreciate light. It has happened before, and it is likely to happen again. But still there is no light. Still, it is night, and a stormy one at that.
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