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But as I reflected on the matter I came to consider that, whatever the reason we form into groups, one cannot escape the major side effect. Associations divide. Associations separate. Such is the axiomatic nature of distinction; if we choose to distinguish ourselves by advertising our attachment to one group, then we separate ourselves from the other. It’s unavoidable. And it’s obvious. Nothing earth-shaking here. Ask anyone who’s been the victim of racism or some other form of discrimination. But the interesting thing to my mind as I mulled it over, was how much we seem to enjoy the separation. We must, it seemed to me, or we would not consistently broadcast our associations so enthusiastically and with such pride. And I wondered at the order of it. Do we naturally attach ourselves to certain groups that happen to be separate from others, or do we wish to separate ourselves from others and therefore attach ourselves to certain groups? If the latter, why not separate as individuals, rather than split off and then re-congregate? If our goal is to declare our uniqueness, why attach to groups at all? I suspected that it has something to do with the value question. The street cred. There is strength in numbers. You can create some personal worth for yourself without having to do anything save join up, maybe even by just wearing the t-shirt. You can be unique without having to risk taking it too far. And from there, from the safety of the group, the shortest path to affirming your worth is to employ comparison: we’re better than those guys.
I realized full well that it surely oversimplifies to declare that society’s rampant “us” versus “them” mentality was caused merely by insecurity. I’m not a psychologist or sociologist. But I considered that there had to be some reason why people – all with relatively the same groundwork of feelings and emotions, and comparable experiences of the human condition – insist on splitting off and telling themselves that “we” are better than “they.” Can that possibly be sourced in a healthy sense of self-worth?
None of this, of course, is to disparage friendly, often valuable, competition between groups. Athletic contests to a sports fan like me are enjoyable in their own right. And although I might feel undeservedly proud when my team wins (I didn’t play the game, after all), it’s fun to follow a team who represents something to which I can relate and see them victorious. But how often we see innocent enthusiasm cross over into vicious, even violent, partisanship. Witness soccer hooliganism.
It wasn’t lost on me, too, that my pondering of these matters was taking place during a presidential election year. Talk about us versus them. Discourse between the fans of opposing sports teams pales in comparison to that between rival political parties. At first I imagined that that might be due to the presumably higher stakes inherent in political issues. But the blind allegiance I’ve witnessed on both sides of the political aisle – regardless of issue – had me thinking that politics is most likely just another way to separate, and then associate, and gain for oneself a little more identity.
The blind allegiance is what struck me as the most dangerous part. My country right or wrong. Or political party or college or what have you. But of course the idea that one’s group could, in fact, be wrong, isn’t typically long deliberated. Groups have a way of discouraging such thoughts; nobody wants to be seen as disloyal. Theological denominations handle doubt by calling for dutiful and pious faith, yet not every denomination can be right, or at least complete, with its set of beliefs, if any of them at all are. There are a lot of religions and each one believes something different, in the details if not the major theme. And that means there are a whole lot of people walking around who are wrong in their metaphysical worldviews. We know that, of course. But we also know that, by the grace of God, those people aren’t us.
I was getting into territory far over my head and I dropped the matter at that point; I vaguely decided that I was going to make a determined effort to be careful about seeking personal identity in people or things largely outside of my sphere of influence, and that was that. Or so I thought. Then something happened a couple weeks later that caused me to revisit the matter: the Freeh Report was released, an independent investigation commissioned by Penn State University itself to learn how a child predator could go unchecked in their midst for years. And the report was damning. Four of the top people at the university, including the president, athletic director, and Joe Paterno himself, had purposely and deliberately looked the other way, said the report, to avoid the potential negative publicity. Partly to blame: “A culture of reverence for the football program.”
The findings were heartbreaking, and once again I found myself surprised at how affected I was by events that were well beyond my control and had ostensibly nothing to do with me personally. I felt let down by these men. Though the report didn’t exactly come as a shock – most people suspected that a cover-up of some degree had most likely occurred – I had held out hope that the errors made had been judgmental errors of omission. The actions of the ex-assistant coach had, I’d hoped, simply been missed or at worst ignored, not overtly concealed. With that possibility dissipated by the withering pages of the Freeh Report, I felt that association again, the identity. As Penn State was getting hammered, so was I.
But then came the real hammering. From the media, the sports talk show hosts on the radio, news columnists from the New York Times to the Akron Beacon-Journal, the TV talking heads, and the general public on Internet message boards, voicing their opinions from across the country: Penn State University had knowingly aided and abetted a child rapist. The football program should be shut down immediately, came the cries. Some felt the university itself should be shut down. Most of the outcry was hyperbolic vitriol, but collectively, it all became a part of the mainstream message: Penn State was rotten to its core. We were in the midst of a 21st century version of the vigilante torch and pitchfork mob, and it was screaming for justice, screaming for someone to pay.
And it was then that I discovered something about identity and associations, something I hadn’t thought of before. I suddenly and clearly came to understand that identity isn’t always acquired from the associations we voluntarily make. It’s often, maybe even most of the time, acquired from the associations others make for us.
About G.S. Payne
