When Tribal Rage Goes Wrong

There are few things more hideous than audible group thought. When I see videos of crowds — full-throated and self-assured — responding to a politician’s words, it rankles.

Maybe this distaste arises because those scenes make me think of my grandpa’s story of his excruciating lesson in performative outrage during the election of 1948.

Mel Selle, in his childhood memoirs When Angels Were Busy, writes:

The campaign to elect a new president in 1948 was quite exciting. Truman was the president at the time, and none of the big people in my family liked him. My friends at school didn’t seem to like the president either. So it was quite safe for me to dislike him and to speak out against him. 

I remember one day in particular when I felt it my patriotic duty to take action. Mom and I were in the kitchen after breakfast. I noticed the newspaper was lying on some other stuff on the kitchen counter. There, on the front page, was a picture of President Truman. In a fit of patriotic rage, I attempted to pound the president with my fist. This action would surely bring praise and admiration from my mother. 

My clenched fist came down hard on the face of that nasty old Harry Truman. At the same instant, I felt pain in my wrist . . . TERRIBLE PAIN!!! 

“AAAGGGHHH!!!” 

I jerked my fist back and saw a large sewing needle stuck in my wrist. The blunt end was in my wrist. 

“OooowwwOOOWwWwoooww!!!” 

Mom immediately came to my rescue and yanked the needle out. It was a big needle used for darning socks. It had been stuck in the pincushion, and the pincushion was lurking under the newspaper, just waiting to ambush an unsuspecting patriot such as myself.

Irrationality in service of tribalism is a choice. Far more often than not, that choice leaves one bleeding and alone on the other side — while the politician gets the attention she craves.