A Fictional Short Story- The Power And The Psychology Of The Mob

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this Story are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and unintentional.

"Call the police……….please……." I heard the thief shouting at the top of his voice and I was suitably surprised and looked in the direction of the voice. I saw a shabby man, dressed in a bright red jacket and blue jeans pant, being thrashed by an angry mob, which had just gathered on a busy road.

"Thief…thief……." I heard an old lady half-screaming, half-crying as she pointed to the man in the red jacket and jean pants and it took me less than a second to understand that her purse had been stolen by that man. No wonder he was being brusquely beaten up by the crowd, which were college and office-goers just minutes ago, and who had now instantaneously and miraculously turned into self-styled heroes and were righteously and mercilessly bashing up the villain.

No judge or lawyer was deemed necessary to settle the case, for everyone in the crowd knew who the guilty party was and who the innocent one was.

Everyone had decided that the old lady was the innocent one and the man in the red jacket was the guilty one, though surprisingly no one had actually seen the man in the red jacket steal or even snatch the purse from the old lady.

But more importantly, no one even felt it necessary to find out the truth or even verify the facts! 

But they all knew that he was guilty all right, based on the drama that was being unfolded in front of them. The old lady was crying for her purse, and pointing at the man in the red jacket 'as the thief', while her purse, the object of the crime, was lying on the ground. No one bothered to check whether it would have the fingerprints of the man in the red jacket on it or not.

The old lady's tears got all the necessary sympathy and were proof enough for the crowd (which was as diverse as diverse could be, for it was composed of people of all ages and religions and languages and educational and economic backgrounds and beliefs).

But the crowd was strangely perfectly united in its anger and thought and action, though there was hardly anything common between any of them!

Such is the power and the beauty of the crowd, of the mob, that it continued to marvel and surprise me and I continued to stare at it………at its energy, its unity, its power, and its psychology!

The Power and Psychology of the mob!

So, this mob or crowd, which consisted of people on their way to office or college or work, who were going towards the railway station to catch their respective local trains, had decided in perfect unison that the man in the red jacket was the culprit, without any trial, any statement from his side, or without the help of any lawyer or any judge.

And suddenly as if 'out-of-the-blue', they had decided to take the matter into their own hands, without anyone leading them or even asking them to volunteer, they had decided to punish the guilty on their own and of course, in their own style!

Each was deciding on his or her own, about the amount of punishment (read kicks and slaps) to be meted out to the fellow.

There was no measure, no fixed parameter, nothing was enough………which means that essentially nothing was less or more……….it was just raining blows and more blows. Endlessly.

And the thief……..who had seen the pent-up anger in the eyes of the crowd, and knew that this pent-up anger had little to do with his theft and more to do with the other uncontrollable things that had been bothering these people for days, had obviously cowered in fear.

The thief could sense that in the mob there was this huge guy with heavy shoulders, over 6 feet three inches and weighing over 130 kilograms, who must be troubled by a small guy, presumably his irritable, abusive boss (a guy over a foot less and only half his body weight) but entrusted with heaps of power, must be making him feel 'small' at even the slightest mistake. Of course, this huge guy with heavy shoulders, whose confidence and ego, were badly damaged and bruised, could never answer his boss back or give back to his boss what he felt his boss deserved so he was going to give it back to him instead, to the man in the red jacket, the treatment that he wanted to give his boss!

And then the thief also could catch sight of a person who might be a peon in an office and a hen-pecked husband at home, who might not have the nerve to answer back to his wife taunting him for his low salary or low post or both and that peon……that peon would never let go of any opportunity to hit another man in a weaker position than him…………..which the man in the red jacket was…..Right now!

Or the newly-married woman who was being abused by her in-laws for dowry and could not retort back but had always dreamt of hitting them back with her long, black umbrella was naturally tempted to do the same to the man in the red jacket………….

All these emotions and intentions…………..the man in the red jacket could see………as pent-up anger………in their eyes……….in the eyes of the crowd………the mob…… ….these faceless people……..who may not have a face but they certainly had a heart which beat fast and a mind which was angry or abused or wanted revenge.

It was this that the man in the red jacket was afraid of………….and so the thief………shouted and called out to the Police to help him, to save him!

The thief knew that he was alone, singled out, and had been labelled a villain and declared a 'thief'………..

For he had been caught stealing the old lady's purse……..….but everyone knows that there are thieves everywhere, almost everywhere………….

For the newly married woman, abused for dowry, had stolen the neighbour's chicken just last week and had even cooked it even before anyone could even realize it, or the hen-pecked husband, the peon, used to steal biscuits from the office pantry or the huge guy with heavy shoulders had siphoned off some cash from his society's funds.

They are all thieves that is why they hate thieves and thefts the most..…for they know that stealing is wrong and every time they steal either biscuits or a small amount of money or chickens from the office pantry or their neighbours or the society funds, no one knows that they have stolen, for they are experts in it and have not been caught yet!

No one except them themselves & their conscience knows the truth!

Naturally, they are never considered thieves by society, unlike this man in the red jacket (this stupid, silly man who was rash or desperate enough to steal in broad daylight and that too in presence of thousands!)

But they know, deep down, in their conscience, they all know very well that they are also thieves, and that they have sinned.

That is why they hate thieves the most because they hate themselves the most!

That is why they hit the thief the most because they want to punish themselves the most! 

Or want to prove to themselves that they too hate stealing…………..and whatever they did steal……..was just a moment of weakness.

Whenever they do acquire a sense of guilt, they promptly wash it away with prayers and a promise that they will never repeat it………ever again…………..until it happens voluntary or involuntarily the next time…………and then again they pray and promise, and then this cycle repeats……at times endlessly and forever.

Maybe that is why 'Life is called a cycle'.

This mob consisted of such guys and many other nameless, faceless, spineless guys. Those who had never as much even slapped another guy before, but cocooned and protected in the safety of the mob's anger and anonymity and common intent, they too have joined the common cause and have given blows and kicks to the thief, as if it was their 'fundamental right'.

While some others who themselves have a lot to learn in life wanted 'to teach the thief a lesson and hence felt justified in beating the thief.

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Anyway, coming back to this incidence of purse theft, I a regular officer-goer, had stopped in my path and like other curious onlookers, was looking intently at the mob, trying to get a glimpse of the happenings. It was then that I realized that the thief had now become a cornered animal, and he knew that the mob might never stop their beatings……………and so had started shouting and sobbing loudly at the top of his voice and was yelling "Call the police……….please"

Here, the hunter had become the hunted!

This led me to think 'What is there in a mob that makes it so powerful and so uniform in its action?'

Strength, of course, will be the answer.

And anonymity will be the other obvious point.

Though, strength and anonymity, are essentially the two things that sum up why a mob is so strong, what can explain why 'a mob thinks alike'?

What makes varied people of various ages, cultures, religions, education and belief systems, tastes and likings, priorities and privileges take up a common issue and that too so spontaneously, at the 'drop-of-a-hat', without any preparation, and that too without any rehearsal and without the direction and motivational from a leader.

For this mob was as leaderless as it was faceless!

I kept on wondering what makes random people from all walks of life come together for a common cause, a cause about which they had neither any knowledge nor any preparation beforehand but were thrown together purely by chance and now stand united and firm, cemented strongly like loyal blood brothers?

It is this 'common thought and common cause' which is perhaps more frightening than both the strength and the anonymity that being in a crowd offers. No wonder then, the eve-teaser or the thief who is caught red-handed & is at the receiving end of a mob bashing is often found pleading "Call the police ………please!" for they know that the police will be less harsh than the angry mob.

"Call the police……….please……." I could hear the thief beg, who though he was a thief, had no choice but to appeal to the police to rescue and save him.

I laughed at another of life's ironies, shrugged my shoulders, and rushed to catch my next train to work.