Crowd mentality

It’s true that people often behave differently when they’re in a crowd.

On thursday this week I had first hand experience of that behaviour, as Melbourne’s Royal supporters gathered on the streets to wait for Harry and Meghan to fly-in from Sydney.  We didn’t mind that they were running late.  We were collectively glad that it wasn’t raining, or meltingly hot, or fiercely windy, all of which can be experienced during a few hours in the Melbourne springtime.  (We love it though, regardless of its fickle nature sometimes. )

The excitement within the crowd was palpable, people were chatting to the person standing next to them, the mood was light and friendly.  It really was the sort of morning when you feel like having a group hug, when you feel like you’re forging connections, finding commonalities.  Joyful.  That’s what it felt like.

I’ve been to gigs, I’ve been jostled at festivals, felt the press of the crowd surge.  It can be intimidating.  But Thursday morning was the antithesis of those experiences.  There were respectful spaces, smiles between strangers, a sense of co-operation and inclusiveness.

Then the cuckoo appeared.

A woman with a mobile phone to her ear was suddenly in front of me, sliding into the cracks between rows, waving at someone on the far side.  People moved obligingly, thinking she was trying to see her friend beyond the barriers.  Feet were shuffled, everyone made room.  Nods and smiles.  Once she’d had her moment, we knew she’d move on and we could all take our positions again.  But just like the cuckoo, she was moving in, and she intended to make this her new home.

I stared at the back of her head, the woman that was now standing on my bit of floorspace, on the ground where moments before my feet had stood.  All of us had politely moved as she insinuated herself between us, unwittingly allowing her to stake her claim.

Eyebrows were raised, looks were exchanged.  What blatant behaviour.  Surely she’d move in a minute?  When she didn’t, I asked her to move.  She refused.  When someone else asked her, she again refused.

The mood of the crowd changed.  The overwhelming contentment that had infused the gathering was being leeched away.  It was perceptible.  Surely this selfish behaviour couldn’t be allowed to infect the day?  I could feel my heart rate accelerating.  Not today, I thought.  Don’t spoil it.  Don’t burst this bubble of happiness.

The excitement of waiting for the Royal couple had been infectious, and many of us in the throng of people had been chatting to each other.  Strangers had become acquaintances.  I’d been chatting all morning to a fellow Brit next to me in the crowd.  It felt like I’d made a new friend, an unexpected bonus on such a happy day.

Even so, when the cuckoo moved in, I did what any British person would do.  I didn’t make a fuss.  I assumed she would see the error of her ways, and move on.  She didn’t.

There’s a moment, in situations like this, when you feel truly alone.  Just as I’d previously been aware of a sense of cohesiveness, I now felt only separation.  As if this woman had thrown a grenade into the crush.

Then something truly wonderful happened.  A woman behind me stepped forward and expressed her disbelief.  Another said I should insist that this imposter moves.  A girl to my right smiled sympathetically and admitted she was amazed at my apparent calm.  Make her move, she said.  But how could I do that without escalating the situation?

The castigation continued, but what was so impressive was its subtlety.  No-one shouted, or pushed.  There was no sense of violence.  But it was persistent.  It was pervasive.  And it was done without discussion or consensus.

The collective unconscious, the feelings that we all share as a species can make us behave differently when we’re herded together.  We instinctively know when something isn’t right.  We want to restore the balance.  We seek harmony and connection.  At our core, we want to belong.

My new British friend joined the offensive.  Someone else stepped forward and said that she was embarrassed by this woman’s behaviour.  On behalf of her fellow Australians, she apologised.  It seemed as though everyone was lining up in my defence.

Two girls that had been standing next to me, began to gradually lean into the space she was occupying until she was eventually behind the press of their shoulders.  Perhaps sensing her disempowerment, the interloper could do nothing more than melt back into the masses again, and out of sight.

Girl power, I thought!  Without invitation, everyone had rallied to remedy a situation that they thought was unfair.  Herd behaviour, community spirit, the desire for fairplay.    Whatever you want to call it, sometimes in this fast and impatient world it’s easy to forget the inherent goodness within all of us.  We are, after all, all one species, trying our best to hum along together.  When you give people an opportunity to display their inner humanity, it is heart warming to see such a wealth of compassion.

It was a wonderful day in the end, out there on the streets with everyone, rubbing shoulders with strangers, making friends.  We saw Harry and Meghan, we cheered, we took photographs.   I am certain there will always be plenty of people willing to stand in your corner when you need them to, ready to lend a hand in your time of need.  So I’m not going to worry about the cuckoos too much. They’ll always be outnumbered by the rest of the flock.