Scapegoating in Times of Crisis
Targeting minority figures or outsiders during periods of political or social tension — a pattern repeated throughout history from ancient Rome to modern democracies.
The Enduring Shadow of the Scapegoat in Times of Crisis
There is a peculiar, almost primal, human instinct that surfaces with chilling regularity whenever the fabric of society frays under the strain of crisis. When the ground shifts beneath our feet, be it from economic collapse, plague, or profound political upheaval, our collective gaze often narrows, seeking not complex solutions, but a singular, tangible target for our fear and frustration. This ancient pattern, observed throughout recorded history, is the phenomenon of scapegoating – the ritualistic assignment of blame to an outsider or minority group, absolving the majority of responsibility and offering a perverse, fleeting sense of control.
The very word "scapegoat" carries echoes of antiquity, originating from the biblical ritual described in Leviticus. On the Day of Atonement, two goats were presented: one sacrificed, the other, the "scapegoat," symbolically laden with the sins of the community and driven into the wilderness. This act provided a catharsis, a tangible release of collective guilt and anxiety. What began as a symbolic religious rite, however, morphed over millennia into a dark societal reflex. When faced with overwhelming uncertainty, it is psychologically far simpler to point a finger at a convenient "other" than to grapple with systemic failures, the randomness of fate, or the uncomfortable truth of shared culpability. This simplification offers a powerful, if illusory, sense of unity against a common enemy, temporarily stitching together a fractured community.
History is replete with horrific examples of this psychological shortcut. Consider the mid-14th century, when the Black Death swept across Europe, decimating populations with unprecedented ferocity. In the face of an incomprehensible plague, rational thought dissolved into mass hysteria. Lacking any scientific understanding of disease transmission, terrified communities turned on their Jewish neighbors, accusing them of poisoning wells and spreading the pestilence. Thousands of innocent people were brutally tortured and murdered across the continent, sacrificed on the altar of collective fear and ignorance, embodying the scapegoat in its most tragic and violent form. This wasn't about evidence; it was about the desperate need for an explanation, a villain, when none existed.
Even today, though the plagues are different and the mechanisms more subtle, the impulse remains eerily familiar. When political tensions escalate, or societal anxieties simmer, the targeting of minority figures or those who challenge the status quo often follows a similar, disturbing trajectory. The recent incident involving Congresswoman Ilhan Omar, attacked with an unknown liquid during a town hall, serves as a stark reminder. While not a communal accusation of plague-spreading, it reflects the same underlying impulse to direct hostility and blame towards individuals perceived as "outsiders" or ideologically "other" during periods of heightened political polarization. It's the same ancient human propensity for simplifying complex problems by personifying them in a convenient target, allowing a release valve for anger and frustration.
The Lindy Effect suggests that what has persisted for a long time will continue to persist. Scapegoating, in its various guises, has been with us for millennia, a testament to its deep roots in the human psyche. It is a recurring pattern, a shadow that falls across every era of crisis. But if we recognize this ancient reflex, if we understand its origins and its insidious power, can we ever truly inoculate ourselves against its dark allure? Or is the scapegoat, in some form, an inevitable companion to human civilization, always waiting in the wings whenever uncertainty reigns?