11-us-vs-them

A Eleven Us Versus Them s a kid, I saw the original 1968 version of Planet of the Apes. As a future primatologist, I was mesmerized, saw it repeatedly, and loved the cheesy ape costumes. Years later I discovered a great anecdote about the filming of the movie, related by both Charlton Heston and Kim Hunter, its stars: at lunchtime, the people playing chimps and those playing gorillas ate in separate groups.1 As it’s been said (most often attributed to Robert Benchley), “There are two kinds of people in the world: those who divide the world into two kinds of people and those who don’t.” There are more of the first. And it is vastly consequential when people are divided into Us and Them, in-group and out- group, “the people” (i.e., our kind) and the Others. This chapter explores our tendency to form Us/Them dichotomies and to favor the former. Is this mind-set universal? How malleable are “Us” and “Them” categories? Is there hope that human clannishness and xenophobia can be vanquished so that Hollywood-extra chimps and gorillas break bread together? O THE STRENGTH OF US/THEM ur brains form Us/Them dichotomies (henceforth, “Us/Them-ing,” for brevity) with stunning speed.2 As discussed in chapter 3, fifty-millisecond exposure to the face of someone of another race activates the amygdala, while failing to activate the fusiform face area as much as same-race faces do—all within a few hundred milliseconds. Similarly, the brain groups faces by gender or social status at roughly the same speed. Rapid, automatic biases against a Them can be demonstrated with the fiendishly clever Implicit Association Test (IAT).3 Suppose you are unconsciously prejudiced against trolls. To simplify the IAT enormously: A computer screen flashes either pictures of humans or trolls or words with positive connotations (e.g., “honest”) or negative ones (“deceitful”). Sometimes the rule is “If you see a human or a positive term, press the red button; if it’s a troll or a negative term, press the blue button.” And sometimes it’s “Human or negative term, press red; troll or positive term, press blue.” Because of your antitroll bias, pairing a troll with a positive term, or a human with a negative, is discordant and slightly distracting. Thus you pause for a few milliseconds before pressing a button. It’s automatic—you’re not fuming about clannish troll business practices or troll brutality in the Battle of Somewhere in 1523. You’re processing words and pictures, and unconsciously you pause, stopped by the dissonance linking troll and “lovely,” or human and “malodorous.” Run enough rounds and that pattern of delay emerges, revealing your bias. The brain’s fault lines dividing Us from Them were shown in chapter 4’s discussion of oxytocin. Recall how the hormone prompts trust, generosity, and cooperation toward Us but crappier behavior toward Them—more preemptive aggression in economic play, more advocacy of sacrificing Them (but not Us) for the greater good. Oxytocin exaggerates Us/Them-ing. This is hugely interesting. If you like broccoli but spurn cauliflower, no hormone amplifies both preferences. Ditto for liking chess and disdaining backgammon. Oxytocin’s opposing effects on Us and Them demonstrate the salience of such dichotomizing. Our depth of Us/Them-ing is supported further by something remarkable— other species do it as well. Initially this doesn’t seem profound. After all, chimps kill males from other groups, baboon troops bristle when encountering each other, animals of all stripes tense at strangers. This simply reflects not taking kindly to someone new, a Them. But some other species have a broader concept of Us and Them.4 For example, chimp groups that have swollen in number might divide; murderous animosities soon emerge between ex-groupmates. Remarkably, you can show automatic Us/Them-ing in other primates with a monkey equivalent of the IAT. In one study animals were shown pictures of either members of their own or the neighboring group, interspersed with positive things (e.g., fruit) or negative (e.g., spiders). And monkeys looked longer at discordant pairings (e.g., group members with spiders). These monkeys don’t just fight neighbors over resources. They have negative associations with them—“Those guys are like yucky spiders, but us, us, we’re like luscious tropical fruit.”* Numerous experiments confirm that the brain differentially processes images within milliseconds based on minimal cues about race or gender.5 Similarly, consider “minimal group” paradigms, pioneered in the 1970s by Henri Tajfel of the University of Bristol. He showed that even if groupings are based on flimsy differences (e.g., whether someone over- or underestimated the number of dots in a picture), in-group biases, such as higher levels of cooperation, still soon develop. Such prosociality is about group identification—people preferentially allocate resources to anonymous in-group individuals. Merely grouping people activates parochial biases, no matter how tenuous the basis of the grouping. In general, minimal group paradigms enhance our opinion of Us rather than lessening our opinion of Them. I guess that’s meager good news—at least we resist thinking that people who came up heads on the coin toss (in contrast to our admirable tails) eat their dead. The power of minimal, arbitrary groupings to elicit Us/Them-ing recalls “green-beard effects” from chapter 10. Recall how these hover between prosociality due to kin selection and due to reciprocal altruism—they require an arbitrary, conspicuous, genetically based trait (e.g., a green beard) that indicates a tendency to act altruistically toward other green-bearders—under those conditions, green-bearders flourish. Us/Them-ing based on minimal shared traits is like psychological rather than genetic green-beard effects. We feel positive associations with people who share the most meaningless traits with us. As a great example, in one study subjects conversed with a researcher who, unbeknownst to them, did or didn’t mimic their movements (for example, leg crossing).6 Not only is mimicry pleasing, activating mesolimbic dopamine, but it also made subjects more likely to help the researcher, picking up their dropped pen. An unconscious Us-ness born from someone slouching in a chair like you do. Thus an invisible strategy becomes yoked to an arbitrary green-beard marker. What helps define a particular culture? Values, beliefs, attributions, ideologies. All invisible, until they are yoked with arbitrary markers such as dress, ornamentation, or regional accent. Consider two value-laden approaches to what to do to a cow: (A) eat it; (B) worship it. Two As or two Bs would be more peaceful when sorting out cow options than an A and B together. What might reliably mark someone who uses approach A? Maybe a Stetson and cowboy boots. And a B person? Perhaps a sari or a Nehru jacket. Those markers were initially arbitrary—nothing about the object called a sari intrinsically suggests a belief that cows are sacred because a god tends them. And there’s no inevitable link between carnivory and a Stetson’s shape—it keeps the sun out of your eyes and off your neck, useful whether you tend cows because you love steak or because Lord Krishna tended cows. Minimal group studies show our propensity for generating biased Us/Thems from arbitrary differences. What we then do is link arbitrary markers to meaningful differences in values and beliefs. And then something happens with those arbitrary markers. We (e.g., primates, rats, Pavlov’s dogs) can be conditioned to associate something arbitrary, like a bell, with a reward.7 As the association solidifies, is the ringing bell still “just” a marker symbolizing impending pleasure, or does it become pleasurable itself? Elegant work related to the mesolimbic dopamine system shows that in a substantial subset of rats, the arbitrary signal itself becomes rewarding. Similarly, an arbitrary symbol of an Us core value gradually takes on a life and power of its own, becoming the signified instead of the signifier. Thus, for example, the scattering of colors and patterns on cloth that constitutes a nation’s flag becomes something that people will kill and die for.* The strength of Us/Them-ing is shown by its emergence in kids. By age three to four, kids already group people by race and gender, have more negative views of such Thems, and perceive other-race faces as being angrier than same-race faces.8 And even earlier. Infants learn same-race faces better than other-race. (How can you tell? Show an infant a picture of someone repeatedly; she looks at it less each time. Now show a different face—if she can’t tell the two apart, she barely glances at it. But if it’s recognized as being new, there’s excitement, and longer looking).9 Four important thoughts about kids dichotomizing: Are children learning these prejudices from their parents? Not necessarily. Kids grow in environments whose nonrandom stimuli tacitly pave the way for dichotomizing. If an infant sees faces of only one skin color, the salient thing about the first face with a different skin color will be the skin color. Racial dichotomies are formed during a crucial developmental period. As evidence, children adopted before age eight by someone of a different race develop the expertise at face recognition of the adoptive parent’s race.10 Kids learn dichotomies in the absence of any ill intent. When a kindergarten teacher says, “Good morning, boys and girls,” the kids are being taught that dividing the world that way is more meaningful than saying, “Good morning, those of you who have lost a tooth and those of you who haven’t yet.” It’s everywhere, from “she” and “he” meaning different things to those languages so taken with gender dichotomizing that inanimate objects are given honorary gonads.11 Racial Us/Them-ing can seem indelibly entrenched in kids because the parents most intent on preventing it are often lousy at it. As shown in studies, liberals are typically uncomfortable discussing race with their children. Instead they counter the lure of Us/Them-ing with abstractions that mean squat to kids—“It’s wonderful that everyone can be friends” or “Barney is purple, and we love Barney.” Thus, the strength of Us/Them-ing is shown by: (a) the speed and minimal sensory stimuli required for the brain to process group differences; (b) the unconscious automaticity of such processes; (c) its presence in other primates and very young humans; and (d) the tendency to group according to arbitrary differences, and to then imbue those markers with power. U US s/Them-ing typically involves inflating the merits of Us concerning core values—we are more correct, wise, moral, and worthy when it comes to knowing what the gods want/running the economy/raising kids/fighting this war. Us-ness also involves inflating the merits of our arbitrary markers, and that can take some work—rationalizing why our food is tastier, our music more moving, our language more logical or poetic. Perhaps even more than superiority, feelings about Us center on shared obligations, on willingness and expectation of mutuality.12 The essence of an Us mind-set is nonrandom clustering producing higher-than-expected frequencies of positive interactions. As we saw in chapter 10, the logical strategy in one-round Prisoner’s Dilemma is to defect. Cooperation flourishes when games have an uncertain number of rounds, and with the capacity for our reputations to precede us. Groups, by definition, have multiple-round games and the means to spread news of someone being a jerk. This sense of obligation and reciprocity among Us is shown in economic games, where players are more trusting, generous, and cooperative with in-group than with out-group members (even with minimal group paradigms, where players know that groupings are arbitrary).13 Chimps even show this trust element where they have to choose between (a) being guaranteed to receive some unexciting food and (b) getting some fabulous food if another chimp will share it with them. Chimps opt for the second scenario, requiring trust, when the other chimp is a grooming partner. Moreover, priming people to think of a victim of violence as an Us, rather than a Them, increases the odds of their intervening. And recall from chapter 3 how fans at a soccer match are more likely to aid an injured spectator if he’s wearing home-team insignias.14 Enhanced prosociality for in-group members does not even require face-to- face interactions. In one study subjects from an ethnically polarized neighborhood encountered an open, stamped questionnaire on the sidewalk near a mailbox. Subjects were more likely to mail it if the questionnaire indicated support for a value of the subject’s ethnic group.15 In-group obligation is shown by people feeling more need to make amends for transgressions against an Us than against a Them. For the former, people usually make amends to the wronged individual and act more prosocially to the group overall. But people often make in-group amends by being more antisocial to another group. Moreover, in such scenarios, the guiltier the person feels about her in-group violation, the worse she is to Thems.16 Thus, sometimes you help Us by directly helping Us, sometimes by hurting Them. This raises a broad issue about in-group parochialism: is the goal that your group do well, or simply better than Them? If the former, maximizing absolute levels of in-group well-being is the goal, and the levels of rewards to Them is irrelevant; if the latter, the goal is maximizing the gap between Us and Them. Both occur. Doing better rather than doing well makes sense in zero-sum games where, say, only one team can win, and where winning with scores of 1– 0, 10–0, and 10–9 are equivalent. Moreover, for sectarian sports fans, there is similar mesolimbic dopamine activation when the home team wins or when a hated rival loses to a third party.17 This is schadenfreude, gloating, where their pain is your gain. It’s problematic when non–zero sum games are viewed as zero-sum (winner- take-all).18 It’s not a great mind-set to think you’ve won World War III if afterward Us have two mud huts and three fire sticks and They have only one of each.* A horrific version of this thinking occurred late during World War I, when the Allies knew they had more resources (i.e., soldiers) than Germany. Therefore, the British commander, Douglas Haig, declared a strategy of “ceaseless attrition,” where Britain went on the offensive, no matter how many of his men were killed—as long as the Germans lost at least as many. So in-group parochialism is often more concerned about Us beating Them than with Us simply doing well. This is the essence of tolerating inequality in the name of loyalty. Consistent with that, priming loyalty strengthens in-group favoritism and identification, while priming equality does the opposite.19 Intertwined with in-group loyalty and favoritism is an enhanced capacity for empathy. For example, the amygdala activates when viewing fearful faces, but only of group members; when it’s an out-group member, Them showing fear might even be good news—if it scares Them, bring it on. Moreover, recall from chapter 3 the “isomorphic sensorimotor” reflex of tensing your hand when watching a hand being poked with a needle; the reflex is stronger if it is a same- race hand.20 As we saw, people are more likely to make amends for transgressions against Us than against Them. What about responses to other in-group members violating a norm? Most common is forgiving Us more readily than Them. As we will see, this is often rationalized—we screw up because of special circumstances; They screw up because that’s how They are. Something interesting can happen when someone’s transgression constitutes airing the group’s dirty laundry that affirms a negative stereotype. The resulting in-group shame can provoke high levels of punishment as a signal to outsiders.21 The United States, with its rationalizations and ambivalences about ethnicity, provides many such examples. Consider Rudy Giuliani, who grew up in Brooklyn in an Italian American enclave dominated by organized crime (Giuliani’s father served time for armed robbery and then worked for his brother- in-law, a Mob loan shark). Giuliani rose to national prominence in 1985 as the attorney prosecuting the “Five Families” in the Mafia Commission Trial, effectively destroying them. He was strongly motivated to counter the stereotype of “Italian American” as synonymous with organized crime. When referring to his accomplishment, he said, “And if that’s not enough to remove the Mafia prejudice, then there probably could not be anything you could do to remove it.” If you want someone to prosecute mafiosi with tireless intensity, get a proud Italian American outraged by the stereotypes generated by the Mob.22 Similar motivations were widely ascribed to Chris Darden, the African American attorney who was cocounsel for the prosecution in the O. J. Simpson trial. Ditto for the trial of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg and Morton Sobell, all Jewish, accused of spying for the Soviet Union. The very public prosecution was by two Jews, Roy Cohn and Irving Saypol, and presided over by a Jewish judge, Irving Kaufman, all eager to counter the stereotype of Jews as disloyal “internationalists.” After death sentences were doled out, Kaufman was honored by the American Jewish Committee, the Anti-Defamation League, and the Jewish War Veterans.23 Giuliani, Darden, Cohn, Saypol, and Kaufman show that being in a group means that someone else’s behaviors can make you look bad.24 This raises a larger issue, namely our sense of obligation and loyalty to Us as a whole. At one extreme it can be contractual. This can be literal, with professional athletes in team sports. It is expected that when jocks sign contracts, they will play their hardest, putting the team’s fortune above showboating. But the obligations are finite—they’re not expected to sacrifice their lives for their team. And when athletes are traded, they don’t serve as a fifth column, throwing games in their new uniform to benefit their old team. The core of such a contractual relationship is the fungibility of both employer and employee. At the other extreme, of course, are Us memberships that are not fungible and transcend negotiation. People aren’t traded from the Shiites to the Sunnis, or from the Iraqi Kurds to the Sami herders in Finland. It would be a rare Kurd who would want to be Sami, and his ancestors would likely turn over in their graves when he nuzzled his first reindeer. Converts are often subject to ferocious retribution by those they left—consider Meriam Ibrahim, sentenced to death in Sudan in 2014 for converting to Christianity—and suspicion from those they’ve joined. With the sense of one’s lot being permanent come distinctive elements of Us-ness. You don’t sign a faith-based baseball contract with vague promises of a salary. But Us-ness based on sacred values, with wholes bigger than sums of parts, where unenforceable obligations stretch across generations, millennia, even into afterlives, where it’s Us, right or wrong, is the essence of faith-based relationships. Naturally, things are more complicated. Sometimes an athlete choosing to switch teams is viewed as betraying a sacred trust. Consider the perceived treachery when LeBron James chose to leave the Cavaliers of his hometown, Cleveland, and the perception of his choice to return as akin to the Second Coming. At the other extreme of group membership, people do convert, emigrate, assimilate, and, especially in the United States, wind up a pretty atypical Us—consider ex-Governor Bobby Jindal of Louisiana, with his rich Southern accent and Christian faith, born Piyush Jindal to Hindu immigrant parents from India. And consider the complexities in, to use a horrible phrase, the unidirectionality of fungibility—Muslim fundamentalists w