“No one is born hating another person… people must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love.” - Nelson Mandela “Long Walk to Freedom”.
Just because I could identify a “wakeful moment” that morning in May 1970, when the first cracks appeared in my awareness wall, didn’t mean I was suddenly enlightened. Growth rarely happens all at once. Like everyone else, my wakefulness unfolded in fits and starts, with years of development still ahead.
As I learned to navigate my growing self‑awareness, I quickly discovered how powerful group dynamics can be. We are naturally drawn into groups as we meet people of similar ages, interests, and experiences, driven by a deep need to belong. These groups develop their own identity through codes of conduct, dress, and expression. And while they satisfy our longing for connection, they can also build walls—walls that separate, divide, and sometimes even nurture a culture of dislike or hate.
Take something as simple as sports. When the Philadelphia Eagles won the Super Bowl, the entire region seemed wrapped in Eagles green. Flags, bumper stickers, jerseys, and the constant chorus of “Fly, Eagles, Fly” created a sense of unity and excitement everywhere one looked. But mention the Chiefs or the Cowboys, and the mood could shift instantly. Boos, insults, and disbelief that anyone could support “the other side” poured out with surprising intensity. In the right circumstances, even a harmless rivalry can become hostile.
Sports fandom is a lighthearted example, but the same psychological forces can escalate dramatically when the stakes feel higher—when identity becomes tied to fear, grievance, or a sense of existential threat.
I thought about these dynamics as I watched the events at the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021. A group that had formed around shared loyalty, slogans, clothing, and a powerful narrative found itself swept into a moment of collective emotion. People who might never have imagined themselves acting violently were suddenly part of a crowd overwhelming police officers and breaching the building. The surge of belonging and righteousness carried individuals far beyond what they might have chosen alone.
Only in hindsight did some participants begin to question what had happened, allowing small cracks to form in the walls of certainty and bias that had shaped their actions.
History offers countless examples of what can happen when group identity becomes absolute. Nazi Germany stands as one of the most devastating. And the 2004 film Hotel Rwanda portrayed another horrifying chapter: the genocide carried out by Hutu militias who had come to believe that their Tutsi neighbors were the source of all their problems. Dehumanized as “cockroaches,” the Tutsi were hunted and killed en masse. The film illustrated a truth Voltaire once expressed: “Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.”
The question that haunts me—whether watching that film or reflecting on other historical atrocities—is how ordinary people could be led into doing such things. Why didn’t someone step forward to stop it? How do entire groups lose their moral bearings?
Cracks in the walls of powerful groups are difficult to create. Change often requires a respected voice from within—a person or moment that interrupts the momentum and invites reflection. Elie Wiesel once wrote, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” History shows that silence can be as dangerous as action. When those who see the cracks stay quiet, the walls only grow stronger.
Next: Part V - When Awareness Becomes Responsibility
Awareness, though, is never the end of the story. Once the cracks appear—whether in a personal wall or a collective one—we face a different kind of challenge: deciding what to do with what we now see. Understanding how groups shape us is only the beginning. The harder work comes next, when awakening asks something of us, and the question quietly shifts from what happened to us to who we choose to become.