The tickets had been a gift at the last minute, and due to a
scheduling issue I wasn’t able to arrive until the concert had already began,
but that was fine. I’d thought I was going to have to miss the show entirely,
and was certainly appropriately grateful for the opportunity to see Sting and
Peter Gabriel in concert.
They didn’t play sets, as such, choosing instead to
alternate songs between them so as not to interrupt the flow of the
performance, and I can personally attest to the fact that the performance did
flow. By the time Sting got around to “Message in a Bottle,” the whole crowd
was singing along, calling back to him as he called out to us, joining with him
in full voice as the song neared it’s climax…
“Sending out an S.O.S.”
“Sending out an S.O.S.”
“Sending out an S.O.S.”
“Sending out an S.O.S…”
And that, I think, was when I finally understood the appeal
of fascism.
Because it really DOES feel good to stand, surrounded by
twenty thousand other people, most of whom you’ve never met, most of whom
you’ll never meet, and know that, in that one moment at least, you are all of one
mind.
It feels good to cry out, together, a simple sentiment
shared by thousands of your fellows, knowing that everyone present is invested
in that moment of unity every bit as deeply as you are.
It feels good to share your passion, and to unleash that
passion free from judgment or consequence.
It feels good to free yourself of the burden of yourself,
and in doing so to lose yourself to the will of the group. To nullify all sense
of personal identity as payment for the opportunity to become a part of something
terrifyingly huge, and utterly uncontrollable.
There’s freedom in that feeling. And power…
So yeah, I “get” fascism now.
Which is good.
It’s good to know.
It’s important to know that I’m as susceptible to that sort
of thing, given the right circumstance, as anyone else.
If for no other reason than so as to avoid it…
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