On November 18th, 1978, in a remote compound in the jungles of Guyana, over 900 men, women, and children died after drinking cyanide-laced Kool-Aid under the guidance of cult leader Jim Jones. The tragedy—later known as the Jonestown massacre—would be remembered as the largest mass suicide in history.
There is a chilling tape recording of the final moments of the Jonestown massacre. The increasingly paranoid Jones had assembled all the members of his so-called Peoples Temple Agricultural Project, along with a smaller group of armed guards, and instructed them to drink the poison as an act of “revolutionary suicide.”
As Jones makes his case, a woman, Christine Miller, can be heard speaking up and asking if this was truly necessary. Of all the 900 people being pressured to take their own lives that day, she was the only one who pushed back. No doubt others had misgivings, too, but in their desire to belong and show loyalty to the community, they shouted her down.
The group knew that what was coming would mean certain death for themselves and their children, yet still, they followed the rules. There were enough people who were reluctant that they likely could have outnumbered and overcome the guards, but beyond Christine, no one spoke up. What resulted were the deaths of nearly a thousand people, including 300 children.
I first heard Christine Miller’s final message back in 2019 on an episode of the podcast You Are Not So Smart. (You can listen for yourself at minute 56:43). Her words have haunted me ever since. How could somebody who had reservations about her own death, and who begged for the lives of the children among them, be ignored? While the host of the podcast uses this clip of the Jonestown mass suicide as an example of “pluralistic ignorance,” I also see it as an example of something else: the seductive power of belonging.
When belonging is a boon
I had a hard time spending my formative years in a place where I was so different from the people around me. I was seen as foreign and alien in my small southern town. I grew up feeling like I was never going to belong—mostly because I was told that I never would belong. I didn’t look like everyone else. I ate strange food. I traveled to strange places. I spoke a strange language with my family. I constantly heard the refrain of, “Go back to where you came from.”
After some time, I stopped trying to belong. If I was never going to belong anyway, I decided to instead seek safety in being different. I didn’t hide who I was and just began putting myself out there. I rebelled by emphasizing my refusal to conform.
But then we moved to California, and things changed drastically. All of a sudden, I was no longer different from everyone around me. I worked at companies where I found people who were like me—nerdy, earnest, and techy. I found a community, and when I did, I felt belonging for the first time in my life. It felt so good to suddenly not have to overthink everything I did, always wondering if I was being “too different” or standing out too much.
My children grew up in a place where being themselves was not exceptional or unique in any way. I saw how that sense of belonging meant something to them. They get to worry about the same things all teens do, not about whether they’ll have to make themselves invisible or constantly listen to racist bullying.
Belonging is where I could finally thrive. Early on, I used my lack of belonging to propel me to escape velocity in my career, but when I truly blossomed, it was because I had found a place where I finally felt I could be me.
When belonging betrays you
Recently I listened to an episode of a different podcast, Good Faith by Curtis Chang, featuring Caleb Campbell, the author of Disarming Leviathan. Campbell is now the pastor of a Christian church in Arizona, but he was once a skinhead. He explained something profound about his past life: He had grown up in a Christian home but was turned off by the hypocrisy in the church. That led him to find a community among skinheads, but he didn’t initially join because he truly believed in Neo-Nazi ideology. Rather, he was searching for belonging, and when he found it among the skinheads, that, in turn, led him to their beliefs.
Later, Pastor Campbell was invited to play drums at a church. The warmth and community he found there led him to turn away from his racist beliefs and toward faith. Again, belonging came first, which was followed by belief. This path eventually led him to become the head pastor of his church (ref).
Humans are wired to seek belonging. We learn what is acceptable and then behave accordingly. This reinforces the norms, but it also means ostracizing those who are transgressive to the unwritten rules. As a result, we are programmed from the start to shape our behavior to conform to the wishes and expectations of those around us. (I’ve touched on this in a previous post about the sinister Milgram Experiment.)
While this need to belong might have helped us survive as early humans, it cuts both ways. Belonging can be a lifeline for someone like me who grew up alienated, or it can turn you into someone you don’t recognize, like what happened to Pastor Campbell as a teen. Belonging can give you respite, but as the Jonestown massacre shows us, it can also lead to senseless tragedy. Belonging is a double-edged sword, and its power to heal or destroy depends on the people who wield it.
How we can create belonging
In politics in America, there are so-called “purity tests” that are used to keep politicians toeing the party line. Parties will excise those who don’t adhere to the same doctrine. But in a two-party system, the one that provides a “bigger tent” and accepts more people with different points of view can win in a close election.
Rather than hunting heretics, imagine if communities sought openness and acceptance. Imagine what would be possible if we made our tents bigger, welcoming diversity without forcing conformity. When we focus on giving as many people as possible a seat at the table, we’re letting them show up as their full selves, without self-censoring or forcing themselves into a box. And when people can be their full selves, the whole group can benefit from their skills, perspectives, and experiences.
We can create belonging at work and in our communities in a few simple ways:
Meet people where they are. At companies, we look for “culture fit” in hiring to make sure candidates conform to the group that’s already there. But what if we met people where they are and were more open to different points of view? How much more progress could we make?
Seek to understand their why. Don’t look for reasons to disagree, but for ways to understand. Be curious, not critical, and you may find that you aren’t as different as you think. (I recently wrote more about this in my post on opening communication.)
Create constructive ways to disagree. Belonging doesn’t mean a lack of disagreement. In fact, in the safest communities, disagreement is welcome and embraced, and people feel they can express their true feelings and have different views.
Find common ground. There are so many points of connection between you and another human being. You might not see them right away, but if you look, you’ll find them. Emphasize where you agree, and use that as a foundation for finding a solution. This can resolve so many conflicts!
Creating belonging is about giving people the safety to be themselves without feeling pressured to conform. Community and connection can go a long way, but only if they don’t come at the cost of our integrity.
Belonging is a beautiful but delicate thing.
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