You feel better when you know you’re not alone. It seems like a relatively simple concept, but I’ve always wondered why. Why are our emotions eased by the knowledge that someone is going through the same thing? I suppose it’s a gesture of empathy – there’s someone out there who understands what you’re going through. Or perhaps it’s an extension of the social connection we all thrive on.
In the show Fleabag, the main character develops a one-way rapport with, well, the audience. We are silent observers, from which showrunner Phoebe Waller-Bridge (who also plays the eponymous character of Fleabag) fashions a coping mechanism. It’s a foolproof system for Fleabag: we see everything she sees, and our silence translates into approval. For her, everything becomes much easier when there’s always someone in her corner. Did I secretly want to talk about Fleabag so I could post a clip from the show? Yes, yes, I did.
Similarly, as sports fans, we’re both comforted and energized by the legions of supporters that we know are feeling the same emotions as us at that very moment. Once again, there is a rapport – even if we don’t know who is on the other end – that steadies us. Communities such as these give us justification and reassurance that we’re doing the right things. The sense of solidarity feels powerful.
These types of communities exist in almost every area of our lives. No, I’m not saying that I began to talk to an invisible audience in a COVID-fueled desperation. Rather, I’m talking about the everyday communities that we interact with, such as our friend groups on social media or the comments section of our favorite youtuber. I started wonder whether these groups, with their shared motivations and mutual assurances, were becoming more harmful than helpful. Fleabag, for example, used her comfortable relationship with the audience to avoid making connections and facing the realities of her complicated life. And of course, in both sports and politics, many of us feel emboldened by our peers to declare that anyone who isn’t with us is against us.
I find that communities, in some sense, are defined by their boundaries. We become isolated through the same circumstances that bring us together. Especially online, algorithms largely determine what content we receive. As a result, we’re grouped into communities almost without our consent, and that latent desire for human connection that forms communities disappears. Consequently, it can often feel like our communities are becoming more closed off rather than more diverse, which I’m sure many can empathize with at this moment in time. As we focus on these boundaries more and more, it becomes easier to define a community by who is locked outside by them. The best communities, it seems, are the ones that accept that boundaries are not created to keep people out. Instead, the walls that define communities are porous, constantly changing and always accepting. Perhaps, finally then, we can build something better.