When
I was flying from Johannesburg to Belfast recently, I was caught
out by the new system some airlines have started of weighing bags
before you check in. As a result, I was found to be carrying a 24-kg
bag. I was subsequently reprimanded by an official, who claimed
he was just doing his job and that I had to shed four kilos or pay
for the extra weight. I removed two large books and a file from
my bag, reducing the weight to 20 kg. I was then told I could carry
the books on board in hand luggage. That said, I was lucky compared
to the woman in front of me. Her bag weighed 26 kg and, when she
pointed out she had no hand luggage, she was told by the same bureaucrat
to make some hand luggage of precisely 6 kg of weight.
She had to run around the airport trying to get a plastic bag so
she could carry some of her clothes on to the plane. She then had
to deal with other people just doing their jobs who
refused to give her a large bag unless she made a large purchase.
I am just doing my job has to be one of the most inane
excuses in the world. It is a phrase that I most associate with
bureaucracy and, at the risk of being melodramatic, Nazi Germany
and other atrocities. Remember the case of the American soldiers
who tortured Iraqi prisoners and then took photos of them
they, too, claimed they were just doing their jobs and carrying
out orders.
Of
course, the annoying airline bureaucrat who enjoyed bossing me and
others around cannot be compared a torturer, but the process that
led to his unquestioning rule enforcement has, at least to a degree,
the same root cause. Like the American marine or grunt,
as they are known, who tortures someone, our friend, the baggage-weighing
man, also finds himself at the bottom of a heap of bureaucratic
power. No doubt, he was ordered to ensure passengers bags
do not exceed the weight limit. Whether people do this or not is
irrelevant to him personally, but he feels the hand of the rational
bureaucratic machine on his shoulders and that his competence will
be measured by carrying out instructions. The result is an unwavering
and illogical set of actions, because, in this case, extra weight
would mean little (other than more profit for the airline), considering
the aeroplane was half-full. But why are we, humans, so bad at resisting
problematic orders? In the 1960s, Milgram carried out his famous
experiment on obedience. He showed that, when people were ordered
by an official-looking person to administer shocks to participants
in a study (actors, who were not hurt) when they answered questions
incorrectly, most people continued to ratchet up the power because
they felt they needed to do what they were told. Over 60% of the
volunteers obediently administered up to 450 V.
Despite
Milgrams highlighting our weaknesses over 40 years ago, people
still carry out orders which are damaging. Soldiers who commit atrocities
continue to use it as an unacceptable defence. It seems, as Milgram
himself warned, that when individuals merge into an organisational
structure, a new creature replaces autonomous man, unhindered by
the limitations of individual morality, freed of human inhibition,
mindful only of the sanctions of authority. But Milgram teaches
us more than the fact that people will follow problematic orders
when instructed to do so. The real finding Milgram made was that
most of us (okay, 65% of us) have a little torturer inside and,
given the right conditions, we too might just do our jobs,
no matter how unpalatable. So I forgive the baggage-weighing man
in Johannesburg and his sardonic smile, because, apparently, there
but for the grace of God go I.
Brandon
Hamber writes the column "Look South": an analysis
of trends in global political, social and cultural life and its
relevance to South Africa on Polity, see http://www.polity.co.za/pol/opinion/brandon/.
To get "Look South" by email each week click
here.
"Look South" published by

|