Whenever I see mass protests, I’m reminded of The Simpsons. The townspeople clutching pitchforks and flaming torches, whipped into frenzy by something they don’t fully understand.
The gag lands because it reveals a permanent truth: crowds are rarely guided by reason; they’re driven by the intoxication of shared outrage.
For many in the mob, it’s the first time they’ve felt solidarity around grievances they’ve never managed to articulate. That experience of collective belonging can feel almost redemptive.
But it doesn’t make it noble.
I’m not impressed by good crowd management or organisational skill. Especially not when the anger of the crowd is misdirected — sharpened into slogans, chanted in unison, and bent away from the real levers of change.
Immigration has become the trigger for this cycle across the West.
Britain wrestles with Channel crossings. France and Germany report majorities who believe immigration is “too high.”
Australian cities erupt with anger over government intake.
These are real issues: housing shortages, pressure on public services, cultural dislocation.
But once they hit the streets, nuance is the first casualty. The march doesn’t propose an alternative. It doesn’t weigh asylum law against demographics, or refugee quotas against labour needs.
It simplifies. It shouts. And it reduces complexity to a binary: us versus them.
The pattern is predictable.
Public anxiety over borders and identity is a reliable spark. The slogans are preloaded — “Stop the invasion,” “We’re being replaced,” “Take back control.”
These slogans don’t persuade. They trigger an emotional reflex. Passion isn’t the problem — passion without precision is. And there is never anything precise about the mob.
Immigration, among the most complex issues in modern politics, becomes a morality play: patriots against invaders, order against chaos, survival against extinction.
The crowd need not think; it need only chant.
Once marches begin, social media and news coverage amplify them. Viral images and clips circulate, often stripped of context or accuracy. Outrage breeds coverage. Coverage breeds more outrage.
No one wants to miss out. Everyone wants to be on the right side.
The mob isn’t interested in policy; it craves solidarity. Wave the flag, repeat the chant, curse the enemy — these rituals deliver validation. Rage hardens into identity.
The mob doesn’t ask what should be done. It asks only one question: which side are you on?
This is where the tragedy lies.
Protesters aren’t wrong to feel betrayed. Immigration is visibly out of control. Institutions have gaslit the public, trapping them in a psychologically co-dependent relationship with power. Public trust, quite rightly, has collapsed. Their frustration is legitimate.
But their fury is misdirected — especially when they mistake who the enemy really is. As long as the binary illusion holds, anger will always be wasted.
And right now it’s being wasted across the world.
The Left and Right binary is the perfect cage.
Both sides feel righteous.
Both sides despise the other.
And both miss the point.
The irony is brutal. People march for freedom. They chant against control. They demand justice. Yet every step proves the opposite.
Their outrage doesn’t topple the system; it sustains it.
Their anger doesn’t expose corruption; it diverts attention from it.
These marches are not revolts.
They are rituals. Not awakenings, but rehearsals of captivity.
Change requires dissent, yes. But dissent that collapses into tribal rage is not democracy. It is spectacle.
Until citizens pause long enough to ask the only question that matters — who benefits from my outrage? — the anger on display will remain misdirected.
And the crowd, convinced it is resisting, will prove instead how easy it is to be led.