Page 94 - Malcolm Gladwell - Talking to Strangers
P. 94

name was Leon Greenberg. He said to me, ‘Hey, you spin a good yarn. But you couldn’t really have
                    drunk that stuff.’ And he needled me just enough that he knew he would get a response. So I said,
                    ‘You  want  me  to  drink  it?  I  have  a  bottle.’  So  one  Saturday  I  drank  some  under  controlled
                    conditions. He was taking blood samples every twenty minutes, and, sure enough, I did drink it, the
                    way I said I’d drunk it.”
                       Greenberg had an ambulance ready to take Heath home. But Heath decided to walk. Anna was
                    waiting up for him in the third-floor walkup they rented in an old fraternity house. “I was hanging
                    out the window waiting for him, and there’s the ambulance driving along the street, very slowly, and
                    next to it is Dwight. He waves, and he looks fine. Then he walks up the three flights of stairs and
                    says, ‘Ahh, I’m drunk,’ and falls flat on his face. He was out for three hours.”
                       Here we have a community of people, in a poor and undeveloped part of the world, who hold
                    drinking parties with 180-proof alcohol every weekend, from Saturday night until Monday morning.
                    The Camba must have paid dearly for their excesses, right? Wrong.
                       “There  was  no  social  pathology—none,”  Dwight  Heath  said.  “No  arguments,  no  disputes,  no
                    sexual aggression, no verbal aggression. There was pleasant conversation or silence.” He went on:
                    “The  drinking  didn’t  interfere  with  work.…It  didn’t  bring  in  the  police.  And  there  was  no
                    alcoholism either.”
                       Heath  wrote  up  his  findings  in  a  now-famous  article  for  the  Quarterly  Journal  of  Studies  on
                    Alcohol. In the years that followed, countless other anthropologists chimed in to report the same
                    thing.  Alcohol  sometimes  led  people  to  raise  their  voices  and  fight  and  say  things  they  would
                    otherwise  regret.  But  a  lot  of  other  times,  it  didn’t.  The  Aztec  called  pulque—the  traditional
                    alcoholic  beverage  of  central  Mexico—“four  hundred  rabbits”  because  of  the  seemingly  infinite
                    variety  of  behaviors  it  could  create.  Anthropologist  Mac  Marshall  traveled  to  the  South  Pacific
                    island of Truk and found that, for young men there, drunkenness created aggression and mayhem.
                    But when the islanders reached their mid-thirties, it had the opposite effect.
                       In Oaxaca, Mexico, the Mixe Indians were known to engage in wild fistfights when drunk. But
                    when anthropologist Ralph Beals started watching the fights, they didn’t seem out of control at all.
                    They seemed as though they all followed the same script:
                       Although I probably saw several hundred fights, I saw no weapon used, although nearly all men
                       carried machetes and many carried rifles. Most fights start with a drunken quarrel. When the
                       pitch of voices reaches a certain point, everyone expects a fight. The men hold out their weapons
                       to the onlookers, and then begin to fight with their fists, swinging wildly until one falls down, [at
                       which point] the victor helps his opponent to his feet and usually they embrace each other.
                       None of this makes sense. Alcohol is a powerful drug. It disinhibits. It breaks down the set of
                    constraints that hold our behavior in check. That’s why it doesn’t seem surprising that drunkenness
                    is so overwhelmingly linked with violence, car accidents, and sexual assault.
                       But  if  the  Camba’s  drinking  bouts  had  so  few  social  side  effects,  and  if  the  Mixe  Indians  of
                    Mexico  seem  to  be  following  a  script  even  during  their  drunken  brawls,  then  our  perception  of
                    alcohol as a disinhibiting agent can’t be right. It must be something else. Dwight and Anna Heath’s
                    experience  in  Bolivia  set  in  motion  a  complete  rethinking  of  our  understanding  of  intoxication.
                    Many of those who study alcohol no longer consider it an agent of disinhibition. They think of it as
                    an agent of myopia.


                                                           5.


                    The  myopia  theory  was  first  suggested  by  psychologists  Claude  Steele  and  Robert  Josephs,  and
                    what they meant by myopia is that alcohol’s principal effect is to narrow our emotional and mental
                    fields  of  vision.  It  creates,  in  their  words,  “a  state  of  shortsightedness  in  which  superficially
                    understood,  immediate  aspects  of  experience  have  a  disproportionate  influence  on  behavior  and
                    emotion.”  Alcohol  makes  the  thing  in  the  foreground  even  more  salient  and  the  thing  in  the
                    background less significant. It makes short-term considerations loom large, and more cognitively
                    demanding, longer-term considerations fade away.
   89   90   91   92   93   94   95   96   97   98   99