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In 1856, in what is now South Africa's Eastern Cape, a young Xhosa woman named Nongqawuse said she had met ancestral spirits at a pool near the Gxarha River. Her uncle Mhlakaza carried the message to their chief. Chief Sarhili kaHintsa who was the senior chief of the Gcaleka, the leading Xhosa royal house. Nongqawuse said that the spirits gave an instructions that they should kill all their cattle and destroy their crops, and the ancestors will rise, bring fresh, healthy herds and drive the British into the sea. This did not come from nowhere. The Xhosa had endured decades of war, lost land, and a lung sickness that was killing their cattle. And of course, people in pain are always hungry for a promise. In obedience to this supposed spiritual instruction, about 400,000 cattle were slaughtered. Now, on February 18, 1857, the appointed day, nothing happened. South African History would later call Chief Sarhili the last king to rule over Xhosaland before the cattle killing fragmented it. Despite decades of clashes with the British, he had managed to bring some unity to the Xhosa nation but an obedience to Nongqawuse prophecy destroyed everything. Here is the part that matters the most. The believers did not stop and ask whether the prophecy was false. They asked who had RUINED it. They blamed the minority who had refused to kill their cattle, known as the amagogotya, the "stingy ones." The doubters were harassed and attacked. Some had to run to the British for protection. The killing and the hunger went on, and estimates of the dead run to tens of thousands. The prophecy was never examined. The reason why it did not come to pass was simply blamed on those who had the audacity to question its authenticity. Now, something worse is happening. When you question a belief, raise a concern, you will see someone say "But why don't you say this about the other people too?” The person rarely says the claim is false. They do not point to an error in the evidence. They move the conversation to another address. In philosophy, this is known as tu quoque, Latin for "you also," and its popular form is whataboutism. It answers a criticism with a counter-accusation. Logicians treat it as a cousin of the ad hominem, because it attacks the person instead of the claim, and it says nothing about whether the original charge is true. Soviet officials perfected this. If you are a student of history you may have read about it. Whenever the West criticised the gulags, the reply was "and you are lynching Black people." Both were real, and both were evil. Neither cancelled the other. It’s the most annoying and unintelligent kind of argument. Before you say “KAA, why don’t you talk about Islam too,” consider that a doctor treating one patient is not guilty of ignoring the rest of the hospital. Let me paint a picture further for those who love education, and explain why you feel threatened when your beliefs are questioned. In a 2016 brain-imaging study, researchers challenged the strongly held political views of 40 people and watched how their brains responded. The emotion and threat regions, the amygdala and the insula, lit up. The people who were willing to change their minds showed less of that response. So what you feel when your belief is questioned is not imagined. It is the same alarm system that fires when you sense danger. That tightening in your chest is real, but it is not evidence. It tells you the belief matters to you. It does not tell you the belief is true. Put these together and you have the state of mind. It is not stupidity and it is not evil. It is threat. When a belief has become part of who you are, a question feels like an attack on you, and the mind quietly swaps the question. It stops asking "Is it true?" and starts asking "Who is coming for my side?" In 1857, that question had a name: the amagogotya. A belief that is true can survive a question. Only a fragile one needs a bodyguard. -KAA #kaa_truths

The Pastor Nobody Was Allowed to Question In the 1960s, an American preacher named Jim Jones built a church called Peoples Temple. In a country where churches were still largely segregated, he welcomed Black and white members together. Many followers called it their home, a place of joy and belonging. Then the control began. Researchers describe his authority as highly centralized. Members who challenged his edicts were punished, and he built loyalty by weakening their family ties. He moved the church to the jungles of Guyana and held midnight drills called "White Nights," where followers drank a liquid they believed was poison, to prove their loyalty. In November 1978, relatives of members persuaded US Congressman Leo Ryan to investigate. A few residents asked to leave with him. Jones ordered Ryan killed at the airstrip. Then he called everyone to the pavilion and told them to drink. More than 900 people died that day, including well over 200 children. Most of us call it a cult and move on. But the question worth asking is not "how did they become so foolish?" It is "how did ordinary people end up here?" What research says about obedience In the early 1960s, psychologist Stanley Milgram told participants to give electric shocks to a stranger, increasing up to 450 volts, while the man cried out in pain. Nobody expected what followed. Sixty-five percent of participants went all the way to the top, simply because a man in authority told them to continue. But the variations hold the real lesson. When the same experiment moved from Yale to a shabby office, obedience fell to 47.5%. When the authority was not in the room, it dropped sharply. And when another participant refused to continue, it dropped sharply again. So obedience is not mainly about stupidity or wickedness. It depends on how legitimate the authority looks, how close he stands, and whether anyone dares to say no first. Now look at a typical pulpit. The stage. The title. The robe or the expensive suit. The word "anointed." The warning that questioning "the man of God" invites a curse. That is Milgram's lab coat, and it works the same way. I am not saying every church is Jonestown. Jonestown is the far end of the road. But the first step on that road is a sentence you will hear in many congregations: "Don't question the man of God." The most hopeful finding is the last one. One person refusing makes it easier for the next. Somebody has to be the second person in the room who asks, "Where is that in the book?" -KAA #kaa_truths