February 06, 2012

In breakneck tabloid-worthy developments, the news story unfolded last week of a nasty separation and uneasy reconciliation between the Susan G. Komen Foundation and Planned Parenthood. The political ramifications are best aired elsewhere, but there are psychological undercurrents to this story as well.

What struck me during the controversy was the palpable pain with which both sides voiced their disappointment in the rosy advocacy group that launched the Race for the Cure campaign and entwined breast cancer support in pale pink ribbons recognized the world over.

“Disgraceful and heartbreaking,” wrote blogger Lisa Spear on the website for the National Catholic Register. “I am a nine-year survivor, and had donated to Komen and participated in the Denver Race for the Cure in the past. Today, [after Komen reversed its decision to withhold funding from Planned Parenthood], I asked to be removed from all their contact lists, and will neither donate nor promote their fundraising.”

Meanwhile, in response to Planned Parenthood supporter Rachel Maddow’s blog, Karol537872 wrote of her mother’s death from progressive breast cancer and declared, “The Susan G. Komen Foundation is forever dead to me. I took their little pink sticker off my car and threw away my little pink ribbon.”

I checked in with Ellie Solomon, a woman dear to me who last year lost her only daughter  -- a Women’s Studies major who had worked for Planned Parenthood in Phoenix -- to breast cancer. Ellie shared with me her initial “outrage” that other young women might be deprived of screening because of politics, and then her “pure joy” at Komen’s reversal of course.

Gurus adept at managing public relations disasters are now debating whether the Dallas-based Komen Foundation will ever recover, and I defer to their expertise on that question.

What I do know is that immediate responses of women and men on both the right and the left suggest a sense of searing betrayal by a group that once seemed above the political fray: the proverbial Apple Pie of non-profits.

As I read through the blogs, read the Facebook posts, and listened to friends react, I kept noticing the intensely personal tone that pervaded this issue. It almost sounded like a friend had shockingly disappointed them by saying or doing something completely out of character, shattering their sense that they knew her well.

Indeed, the Susan G. Komen Foundation seems to embody a distinct persona, just as we tend to ally ourselves with institutions, sports teams, or alma maters that somehow begin to seem like buddies.

None of us are truly immune to what social psychologists term “social identity theory.” We seek connectedness by identifying with groups, and personify them to tighten our bonds. They become symbolic compatriots and provide security. In return, we focus on ways in which we are allied to them. We discount our differences. It’s not just the U.S. Supreme Court and Stephen Colbert who think of corporations as people; we do it, too.

The Susan G. Komen Foundation was, for many of us, an extroverted Texas friend: a little raucous, brightly clad, and flamboyant. A tad irritating, perhaps, but you could nonetheless count on her to get things done. With her, you weren’t going to plan a leisurely stroll to trade gentle reassurances over a cup of coffee. No, you were going to run 5 kilometers or 60 miles with 1.6 million people along for the chaotic, in-your-face fun as you raised money to fight a bitter, brutal common enemy.

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