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How much of what we fear have we learned from others?
Some fears arise after a specific experience. But others arrive much earlier. They are presented to us already explained, already categorized, already placed in our perception before we’ve even had the chance to experience them for ourselves.
That’s dangerous. That’s not right. Those people are like that. Nothing good can come of it.
And when a warning is repeated often enough, it ends up looking too much like the truth.
That thing that happens to us
We learn many things by observing those around us. We also learn to be afraid.
We do it at home, at school, in the neighborhood, in the groups we belong to. We hear stories, inherit cautions, and receive explanations about who deserves to be trusted and who doesn’t. Sometimes these warnings protect us. Other times they limit us. And some end up becoming prejudices whose origin no one remembers exactly anymore.
Collective fear also has a powerful characteristic: it saves us from thinking.
When the entire group fears the same thing, questioning it requires much more effort than simply repeating it. It’s more comfortable to accept the label. Easier to maintain distance. Safer to remain with those who interpret the world as we do.
And so years can pass without anyone questioning whether what they continue to fear still makes any sense.
There are fears that survive precisely because no one gets close enough to verify them.
The story that puts him in front of it
Norman is a boy who can see and speak with the dead. His town doesn’t interpret this difference with curiosity, but with rejection. For many, he is strange, unsettling, someone best viewed from afar.
But ParaNorman does something much more interesting than tell a ghost story.
Little by little we discover that the real conflict is not in what the people fear, but in the story that has been told about it for generations.
An ancient collective guilt has become a narrative. The narrative has become fear. And fear ends up justifying a way of looking at those who are different.
The film starts out looking like a story about monsters.
And it ends up forcing us to ask ourselves who decided that they were the monsters.
The mirror
Prejudices are almost never presented by saying, “I am a prejudice.”
They usually arrive disguised as someone else’s experience.
“I’m telling you this for your own good.” “It’s always been like this.” “Everyone knows what they’re like.” “Don’t trust them.” “It’s best not to get involved there.”
And those phrases can build an image of people, places, or situations that we may never have had the opportunity to really get to know.
That’s why there’s an important difference between having judgment and inheriting conclusions .
Judgment is formed by comparing. Observing. Asking questions. Learning. Correcting ourselves when we discover something new.
Prejudice, on the other hand, usually starts at the end.
She already knows who the other person is before she even speaks to them. She already knows their intentions. She has already decided what to expect.
And when an entire community shares that same interpretation, questioning it can even feel like a betrayal.
Therein lies one of the most powerful ideas in ParaNorman : fear can not only isolate us from what we fear, but it can also unite us with those who fear the same thing.
Sharing an enemy creates a sense of belonging.
This explains why some collective fears are so resilient even when the facts begin to contradict them. Abandoning them doesn’t simply mean changing our minds. Sometimes it means distancing ourselves a little from the group, acknowledging that we were wrong, or admitting that we judged without understanding.
And that costs money.
Because growing up also involves examining what we receive.
Not everything inherited deserves to be preserved.
There are traditions that guide us. Experiences that protect us. Advice that saves us from suffering.
And there are ancient fears that need to end within us so they don’t continue to be passed down from generation to generation.
What we do with it
Perhaps the first step is to learn to ask ourselves where what we feel comes from.
When something or someone produces an immediate rejection in us, it is worth pausing for a moment and asking ourselves: what personal experience supports this? Do I really know them? Or am I reacting to an idea I received from others?
It’s not about living without caution. Nor is it about assuming that all fear is irrational.
It’s about distinguishing.
Then comes something more difficult: getting close enough to allow reality to contradict our expectations.
Know before classifying.
Listen before you answer.
Ask before repeating.
And to accept that some of our certainties may change.
Because there is a form of courage that has nothing to do with confronting what we fear, but with recognizing that perhaps we never had sufficient reason to fear it.
An idea to take us
Fear is easily inherited. Understanding others requires deciding what we want to continue believing.
The question that follows
What fear, rejection, or prejudice do you still carry with you without remembering who taught you to have it?
