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Pol Sci 001 Homework
Homework No. 3 – TEXT SUBMISSIONS ONLY!!! FILE UPLOADS WILL NOT BE
ACCEPTED!!!!
Give your paper a title
1,000 words minimum – (more is always OK) – type the final word count in the upper left
corner of your paper
Minimum 6 paragraphs
Americans value individualism, yet they tend to be very conforming – (ie: being “on
trend) Links to the definition are below. Groupthink can contribute to stability and order
in a society, but often at great personal, social, environmental and moral cost.
Sometimes groupthink can be socially restrictive as challenges or objections are
ignored. Sometimes, groupthink can keep minor issues from bogging down a project.
YOUR ASSIGNMENT – FOLLOW THE ORDER BELOW:
● FIRST: Write an introductory paragraph. What is the assignment about?
● SECOND:In not less than 500 words (longer is fine, more than one paragraph
here is also fine), read and fully summarize the plot of “The Lottery,” by
Shirley Jackson. The text is below. Start to finish, what happens in the story?
Where does the story take place? What is the story about? What is the point
of the lottery? Why is it held? How long has it been held? What is the
outcome for the people who select blank slips of paper? What is the outcome
for the person who selects the paper with the black mark? How often is the
lottery held? Who participates in the lottery? Be sure to include commentary
on the several age-based perspectives of the characters in the story. How did
the oldest citizens feel about the lottery? Provide supporting quotes. How did
the younger citizens, the school-aged children, feel about the lottery? Provide
supporting quotes for this age group. Describe the villagers in your story
summary. Give examples for old, young and in-between citizens. How does
the story end?
● THIRD:Define good citizenship. WRITE THIS IN YOUR OWN WORDS – DO
NOT GIVE ME A DICTIONARY DEFINITION. THINK FOR YOURSELF. NO
CREDIT FOR DICTIONARY DEFINITIONS.
● THIS DEFINITION IS TO BE COMPLETELY SEPARATE FROM THE
STORY. INCLUDE NOTHING IN THIS SECTION ABOUT THE STORY.
Include these two things in your definition: What do you believe is required of ‘good’
citizens? What are the duties inherent in good citizenship? Be sure to include this: by
your own definition, do you personally engage in good citizenship?
● FOURTH:Define “groupthink” as you understand its meaning. Write this in
your own words, as though you were explaining it to someone else. Give an
example. Is participating in groupthink an act of good citizenship or not?
○ TO BE CLEAR, the term is groupthink, NOT groupthinking or group
thinking. People participate in “groupthink.” Do not use incorrect
terms in your assignments. You will lose points.
● FIFTH:Describe the “main event” that takes place in “The Lottery” on the
particular day described in the story—that is, what do all the townspeople do
together? What is the event in which they all participate? How does this
collective activity qualify as groupthink?
● SIXTH:Finally, compare the actions of the townspeople to your definition of
good citizenship. Are the people of this village ‘good’ citizens or not, and
why? No right or wrong answer – but you need to support and defend your
answer here.
Groupthink definitions:
https://www.communicationtheory.org/groupthink/ (Links to an external site.)
Links to an external site.
https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-groupthink-2795213 (Links to an external site.)
Links to an external site.
● (Sociology text) the tendency for group members to reach a consensus at all
costs
● The practice of thinking or making decisions as a group in a way that
discouragescreativity or individual responsibility.
● A pattern of thought characterized by self-deception, forced manufacture of
consent,and conformity to group (Links to an external site.)
● Links to an external site.
● values and ethics
● A phenomenon developed in groups and marked by the consensus of opinion
without critical reasoning or evaluation of consequences or alternatives.
Groupthink revolves around a common desire to not upset the balance of a
group of people by creating conflict –– with creativity and individuality
considered potentially harmful traits that should be avoided.
● ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“The Lottery”
By Shirley Jackson
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1948/06/26/the-lottery
The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a
full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely, and the grass was richly green.
The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the post office and the
bank, around ten o’clock; in some towns there were so many people that the lottery took
two days and had to be started on June 26th. but in this village, where there were only
about three hundred people, the whole lottery took less than two hours, so it could begin
at ten o’clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the villagers to get
home for noon dinner.
The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the
summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather
together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play and their talk was still
of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands.
Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys
soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and
Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix– the villagers pronounced this name
“Dellacroy”–eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and
guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among
themselves, looking over their shoulders at the boys, and the very small children rolled
in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters.
Soon the men began to gather, surveying their own children, speaking of planting
and rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the
corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The women,
wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They
greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands.
Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and
the children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin
ducked under his mother’s grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones.
His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and took his place between his
father and his oldest brother.
The lottery was conducted––as were the square dances, the teen club, the
Halloween program––by Mr. Summers, who had time and energy to devote to civic
activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people
were sorry for him because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he
arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of
conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. “Little late today, folks.”
The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three-legged stool, and the
stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it.
The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool.
And when Mr. Summers said, “Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?” there was
a hesitation before two men, Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, came forward to hold
the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.
The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black
box now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the
oldest man in town, was born.
Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no
one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box. There
was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had
preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to
make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again
about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything’s
being done.
The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely
black but splintered badly along one side to show the original wood color, and in some
places faded or stained.
Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool
until Mr. Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of
the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in having
slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations.
Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued, had been all very well when the village was
tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred and likely to keep on
growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into the black box.
The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper
and put them in the box, and it was then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers’ coal
company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the square next
morning. The rest of the year, the box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes
another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves’s barn, and another year underfoot in the
post office, and sometimes it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.
There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the
lottery open. There were the lists to make up of heads of families, heads of households
in each family, members of each household in each family. There was the proper
swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time,
some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the
official of the lottery, a perfunctory, tuneless chant that had been rattled off duly each
year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he
said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but
years and years ago this part of the ritual had been allowed to lapse. There had been,
also, a ritual salute, which the official of the lottery had had to use in addressing each
person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with time, until
now it was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching. Mr.
Summers was very good at all this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans. With one
hand resting carelessly on the black box, he seemed very proper and important as he
talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the Martins.
Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers,
Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over
her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd. “Clean forgot what day it
was,” she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and they both laughed softly.
“Thought my old man was out back stacking wood,” Mrs. Hutchinson went on, “and then
I looked out the window and the kids were gone, and then I remembered it was the
twenty-seventh and came a-running.” She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs.
Delacroix said, “You’re in time, though. They’re still talking away up there.”

Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her
husband and children standing near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as
a farewell and began to make her way through the crowd. The people separated
good-humoredly to let her through: two or three people said, in voices just loud enough
to be heard across the crowd, “Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson,” and “Bill, she
made it after all.” Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had
been waiting, said cheerfully, “Thought we were going to have to get on without you,
Tessie.”
Mrs. Hutchinson said, grinning, “Wouldn’t have me leave m’dishes in the sink,
now, would you. Joe?” and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred
back into position after Mrs. Hutchinson’s arrival.
“Well, now.” Mr. Summers said soberly, “guess we better get started, get this over
with, so’s we can go back to work. Anybody ain’t here?”
“Dunbar.” several people said. “Dunbar. Dunbar.”
Mr. Summers consulted his list. “Clyde Dunbar.” he said. “That’s right. He’s broke
his leg, hasn’t he? Who’s drawing for him?”
“Me. I guess,” a woman said, and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. “Wife
draws for her husband.” Mr. Summers said. “Don’t you have a grown boy to do it for
you, Janey?” Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer
perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such questions
formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while
Mrs. Dunbar answered.
“Horace’s not but sixteen yet.” Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. “Guess I gotta fill in
for the old man this year.”
“Right.” Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he
asked, “Watson boy drawing this year?”
A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. “Here,” he said. “I’m drawing for my
mother and me.” He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices
in the crowd said things like “Good fellow, lack.” and “Glad to see your mother’s got a
man to do it.”
“Well,” Mr. Summers said, “guess that’s everyone. Old Man Warner make it?”
“Here,” a voice said, and Mr. Summers nodded.
A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked
at the list. “All ready?” he called. “Now, I’ll read the names––heads of families first––and
the men come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand
without looking at it until everyone has had a turn. Everything clear?”
The people had done it so many times that they only half listened to the
directions: most of them were quiet, wetting their lips, not looking around.
Then Mr. Summers raised one hand high and said, “Adams.”
A man disengaged himself from the crowd and came forward. “Hi. Steve.” Mr.
Summers said, and Mr. Adams said. “Hi. Joe.” They grinned at one another humorlessly
and nervously.
Then Mr. Adams reached into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held
it firmly by one corner as he turned and went hastily back to his place in the crowd,
where he stood a little apart from his family, not looking down at his hand.
“Allen.” Mr. Summers said. “Anderson…. Bentham.”

“Seems like there’s no time at all between lotteries anymore.” Mrs. Delacroix said
to Mrs. Graves in the back row.
“Seems like we got through with the last one only last week.”
“Time sure goes fast,” Mrs. Graves said.
“Clark…. Delacroix.”
“There goes my old man.” Mrs. Delacroix said. She held her breath while her
husband went forward.
“Dunbar,” Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one
of the women said.
“Go on, Janey,” and another said, “There she goes.”
“We’re next.” Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around
from the side of the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from
the box. By now, all through the crowd there were men holding the small folded papers
in their large hand. turning them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar and her two sons
stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper.
“Harburt…. Hutchinson.”
“Get up there, Bill,” Mrs. Hutchinson said, and the people near her laughed.
“Jones.”
“They do say,” Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, “that
over in the north village they’re talking of giving up the lottery.”
Old Man Warner snorted. “Pack of crazy fools,” he said. “Listening to the young
folks, nothing’s good enough for them. Next thing you know, they’ll be wanting to go
back to living in caves, nobody work anymore, live that way for a while. Used to be a
saying about ‘Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.’ First thing you know, we’d all be
eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There’s always been a lottery,” he added
petulantly. “Bad enough to see young Joe Summers up there joking with everybody.”
“Some places have already quit lotteries.” Mrs. Adams said.
“Nothing but trouble in that,” Old Man Warner said stoutly. “Pack of young fools.”
“Martin.” And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward.
“Overdyke…. Percy.”
“I wish they’d hurry,” Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. “I wish they’d hurry.”
“They’re almost through,” her son said.
“You get ready to run tell Dad,” Mrs. Dunbar said.
Mr. Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and
selected a slip from the box. Then he called, “Warner.”
“Seventy-seventh year I been in the lottery,” Old Man Warner said as he went
through the crowd. “Seventy-seventh time.”
“Watson” The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, “Don’t
be nervous, Jack,” and Mr. Summers said, “Take your time, son.”
“Zanini.”
After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers,
holding his slip of paper in the air, said, “All right, fellows.”
For a minute, no one moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened.
Suddenly, all the women began to speak at once, saving. “Who is it?” “Who’s got
it?” “Is it the Dunbars?” “Is it the Watsons?” Then the voices began to say, “It’s
Hutchinson. It’s Bill. Bill Hutchinson’s got it.”
“Go tell your father,” Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son.
People began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was
standing quiet, staring down at the paper in his hand.
Suddenly, Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr. Summers. “You didn’t give him time
enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn’t fair!”
“Be a good sport, Tessie.” Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, “All of us
took the same chance.”
“Shut up, Tessie,” Bill Hutchinson said.
“Well, everyone,” Mr. Summers said, “that was done pretty fast, and now we’ve
got to be hurrying a little more to get done in time.” He consulted his next list. “Bill,” he
said, “you draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other households in the
Hutchinsons?”
“There’s Don and Eva,” Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. “Make them take their chance!”
“Daughters draw with their husbands’ families, Tessie,” Mr. Summers said gently.
“You know that as well as anyone else.”
“It wasn’t fair,” Tessie said.
“I guess not, Joe.” Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. “My daughter draws with her
husband’s family; that’s only fair. And I’ve got no other family except the kids.”
“Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it’s you,” Mr. Summers said in
explanation, “and as far as drawing for households is concerned, that’s you, too. Right?”
“Right,” Bill Hutchinson said.
“How many kids, Bill?” Mr. Summers asked formally.
“Three,” Bill Hutchinson said.
“There’s Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me.”
“All right, then,” Mr. Summers said. “Harry, you got their tickets back?”
Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. “Put them in the box, then,”
Mr. Summers directed.
“Take Bill’s and put it in.”
“I think we ought to start over,” Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. “I
tell you it wasn’t fair.
You didn’t give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that.”
Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box, and he dropped
all the papers but those onto the ground, where the breeze caught them and lifted them
off.
“Listen, everybody,” Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her.
“Ready, Bill?” Mr. Summers asked, and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance
around at his wife and children, nodded.
“Remember,” Mr. Summers said, “take the slips and keep them folded until each
person has taken one.
Harry, you help little Dave.” Mr. Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came
willingly with him up to the box.
“Take a paper out of the box, Davy,” Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into
the box and laughed. “Take just one paper,” Mr. Summers said. “Harry, you hold it for
him.”
Mr. Graves took the child’s hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist
and held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.
“Nancy next,” Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends
breathed heavily as she went forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from
the box.
“Bill, Jr.,” Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet overlarge, near
knocked the box over as he got a paper out. “Tessie,” Mr. Summers said.
She hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly, and then set her lips and
went up to the box. She snatched a paper out and held it behind her.
“Bill,” Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt
around, bringing his hand out at last with the slip of paper in it.
The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, “I hope it’s not Nancy,” and the sound of
the whisper reached the edges of the crowd.
“It’s not the way it used to be.” Old Man Warner said clearly. “People ain’t the way
they used to be.”
“All right,” Mr. Summers said. “Open the papers. Harry, you open little Dave’s.”
Mr. Graves opened the slip of paper and there was a general sigh through the crowd as
he held it up and everyone could see that it was blank. Nancy and Bill. Jr. opened theirs
at the same time and both beamed and laughed, turning around to the crowd and
holding their slips of paper above their heads.
“Tessie,” Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked
at Bill Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and showed it. It was blank.
“It’s Tessie,” Mr. Summers said, and his voice was hushed. “Show us her paper.
Bill.”
Bill Hutchinson went over to his wife and forced the slip of paper out of her hand.
It had a black spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers had made the night before with the
heavy pencil in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held it up, and there was a stir
in the crowd. “All right, folks.” Mr. Summers said. “Let’s finish quickly.”
Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they
still remembered to use stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier was
ready; there were stones on the ground with the blowing scraps of paper that had come
out of the box.
Mrs. Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to pick it up with both hands
and turned to Mrs. Dunbar. “Come on,” she said. “Hurry up.” Mr. Dunbar had small
stones in both hands, and Mrs. Delacroix said, gasping for breath, “I can’t run at all.
You’ll have to go ahead, and I’ll catch up with you.”
The children had stones already. And someone gave little Davy Hutchinson few
pebbles. Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held
her hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. “It isn’t fair,” she said. A
stone hit her on the side of the head.
Old Man Warner was saying, “Come on, come on, everyone.”
Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs. Graves beside
him.
“It isn’t fair, it isn’t right,” Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon
her.

 

Your assignment requires a detailed analysis of “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson while exploring themes of groupthink and good citizenship. Below is a structured breakdown to help you tackle each section effectively.

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Struggling with where to start this assignment? Follow this guide to tackle your assignment easily!

Step 1: Write an Introduction

• Introduce the topic of individualism vs. conformity in American society.
• Briefly mention groupthink, its role in maintaining order, and its potential consequences.
• State that you will analyze “The Lottery”, define good citizenship, explain groupthink, and compare the villagers’ actions to your definition of good citizenship.

Step 2: Summarize “The Lottery” (500+ words)

• Start by identifying the setting: A small village on June 27th, where an annual lottery takes place.
• Summarize the plot:
  • Villagers gather in the square, preparing for a long-standing ritual.
  • Families draw slips of paper from a black box.
  • The Hutchinson family is selected, and Tessie Hutchinson ultimately draws the marked paper.
  • The “winner” is stoned to death by the villagers, including her family.
• Discuss the significance of the lottery:
  • It’s a tradition followed blindly.
  • No one questions its morality.
  • It reflects groupthink, where dissent is ignored.
• Analyze the age-based perspectives:
  • Old villagers (e.g., Old Man Warner) strongly support the tradition.
  • Middle-aged villagers participate without question.
  • Children mimic adults and are conditioned to follow the tradition.

Step 3: Define Good Citizenship

• Write in your own words—no dictionary definitions!
• Define it based on two things:
  1. What is required of good citizens?
     • Upholding justice, fairness, and the well-being of society.
  2. What are their duties?
     • Questioning unethical practices, contributing positively, and being responsible members of society.
• Reflect on yourself:
  • Do you practice good citizenship? Why or why not?

Step 4: Define Groupthink

• Explain groupthink in your own words:
  • When people conform to a group’s decisions without questioning them.
• Provide an example:
  • A historical event (e.g., the Salem Witch Trials, Nazi Germany, or the Challenger disaster).
• Answer: Is groupthink an act of good citizenship?
  • Argue either side but explain your reasoning.

Step 5: Describe the “Main Event” in “The Lottery”

• Explain the ritualistic nature of the event.
• Describe how the townspeople participate collectively in the stoning.
• Show how groupthink prevents anyone from challenging the lottery.

Step 6: Compare the Villagers’ Actions to Good Citizenship

• Are they good citizens?
  • Yes? They follow tradition, maintain order.
  • No? They blindly follow a cruel system, refusing to question it.
• Support your answer with evidence from the story.
• Conclude with your final thoughts on groupthink vs. morality.

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