Tag: effects

But Then What?

As I got walked across the parking lot, I saw noticed a strange sight.

It was dusk in West Texas, and my eyes could only make out so much. But off in the distance, there was a wall of storm clouds in the distance.

That’s odd, I thought. There’s no chance of rain tonight.

I would know.

For this parking lot was outside the TV station where I had just produced the 5:00 newscast. And during the weather segment, there was nary a mention of stormy weather. Not today, and not anytime soon.

Such was life on the West Texas plains, a desolate landscape that barely averaged a foot of rain a year.

So, I shrugged off what was on the horizon. It was probably just a random cloud deck that would be gone by morning, I figured. Nothing to worry about.

I got in my car and headed to town to pick up dinner. But once I hit the highway, everything changed.

The wind started howling, jostling the vehicle around. The road ahead of me — flat and straight as an arrow — faded from view. And my windshield got plastered with dirt.

I was driving into a dust storm.

I’d never encountered a dust storm before. And somehow, I knew what to do. I slowed down, turned on my hazards, and let my memory guide me forward.

I had driven this road dozens of times before, heading to and from work. I had a sixth sense as to where the traffic lights should be, and where the danger spots lay .

I would have to rely on this knowledge to get me through since I couldn’t see much beyond the 6 inches in front of my face. And I would have to hope that I wouldn’t rear-end a slower driver ahead of me.

By the time I made it to Sonic, my adrenaline was pumping. As I rolled down the window to place my order, a plume of dust settled on the bill of my Texas Rangers baseball cap.

I didn’t mind. I had made it.

Many of us have never driven through a dust storm.

They’re common in the desert or on the high plains. But those parts of America are sparsely populated.

Yet, even if we haven’t encountered sand-colored skies, we know how to handle such a circumstance. For we’ve been doing it just about every day.

We live by the doctrine of first-order effects. Of being in the moment. Of actions and reactions.

Many of our decisions help us respond to something thrown at us. Others are meant to force a response from someone else.

Our short game is masterful. We can rise to meet the occasion. We can harness the power of the moment to promote change.

But the long game? That’s woefully lacking.

I’m writing this article in the shadow of a monumental event. An investing gold rush that’s brought Wall Street hedge funds to their knees like never before.

Spurred by social media threads and enabled by smartphone apps, scores of people have bought shares in struggling companies. This has caused the value of these companies to rise. And it has damaged hedge funds betting on those stocks to fall.

These developments haven’t hurt anyone outside of Wall Street. Individual investors have seen the value of their “meme stocks” skyrocket. They’ve given themselves a new tool to pay off debt or stay afloat in a tough economy. And they’ve found a way to stick it to a system that has long kept inequality in place.

Still, the second-order effects of this development percolate. And they are troubling.

Taxes are one such concern. The amateur investors leading the charge are often young and new at playing the market. They might not realize that a portion of their gains go back to the government through taxes. And that means they might not budget properly for their investment — particularly if they borrowed money to buy shares.

Then there’s the bubble effect. After a scorching start, the market has already shown signs of cooling off. If these “meme stocks” lose value, will these investors have the know-how to sell in time?

Both these concerns impact investors alone. But the most ominous second-order effect of this frenzy impacts all of us.

Hedge funds were betting against the “meme stocks” for a reason. Those stocks represented companies with outdated business models, poor financial performance, or a flagging consumer base. They were pieces of companies set up to fail.

But because of the recent gold rush, these companies have a new lease on life. Their value now outpaces their viability.

This sets a dangerous precedent for the greater business community.

Money is the oxygen of the corporate world, and the North Star of business strategy is maximizing a company’s value. Generally, such a quest focuses on viability — producing something consumers crave, marketing it properly, and yielding sustainable revenue. Both the company and the consumer sector stand to benefit.

But in an environment where flailing businesses are overvalued, the quest for value no longer includes viability. Companies stop worrying about how to best serve consumers, as such endeavors no longer impact the stock price.

If the “meme stock” movement goes on to bankroll other flailing companies, this might be the future we see. A world full of overvalued companies making products that don’t meet our needs.

I doubt the investors seeking to dethrone the hedge funds thought of this when they started their escapade. But they should have.

In the movie The Godfather, there is a man who often sits near Don Corleone.

His hair is reddish-brown. His skin is pale. And his name is not Sicilian at all.

Tom Hagen might seem out of place at first. But he plays a critical role in the family business.

Hagen is a lawyer who serves as the Don’s advisor, or consigliere. Like a chess Grandmaster, his role is to think many steps ahead. His charge is to consider the second-order effects. His mission is to ask But then what?

As consigliere, Hagen maintains a quiet presence. Yet, his coolheaded advice keeps the Corleone family from countless pitfalls throughout the film.

In a sense, Tom Hagen is the silent hero for much of The Godfather.

The role of consigliere is profound. But it needn’t be limited to the silver screen.

I believe it’s critical that we find our inner consigliere. That we consider the second-order effects of the ventures we undertake in our own lives. That we remember to ask But then what? in advance of all we do.

Doing this won’t stop the turbulence of the times. But it just might cut down on the collateral damage. It might spare us from the disasters we were too shortsighted to anticipate.

Preventing such calamity doesn’t require much.

A cool head. Critical thinking. And the courage to ask a simple question.

But then what?

The Secondary Effect Quandary

Cause and effect.

It’s a pattern that defines our lives.

When something happens to us, it has an impact. It shakes up the status quo and forces us to adapt.

The pattern of cause and effect has led humanity to adapt over the millennia. It’s transitioned us from primitive beings to the architects of advanced societies. It’s led to the practice of analysis in business, government and other subsets of life. And it’s allowed us to consider two time dimensions at once.

Yes, as we seek to move forward, it’s critical that we understand cause and effect patterns.

And yet, we continue to miss the mark.

For three months in late 2001, the skies over the New York Harbor were obscured by an ashy haze.

It looked like a plume of smoke was coming from Wall Street. That plume was actually dust and debris from the wreckage of the World Trade Center.

Every time I saw that plume, my entire body would seize up. For a moment, I’d be motionless.

The plume of debris was a visceral reminder about what happened in September of that year. It was a chilling warning of how that day would continue to affect me.

I was supposed to be one of the lucky ones. I didn’t lose anyone I knew in the attacks. I didn’t see the planes hit the towers firsthand. I didn’t have to run for my life as an avalanche of debris encroached upon me.

When the texts are written of that dark day, my story won’t be mentioned in them. From a historian’s perspective, I wasn’t part of the effect of that event.

And yet, I’ve carried the trauma of that moment with me every day since the attacks. That baggage has been with me for more than half of my life.

I don’t share this to claim victim status. The victims of that attack are the ones who lost their lives, and the loved ones who continue to mourn their loss.

But it’s clear that the attack had a wider impact. An indelible impact on anyone nearby who, on that day, believed our life was ending. An impact on anyone who encountered a heavily armed National Guardsman, imploring them to Go! Get out of here! An impact on anyone who saw the dust plume piercing the sky like a funnel cloud.

That someone was me. But it was also millions of others.

We might have been spared the primary impacts of the disaster. But the secondary effects are still scarring.

In the wake of disruptive change, it’s natural to think of the direct effects.

The rise of digital technology spelled the end for companies like Blockbuster and Kodak. The rise of nationalist movements in several countries represent a threat to immigrants.

These effects are well known and widely shared. Case studies illuminate the fall of analog players in the digital world. Endeavoring journalists warn of the dangers populism can bring to certain segments of society.

But while it might be poignant to feature the travails of these victims, their stories are just the tip of the iceberg. There is so much more under the surface.

Indeed, many consumers struggled in the transition to digital. Those who were not tech savvy faced challenges learning new techniques. And losing brands like Blockbuster and Kodak did not make that transition any easier.

And even if nationalist movements directly impact immigrants, those who rely on those immigrants for services are also impacted.

The secondary effects matter. So why do we keep ignoring them?

At the moment I’m writing this, the world seems as bleak as ever.

A global pandemic continues to rage, causing widespread devastation. The economy is in turmoil, as industries strain to recover from a series of lockdowns.

The primary effects of all this are not hard to find. Lives lost. Jobs lost. Families torn apart by illness or financial ruin.

It’s all a crushing reality.

Our society has largely failed to protect our lives and our livelihoods. And that puts us in a tough spot — one with no path ahead that spares more carnage.

Instant answers — such as unveiling economic incentives or imposing new lockdowns — might seem tempting. In theory, these solutions would remove half of the problem — thereby making it easier to focus on the other half.

But such plans have a familiar flaw.

They ignore the secondary effects.

Economic incentives only help if there’s business to be had. So long as consumers remain skittish due to health concerns, businesses will continue to struggle.

And lockdowns come with their own closets of skeletons.

There is the isolation factor. As we spend months without seeing our loved ones or celebrating special occasions, we lose social connectivity. As this pattern drags on, it’s hard not to feel that the world has passed us by.

There is the health factor. Staying home can make us more sedentary, leading to a new set of health issues.

And there is the essentials factor. With so many people locked down, the masses turn to a select few to deliver essential items — such as food or supplies. The divide between those staying safe and those taking on exponential health risks intensifies.

These issues might seem like minor grievances. After all, they pale in comparison to the specter of death and joblessness plaguing our society.

But that doesn’t make them irrelevant. Far from it.

Indeed, if we let these concerns go unchecked, they might plague us long after the crisis subsides. Months of quiet distress can lead to years of traumatic damage.

It’s what happened in the fall of 2001, when a plume of debris over the New York sky haunted anyone who laid eyes on it.

And now, history is poised to repeat itself.

It’s time we recognize the signs.

It’s time we see the gravity of secondary effects. And it’s time we factor those effects into our decision making.

For no matter how much we might think otherwise, choices are neither tidy nor simple. Change is difficult, and its aftereffects can be messy.

Sure, the primary effects of our moves might seem clear. But it’s what lies below the surface that will ultimately define us.

Let us not ignore that. Not now. Not ever.

A rebel might be without a cause. But a fool fails to consider the effects.

Now is no time to be foolish.

Why I Abolished Hate

There was a time when I used the word hate.

It was generally in the context of a sports nemesis or a food I didn’t particularly care for. At times, hate would describe a thoroughly miserable activity, or my feelings about history’s most twisted despots.

Hate was a brief, yet definitive word — four letters with the bold power of a Chuck Norris roundhouse. It aroused emotion, displayed conviction, and demonstrated an uncommon strength of descriptive purpose.

It was the perfect word to describe, say, the Florida State Seminoles — the archrivals of my beloved Miami Hurricanes. Every time their fans celebrated a touchdown during my time in college — regardless of the opponent — I would feel sick to my stomach.

Hate remained in my lexicon into adulthood. If something really upset me, that four letter word became my go-to descriptor as I rehashed the incident over late night drinks with friends.

But recently, I realized the error of my ways, and I decided to make a change.

Now, hate is no longer in my vocabulary.

***

You see, hate is like gasoline. It boldly fuels any discussion it’s injected into — and it can quickly burn out of control.

When we say we hate something, we wish ill will upon it. Worse still, we wish pain and suffering upon it. The more we fixate our mind on these desires, the more dangerous they become.

Eventually hate can consume us, to the point where we become unbalanced and irrational. It’s at this point that those blinded by hate can cross the line from desiring the suffering of others to actually delivering it — causing shock, horror, pain and even more hate.

It’s a devastating, destructive cycle.

***

In the wake of the deadliest shooting in our nation’s history —one where someone used his contempt to deprive dozens of people of the most fundamental and precious thing they had — it’s time we think about the ramifications of hate.

The aggression, the senseless tragedy hate brings about — it’s simply unacceptable.

And it’s something we can prevent — by ridding ourselves of the sentiment in the first place.

We may not always identify with each other — I don’t personally identify with the LGBT community, the black community or the community of Florida State Seminole fans, for example — but we can still accept each other through our differences. We can at least find common ground there. We can, and we must.

This is why I abolished hate. This is why I sternly remind others that hate is a strong word whenever I hear them using it.

But it can’t start and end with just me. Everyone needs to pitch in.

We must abolish hate. Our future depends on it.