In January of 1995, two men strode into some Pittsburgh-area banks and robbed them at gunpoint.
The robbers made off with roughly $10,000 in cash. But they weren’t exactly modern-day members of the Dillinger Gang.
Neither man concealed his face during the crime spree. Instead, each doused themselves in lemon juice – believing it to render them invisible.
They weren’t, of course.
Bank security cameras offered up clear images of the criminals in action. And they soon found themselves behind bars.
In the interrogation room, one of the robbers – McArthur Wheeler – offered up the following excuse to bemused detectives.
But I wore the lemon juice! I wore the lemon juice!
Wheeler’s explanation, absurd as it was, became Exhibit A for a newfound psychological phenomenon – The Dunning-Kruger Effect.
As I’ve written before, The Dunning-Kruger Effect proclaims that those who are the most confident in their performance are all too often overconfident.
It leads to people making idiotic decisions with delusions of genius. And those decisions – like covering oneself in lemon juice and robbing a bank – can turn into amusing stories.
But the collateral damage behind the headline? That’s no laughing matter.
When you’re dead, you do not know you are dead. It is only painful for others. The same applies when you are stupid.
Ricky Gervais uttered these lines as a joke. But he was onto something.
Wheeler and his accomplice were certainly stupid when they robbed those banks while doused in lemon juice. And they got what they had coming to them – namely, years in prison.
But the collateral damage was not so neat and tidy.
Anyone in those banks that day likely felt traumatized by the brazen robberies. Anyone outside of the banks felt obligated to look around for the suspects, after their faces popped up on a Crimestoppers poster. And ultimately, the criminal justice system felt strained by the plea deals and sentences the incident required.
This is the burden of ignorance. When it bursts into the open, blind stupidity can cause an unwieldy mess. And others are saddled with the mop and bucket.
This pattern can be insidious.
The accused might grasp that they’ve done something wrong. But if they’re too ignorant to understand why their actions sparked catastrophe, they stand little chance of making better decisions moving forward.
They’ll keep stepping in it, again and again. After all, it’s hard to avoid what you don’t understand.
All the while, those affected by these transgressions seethe in their discontent. They ostracize the ignorant to put distance between themselves and the next disaster.
Fissures grow through this process. Polarization and resentment fester.
And we find ourselves on a road to nowhere.
Intelligence is a gift. But it’s also a skill.
I know this as well as anyone.
Growing up, I knew I was a smart kid. I got good grades in school. I easily recited statistics from memory. I read books in my spare time.
Yet, I was ignorant about using my gift. I struggled with social nuances and with other everyday activities.
It was only through experience that I was able to hone my intelligence. To apply it to life’s intricacies. And to thrive.
This journey took years to crystallize. But once it did, it spurred my ethos.
Be present. Be informed. Be better.
I’ve committed to following these three principles for quite some time. But I realize they contain a massive blind spot.
These principles, you see, say little about how to deal with others. Particularly those who might unwittingly throw a banana peel in my path.
My instinct has long been to wall them off. To protect myself from bearing the burden of ignorance whenever possible.
But such a strategy does me little good. It leads me to elevate myself over the ignorant, and to judge them with disdain. All while remaining at risk of their shenanigans.
My circle gets smaller through this process. And as exclusivity grows, so does disassociation.
Eventually, I’m the one who’s ignorant. Not for a lack of intelligence, but for a lack of real-world context.
It would be far better for me to extend an olive branch to those I seek to avoid. To teach, to coach, to mentor. To lead both with the context of example and with a vocalized compassion.
Such actions would provide the misguided the same opportunity once afforded to me. An opportunity to grow beyond naivete, and to avoid disastrous missteps.
There’s no guarantee that everyone would see the light. But if I keep the door closed, no one will.
So, I’m pledging to do better going forward. But such a commitment can only go so far.
Don’t bring me problems. Bring me solutions.
Some version of this phrase has been uttered by just about every executive in the history of business.
The implication is simple – airing problems without antidotes only causes them to proliferate. It wastes time, it strains resources, and it stifles productivity.
With all this in mind, we hesitate before airing professional grievances. We ensure we have a proposed solution in tow before sounding the alarm.
Shift the setting outside the office walls though, and it’s far different. We openly gripe about ignorance, without offering up any strategies to combat it. And we grow agitated as history repeats itself.
Why do we expect anything different? Ignorance can’t fix itself, after all. That’s the whole premise of the Dunning-Kruger Effect.
No, to flip the script, we need to take command. We need to lift the torch high and shine a light for the wayward to follow.
We must serve as a guide, not a gate. We must meet the ignorant where they are, and shepherd them to where they ought to be.
Such a shift requires humility on our end. It requires conscientiousness. It requires virtue.
This is no small ask. But the benefits far outweigh the costs.
So, let’s do our part. Let’s help cast off the burden of ignorance. And let’s lift our society into a more enlightened future.
It’s our move. Let’s make it.