On April 15, 1912, the Titanic sank.
In the dead of the North Atlantic night, the luxury liner hit an iceberg. Less than three hours later, she went under, taking about 1,500 people with her.
The sinking of the Titanic — on her maiden voyage, no less — is one of the most iconic disasters in maritime history. It’s led us to re-evaluate transportation safety protocols. It’s forced us to consider our own mortality. And it’s captivated modern generations, thanks to a blockbuster Hollywood portrayal.
Yet, none of those outcomes are what drew my interest.
My fascination with the Titanic saga comes from what it represents. Namely, the disaster that ensues when we don’t understand the scope of the problem.
Long before the Titanic took sail, icebergs were a source of maritime terror.
Hulking masses of ice could suddenly appear in the seas ahead without warning. Ships — built of wood and powered by the wind — would collide with these ice masses and capsize.
The Titanic did not have this issue. Its crew had the tools to spot water hazards by day and by night, and the ship had the engine power to steer clear of them.
Indeed, the Titanic’s first officer reportedly gave orders to evade the iceberg while the ship was some distance away.
But it was too late. The ship was doomed.
The frozen mass sticking out of the water was only one portion of the iceberg. Much more of the ice lay below the surface water and was undetectable to the naked eye.
That submerged edge of the iceberg was much closer to the ship than anyone realized. Within moments, the ship’s hull smacked into it, causing catastrophic damage.
This unfortunate incident was compounded by further missteps. The crew started an evacuation, but there were not enough lifeboats for all the passengers. Furthermore, the crew had not been briefed on proper evacuation procedures, leading them to launch several half-full lifeboats. And other ships did not respond to the Titanic’s distress signals until after it had already sunk.
At every turn, the crew of the Titanic had failed to grasp the scope of the problem. And these failures cost lives.
It’s been more than a century since the Titanic went down. And yet, we seem to run into more icebergs than ever before.
A modern world, powered by technology, has provided us access to troves of information. Yet, we fail to account for the complexity layered in.
We believe that everything is simple and that the answers to any issue are as clear as day. Our confidence is through the roof, and our brashness is on full display.
Still, much lies beyond our view, just like the submerged portion of an iceberg. And if we don’t know to look for these protruding angles, we risk our own catastrophe.
Understanding the scope of the problem is as critical as ever.
In the fall of 2001, the United States Military set its sights on a faraway land called Afghanistan.
It was a nation I’d first heard of only weeks prior, in the aftermath of the September 11th attacks. A terrorist network had plotted the attack from that land. And now, it seemed like the root of all evil.
The purpose of the military operation seemed clear. Kill or capture the terrorists who attacked our land. And wipe out the Taliban government that supported them.
It didn’t take long to achieve most of this objective. The mastermind of the attacks — Osama bin Laden — escaped to neighboring Pakistan, where he’d evade U.S. intelligence for nearly 10 years. But the Taliban were removed from power, the terrorist cells were scattered, and the days of Afghanistan threatening the United States seemed over.
Into this vacuum came a new mission. The American military would now be tasked with building a western-style society in the far reaches of the Middle East. Troops helped support a democratic government, building roads and infrastructure while standing up a massive Afghan security force.
This work lasted for two decades, with a price tag rising into the billions. Thousands of United States soldiers lost their lives over the course of the operation. Many others were seriously injured.
Eventually, the United States military pulled out of Afghanistan. But before the withdrawal was even complete, the nation had fallen to resurgent Taliban forces, spawning a humanitarian crisis.
The disastrous withdrawal was reminiscent of many of the United States’ exit from the Vietnam War. Suddenly, millions of Americans were sharing their hot takes on the fiasco.
Some said the U.S. had wasted the sacrifices of so many by ceding its post in the region. Others said two decades of conflict were proof enough that those sacrifices had been made in vain.
Both sides made a compelling case. But neither took the full picture into account.
The issue was not solely how long the U.S. stayed in Afghanistan. It was the assumption that Afghans would welcome a shift to Western society.
The U.S. hadn’t accounted for the cultural nuance of the region, much as it hadn’t understood the cultural nuance of Vietnam decades earlier. Our nation had failed to understand the scope of the problem. And because of that, the efforts to solve it came undone.
Wise men say only fools rush in.
Elvis Presley once crooned these words, before abandoning this advice with the song’s next line.
I am not Elvis Presley. I’m not famous. I’m not musically talented.
But I am staying the course.
I’ve made solving problems a core tenet of my life. And yet, I refuse to rush into this endeavor.
Indeed, each time I come across an issue, I try and determine the scope of the problem first. What angles am I missing? Which perspectives can I learn from?
Such determinations take rigor. They run counter to expectations of instant solutions.
But this sacrifice is essential.
We can only hope to find real answers if we can see the whole picture. Anything less and we’re just guessing.
I’m committed to removing this guesswork from my process. I’m determined to reduce my chances of accidentally sparking a catastrophe.
Are you?