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.