One of the most insidious “instincts” we retain from earlier periods of human existence is the fear instinct, when misapplied. Some fears are justified. Many are not, or are blown out of proportion.
Like Hans Rosling, author of Factfulness, I grew up during the 1950’s and 1960’s Cold War era, back when we did “civil defense” drills for protecting ourselves in the event of a nuclear attack (spoiler alert—hiding under your elementary school desk with your hands interlaced above your head would be pretty useless against nuclear blasts or fallout).
My nightmares back then involved not being able to find family members in time for all of us to hide in our house’s basement, the one area that might provide some minimal protection against the effects of nuclear blasts and radiation. As our societies continue to learn to deal with nuclear threats, my fear level about nuclear attack ebbs and flows.
My fear of snakes has likewise ebbed and flowed. Much of my life has been spent where snake bites are rare and even more rarely lethal. However, during my one extended stay in an African country, where black or green mambas could inject a quickly lethal venom and sometimes were fairly well camouflaged, fear of snakes may have helped keep me alive.
Back then, I had part-time access to an aging Volkswagen beetle with a rust hole near its gas pedal. I used it to commute to the offices of an international development project I was a temporary part of. One afternoon, as I drove back to the office after a lunch break, I noticed a large black snake sidling across the road in front of me. Had it been still, I might not have registered its presence. As it was, I slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road a good distance uphill from the snake. The little car I was driving might have been heavy enough to crush the snake, but I decided it would be risky to drive over it. The hole in the bottom of the car was too near my foot. Instead, I waited. Not long afterward, a heavy luxury vehicle driven by the head of the local branch of the World Bank came barreling down the hill. After the Mercedes drove over it, the snake was thoroughly crushed and dead. I proceeded, more careful thereafter to distinguish between road tar and road snakes.
Rosling tells a story of how, when he was just starting out as a physician, his irrational fear of nuclear war badly distorted his initial reaction to an incoherent Swedish pilot with hypothermia. Afterwards, Rosling’s longish life of dealing in some fearful situations led him to a more skeptical view of most fears: “Fears that once helped keep our ancestors alive, today help keep journalists employed.” Rosling asserts, “If we look at the facts behind the headlines, we can see how the fear instinct systematically distorts what we see of the world.”
Today is Veterans’ Day, when we honor those living and dead who have sometimes put themselves in harm’s way to help keep the rest of us safer. They get sent where most of us would fear to go. During the waning days of World War II, my Dad was stationed with the Navy in the South Pacific. He never made a fuss about being a veteran. The war he was part of did horrendous damage, but may have indirectly played a small part in reducing our fears of “others.” As some lyrics from the 1949 musical “South Pacific” taunted: “You’ve got to be taught to be afraid of people whose eyes are oddly made, and people whose skin is a different shade, you’ve got to be carefully taught…” Some of those of different shades who’d served during World War II eventually became leaders in the Civil Rights movements, including Medgar Evers and Ralph Abernathy.
Not having served in the military, I cannot speak directly to the level of fear generated by deployment in dangerous areas or by actual combat. I am deeply indebted to those whose willingness to take risks on my behalf has made my life safer. However, I suspect that military planners and leaders have sometimes put both soldiers and civilians in harm’s way unnecessarily.
Rosling concludes, “Fear can be useful, but only if it is directed at the right things. … ‘Frightening’ and ‘dangerous’ are two different things. Something frightening poses a perceived risk. Something dangerous poses a real risk. Paying too much attention to what is frightening rather than what is dangerous … creates a tragic drainage of energy in the wrong directions.” May we all, especially our military’s leaders, get better at distinguishing fright from danger.
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