Trust, Empathy and Crisis: Why Society Fails the Real Test in Difficult Times

It is often said that a person’s true character is revealed in times of crisis. It is a test—one that may be personal, familial, societal, or even national in scale.

All of us, at one point or another, pass through personal and family crises. We confront them, learn from them, and move forward. The same expectation naturally extends to society as well.

But what can one do when every expectation is not fulfilled? There is much to learn, yet learning requires willingness—and that is precisely what seems to be missing. If we look back, we may realize that very few are willing to undertake the effort of learning from past experiences.

These days, conversations are dominated by news of cooking gas shortages. Officially, we are told there is no crisis—everything is under control, supplies are sufficient. Yes, there is a suggestion that people may arrange alternatives like firewood or coal stoves. But what difference do such assurances really make?

Outside gas agencies, long queues stretch endlessly. People stand for hours under the harsh sun, some even collapsing from exhaustion. Online bookings mysteriously remain unavailable. Complaints cannot be registered on websites. Gas is both unavailable and yet somehow available—if one is willing to pay extra under the table, everything can be arranged.

And what can be said about people themselves? There may already be enough gas at home to last a month—but no, more is needed. Cylinders are being stockpiled in large numbers. The common man struggles to secure one or two cylinders, while the privileged accumulate dozens—not to share, but to sell. Their concern is not their kitchens, but profit in times of crisis. An extra thousand or two per cylinder becomes an opportunity. After all, how can we forget the mantra of “opportunity in disaster”?

Those who cannot obtain cylinders are turning to induction stoves and alternative devices. These too are now in short supply. People are buying them in bulk from shops, hoarding them just as they did with gas cylinders.

This is not the first time we are witnessing such a scene. It is, in fact, a recurring pattern. Many may remember how, at the mere rumor of a salt shortage, people began buying sacks full of salt. The younger generation may not recall it, but older people certainly remember the queues for kerosene and sugar during the 1970s and 1980s. People would stand outside ration shops early in the morning with containers and sacks, waiting for their turn to secure a few kilograms of sugar. The moment news spread that supplies had arrived, crowds would surge uncontrollably.

Onions have followed the same story time and again. As soon as rumors spread that prices would rise or supply would shrink, people begin hoarding them in large quantities. Sellers, on their part, are always ready to exploit the situation—restricting supply on the pretext of war, weather, or any convenient excuse.

Demonetization is still fresh in public memory. The long queues outside banks and ATMs are not a distant past. People struggled for hours—sometimes for an entire day—trying to withdraw more money than they actually needed, often at the cost of their own well-being.

During the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, the same pattern repeated itself. People rushed to stockpile flour, rice, pulses, sanitizers, and masks far beyond their needs. Many households accumulated supplies for months, while others struggled to access even basic necessities.

Those familiar with rural life know that similar chaos occurs every season—be it for seeds, fertilizers, or diesel. Each time, it feels like a battle. And now, such scenes have become routine.

In reality, the crisis is often less severe than the crisis within our own minds—the crisis of distrust, fear, and greed. Rumors spread, and we rush after them without reflection. No one pauses to think that if everyone begins hoarding beyond their needs, what will remain for those who genuinely require it?

The problem is not just of governance—it is equally a problem of society. Governments may offer assurances and implement plans, but unless we ourselves understand our responsibilities, such situations will continue to repeat. There will always be wars, disasters, or disruptions of some kind.

In times of crisis, restraint is the greatest solution. Unity and empathy are the strongest support systems. Yet, unfortunately, these are the very qualities that have become the rarest.

This is where the real test lies. Do we become those who take more than our share, or those who preserve something for others? The character of a society is defined in such moments. There is an English word—“empathy”—which simply means behaving towards others in the same way we expect others to behave towards us. Sadly, this is not what we see.

The fault lies neither with one nor with all—it lies with all of us. Many among us do not tire of organizing community feasts and charitable food distributions during religious events and festivals, believing it to be an easy path to merit and spiritual peace. But what happens afterward? The same hoarding, the same profiteering.

The truth is that the real shortage is not of gas, salt, or petrol. The real scarcity lies in empathy, unity, trust, patience, courage, social responsibility, and above all, in the presence of those who set meaningful examples.

Until we increase our reserves of these values, we will continue to stand in queues, fill our storerooms, and profit from others’ suffering every few days.

The true identity of a society is not defined by its celebrations, but by how it behaves in times of crisis. In celebrations, everyone stands together. But in crisis, it becomes evident who takes more than their share—and who is willing to leave even a small portion for someone else.

This crisis, too, will pass tomorrow. But one must ask oneself—how long will we continue to fail this test again and again? And who will ultimately guide us toward passing it?

(The author is a journalist.)