Nothing Gold Can Stay

  

After observing how my former students (Class 10 C, 2017) with whom I still share a social media group had grown silent for so long, I was intrigued to write this post. 

 

I told them I understood how life sets its own priorities, and how the closeness (friends like teacher-student relationship) we once shared, once precious like gold, slowly fades with time. In explaining how all things come to an end, I also reminded them of what I used to tell them often: to enjoy the moment while it lasts. I have always advised them to value what they had, such as their school or classroom friendships, because such small things that they may appear, will not return once gone.

 

That reflection led me to Robert Frost’s, Nothing Gold Can Stay, a poem which I first studied during my Year eight English literature class. Although the poem hints pessimistic tone, suggesting that everything appearing worthy ultimately ends, I have never read it that way. I have always regarded it, instead, as a call to recognise the value of things precisely because they do not last. No matter how beautiful, strong, or powerful something is, nothing remains permanent. It is only that unlimited human desires that we often wish to hold on to what is fleeting, but we cannot.

As people take pride in their power, status, wealth, beauty, happiness, or fame, my mind goes back to Frost’s lines. And now with maturity in understanding and experience, I have come to realise that Frost’s words are much broader than nature. In his poem, the nature is the surface example, but the deeper idea is that relatable to anything beautiful, valuable, powerful, or seemingly permanent is vulnerable to change, loss, and impermanence.

The poem unfolds in this simple sequence:

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

 

Frost begins with the beauty of nature, describing how the first green of spring appears almost golden and precious, but quickly changes into ordinary leaves. He then connects this temporary beauty to the loss of Eden and the passing of dawn into day, suggesting that everything precious is eventually subject to change or loss with time. What makes something gold in Frost’s sense is not only its beauty, but its brevity. The very fact that it cannot be held is what gives it its worth. It is this idea, gold as something precious because it is fleeting, that runs through each of the reflections below.

Status

A person who rises to prominence and fame may become respected, admired, famous or socially important. But often they fail to recognise that such status (gold) that gleams brightest at the point it is gained is temporary. 

We observe someone’s success celebrated in the workplace but almost quickly forgotten when one resigns from the job. A once powerful political leader after losing power is almost invisible. A famous person loses relevance to the society when celebrity gene dies. Even a person who seems indispensable can be replaced.

 

Power

People possessing power tend to feel that power is permanent. For example, some leaders across the world believe that the system or the world exists or revolve around them. A powerful institution or world’s superpower may believe that their authority and dominance will last forever. 

Like Frost’s first green, power appears strongest exactly when it is least likely to endure, mistaking its brief hour of dominance for something lasting. But history has it that even the strongest empires collapsed. Power of common people can change governments, and therefore some leaders fall. Institutions, however mighty or powerful, lose influence. People who once controlled others eventually become powerless.

 

Wealth

People who are affluent and well-off often display as if their wealth can secure their life without any illness, instability, or misfortunes. Yes, money can buy comfort, convenience, or better opportunity, but wealth can also disappear one day like any other thing. Even when the money remains, the person who accumulated it eventually leaves it behind. Wealth, too, is gold in the literal sense that it can be accumulated, displayed, and admired. However, it slips from one’s grasp exactly as Frost describes, quietly and inevitably.

 

Relationships

A friendship can be extraordinarily close at one stage of life and then gradually change. Even our own children one day grow away from their parents. Lovers who promised heaven during the first meet change. People move to different places to fulfil their own life’s priority and aspirations. 

That does not necessarily mean that the relationships are meaningless. Like the first green of spring in Frost’s poem, a friendship is often at its most golden precisely because it does not last, and its temporary nature is what makes the experience precious.

 

Human Achievement

In today’s world, anything, such as promotion, recognition, or awards, that one achieves is considered gold or even more valued than gold. As one achieves the dream that they worked towards for many years, for a moment, they experience recognition, satisfaction, and fulfilment. That moment is an early leaf of gold. As time pass by, those accomplishments go on the shelf. The applause stops. Although the achievement is real, the feeling of having achieved it is temporary.

 

Political or Social Systems

Thinking of so-called global superpowers, leaders of this society increasingly believe that its current order is permanent and that their political ideology will always dominant. Likewise, a group of elites or wealthy class of certain community assume to appear untouchable. But it is only a matter of time that what looks unshakeable may not remain exactly as it is. Everything is bound to change, collapse, or completely be gone.

That, perhaps, is why Nothing Gold Can Stay.

The Cost of Losing Institutional Memory

Recently, I found myself requesting a document confirming a service that I had genuinely completed when I was a teacher. The college where I studied was able to provide an official certificate because the record of my service existed within the institution. However, when the document required confirmation from a higher authority (the University), the process became unexpectedly complicated. Before the document could be endorsed, the person concerned asked me to provide further evidence proving that the 1-year programme I completed and which the college subsequently endorsed had really existed in the first place.

It was a surprising moment of reflection. The question was not whether I had completed that program. Rather it was about whether the institution still remembered the history behind initiating such programs which I happened to a part of. 

A few years ago, I wrote about Data Democratisation (December 4, 2022) and the importance of making information accessible. I argued that public institutions should move away from restrictive information practices and instead make data more openly accessible, reducing unnecessary bureaucratic barriers so that needy people can obtain the information they need more easily. At that time, my focus was primarily on improving access and transparency in how information is shared and retrieved.

Today, I realise there is an even deeper challenge. Before information can be accessed, it must first be preserved.

However, accessibility without institutional memory is like building a library whose books have slowly disappeared from the shelves. Even if people have the right to access knowledge, that knowledge becomes meaningless if it has not been properly documented, stored, and passed on.

This experience led me to reflect on the importance of institutional memory. By institutional memory, I refer to the collective knowledge, experiences, records and practices that an organisation accumulates over time. It is the invisible thread that connects the past, present and future of an institution. It allows current leaders and employees to understand, for example, why certain course or programmes existed, how decisions were made (e.g., to amend or remove) and what historical circumstances shaped the organisation.

Without strong institutional memory, organisations slowly lose parts of their own identity. As times goes by, leadership changes and systems evolve, valuable knowledge can disappear. New generations inherit responsibility but may not inherit the historical understanding required to protect that responsibility.

The consequence is that genuine events (for example, in this case, the program I completed and the evidence of my service) begin to require proof. Past students, employees or citizens may find themselves having to demonstrate experiences that institutions themselves once created, managed and recorded. The issue is not that people are making unsupported claims. The issue is that institutional memory has not travelled successfully across generations.

Documentation is, therefore, not merely an administrative obligation. It is an act of preserving institutional truth. Records such as policy documents, programme handbooks, academic calendars, circulars, meeting minutes, annual reports and curriculum documents serve as the foundation of organisational memory. They allow institutions to explain not only what happened, but also why it happened. 

For universities and public institutions (e.g., colleges and schools), preserving institutional memory should be considered a core responsibility. These organisations do not only deliver services, but they also carry histories. Every programme introduced, every policy implemented, and every decision made contributes to a larger institutional story.

Maintaining this memory requires deliberate strategies. Institutions should establish proper archival systems, digitise historical records (e.g. building websites), create searchable databases and ensure that important knowledge is transferred during leadership transitions. For example, in my case, it was a shame that the key official who was responsible for endorsing my document was unaware of the one-year program that her institution had a hand in creating, and later removed. Documentation should not be treated as paperwork that is stored and forgotten. It should be treated as an investment in continuity and accountability.

While making information available is important, preserving information is the necessary foundation that makes accessibility possible. At the end, a library is valuable not only because people can enter it, but because the books remain on its shelves. 

Playing Not to Lose vs Playing to Win

 

Watching how Argentina versus England approached their World Cup semi-final match today took me back to my Health and Physical Education (HPE) classes, where I first came across some popular ideas from Sports Psychology: Playing Not to Lose and Playing to Win.

This well-known phrase is used to describe the contrasting mindset of the sports players or team. But in our everyday conversation of matches, teams are usually described as either defensive or offensive. That does not mean that it is incorrect. 

 

The difference is that, Playing Not to Lose and Playing to Win describes a mental attitude whereas being defensive and offensive are tactical choices. So, there is a subtle difference. For example, a team playing to win often looks offensive, but a team can actually play defensively and while still having the mindset of playing to win. 

 

Playing Not to Lose is the mindset of those who are ahead, at least at that point in the game time. They play so that their current position or outcome (e.g., score) stays unchanged. To do this, tactically, they often show an defensive play, trying to stop other team's chances rather than pushing forward. The team slows the tempo of the game, absorbing pressure from their opponents. 

On the other hand, playing to win is the mindset of those who refuse to accept their current position, whether ahead, level, or behind. Such teams play so that the outcome keeps moving in their favour. Tactically, to do this, they often show offensive play, trying to score against the other team from every possible chance. The team maintains or increases the tempo of the game, constantly applying pressure to their opponents.   

England: Playing Not to Lose

England was aggressive and dominant for the first half of the match, right up until they took a 1-0 lead. After scoring the goal, the team spent the majority of the remaining time playing not to lose.

The players dropped back. The substitutions made by the coach was visibly defensive by changing those in the defence lines using tall players to control crosses from Argentina. This narrow approach invited pressure from Argentina and ultimately backfired when Argentina capitalised with two late goals to secure a 2-1 victory. 

 

Argentina: Playing to Win

Argentina, by contrast, was Playing to win. Until England’s only goal in the 55 minutes, they had been largely dominated. However, even while trailing, they maintained an aggressive attitude and kept attacking rather than accepting that 1-0 score line. Their persistence in the last minutes of the game, of course assisted by one and only, the Goat Lionel Messi, produced two goals that eventually sealed the match, securing a dramatic comeback and booked a spot in the World Cup final. 

 

Analysing these two teams together, one can easily understand their contrast in stability. England’s mindset was reactive, dictated entirely by the scoreline. By scoring one goal, it was enough to make them defensive. On the other hand, Argentina’s did not change how they played even after conceding. Instead, the scoreline moved their mindset differently. 

Fighting. 

Levelling. 

and then,

Leading. 

Part | Whole Analysis: What a Recent Bullying Incident Tells Us About Our Society

A video recently circulated on social media showing a group of schoolgirls physically attacking another girl inside a classroom. Some students stood and watched. Others recorded it on their phones. Within hours, the footage had spread widely, and public reaction was swift and fierce.

 

People were angry. Rightly so. A child was hurt, in a place that was supposed to be safe, while others watched and did nothing. The outrage was directed at the students who attacked her, at the school for failing to prevent it, and at bystanders who chose to film rather than help.

 

But as the heat of the anger is almost settled, a harder and more honest question remains.

 

What does this incident reveal about the relationships in that classroom or learning environment?

 

What does it tell us about the kind of emotional environment those students were living in every day? 

 

And what does it say about us, as a society, in how we respond when a child is harmed?

 

This incident, as specific and painful as it is, is not just about girls or this classroom. It is a fragment. And like all fragments, it carries the shape of the whole it came from. To look closely at what happened in that classroom is to see something about the larger world those children live in every day.

To interpret this incident, I draw upon Scheff’s Social Bond Theory that focus on quality of human connections and what happens when they break down. 

 

Understanding Through the Lens of Social Bond Theory

 

Thomas Scheff, a micro-sociologist, argue that human beings are, at their core, relational. We do not simply live alongside one another. We need to feel recognised, respected, valued, and included. These are not luxuries. They are social and emotional needs. When those needs are met, people feel that they belong. When they are not met, something begins to go wrong in the way people treat each other.

 

Scheff describe these connections between people as social bonds. Healthy social bonds are the invisible threads that hold a group together. They allow people to disagree, to compete, even to frustrate each other, while still treating one another with basic dignity. When those threads weaken or break, the conditions for exclusion, humiliation, and violence grow. 

I examine four of his core concepts: attunement, alienation, engulfment, and shame. For each one, I follow a specific method called Part | Whole analysis (elaborated in the next section).

 

Attunement

At the centre of healthy social bonds is what Scheff calls attunement. It simply means the ability to recognise and understand another person’s feelings and experiences. It is not about always agreeing. It is about remaining sensitive to the fact that the person in front of us is a human being with an inner life that matters.

In a classroom with genuine attunement, students may argue and compete, but they still listen to one another. They still notice when someone is in pain or is hurting. That recognition, however small, is what keeps the social fabric of a group intact.

 

The bullying incident reveals a serious breakdown of attunement. The students who attacked the girl showed no visible recognition of her fear, her pain, or her dignity. The students who watched and filmed showed no visible impulse to intervene or help. From Scheff’s perspective, this is more than poor behaviour. It is a sign that the emotional connections within that group had already been seriously damaged, long before the camera started recording.

And this breakdown did not grow in that classroom alone. It is the part that reflects a larger whole. The same emotional coldness visible between those students mirrors a broader pattern in the society around them, one where busyness, individualism, and the pace of modern life have quietly eroded the habit of genuinely noticing one another. When a society stops practising attunement in its homes, its communities, and its public life, its classrooms will eventually show the same absence.

 

Alienation

When social bonds break down, people experience alienation. This is not simply loneliness. It is the experience of being cut off, of feeling invisible or unwanted within a group one is physically part of.

 

The girl who was attacked was positioned inside the classroom. She was surrounded by her schoolmates. And yet she was completely outside the circle of recognition, care, and belonging that the group extended to itself. The attack made that exclusion visible and public. In that moment, she was not treated as a member of the classroom or school community. She was treated as someone who did not belong to it at all. That is alienation in its most painful form. 

But she is the part, not the whole. Ask honestly: how many people in our society today sit within communities, within families, within institutions, and still feel they do not truly belong? The girl in that classroom is a small and visible version of a quieter and more widespread experience. Physical presence without genuine inclusion is not a problem that begins or ends at the school gate.

 

 

Engulfment

Scheff also describe a very different but equally dangerous problem, which he calls engulfment. This happens when a person becomes so absorbed into a group that their own independent judgement begins to disappear. They act with the group, think with the group, and stop asking whether what the group is doing is right.

 

Looking at the behaviour of those who participated in or encouraged the attack, engulfment is worth considering seriously. Not all of them may have acted out of personal cruelty. Some may have joined in because the group was doing it. Some may have stayed silent because speaking up felt impossible in that moment. Group pressure, particularly among young people, is a powerful and often invisible force. It can pull individuals into behaviour they would never choose on their own.

 

This creates a striking and painful contrast within the same incident. The victim experiences alienation, being pushed outside the group. Some of the perpetrators may be experiencing engulfment, being swallowed so deeply inside the group that their own conscience is temporarily suppressed. Scheff calls this pattern bimodal alienation, and it helps explain why bullying so often happens collectively rather than alone.

Again, this classroom dynamic is the part. The whole is a society where collective pressure routinely overrides individual conscience, where people stay silent in the face of wrongdoing because the cost of speaking up feels too high. The children in that room were not inventing a new behaviour. They were rehearsing one they had already absorbed from the world around them.

 

Shame

Scheff understands shame not simply as embarrassment but as a signal that a social bond had been threatened or broken. Shame arises when a person is humiliated, excluded, or publicly degraded. It is the emotional experience of being cast out.

 

The girl in the video was publicly attacked, in front of her mates, in a space where she had every right to feel safe. The shame she is likely carrying is profound. It is not just the physical pain. It is the knowledge that others watched, that others filmed, and that no one stepped in. That kind of experience leaves a mark that punishment alone cannot address.

 

When shame is not acknowledged or addressed, it does not simply disappear. It can transform into something else, including anger, bitterness, and in some cases, the impulse to hurt others. This does not shift blame or excuse what happened. But it reminds us that emotional experiences, left unattended, tend to resurface in ways we do not expect.

And here, if we are honest, the part mirrors the whole most uncomfortably of all. Our society, like many others, has a pattern of responding to painful public incidents with a flood of visible outrage followed by quiet forgetting. That is itself a form of collective unaddressed shame. We see something wrong. We feel the discomfort. And then we move on before anything is genuinely repaired. The individual victim's experience of being seen and then abandoned is not so different from how society treats its own difficult truths. What we do not sit with, we cannot heal. And what we cannot heal, we will keep repeating.

And so, if each of these moments points beyond itself, if the broken attunement in one classroom reflects a society that has grown less tender, if one girl's alienation echoes the quiet exclusion felt by many, if the engulfment of a peer group mirrors the silencing of individual conscience at every level of public life, and if unaddressed shame recurs in both the individual and the collective, then we are no longer simply looking at an incident. We are looking at ourselves. What happened in that classroom is the part. We are the whole. And the distance between what we witnessed and the values we claim to hold is the measure of the work still ahead.

Each of these concepts, taken together, points beyond the classroom. And that is precisely where Scheff's idea of part | whole analysis comes in.

Part | Whole Analysis

Part | whole analysis looks at a smaller piece of social life, event, or situation as a window to understand broader patterns, culture, values, and problems within a commouivtny or society. 

 

For example, the recent classroom bullying incident is the part. Our society is the whole. And the incident, as painful as it is, gives us a rare and honest window into what is actually happening at every level between them.

 

The victim invites us to ask who in our schools and communities feels excluded, unseen, or unsafe. She is not the only one. She is simply the one whose experience became visible.

 

The perpetrators invite us to ask what kind of peer culture is shaping young people. What are the social pressures they are living under? What does belonging mean to them, and what do they feel entitled to do to protect it?

 

The bystanders invite us to ask what we teach children about responsibility and courage. Silence in the face of cruelty is not neutral. It has a weight. Those who watched and filmed are part of this story too, and understanding their position requires honesty rather than simple condemnation.

 

The classroom invites us to ask what the daily quality of relationships between students actually looks like. Not what the school policy says it should look like, but what it genuinely feels like for the students who sit in those rooms every day.

 

The school invites us to ask whether institutions are truly built around the wellbeing of students, or whether they are primarily built around rules, rankings, and reputation. A school that responds to bullying only after a video goes viral has already failed in a quieter and more ordinary way.

 

Our society invites us to ask what values we are passing on to the next generation. Not the values written in policy documents or stated in public speeches, but the values visible in how we treat people who are harmed, how long our concern lasts, and whether we follow through.

 

The incident belongs to all of us. We may not have been in that classroom, but the conditions that made the incident possible did not grow there alone. They grew in the broader environment that all of us, together, are responsible for shaping.

 

 

Looking Beyond Discipline

 

Scheff argues that social life revolves around four ongoing processes: forming bonds, maintaining bonds, disrupting bonds, and repairing bonds. Schools are generally well practised at the first two. They are far less equipped for the last one.

 

When something like this happens, the instinct is to reach for punishment. Punishment is not without value. There must be accountability. The students who attacked another child need to understand the gravity of what they did and face real consequences for it. That is not in question.

But punishment, on its own, does not repair what was broken. It does not restore the victim’s sense of safety and belonging. It does not help the perpetrators genuinely understand the harm they caused. It does not address the bystanders’ experience of having watched something wrong without intervening. And it does not change the emotional environment that allowed this to happen in the first place.

 

Support for the victim must be genuine, sustained, and led by her own needs. For now, the victim requires not just formal support but human connection. Someone who listens. Someone who stays. Her sense of dignity and belonging needs to be actively rebuilt, not just acknowledged in a meeting and then left alone.

 

Accountability for the perpetrators should go beyond suspension or disciplinary action. It should involve a process where they are required to reflect honestly on what they did, to understand its impact, and to engage in some form of meaningful repair. Restorative approaches, where harm is acknowledged and responsibility is taken in a structured and supported way, are far more likely to produce genuine change than punishment alone. Restorative approaches to conflict and harm should be adopted seriously and resourced properly, not treated as an optional add-on.

 

More than everything, I would like to see institutional responsibility, the part that is most easily avoided and forgotten in our context. Schools must look honestly at the relational environment they have created or allowed to develop. They must ask whether students feel genuinely safe and included, whether teachers or school counsellors are well-equipped to recognise and respond to social and emotional distress, and whether the systems in place are built around the wellbeing of students rather than the management of problems after they escalate.

Each of these failures at the institutional level is not merely a school problem. It is the part that reflects a whole-of-system failure. A school that only responds after a video goes viral is doing what the wider society does: reacting to visibility rather than attending to reality. The institutional reluctance to look inward mirrors the social reluctance to hold uncomfortable truths long enough to act on them.

And yes, public concern also carries a responsibility. The outrage that floods social media in the days after such an incident is real, but it fades so quickly from our memory until it occurs in a same or other ways. From a sociological point of view, I ask: 

Did the concern translate into anything lasting? 

Was the victim still supported after the incident? 

Were required changes actually made? 

If not, then society expressed just an emotion. An emotion that has expired before it was meant to bring an impact. 

Interestingly, Scheff’s emphasis on social bonds is not foreign to Bhutan. Many of the values embedded in Bhutanese society, including compassion (སྙིང་རྗེ་), harmony, interdependence (རྟེན་འབྲེལ་), reciprocity, mutual responsibility, and care for others, reflect the same understanding that human wellbeing depends on the quality of our relationships. In many ways, the concerns raised by Social Bonds Theory echo principles that Bhutan has long regarded as central to a healthy society.

 

What Next? 

Bhutan has built its national identity around values that are unique to the rest of the world. Gross National Happiness (GNH) that we proclaim in every public speech is not a slogan. It is a commitment to placing human wellbeing, including emotional, psychological, and social wellbeing, at the heart of national life. 

 

Our Buddhist values of Ley Judrey, Tha-damtsig, Driglam Choesum, compassion, interconnectedness, and care for others are not just religious teachings in books. They are part of what it means to be Bhutanese. 

 

And so, it is worth asking, where are those values in that classroom or school? 

 

This is not a question meant to shame or to point fingers. It is a question that only a society serious about its own values can afford to sit with. If compassion is real, it must show up in the way students treat each other. If GNH is genuine, it must be felt by every child in every classroom, including the children who are most vulnerable and most easily forgotten. 

 

The gap between the values our society holds and what happened in that video is itself a Part | Whole story. The classroom is the part. The nation’s stated commitment to happiness and human dignity is the whole. And the distance between the two is not a reason for despair. It is a precise measure of where the work needs to happen.

The incident does not merely show the behaviour of a few young people. It also reflects broader social changes such as increasing individualism, weakening community relationships, reduced emphathy, growing influence of social media, normalisation of humiliation as entertainment, and declining attention to emotional wellbeing.  

 

So, what can we do collectively?

 

Schools as learning institution must create genuine (I repeat, a genuine) space for students to talk about their relationships, their difficulties, and their emotional experiences, not just in a formal counselling session, but as a normal part of school life. Compassion should not only be a subject on a timetable or during the auspicious prayer time. It should be the atmosphere of the room. 

 

Professional learning should equip teachers and school leaders with practical skills to identify exclusion, bullying, and emotional distress before they escalate. A teacher who can recognise when a student is being excluded, before it reaches a breaking point, is one of the most valuable things a school can have. I have practically done this over-a-decade teaching service with multiple students and always learnt nuances of student experiences. And honestly speaking, this is how I was intrigued to pursue my doctoral study focusing on Social Bonds theory. 

 

Communities, including families, parents, elders, religious figures, and local leaders, have a role to play in reinforcing the message that every child deserves to belong and to be treated with dignity. These values do not live only in schools. They live, or fail to live, in every relationship young people witness and experience growing up.

 

And at the national level, student wellbeing, school counselling, and social and emotional learning deserve serious policy attention and real investment.

 

Bhutan does not need to import these values from elsewhere. They are already here. They are written into the country’s philosophy, its traditions, and its sense of itself. It is even pronounced in the Vision statement of the Education Ministry. The work ahead is not about finding new values. It is about allowing the ones already held to live more fully in the everyday life of every school, every classroom, and every child.

 

The girl in that video deserved a classroom where she felt she belonged. Every child does. She is the part. Every child in every classroom across this country is the whole. And a nation that means what it says about happiness cannot afford to leave any part of that whole behind. 

Suggested Readings 

 

Scheff, T. (1990a). Microsociology: Discourse, emotion, and social structure. The University of Chicago Press.  

 

Scheff, T. (1990b). Socialisation of emotions: Pride and shame as casual agents. In T.D. Kemper (Ed.), Research agendas in the sociology in emotions. State University of New York Press.

 

Scheff, T. (1994). Bloody revenge: Emotions, nationalism, and war. Westview Press. 

 

Scheff, T. (1997). Emotions, the social bond, and human reality. Cambridge University Press.

 

Scheff, T. (1999). Being mentally ill: A sociological theory (3rd ed.). Aldine DeGruyter.

 

Scheff, T. (2006). Goffman unbound: A new paradigm for social science. Routledge.

 

Scheff, T. (2013). Repression of emotion: A danger to modern societies? In N.Demertzis (Ed.), Emotions in politics: The affect dimension in political tension (p. 84-105). Palgrave Macmillan. 

 

The Tragedy of the Commons

The recurring reports of the most insidious man-made virus, widely known as Corruption, across mainstream and social media remind one of Garrett Hardin’s Tragedy of the Commons. 

No matter how moral and respectable a nation may be, how spiritual and holy its people claim to be, and how generous and philanthropic the rich and powerful are, I believe, there exists no place on Earth that has escaped the clutch of this artificial virus. The most common symptoms of this viral infection include bribery, nepotism, favouritism, misuse of power, embezzlement of public funds, rigged contracts, political patronage, and exploitation of public office for private gain. 

When its infection spreads silently and relentlessly, it weakens the health of our institutions, erodes the fabric of public trust, and leaves societies exposed to inequality, inefficiency, and decay.

 

Tragedy of the Commons

The Tragedy of the Commons refers to a situation where something that is shared by everyone (e.g., land, water, or public fund) is overused or exhausted because individuals act in self-interest for a short-term gain. 

The key message of this phenomenon is that when individual selfishness rules over collective good, it is everyone that eventually suffers (hence tragedy). It is a moral and social issue that reflects how human greed, corruption, and neglect can destroy what we all depend on together. 

In today’s world, this analogy can be used to understand the health of our public systems, institutions, and national wealth. For example, when individuals or groups take more than their fair share or use what belongs to everyone for their own gain, it is the society that suffers at the end. 

Modern Examples 

Misuse of public funds. 

When officials or influential individuals (e.g., politicians) use public money and natural resources for personal enrichment through corrupt practices, they shrink or deplete the nation’s shared wealth and resources. While the powerful grow richer through such practices, it is only the poor and innocent who suffer, losing access to basic services such as health care, education, and infrastructure. 

Exploitation of public institutions. 

Another example is when people in authority use their connections to secure jobs, contracts, or privileges for friends and relatives. When a few individuals engage in such self-centred practices, it is the public trust and merit-based systems that are victimised and eventually forced to collapse. When such practices keep happening, institutions lose their credibility and efficiency.

Consequences 

The scar left by this viral infection can be deep and long-lasting. The shared resources that should serve everyone will become exhausted. 

The gap (inequality) between haves and have-nots will widen. This means, while a small number of people gain wealth and power, it will be the majority that would be left with fewer opportunities and weaker systems of support.

Public trust and confidence will collapse and decay, and people will start losing faith in anything that requires collective action. By then, institution of any kind will lose their purpose and efficiency. 

If left unchecked, the most non-curable consequence in the society would be its long-term instability. As inequality and mistrust grow, societies face protests, unrest, and even violence, social phenomena that are not very new to every nation these days. 

As Hardin cautioned, when the commons are left unguarded against human greed, collective ruin becomes inevitable. Unless societies develop moral antibodies through integrity, transparency, or shared responsibility, the tragedy of the commons will continue to unfold as everyday drama within our society.

 

The Eyes Have It

I vividly remember that when I was in Year 9 and 10, our English curriculum granted a buffet of short stories that lingered long in the library of our memory. Each story felt like a tiny universe, full of characters whose lives seemed to breathe beyond the page. 

 

Among them, Ruskin Bond’s The Eyes Have It captivated me more than any other. I was intrigued by the plot of the story where two strangers form subtle yet profound connections, without ever truly seeing each other. It was a strange and beautiful revelation that words alone could sketch the contours of a human heart. 

Reading the story once again, I began to realise that the real human connection is not something visible or tangible, but rather it is something far deeper, woven from empathy, attention, and imagination.

 

Human Connection: Seeing Beyond Sight

 

The story unfolds on a journey in a train, where a young man and a girl (both blind), meet and converse. They share thoughts about the scenery, the train journey based on their imagination, and other fragments of human life. 

Even though both assumes the other can see, their misunderstanding does not weaken their relationship. Instead it highlights a deeper truth about human connection that, a real connection is not based on physical perceptions or appearances. What truly sustains their bond is the genuine way they listen, their effort to communicate with sincerity, and their willingness to understand each others' experiences. 

 

Social Bonds: Key to Human Connections

Reflecting on this story through the lens of my PhD research on social bonds based on Scheff’s (1997) theory, its significance becomes clearer. 

 

Scheff’s social bond theory helps us understand why human connections matter so deeply. In simplest terms, a social bond is the emotional and relational tie between people. It is the invisible thread that makes us feel seen, understood, and valued. When a bond is genuine (secured), it goes beyond polite conversation or surface-level interactions and creates a sense of safety and belonging. We feel cared for because the other person pays attention, understands our emotions, and responds in ways that show they recognise us as individuals.

 

Scheff explains that social bonds are dynamic – they form, are maintained, can be disrupted, and sometimes repaired. This means human relationships are alive, constantly shaped by how we treat each other. A secure bond arises when interactions are marked by attunement, which occurs when people truly tune into each other’s thoughts and feelings. Even disagreements do not break these bonds, because the connection is built on understanding, not on mere agreement. Secure or intact bonds foster pride, a feeling of shared accomplishment and solidarity. Insecure or disrupted bonds, on the other hand, create shame or alienation, making people feel disconnected, misunderstood, or emotionally neglected.

 

The story The Eyes Have It illustrates this beautifully. The narrator and the girl, despite being blind, form a bond simply by talking and paying attention to each other. They listen carefully, respond thoughtfully, and imagine each other’s world. Based on Scheff’s theory, they experience the core of a secure social bond: emotional attunement, understanding, and legitimate participation. Legitimate participation is visible in how the narrator and the girl interact. Even though they cannot see each other, their words are received, acknowledged, and responded to meaningfully. Both participate fully in the conversation, making each other feel recognised and cared for, fulfilling a deep emotional need.  

 

The story demonstrates that the power of social bonds lies in these small but meaningful acts of empathy, attention, and understandings. Human connection is all about valuing other person, tuning into their emotions, and responding with care. 

 

However, it is a little sad that stories like these have completely evaporated from the vessel of our modern curricula. Reading the story again, as both a former student and now as a researcher focusing on social bonds, it reinforces the enduring truth that social and emotional bonds are the engine of human connection. 

In a world increasingly focused on surface impressions and digital interactions, the lessons of The Eyes Have It remain urgent, gentle, and timeless.

 

The Eyes Have It – Ruskin Bond

(The original story has been reproduced from an online source. All copyright remains with the original author, and I claim no ownership)

 

I had the train compartment to myself up to Rohana, then a girl got in. The couple who saw her off were probably her parents. They seemed very anxious about her comfort and the woman gave the girl detailed instructions as to where to keep her things, when not to lean out of windows, and how to avoid speaking to strangers. They called their goodbyes and the train pulled out of the station. As I was totally blind at the time, my eyes sensitive only to light and darkness, I was unable to tell what the girl looked like. But I knew she wore slippers from the way they slapped against her heels.

 

It would take me some time to discover something about her looks and perhaps I never would. But I liked the sound of her voice and even the sound of her slippers. ‘Are you going all the way to Dehra? I asked.

I must have been sitting in a dark corner because my voice startled her. She gave a little exclamation and said, I didn’t know anyone else was here.’
Well, it often happens that people with good eyesight fail to see what is right in front of them. They have too much to take in, I suppose.

 

Whereas people who cannot see (or see very little) have to take in only the essentials, whatever registers tellingly on their remaining senses.
I didn’t see you either,’ I said. ‘But I heard you come in.’ I wondered if I would be able to prevent her from discovering that I was blind. Provided I keep to my seat, I thought, it shouldn’t be too difficult. The girl said, I am getting off at Saharanpur. My aunt is meeting me there.’ 

“Then I had better not get too familiar” I replied. ‘Aunts are usually formidable creatures.’

‘Where are you going?’ she asked. ‘To Dehra and then to Mussoorie.’
‘Oh, how lucky you are. I wish I were going to Mussoorie. I love the hills. Especially in October.’ 

‘Yes, this is the best time,’ I said, calling on my memories. “The hills are covered with wild dahlias, the sun is delicious, and at night you can sit in front of a log fire and drink a little brandy. Most of the tourists have gone and the roads are quiet and almost deserted. Yes, October is the best time.’

She was silent. I wondered if my words had touched her or whether she thought me a romantic fool. Then I made a mistake. 

‘What is it like outside?’ I asked.

She seemed to find nothing strange in the question. Had she noticed already that I could not see? But her next question removed my doubts.
‘Why don’t you look out of the window?’ she asked.
I moved easily along the berth and felt for the window ledge. The window was open and I faced it, making a pretence of studying the landscape. I heard the panting of the engine, the rumble of the wheels, and, in my mind’s eye I could see telegraph posts flashing by.
‘Have you noticed,’ I ventured, ‘that the trees seem to be moving while we seem to be standing still?’

“That always happens,’ she said. ‘Do you see any animals?’

‘No,’ I answered quite confidently. I knew that there were hardly any animals left in the forests near Dehra.

 

I turned from the window and faced the girl and for a while we sat in silence.

‘You have an interesting face,’ I remarked. I was becoming quite daring but it was a safe remark. Few girls can resist flattery. She laughed pleasantly—a clear, ringing laugh.

 

‘It’s nice to be told I have an interesting face. I’m tired of people telling me I have a pretty face.’

Oh, so you do have a pretty face, thought I. And aloud I said: ‘Well, an interesting face can also be pretty.’

‘You are a very gallant young man,’ she said. ‘But why are you so serious?’ 

I thought, then, that I would try to laugh for her, but the thought of laughter only made me feel troubled and lonely.

‘We’ll soon be at your station,’ I said.
‘Thank goodness it’s a short journey. I can’t bear to sit in a train for more than two or three hours.’ Yet I was prepared to sit there for almost any length of time, just to listen to her talking. Her voice had the sparkle of a mountain stream. As soon as she left the train she would forget our brief encounter. But it would stay with me for the rest of the journey and for some time after. 

 

The engine’s whistle shrieked, the carriage wheels changed their sound and rhythm, the girl got up and began to collect her things. I wondered if she wore her hair in a bun or if it was plaited. Perhaps it was hanging loose over her shoulders. Or was it cut very short?

The train drew slowly into the station. Outside, there was the shouting of porters and vendors and a high-pitched female voice near the carriage door. That voice must have belonged to the girl’s aunt.
‘Goodbye,’ the girl said.

She was standing very close to me. So close that the perfume from her hair was tantalizing. I wanted to raise my hand and touch her hair but she moved away. Only the scent of perfume still lingered where she had stood.

There was some confusion in the doorway. A man, getting into the compartment, stammered an apology. Then the door banged and the world was shut out again. I returned to my berth. The guard blew his whistle and we moved off. Once again I had a game to play and a new fellow traveller.

The train gathered speed, the wheels took up their song, the carriage groaned and shook. I found the window and sat in front of it, staring into the daylight that was darkness for me.

So many things were happening outside the window. It could be a fascinating game guessing what went on out there.

The man who had entered the compartment broke into my reverie.

‘You must be disappointed’ he said. ‘I’m not nearly as attractive a travelling companion as the one who just left.’ 

‘She was an interesting girl’ I said. ‘Can you tell me—did she keep her hair long or short?’

‘I don’t remember,’ he said sounding puzzled. ‘It was her eyes I noticed, not her hair. She had beautiful eyes but they were of no use to her. She was completely blind. Didn’t you notice?