Don’t forget Milestone tragedy, not so soon 

Have you ever been called a goldfish? Or wondered why you are told you have a "goldfish memory"? 

Recall how someone at some point may have  called you out on your very short attention span. 

Relax, you're not the only one. 

The phrase comes from the myth that goldfish have a three-second memory. In reality, goldfish can remember things for weeks or longer. But the idea stuck as a metaphor. 

And rightfully so, guilty as charged. This is, unfortunately, relatable. 

Today, it reflects how social media and fast-paced news cycles cause us to jump from one topic to another, often forgetting important stories almost as soon as they appear.

This is especially common in the digital age, where people quickly forget news, move on from serious issues, or lose interest in ongoing events. 

It's not just the psychological disdain of lost reading habits but also memory retention, upholding values and taste. 

We know we have a lot of issues to deal with everyday. 

Picture this. 

It is rainy season and it will rain. And there will be waterlogging and we will want to stay home but that's not possible. 

We will have to attend work anyway. And on the way, we will browse Facebook and all of a sudden notice something that has gone viral. 

Maybe someone you know has said something, somewhere. And people are talking. 

We will also find that the government has announced a very crucial decision through this very social media, which we once used mostly to send pokes to our virtual friends just a decade ago. 

Now that status by so and so government official will become an issue for us. We will have to comment. Share. By then we'll reach office. 

Along the way or next up, maybe there will be same old rain outside but we will be faced with new problems. 

And it makes us forget things.

So, in short, and I hope it cuts deep — goldfish memory refers to the way netizens, those who live their lives online, consume, care, and then completely forget. 

A horrific crash kills dozens? Hashtag it. Share it. Feel deeply for two hours. Then scroll on.

So from crisis to clickbait, we scroll and scroll,  fall on and off the wagon of the age of forgotten headlines.

But why do we move on too fast? What is it doing to our memory, attention, and empathy? 

In today's hyperconnected world, we know news doesn't stick, it scrolls. 

It's no wonder why the goldfish memory has been invented. Actually, we needed it. We will need it always. But have we started to forget what has happened at the school in Uttara? Looks like it.

Heavy are our hearts with the loss of lives due to the Milestone tragedy. 

On Monday (21 July) afternoon, a Bangladesh Air Force jet crashed into a building of the school premises, killing dozens of children and injuring scores, including teachers and rescuers. 

We mourned their loss, we covered the reports on death tolls, with nearly 30 children dying, over 170 injured and about 70 under treatment for serious burns and other injuries and the count growing with those succumbing to their deaths, and there are even those at hospitals still fighting for their dear life. 

Milestone toll revised down to 29 as fight for life continues

We even debated why a populated city became an airbase, we bargained and protested how we lost so many young lives, we called on the government to take swift action, we pointed fingers. And then, we took this as an overkill. And moved on. 

One moment, a nation mourns a tragedy, protests injustice, or demands accountability. Next up, our attention swivelled elsewhere, pulled by the latest controversy, celebrity scandal, or breaking alert. 

Now the Bangladesh Bank directive, for example, on women staff's attire is making headlines and it will surely raise some eyebrows, and most certainly draw backlash. So netizens and the media will be busy with that for a minute. 

Not to mention, this month marks the one-year anniversary of the 2024 student-people mass uprising. We are living in retrospect the very "36 Bloody Days of July". What started out as political activism and fight for justice is now, again, an overkill for a fading memory. 

So now the rest will stand watch as yesterday's crisis becomes today's footnote. 

And tomorrow? It might not even be remembered at all.

This cycle isn't just frustrating, but it's defining our relationship with reality.

The real culprit isn't our brains. It's the very system we're swimming in. Social media platforms and 24/7 news outlets have trained us to crave the new, the urgent, the now. 

Algorithms reward novelty. Outrage fades when it's no longer trending. And when we're bombarded with too many crises at once, we begin to emotionally ration. We resort to apathy, caring less, not out of coldness, but sheer exhaustion.

Media mirrors social media's appetite for what's fresh rather than what's important. 

This doesn't mean journalists don't care about depth or impact, but in the race to stay relevant, continuity often takes a backseat.

An investigation into systemic failures might run for a few days. A shocking video might dominate the news cycle for a week. But if the public's interest wanes, coverage does too. 

Complex, unresolved issues — such as, climate change, war, institutional abuse — are sidelined until a new development reactivates interest. 

By then, the public memory may have already moved on. Amnesia sets in. 

So what gets lost in this rapid turnover?

Accountability. Long-term solutions. Context. Grief.

When we don't stay with a story, we don't track its aftermath. We don't ask what changed or what didn't. We forget the names of victims, the pledges made by leaders, the pain of those still living with the consequences. 

And because the next story is always just a click away, we rarely sit with discomfort long enough to demand change.

So, consider the way we consume news and abandon it. 

Readers and viewers must learn to sit with stories longer, follow up, and engage beyond the initial wave of emotion.

And on a personal level, we can all ask ourselves — what was the last big issue I cared about? What happened next? Did I follow up? Or did I willingly scroll through the cesspool that is now a black hole of forgotten tragedies? 

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.