Two Crises and a Familiar Helplessness, Why the Iran War Feels Like COVID-19—and What That Says About Us
Six Years After the Pandemic, the World Finds Itself in Another Crisis. The Lessons We Claimed to Have Learned Have Been Swiftly Forgotten
You wake up with a sense of uncertainty, not knowing what to expect of the day. Will there be a let-up, a sudden breakthrough, light at the end of the tunnel? Or will this be yet another day of depressing news, from the economy plummeting to innocent lives lost? Things are looking bleaker, supplies have got tighter, travel plans are at a standstill. Everyone is waiting and watching.
These lines were written in March 2020.
If the current US-Iran war feels like COVID-19, it is not without reason. Both events crept up suddenly, catching the world unaware, forcing a shift in life and perspective. The signs had been there, yet no one quite believed that the lockdown of March 2020 or the airstrikes on February 28, 2026 would actually happen. One day it seemed inconceivable that we would be in the midst of something scary and unknown, and the next day we were in its vice-like grip.
The Anatomy of Shock
Initial optimism prevailed, only to be quickly crushed as both catastrophes escalated rapidly, giving way to daily obsessive tracking of the unfolding tragedy. In 2020, it was the case count, the death toll, the reproduction number. In 2026, it is the missile count, the oil price, the closure of the Strait of Hormuz. The numbers change, but the obsessive attention remains.
War anxiety mirrors pandemic panic. The blocking of the Strait of Hormuz takes one back to empty shelves in stores when supply chains were disrupted. We stockpiled essentials and anxiety then—many are doing the same now. Toilet paper then, perhaps cooking gas now. The specifics differ, but the psychology is identical: when the future becomes uncertain, we reach for whatever we can control.
The economic whiplash is familiar. Markets plunging. Small businesses packing up. Daily wagers hit hard. Get-togethers restricted. People away from their homes scrambling to get back and stay put. The language of pandemic lockdowns—”essential services,” “curfew,” “quarantine”—has been replaced by the language of war: “air strikes,” “evacuation,” “safe zones.” But the feeling is the same: a world that has shrunk, a life that has been curtailed, a future that has become opaque.
The Information Crisis
And then there is the scourge of misinformation moving faster than a virus or a missile. If the lab-leak theories eroded trust during COVID-19, doctored or AI-generated clips of explosions are threatening to dent news credibility now. The mechanisms are different—the pandemic saw a proliferation of dubious cures and conspiracy theories about the virus’s origin; the war sees deepfakes and manipulated footage of attacks—but the effect is the same: confusion, distrust, and the erosion of shared reality.
In 2020, we learned that a virus does not need to be believed to kill. In 2026, we are learning that a war does not need to be accurately represented to shape lives. When people cannot agree on what is happening, they cannot agree on how to respond. The information crisis is not a sideshow; it is central to the crisis itself.
The Psychological Toll
If COVID-19 taught us helplessness against an invisible enemy, this war replays that feeling as we watch distant explosions in real time. The helplessness is different in its particulars but identical in its essence. In 2020, we were helpless against a microscopic enemy that we could not see. In 2026, we are helpless against geopolitical forces that we cannot control. We watch, we wait, we hope. The feeling is the same.
Most haunting, perhaps, is the insidious psychological toll. The pandemic brought what psychologists called “anticipatory grief”—the sense of loss before loss has occurred, the mourning of a future that might not come. The war brings its own form of anticipatory grief: the fear of escalation, of widening conflict, of a world that could change irreversibly. The object of fear is different, but the fear itself is familiar.
The Forgetting
This brings us to the uncomfortable point this comparison is trying to make: human beings have a remarkable ability to swiftly forget even the most profound lessons once the immediate crisis fades.
As soon as COVID-19 receded, there was an outpouring of reflections on the lessons the virus had seemingly taught us. On a personal level, we spoke of our realisation of being able to live with much less, the rediscovery of self-reliance, and the revaluation of priorities. Interconnected vulnerabilities led to an unspoken bond across humanity.
On a universal scale, the lessons ran deeper: the value of human life, the pricelessness of freedom, the need for economic resilience, and the indispensability of global solidarity. The phrase that best captured this hard-won wisdom: “Until every country is safe, no country is safe.”
Yet here we are six years later, and while the calendar says March 2026, the weather feels like March 2020.
What We Forgot
What were the lessons we claimed to have learned? And why have we forgotten them?
First, we learned that global problems require global solutions. The pandemic taught us that pathogens do not respect borders, and that no country can be truly safe until all countries are safe. We spoke of a new era of global cooperation. But today, we see the opposite: fragmentation, unilateral action, and the collapse of the very institutions that were meant to coordinate responses. The UN Security Council is paralysed. Global health governance remains underfunded. And a war that affects the entire world is being waged without international authorisation.
Second, we learned that resilience requires redundancy. When supply chains failed, we discovered the dangers of just-in-time logistics, of dependence on single sources, of efficiency pursued at the cost of robustness. We promised to diversify, to build buffers, to prioritise resilience over optimisation. Yet today, we are again dependent on a single chokepoint for energy supplies, again vulnerable to disruption, again caught unprepared.
Third, we learned that information integrity is a public good. When misinformation killed as surely as the virus, we recognised the need for reliable information, for trust in institutions, for a shared understanding of reality. Yet today, the same platforms that spread COVID-19 conspiracies are spreading war propaganda. The same distrust that fuelled vaccine hesitancy is fuelling war scepticism. The lessons were learned, then unlearned.
Fourth, we learned that the most vulnerable suffer most. The pandemic exposed the fault lines of inequality—the fact that a virus does not discriminate but a society does. We spoke of building back better, of creating more equitable systems. Yet today, the same inequalities determine who is most affected by the war. The poor cannot stockpile essentials. The working class loses jobs. The marginalised pay the highest price for crises they did not create.
Fifth, we learned that our mental health is fragile. The pandemic brought a global conversation about anxiety, depression, and the psychological toll of uncertainty. We spoke of the need for support, for understanding, for systems of care. Yet today, the same anxieties are returning, the same helplessness is resurfacing, and we are no better prepared to handle it.
The Difference
There is just one difference between March 2020 and March 2026. Then, there was a debate about whether COVID-19 was a natural or human-made calamity. This time round, we do not even have the comfort of that debate.
In 2020, we could at least argue about cause. Was the virus a product of nature or a lab leak? Did it originate in Wuhan or elsewhere? The debate was often unproductive, sometimes harmful, but it gave us something to do. It allowed us to believe that if we could identify the cause, we could prevent a recurrence.
In 2026, there is no such debate. The war is human-made, unmistakably, indisputably. It is the product of choices made by leaders, of strategies pursued, of decisions that could have been different. There is no comfort in that. It is harder to accept that suffering is the result of human decisions rather than natural misfortune. It is harder to live with the knowledge that it could have been avoided.
The Unlearned Lesson
The deepest lesson of the pandemic was about our interconnectedness. We learned, or seemed to learn, that the world is a single system, that events in one place affect everyone, that we rise and fall together. The phrase “until every country is safe, no country is safe” was not a slogan; it was a recognition of a fundamental truth.
Yet six years later, we are living as if that truth had never been discovered. The war is being waged without regard for its global consequences. The strait is being closed without concern for those who depend on it. The rhetoric is of national interest, not common good.
Perhaps this is the hardest lesson of all: that knowledge does not guarantee wisdom, that experience does not ensure learning, that human beings have a remarkable capacity to forget what they have just been taught.
Conclusion: The Familiar Helplessness
The current war feels like COVID-19 because it replicates the same pattern: sudden onset, rapid escalation, daily dread, economic disruption, information chaos, psychological toll. But the deeper similarity lies in what both crises reveal about us: our vulnerability, our interdependence, and our tragic ability to forget.
When this war ends, there will again be reflections on the lessons learned. We will speak of the value of peace, the danger of unilateralism, the need for energy independence, the importance of international institutions. We will promise to do better.
And then, when the next crisis comes, we will again be caught unprepared. The cycle will repeat. The lessons will be relearned and re-forgotten.
The only difference will be the names: the next crisis will have a different name, a different cause, a different geography. But the familiar helplessness will be the same.
Q&A: Unpacking the Parallels Between COVID-19 and the Iran War
Q1: What parallels does the author draw between the COVID-19 pandemic and the Iran war?
A: The author draws multiple parallels: both events crept up suddenly, catching the world unaware; initial optimism was quickly crushed as both escalated rapidly; both created obsessive daily tracking of unfolding tragedy; both caused economic whiplash with markets plunging and small businesses suffering; both led to stockpiling of essentials; both were accompanied by a scourge of misinformation; and both inflicted an insidious psychological toll of helplessness.
Q2: What does the author say about human beings’ ability to learn from crises?
A: The author argues that human beings have a remarkable ability to swiftly forget even the most profound lessons once the immediate crisis fades. The pandemic seemed to teach lessons about global solidarity, economic resilience, information integrity, and the protection of the vulnerable. Yet six years later, the world is living as if those lessons were never learned—with fragmentation, unilateralism, and the collapse of the very institutions meant to coordinate global responses.
Q3: What were the lessons that seemed to emerge from the pandemic?
A: The lessons included: global problems require global solutions (no country is safe until every country is safe); resilience requires redundancy in supply chains; information integrity is a public good; the most vulnerable suffer most from crises; and mental health requires care and support. The author argues these lessons have been swiftly forgotten.
Q4: What is the one difference the author notes between March 2020 and March 2026?
A: In 2020, there was a debate about whether COVID-19 was a natural or human-made calamity. In 2026, there is no such comfort—the war is unmistakably, indisputably human-made. It is harder to accept that suffering is the result of human decisions rather than natural misfortune, and harder to live with the knowledge that it could have been avoided.
Q5: What does the author suggest is the “deepest lesson” of the pandemic that remains unlearned?
A: The deepest lesson was about interconnectedness—that the world is a single system, that events in one place affect everyone, that we rise and fall together. Yet six years later, the war is being waged without regard for global consequences, with rhetoric of national interest rather than common good. The author suggests that knowledge does not guarantee wisdom, and that human beings have a remarkable capacity to forget what they have just been taught.
