Today, just like yesterday, at some point in the day, I heard someone repeat that we are living in a “new normal.” Within the few neurons I supposedly possess—according to the occasional internet troll on social media—the “new normal” must refer to the reality we find ourselves in due to the pandemic that has been impacting the planet since last December.
From a purely geographical perspective, it is the disruption of traditional behavior, the breakdown of routine, and the restriction of access to places that were previously part of daily life.
From this angle, the new normal is nothing more than a fresh complaint from a small percentage of the population lamenting their lost privileges. It is like when a drought devastates the agricultural sector, leaving hundreds of small farmers without products to sell, radically altering their lives in unimaginable ways and forcing them into a “new normal.”
The same could be said about coastal populations suddenly struck by a hurricane—the kind that is supposed to happen once every hundred years but now arrives in sets of three every twelve months. Homes destroyed, submerged, without roofs, unable to shelter or protect families. These ruined homes are a perfect example of what the “new normal” means for a significant population segment.
The contradiction is that while these segments of society were pioneering new realities, struggling to survive their altered circumstances, the usual actors in the metropolises remained anchored in their old normal. If I were cynical—though difficult, given my alleged lack of neurons—I might conclude that what is new is not the circumstances themselves but rather who is affected by them.
People speak of new truths as if we were in some superhero multiverse, where characters travel through different dimensions only to find alternate versions of themselves. There is also a certain level of resignation and even victimhood in assigning blame for the temporary misfortunes we now face. The new truth is catharsis, an endless uprising, a reckoning with time—a free pass to heaven, a modern indulgence.
The real difficulty arises from the irritating question: What were the biggest obstacles no one saw coming? What unexpected challenges were so catastrophic that they went beyond the preventive frameworks of any representative group of humanity?
Maybe I’m wrong, but the problem is not in the questions—it’s in the answers we get. Listening to discussions about telecom network failures, digital exclusion, and people needing small loans to avoid disconnection from essential services makes it clear that the so-called “new normal” is merely exposing long-standing structural issues. Schools without internet are rewarded with salary freezes for teachers. Remote hospitals still lack the necessary equipment to function properly.
Is the new normal for some possibly simply the eternal normal for others? Everything suggests that this is the case. No wonder inclusion plans never succeed—they do not provide a return on investment in places where their implementation is considered unfeasible. National development plans are disregarded if conceived under a previous administration because how could one then demonstrate that they are truly working for “the people”?
Ultimately, from the depths of my foolishness, I believe the “new normal” is nothing more than another euphemism—a fancy term to describe the vast inequalities that have always existed in our society, including digital divides. Being unable to leave home is the “new normal,” while witnessing a hungry, illiterate girl who cannot attend school and is at risk of sexual exploitation is a traditional normal in some parts of the world.
If we already know this, why don’t we exchange normalities?
