A few weeks ago, my wife and I took a trip with our daughter to a lake in northern Wisconsin. We were joined by my parents, my niece and nephew, as well as my sister and her boyfriend. A couple days into the trip, my wife received news of the earthquake that struck Colombia. My wife began checking in with family and friends to confirm that they were safe, and thankfully, they were physically unharmed. Unfortunately, several people were killed, and many more were missing or injured. While we were enjoying the sunny weather on the lake, all hell was breaking loose in Colombia.
This made me think about the human experience, and in particular, how humans adapt to their environment. Earlier in the year, we had to take shelter with our daughter during a tornado warning. Thankfully, our town was not directly impacted by the storm, but I found myself taking the lead in that situation because of my experience with that particular type of weather event. Since I do not live in an earthquake-prone area, I found myself trying to understand what the people in Colombia were experiencing. Similarly, I have found myself explaining blizzards and tornadoes to people from places that do not experience them.
Where I believe this fits into history is in the many instances where one group of people resettles in a new area or travels through or into a new one. Some examples are the Romans expanding into regions of Northern Europe, Europeans moving into the Americas, and westward expansion in the United States, to name a few. Although these interactions were often shaped by unequal power dynamics and, at times, conflict, local knowledge remained essential for newcomers attempting to survive and adapt to unfamiliar environments.
If I had been in Colombia during the earthquake, I would not have known what to do. But in a tornado or blizzard, the appropriate emergency actions are second nature to me. What I found so interesting is that even in the twenty-first century, firsthand knowledge of an area can literally mean the difference between life and death. Familiarity and instinct still play a crucial role in our survival, even with the incredible technology at our fingertips. As we continue to advance technologically, I wonder not only how our instincts will be affected, but also how the relationships formed through adversity will change.
I am not an anthropologist, but my study of human history has taught me that human interaction is strongly shaped by adversity, shared knowledge, and the need for group cohesion in challenging environments. In Minnesota, this is evident in the relationship between French fur traders and the Ojibwe. In northern Minnesota, especially around Lake Superior and the Grand Portage region, French traders and voyageurs relied on Ojibwe knowledge of the land, waterways, resources, and trade networks. The Ojibwe, in turn, incorporated European goods into their existing economic and diplomatic relationships. This relationship was not simply Europeans introducing knowledge to Indigenous people; the French also had to learn to navigate an unfamiliar environment and culture.
With an ever-increasing interconnectedness between people, both culturally and geographically, I find myself observing a dichotomy between the interconnectedness made possible by technology and the way technology can also detract from the natural human experience. In the context of natural disasters and weather events, warnings can be received on devices like phones, along with basic instructions on what actions to take. Those same devices can also be used to call for help or locate missing people. However, with so much information at our fingertips, technology can diminish the need for traditional methods of passing down knowledge and wisdom.
People may be able to communicate, find information, or request help in an instant, but this can replace the need for sitting at the dining room table, gathering around a campfire, or having the one-on-one conversations that were so common until very recently. There are a myriad of pros and cons to this particular conversation, and I am not taking a particular stance for or against technology. However, I think this experience made me think deeply about the role of technology in human relationships. It can make it easier to communicate, but it can also detract from natural human interactions.
In the context of this particular essay, we received a tornado warning on our phones when that weather event occurred. My wife was able to receive news about the earthquake and communicate with her family and friends via her phone. Yet, we were also able to have conversations by the fire and immerse ourselves in nature with the people who were physically present with us. All of this is to say that technology has its pros and cons, but even as it makes our lives easier, nature still has—and, in my opinion, always will have—a central role in social cohesion.
What are your thoughts on the positive and negative impacts of technology on humans? Do you think that we can be “trained” out of our instincts by being too reliant on technology? Or do you think that experiences like our trip demonstrate a potential balance between the natural and technological realms?