When rule-breaking or unsafe behaviour doesn’t immediately cause harm, people slowly begin to treat it as “normal,” even though it remains dangerous. Because nothing bad happens 99 per cent of the time, the risk is often dismissed as insignificant — until disaster finally strikes.
This phenomenon is known as the normalisation of deviance, a term coined by sociologist Diane Vaughan in her book The Challenger Launch Decision. She described it as the “gradual process through which unacceptable practices or standards become acceptable. As deviant behaviour is repeated without catastrophic results, it becomes the social norm.”
Normalisation of deviance can lead to cultural drift into risky or illegal practices and, ultimately, to a more lawless society. Every time we fail to follow protocol, skip a checklist, or “take a chance,” it becomes easier to do it again — because it worked last time.
When deviance becomes the norm, we may suffer personally when the odds catch up with us, or worse, others may be harmed.
Vaughan was writing about the 1986 explosion of the Challenger Space Shuttle, which killed all seven crew members. It was a known fact that Challenger’s rubber O-rings had a design flaw and could allow hot gas to escape under certain conditions, potentially causing disaster. But because several previous launches had occurred without incident, the risk was gradually minimised and normalised. People became desensitised — until the consequences proved fatal.
This season, I had a rude awakening to this concept.
My 13-year-old dog, Brownie, accidentally ingested poison left to exterminate rats. My gardener had tried to minimise the risk by hiding it among plant pots. Tragically, birds had been poisoned before, so the danger was known. Yet, 99 times before, Brownie had never searched it out. Complacency had set in. Repeated non-catastrophic outcomes lowered my vigilance.
While many were celebrating the New Year, my family was anxiously focused on our faithful pet. Thankfully, Brownie survived due to the swift assistance of veterinarians Dr Crystal Wint and Dr Crisen Bassaw, both from our neighbourhood.
My New Year’s resolution became clear: to deliberately reduce risk in my life.
I purchased a non-slip mat for my bathtub, replaced a frayed phone charger cord, bought non-skid slippers for my slippery outdoor tiles, and replaced an office chair that threatened to topple backward.
If you take a risk often enough, probabilistic inevitability exists — the odds will eventually catch up with you. History is full of such stories.
A friend repeatedly met his ex-girlfriend at a guest house. He knew it was risky but grew emboldened. “I’m still providing. I’m still a good father. It’s not serious,” he told himself. This continued until he was caught by his wife. His 35-year marriage ended.
A 19-year-old habitually raced down the highway. At first, he was nervous, but after months without accidents or legal consequences, he drove faster and more recklessly. One night, under the influence of alcohol, he lost control and was fatally injured. People said afterward, “But he always drove like that.” Danger had become normal — until it wasn’t.
The student who cheated on five exams before being caught and disqualified.
The driver who repeatedly bribed traffic officers, telling friends, “That’s how it works. Everybody does it,” until he encountered an officer with stronger principles.
On New Year’s Eve at the Le Constellation basement bar in Crans-Montana, Switzerland, 40 people died and 116 were injured in a devastating fire. Some victims were as young as 15. Sparklers reportedly ignited soundproofing foam on the ceiling. Music continued playing as some patrons live-streamed the fire. Panic followed, the narrow staircase blocked by people attempting to escape.
This tragedy echoed earlier US disasters: the 2003 Station nightclub fire in Rhode Island that killed 100 people (pyrotechnics ignited the acoustic foam), and the 1942 Cocoanut Grove fire in Boston that claimed 492 lives. In both cases, fire codes were ignored, exits were inadequate, and flammable materials were used.
Building codes and safety standards were globally given attention after these deadly infernos. So how did it happen again?
Likely through ignored safety rules and insufficient enforcement. When nothing went wrong, risk-taking became routine. Until, suddenly, everything went wrong.
The lesson is simple but uncomfortable: danger doesn’t disappear just because it hasn’t hurt us yet. The absence of consequences is not proof of safety — only proof of luck. And luck, eventually, runs out.
