"Don't Panic" Is the Least Sticky Sentence in a Crisis — and the Reason Is the Curse of Knowledge
June 21, 2026 · Chip & Dan Heath, Made to Stick~5 min read
In early May 2026, eleven people on a cruise ship in the Atlantic came down with a hantavirus — the Andes virus, aboard the M/V Hondius — and three of them died. Within days, officials were saying the right things, the true things: the risk to the American public is extremely low, no cases have reached the country, this is not Covid. And yet some of the sharpest risk-communication experts in the world watched that messaging and winced. They even coined a name for what worried them: calm-mongering. The strange part is that the officials weren't wrong. They were just unsticky — and there is a precise, almost mechanical reason why.
Why "the risk is low" slides right off
Chip and Dan Heath spent a book, Made to Stick, on a single question: why do some ideas lodge in our heads while others — often the more important, more accurate ones — evaporate the instant they're spoken? Their answer is that sticky ideas tend to share a few traits: they're simple, concrete, credible, and they carry a jolt of the unexpected. Now hold "the overall risk to the American public is extremely low" up to that list. It is abstract (what does "extremely low" feel like?). It is the expected thing an official always says. And it asks you to believe rather than letting you check. By the Heaths' own diagnostic, that sentence was engineered to be forgotten. Worse, it competes against a far stickier rival already running in the reader's head: the visceral, concrete, surprising memory of 2020.
The curse that makes experts talk this way
So why do smart, well-meaning officials keep reaching for the unsticky sentence? The Heaths give the villain a name: the Curse of Knowledge. Once you know something deeply, it becomes almost impossible to imagine not knowing it. The epidemiologist has internalized the case counts, the incubation math, the base rates; "extremely low" is, to her, a vivid and complete statement. She has forgotten what it is to be a tired, post-Covid civilian for whom "extremely low" is just two grey words floating past a feed. The curse isn't stupidity — it's the opposite. It's expertise turned into a blind spot. The more you know, the harder it is to feel what your listener doesn't yet know, and so you speak the conclusion and skip the bridge that would have carried anyone across to it.
A true, well-meant sentence ("risk is extremely low") passes through the Curse of Knowledge — the expert can't feel what a scared listener doesn't know — and arrives abstract and unverifiable, so it slides off. The fix: name the fear first, then hand over a checkable detail (the 6–8-week incubation), and the same message sticks. Framework: Chip & Dan Heath, Made to Stick. Real basis: the May 2026 M/V Hondius hantavirus outbreak and the "calm-mongering" debate. A reflection, not crisis-management advice.
What "earning the right" actually means
Here the news story and the book line up almost word for word. Peter Sandman, a founder of risk communication, told reporters that to be effective, officials first have to earn the right to explain why this outbreak isn't Covid — you cannot lead with the reassurance. The Heaths would call that defeating the Curse of Knowledge before you open your mouth: start where the listener actually is (scared, burned once, watching for the catch), name that feeling out loud, and only then deliver the number. And make the number checkable, not just authoritative — the incubation period runs six to eight weeks, which is exactly why early "it's contained" claims look true before they could possibly be tested. Say that, and you've handed the public a tool to verify you instead of asking them to trust you. That is the difference between a sticky message and a slogan that evaporates.
A guardrail before you nod along
One honest caveat, because this is a story about not fooling yourself. The claim that "calm-mongering erodes trust" is a well-argued hypothesis from experienced communicators, not a proven law with a clean control group; you can't rerun May 2026 with calmer officials and measure the difference. So hold it as a sharp lens, not a verdict. What is solid is the underlying mechanism the Heaths document across dozens of cases: abstract, expected, unverifiable statements are forgotten, and the Curse of Knowledge is the reason experts keep producing them. The hantavirus episode is simply a clean, recent specimen of the pattern — not the proof of it.
What this means for you
You are not a public-health official, but you run this exact play every week — explaining your work to your boss, your code to a new teammate, your diagnosis to a patient, your "it's fine, don't worry" to a frightened parent. Every time you lead with your conclusion because it's obvious to you, the curse has you. The fix is small and unglamorous: before you reassure, say the worry out loud, in the listener's words. Before you give the number, give them a way to check it. Make it concrete enough to picture, surprising enough to notice. "Don't panic" has never once stopped a panic. What stops it is a person who proves they know exactly why you might.
The most accurate sentence in the room is worthless if it was built to be forgotten. Reassurance that skips the listener's fear isn't calm — it's just noise wearing a lab coat.
You don't earn belief by being right. You earn it by showing you remember what it's like not to know.
Source: framework from Chip & Dan Heath, Made to Stick (the SUCCESs traits and the Curse of Knowledge). Real-world basis: the May 2026 Andes-hantavirus outbreak aboard the M/V Hondius (reported to the WHO May 2; 11 cases, 3 deaths as of May 12; 6–8-week incubation; 18 people monitored 42 days), and the reporting on "calm-mongering," including risk-communication experts Peter Sandman ("earn the right") and Traci Hong (a "post-covid fatigue moment"). The "calm-mongering erodes trust" claim is an expert argument, not proven causation. A popular-science reflection, not medical or crisis-management advice.