History shows a hard and uncomfortable truth: the scale of a tragedy does not determine its lasting impact.

Meaning, memory and mobilization are not driven by the number of lives taken. They are driven by narrative infrastructure: the scaffolding around the stories we tell ourselves, the framework that helps us process new information — or in commercial terms, what we call “brand.”

A brand is the cumulative network of memories and associations both positive and negative that surface without conscious effort. These associations live in the human subconscious and determine whether an event is understood, remembered and acted upon. When that structure is strong, moments compound into momentum. When it is weak, even profound tragedies struggle to leave a lasting mark.

Tragedies like Bondi — both devastating and familiar to the Jewish community before and since Oct. 7, 2023 — are unlikely to produce sustained social change, lasting cultural memory or meaningful momentum against antisemitism. This isn’t because they matter less, but because there is no strong brand or narrative system capable of carrying them forward.

How did the killing of George Floyd, for instance — one man, one event — ignite one of the largest global social movements in modern history? The difference was not scale. It was narrative strength.

Black Lives Matter did not emerge because of George Floyd. It existed long before him as a dense, emotionally resonant system: a clear moral claim, a repeatable slogan, a visual language  and a story already embedded in public consciousness. When Floyd was killed, the event required no explanation. It snapped instantly into a framework millions already understood, felt  and were prepared to act upon.

Recent events in Minneapolis offer a contemporary illustration of this same dynamic. Following fatal encounters involving federal immigration enforcement, public response intensified quickly because the events landed within a narrative framework that already existed in public consciousness. Long-running debates about law enforcement, civil liberties and government authority provided a shared lens through which people could interpret what had happened, express concern and mobilize in familiar ways. Because these themes are tied to deeply embedded subconscious associations — life and death, liberty and freedom, power and autonomy — the events felt immediate and personal, as though they were happening not just to others, but to oneself. Importantly, these events show how pre-existing narrative structures allow moments of crisis to be understood and acted upon, rather than dissipating in confusion or silence.

Acts of violence against Jews, by contrast, have not meaningfully advanced the fight against antisemitism because the narrative architecture surrounding Jews and Israel remains weak, fragmented and emotionally incoherent. There is no widely shared framework that allows the public to instinctively interpret violence against Jews as part of a broader, morally legible system of injustice. As a result, these acts are often explained away as random crime, the product of mental illness or a generic public-safety failure, rather than absorbed into a durable understanding of irrational anti-Jewish hate.

This pattern is well documented across social-movement research, media studies and behavioral science. Public mobilization depends less on the severity of an event than on whether it activates a familiar moral construct. When it does, attention compounds and action follows. When it does not, even large-scale violence fades within days or weeks.

This is not a moral argument. It is a strategic one.

In business and philanthropy alike, strong brands function as meaning accelerators. They allow people to process complexity quickly, assign responsibility and align emotionally with others. Behavioral science shows that humans rely on existing mental frameworks to interpret new information; when those frameworks are absent — or polluted — ambiguity prevails and action stalls.

Brand strength is not created by single moments or spikes of attention. It is built through repeated, coherent signals over time. Awareness produces attention; brand building produces memory, meaning and behavior.

The work ahead is one of construction versus reaction. 

Step 1: Define the frame before the crisis

Establish a clear, coherent narrative infrastructure that allows violence against Jews to be immediately understood as part of an ongoing injustice — not an isolated incident or anomaly. If an event cannot be instantly placed within a larger moral story, it will not endure in public memory.

Step 2: Build narrative strength through consistency

Reinforce this frame through repeated, coherent signals over time — disciplined language, imagery, symbols, cues and attribution of cause. Narrative power is cumulative. It builds in memories through consistency, not reaction, and cannot be created ex nihilo in moments of crisis.

Step 3: Let events activate the structure, not create it

When tragedy occurs, it should require no reframing, no rebuttal, no over-explaining, no post-hoc storytelling. The event must instantly snap into a narrative people already recognize and feel prepared to act on. Tragedies do not create meaning — they reveal whether meaning was already there.

None of this is to suggest that tragedies should be leveraged or instrumentalized. Human loss is not a tool. Rather, without prior narrative infrastructure, tragedies are unfairly asked to do work they cannot possibly do.

This is why awareness campaigns so often fail. Awareness without brand coherence is just noise. The same is true of positive moments, whether they are acts of solidarity, breakthroughs or policy wins: they either compound into momentum or they quietly dissipate, depending on whether a framework exists to carry them forward.

Antisemitism is historically layered and driven by enduring myths. But complexity does not eliminate the need for coherence. Without a shared narrative framework, complexity becomes confusion.

The uncomfortable implication is this: If we want tragedies to lead to reform rather than repetition, we must invest in the slow, unglamorous work of brand and narrative building before the next crisis. Not slogans after the fact, but durable, emotionally resonant frameworks that allow future events to be immediately understood and acted upon.

Tragedy opens a window. Brand strength determines whether anything passes through it. Without that strength, even the most horrific events fade — not because they are forgotten, but because they were never given a structure strong enough to help them endure.

Leslie Zane is an award-winning marketer, TEDx speaker and global expert in harnessing instinctive behavior to drive business growth. She is the founder and CEO of Triggers Brand Consulting and the author of The Power of Instinct: The New Rules of Persuasion in Business and Life published by Hachette.

Mark Mandell is a marketing expert, entrepreneur and philanthropist. He currently serves on the board of the Nagen Project.