We love to marvel at what’s new: faster apps, shiny new power sources, bustling smart cities. We are dazzled by the promise of a better life through progress. But every spotlight also leaves something behind beyond its radiance. If we stop to look carefully, we see that progress always casts shadows on people, places, and things because of the rush to move forward.

Algorithms are a glaring example of this. Streaming services adjust their algorithms and millions of rankings daily to keep us watching; social media is engineered to amplify our cravings for the content we want most. While this seems seamless and empowering for most, those in the shadows are creators from smaller towns and those who post in less dominant languages. The algorithm favors what it already recognizes, such as slick formats and mainstream voices, while sidelining things that possess no such precedent.

The same dynamic is at work in the rise of “smart cities.” Through sensors, cameras, and apps, traffic flows better, streets are cleaner, and crimes can be tracked in real time. Life gets better for the vast majority of city dwellers. But for street vendors, migrant labourers, and the homeless, the same technologies that create efficiency are often a means for exclusion. Grassroots stalls get demolished, survival mechanisms are outlawed, and the surveillance-normalization machine is deployed against those who have no counter-power. A city designed to be safe and efficient for the many can, at the same time, push those with the least vulnerability further into the margins.

Health-promotion initiatives such as blood pressure screening or diabetes control are lauded for improving public health and prolonging life. To most people, this is an undeniable positive step. But this raises a question: if health becomes a civic duty rather than a private choice, won’t individual autonomy come under strain? Are these regulations more a compulsion than help? This makes me wonder: what are we forced to give up when collective well-being driven by policies prevails over personal choice?

On renewable energy, we hailed the advent of massive solar farms and wind projects that bring clean power to millions of people, diminishing our dependence on fossil fuels. Yet the land utilized in these projects inevitably alienates indigenous communities and destabilizes existing ecosystems. Even as the cities rejoice at clean air and near-zero transportation costs, rural communities agonise over lost livelihoods and the weakening of the bond they’ve always had with the land. The very technologies we celebrate as universally positive are, if you look closely enough, leaving some communities in the dark.

The thread that runs through these stories is a grim reality: progress is seldom distributed equally. The larger group may have some room to gain, but the only ones cast in shadow are those with the least means to protect themselves: marginal creators, migrant labourers, people defending regional autonomy, rural farmers. While they rarely get noticed amid the dazzle of progress, we must acknowledge that they cannot be ignored if we hope to discuss progress honestly.

Seeing shadows does not mean turning away from progress or halting it. It means we need to expand the circle of who gets to share in its warmth. It’s the question of not just “what did we gain?” but also “and who might be left behind?” It means designing with empathy, so the cost of progress isn’t borne solely by those with the slightest agency.

Progress is dazzling. The true measure of it all is not how brightly it shines, but whether it reached those who were left still standing in the shadows.

To explore these complex themes further, join the conversation on the accompanying podcast, "Shadows of Progress with Riya Kamat," available on YouTube and Spotify.