They say a man would believe anything he is told in his deathbed. There is no regret or contemplation to look hesitantly forward to. There is also the impending departure from the moral compass, the liberation of all liberations; not having to give a sh*t anymore about the variability of a fact. Was 2016 than the year when we thought from our deathbeds, actual death notwithstanding? Was this the year rationale died? Did we exchange our cynicism for whatever is more favourable and compositely convenient? Are we what we are reflected in the mirror of our commonest insecurities. We want to wake up to a certain world, and so we no longer dream of it, but have started believing it exists. A number of theories and ideas have been shared and projected to make sense of our deviance. Some have called it post-truth, some have called it the year of the troll and some have chosen to not think about it at all.
What 2016 clearly proved was that you could be made to believe in anything, and most alarmingly that you could, believe in anything. The internet has shaped the dome of the infosphere (consider one) shrinking on the inside to what comforts the mind and the heart. Trolls and social media have poked holes to persuade the crony in us to barter depth for surface phenomenon. It is easy to understand this change than understand the ease with which it has happened; to us, humans, the foremost in evolution, the most intelligent, and now without depth, and directionless. It is one of those sea-and-water moments in the history of this planet, one holds the colour and one reflects it. And in between we lost ourselves, surrendering to the perversity of considering what is closest to the purest form.
From Brexit to the election of the American President to surgical strikes and fabled controversies, we were across the board, cutting across the lines, at times our own. There is not a more potent disease than one which you accept as a cure to something you know nothing about. Careless on the path to becoming carefree, abandoning reason on the path to becoming argumentative and clinging to one flagstaff or the other because the white one is not perusable in times of anger and hostility like ours. There is a lot to be said and considered about discourse and how it has shaped over the last couple of years, the manifest identity of which was visible for the first time in the last.
We are at a point in human history, where the scale of a lie is topping the vitality of truth. This is not just populism, as much as it is an indicator of it is also a contender for a fresh line of argumentation – one which is removed from fact. The implication being that it might no longer be important to be proven true as long as you are proven effective. What does that due to us as a species? Forget the political apexes of this triangulation, at the centre, there is something deeply discomforting about our foremost concerns – the value of human life. How long before death, loss, tragedy, disease, disasters and even genocides are trivialised, if they already haven’t. This is therefore not only about the political, but also about the personal.
And let’s agree on one thing, that history can no longer help us. Because it itself feels threatened, marginalised in the wake of a power tool that erases and writes anew with the same vigorous belief. Not that everything has to be tested, or will be. Your trust in people, in the ones you love and the way that love manifests within the overlapping shadows of so many false geometries should remain untouched. In brief, it is our innately human vulnerabilities that may save us from a cataclysmic future. One that is vertically compressing our presence, anaemic and unstable, asking us to give up the length for the height, give up fact for what is fun to believe in. The emerald towers replacing the earthly broomstick.
There are indicators, and aftermaths still to behold. 2017 will see change and churn, life and death, in equal measure as in 2016. But what it most importantly needs to witness is the re-emergence of truth as the one thing we stake our potency on. It has to be the year when the question mark makes its reappearance in discourse rather than in analysis. It has to be the year when we refuse to bite the cherry and walk away assuming the rest of it was a well-baked cake. It has to be the year when we question the sky and the stars, some will change colour, some will fall, some we’ll replace and the others we’ll forget. But what shall always remain is what was true about them, about us, about everything, if we want it to.
Updated Date: Jan 01, 2017 08:54 AM