It’s a familiar pattern: a piece of news drives people crazy, and the chorus begins. Journalism is dead. Media is sold out. Propaganda reigns.
Those who fancy themselves comedians craft lazy-but-witty one-liners. Those who pride themselves on intellect causally drop Orwellian quotes. Those lacking originality parade clichés as profound insights. The rest broadcast their despair to the world, utterly confused what to believe anymore.
But few realise they are mimicking the very flaw they attribute to journalists: a lack of thought.
“Journalists just don’t get it,” I am often told. Bureaucrats, founders, small business owners, techies, academics, celebrities, students, activists—all voice the same criticism: journalists write without full knowledge, miss context, and remain superficial. If only we had “real journalism”—a phrase which usually means journalism that echoes their views, attacks their opponents, and tells stories that validate their experiences—the world, they believe, would magically become a better place.
Journalists counter with their own brand of arrogance, lost in a delusional saviour complex, neither wanting to explain their process nor understanding that long-lasting trust must be earned—not assumed.
The irony is stark: just as the media perpetuates stereotypes—often making you feel unrepresented—you perpetuate stereotypes about the media. Journalists don’t get you; you don’t get journalists. No difference. Blame and misunderstanding follow.
As I see it, the cycle is driven by two forces.
The first is an internal sense of superiority, a smug assurance whispering: “I'm on the right side, I'm doing the right thing.” It’s a self-congratulatory pat on the back, often blind to its own biases.
The second is the external projection of judgment, a sharp accusation thrown like a dart: "How could you not see this? What were you thinking?" It's a weapon, often asserting dominance in the status game.
These forces feed off each other, locked in a dance of ego and accusation, each side convinced of their moral high ground. An endless loop.
When mutual understanding is suggested, you meet more characters. There are those who call it an elitist intellectual luxury, irrelevant in the face of urgent real-world misery. There are the absolutists, who dismiss any attempt to find complexity as a threat to their clear-cut worldview. 'Foolish idealism,' they scoff, seeing the search for nuance as a challenge to their established sense of order. Identities are evoked. Guilt is provoked.
Their emotion is so intense that those shouting for facts forget their own call. Heart strings are pulled, so the brain can just chill. Like a routine requiring no thought or intent. Only the comfort of habit.
What unites them is a deeply ingrained ideology: a disbelief in individual agency, a lack of faith in people. In us.
If you've ever had a phase of brutal self-realisation, you know that problematic patterns often break in moments of thoughtful reflection: in work, in relationships, in life. In these moments, chaos may surface, conflicting ideas may clash, and the world may appear hazy. Yet dealing with this discomfort is necessary to grow. And growth is necessary for change.
It's really your choice. And always remember, you do have a choice. Never allow anyone to convince you otherwise. It’s a template method of controlling behaviour and instilling fear.
You can choose to think or remain on the conveyor belt of thoughtless repetition. Because the worldly circus will continue. There, you don't have a choice.