By Imlisanen Jamir
If one were to measure the state of a society by the condition of its language and literature, the results would not be encouraging. The average person today reads less, thinks less, and expresses themselves in a language that is increasingly vague, inflated, and shaped by whatever political or commercial interests happen to dominate the moment. This is not a new observation but it remains true, if not truer, today. The question, then, is whether literature still serves the purpose it once did: to clarify thought, to illuminate truth, and to keep language alive as a tool of genuine expression rather than a means of manipulation.
This is where events like the White Owl Literature Festival in Chümoukedima become significant. Not because literature festivals are a cure for anything—they are often exercises in self-congratulation, attended by the kind of people who already believe in the importance of books—but because they represent, at the very least, a recognition of the problem. A society that makes room for literature, even in a minor way, is a society that has not yet entirely surrendered to the deadening forces of propaganda, mass distraction, and intellectual laziness.
Literature, of course, is not inherently virtuous. A bad novel can be just as dishonest as a political speech. A writer can be just as complicit in deception as a politician or a journalist. But the act of reading, especially when it is done critically, teaches something that is in dangerously short supply: the ability to think independently. The young, in particular, need this more than ever. The world they inherit is one in which language is constantly being repurposed to serve hidden agendas, in which the truth is a matter of branding, and in which every statement carries the risk of being meaningless. If they do not learn to read between the lines—to recognize clichés, empty phrases, and the kind of language that exists to obscure rather than reveal—they will be easy prey for whoever happens to be in power.
This is not simply a question of politics. It is a question of the self. A person who cannot express their thoughts clearly cannot think clearly, and a person who cannot think clearly cannot act with any real agency. They will be swept along by whatever trend, movement, or ideology is most convenient. Literature, at its best, resists this. It demands clarity. It insists on nuance. And it reminds us that language is not just a tool for communication but a battleground on which our ability to perceive reality is constantly being fought over.
This is why any effort to preserve reading, writing, and discussion is worth something—not because it will change the world overnight, but because without it, the alternative is much worse. If books and ideas are allowed to wither, what remains is a culture of slogans, half-truths, and passive consumption. And from there, it is only a short step to a society in which people no longer even recognize that they are being deceived.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
