Living in unusual times
farooq.wasil@gmail.com
We are living in an age of profound contradictions. Materially, humanity has never been more prosperous, connected, or technologically advanced. Yet, our moral and civic compass appears to be spinning wildly, unable to find north. This dissonance between affluence and amnesia, progress and paralysis has ushered us into an era of what might be called collective dementia, a wilful forgetting of values, accountability, and empathy in exchange for convenience, comfort, and control.
In much of the world, and especially in nations once defined by their moral imagination and democratic promise, economic success has become the sole measure of progress. GDP replaces dignity, and market metrics stand in for human welfare. The middle classes, bitterly competing yet comforted by gadgets and global consumerism, have withdrawn from the civic sphere. Many have come to believe that participation is futile, that power is too concentrated to challenge, and that fate not collective action determines their destinies.
Public institutions, once the custodians of trust, now often appear compromised. Whether by design or neglect, the line between public service and private gain has blurred. Bureaucracies function less as guardians of citizens’ rights and more as enablers of entrenched privilege. The recent indigo fiasco is not an isolated outbursts of failure; but symptoms of a deeper structural rot, one where efficiency, profit, and control trump fairness, transparency, and accountability.
India is experiencing one of the sharpest concentrations of wealth in its modern history, with the top 1% now holding about 40% of national wealth and over 22% of national income among the highest inequality levels in the world. A small billionaire and corporate elite enjoy disproportionate influence over policy, media, and the public sphere, often framed as “nation-building” or “world-class growth. At the same time, large sections of the population remain on the edge, informal workers, small farmers, urban poor, and precarious middle classes juggling EMIs, education costs, and healthcare shocks. This creates a silent bargain, those at the bottom are told to be grateful for basic welfare and nationalism, those in the middle cling to aspirational consumption and job hopes and those at the top quietly shape rules and narratives.
The tragedy of our time is not that elites dominate, it is conditioning of our citizens who have grown accustomed to powerlessness. Social media amplifies outrage but neutralizes action. Fear has become the invisible architecture of public life. The fear of economic instability, social exclusion, or state reprisal keeps citizens silent. This fear is is psychological, subtle, and cumulative. It does not need censorship when self-censorship suffices. In this atmosphere, dissent is pathologized as negativity, and conformity is rebranded as patriotism. A handful of conglomerates now shape not only our economy but also our imagination. The media, once the fourth pillar of democracy, increasingly resembles a hall of mirrors reflecting power instead of challenging it.
This is the essence of collective dementia: we are hyper-aware yet forgetful, informed yet ignorant, connected yet isolated. We know what is wrong but have lost faith in our ability to set it right. When history is rewritten daily by digital feeds and partisan algorithms, moral continuity erodes. The result is a population that feels exhausted before a struggle even begins.
We place immense faith in technology as saviour. Artificial intelligence, digital governance, and automation are framed as the solutions to inequality and inefficiency. Yet these tools, in the absence of ethical stewardship, accelerate existing hierarchies. Data consolidates power, algorithms reproduce bias, and surveillance masquerades as security. The utopian narrative that innovation will democratize opportunity rings hollow when the infrastructure of progress is owned by the few.
Technology amplifies human intent; it does not transform it. Without moral clarity and institutional integrity, our marvels of convenience become instruments of control. The question, therefore, is not whether we can innovate faster, but whether we can remember slower remember who all this progress is meant to serve. History will not judge only “the rulers” but also the silent majorities who accepted convenience in place of conscience
Is this decline irreversible? History offers both warning and consolation. Every civilization, at its climax, believes its affluence is eternal. Rome had its bread and circuses; we have our screens and subscriptions. Yet, within decay often lies the seed of renewal. Disillusionment, if faced honestly, can ignite reform. Silence, once broken, can ripple into revolution.
Some signs of awakening are visible, young citizens organizing movements for environmental justice, digital transparency, and social equity. Technology, though a double-edged sword, also empowers whistleblowers, educators, and innovators working for the public good. The challenge is not only to build alternatives to power but to rebuild faith in collective agency.
History will judge not our material accomplishments but our moral courage. The affluence we celebrate today may be remembered as decadence tomorrow if it blinds us to the suffering at our margins. The ultimate test of a nation is not how high its towers rise, but how deeply its conscience speaks.
Our age stands at a philosophical fork, will we continue down the path of moral amnesia, mistaking distraction for progress or will we reclaim memory, accountability, and empathy as the hallmarks of civilization? The answer may determine whether this is our twilight or our renaissance.
If the present is indeed a kind of collective dementia, then remembering, our values, our responsibilities, our shared fate becomes an act of revolution.
Dr. Farooq Wasil, a published author, and an educationist.
