From Vague to Dynamic: How Every Word You Write Shapes the World
On the responsibility of language & not failing to fulfill it.
Author’s Note: My intention behind this writing is not to offend/sadden but to provide information about a perspective. Trust me, I undertsand how important it is to read positive stuff — but this writing is to recognize ground realities and responsibility of being a writer. However, proceed only if you are comfortable with potentially sensitive topics.
“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”― Ralph Waldo Emerson
Freedom of (Implied) Expression:
Why do you write? One may ask.
To bring a change. To make a difference. We mostly reply along similar lines.
But does the writing change something?
I write informative pieces for a Political Magazine. There are many domains to choose from, but I choose information.
I have always wanted to be in many professions. Journalism is one of them. Now, after writing for a political magazine (and reading journalistic pieces almost every day), I (sometimes) ponder how my life would be different after choosing journalism.
This has nothing to do with the potential in that career, but the freedom (of perspective and truth) it has to offer (for most of us) — especially when playing safe.
Once, for example, I asked my editor, “I want to cover religious-rooted violence in one of my pieces.”
She replied that it is a sensitive topic, and the outline must be shared with the team before going forward with it.
A lengthy process — and so lengthy that I lost interest in pursuing the idea.
But since the idea had already played a great deal with my heartstrings, I occasionally think about it at night — when I feel like a nyctophile.
My point is: there are many dimensions I am not allowed to explore— not in the most truthful way. However, if I want to write in a vague, implied way — everything is okay.
Like an atom oblivious to a frequency too high for it, I’d rather die than pursue a controversially opinionated idea. That’s not what vibrates in resonance with my overall purpose. Honoring everyone’s choices and beliefs is our personal responsibility — as long as they do not impinge another soul’s right to choose (and live) the way they want.
What about if latter is the case?
Does obscure language make a difference when there is an outright violation of basic human rights (the case of bonded labor, for example)? Furthermore, in a world where (to some) a clearly specified message might not find absorbance, will an implied message be effective?
For example:
I once covered a painful piece on the plight of forced and bonded labor. The more I was searching primary and secondary resources, the harder it became to focus. It isn’t a sensitive topic, and there’s no specified direction. That’s because there’s a glaring lack of information — the data can hardly put the direct blame.
Thus, after that heart-wrenching piece developed its final shape, I asked myself:
What’s the point of being able to write when you cannot convince the oppressor to think differently? (Later, I found a point.)
If someone (truly) wants to know about ‘forced labor’, they’ll learn from whatever source they get their hands on. But what about someone who is forcing someone to labor for them? Would my writings change them? Would my writings even make them guilty for not heeding their conscience?
The truth is: my writings won’t. In fact, the one who forces someone into labor wouldn't even bother finishing my piece (unless, of course, I put forth some facts that, if not channelized, will cause them legal damage).
Normal people (who love to be informed) wouldn’t force someone to work for them — and without reward. It is not how the normal mind works. As for the peculiar minds, my words are just billions of words on the web that hardly make any lasting difference to anything.
Thus, simply put: my writing hasn't made any difference to where I actually wanted to see some.
But:
What about someone who is being forced and chained to labor?
What about the victims of such situations?
Would your raising voice go without essence to them?
The truth is, your writing is their hope — sprouting seed within them to be rest assured the world is big and considerate towards them.
For example, picture this:
A child runs away from forcing landlords. He finds a shelter to renew his life, while continually voicing the plight of his family and friends still in such situations. No matter what the landlords decide to do with the child who ran away from their clutches, the child gives hope to all still chained. His voice becomes a beacon of light and support. They know now: there’s a road to find escape.
Thus, your writings (as per the facts) give the victims an impetus to continue fighting their way, strengthening the belief: help from the universe is just around the corner.
Now, let’s move to why I was implored to write on it. Very recently, I was reading a piece in Times by a Palestinian-American writer who showed:
“At this moment, grammar has the indelible power to become a tool of the oppressor, with the passive voice the most relied-upon weapon of all.”
Want short examples?
Palestinians are shot dead.
Palestinians starve.
Palestinian children are found dead.
You see, the headlines above are completely vague. What is missing, according to the author, is accountability. For Palestinians are not dying on their own.
Would the truth presented this way make a difference?
It turns out:
“You can’t pick and choose which types of freedom you want to defend. You must defend all of it or be against all of it.”
― Scott Howard Phillips
History evidenced many wars. Plato aptly says that only the dead have seen the end of war. That’s why literature shoulders the responsibility to ink the victim’s pain. From there, we, as writers, secure this accountability.
Coming to the Palestine-Israel war again, which is not just a war of two religions, and two neighbors. It is the war against ‘fairness’. It is an instance where nothing coming in the way matters.
If a country/nation’s security is in danger, it has a fair right to defend itself. But who targets the vulnerable parts of society (children, older population, pregnant women) as a defense attack?
Now, let’s imagine being in a tent in this cold weather. (How awful it is!) And, then picture someone in your neighboring tent showing you a tattered newspaper with vague headlines about what is happening. Isn’t that another form of indifference?
Regardless of our nationalities and ethnicities, we are all connected with a very basic fact: we are all humans above everything. In times of despair, we look up to fellow humans for support, however, they can provide.
I’m sorry if I saddened you with this information. There are visuals we cannot dare to replay, but, out there, our fellow humans have to withstand them. And you, my friend, and I being a writer have a responsibility to be clear with words — when facts are straight.
And, if, like myself, you’re not resoundingly allowed to pursue an idea most authentically, try to skip it altogether. Let’s just not rob the victim of their fair right: true and free expression.
Your take on a victim’s story validates they are a person of consequence. Avoid letting unclear language belittle reality.
Final Thoughts:
The pattern of the universe confirms that eventually, everyone dies. However, despite the uncertainty, pain, and regret knitted with death, there’s contentment when one considers their life from a broader perspective and finds it adhering to a purpose.
An example of it is in author Khalid Hosseini’s heart-wrenching book A Thousand Splendid Suns* when Mariam reflects on her life moments before her sentence to death:
“And yet she was leaving the world as a woman who had loved and been loved back. She was leaving it as a friend, a companion, a guardian. A mother. A person of consequence at last. No. It was not so bad, Mariam thought, that she should die this way. Not so bad. This was a legitimate end to a life.”
If you read the book, you might remember how difficult life had been for Mariam — spanning from unjust childhood to crippling life after forced marriage. What gave her ultimate solace, however, was her commitment to making a positive difference in her capacity.
Let’s continue changing the bits that are in our capacity as of now, while stretching the capacity however we can. Let’s not become a language of oppressor.
*The story includes an affiliate link to A Thousand Splendid Suns because I find it a worthwhile read, and strongly recommend it.
