“Progress is everywhere, if you know where to look”

It is a wonderful time to be alive. From our air-conditioned workplaces to the thoughtful social media posts by Important People, the world is perfectly fine—except for some minor mishaps such as war and social injustice.

Every conversation today is soaked in nuance. We discuss “reform” over lunch, “equity” in climate-controlled conferences, and “world peace” while approving panels that finance live-streamed genocide for lands.

The vocabulary of change is everywhere—equality, empowerment, inclusion, justice, peace, global warming—and we have mastered the art of using it so effectively that actual change is barely even necessary anymore.

Complex issues resolve themselves, not with laws or discomfort, but with hashtags. Everyone’s voice matters—especially those whose voices already echo in meetings. And the rest? Well, they are represented by those who understand them deeply, from a safe distance. There is a great comfort in symbolic empathy. It is tidy, it is photogenic, and it does not disrupt lunch.

Dead children in Palestine, skinny starving children in Yemen, a Syrian child living in a remote refugee camp who has never seen an actual building since birth—and we are talking about AI learning. Yes, things are progressing indeed. While drone cameras capture their ruin in HD, our global summits discuss innovation over wine and Wi-Fi. The horrors are streamed, not stopped; mourned briefly, then replaced by trending reels. We measure advancement not by lives saved, but by how efficiently we can filter their suffering out of our feeds.

We have moved past the messiness of social contradictions. Now, we prefer curated conversations: safe, sophisticated, and sponsored. Why dig deep when the surface looks this smooth? The challenges are not in reading between the lines, but in how well things are managed—not solved. Framed, not felt. Posed for, not pushed through. And that, surely, is a more aesthetic approach.

A terrorist attack happened? Just pin the blame on the potential ‘others’. Why ask questions to the government? The very government we pay a huge tax to, to look after the security of the people. Why couldn’t the high-tech intel system detect it beforehand? We ask the wrong questions to the wrong people, when we should ask ‘why’ and ‘how’ of the government we pay and vote for.

There is no crisis, only calibration. No exclusion, only deliberate silences for the greater good. You see, not speaking about certain things is not suppression—it is strategic focus. We simply cannot address everything. Prioritisation is the hallmark of wisdom. For instance, while some might suggest discussing systemic imbalances or corruption, we prefer spotlighting startup ecosystems and smart cities. After all, those topics are inspiring—and inspiration, we all know, is the purest form of action.

Our progress is so profound that even data has evolved. It now tells stories. Stories that glow. Stories that say, “We are on the right track.” Stories that occasionally mention challenges—always in the past tense.

We have created a society where performance is perception. And perception, as they say, is nine-tenths of reality. Problems do not need resolution when they can be reframed. If something does not fit into the narrative, it simply is not the right time. Timing is everything.

We do talk about the Russia-Ukraine war but carefully dodge the brutality happening to civilians in countries like Palestine or Yemen—because that may affect our big, fat dreams of living in a first-world country. Why poke the bear? Condemning the wrong war might cost a scholarship, a visa, or a well-paid internship. So we choose our empathy based on geopolitical convenience. We tweet for some victims and scroll past others—because in this curated morality, not all lives are equally grievable.

We carefully coin our words publicly so that they do not offend the mighty powers or affect our visa applications. We do not even speak out about the injustice happening within our families because that may sound ungrateful or might offend senior members—or even our parents. We have become appeasing machines, minions of our own sanitising devices.

Talking about real social injustice sometimes causes ‘trouble’. Instead, we talk about climate change—but of course, we avoid mentioning the real actors behind it: the big economies that use third-world or low-cost labour countries for their productions. It’s safer to plant trees than question power. We praise eco-friendly packaging while ignoring factories choking rivers in distant villages. The climate crisis becomes a branding exercise, where guilt is outsourced and justice is optional—especially when the polluters sign the cheques.

Of course, we are also deeply committed to morality—a tidy, curated kind. We hold candlelight vigils for injustices we recognise—and maintain tasteful silence for those we do not. We choose our outrage with care. Selective indignation is a hallmark of maturity, after all. It shows that we have learned not to waste energy on everything. Especially things that make people uncomfortable in boardrooms.

We have also seen an evolution in language. Terms like “marginalised,” “underserved,” and “vulnerable” now come with elegant slide decks. We mention them in opening remarks, just before cutting the ribbon. Their struggles add depth to our speeches. They give our progress a bit of texture, like artisanal bread.

And what about education? Ah, the future is bright. Young minds are taught all the right things—innovation, leadership, global thinking. Social realities are gently skipped over, unless they can be turned into case studies for social science or business schools. Why trouble them with the weight of real-world complexity when there are apps to build and competitions to win?

We have mastered the art of speaking without saying too much, caring without doing too much, and progressing without changing too much. And that, surely, is the most sustainable form of progress.

In this finely tuned system, everyone has their place. Those who speak, speak often. Those who listen, listen politely. And those who do not speak at all? Well, they must be content—because we would surely know if they were not.

Some critics say we live in a bubble. That we have created an echo chamber of self-congratulation. But they miss the point: bubbles are clean. Controlled. A little delicate, yes—but beautiful while they last.

Let’s not disturb this harmony with “topics”. Topics are tiring. Utopia, after all, must be curated carefully—and selectively. Why fix what already looks good in the brochure?

Progress is everywhere. You just have to know where to look.

* Farjana Liakat works at Prothom Alo. She can be reached at [email protected]