Dr. Rizwan Rumi
In the ever-scrolling world of social media, I find myself pausing more out of frustration than curiosity. As a columnist writing for national and international platforms, I have long believed in the power of words—researched, reasoned and responsible—to inform, influence and inspire. Yet in this digital ecosystem, I observe a growing chasm between the content that matters and the content that trends. A satirical reel travels across continents in minutes; a deeply researched article on climate change or education reforms struggles to cross a few hundred impressions. And so I ask, not as a creator alone but as a citizen—have we become a society where substance no longer sells?
This is not a solitary concern. Writers, educators, researchers and journalists across the globe are increasingly confronting this paradox. The amount of effort invested in creating thoughtful, evidence-based content often seems inversely proportional to its visibility. On the other hand, humorous videos often devoid of fact or context, are endlessly liked, shared and replicated. The irony is painful but it is not accidental. Social media platforms are not designed for depth—they are engineered for engagement. And engagement, as it turns out, favors emotions over intellect, brevity over nuance, entertainment over enlightenment.
What governs this imbalance is the architecture of the platforms themselves. Algorithms, those invisible gatekeepers of attention are tailored to reward content that elicits instant emotional responses—laughter, shock, amusement, even anger. These reactions generate likes, shares, comments and watch-time metrics that fuel the platform’s business model. Content that requires reflection, on the other hand, suffers from what one might call a “digital disadvantage.” It is less clickable, less digestible and less addictive. A detailed op-ed on policy changes or a scientific breakdown of environmental hazards rarely stands a chance against a trending meme or a dance challenge. This is not merely a technological issue—it is a cultural one.
As someone who writes frequently on the issues affecting Kashmir—its environment, its education system, its fragile peace—I often notice how quickly public attention veers away from the urgent to the amusing. A fire burns thousands of hectares of forest in the Valley, threatening ecosystems and livelihoods alike, yet it barely causes a ripple on social platforms. Meanwhile, a comic skit filmed in the same region becomes a sensation. When I write about the dying water bodies of Kashmir or the challenges in our higher education infrastructure, the analytics are sobering. Despite the local relevance and long-term impact of such issues, the audience remains limited. It leads one to wonder: are we losing the ability—or the willingness—to engage with reality when it is not wrapped in entertainment?
This trend is further aggravated by the alarming decline in digital and media literacy. A recent global survey by the Reuters Institute in 2024 revealed that more than 60% of users under the age of thirty prefer short-form, visually stimulating content over traditional news or long reads. Many admitted to rarely finishing an article; few could distinguish between editorial opinion and verified reporting. In such an environment, the danger is not only the spread of misinformation but also the erosion of critical thinking itself. When news is consumed in thirty-second snippets, and opinions are shaped by viral posts rather than verified facts, the public discourse loses its foundation.
What worries me most is the long-term consequence of this cultural drift. In a region like Kashmir, where every issue is deeply interwoven with identity, politics, ecology and memory, the need for informed engagement is profound. If our youth grow up consuming content that trivializes their lived reality, if they learn to laugh instead of question, to swipe instead of reflect, what kind of society are we nurturing? It is one thing to enjoy humor—it is another to normalize shallowness as a substitute for awareness.
The silence around serious issues is not just accidental. It is systemic. Even tragedy is not immune to the content machine. Natural disasters become backdrops for dramatic vlogs. Social movements are reduced to hashtags, quickly replaced by the next trend. In 2024, during the floods in northern India, several factual reports on the displacement and damage received far less attention than emotional reaction videos—some of which were later found to be staged. When performance takes precedence over presence and storytelling is replaced by story-selling, we must ask: what is being lost in translation?
Despite the challenges, I believe the answer does not lie in lamentation but in resistance. We must reclaim our digital spaces—consciously, persistently, collectively. It starts with education, not just in schools but in our daily interactions. Students must be taught not only how to consume media but how to question it. The ability to distinguish between a fact and a claim, a joke and a distortion, a trend and a truth—this must become a core skill in our curriculum. Likewise, we need to hold platforms accountable. It is no longer enough for tech companies to claim neutrality. If algorithms can be programmed to promote dance videos, they can also be designed to elevate quality journalism, civic education and research-backed commentary.
But perhaps the most powerful force lies with the audience. Every click is a vote. Every share is a signal. If we, as users, choose to engage more meaningfully, we shift the tide. Supporting a serious article, commenting thoughtfully on a social issue, subscribing to a journalistic platform—these are not minor acts. They are acts of cultural preservation. They tell the creators and the platforms that substance still matters, that thought still counts.
In the end, the crisis is not only technological or educational—it is moral. It is about what we choose to amplify and what we allow to fade into silence. If we do not value the truth, we cannot expect it to survive. If we do not support those who research, write and risk their voices to speak honestly, then we will wake up one day in a world where only the performers remain—and the thinkers disappear.
Kashmir, with its history of resistance, its culture of poetry and thought, its rich traditions of debate and dissent, cannot afford such an erasure. We must protect not just our land, but our language, our intellect, our stories. And those stories must be more than entertainment—they must be our mirror, our memory and our message to the future.
The author can be reached at rizwanroomi2012@gmail.com
