Strangers live among us, deluded into thinking they are cultured. You see them in councils and on virtual platforms speaking with the confidence of the knowledgeable, while in reality, they practice not culture, but its rituals. To them, culture is not a deep understanding of the world, but rather a collection of memorized movements, a few grand terms, perpetual objection to everything, and a tone of superiority that suggests the truth always lies on their side. They read not to know, but to be said that they have read; they critique not to build an idea, but merely to critique… as if objection itself has become a proof of culture.
These people do not know the figs and olives, nor the tattoo murals on our grandmothers' faces, as if an entire galaxy were etched onto a wheat field at the dawn of April. Yet, they imagine that their knowledge of a coffee cup or a wine glass grants them the label of cultured.
You see them sitting in any council or on any virtual platform, waving terms like “discourse,” and “structural analysis,” and “deconstruction,” then concluding all that with one result: objection. They don't critique because they have an idea; they have but one idea: to object.
The irony is that this type of intellectuals sanctifies any movement or momentum or idea, not because it is studied or profound, but because it feeds their cultural illusion. Anything that shakes the fundamentals, raises a grand slogan, or utters vague words about “radical change,” immediately becomes an intellectual icon in their eyes, even if they understand only half of what is said in it.
As their intellectual compass is not governed by knowledge but by the desire to differ, sometimes they go further; they glorify the enemies of the nation simply because they stand on the opposite side, and align with discourses of destruction for no reason other than that they seem more noisy and exciting. They confuse opposition with chaos, and critique with demolition, until standing against logic and any rational prosperity becomes a kind of cultural heroism in their imagination.
Their cultural rituals are very simple: a long contemplative coffee cup, or a glass of wine in one of the alleys they believe represents a deep left, while in reality, it's a superficial left living on gestures not ideas. At that moment, they suddenly feel like they are the heirs to the great schools of thought, and that the world awaits their wisdom to reorganize philosophy and history.
They believe more in form than content, and loud voice more than the idea. Therefore, they always stand in the front row for any passing intellectual wave, cheering it enthusiastically, then move on to the next wave with the same enthusiasm, as if culture to them is not a search for truth, but a seasonal shift in intellectual fashion each year.
In the end, we cannot be too angry at them. At least they remind us of a simple truth: that culture is not about grand words, constant objection, nor blending with every noisy movement. Culture is simply a quiet understanding of the world… something that cannot be mimicked by rituals.
