The Deafness of the Kalashnikov
“Sound judgment and proper counsel are achieved when minds unite upon them; neglecting consultation stems from weak judgment, and such is the mark of autocrats who allow nothing to be done without their personal whim.”
A thousand years ago, Nizam al-Mulk penned this counsel in the Siyasatnama (Book of Government), addressing rulers and statesmen on the paramount necessity of consulting scholars and sages. Our contemporary political leaders should have studied this wisdom long ago, rather than now when we are engulfed in such a perilous vortex. They appear to have memorized the chapters on military mobilization, while snapping the book shut the moment it speaks of collective reason and institutional prudence.
What revives this counsel in memory are recent inquiries from observers asking: "Now that the country is mired in crisis and confusion, we need the insights and analysis of journalists to untangle these knots; why do you remain silent?"
Our answer is simple: Have you ever read what was written before? If you had, the nation would not stand in today's tragic predicament. Recall the Persian fable of the tanner whose apprentice constantly shouted warnings to guard the hides from stray dogs. When a dog finally snatched the hides, the master fell completely silent. Asked why, he replied: "Those shouts were meant to prevent this day. Now that the damage is done, shouting is merely wearing out one's throat for nothing."
The silence of journalists today is the silence of that tanner. When a sliver of hope existed for reform, every necessary warning was delivered—both explicitly and through allegories to navigate censorship. Today, when state officials who possess full intelligence briefs appear paralyzed and directionless, what can writers isolated behind digital blackouts offer?
In the dialectic between the pen and the rifle, what room remains for dialogue? The trajectory has been predetermined; the gun has made its decision. The only role permitted for the pen is rubber-stamping the dictates of the gun. The reason is evident: firearms are inherently deaf. The roar of their bravado is so deafening that it destroys their own hearing. Drunk on monologue and intoxicated by the illusion of omniscience, the armed apparatus deems itself above counsel.
Remember when your supreme ideological obsession was maintaining the taboo of direct negotiations? You attacked analysts for urging dignified, professional diplomacy on the global stage. What did you do to the diplomats who shook hands in international forums? And what can one say now to a foreign minister who adopts the posture of a Kalashnikov, celebrating economic sanctions as blessings?
The final, indispensable recommendation remains: restore unrestricted internet access. Severing digital lifelines and blinding media during crises is a pure strategic blunder. If internet shutdowns are meant to stifle unrest, be certain they are actively provoking a far broader, fiercer revolt from citizens struggling to recover their economic livelihoods.
What can be done today may be complex, but what must not be done is clear: Do not silence the voice of the people and the press—if indeed you can still hear us.