It would be churlish not to congratulate the modern press.
After all, it has finally liberated democracy from its greatest historical weakness: the electorate.
For centuries, constitutional government laboured under the quaint assumption that citizens, however misguided, retained the right to assemble, to speak, and even to elect representatives whose opinions others found objectionable. It was an untidy arrangement, forever exposing democracy to the unpleasant possibility that democrats might lose.
Fortunately, those primitive days are behind us. We now possess a far more sophisticated understanding of liberty. A legal political congress may still be permitted, of course—provided sufficiently virtuous citizens succeed in preventing it from taking place. Nothing better illustrates society’s unwavering commitment to freedom than physically obstructing those attempting to exercise it. This, we are assured, is called defending democracy.
One is grateful that the newspapers explain these subtleties. Without their guidance, the untrained observer might mistake intimidation for intimidation.
Language has advanced considerably. Words no longer describe reality. They curate it. A crowd is no longer simply a crowd. It is either a “mob” or “civil society”, depending entirely upon whether the editorial conference approves of its destination.
The miracle is almost theological. Conduct no longer possesses moral character of its own. It receives one. One imagines that if gravity itself acquired unfashionable political opinions, tomorrow’s headlines would report that several courageous activists had liberated pedestrians from the oppressive extremism of falling objects.
Equal standards have always been such an exhausting burden. Far simpler to maintain one for ideological adversaries, another for ideological companions, and a third for anyone sufficiently fashionable to be temporarily exempt.
The newspapers continue to puzzle over the collapse of public confidence. It is a fascinating spectacle. Rather like watching a man enthusiastically saw through the branch upon which he is seated before commissioning a lengthy editorial into the alarming decline of trees.
History may yet remember this generation of journalists with gratitude. Not for reporting events. That profession, after all, became rather old-fashioned. No. They will be remembered for a far greater achievement.
They discovered that facts become infinitely more manageable once one has first rewritten the dictionary.
Harri Ihring, Geneva, 4 July, 2026
