The word is magic.
Sometimes you don't think about it; you live it.
A word appears. In the middle of a song, in the title of a news article, in the middle of a sentence. It touches somewhere inside you. You stop.
Some words make you cry, some make you dance, some silence you. Because words have a rhythm. They have a time. It is like a note; if it comes at the right moment, it opens you up, if it comes at the wrong moment, it scatters everything.
That is why poetry is written, songs are sung, epics are created with words.
And that is precisely why words are not innocent.
The moment you say a word, you choose a side.
You either pray or curse.
Sometimes the word calls for good, sometimes it magnifies evil.
This land knows this well. “A bad word belongs to its owner,” it is said, explaining that the word will find its way back to the person. The warning “Let your ears hear what comes out of your mouth” reminds us that words do not just come and go. This is also the reason for wishing for good words. Because words do not just tell; they build.
Sometimes it destroys.
Perhaps this is why the “word/concept of the year” chosen by the Turkish Language Association every year is not a simple choice. That word records the state of mind of a society.
Last year's selection, “crowded solitude”, did just that.
The place was crowded. There were people everywhere.
But no one was touching anyone.
There was sound, there was noise; there was no inner voice.
We were alone in the crowd.
When we look at this year's nominated words, the picture becomes even clearer:
Digital conscience.
Conscientious blindness.
Compassion without action.
Barrenness.
Uniformization.
This is not a list; it is the name of a state.
Digital conscience is a state of looking at the screen. A baby dies, you feel sad. You share it. A forest burns down, your heart burns. You write “I condemn”. Then you swipe the screen. Conscience remains on your fingertips.
Conscientious blindness is not not not knowing. It is choosing not to see. Because seeing disturbs comfort. It reminds us to be human.
Compassion without action is the most familiar form of this age. Crying over the killing of newborn babies and doing nothing. Feeling the pain of stray animals but never changing your life. Feeling sad when children die in Gaza, Yemen and other geographies, but not moving.
There is compassion, but it is suspended.
Conscience is eased, responsibility is postponed.
Barrenness is not only the state of the soil, but of the heart, the thought, the conscience. It is neither completely dead nor alive.
Uniformization is a silent resemblance. An order where everyone conforms but no one is themselves.
The most striking one is this:
While there is a deep silence in the face of the suffering of ordinary people, when the comfort zone of the elite is disrupted, all kinds of actions, anger and even violence are suddenly legitimized. The streets are silent for the problems of the other, but for the powerful we take sides with, we suddenly shout, call out and take to the streets.
It is precisely here that crowded loneliness ceases to be an innocent state.
Because this loneliness is not evenly distributed.
Even crowds are categorized; loneliness is also categorized.
The crowds decide whose pain will be heard and whose will be carried in silence.
Even those who stand in the same square do not experience the same loneliness.
That is why the other is always lonelier.
Invisible in the crowd.
Perhaps that is why we need the magic of words today more than ever. Because words can make you human again. They disturb. They wake you up. Make you question.
A human being is not defined by being happy, but by worrying about someone else's pain.
And sometimes one does not choose words.
Words come and find people.
In a few days it will be clear which one will be chosen as this year's “word of the year”. But one thing is certain: All of these words describe where being human is wounded.
The question is this:
Do we still feel that wound?