We All Play a Part: when information is silent

Dear Information, why don’t you listen to us anymore? Why don’t you talk about us anymore? As late October arrives, some prepare for Halloween, hoping to outdo themselves once again with the perfect costume; others wait for All Souls' Day to remember those who are no longer with us; and others are already looking ahead to Christmas. In short, as the end of the year approaches, the weight accumulated over the months demands an outlet: celebrations to finally catch a breath. But this year, there are no claims being made other than the demand for dignity from citizens who no longer feel heard. It rises from public squares all over the world - from Spain to France, passing through Portugal, Belgium, Ireland, Serbia, Albania, Italy, and Greece, all the way to India and South America: the cry of students and workers demanding back the future they were promised, and the voice that was stolen from them, clouded by the ruthless fog of silence from both the media and so-called government "representatives." These are diverse voices whose demands vary from country to country: the rising cost of living, the right to work, access to education, public healthcare funding, democratic transparency. What unites them, however, is the shared need to be recognized, to participate in the decisions that will shape their future and condition their present: these are the desperate cries of those who feel they have nothing left to lose. Yet, this doesn’t seem to be enough: their presence in the streets and their calls risk becoming irrelevant in the face of an information system that portrays them through a partial image, tailored to its own convenience. A story, after all, can be silenced simply by suppressing its context. Thus, a protest for the right to education - driven by a youth (increasingly thinned by their constant exodus) that still hopes to build its future in its homeland - is transformed into a security emergency. A generation asking to be heard becomes a mob of thugs who will "grow up and understand how the world works" (with sincere thanks to the Hon. Donzelli for those words, addressed on Octoer 13th to the students demanding a meeting with the government over the high cost of student living). The peaceful demonstrations of farmers and truck drivers who can no longer make ends meet are dismissed as yet another complaint from a Southern Italy once again painted as only good at eating and making noise - or, worse, slipping into the stereotype of organized crime, as if that alone were enough to define entire regions and the people who inhabit them. During these days of Global Media and Information Literacy Week, which the UN has invited its member states to celebrate since 2021, one could not feel further removed from a media ecosystem that, instead of amplifying our voices, chooses to turn its back on us. Irony would have it that this year’s event is titled "We All Play a Part: Media and Information Literacy for the People." Chillingly relevant. Indeed, it feels almost sadistic to call for awareness around media disinformation from the very people who are systematically excluded by those so-called reliable sources. This is not a new phenomenon; countless headlines have, in one way or another, abandoned neutrality to push a specific narrative. For instance: “Introverted and passionate about dance: who is the 27-years old wo slit Sara's throat?” is vastly different from saying ‘Kills partner: young man arrested.’ Or writing “Moroccan steals from a shop: 'I'm hungry.' But they find 300 euros on him” rather than “Young man steals from a shop" is a purely propagandistic detail that, far from serving to inform, deliberately chooses to emphasize elements that fuel a precise narrative and suggest a distorted conclusion to the reader from the outset. Even more serious is the decision by many mainstream media outlets to opt for silence; but for the latter, goes without saying, there are no quoted headlines: they are simply the stories we never read. Therefore, if we ask readers for an act of responsibility in choosing their news sources, a similar demand should be addressed with equal force to those who distribute the news. The principle applies to us all: We All Play a Part. Reporting the news means taking responsibility for documenting facts, aware that every choice regarding the framing of a story can radically alter its essence. And in a context of growing austerity policies and populations lacking representatives who account for their needs, if even those who hold the authority to give space to who feels voiceless decide to exclude them, what can informing oneself even mean? A news story can be true and yet fail to give us the full picture, just as a protest can be violent while simultaneously arising from forms of violence that are not being called as such: working and remaining poor, dying on the job, choosing between food and rent, living in a society where dignity is a privilege, receiving repression instead of answers. Today, we witness the continuous forcing of facts into prefabricated molds, according to the rules of a rhetoric that seeks neither debate nor counterargument: youngsters appear in public discourse only as a threat, entire regions of our country are locked into mafia myths, but none of them are granted the right to challenge the stereotype that crushes them. Every attempt is destined to fade into media silence. In this way, misleading narratives replace reality. Truth is lost. Promoting media literacy cannot be reduced to providing a list of reliable sources to consult. When we are invited to care more about the damage caused by a cry for help than about the problem that triggers it, informing oneself means reading what is reported while recognizing the choices that manipulate the story, asking which voices and experiences are being silenced, and questioning the "good guys" and "bad guys" as they have been casted. It is an ongoing mental exercise in deconstructing our own reactions in front of a news story: anger, resignation, fear, despair; none of these emotions belong to us entirely. They are partly guided by the pen shaping the narrative. This influence must be identified so that it can be uncoupled from our judgment and, if necessary, stripped away. Only then can thought and opinion truly be called free, truly our own. Media literacy is a matter of citizenship rather than a mere digital skill. Being critical frees us from the grip of indifference and equips us to unmask the deception: there are no facts that are purely black or white, but layered and multifaceted angles of reality, and perspectives that all deserve to be listened to. A democratic society is measured not solely by the freedom of its journalists to publish news, but also by their capacity to understand and welcome the calls to be heard from those who live that news firsthand. Media Literacy for the People.