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By:

Anil D. Salve

21 March 2026 at 8:11:09 pm

A Drought of Wisdom in an Ocean of Information

We live in an age where information is everywhere. With a single click, we can access news from across the world, thousands of opinions, countless videos and endless claims. Knowledge has never been so accessible. Yet, in this overwhelming flow of information, something increasingly scarce is discernment-the ability to distinguish what deserves our belief from what deserves our doubt. Information and knowledge are not the same. Reading, watching or hearing something does not automatically...

A Drought of Wisdom in an Ocean of Information

We live in an age where information is everywhere. With a single click, we can access news from across the world, thousands of opinions, countless videos and endless claims. Knowledge has never been so accessible. Yet, in this overwhelming flow of information, something increasingly scarce is discernment-the ability to distinguish what deserves our belief from what deserves our doubt. Information and knowledge are not the same. Reading, watching or hearing something does not automatically make it true. We need the ability to verify information, understand its context, recognise its purpose and only then form an opinion. In the digital age, this ability has become one of the most important forms of wisdom. Social media has transformed the way information travels. WhatsApp, Instagram, Facebook and other platforms have made communication faster, wider and more accessible. But the same speed that connects society can also overwhelm it. Information often reaches us before facts do. A headline is read before the full story. A short video is watched without knowing what happened before or after it. A photograph is circulated without its original context. A message arrives with the familiar words, “Forwarded as received,” and within minutes it may reach thousands of people. By the time the truth catches up, the rumour may already have done its work. The problem becomes even more serious when misinformation is deliberately created and circulated. Rumours may be planted not merely to mislead individuals but to divert public attention from an important issue, create suspicion, damage someone's reputation or push society towards a particular narrative. A distraction does not always need to be completely false. Sometimes a small piece of truth is mixed with exaggeration, selective facts or emotional language. The result can be more powerful than an outright lie because it appears believable. This is how narratives are manufactured. Social media platforms can become powerful tools in this process. A repeated claim begins to look familiar, and familiarity is often mistaken for truth. A provocative post attracts attention. Thousands of reactions create the impression that “everyone” believes it. One emotional video triggers another, comments intensify the mood, and before facts have an opportunity to speak, public sentiment may have already shifted. This is where mob psychology enters the picture. A society can move from calm to anger, suspicion to trust, or optimism to fear with surprising speed. People who would ordinarily think carefully may react differently when they see thousands of others expressing outrage, fear or hostility. The individual begins to follow the crowd, and the crowd begins to reinforce the individual. The danger is not limited to negative emotions. The same mechanism can also be used positively-to mobilise people for social causes, humanitarian assistance, disaster relief, public awareness and community action. Technology itself is neither wise nor foolish. Its impact depends on how information is created, amplified and consumed. The greatest danger, therefore, is not that we have too much information. It is that we may lose the habit of thinking while consuming it. We are increasingly becoming consumers of information rather than creators of thought. Everyone has access to information today, but access does not necessarily mean understanding. The boundaries between a rumour and a report, an opinion and a fact, popularity and truth are becoming increasingly blurred. A post does not become true because thousands of people have liked it. A video does not become evidence merely because it has gone viral. An opinion does not become a fact because it is expressed confidently. An idea does not become correct simply because it confirms what we already believe. This last point deserves particular attention. We often accept information not because it is accurate, but because it is comfortable. We are naturally attracted to information that confirms our existing beliefs and suspicious of information that challenges them. In the digital world, this tendency can be amplified by algorithms that repeatedly expose us to content similar to what we have already watched, liked or shared. Gradually, we may find ourselves living inside an information bubble where we hear many voices-but mostly voices that agree with us. That is not diversity of information. It is an illusion of certainty. Discernment does not mean doubting everything. It means thinking before believing. It means asking simple but powerful questions: Who is saying this? What is the evidence? What is the context? What may be missing? Who benefits if I believe it? And have I heard the other side? These questions may take only a few seconds, but they can prevent hours, days or even years of misunderstanding. This responsibility is particularly important for the younger generation. Children today are growing up in an environment of unprecedented information exposure. They can encounter more information in a few hours than earlier generations might have encountered in weeks. Therefore, education cannot merely teach students how to collect, remember and reproduce information. It must teach them how to question, verify, analyse and interpret it. A student who can write the correct answer in an examination may be academically successful. But a student who knows how to ask the right question is better prepared for life. The classroom of the future must therefore produce not merely informed students, but thinking citizens. They must learn that forwarding a message is also a form of responsibility. Sharing a post is not an innocent act when it can affect someone's reputation, create public fear or influence social behaviour. The challenge becomes even greater in the age of Artificial Intelligence. AI can generate information, images, audio and video with extraordinary speed and sophistication. The distinction between what is real and what merely appears real may become increasingly difficult. In such a world, human judgment becomes more valuable, not less. Technology can produce an answer in seconds. It cannot automatically tell us whether that answer deserves our trust. Some answers require experience. Some require context. Many require the ability to think independently. We have more information, more technology and more connectivity than any previous generation. Yet our real challenge is to preserve something technology cannot manufacture for us: the capacity to think for ourselves. The ocean of information will only become larger. The question will no longer be, “How much information do we have?” The more important questions will be: What should we accept? What should we question? What should we verify? And what should we reject? No technology can completely answer these questions for us. No number of likes can substitute for evidence. No viral trend can replace judgment. No majority can turn misinformation into truth. That responsibility belongs to human beings. Information can tell us what happened. Discernment helps us understand what it means, why it happened, what may be missing from the story and how we should respond. Perhaps, therefore, the greatest educational challenge of our time is not to teach people how to find more information. They already know how to do that. The greater challenge is to teach them how to pause-to pause before believing, to pause before reacting, to pause before forwarding and to pause before joining the crowd. Because sometimes the most intelligent response to information is not an immediate reaction, but a moment of reflection. The ocean is already around us. It is growing deeper every day. What we need now is not more information to swim through it-but the wisdom to know which direction to take. (The writer is the Principal of Podar International School, Ausa, Latur. Views personal.)

New Face of Baloch Insurgency

Feb 6
3 min read

A female suicide attacker signals how Pakistan’s longest insurgency is mutating and why the state still has no answer.

Hawa Baloch
Hawa Baloch

Shot on a mobile phone in the dark hours before a recent coordinated wave of attacks across Pakistan’s restive Balochistan province, a chilling video has become emblematic of the province’s struggle with the Pakistani state.


It showed a young woman calmly firing at security forces, smiling at the camera and delivering what the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) calls her “final message.” Her name, according to the group, was Hawa Baloch. Her role as a ‘fidayeen’ or suicide attacker marks a grim escalation in one of South Asia’s most enduring insurgencies.


By foregrounding Hawa Baloch’s youth and gender, the BLA has sought to recast its long-running insurgency as something broader and more modern than a peripheral tribal revolt. Her story fits neatly into that narrative. She was reportedly a Gen Z recruit, formally educated, and the daughter of a BLA fighter killed by Pakistani security forces in 2021. In her, the movement is claiming both inheritance and renewal by linking personal grievance to a collective political mythology.


The operation in which she died was among the deadliest crackdown carried out by the Pakistani Army in recent years. Attacks continued across multiple districts including Nushki, Hub, Chaman, Naseerabad, Gwadar and parts of the Makran region. The military claims to have killed more than 130 separatists in counter-operations; the BLA acknowledges losing 18 fighters, including 11 suicide bombers from its elite Majeed Brigade.


Such numbers are contested, as they often are in Balochistan. What is clearer is the symbolic shift embodied by Hawa Baloch. The BLA has used women in attacks before, but rarely with such deliberate visibility. Her video is tightly framed propaganda designed for circulation. It borrows from the playbooks of other militant movements, where women are deployed to shock, to confound security assumptions and to signal ideological commitment.


Hawa Baloch’s own words underline that intent. She speaks not of negotiation or reform, but of sacrifice and inevitability. She urges women to stand alongside male fighters and condemns those she accuses of spying for the state “for a few pennies.”


For Pakistan, her emergence is deeply unsettling. Balochistan is the country’s largest province by area and among its most strategically sensitive. It is rich in minerals and coastline but poor, sparsely populated and long alienated from the centre. Gwadar port, near where Hawa Baloch was killed, is a linchpin of the China–Pakistan Economic Corridor and a symbol of Islamabad’s economic ambitions. It is also a magnet for rebel attacks, precisely because of its strategic value.


Islamabad’s response to the insurgency may have weakened rebel groups tactically but have failed to extinguish the conflict politically. Civilian sympathy for separatists runs deeper than officials admit, sustained by allegations of enforced disappearances, heavy-handed policing and exclusion from resource wealth.


Hawa Baloch’s path into militancy reflects that environment. That an educated young woman would volunteer for a suicide mission suggests a radicalisation shaped by loss, grievance and a sense of closure.


The turn towards female suicide attackers also hints at strain within the movement. Such operations are costly and difficult to sustain and are often used when groups seek attention, escalation or revival. By placing a woman at the centre, the BLA amplifies the psychological impact of its violence, even as it risks narrowing its future options.


Beyond Balochistan, the geopolitical backdrop complicates any resolution. China wants stability for its investments but shows little appetite for engaging local grievances. Pakistan’s economy is fragile, its security establishment overstretched. India looms in Islamabad’s rhetoric as an external hand behind the unrest, while global attention remains limited. The province, and the lives shaped by its conflict, rarely command sustained scrutiny.


Hawa Baloch’s brief, violent prominence reveals instead a conflict hardening into new forms. Her video was intended to unsettle and spur recruitments. It most likely will. But what it ultimately underscores is not the strength of the rebellion, but the enduring failure of the state to offer a political alternative to the young people it continues to lose.


It suggests an insurgency that sees no political pathway forward and a state that still treats a political problem as a purely military one. Until that changes, the war in Balochistan will continue to mutate, finding ever more unsettling ways to remind Pakistan that it is far from over. 


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