THE world is reverting. We are slipping back into the old, uncivilised ways.
To diagnose the rot, we must ask a fundamental question: What is civilisation, truly?
It is not, as we often assume, skyscrapers or satellites. Those are the fruits of civilisation, not its roots. True civilisation is a fragile pact, a shared commitment to replace brute force with reasoned argument, impulse with law and vengeance with justice.
It is the ability to disagree without resorting to violence. It is diplomacy. Civilisation, in essence, is the triumph of restraint over instinct. And by that definition, the evidence of our backsliding is no longer anecdotal.
It is real.
First, look at the language of power. From Washington to Budapest to Brasília, leaders no longer aspire to statesmanship; they revel in spewing hate.
Politics has become a zero-sum cage match, where compromise is treason and the opponent is not a loyal adversary but an “enemy of the people.”
When a US president calls for the “termination” of constitutional rules to overturn an election or when a European prime minister likens refugees to an “invasion,” they are not being provocative.
They are discarding the very axioms of civilised governance: tolerance, procedure and the peaceful transfer of power.
Second, witness the weaponisation of information. In a civilised society, truth is the currency of trust. Today, online lies travel faster than light.
We have watched mobs storm capitols based on fever dreams from message boards. We have seen genocide denialism streamed on TikTok, and ethnic cleansing cheered by influencers.
When millions celebrate violence as justice, we have abandoned the reasoned debate that separates the forum from the battlefield.
Third, and most disturbingly, war has returned in its most savage form. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is not a “special operation.” It is the raw, tribal logic of the steppe: might makes right, civilians are hostages and cultural heritage is a target.
The images of Bucha, bodies left in the street like refuse, are not from the Middle Ages. They are from last week. When a nuclear-armed state annexes land by shelling hospitals, the post-1945 civilised order lies in ruins.
But the real rot is not in the headlines; it is in our bones. We have forgotten that civilisation requires maintenance. Roads crumble, but so do norms.
We scroll past footage of children in rubble because the next reel is a dancing cat. We have outsourced empathy to a share button. When a pandemic struck, we hoarded masks and snarled at neighbours.
When the climate warms, we fly to another resort. This is the uncivilised way: the self before the tribe, the immediate over the enduring.
There is no silver bullet to stop the rot. Anyone promising one is selling a dictatorship. But there are three iron foundations. First, relearn the grammar of civilised disagreement. That means reviving civic education, not as propaganda, but as training in how to hold a fact, how to spot a fallacy, how to argue without annihilation.
Finland does this. Japan does this. The rest of us mock it at our peril. Schools must teach that democracy is not a spectator sport; it is a muscle that atrophies without use.
Second, reclaim the public square from algorithmic chaos. Free speech is sacred, but a fire in a crowded theatre is not speech, it is arson.
Platforms must be re-engineered to reward patient argument over outrage, or they will be regulated to do so. We also need a new etiquette: before sharing, verify. Before dismissing, listen. Before screaming, breathe. This is not censorship; it is manners.
Third, rebuild local solidarity. Civilisation begins where you can see your neighbour’s face. Join a community garden. Coach a youth team. Attend a town hall until your eyes glaze over.
The anonymous mass is easily radicalised; the known face is not. When people have a stake in each other’s well-being, they hesitate before burning it down.
Civilisation is not a destination; it is a perpetual, exhausting negotiation. Every generation must choose it anew. The barbarians are not at the gates, they are inside, whispering that the light is a lie, that kindness is weakness, that only strength counts.
They are wrong. History’s bloodiest centuries were not shortages of power but failures of restraint.
The evidence of reversion is real. But so is the antidote: ordinary people deciding, each day, to be civilised.
To stop sharing that vicious meme. To speak to a stranger with decency. To believe that a traffic light is a better guide than a gun. The world is indeed slipping. But it has not fallen. Not yet. The only question is whether we have the will to catch it.
Professor Datuk Dr Ahmad Ibrahim is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. The views expressed in this article are his own and do not necessarily reflect those of Sinar Daily.