The Theory of Information Disintegration
In my view, we live in an era where information, disinformation, and the manipulation of information have become the most powerful weapons of all. What was once confined to the domain of military psychological operations has now permeated every layer of society. Governments, corporations, media, and institutions are no longer mere conveyors of truth; they are architects of perception, crafting realities that serve their purposes and then dismantling them at will.
I call this mechanism The Theory of Information Disintegration.
It begins with a clear, emotionally charged narrative - one that mobilizes the masses, shapes identities, and creates a moral binary. Then, as facts begin to seep through the cracks or when emotions wane, the very same system starts to dismantle its own narrative, releasing inconvenient truths in a controlled, deliberate fashion. The result? People, who once stood firmly behind these messages, often become hostages to their own past convictions. To challenge the system would mean admitting they were wrong, that they were complicit and few are prepared for that kind of honesty.
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COVID – A ticking bomb in the mind and body
The pandemic was a global test. The narrative was simple: trust science, vaccinate, or endanger others. Critics were marginalized, and many believed that in matters of life and death, the system could not lie. Today, as more information emerges about adverse effects and withheld data, a quiet unease has settled: “What if I was wrong? What if there’s something in me now that could harm me?”
This unease breeds self-censorship. Doubts are buried, questions silenced. To admit error would mean confronting a truth too heavy to carry - that one became a defender of something potentially flawed in the most intimate sphere: one’s health and family. That is a psychological bomb ticking beneath the surface.
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Ukraine – The cost of unquestioned solidarity
The war between Russia and Ukraine rallied the world with an almost mythic intensity. Media, leaders, and artists painted it in stark moral tones - heroes and villains, good and evil. To question this narrative was to risk being branded a traitor.
But wars are complex, and numbers tell their own truths. As casualties mount into the hundreds of thousands, uncomfortable questions arise: “Were all decisions just? Was peace ever truly pursued?” For those who supported the dominant narrative without question, admitting mistakes would mean acknowledging a role - however small - in tragedy. Silence becomes easier than self-confrontation.
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Gaza – Genocide in the age of the screen
Here my position is most direct: I know that Israel is committing genocide in Gaza.
And yet, we live in an age when almost everything can be censored or suppressed and still, the images pour in. Day after day, through our phones, our feeds, our news portals, we watch the ruins, the funerals, the children. The world sees and mostly scrolls on.
This, to me, is no accident. The system wants us to see. It wants us to look at death, to feel a flash of horror, and then… do nothing. Because if you can show people daily images of mass death and they remain passive, you have mastered them.
The natural human instinct is to react to suffering, especially to the suffering of children. But when exposure becomes constant, something shifts - compassion dulls, fatigue sets in, and moral paralysis takes hold. When the day of reckoning comes, when reports and tribunals finally call it what it is - a genocide, most people will feel the weight of silent complicity. And shame rarely leads to revolt; it leads to silence.
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The hostage mechanism and the shame loop
COVID, Ukraine, Gaza - different events, same pattern: emotional investment followed by narrative collapse.
When systems reveal partial truths later, it is not always to correct the record - it is to bind people tighter. Those who defended the narrative once are less likely to rebel when it cracks; rebellion would mean admitting they were wrong, that they were part of something harmful. The shame is too heavy, the cost too high.
Public figures almost never say, “I was wrong. I’m sorry.” The words are almost extinct. And without them, there is no cleansing, no reset - only an ever-thickening layer of cynicism, guilt, and quiet dependence on the very structures that deceived us.
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Why this matters
Because every such event is not just a crisis - it is a rehearsal. Each time, the system learns more about how far people can be pushed, how long they will remain silent, how shame can be weaponized.
If we do not learn to admit our errors, to face them with courage, then the next narrative will sweep us away even faster. The next crisis will come, and we will line up again - not because we trust, but because we fear being wrong.
This is the essence of my theory: controlled disintegration of information is a strategy. Build the story, shatter it later, and watch as people freeze - hostages to their own pride, too afraid to say, “I was fooled.”
Until we learn to speak those words, we will remain prisoners not of power, but of ourselves.
