One moment, an influencer is showing their skincare routine on TikTok.

The next, you are watching footage of bombings in Gaza.

This is the strange paradoxical rhythm of social media. Images of war, famine, and political violence appear alongside memes, fashion content, and pop culture gossip. Tragedy and entertainment converge into the same continuous stream of content.

For many people, especially students who receive most of their news through platforms like TikTok, Instagram, or X, the juxtaposition of global tragedy and everyday entertainment creates a kind of emotional whiplash. We move instantly from witnessing human suffering to something else entirely, without the time to process what we have just seen. In previous generations, exposure to global tragedy was slower and more mediated. Encountering global tragedy often requires dedicated time and attention—whether through reading a full article or watching a news segment — because understanding and emotionally processing such events cannot happen instantaneously. Social media breaks this experience into fragments: war footage appears between vacation photos and makeup tutorials, exposing users to global suffering in brief moments, squeezed between other content competing for attention. The infinite scroll collapses the distance between the catastrophic and the mundane.

This constant exposure to suffering can be psychologically exhausting. Seeing repeated images of violence, starvation, or destruction, even from afar, can create feelings of anxiety, helplessness, or emotional fatigue. Some psychologists refer to this as secondary or vicarious trauma: the emotional toll of witnessing suffering indirectly through media.

However, social media introduces an additional layer to this experience. The problem is not only that we see these images but rather how we see them. Online feeds offer no pause, no transition, and no context. The emotional system is forced to switch rapidly between empathy, shock, amusement, and indifference.

Over time, this can create a dangerous form of desensitization. When atrocity appears constantly in the feed, it risks becoming just another form of content. The brain begins to protect itself by dulling its response. The images are still disturbing, but they begin to blur together. What once felt shocking starts to feel like the norm.

There is also an emotional tension many users experience: the discomfort of scrolling past suffering. A video shows a starving child, a destroyed city, or grieving families. We watch for a few seconds, perhaps feel a surge of sadness or anger, and then we move on. Then, another post appears. Another video. Another distraction. Features like infinite scroll and algorithmically curated feeds encourage us to continue scrolling, even when what we have seen deserves attention and reflection.

This dynamic raises an unsettling question: are we truly empathizing with suffering, or simply observing it?

Critic Susan Sontag once wrote in her book, Regarding the Pain of Others, about how images of war can transform violence into spectacle. When suffering is repeatedly photographed and circulated, it risks becoming something viewers observe rather than something they meaningfully engage with. Social media intensifies this problem. The platforms that deliver these images are designed to maximize engagement and attention, not reflection.

None of this means people should ignore global events or stop paying attention to injustice. The circulation of images from conflict zones has also played an important role in raising awareness and documenting human rights violations. Many of the world’s most urgent stories now reach global audiences precisely because ordinary people share them online.

Nonetheless, it is worth questioning how the structure of social media feeds and shapes our emotional relationship to these events. When tragedy appears alongside entertainment, when catastrophe becomes part of the same endless scroll as memes and lifestyle content, our sense of empathy becomes harder to sustain.

We are more informed than ever before. Yet at the same time, we are often overwhelmed, exhausted, and unsure how to respond.

The problem is not that we see the world’s suffering. The problem is that the platforms through which we see it rarely allow us the space to feel it.

The post The Emotional Whiplash of Infinite Scroll appeared first on The McGill Daily.

In my opinion, a society’s strength depends on how well its citizens can think critically. In a world where media moves fast and information is constantly distorted, the ability to read deeply is what allows us to slow down, compare perspectives, and question what we’re told. Reading has always been at the heart of that ability. Yet today, as screens fragment our attention, we are losing the practice that once protected us from manipulation. Media today is designed to move fast and think for us. In such a climate, the habit of critical reading becomes a form of defence. To stop reading deeply is not just to lose focus; it is to lose a form of resistance.

Many people still read. However, they limit themselves to self-help books that promise success and control but rarely teach readers compassion or how to think analytically. The kind of reading that unsettles us and forces us to experience different lives or ideas is what cultivates critical thinking. Without this, we are left vulnerable to those who manipulate language and emotion for power. Propaganda thrives on a public unaccustomed to questioning what it’s told.

As I mentioned earlier, reading is an act of resistance. A novel may demand that we inhabit another person’s mind and sit with ambiguity. A memoir may ask us to see how people make sense of their own lives. Every sentence we unpack, every motive we examine, is an exercise of discernment. Reading teaches us to detect contradictions, notice tone, grasp the arguments and agree or disagree with the author. Those are the same skills we need to navigate a media landscape where the truth is blurred.

The danger lies not in encountering the wrong ideas but in losing the ability to recognize them as such. A mind that never practices analysis becomes easy to persuade.

This is why self-help culture can be so devious: it makes us feel in control while discreetly narrowing our scope. These books can transform us, but often by turning our gaze inward. They teach confidence, not skepticism; clarity, instead of complexity. Novels, history, or biographies disrupt the self. They invite doubt, contradictions, and moral reflections. They teach us to pay attention and to think beyond our own comfort zones.

When reading declines, misinformation thrives. We scroll through headlines designed to provoke, not inform. Without the patience and skepticism that deep reading builds, citizens lose the ability to recognize when language is being used as a weapon.

What, then, should we do? The answer is both simple and demanding: we must read, and we must encourage others to read. Read widely, across genres and perspectives. Read fiction that unsettles you, biographies that humble you, stories that disturb you. Give children the gift of reading not as a chore but as a doorway to the world. We owe it to ourselves, and to one another, to read not only for escape, but for clarity. Every book that makes us slow down and think, every idea that challenges our certainty, is an act of resistance against manipulation. Reading trains the mind to remain free in a world that profits from our distraction.

The post Reading as a Responsibility appeared first on The McGill Daily.

So, let’s focus on the writers who stood with Algeria, defended its people, and celebrated its culture. Algeria is the largest country in Africa, a land steeped in history and bursting with cultural richness. Its literary landscape reflects this diversity: blending Arabic, Berber, and French influences into a unique and powerful tapestry of voices. From the works of Assia Djebar, who vividly captured the struggles and triumphs of Algerian women, to Kateb Yacine, whose Nedjma is a cornerstone of modern Maghrebi literature, Algeria has no shortage of authors who deserve the spotlight. These writers don’t just write about Algeria: they write for it, giving a voice to its people and its soul.

Understanding Algerian literature is to understand Algeria itself — a nation marked by resilience, resistance, and an unyielding spirit. It’s a reminder that literature is more than just beautiful prose or philosophical musings; it is a tool for advocacy, for truth-telling, and for preserving identity.

Kateb Yacine – Nedjma

Nedjma by Kateb Yacine (1956) is a profound exploration of identity, colonialism, and resistance. The novel follows four young men — Lakhdar, Mustapha, Rachid, and Mourad — whose lives are intertwined with the enigmatic Nedjma, a woman symbolizing Algeria itself: beautiful, elusive, and deeply connected to the country’s history. Written in a fragmented, non-linear style, Nedjma mirrors the disrupted reality of colonial Algeria. Yacine weaves together myth, history, and personal trauma, reflecting the cultural and political struggles of his homeland. Rooted in Algerian oral traditions and Berber heritage, the novel also subverts French literary forms, using the colonizer’s language as a tool of resistance. More than a novel, Nedjma is a powerful statement on Algeria’s resilience and the enduring complexity of its identity, making it a masterpiece of postcolonial literature.

Assia Djebar – Women of Algiers in Their Apartment

Assia Djebar’s Women of Algiers in Their Apartment (1980) is a collection of short stories that vividly portrays the lives of Algerian women. Inspired by Eugène Delacroix’s famous painting of the same name, Djebar delves into their experiences of colonialism, war, and the aftermath of independence. The stories in the collection explore themes of oppression, resilience, and solidarity. Djebar portrays women who are not only survivors of colonial violence but also active participants in their country’s struggle for freedom. She highlights the intimate, often untold stories of their sacrifices, fears, and triumphs, challenging stereotypes of silence and submission. Through her innovative narrative style, Djebar blends personal memories, oral histories, and poetic language, crafting a deeply layered exploration of identity and resistance. Women of Algiers in Their Apartment is a poignant and powerful act of cultural and feminist resistance, offering a window into the inner lives of Algerian women and the complexities of their struggles. It remains a vital contribution to both Algerian and feminist literature.

Mouloud Feraoun – The Poor Man’s Son

Mouloud Feraoun’s The Poor Man’s Son (1950), is a semi-autobiographical novel that captures the struggles of growing up in a poor Kabyle family under French colonial rule in Algeria. Written with striking simplicity and honesty, the novel offers a poignant portrayal of rural life in the harsh mountainous regions of Kabylia. The story follows the protagonist, Fouroulou Menrad, as he navigates the challenges of poverty, tradition, and the limitations imposed by colonialism. Despite his difficult circumstances, Fouroulou dreams of education and personal growth, viewing knowledge as a path to self-liberation. His journey reflects Feraoun’s own life as a teacher and intellectual who remains deeply connected to his people. The novel goes beyond personal narrative to address broader themes of social inequality, cultural alienation, and the resilience of Algerian identity. Feraoun depicts the dignity and solidarity of the Kabyle community while subtly critiquing the colonial system that perpetuates their hardships. Published just a few years before the Algerian War of Independence, The Poor Man’s Son stands as a testament to the spirit of resistance and the enduring hope for a better future.

Mohammed Dib – The Algerian Trilogy

Mohammed Dib’s The Algerian Trilogy, composed of La Grande Maison (1952), L’Incendie (1954), and Le Métier à Tisser (1957), is a foundational work of Algerian literature that vividly portrays the struggles of ordinary Algerians under French colonial rule. The trilogy is a poignant and unflinching depiction of life in the working-class neighborhoods and rural areas of Algeria in the 1930s and 1940s. The trilogy follows the life of Omar, a young boy growing up in a poor family, as he witnesses the deep inequalities and hardships faced by his community. In La Grande Maison, Dib paints a bleak yet empathetic picture of poverty and resilience in a colonial society. L’Incendie shifts focus to the countryside, where tensions between colonial authorities and oppressed Algerian farmers rise, foreshadowing the coming revolution. Finally, in Le Métier à Tisser, the trilogy captures the struggles of laborers and the growing awareness of collective resistance against the colonial system. Dib’s narrative style blends realism with lyricism, drawing from Algerian oral traditions and weaving in rich descriptions of the landscapes and lives of his characters. His work is not just a chronicle of colonial oppression but also a celebration of Algerian culture and the indomitable spirit of its people. The trilogy is deeply political, offering a critique of colonial exploitation while highlighting the seeds of rebellion that would grow into the Algerian War of Independence. Mohammed Dib’s The Algerian Trilogy remains a cornerstone of postcolonial literature and a testament to the power of storytelling as resistance.

In exploring the works of Algeria’s literary giants, we uncover a rich tapestry of voices that speak to the nation’s struggles, triumphs, and enduring spirit. Their stories transcend mere fiction; they are acts of resistance, reflections of identity, and declarations of resilience in the face of oppression. Whether critiquing colonialism, exploring post-independence struggles, or confronting extremism and authoritarianism, these writers have given Algeria a literary voice that is as profound as it is vital. Algerian literature is a testament to the enduring human spirit and the power of storytelling to illuminate, resist, and inspire. Let us honor these writers for their invaluable contributions, ensuring their voices continue to resonate far beyond the borders of Algeria.

The post Algerian Literature: Voices of Resistance and Identity appeared first on The McGill Daily.