Involution Labs

Category: Culture & Society

  • What Was the Renaissance?

    The Renaissance was not a place. Although it began in Italy, it was primarily a change in mindset.

    After centuries of war, plague, and rigid religious authority, Europeans began to rediscover ancient Greek and Roman ideas about knowledge, human potential, and critical thinking. Scholars fleeing the Byzantine Empire brought classical manuscripts to Italy, where they were studied and copied.

    But the true engine of the Renaissance was not only the rediscovery of ancient texts. It was the printing press.

    Printing allowed knowledge to spread rapidly. Books that had once taken months or years to copy by hand could now be reproduced quickly and in large numbers. For the first time, ideas could circulate widely, allowing people to compare arguments, question authority, and think independently.

    The printing press created an information revolution.

    This shift transformed education, religion, science, and politics. It encouraged doubt, debate, and the belief that individuals could discover truth through reason rather than simply accepting inherited authority.

    In many ways, the Renaissance marked the beginning of the modern world.

    Today we may be living through something similar.

    Just as printing once transformed Europe, the internet is transforming the world. Knowledge is no longer controlled by scribes, priests, or universities. Anyone with access to the internet can publish ideas, share information, and participate in global conversations.

    In the Renaissance, humanists and scholars were the main producers of books. Today, anyone with a keyboard can become a writer.

    Both periods share a common feature: the rapid spread of knowledge.

    Yet the lesson of the Renaissance may also be a warning. The printing press spread both truth and error. New ideas flourished, but so did misinformation and ideological conflict.

    The same is true today.

    Just as Renaissance thinkers learned to question authority and evaluate sources critically, we must apply the same habits of logic, doubt, and reason in the digital age.

    The Renaissance was not only a rebirth of ancient learning. It was an awakening of human curiosity and critical thought.

    Perhaps our own time is experiencing a similar awakening.

  • Literature and Journalism: Where Do They Meet?

    What is the difference between literature and journalism? Are they two completely separate forms of writing, or are they simply different ways of telling the truth?

    Literature refers to written works, especially books and other printed texts. It can include fiction and non-fiction, prose and poetry, and many different forms such as novels, short stories, and drama. Literature uses language to create worlds, characters, and situations that may be fictional but still reflect real human experience.

    Storytelling is ancient. Long before printing presses and newspapers existed, people told stories orally. When writing systems developed in places like Mesopotamia and later in the Americas, stories began to be recorded. The invention of alphabets in the Middle East and Greece, papermaking in China, and later printing technologies transformed how stories were preserved and shared.

    Literature shaped human understanding of the world for thousands of years. Our sense of history, culture, and identity would be unimaginable without it.

    Journalism developed much later but shares some of the same roots. Journalism focuses on gathering, assessing, and presenting information about real events. The earliest journalistic records can be traced back to ancient Rome, where daily news was carved on stone and displayed in public places. In China, government bulletins also recorded events to keep officials informed.

    Modern newspapers began to appear in Europe in the early seventeenth century. The first regular German newspaper appeared in 1609, and English-language newspapers followed soon after. Over time, journalism became an organised profession with its own standards and practices.

    While literature explores truth through imagination, journalism aims to report facts about current events. Journalists traditionally focus on answering five key questions: who, what, where, when, and why. Their work is expected to be informative, accurate, and accessible to a broad audience.

    Today the internet has transformed both literature and journalism. Blogs, social media, and online publications have changed how stories are written, distributed, and consumed. At the same time, the boundary between professional journalism and citizen reporting has become less clear.

    The relationship between literature and journalism is often summarised in a famous phrase: journalism is literature in a hurry. Journalists must publish quickly, while writers of literature may spend years refining a single work.

    Yet both forms of writing attempt to capture truth. Literature turns truth into art and allows readers to imagine other perspectives. Journalism attempts to reveal what is happening in the world right now.

    Perhaps they are not opposites after all, but two different ways of helping us understand reality.

  • Where Do Fact and Fiction Begin and End?

    Is there really a clear line between fact and fiction?

    When we think about fantasy, it is easy to assume it is entirely invented. Yet imaginative writing often requires deep research. In some ways, fiction can be a way of searching for truth.

    Does it matter whether something really happened? Are works of non-fiction always completely truthful? And would non-fiction even be as interesting without a flicker of imagination?

    Sometimes fiction can contain more truth than factual writing. Non-fiction may also include narrative shaping, interpretation, or omissions. This is especially true in journalism, where reporters must interpret events based on incomplete information and sources that may disagree.

    Historians face the same challenge. History is not simply a collection of facts; it is an interpretation of events layered with perspective. Even if we had witnessed an event ourselves, we would never see all its layers. A historical novel therefore becomes a mixture of fact and fiction by necessity.

    Perhaps the most useful approach is to keep an open mind. When we read fiction, we can assume there may be truth hidden inside it. When we read non-fiction, we can assume that interpretation and bias may also be present.

    After all, stories marketed as “based on a true story” often attract us more strongly. They seem to carry greater value, even if the boundary between truth and invention is unclear.

    Today it may not be literature that shapes our sense of reality, but the stories we share online. Viral stories often gain trust simply because they are popular.

    So, do we prefer fiction, or at least a mixture of fact and fiction? And is that why people are often more interested in the stories behind the news than the news itself?

    Perhaps fiction is not the opposite of truth, but simply another way of approaching it.

  • The Introvert in the Corporate Classroom: Navigating an Extroverted Workplace

    In many large corporations, the workplace resembles a school environment—one where systems reward compliance and punish deviation. Performance reviews, bonuses, and penalties function like grades and detentions, shaping how employees navigate their roles. The corporate classroom, much like the school or university classroom, is built for those who thrive on visibility, conformity, and constant performance. For those who prefer quiet reflection and work best in small, intentional collaborations, it feels less like a workplace and more like a grind.

    This environment is particularly unforgiving for people whose strengths are depth, discernment, and independent thinking. The system does not merely overlook these traits—it actively misreads them.

    The Classroom Dynamic

    Modern corporate environments often operate like a perpetual classroom. Employees are continuously assessed, compared, and ranked using metrics that rarely capture the full scope of their contribution. The emphasis is not on understanding how work is done, but on whether it is seen being done.

    From day one, employees are evaluated on how quickly they absorb company culture and mirror expected behaviours. The onboarding process floods new hires with policies, acronyms, and frameworks, creating not just information overload but cognitive dissonance. Rules are presented as fixed, yet applied inconsistently. Seeking clarity can feel risky. Asking the “wrong” question, or asking it in the “wrong” forum, can quietly mark someone as difficult or slow.

    In this corporate classroom, confusion is framed as personal failure rather than a structural flaw. The result is an atmosphere where people feel constantly observed but rarely supported.

    Reward, Punishment, and the Cost of Visibility

    Performance reviews function as report cards, but the grading criteria are opaque. Praise is often tied less to the quality of work and more to how seamlessly someone conforms to expectations—communication style, responsiveness, enthusiasm, and deference.

    Punishment rarely arrives dramatically. It begins subtly: lukewarm feedback, contradictory expectations, or criticism framed as “developmental” but aimed squarely at personality or working style. An employee might be told they should have followed a stricter chain of command, while previously being encouraged to show initiative. Seeking clarity outside one’s immediate team can later be framed as overstepping.

    Over time, these mixed signals erode confidence. Small mistakes are magnified, while systemic inefficiencies remain unaddressed. For those who are less performative—who focus on the work rather than on being seen working—the message becomes clear: visibility matters more than substance.

    Age, Experience and Managed Infantilisation

    For older or more experienced employees, adapting to this corporate classroom can be especially disorienting. Professionals who once operated with autonomy find themselves micromanaged, reassigned without consultation, or required to “demonstrate flexibility” in ways that feel less like growth and more like compliance.

    The expectation to constantly adapt—to new tools, new terminology, unspoken communication norms—creates an exhausting baseline. Experience is not leveraged; it is often treated as resistance. Critical thinking is tolerated only when it doesn’t slow momentum. The implicit instruction is simple: fit in quickly, keep quiet, and perform as instructed, regardless of the personal cost.

    The Misnomer of Leadership

    In many corporate environments, “team leader” is a generous title. “Team manager” would be more accurate. Leadership, in the sense of fostering trust, protecting dissent, and developing people, is rare. What dominates instead is control: metrics, micromanagement, and rigid oversight of repetitive, unglamorous work.

    As in classrooms, managers have favourites. Those who perform enthusiasm, mirror opinions, and intuit unspoken expectations are given the benefit of the doubt. Their mistakes are contextualised, their potential highlighted, their loyalty rewarded with opportunities.

    Meanwhile, employees who focus on substance rather than social positioning—who ask difficult questions or point out inefficiencies—receive a different kind of attention. Their work may be solid or even exceptional, but because they do not engage in performative alignment, they are met with muted recognition at best and persistent criticism at worst.

    Performance evaluations become exercises in perception management. Just as in school, the quiet high-performer is eclipsed by the visible conformist. Leadership, in practice, becomes less about nurturing talent and more about reinforcing hierarchy.

    Not Everyone Thrives—and That’s Structural, Not Personal

    Corporate rhetoric often claims to encourage authenticity, but this is usually conditional. Creativity is welcome only when it aligns neatly with existing frameworks. Questioning the system itself is treated as disruption rather than engagement.

    Some employees thrive in this structure, just as some students thrive in rigid academic environments. Others—those who challenge assumptions, propose alternative approaches, or resist constant acceleration—wither. Over time, they are marginalised, managed out, or quietly let go. The irony is sharp in organisations that publicly celebrate innovation while privately punishing deviation.

    Morale Management: Cupcakes and Clichés

    The most telling feature of the corporate classroom is how morale is managed. The language alone gives it away: “Thank God it’s Friday,” “over the hump Wednesday,” “nearly there.” These phrases don’t energise work; they acknowledge its monotony. The shared goal becomes endurance, not engagement.

    On particularly difficult days, morale is boosted with cupcakes, ice cream, or a pick-and-mix stand. The gesture is familiar—school rewards repackaged for adults. Sugar replaces structural change. A brief lift is offered instead of meaningful reflection on why the work feels so draining in the first place.

    The message is subtle but clear: the grind is normal, dissatisfaction is expected, and small treats should be enough to keep people going.

    The Illusion—and the Exit

    Like universities, large corporations maintain a façade of excitement and possibility. Rebranding, new titles, and team restructures create the appearance of progress while leaving the underlying work unchanged. The pace is framed as “dynamic,” though it serves efficiency more than fulfilment.

    Eventually, some people leave. Not because they failed, but because they refused to be mismeasured. Walking away is often framed as weakness or lack of resilience, but in reality it can be an act of clarity. It is a refusal to stay in an environment that equates worth with visibility, obedience, and endurance.

    Those who exit are not giving up. They are choosing alignment—seeking spaces where depth is valued, autonomy is trusted, and contribution is measured by substance rather than performance. Leaving the corporate classroom is not an escape from work; it is a rejection of a system that mistakes conformity for competence.

  • Ireland Is Indigenous: A Truth Declared

    I was not born Irish. I was born Swedish Karelian. Ireland did not choose me — I chose it. And I choose it still. I am Irish-ish, not because Irishness is a cloak to wear, but because it is a heritage I have taken on with responsibility.

    Ireland is indigenous.
    Not partially. Not metaphorically. Fully.

    The Irish carry a handed-down culture:

    • A language born of this land, carved into ogham stones.
    • A law, the Brehon law, older than English common law.
    • A memory of colonisation, dispossession, famine, and survival.
    • An identity carried in families, music, and names.

    I carry a learned culture:

    • I was not born into Gaeilge, but I can support it.
    • I did not inherit Irish history, but I can stand with it.
    • I was not shaped by this soil from birth, but I can root myself in it.

    Handed-down culture is inescapable. An Irish person cannot shrug it off, even if they try. Learned culture is chosen. I could turn away — but I don’t. Because to be Irish-ish is to commit. To carry the flame, not wear the cloak.

    I cannot speak Gaeilge. But I support it fully. My daughter must pass a Gaeilge test to qualify for a Masters in teaching, because she wants to be a primary school teacher. And she is one of the good ones — born between cultures, yet carrying Irish identity forward.

    She shows what I mean by Irish-ish. She is differently Irish, and in that difference she understands empathy. She knows that Irishness is not a cloak of purity, but a heritage that can be lived, learned, and handed on.

    And so am I. I am differently Irish. I am Irish-ish.
    That means I honour Ireland’s indigeneity, but I do not take on every cause the Irish take on.
    Irish-ish is not mimicry. It is commitment with independence.
    I stand with Ireland’s survival, its language, its culture — but I choose my own battles.
    That is the difference between handed-down culture and learned culture: one is inherited, the other is chosen.

    Ireland is for the Irish.
    And Irishness is not something borrowed, not a fashion, not a joke. It is survival. It is memory. It is a people who refused erasure.

    To be Irish-ish is to join that survival. To learn what others inherited. To protect what others preserved. To take responsibility for a culture that is fragile and precious, and in that responsibility, to become kin.

    I stand with all indigenous peoples who fight for survival, culture, and sovereignty.
    But I will not misuse that word. Not everyone who claims indigeneity is indigenous.
    Indigeneity is continuity with land, language, and culture through history.
    It is not a slogan to be borrowed, or a mask for imperialism.

    And my solidarity goes further: I do not stand with Islamism. I do not stand with the Far Left. Not because I oppose Muslims as people, or ordinary Left-leaning folk — but because Islamism is an ideology of domination, and the Far Left is an ideology of erasure.

    I am against Islamic imperialism, just as I am against every form of empire that seeks to erase peoples and cultures. Ireland knows too well what imperialism does: it steals land, outlaws language, mocks tradition, and scatters communities. To resist it abroad is to honour the fight we carried at home.

    I know what cultural erasure looks like — I see it in Ireland’s story. The outlawing of Irish, the mockery of Irish identity, the scattering of Irish people. That is why I cannot ignore the same threats when they are aimed at Jews and Israelis.

    My stance is simple: I am against Islamic imperialism. I am against the Far Left’s excuses for it. Erasure is erasure, no matter who does it, no matter who suffers it. If I stand with Ireland’s survival, I must also stand against the call to erase another people.

    I was born on the Left. I believed in justice, fairness, and dignity. But the Left I knew is gone. Today the Left has become the new Right — rigid, censorious, hostile to dissent. If I were American, I would be a Republican. Not because the Right is flawless, but because there, I still see speech defended, culture preserved, freedom named as truth.

    Even those called hateful can show respect. When Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg died, Donald Trump — her fiercest opponent — called her remarkable. He honoured her life. He showed dignity. And yet he is still painted only as hate. Tribalism blinds us. It blinds the Left most of all.

    This is what I admire about America: its openness to invent a new nationality, to make belonging something chosen. To live together, to work together, across difference. But America also shows us the cost: there are always two sides. Openness does not end conflict — it begins coexistence. That is the true test of belonging.

    And here I stand.
    Not an influencer. Not a leader with millions of followers. In the world’s eyes, I am nobody. But I am still somebody — with a voice, with convictions, with a duty to speak.

    Charlie Kirk inspired me to do this. He was important; I am not. But he proved that even the small can stand for something larger. To be Irish-ish is to carry a flame, even when you are the smallest spark.

    Freedom lives in words.
    That is why they outlast bullets.

    We are not post-colonial. We are still decolonising.
    And we declare it again and again:

    Ireland is indigenous. Always was. Always will be.

  • The Blurring Lines: Fact, Fiction, and the Changing Face of Journalism

    A Communication Revolution

    We are living in the middle of a communication revolution and change is the only thing we can trust. We have gone from handwriting to print to the internet, and we still don’t know the full effect of this most recent communication revolution. Journalism is writing, but it’s also storytelling and a filter of reality.

    The Foundations of Journalism: Facts vs. Fiction

    Journalism is still about the five w questions and one h question.

    Who? What? When? Where? Why? How? At times, one might feel the urge to add are you joking? And seriously? Or at least to oneself, is this real?

    Journalism is a filter of reality. Journalists are information consultants who filter through information and opinion

    The Rise of Engineered and Fake News

    Today, we live in a world with engineered news and fake news. Journalism is losing power to people journalism or citizen journalism. We live in a reality where alternative news and facts are shaking and stirring not just journalism but politics and democracy.

    It’s old media against social media and also asocial media. Today, journalism compete with people shaping news with their opinion and feelings.

    The Blurred Lines: Information vs. Opinion

    Journalism has to adhere to ethics and take responsibility for unbiased reporting. Journalism must tell, inform and enlighten not falsify, mislead and seduce, but the border is gone.

    It’s hard to see what’s real and what’s propaganda. We filter news to get our worldview confirmed not challenged. Friends and family and celebrities mean more to us than journalists. X breaks the news now, not newsrooms.

    Different truths fight for attention in media, and false news have it easier since disbelief is everywhere now. It’s no longer sure that news is real and unbiased, the lie has become normal. Journalism has lost its status. Journalism has become misplaced.

    But does it have to be like this?

    The Impact of the Digital Era on Journalism

    We consume more news now than ever before. Technically, journalism has never had such good conditions to be produced and distributed as in the digital era, but everyone wants news and stories for free, and it must be short and instant. The erosion of the boundary between truth and lie has changed journalism.

    The erosion of the difference between information and opinion has changed journalism.

    The fact that good journalism can still be produced does not mean that it will be able to play the same role in people’s perception of reality as before. The information gap we see opens up in a digital society is not because the information is missing or unavailable, but the digital era has revolutionised the terms not only for journalism but the conditions for all human communication.

    How we tell the world has an impact, and as we today say it more through pictures, we don’t necessarily get more than a thousand words. A picture hasn’t been analysed the way a printed text on the subject has been and images can also be manipulated and sometimes we don’t know if what we see is what is there.

    Fiction as a Lens for Truth

    What is communicated directly through sound and moving picture say something different than when the same news is delivered through print. It speaks to another part of our brain. We are intellectually more defenceless when faced with pictures and also emotionally more vulnerable. The internet is changing how we see the world.

    How we tell the world is no small matter, we can make it better or worse depending on our ability to truthfully depicting our experience and the stories we are told to the world. Veracity is not the same as truth. Veracity is an aim, not a result.

    Journalism can’t be fiction or lies or untruth or degrees of truth. Journalism is the art of relevant storytelling, and we need it more than ever. Journalism informs and educates us on what we need to know not just what we want to know. The innate level of journalism is curiosity.

    Realistically today, we can charge for good journalism on the internet if the demand for good journalism exists and it does. We have to make the internet free and let people pay for quality content instead.

    What This Means for Journalism Today

    I grew up in an era when reading the morning newspaper and watching the eight-o clock news were sacred rituals. The news seldom confirmed my worldview, but we didn’t question the news as we do today. The news informed, and people took newsbreaks instead of getting depressed. Today part of being both a journalist and a citizen is the ability to distinguish between true and false.

    Facts are essential in journalism, and no fiction is allowed. Fantasy is allowed and expected in fiction, but it must still be believable and also contain facts.

    So, is there is a clear line between fact and fiction?

    As an unconventional fiction writer, I know that everything I’ve written so far is way off the mainstream, but still, it contains facts but perhaps because a lot of my stories are fantasy it’s easy to think it’s all made up, but there is also a lot of research in imaginative writing. I like using fiction to find facts if that makes sense at all.

    Does it matter if something really happened? Are all non-fictional works absolutely truthful? I doubt it as without even a flickering of fiction a non-fiction book would be dull. There could also be more truth in fiction, but non-fiction is sometimes written as fiction for protection.

    Could it be the same in journalism?

    Non-fiction reveals lies while fiction shows us the truth? Does the value of the story lie in its truth or how it makes us feel?

    A Call to Action: The Need for Veracity in Journalism

    We value truth, but all of us lie every day. We have always mixed fact and fiction, but anything marketed as based on a true story seems to give a story more value, whether we are reading or watching. Even historians make interpretations of the truth, so a novel set in the past must be both fact and fiction, it can’t be anything else. A historical novel can be based on historiography, but it can still never be truly non-fictional because history has layers and even if we were there, we can’t see all the layers of an event. And so can’t a journalist, they have to interpret the facts at hand which can differ from source to source.

    The best way might be to keep an open mind when we read fiction, and presume there is some truth in there and when we read non-fiction presume there are some inventions or biased views in there.

    All fiction can also be true depending on what multiverse one presently occupies. My daughter who frequently inhabits the magic world asked if Harry Potter is fiction or non-fiction and when I replied by asking what she thinks she said, both. And why not?

    Of course, that’s not the correct journalistic view to take, but it certainly can be a more liberating view of literature.

    People don’t read the way we used to though, and it’s not literature shaping our present reality, apart from perhaps Harry Potter, but the stories we share online and the stories that go viral are the ones readers seems to trust the most because they are the most popular ones. So, do we as humans prefer fiction or at least a mix of fact and fiction and is that why so many prefer the stories behind the news?

    Is fiction just another angle of truth?