Today marks an anniversary. On March 27, 1953, Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev was elected First Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Just another historical milestone, perhaps. But for me, it's always been linked to a particular image—one that has stuck with me far more vividly than any official portrait or textbook entry: that moment when Khrushchev took off his shoe and pounded it on the desk at the United Nations General Assembly.
It’s not even the shoe itself that matters, but what it represents. The triumph of raw, unfiltered communication. Back then, it was a scandal. Today? Few would even raise an eyebrow.I’m no historian. Just a writer—one who has always paid attention to the way people speak to one another. Or more precisely, how we fail to speak. Words, to me, are more than tools—they’re a mirror of culture, of respect, of thought.And this mirror, I fear, has grown increasingly clouded.
We used to believe that with cultural evolution, communication would also elevate. That argument, nuance, and linguistic sensitivity were the natural marks of a civilized society. But something else has happened—something that perhaps even Khrushchev wouldn’t have imagined.
The shoe may have disappeared from the table, but the fist remained.
In the 21st century, we live in a time where everyone speaks, but few truly listen. Commentary has replaced conversation. Thought has been eclipsed by performance. Dialogue has given way to algorithms. People no longer want nuance—they want slogans. They want someone to shout what they already believe.
And too often, that someone doesn’t speak with reason or empathy, but with cynicism. Arrogance. Pride in anti-intellectualism.
A friend once told me, “Don’t take it so seriously—it’s just online.” But I don’t buy that. The world isn’t split into online and offline. The language we use shapes us, regardless of platform. Comment threads, press conferences, talk shows, parliaments—it’s the same culture that seeps through them all. And what we lose in words, we eventually lose in thought.
The decline has many roots. The erosion of education and cultural literacy. The collapse of critical thinking in the face of instant gratification. The way digital media has flattened discourse—placing a thoughtful analysis next to a meme, and rewarding whichever one gets more clicks.
But above all, it’s the polarization. When the world is carved into “us” and “them,” communication is no longer about understanding—it's about conquest. It’s no longer about dialogue—it’s about dominance. And in this battle, style becomes weaponized. Volume replaces value. Simplicity is glorified, complexity demonized.
I’m not nostalgic. I don’t claim that the past was better in every way. There were times when elevated rhetoric hid oppressive silence. But there was at least an aspiration—a striving for dignity in speech, a collective sense that certain lines shouldn’t be crossed.
Today, the opposite is often true. Crudeness is celebrated. Vulgarity is authenticity. Khrushchev’s shoe has many descendants—they just wear different soles and travel by different channels.
And maybe that’s why I feel more and more like an outsider. Because I still believe how we say something matters. That style isn’t decoration—it’s ethical imprint. That words carry responsibility.
So the question is: can we return to a higher standard? Can we find our way back to a communication culture where argument isn’t aggression, where disagreement isn’t dehumanization, where nuance is not weakness?
I don’t know. But as a writer, I feel compelled to ask. To describe what I see. To refuse to accept that pounding fists—be they literal or digital—should define the public sphere.
Because if culture is a reflection of the soul, then communication is the surface where that reflection first appears.
And I still believe the mirror can be cleaned.