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In my post of 29 October, "Vigilance is One of the Fundamental Moral Values of Humanity,” I described vigilance as an ethical discipline for the digital age: a steady, deliberate habit that helps us move through a world where information travels faster than truth, and where each of us now participates in shaping narratives with real social consequences. I argued that vigilance preserves harmony in turbulent times not through suspicion, but through thoughtful attention, moral clarity, and an ability to understand perspectives beyond our own.
Much of that still stands, yet it was only a beginning.
After publishing that reflection—an intuitive piece inspired by Value 33 of my 101 humanity values—I contacted Professor Arndt Brendecke, whose historical research on cultures of vigilance is influencing contemporary scholarship. I had not studied his work before, yet his framework spoke directly to the questions that pressed on me as I wrote. What does vigilance mean in a world where information and power have merged? How do societies learn not merely to notice, but to interpret wisely? To my genuine appreciation, Professor Brendecke responded and agreed to meet me during my visit to Munich.
I had the privilege of meeting Professor Brendecke in Munich, together with my colleague from Afghanistan, Marii Nabard Aeen. Our conversation took place at a moment when informational overload is unsettling people across the world—precisely the conditions that prompted my earlier reflections. The young people I work with in Tanzania are navigating torrents of decontextualised online material that threaten trust in an environment where narratives can be weaponised almost instantly.
One of the first points Brendecke emphasised is that vigilance is not new, and it has never been neutral. It is as old as human societies and it is observed in Nature. Long before digital media, early modern communities depended on the attentiveness of ordinary people—neighbours, clerics, merchants—to notice irregularities, maintain order, and keep communal life functioning. This shared watchfulness was both a virtue and a political instrument: it could strengthen governance and solidarity, yet it could equally deepen rivalries or fuel suspicion. Vigilance is a social mechanism and its moral direction depends entirely on the intentions, pressures, and interpretations that surround it.
Listening to him, I was reminded of how swiftly vigilance can be misused when fear, politics, or moral self-righteousness take over. The same tensions remain today, only accelerated by digital speed. The central challenge is no longer merely observation—everyone is watching, and everyone is watched—but interpretation. People rarely see the same event in the same way; they fill the gaps with their assumptions, histories, and anxieties. It is a reminder that vigilance is not just about what is seen, but how it is understood.
My own thoughts kept returning to Tanzania. The recent attempt to impose a narrative of Christian–Muslim division could easily have ignited hostility. Yet young people refused that imposed gaze. Instead, they took on the interpretive role themselves. Through TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, WhatsApp, and Facebook, they turned a top-down pressure into a bottom-up celebration of unity they called “Chrislam.” They chose joy over fear, coherence over manipulation. Rather than internalising the narrative aimed at dividing them, they redirected it. This, too, is vigilance: discerning what deserves attention, what deserves amplification, and what must be rejected. It is the everyday work of interpretation—a skill many societies have forgotten how to practise.
Brendecke also drew attention to the way vigilance operates in nature. In a herd, one animal remains alert while the others drink or rest, and later the roles shift. No creature stands watch forever. This rhythm protects the whole. Human communities need the same pattern: shared responsibility rather than constant suspicion; alternating attentiveness instead of collective panic. But human societies are more complex. Unlike animals, we create specialised roles and institutions—priests, elders, officials, journalists, influencers—each shaping how vigilance functions. This differentiation makes vigilance powerful, but also politically volatile. It can stabilise peace or unravel it. Even long-standing coexistence can collapse quickly when trust is strained or when mutual observation shifts subtly into mutual accusation.
Tanzania’s “Chrislam” moment therefore matters. It illustrates a form of vigilance rooted in care rather than surveillance—young people assuming the role of interpreters in order to protect social harmony. Similar patterns are emerging elsewhere. Brendecke mentioned current research in Amazonian communities adjusting traditional forms of shared vigilance to cope with the pressures of digital media. Around the world, societies are renegotiating who observes, who interprets, who decides what matters, and who is pushed to the margins. Vigilance is being reconfigured, not abandoned.
My own work has always centred on helping young people stay grounded in harmony, believe in themselves, and develop true media literacy. I teach them to be vigilant about their own digital footprints and to recognise the moral weight carried by every post, comment, or image they share. My early study of textual representation showed me how power hides in narratives and images; the digital world merely accelerates these dynamics. Modern vigilance demands discipline, humility, and honesty with oneself. It cannot be rooted in prejudice, nor used to shame or control. When vigilance degenerates into surveillance, harmony collapses. But when it is guided by humanity—responsibility, clarity, community, and a recognition that our futures are intertwined—it becomes a stabilising force.
My meeting in Munich strengthened this conviction. It anchored my intuition in history and placed my work within a broader lineage of societies grappling with how to stay attentive to one another without falling into fear. It also challenged me to think more deeply about the adaptive tools communities are developing to remain alert to power, narrative, and daily life. I am increasingly interested in whether we can cultivate a human-centred, transcultural vigilance that protects harmony without reviving the darker traditions of mutual suspicion.
For now, one insight stands above the rest—a thought that crystallised most clearly during this week of reflection: vigilance is not the art of watching others; it is the art of watching ourselves, wisely, honestly, and together.
More soon.
#Dr.RKW
