I have tried quite consciously, to avoid the Happy New Year editorial these last few years. It feels like a ritual that has outlived its honesty. After twenty-two variations of the same text, published only in Ovi, and with decades now pressing on my shoulders rather than lining up politely behind me, “Happy New Year” has acquired new semantics. Heavy ones. Almost cynical ones. Words that once carried hope now limp along like tired slogans dragged out of storage once a year because tradition demands it.
And how exactly does one wish a Happy New Year after 2025?
After a year soaked in wars broadcast live, in hunger turned into statistics, in death reduced to scrolling numbers, in thousands of refugees transformed into political inconveniences, and because reality always insists on satire, Donald Trump once again in power, a bad sequel nobody asked for. In such a context wishes for health, prosperity, and peace sound embarrassingly small. Poor words. Underfed words. Words trying to do humanitarian work with empty pockets.
We say “peace” while financing war.
We say “prosperity” while normalising obscene inequality.
We say “health” while treating human beings as disposable units.
So yes, forgive me if I find the ritualistic optimism of the New Year editorial hollow. Not wrong ...just insufficient. Like offering a plaster for a haemorrhage and congratulating yourself for your compassion.
And yet, refusing empty optimism does not mean surrendering to despair. Cynicism is not intelligence; it is laziness in a black turtleneck. And this is where contradiction enters, because despite the global mess, despite the political farce, despite the industrialisation of suffering, 2025 has been quietly, stubbornly, a good year for Ovi magazine.
Not a spectacular year. Not a triumphant year with fireworks and self-congratulation. A solid year. A honest one.
New contributors joined us, not because Ovi is fashionable, profitable, or algorithmically seductive, but because they still believe words matter when written without permission. Writers who are allergic to obedience. Thinkers who refuse to polish reality until it becomes harmless. People who understand that culture is not decoration; it is resistance with better grammar.
The Ovi History eMagazine, an idea born out of my ...stubbornness more than strategy, seems to have found its readers. Not the mass audience addicted to intellectual fast food but those who still prefer slow reading, uncomfortable questions, and historical context that doesn’t flatter modern arrogance. History, when done properly is not nostalgia, it is an accusation. And accusations, apparently still have an audience.
Readership is moving up. Slowly. Unevenly. Not yet back to what it once was. We are still some distance from Ovi’s former self, but for the distance feel measurable, not infinite. I feel confident, not because optimism is fashionable, but because persistence has its own quiet logic.
This matters.
Not because Ovi is special in a narcissistic sense but because independent platforms surviving in this climate is a political act. In an era where discourse is either monetised, weaponised, or infantilised, simply continuing to publish thoughtful, uncomfortable material is a form of dissent. We are not competing with noise; we are refusing to become it.
And let’s be clear, culture and democracy are under attack. Not dramatically, not with tanks, but with boredom, algorithms, and moral cowardice. Nuance is treated as weakness. Complexity as elitism. Thoughtfulness as delay. The world doesn’t want opinions anymore; it wants slogans that can be worn like football jerseys.
Ovi does not do jerseys.
So no, this is not a Happy New Year editorial in the traditional sense. I am not here to sprinkle optimism like confetti over a burning building. But I will say this, as long as there are people willing to write without fear, read without shortcuts and think without supervision, the year is not lost.
2025 has reminded me of something ...unfashionable, progress is not always loud. Sometimes it just refuses to die.
Raise no champagne glass for this. Just keep your eyes open, your pen sharp, and your tolerance for bullshit low.
That, at least, would be an honest wish for the New Year.
