The old Labunista villagers didn't have access to higher education. Life directed them early towards work instead of school benches. But among them were people with natural intelligence, clear minds, and life wisdom from whom much could be learned.

In the village, there were a few who regularly read daily newspapers and thus were well informed about events in the country and the world. On long winter evenings, when the households were places for conversation, friendship, and exchange of experiences, they often had the main voice. Their stories were listened to carefully by both the older and the younger.

But as today, there was always someone ready to argue and contradict, even when they didn't have enough knowledge on the topic. For some, it was more important not to be left without the last word than to learn the truth.

One of those wise Labunista men was Uncle Mersim. He regularly read newspapers and knew many stories and events from older times. There was hardly a household where he wouldn't tell something new—whether about world events or people and times that had passed. His words were not only interesting but also instructive.

Although most listened with pleasure, sometimes a confident "semi-literate" person would appear who immediately began to contradict and seek a debate.

Uncle Mersim did not like long debates, and even less so fruitless arguments with stubborn people who never admitted they might be wrong. He knew there are conversations from which one gains nothing but lost time and disturbed peace of mind.

Therefore, when he felt the conversation was turning into pointless quarreling, he would just smile gently and end the entire discussion with a few words:

"I am not literate."

With this short sentence, he did not admit ignorance but showed wisdom. It was more important for him to preserve peace than to prove his learning. He knew that not every argument deserves an answer and that sometimes the greatest victory is not to enter a meaningless debate.

That is why these three words have been remembered as one of the most beautiful wisdoms of the old Labunista villagers. They remind us that true wisdom is not always to say more but to know when it is better to keep silent.

Perhaps that is where the difference between then and now is best seen.

In the past, truly wise and knowledgeable people, like Uncle Mersim, out of humility would say: "I am not literate." Not because they were truly illiterate, but because they knew that wisdom is not proven by shouting, nor dignity by winning every argument.

Today, again, we are increasingly witnessing such phenomena. Those who truly possess knowledge and dignity often withdraw, speak quietly, and do not feel the need to constantly prove themselves.

On the other hand, there are not few who, with little knowledge but much confidence, present themselves as the most expert, most invited, and most capable. Sometimes these very people even reach the highest social and political positions, as loudness becomes more important than knowledge, and confidence more harmful than wisdom.

The old Labunista villagers taught us that a person is not measured by how much they talk about themselves but by the weight of their words and deeds. True literacy is not only in diplomas and read books but also in humility, reason, upbringing, and the ability to know when to speak and when to remain respectfully silent.

Perhaps that is why the sentence "I am not literate" sounds wiser today than ever. Because there are times when the greatest sign of wisdom is humility, and the greatest sign of illiteracy is the conviction that a person knows everything.

✍️ Jakub Kazimoski

From the cycle "Wisdom of the Old Labunista Villagers"