Reforms have it against each another that they show up uninvited and pretend they were expected. Before they enter into force, no 1 cares about them erstwhile they enter, they all feel that something has changed — although no 1 knows precisely what. The improvement of orthography 2026 appeared this way: quietly, without fanfare, but with the immediate question of the nation: “Now together or separately?”
The authoritative communication was simple: simplification of rules, no unnecessary exceptions. In practice, a national recreational program for correctors, teachers, and all those who, for any reason, are inactive trying to compose correctly. The Internet, as usual, reacted first. By the time the textbooks, forums and social media were updated, the questions were like, "Is it inactive a mistake or a modernity?"
And it's hard to be surprised, due to the fact that like any language change, this 1 has touched not only letters, but besides a sense of security. In the end, orthography is simply a kind of national reconnaissance sign — a common denominator between those who remember the ‘turtle’ from simple school and those who have just learned that any ‘no’ can be written ‘yes’.
Reformists say it's a step towards common sense. Adversaries — alternatively towards orthographic anarchy with a RJP certificate. Because, as 1 commentator pointed out, “if something was unclear, why lighten it erstwhile you can get utilized to the darkness?”
The question besides arises: why these rules alternatively than others? Now that we're moving on to orthography, why don't we start with the places where we're truly lost — all those “substantially intricate” things that before they end, you don't remember the beginning? But possibly that's what this was all about: not solving problems, just symbolically powdering chaos.
Some see in the improvement a kind of linguistic pragmatism: why punish the mistakes everyone makes? Better legalize them. It's kind of like traffic — if most turn left despite the ban, possibly the ban is simply a problem. Only that in orthography the effect can be comic: abruptly it turns out that the "mistake" and the "change of the norm" disagree mainly from the date of the dictionary.
So the teachers ask: ‘ What precisely do you teach now? According to what key do you measure your essays? For respective years old and fresh rules are to work in parallel — like an orthographic double voice. So the student writes according to the new, the teacher corrects according to the old, and both are right. At least theoretically.
Corretors in turn discover that their work begins to match a field game: whoever first finds an outdated evidence wins. And the releases... Well, the publishers pray for a plugin that will admit whether the text is pre- or post-reform — for man no longer has the strength to check.
But the interesting thing is that the fresh spelling seems to be perfect for algorithms. No exceptions, no clear rules, no doubt. The device writes correctly, not necessarily. due to the fact that where language loses roughness and irregularities, its rhythm besides dies. It's kind of like a man after a course of "effective communication": he speaks flawlessly, but he cannot perceive to it.
Because how can we keep up erstwhile things are simplified and knowing becomes more difficult? improvement will not origin revolution, alternatively a long-term state of slight surprise. And possibly there's 1 alternatively perverse plus — nothing that refreshes contact with the tongue like the feeling that you request to look at it again, from the beginning.
So for now, we compose as we can, read more carefully than before, and learn fresh spelling by investigating and by surprise. Because, as always, we rebel first, then we get utilized to it, and then we pretend to always do so.
