Tag: words

Of Words and Weapons

Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never harm me.

So goes one of the quintessential schoolyard retorts.

Kids can be brats at times, calling other kids names in order to get under their skin. The sticks and stones phrase has long given the aggrieved an opportunity to blunt these attacks.

Sure, it’s a mouthful. But that’s precisely the point. Its complexity gives the tormentor pause. And this lowers the temperature.

This pattern has repeated itself for years. But things are different now.

Not all words are created equal.

Some bring joy. Some bring sadness. And some are so inflammatory that they’re considered taboo.

Growing up, I knew what these off-limits words were. They were so scandalous that people referred to them by their first letter. The F-word. The S-word. The N-word.

I was not born with this knowledge, but I picked it up quickly.

For instance, when I was 7 years old, I asked my father about a word I’d read in Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn. My father implored me not to use that word — which was negro. In the same breath, he warned me to never use its uglier, more inflammatory derivative.

Looking back now, it strikes me just how strange this all was. In order to teach me which word not to use, my father needed to use it.

But I learned my lessons well. I steered clear of bad words with a precision that would have made Mormons proud. By the time I got to high school, my best friend — who dropped the F-words and S-words into most sentences — even ribbed me for being so square.

Truth be told, it was easy to avoid these terms. There was a rich ecosystem of synonyms I could draw from to avoid swearing. And that’s precisely what I did.

But these days, it’s trickier to steer clear of the landmines.

Trigger warning.

It’s one of the terms that’s emerged in this newfangled era.

Trigger warnings guard against information that might upset us. They prepare us for the shock, horror or emotional distress ahead.

The premise of this phenomenon is sensible. We shouldn’t be blindsided when facing disturbing topics, particularly since many of us have experienced trauma in our lives already.

Words can in fact harm us, particularly if they reopen wounds that haven’t fully healed. Trigger warnings are our last line of defense against such catastrophe.

Yet, as our society gets more polarized, the number of terms deemed worthy of a trigger warning only seems to grow. Racial slurs and descriptors of physical assaults aren’t the only sources of consternation anymore. Now, phrases that upset our worldviews make the list as well.

Some of these terms do have ties to partisan politics. Global warming became climate change thanks to a focus group put together by conservatives, for instance.

Still, many phrases with a trigger warning label lack obvious political ties. It’s the associations we draw from these terms that so deeply aggrieve us.

This leaves us with a bevy of words that have turned radioactive. And this time, there are no simple substitutes for them.

We can take the long way and describe the words without using them — a real-life version of the game Taboo. But in an era of dwindling attention spans, these efforts are likely to fall short.

And so, with no clear path forward, we avoid these terms — and their associated topics — altogether. And by doing this, we invoke a sense of shadow censorship.

That should trigger its own warning.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

So reads the first amendment of the United States Constitution.

Scholars, justices, and activists have broken down those 45 words countless times. They’ve attempted to determine what rights people have to express themselves.

But these dry interpretations miss a key angle. Namely, the intent of those who put those 45 words on paper.

The First Amendment was part of the Bill of Rights — a set of personal freedoms afforded to all Americans. These rights were foundational, rebutting the censorship that was commonplace in the colonial era.

The founding fathers wanted us to use our voices without fear of silencing. In their view, words were not weapons. And opening one’s mouth shouldn’t be treated as an act of war.

While the courts have imposed limitations in a few situations, freedom of expression largely remains intact today. Yet, we now find ourselves restricting our own speech.

By making more and more terms taboo, we are limiting discourse. We are narrowing our perspective. And we are failing to address crucial societal concerns.

Sure, shadow censorship might make us feel more secure and less aggravated. But ignoring the uncomfortable topics around us won’t make them go away. The elephant in the room remains.

It’s time to end the shadow censorship. It’s time to stop treating words as weapons.

Yes, some select words are truly vulgar. And we absolutely should avoid those words whenever possible.

But, by and large, words are not the concern. It’s the actions associated with those words that pose the gravest danger.

This is a point that we seem to miss.

Let’s consider what is really spurring the trigger warnings. Do these difficult phrases trigger emotional distress? Or do they trigger us to acts of aggression?

Both effects are troubling. But words shouldn’t shoulder all the blame for these adverse outcomes. We need to take some responsibility as well.

We have the agency to face our trauma head-on and to help the scars heal. We have the ability to keep dialogue from erupting into violence.

Taking phrases out of circulation doesn’t absolve us of these duties. It only deludes us further.

So, let’s stop with the smoke and mirrors. Let’s rid ourselves of the shadow censorship. And let’s commit ourselves to have important discussions, even if they might be a bit uncomfortable.

This is our best path forward. Let’s not squander it.

The Err of Bluster

The team is staring down a challenge.

Great opportunity lies ahead. But so do obstacles. Obstacles determined to keep this opportunity out of reach.

With the fog of adversity looming, a leader steps in front of the group and gives a fiery speech. The words energize the team. They overcome the odds and reach their goal.

Chances are, you’ve seen this situation unfold. Maybe you experienced it in real life. Or you saw it in a movie about sports or war.

It’s become the de facto playbook for wide scale leadership.

Bluster on. Rally the troops. Achieve victory.

It sounds good on paper. But that playbook has a fatal flaw.

Speak softly and carry a big stick.

If you weren’t nodding off in history class, you might remember that this quote comes from Teddy Roosevelt.

Roosevelt talked the talk. But he also walked the walk.

He made his name in the Spanish-American War, when he led his regiment — the Rough Riders — in a daring charge up a hill in Cuba. He often ventured out to the Dakota wilderness to hunt ferocious animals. And he treated the United States as a global power — even though it was yet to truly be one.

Roosevelt became the 26th President of the United States in 1901, when his predecessor was assassinated. And he instantly stood out. For in its 125 previous years, the U.S. had never quite seen a leader with his level of bluster.

Indeed, the three other presidents immortalized on Mount Rushmore with Roosevelt — George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln — conducted themselves much differently.

Washington led the fledging Revolutionary Army to victory over the British. But he didn’t achieve this feat by charging at the enemy in broad daylight. Instead, he used a series of skirmishes and retreats to lure them into a trap.

One need only look at the most famous painting of Washington to understand that he was more about guile than bile. That painting shows him and his troops crossing a frigid river for a surprise attack.

As President, Washington maintained his understated style. Despite the divisiveness all around him in the early days of the nation, he refused to resort to bravado.

The same went for Jefferson. As President, he’s perhaps most famous for purchasing land from the French. All the bluster was reserved for Vice President Aaron Burr, who got into an infamous duel with Alexander Hamilton.

And Lincoln? He led the United States through a Civil War with candor and compassion. His most famous speech — The Gettysburg Address — was more solemn than boisterous.

Yet, Roosevelt blazed a different path. And in his stead, a new form of leadership emerged.

The blustering style was in to stay.

Bluster has had a long run. Nearly 125 years in the daylight, to be precise.

But now, the sun might be setting on it.

Indeed, as a global pandemic tears its way through humanity, the virus at its center punishes defiance. And yet, many leaders have felt compelled to bluster on.

One of these blustering leaders was Boris Johnson, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. As the virus ravaged nearby nations — first Italy, then Spain, then France — Johnson seemed convinced that those in the British Isles had nothing to worry about.

Johnson blustered on about the strength of those across the UK. He continued to shake hands. And he resisted initial calls for a national lockdown.

This behavior all seemed reckless. But Johnson was not one to bow down to an opponent. He preferred the familiarity of a rally-the-troops style — even if it put his nation on a collision course with disaster.

Then, Johnson caught the virus.

He carried on with his duties at first, albeit remotely. But his condition worsened. Soon, he ended up in an Intensive Care ward at a London hospital, his life in the balance.

Johnson pulled through, and ultimately recovered from the virus. But he emerged from the ordeal deeply humbled. His brush with death had seemingly convinced him that the virus couldn’t be scared away with bold talk.

Johnson’s messaging has since taken a more pragmatic tone. And his voice has seemed to carry more weight.

The situation in the UK has remained dire. But the nation has avoided calamity, even as others have dealt with surging caseloads.

Perhaps this is a coincidence. But I think not.

It shouldn’t have to come to this.

Leaders shouldn’t have to risk falling in the abyss to see the light.

For the truth lies in front of us. Bluster just doesn’t work.

Sure, bluster might seem tantalizingly shiny when times are good. But when the going gets tough, all that glitter is as good as lead paint.

It’s dangerous. Even fatal.

Yes, when uncertainty takes hold, when fear and doubt infest us, we don’t look for the loudest voice in the room. We look for the steadiest hand.

We choose a Lincoln over a Roosevelt. Every time.

And yet, those in power can’t help themselves. After all those years watching war movies and all those months on the campaign trail, their egos have deluded them.

Noise becomes their most trusted tool. Their only trusted tool. And in the teeth of a crisis, they just turn up the dial.

It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. A prophecy in the form of a doom cycle.

Crises are good for precious few things.

But a fresh start is one of them.

The global pandemic has forced us to part with life as we once knew it. It’s compelled us to sacrifice so much that we once considered essential, in the name of survival.

So, why should we cling to a warped notion of leadership? Why should we tolerate the err of bluster?

Now is the time to celebrate a new class of leader. A leader who speaks through actions, rather than a bullhorn. A leader who is more deliberate than forceful. A leader who embraces humility over hubris.

Such a leader might not bring an aura. Their story might not catch the eye of Hollywood script writers.

But they will be the one that we follow out of the darkness.

It’s on us to make sure we continue to follow them in the light as well. That we make it clear precisely what we will tolerate from our leadership — and what we won’t. That we snuff out bluster once and for all.

Our future depends on it. No more. No less.

The stakes are high. Let’s make sure we meet them.

Righteous Resonance

There’s nothing I could say.

Chances are, these five words have crossed our mind on occasion.

For no matter how outgoing or socially adept we are, there are instances where communication fails us. Where words seem wholly inadequate.

This could be at moments of great elation. It could be at times of extreme shock. Or it could be in periods of profound sorrow.

I remember being speechless in the aftermath of 9/11. I recalled the events of that day viscerally. And yet, I felt powerless to put those memories into words. It took more than a decade before I was finally able to share my story.

I don’t regret taking so long to find my voice. After all, I had been mere miles away from major tragedy — one which was unfolded during the age when I was most emotionally vulnerable. Trauma like that doesn’t just come out in the wash. It takes its time to heal.

But there have been other times where I’ve stayed quiet. Like so many others, I’ve had moments where I determined I couldn’t understand what others were dealing with. Moments where I stopped trying. Moments when I mistook absenteeism for action.

Those instances are far too frequent. And they fill me with regret.

 

Several times I week, I go for a run through my neighborhood before dawn. I devote my days to my profession, without fearing it will drive me to a hospital bed. And whenever I venture out of my home, the worst outcome I might face from a law enforcement officer is a speeding ticket.

These might seem like normal activities or expectations. But they’re actually signs of privilege.

I am not wealthy. But I am a man of great fortune. And while I enjoy the advantages this brings, I do so with great guilt.

For there are so many who have been dealt a brutal hand. Who have seen their lives threatened by two insidious cornerstones of our society — medical disease and racism.

These two strains poison the well of equity. For they each cast an uneven burden — one indiscriminately and another full of discrimination.

Both medical disease and racism can tear families apart. They can deny opportunities. And they can exacerbate the divides between us.

Those of us who haven’t experienced this devastation have no reference point for it. There’s no way to know how it feels to live with the weight of injustice crushing us. There’s no way to simulate what it’s like living in constant fear.

We are living in an alternative reality. The connection is lost. And with it, our empathy.

So, we delude ourselves into silence. We determine we have nothing useful to share with the afflicted, and we slowly fade into the background.

Often, we make such moves under the guise of respect. We determine that it would be improper to inject ourselves — and our privilege — into another’s suffering.

But there’s hardly anything more disrespectful than remaining quiet.

As I write this, both medical disease and racism are top of mind in our society.

They have both been present on our shores for more than 400 years. But they haven’t always captured our collective consciousness the way they have now.

For the events of recent months have been tragic.

A lethal virus has swept across America, claiming more than 100,000 lives and decimating minority populations. And a spate of incidents involving law enforcement and vigilantes has left several unarmed African-Americans dead.

The veil has been lifted on these systemic problems. And yet, those of us not directly affected by this round of devastation are falling back into old patterns.

We’re convincing ourselves that since we can’t relate, we can’t help. We’re focusing on saving face instead of saving lives.

I know these patterns because I’ve lived them.

As the virus intensified, I stayed silent — even as the reports of death poured in from coast to coasts. Then, as a spate racial violence spurred widespread protests, I kept myself muzzled.

But gradually, I came to my senses.

I checked in with my friends of color to see how they were, and how I could assist. I spoke candidly about inequity and my subtle role in perpetuating it. And I vowed to make changes in my own life that would make the lives of others that much less difficult.

All of these gestures were small. But they were far from trivial.

For instead of passively observing the problem, I was actively trying to be part of the solution. Instead of obsessing over words, I was putting my weight behind my actions.

These actions won’t bring back those who have already been lost. And on their own, they’ll do little to change the state of affairs.

After all, I am just one dot on a map. One data point out of 300 million.

But if more of those dots take the same small steps, it will build a movement. A movement that can support the more boisterous one making the headlines. A movement that can lead to a better future.

Lasting change doesn’t come from a singular voice.

Government officials, faith leaders and scientists might provide us with the tools to enact change. But it’s on us to take the ball and run with it.

Martin Luther King Jr. gave us the dream to end centuries of legalized segregation. Jonas Salk gave us the means to defeat polio.

But if the people hadn’t adopted Dr. King’s message, the Civil Rights Movement would have died in obscurity. If the people hadn’t taken Dr. Salk’s vaccine, polio would still be rampant today.

Not everyone who advocated for civil rights had to sit on the back of a city bus. Not everyone who got the polio vaccine had to watch a loved one wither away from the disease.

But they leaned in anyway. And they helped the world change for the better.

Now, as we face new challenges among familiar fronts, we should follow the path they blazed. Instead of focusing on what to say to make things better, we should focus on what we can do.

Regardless of our background, we have the chance to make a difference. Our actions can yield righteous resonance.

But all of this can only happen if we allow it to.

So, let us not be silent.

We might not have the perfect words to bridge the gap. But our actions speak volumes.