Your words still have power

It happened to you not long ago: A friend you haven't seen in entirely too long was up and at it, ready to make plans. You talked to them for a while. You found a time and place that agreed with both of your schedules. They were so excited, and you were too - you've been missing each other deeply. The days passed, and there was a small voice in the back of your head that you ignored; one that said "They're going to flake. They always do."

Sure enough...

How about this: Work tasks have been a struggle to keep up with. You can never seem to get enough time alone during the day to complete the essential things, let alone get ahead. There are too many obstructions - too many sudden changes to stay on course. You bring it to a higher-up, someone you know has the ability to alleviate the situation. They promise to figure out a solution and get back to you with results.

You never hear about it again.

I'm starting to diagnose this common problem as "the inflation of words." People talk a lot - we make a lot of promises we may not be able to keep, we say a lot of things we don't really mean or understand, we engage in conversations and pretend to have insight on things we know next to nothing about. Oftentimes we don't even know the meanings of the words we use; even more rarely do we stop to think about what we mean before saying it. This is inflation much in the same way that the dollar expands: when too much money exists, money loses value. Words are everywhere in the same way, but their purchasing power is collapsing. It feels like nothing anyone says really matters. We’re left living in an era of linguistic inflation, and this is extremely dangerous.

It may feel hyperbolic to say that a friend flaking on plans or a coworker not rising to the task of supporting us is sinister, but these everyday, personal examples reflect something much larger happening simultaneously. When this pattern repeats at every level of society - and it does - it stops being a personal annoyance and starts becoming a cultural condition.

Take, for example, the Berlin International Film Festival, which prides itself on being "the most political of all the major film festivals" for its rich history in sparking deep conversation around social issues (especially in film) during tumultuous times. Film has always been an easy access point for viewers and creators alike to share their views and interpretations of reality through a shared experience. But this year at the festival, when asked about their thoughts on genocide, ICE, or the rise of fascism in the western world, nearly all directors, actors and producers either expressed distaste in being asked about such issues, or dodged the questions entirely. Neil Patrick Harris laughably whittled down a query about whether he'd consider his work "political" to talking about the weather. These incidents left such a bad taste in the mouths of the public that the festival's head released a statement attempting to defend the filmmakers. When that didn't go over well, instead of apologizing or admitting fault, she doubled-down.

The film festival may be the latest hot topic, but we can see this pattern in any facet of life if we look closely enough. I often think about the greenwashing of the fashion industry; in the late 2010s it became trendy to care about the environment, for people to earnestly try participating more in "slow fashion," committing to buying only from brands that could ensure they had minimal negative effect on the environment or resource usage. But there is no widely recognized seal or certification to prove that these brands are actually doing what they say they're doing. Most people will not look deeply enough into whether the brand is honest; it is enough to take "carbon neutral" or "recycled materials" at face value.

When the leader of the nation promises cheaper groceries, or to get rid of all the bad people, or end wars overseas? Don't get me started.

I want people to start treating this behavior like fraud. Yes, I want it to be taken that seriously. As an English teacher, I know how much power words have - and I also know how few people actually believe that to be true. Some days I find myself faltering in it, too. But one thing is undeniable, and that's that language is one of the few tools humans have to build reality together. Laws are words. Marriage vows are words. Pinky promises are words (with a fun ritual). And if we start to believe that those words are largely meaningless, what actually holds our society together? If words stop binding us, what happens to us? This deeply scares me.

I want our word to be taken seriously because I do not want to see us all fall into jadedness, eventually deepening into full nihilism. If this is the moment you are beginning to realize the amount of fraudulence, of instability and avoidance that plagues our greater world, I hate being the one to get you to see it. But I need you to understand why it feels like nothing anyone says actually matters - therefore why nothing we say matters, and our efforts don't matter. When leaders break promises, when institutions dodge accountability, when companies make unverifiable claims, it gives the individual permission to ghost, to flake, to lie, to utilize noncommittal niceties. Even when someone is sincere in this environment, skepticism is the first response to it. Because with so many others backing away from the words they say, why would anyone actually mean what they say?

It's a shame that we find ourselves in the collapse of trust, because there are still so many people who are good. Who seek and abide by truth. Who will go to the ends of the Earth to find it. I believe that those who will have read this far are those very same people. There may, unfortunately but realistically be truth in the fact that our words don't matter anymore. That is precisely why our personal integrity matters more than ever - because when institutional trust collapses, interpersonal trust becomes sacred.

Is it possible that our word can be a form of resistance? I'd like to believe so, when similar sentiments exist for joy, for parties, for home-cooked meals, for learning the names of our neighbors. Small things build up all the time, and they become their own form of power. I do believe that standing by our word can be powerful enough to change the tide. Especially at this critical tipping point, where we see just how pervasive it is to lie, being the harbingers of truth feels almost like a divine order...except it's not actually hard to do.

We can practice by only making promises we actually intend to keep. By saying "I can't commit to that" instead of faking enthusiasm. By following up when we said we would. By correcting ourselves publicly when we realize we were wrong. By refusing the vague corporate-style language in our personal lives - when someone tries to use it on us, we ask "what do you mean by that?" Sure, all of this is certainly easier said than done. As much as it matters to me, I slip up all the time. I don't interrogate my higher-ups or badger them for honesty. I don't always get back to my friends' texts in a timely manner. As much as I hate to do it, I still occasionally bail on plans last minute or without explanation. This isn't a practice of perfection...nothing can be, actually. I'm not asking us to fix the entire world. I'm only asking that we keep truth in language alive in the spaces we can control.

We'll never individually be able to force institutions to mean what they say, but we can decide that in our homes, our friendships, our classrooms, and our communities, words still bind. Our work won't begin in government buildings or boardrooms - instead, it will be the next time we actually show up when we said we would.