On the Weight of Words

When No One Can Agree on the Truth

by

Words assault us, their meanings shifting under the weight of a world that no longer shares common truths. We see this on screens and hear it in conversations: the same events described in opposing terms, filtered through the lens of allegiance, history, and ideology. The war in Ukraine, the violence in Gaza, the political unrest that seems to have engulfed America—all of it refracted into multiple truths, depending on who holds the microphone. Words have become more than a means of communication. They are weapons and instruments of manipulation; occasionally, they are all we have left when everything else collapses. As such, the complexity of language demands our attention.

I think of the war in Ukraine and how it has been framed in words. “Invasion” versus “liberation,” “occupation” versus “defense.” These words, used interchangeably by various actors, contain multitudes within them. A word like “sovereignty” seems straightforward, yet it unravels under scrutiny. Who is sovereign when sovereignty has been traded away for years of dependence on foreign powers? “Peace” is perhaps the most deceptive word of all. For whom? At what cost? Even as bombs fall, peace is invoked by those sitting far from the blast radius, those who will never know the consequences of negotiating with an aggressor. Words in times of war are not merely descriptors; they are moral verdicts, positions in a narrative that seeks to justify and condemn in equal measure.

Then there is Gaza, where words take on even more significance. “Occupation,” “freedom,” “resistance”—all of these terms are loaded with history, blood, and ideology. One person’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter. To say “Israel” in one context is to invoke the Holocaust, a nation carved out of historical trauma; to say it in another is to summon images of an oppressive state that denies Palestinians their basic humanity. To say “Hamas” is to conjure a violent militant group to some and a legitimate government to others. Words fail us, or rather, they succeed in their failure because they are used not to explain but to divide. Complexity is not welcome here; it never is in the heat of conflict. Yet, in these moments, complexity is most needed, where the nuance in language could potentially reveal the human beneath the ideology, the individual beneath the collective blame.

The battle over words is no less intense in America, though the violence is often political rather than military. When the insurrection at the Capitol on January 6, 2021, is called a “riot” by some and an “uprising” or “patriotism” by others, the meaning of violence becomes muddled. Was it a defense of democracy or its undoing? Are these people “protesters” or “domestic terrorists”? We throw the words around casually without considering their weight. But the weight is there, pressing down on the social fabric, ripping it apart with every utterance.

On social media, where every word is stripped of context and amplified beyond measure, we find ourselves trapped in an endless cycle of competing narratives. The “truths” we encounter are a matter of perspective. But are they? When the stakes are so high, can we believe in “mutually assured discernment”? The multiple meanings of words reflect not nuance but a world that has lost the ability to agree on the most basic facts.

To speak of war as if it is a chess game, to talk of political violence as if it is a mere disagreement, is to strip away the humanity that lies beneath these conflicts. Language must be treated with care, with the knowledge that it has the power to build, destroy, unite, or divide.

Words matter, not despite their diversity, but because of it. They matter precisely because they carry history, emotion, and power. Our world thrives on absolutes, where political and military victories are measured in body counts, and the ability to hold multiple truths and see the layers within language is an act of resistance. It is not a comfortable position to occupy. It requires an understanding that words like “war” and “peace” are not static and constantly evolve as they pass through the hands of those who use them.

In Ukraine, as in Gaza, as in America, language is the first and final battlefield. To control the narrative is to prevent the outcome. But to truly understand the complexity of these conflicts, we must embrace the ambiguity that language offers. We must be willing to admit that “peace” for one is “oppression” for another, that “freedom” for one side means a denial of it for the other. This is not to excuse the violence or to fall into the trap of relativism but to understand that words, in all their diversity, can reflect the reality that human lives are not reducible to simple dichotomies.

The words we choose define how we see the world and, more importantly, how we act within it. To speak of war as if it is a chess game, to talk of political violence as if it is a mere disagreement, is to strip away the humanity that lies beneath these conflicts. Language must be treated with care, with the knowledge that it has the power to build, destroy, unite, or divide.

As “truths” compete for supremacy, I believe the complexity of language offers a path through chaos. It reminds us that the world is not simple, that people are not simple, and that the words we use to describe them must reflect that complexity. If we can hold on and resist the urge to simplify, reduce, and manipulate, perhaps we can find a way to understand one another, even amid war, violence, and unrest. Perhaps words can lead us, if not to peace, then at least to understanding.

And understanding might be the closest thing we have left to hope in times like these.