I recently listened to an October episode of the On Being podcast in which Mormon blogger Joanna Brooks gave an insider’s perspective on what many are referring to as America’s “Mormon Moment.” She described the Republican presidential race as a “white knuckle” experience for members of the LDS church who are grappling with big questions about their evolving faith in a very public way. When the interview turned to the subject of Mormon underwear she expressed good-natured frustration at our collective curiosity (and the endless ensuing string of underwear jokes.)
“Don’t ever read comments online,” she said in reference to the wisecracks, barbs, and suspicion that surround the misunderstood traditional garb. “There’s not a lot of good spiritual practice happening in comments online in big public venues.”
The statement resonated with me the moment I heard it. I often lament the coarsening of our online dialogue and its ramifications for our communication skills. Safe behind the anonymity of our pseudonyms and avatars, we have the freedom to say whatever we want. We can use words that drip with sarcasm and condescension. We can vehemently spout our opinions and excoriate our opponents, or we can belittle them with snide remarks.
Like the aftermath of a gruesome car accident, I usually find that I can’t look away from the heated string of comments that follows any article on politics, parenting, or popular culture. I regret that there is very little happening in the way of respectful conversation. And yet I have not yet learned how to look away.
This week I have watched with great interest as the online community has chimed in on a subject that is close to my heart. On both sides of the argument the claws are out, and the mud is primed for slinging. I am holding my breath as I watch it unfold, for I know that however inadvertently, I have a part to play in all of this.
This year I’ve engaged in an ongoing conversation with my students about the power of well-chosen words. Many of them find it difficult to speak and write about the nonverbal musical medium because they lack the vocabulary to describe their experience. I implore them to avoid the trite and formulaic conventions of what passes for contemporary music critique; to use words that say something. Understandably, they struggle. A small few have actively resisted my efforts to push them towards articulate writing and speech. They are more comfortable with vagueness and mediocrity in their musical language, and I can understand why. To write effectively about music requires, first and foremost, a depth of listening that is foreign to most of us. It requires a command of the technical terms that describe the craft as well as a considerable degree of emotional honesty. These are not easy skills to master. My job this year is to convince my students that the effort is worthwhile.
As a blogger, I spend a good deal of every day thinking about words: how to use them effectively. Which ones to avoid. What they say about me. Who is reading them. I’ve come to a few conclusions:
Words are powerful. Use them wisely.
When you do use them, sign your name.
When others use them, pay attention.
