The Ukrainian artillery team was moving into position in the northern Donbas region, along the front line near Izium. The soldiers did not even have time to orient their guns before they were found by a Russian drone.

The first Russian 152 mm shells – fired by howitzers more than 10 miles away – landed near the Ukrainian guns. As the artillery team ran for safety, its vehicle was hit and set on fire.

The driver, badly wounded, veered straight into bushes as shells rained down. The survivors escaped on foot, across open fields.

Roman, a young artilleryman with a short patchy beard, recalled the events from a darkened military hospital room in Kramatorsk, his eyes glazed and an intravenous drip in his left arm, as he recovered from blast concussion. He gave only his first name, in keeping with Ukrainian military rules for wounded soldiers.

The biggest surprise for him? “That I am still alive here, after that shelling,” he says listlessly, closing his eyes and lying back on his bed.

Roman’s story, recounted last Friday, is emblematic of the new focus, style, and demands of the war in Ukraine, in what Russia calls Phase 2 of its invasion.

Since mid-April, Russia has re-concentrated on conquering the industrial heartland of the Donbas, made up of the eastern regions of Donetsk and Luhansk, where Russian-backed separatists have fought Ukrainian forces for eight years.

The new battlefield has required that Ukrainian forces demonstrate resolve, patience, and renewed confidence – the latter born of already defeating the Russian advance on the capital, Kyiv – as they seek to hold their ground despite Russia’s numerical superiority and overwhelming firepower.

Russia has escalated its shelling in an apparent bid to advance on the eastern region both from the Izium axis in the north and up from Kherson and Zaporizhzhia in the south. The pincers movement seeks to cut off some of Ukraine’s most battle-hardened forces – and perhaps enable Moscow to declare some gains before its annual May 9 Victory Day military parade at the Kremlin, which celebrates its defeat of German forces in World War II.

Roman’s story of survival may be a surprise for Russia, too. Ukrainian forces have given up little ground despite the intensified bombardment along eastern Ukraine’s entire 300-mile front.

In Roman’s unit the driver is dead, the commander is in intensive care, another artilleryman has shrapnel wounds, and the rest are concussed, like Roman.

Yet he says that despite the “really incredible” numbers of Russian shells, “the enemy is stopped, and they cannot advance because we are defending ourselves; we are holding our lines.”

Race against time

In many ways, the fight for the Donbas is a race against time: Can entrenched Ukrainian forces withstand the unrelenting onslaught until enough extra American and European military hardware arrives to help thwart the Russian advance, and potentially mount a counterattack?

Both sides have drawn lessons from Russia’s failed advance in late February on Kyiv, where a 40-mile-long convoy of Russian armor was smashed by stealthy Ukrainian anti-tank teams and precise artillery and drone strikes. That forced Russia to withdraw, and at least suspend its ambition to occupy all of Ukraine.

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

A Ukrainian tank is carried through the town of Druzhkivka, Ukraine, April 25, 2022. Russia is stepping up its offensive in the contested eastern Donbas region, where Russian-backed separatists started a rebellion in 2014, resulting in an eight-year war with Ukrainian forces.

By contrast, in the Donbas – where much of the fighting is in flat, open fields, unlike the forested ground around the capital – Russian troops have advanced incrementally, in smaller groups, and always after relentless bombardment.

“Their artillery never, never stops,” says the deputy commander of Ukraine’s Donbas Battalion, a major who only gave the nickname Kot (Cat). He spoke in Sloviansk with a balaclava covering his face, as an air raid siren wailed across the city.

“They are changing their strategy, but it is still what we would expect from Russia,” says Major Kot. There are no more long, vulnerable columns: “They are sending recon units, then shell with artillery, and then send tanks,” he says. “If those tanks are destroyed, they send more tanks.”

Infantry hardly plays a role. “You see how many of them have died already, and they are not motivated,” says Major Kot. “Russia underestimated us; they don’t know how much we have been preparing.”

Russia’s battlefield pressure may be improving Ukrainian capabilities.

“Of course, shelling has intensified ... but the Ukrainian army is also getting more experienced; they know how to fight, how to protect our people, and are getting better at defending,” says Maj. Stepan Andriytsiv, director of a brigade medical unit with a Ph.D. in medical science, who is now at the Kramatorsk hospital.

The Ukrainian military admits its recent losses in the east have been “significant,” but claims that Russian casualties have been “colossal.”

Jacob Turcotte/Staff

Russian advances “slow and uneven”

The United States assessed last week that Russian troops were making “slow and uneven” progress in the Donbas, often of no more than “several kilometers ... on any given day, just because they don’t want to run out too far ahead of their logistics and sustainment lines,” one senior U.S. official told journalists.

But in its daily reports, the Institute for the Study of War noted that Russian forces made no confirmed ground attacks on Monday or Tuesday. It said a Ukrainian artillery strike April 30 on a Russian command headquarters near Izium has slowed the Russian push, and noted that, farther north, a Ukrainian counterattack Monday pushed Russian forces back 25 miles east of Kharkiv.

President Joe Biden called last week for Congress to approve a further $33 billion in military aid to Ukraine, much of it for the kind of weaponry meant to defeat Russian artillery and rocket attacks. Among other contributions, Germany in recent days said it would also send seven of its top-line 155 mm howitzers, which have a range of 25 miles.

“We really have a lack of heavy artillery,” says Ukrainian Sgt. Viktor Davydov, still wired and speaking quickly of Ukraine’s needs, after returning to the town of Druzhkivka from the front, where he says Russian artillery strikes continue “24/7.”

“When Russia sends incoming 200 shells, we send back 10 shells,” says Sergeant Davydov, who wears sunglasses, a pistol on his thigh, and a skull shoulder patch in the blue and yellow colors of the Ukrainian flag.

His job is to take freshly mobilized men to the front “to show them not to be afraid,” and to teach them “how to dig in and make very effective defensive positions” to compensate for the firepower imbalance with Russia.

“I tell them that all they have to do is hold our line, and not retreat,” says Sergeant Davydov. The cost can be high. The sergeant recalls 10 recruits in late April being sent to him one night at 11 p.m. By 6 a.m. two were dead and three wounded by Russian artillery.

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

Ukrainian army medical units receive a wounded soldier from the northern part of Ukraine's Donbas region amid heavy Russian artillery bombardment along the front lines, at a medical facility in Kramatorsk, Ukraine, April 29, 2022.

At the Kramatorsk hospital, stretchers line the wall where wounded soldiers are brought from the front, and the facility generator and windows are sandbagged. Major Andriytsiv speaks during a pause in the arrival of casualties, as shells explode in the distance.

Despite the surge in Russian attacks, the number of wounded rose just 10% from March to April, the doctor says.

“Every day of us fighting and resisting Russian aggression makes the Ukrainian army and the Ukrainian nation stronger – every day,” he says.

Russian military surprises

But Russian forces have been learning, too, and the stories of wounded Ukrainian troops now often include a Russian military surprise.

Tank driver Maksym, for example, sits quietly in a hospital bed, eyes vacant, his tank battalion tattoo on his arm, and the Russian tank ambush that left him concussed occupying his thoughts.

His unit entered a small village, expecting two Russian tanks and an armored personnel carrier, but instead found 10 Russian vehicles.

“We were ambushed. ... The Russians were ready,” recalls Maksym. When he first saw the Russians, they were less than 70 yards away. “For tanks, it’s very close,” he says. His tank took a direct hit, but was robust enough to escape and rescue another crew whose tank was wrecked.

Also surprised was Serhii, a machine gunner in the Territorial Defense Forces. Both his legs are now in casts below the knee, after being peppered by shrapnel when his unit was struck by Russian artillery while trying to dig deeper trenches.

“We were trying to make a better position,” says Serhii, who was a worker in a carbon fiber factory and also fought in the Donbas in 2015. Serhii was wounded by the first of three Russian shells, which landed without warning Friday. Another man was struck in the back. But the Ukrainian position remains.

“I am not a military expert, but I think that our boys will hold the line,” he says.

Many Ukrainians stationed at the front expect more will be achieved.

“Everyone is in the mood to push the Russians all the way out,” says Oleksandr Tsunenko, a coal mine mechanic who has been home from the Donbas front just one day in the past 11 months.

“Why are they shelling us with rockets and artillery, and not moving forward?” asks the soldier with a worn assault rifle and fingernails dirty from the front. “They know if they advance, they will be defeated – that’s why they are afraid.”

Reporting for this story was supported by Oleksandr Naselenko.

Evan Vucci/AP

President Joe Biden speaks on security assistance to Ukraine during a visit to a Lockheed Martin facility which manufactures Javelin anti-tank missiles, May 3, 2022. Washington and its allies have raised their ambitions and now aim for a Ukrainian victory over Russia.

A seismic shift is underway in the U.S.-led coalition’s Ukraine strategy. The goal is no longer just to help the Ukrainians hold off Vladimir Putin’s invasion. It is to help them win the war outright.

The allies recognize that such a victory is far from assured, and would come neither easily nor quickly.

They also know the policy shift leaves key questions unanswered, not least exactly what a Ukrainian victory would look like. And it carries potential risks. Mr. Putin could resort to chemical or even tactical nuclear weapons, or respond to increased Western support for Ukraine by launching strikes against neighboring NATO states.

But the allies’ new resolve rests on twin pillars: the growing sense in recent weeks that Ukraine can win, and a fundamental political judgment that it is imperative for the future of Ukraine, Europe, and the wider world that it does win.

And wins in a way that Mr. Putin is seen to have lost badly enough that he will never threaten European security again.

The allies have come to view the invasion as a gut-check moment in what U.S. President Joe Biden has described as the 21^st -century contest between democracy and autocracy.

The Kremlin’s aim, to erase Ukraine as an independent state, and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s response, to frame the war as a wider battle for democracy, have been clear since the outset.

But the scorched-earth bombardment of Ukrainian towns and cities, and alleged Russian war crimes, have hardened the allies’ consensus that they need to do everything they can to ensure Mr. Putin’s aggression ends in definitive failure.

John Minchillo/AP

Zhang Jun, China's ambassador to the United Nations, votes with Russia during a meeting of the UN Security Council, on March 23, 2022. Ukraine's allies are stepping up military aid to Kyiv, hoping for a victory over Russia, in a bid to convince Moscow and Beijing that western democracies are not, after all, in decline.

The aim is to send an unmistakable message. It is intended, first and foremost, for Mr. Putin, but also for his key autocratic ally, Chinese leader Xi Jinping, and the dozens of leaders worldwide who have so far hesitated to denounce the invasion.

This new determination to help the Ukrainians win the war is intended as a frontal rebuff to the shared Russian-Chinese assumption that Western liberal democracy is in terminal decline.

It is meant to drive home a diametrically different message: that Ukraine’s allies are ready, willing, united, and effective enough to inflict a heavy cost on Mr. Putin for his attempt to terrorize and subdue a European democracy.

Still, converting that resolve into a clear-cut Russian defeat remains a complex and possibly perilous challenge.

The first stage is now in full flow.

Last week, U.S. Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin hosted representatives of more than 40 allies in the first of monthly meetings to boost delivery of a wider array of weaponry, ammunition, vehicles, and other military equipment.

The guest list included not just NATO partners and other key allies like Australia, South Korea, and Japan. Also represented were several Mideast countries that had so far tried to avoid taking sides: Israel and Jordan, Qatar and Tunisia.

“Ukraine clearly believes that it can win,” Mr. Austin told the conference, held at a U.S. air base in Germany. “And so does everyone here.”

The allies are already delivering new supplies of artillery, armored vehicles, and drones. Britain this week announced additional aid, reportedly including jamming devices, radar and night-vision equipment, anti-ship missiles, and mobile anti-aircraft systems.

They have also promised Ukraine advanced anti-artillery weapons, and there appears a chance they might provide aircraft as well, as Mr. Zelenskyy has been urging.

But even if all that allows the Ukrainians to turn the battlefield tide, there’s not yet a clear idea of what would constitute the kind of victory – and Russian defeat – the allies are hoping for.

At a bare minimum that would seem to mean pushing the Russians back to the areas of Ukraine they controlled when the invasion began, in Crimea and the eastern Donbas. Many Ukrainians would want to go further, and recapture those regions too.

Yet the largest, and most delicate, imponderable is how Mr. Putin will respond to the allies’ determination to help the Ukrainians prevail.

Russia’s state media have already begun arguing that the conflict is now between NATO and Moscow, with the risk of going nuclear.

Allied leaders still see that as saber-rattling, a reflection not of strength but of weakness.

But they know that Mr. Putin would not easily accept defeat and that, short of turning to a nuclear weapon, he could try to bait NATO troops into direct involvement in the war.

That may represent the most worrisome concern for the allies.

One reason they have felt able to step up their support for Kyiv is the widespread grassroots outrage in Europe and the United States at Mr. Putin’s invasion, along with sympathy for the Ukrainians.

But a U.S. poll found last weekend that while a wide majority of Americans favored backing Ukraine, there was a major caveat – colored, no doubt, by the memory of wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

An overwhelming majority – more than 7 in 10 – opposed sending any American soldiers into Ukraine.

Call it the $44 billion tweet. When the conservative news satire The Babylon Bee tweeted a joke that Twitter deemed offensive, it inadvertently triggered Elon Musk’s multibillion-dollar bid to buy the social media platform, which the company has accepted. 

The backstory? USA Today had nominated Adm. Rachel Levine, assistant secretary for health for the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, as one of its Women of the Year. Ms. Levine is transgender. In response, The Babylon Bee – whose motto is “Fake news you can trust” – named Ms. Levine its Man of the Year. To some, The Babylon Bee’s riposte was an assertion of biological fact. To others, it was hate speech. Twitter suspended The Babylon Bee account in March. 

Mr. Musk, dismayed by Twitter’s decision, reached out to the Bee’s CEO. Shortly afterward, Mr. Musk initiated steps to buy Twitter outright. The entrepreneur behind Tesla and SpaceX has also made a point of asserting that free speech should be Twitter’s governing principle. 

Mr. Musk’s proclamation sparked a backlash exemplified by Washington Post columnist Max Boot, who tweeted: “He seems to believe that on social media anything goes. For democracy to survive, we need more content moderation, not less.”

Mr. Musk’s bid to buy Twitter, which functions as a digital town square, has exposed a widening rift in the culture of free speech. On one side are institutional gatekeepers who favor top-down control of speech on social media, filtering out abhorrent rhetoric and false information that could sway how citizens vote. On the other side is Mr. Musk’s classical liberal vision for speech – once predominant in Silicon Valley, but no longer – which prizes competition within a marketplace of ideas.  

Both the far right and the far left increasingly favor top-down curbs on speech that they believe to be harmful and dangerous. The right favors legislative bans on content in school curricula and libraries. The left favors campus speech codes and prohibitions on hate speech, including on social media platforms. Twitter, a relatively small platform, wields outsize influence as a hub for journalists. MSNBC host Mehdi Hasan accused Mr. Musk of handing “one of the world’s most influential messaging machines” to the far right.

At the heart of the debate over Twitter’s model for content moderation lies a deeper question: Is it possible to engender greater trust in online information and discourse?

“What I think we have happening in society now is primarily that there is a new abundance of speech,” says Jeff Jarvis, director of the Tow-Knight Center for Entrepreneurial Journalism at the City University of New York Graduate School of Journalism. “The people who were not represented in mainstream mass media now have a seat at the table of the negotiation of norms in society. Those who held that table in their control resent that.”  

Similar battles have played out whenever a new technology, such as the Gutenberg printing press, enables speech that threatens established institutions. As another example, Mr. Jarvis cites the alarmed response of the newspaper industry to the advent of radio. Twitter, founded in 2006, hosts everything from sports to pornography to “Caturday” photos to, well, an account titled @BoredElonMusk that parodies the multibillionaire. (Sample tweet: “Do astronauts put their phone in spaceship mode?”)

“The Barbarians are at the Gate” 

But some believe that Twitter’s media and politics sector has been monopolized by institutional gatekeepers. The day after Mr. Musk offered to buy Twitter, he tweeted, “The Barbarians are at the Gate.” The platform – whose employees’ political donations were 98.7% for Democrats – has been accused of covertly suppressing the visibility of non-progressive viewpoints.

“I’m on the left, but I can see it,” says Batya Ungar-Sargon, deputy opinion editor at Newsweek and author of “Bad News: How Woke Media Is Undermining Democracy.” She recalls that Twitter once censored her tweet about a debate that Newsweek hosted on whether climate change is an emergency. “We weren’t even questioning, ‘Is climate change happening?’ Both sides admit that, of course, the climate is getting warmer. ... For asking whether it’s an emergency, we got censored.”

Twitter’s gatekeepers try to control everything from banned content (child pornography, for instance), to rooting out state disinformation (including in the war in Ukraine), to issuing credentials (to distinguish real accounts from fake or parody ones). But one of Twitter’s most controversial decisions apparently still rankles Mr. Musk. Several weeks prior to the 2020 election, Twitter suspended the New York Post for reporting on the contents of a laptop belonging to Hunter Biden, son of the Democratic presidential nominee, that it alleged showed corrupt business deals in Ukraine and China. Most corporate news organizations and online platforms, including Facebook, believed that the computer was Russian disinformation aimed at skewing the election. This year, The New York Times tacitly verified the legitimacy of the laptop. At the time, Twitter defended its 16-day suspension by citing its policy against sharing hacked and private information. Last week, Mr. Musk tweeted, “Suspending the Twitter account of a major news organization for publishing a truthful story was obviously incredibly inappropriate.” 

The multibillionaire has stated that, for Twitter to deserve trust, it must be politically neutral. The entrepreneur cites the First Amendment as a model he’d like to emulate. As for content moderation standards, Mr. Musk will have to contend with a new law in the European Union aimed at regulating harmful speech on social media. 

“People are not hearing Elon Musk’s outcries of free speech as an outcry for free speech,” says Karen Kovacs North, director of the Annenberg Program on Online Communities at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. “People are hearing that Elon Musk is using the concept of free speech to allow people to come to Twitter and say things that have previously been stopped or controlled because they are hateful or hurtful in some way.”

Free speech or online bullying?

Although Twitter’s terms of service forbid glorification of violence, targeted harassment of individuals, or hateful conduct, the platform is still rife with abusive behavior.

“It’s still an environment where Black women, in particular, queer folk, differently abled folk, are already experiencing high levels of toxicity,” says André Brock, an associate professor of media studies at Georgia Tech and author of “Distributed Blackness: African American Cybercultures.” “There will be an uptick in harassment, toxicity, misogyny, and racism, in part because many folk who had left the platform to go to spaces like Gab or Truth Social … [are] coming back to Twitter because they feel they won’t have to face the same consequences for their speech.”

Mr. Musk isn’t afraid to test the boundaries of taste and decorum on Twitter. He once compared Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau to Adolf Hitler. Quick to mock “woke” viewpoints, he tweeted a meme that said, “Netflix waiting for the war to end to make a movie about a Black Ukraine guy falls in love with a transgender Russian.” He has also sparred with the Securities and Exchange Commission over what the agency claims are several instances of inaccurate information about Tesla that boosted the company’s stock prices. A judge ruled against his suit to have the consent decree removed just last week.

Ms. Ungar-Sargon of Newsweek is concerned that Mr. Musk may tamp down speech that interferes with his business interests, including Tesla’s ties to China. This year, Tesla opened a dealership in Xinjiang, China, despite widespread reports that the province has imprisoned Uyghur Muslims in “reeducation” camps. 

Another high-profile question: Given that Mr. Musk says he favors “timeouts” rather than permanent bans on Twitter, will Donald Trump be allowed back on his favorite bully pulpit? The former president was banned from Twitter “due to the risk of further incitement of violence” following the Jan. 6 riot at the Capitol.

Many on the progressive left argue that disinformation on Twitter is potentially dangerous and thus beyond the safe limits of acceptable speech. After all, Mr. Trump’s claims that the 2020 U.S. presidential election was stolen through voting fraud fueled the angry crowd – which included white supremacists and QAnon conspiracy theorists – that stormed the Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021. More recently, the platform has clamped down on COVID-19 misinformation that it believes is harmful to public health. For instance, feminist Naomi Wolf was ousted from Twitter following a series of tweets including the claim that mRNA vaccines are a software platform that can receive “uploads.”

Those types of views on matters such as public health “should be tamped down and it’s within the right and responsibility of a platform to do so,” says Mr. Jarvis. 

The battle to combat misinformation isn’t easy. If Twitter gets it wrong, it risks losing public trust. During the pandemic, Twitter censored heterodox views – from the hypothesis that the virus originated in a Chinese laboratory to questions about the efficacy of cloth masks – that later became more widely accepted. Martin Kulldorff, a founder of the Great Barrington Declaration and former member of the Vaccine Safety Subgroup of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, was temporarily suspended for claiming that vaccines are important for older, high-risk people but not for children. Indeed, Mr. Kulldorff says that Twitter has hosted misinformation disputing the effectiveness of natural immunity. Yet the scientist doesn’t believe that Twitter should censor erroneous views, because the scientific process necessarily involves argument. 

“What is the point of having people that you think are wrong or maybe even liars be given permission to share the same space in the public square with you? And the answer is, because you know what? He may be right or she may be right,” says Martin Gurri, author of “The Revolt of the Public and the Crisis of Authority in the New Millennium.” “The only way we find out what alternative possibilities there are to the world we’re interpreting is by hearing people that have radically different perspectives from ours.”

Times Square, not the NYT

Mr. Jarvis, for one, believes it’s time to shift discussion away from the bad content and concede that it’s always been present and always will be. 

“Twitter is not The New York Times. It’s Times Square,” says the media pundit and journalism professor. “If you walk through Times Square … you will hear smart people and stupid people. Right things, wrong things. We feel no compulsion to go through there and correct everything.”

If anything, Mr. Jarvis says that efforts to debunk bad speech only end up amplifying it. A better approach, in his view, would be to treat such speech as spam. Twitter allows one to curate what one sees and doesn’t see by muting or blocking other users. 

Even so, Twitter’s algorithms may amplify some content that some may object to. An internal study conducted by the company across a range of countries in 2020 found that its algorithm was biased toward recommending right-leaning political content. In a bid to boost public trust in Twitter, Mr. Musk says he is keen to allow transparency of its algorithms. 

Ultimately, efforts to restore a modicum of confidence in the institution may have to start at the top.

“Trust is a human thing, not a technological thing. I almost hesitate to use the word, but it’s almost a moral quality,” says Mr. Gurri. “You trust somebody who you think is good, somebody who’s not trying to fool you, or who is not trying to feather their own nest, or who’s not just an empty suit. ... To the extent that our elites learn to be, number one, good characters, and number two, project themselves as good characters in the digital world, trust will be restored.”

I am a university professor. I make my living teaching and doing research at a liberal arts school in Southern California. Last year, I took a brave step: I decided to become a student and signed up for online Arabic classes.

I joined an online language course offered by a company based in Cairo. Full disclosure: This was my third attempt at learning Arabic over the past 10 years. Arabic is a notoriously hard language, given its expansive vocabulary. A Moroccan feminist scholar told me once that there are 50 words for “love” in Arabic – a fascinating and intimidating fact. My earlier attempts at mastering synonyms had proved her right. 

“Salaam,” I said, greeting my online instructor in the little Arabic I knew. “I am Sabith. Nice to meet you.” 

“Ahlan, ya Sabith” (“Hello, O Sabith”), replied my new teacher, and thus began our journey as student and teacher.

He was Cairo-based and about my own age. We would meet a few times a month to practice conversation and go over grammar. I’d do the assigned reading in the textbook, as well as some writing, and we’d discuss the chapter in our Zoom calls. During our conversation practice, he also shared details of his life, including his struggle to care for two young children and older parents in the midst of a pandemic. 

The initial awkwardness of the first few lessons gave way to more familiarity and ease. I stopped feeling self-conscious about the fact that I was a teacher myself – with a doctorate, no less, and a history of unsuccessful Arabic instruction. Past failures had to be put behind if I were to learn and grow, I kept telling myself. After a while, though, I opened up about my own background and my struggles with Arabic.

“We are all students, my friend,” my teacher said. “Don’t worry; I am here to teach you. You are a very hardworking student and it is my pleasure to help you.”

I had reassured my students with similar sentiments in my own teaching. It was odd to hear them directed at me.

The tables had turned. Now I, as a student, was the vulnerable one, seeking help. I had to be humble as I struggled to learn a language. 

I had more to learn about being a teacher as well.

“You are intelligent today,” my teacher would often say when I spoke well or used varied vocabulary or expressions.

When I heard these four words for the first time, I felt genuinely happy. A few words from an authority figure had made my day. It truly surprised me that such simple praise could so boost my confidence. I was feeling more and more confident of my ability to speak and understand Arabic, in fact. 

That’s when I realized how little I had praised my own students.

I was wary of giving praise. Too much of it, I thought, made students complacent, even lazy. One must be careful in doling out compliments. Now, as a student, I saw things differently. I had a change of heart. 

If I – a university professor with a Ph.D. – felt reassured and validated with a few words of encouragement, imagine what impact my words could have on my students, impressionable young people who were looking to carve out a career in a daunting environment?

As I continued to learn Arabic and take baby steps toward greater proficiency, I also learned more about what it’s like to be a student. I have taken to heart the example of my Arabic teacher, who sincerely reminds me, quite regularly, “You are intelligent today.” I marvel at the effect that has on my well-being.

Every time I grade my own students or evaluate their work critically (as I must), his example comes to mind, and I remember to pause and praise them publicly – every so often – even as I offer constructive criticism.

I praise as often and as sincerely as I can, knowing that these simple words can mean a lot. They can save someone from a bad day, as my Arabic teacher’s words have done for me. Words matter. And now I choose to be more thoughtful about how I use them.

AP

The Supreme Court building is seen in Washington May 4 as security measure are enhanced on the perimeter following protests.

Outside the U.S. Supreme Court this week, passions ran high over the leak of a draft opinion that – if final – would overturn Roe v. Wade. Nationwide, those on either side of the landmark 1973 ruling quickly jumped into the bear pit of political combat over abortion law. Inside the court, however, Chief Justice John Roberts did what judges often do for themselves: He tried to calm passions with a reminder of how an independent court must operate – with cool and collegial deliberation.

As expected, he ordered an internal investigation into who released the draft ruling, which was written by Justice Samuel Alito. In the spirit of honesty, he confirmed the draft is authentic. But he also assured the public that the 3-month-old draft “does not represent a decision by the Court or the final position of any member” in a case involving a Mississippi law restricting abortion. A final ruling is expected by July.

Then the chief justice wrote that the leaker’s possible intent to “undermine the integrity of operations ... will not succeed.” That reflects quite a confidence in the quality of the court’s workforce. The nine justices, their law clerks, and the court’s permanent employees alike are “intensely loyal to the institution and dedicated to the rule of law,” he affirmed.

The leaked draft was a rare case of the veil of secrecy being ripped off the court’s internal workings. Such drafts are often passed among the justices for comment without fear of publicity or to ensure justices don’t play to “the home court crowd,” as the late Ruth Bader Ginsburg put it. This allows for compromise and self-correction. Restoring the integrity of that process has probably already started.

The justices may now also become more diligent in ensuring their discussions on cases – around a rectangular table in an oak-paneled room – are done in confidence. Their work requires free-flowing deliberations out of the public eye. That helps promote patient reflection and greater humility in weighing the law, the facts, and each other’s views rather than planting themselves in ideological corners.

“People go around the table. They discuss the question in the case,” Justice Stephen Breyer told CNN last year. “People say what they think. And they say it politely, and they say it professionally.”

The justices do bring a measure of accountability by signing the published opinions, either in the majority or in a dissent. And their questioning of lawyers in a case is recorded for public use. But in insisting on privacy during internal deliberations, they hope they can better reason and listen together. This type of conversation offers an antidote to political divisions in the United States. That may be why the chief justice was so quick to assure Americans that the integrity of the court’s operation is intact.