I don't like country music, but I don't mean to denigrate those

Hear the words of Bob Newhart, a master of wit and gentle laughter, who declared: “I don't like country music, but I don't mean to denigrate those who do. And for the people who like country music, denigrate means 'put down'.” Though spoken in jest, as is the way of comedians, this saying carries a wisdom hidden beneath its humor. For in these words, Newhart shows us the delicate balance between honesty and kindness, between preference and respect, between difference and unity. He reminds us that it is possible to speak truth without cruelty, to disagree without division.

The first wisdom in this saying lies in the admission: “I don't like country music.” It is a confession of taste, a simple truth that reveals the humanity of the speaker. All men and women carry their preferences—some delight in symphonies, others in folk tunes, some in paintings, others in stone. There is no shame in difference, for diversity of taste is the garden of human culture. Yet how often do men turn their preferences into weapons, ridiculing others for loving what they do not? Here, Newhart rejects such pride, reminding us that honesty need not become insult.

Then comes the second truth: “I don't mean to denigrate those who do.” Here lies the heart of wisdom. To denigrate is not simply to disagree, but to scorn, to belittle, to cast another's joy into the dust. Newhart teaches us that respect must walk beside honesty. One may dislike without despising, reject without humiliating, differ without dishonoring. This is a lesson much forgotten in the clamor of human debate, yet it is essential for peace among people.

And finally, the jest: “And for the people who like country music, denigrate means 'put down.'” At once humorous and sharp, this line reveals yet another truth. For it is not only a play upon words, but a subtle reminder that communication must be clear, and that humor, when wielded gently, can bridge differences rather than deepen them. By laughing together, even at the expense of our preferences, we find common ground. Humor disarms pride and allows wisdom to enter where argument would be refused.

History offers us a mirror of this teaching. Consider Abraham Lincoln, who, in the midst of civil war, often used humor to lighten the burden of his words. He was honest in his convictions, but never forgot the humanity of those who opposed him. His humor, like Newhart’s, was not cruelty but connection, a way of lowering defenses so truth could be heard. In laughter, Lincoln built bridges where anger would have burned them.

The lesson is clear: speak your truth with respect. You need not hide your dislikes, nor feign agreement where none exists. But do not let your honesty become cruelty. Honor the joy of others, even when you do not share it. Remember that every song, every art, every passion is beloved by someone, and to mock it is to wound the heart of another. True wisdom lies in holding fast to your own taste while still cherishing the dignity of your neighbor.

Practical wisdom follows: when you speak of what you do not like, cloak your words in kindness. Use humor, if you can, to soften the edge, as Newhart did. Remember that laughter is a bridge, while scorn is a sword. And when others delight in something you cannot understand, do not crush their joy—learn instead what it means to them, and honor it, even if from a distance.

Thus, remember always Bob Newhart’s playful yet profound saying: “I don't like country music, but I don't mean to denigrate those who do.” Let it remind you that disagreement need not be division, that humor can be a vessel for truth, and that respect is the soil where harmony grows. For in the end, it is not our shared tastes that unite us, but our shared humanity—and the laughter that allows us to live together in peace.