Everything seems to need saving. Rarely a day passes without a headline, speech, campaign, or policy to save something precious and at risk, something worthy of protection. Save trees by naming them, Jane Goodall encouraged this year at Davos, an annual gathering of global business and political elites (Pomeroy 2020). The 2020 meeting, typically dominated by talk of economics and high finance, chose "Saving the Planet" as one of its themes. Climate striker Greta Thunberg reminded attendees that "our house is still on fire" and, in speeches delivered around the globe, wonders pointedly why youth should bother "studying for a future that soon will be no more when no one is doing anything whatsoever to save that future" (NPR 2019). Global health initiatives promise to "save lives and money" while some US policymakers lament the "racial savings gap" for black Americans nearing retirement. Saving is having a moment as a key term for our time, so how should we come to terms with it? Saving entered English via the Latin salvare, steadily picking up new meanings and applications over millennia, as an ever-expanding necessity for someone or something "to deliver, rescue…afford salvation,…heal,…preserve,…protect,…salvage" (Oxford English Dictionary 2020). On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, with the words of Dr. King's moving oratory circulating around social media, we were reminded that he found utility in saving, saying it was black Americans who would "save the soul of America." Though these examples show the life-affirming capacities of saving rhetoric, it can also be a preamble to violence. Just weeks after 9/11, President George W. Bush justified the invasion of Afghanistan as no less than "a war to save civilization itself" (CNN 2001). Nearly two decades later, the current US president described the extrajudicial killing of Iranian General Suleimani as a "bold and decisive action to save American lives and deliver American justice."