War begins when language is weaponised. Before the first shot is fired, words begin the killing—not of bodies, but of empathy, which creates a path of acceptance and normalisation for mass murder and destruction.
Collateral damage. Neutralize the threat. Surgical strike. These are not just phrases—they are psychological tricks, stripping human beings of their humanity. Children buried in rubble become acceptable losses. A family obliterated by a drone is reduced to statistics. A hospital blown up a strategic target. This is how violence is sold to the public: not as blood and screams, but as sterile abstractions.
Huxley was right. When we replace people with euphemisms, we don’t just describe war—we enable it. Language doesn’t just reflect reality; it shapes it. As cognitive linguist George Lakoff observed, "Words define our thinking far more than we realize—they frame not just how we communicate, but how we comprehend morality itself." When governments call torture enhanced interrogation, when invasions are branded liberations, they’re not just lying—they’re reprogramming our moral compass.
The danger isn’t just in the words themselves, but in what they do to us. Each sanitized term erodes our capacity for outrage. Each abstraction makes suffering easier to ignore. If we can’t name horror, we can’t resist it.
The truth is behind every casualty is a person. Behind every strategic objective is a home. Words can be weapons—but they can also be tools of resistance. Call things what they are. Refuse the lies. Because when language is corrupted, war isn’t just possible—it’s inevitable.
Language doesn’t just describe power—it is power. Choose your words wisely.