“Political language”, George Orwell wrote in 1946, “is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable”. If a blunt overstatement, it is nevertheless quite understandable how Orwell came to this conclusion right after World War II. Already in his early years, while fighting in the Spanish Civil War, Orwell strongly criticised both the propagandistic news coverage of the war in Britain and the escalating propaganda of the Spanish communists, who were firmly under Stalin’s control. Now, almost 80 years later, the essence of that quote is as important as ever.
While Orwell’s work focused mainly on subtleties of vocabulary, today’s political climate presents an even starker contrast: the normalisation of blatant falsehoods. Contrary to his assertions, politicians now make fewer efforts to disguise these lies as truth. American Vice President-elect JD Vance serves as a cautionary example when he expressed his willingness to even “create stories so that the American media actually pays attention”. But how do these openly fabricated lies not spark rejection among the voters? Do they simply mistake them for the truth?
Surely, some people do believe that migrants hunt down and eat pets. However, this misses the larger point: many perceive such lies not for their literal content but for the meta-message they convey. While the claims themselves are not true, what they express, the underlying resentments and antipathy that they reflect, very much are. In this sense, the lie functions more as a vehicle of identity politics for framing the opposing side, rather than being evaluated by recipients for its factual truthfulness.
If a politician wishes to avoid outright lying, there are other tools for misleading or distracting their audience. One such tool is the use of language that obscures or diminishes the real implications of a statement. Bureaucratic language, in particular, serves this purpose effectively, as it provides complicated and convoluted jargon. It also provides euphemisms that can make even murder sound respectable. For example, in military operations, civilian deaths are commonly referred to as collateral damage, which adds a sense of inevitability to the tragedy. It is not individuals or persons that are murdered in a campaign but targets which were eliminated. Similarly, in business, the staff is right-sized and processes are rationalised, rather than people fired and left without income and work. The purpose of these constructs is all the same, namely, to create distance between the observer and the tragedies of the human beings behind the story.
Make no mistake, the distance created by this language can be vital in protecting the mental health of those having to take tough decisions and carrying them out in real life. Nevertheless, this same distancing also inevitably contributes to the dehumanisation of those affected.
An even subtler way to mislead people about your intentions is to consciously craft statements that leave ample room for interpretation, while sounding very definitive. This is often achieved by using words whose meanings have been dulled by overuse and politicisation, and which have no universally agreed upon definition – terms like democracy or fascism. The key is that each listener projects their own definition onto the statement. This intentional vagueness simultaneously dilutes the content and makes the message all the more powerful.
Consider this example: Surely, anyone who values individual liberties would oppose a fascist and ardently support democracy, right? Yet, in the recent US election, both major parties conveyed to their voters that only they could safeguard democracy and keep the fascists out of government. While the Democrats’ constituency largely feared the reverberations of an authoritarian state apparatus under Trump, Republican voters, though to a lesser degree, thought of Kamala Harris as a fascist as well.
Even when not intended to explicitly deceive, political speech always aims to deliver a specific message. The words are chosen to fit into the wider narrative of a given party or politician and, most importantly, to elicit a certain reaction from the audience.
As an illustrative example, consider the ever-present buzzword “unprecedented”. In recent years, leaders and media alike have made frequent use of it to describe unfolding developments on the globe. But to what avail? Labelling a situation as unprecedented implies the need for decisive and extraordinary actions, fostering public support and understanding for drastic measures. At the same time, the term is also used to convey a sense of achievement and excitement, for instance, when Donald Trump declared to have received an “unprecedented and powerful mandate” in the 2024 election.
Indeed, the immediate emotional reaction of the audience lies at the heart of political communication. As Frank Luntz, a former Republican political consultant, puts it: “It’s not what you say, it’s what people hear.” Luntz, who gained infamy for crafting Republican rhetorical strategies aimed at undermining public belief in climate change, spent decades studying the effects of word choice on the audience. Luntz’s argument is clear: be as active and relatable as possible. Avoid passive phrases such as “I’m listening” and opt for more engaging ones like “I get you.” Replace words that hold strong ideological value with terms that focus on their content. For example, instead of “sustainability”, use more tangible alternatives such as “cleaner, safer, healthier”. Similarly, avoid technical jargon that creates a distance from the audience and disengages the listener. So instead of “economic growth”, try talking about a “healthy economy”, instead of “human capital” use “human talent” to evoke a self-association of the individual. To sound more credible, make no “commitments”, which by now carry the undertone of lacking resolve, but speak about “investing” in a cause.
To summarise, the essence of these examples lies not in the factual content of the message, but in the associations that the listener makes with the words that are used. This is where the concept of “motivated cognition” becomes relevant. It refers to the tendency of people to selectively credit or discredit the evidence of a source, depending on whether it aligns with their worldview. Scientific research supports this phenomenon. Notably, Dan Kahan, a professor at Yale Law School, and his collaborators found that people are prone to misinterpret evidence in line with their belief system when asked to give quick evaluations of facts about a specific topic. Alarmingly, this effect becomes stronger the higher the capacity for logical reasoning of the individuals. Thus, no one is immune to this bias, and self-complacency is misplaced.
IF THE ESSENCE TO A FUNCTIONING DEMOCRACY IS THE ENLIGHTENED PURSUIT OF A COMMON TRUTH, THEN ACTIVELY CRAFTING LANGUAGE TO BRING PEOPLE IN RATHER THAN PUSHING THEM OUT IS THE ONLY WAY FORWARD.
The direct implication is that ideologically stained concepts and terms hinder constructive dialogue, as they are likely to overshadow the hard facts in a discussion. There are two conclusions a potential politician or strategist can draw from this. They may opt to exploit this effect and use language that is shaped to divide and hinder meaningful discussion. Or, in a parallel world, these insights could be used to create language capable of overcoming barriers and breaking through partisan preconceptions, fostering more productive and inclusive discourse. Orwell’s warning about political language designed to obscure truth echoes loudly in a time when rhetoric often aims to divide rather than unite. If the essence to a functioning democracy is the enlightened pursuit of a common truth, then actively crafting language to bring people in rather than pushing them out is the only way forward.
