An essay by George Orwell, “Politics and the English Language,” changed the trajectory of my career. I pivoted from a job as a college literature teacher to become a writing coach for students, journalists and other public writers.
“Political language,” wrote Orwell, “is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.”
The author of the dystopian novels “Animal Farm” and “1984” posited this vicious yin-yang: that political corruption requires language abuse; and that abuse of language enables political corruption.
Orwell found evidence of language abuse at the heart of the most oppressive political systems: from fascism to communism, from British imperialism to heartless capitalism.
Rereading his essays on language, I wondered what the author of “1984” might think of the political language of 2024, especially the rhetoric of one Donald Trump.
Euphemism and dysphemism
In the immediate aftermath of World War II, Orwell argued that tyrants made murder sound respectable by their use of euphemisms and other forms of cloudy language. Euphemisms are language veils that can be thrown over any reality you don’t want people to see. Edward R. Murrow described what he saw in the concentration camps in vivid language. Nazi propagandists called it the “ultimate solution” to the “Jewish problem.”
When someone dies, and we explain that they “passed away,” or, in religious terms, “transitioned,” we are using euphemisms in harmless, even beneficial ways. When we revert to slang phrases such as “kick the bucket,” or “push up daisies,” or “food for worms,” we are at the other end of the spectrum. At some point in the last century, undertakers became morticians became the caretakers of funeral homes.
Political battles are often fought with verbal weapons such as euphemism vs. dysphemism. The argument over those rare abortions that occur late in pregnancy depends, in part, on whether you refer to the procedure as the soft jargon “intact dilation and extraction” or as the visceral “partial-birth abortion.” Think of the difference between “illegal aliens,” which sounds like an invasion of Martians, and “undocumented workers,” which sounds like a clerical error.
Orwell offers evidence of the power of euphemism to blind us to what is really happening:
Defenseless villages are bombarded from the air, the inhabitants driven out into the countryside, the cattle machine-gunned, the huts set on fire with incendiary bullets: this is called pacification. Millions of peasants are robbed of their farms and sent trudging along the roads with no more than they can carry: this is called transfer of population or rectification of frontiers.
His examples go on and on.
Orwell’s discourse makes me wonder if he would be surprised or even puzzled by the political rhetoric of Donald Trump and its influence on his followers. The former president — perhaps the once and future president — is no euphemist, and would scoff at the pointy-headed term. He is the dysphemist-in-chief, a speaker and writer who does not want to hide things from sight, but who wants you to see things that are not really there.
Language of Trump
There is no need for a full recitation of Trump’s statements and overstatements, especially when the topic is immigration or crime.
Immigrants, he insists, are “poisoning the blood of our country,” a familiar Nazi trope. Those crossing our borders are a horde of drug dealers, gang members, murderers and rapists. Some of them are coming from “shithole countries.” His political opponents are “vermin.” Crime in Chicago amounts to “carnage.”
Even when he was imagining the possible collapse of the auto industry, he could not avoid the dysphemism that it would mean a “blood bath” for the country.
An old propaganda tool is to dehumanize the enemy, which explains this description of some immigrants: “I don’t know if you call them people. In some cases, they’re not people. But I’m not allowed to say that because the radical left says that’s a terrible thing to say.”
Here’s his promise: “Among my very first actions upon taking office will be to stop the invasion of our country.” Invasion is a strong word, a scary word, so scary that when American troops have invaded countries, such as Vietnam, the generals and politicians preferred the Orwellian euphemism “incursion.”
Zombie apocalypse
Words such as euphemism and dysphemism can be used to describe the language of political discourse. More important, that language creates stories; narratives that can be used to spread hate or to support the common good.
When I read descriptions of immigrants as aliens or invading hordes, I am reminded of perhaps the most popular form of horror entertainment over the last quarter century: the narrative of the zombie apocalypse.
You must have seen at least one of the cinematic versions by now. Some outside force or infection or radiation turns ordinary people into monsters. Not just ordinary monsters, but flesh-eating ones. If they scratch or bite you, they pollute your blood so that you too turn into a zombie. The only way to stop them is to burn them, decapitate them, or shoot them in what is left of their brains. There are delightful variations, but that is the crux.
In the old days, zombies shambled. The more recent living dead can move quickly and in hordes.
Look, we’ve suffered through a pandemic, countless mass shootings, terrible problems on the southern border, race hatred and other forms of intolerance. No wonder the stories we tell, even for entertainment, are dystopian.
The word dystopia is the opposite of utopia. Plato wrote “The Republic,” Thomas More wrote “Utopia,” both narratives of ideal places. I have been more influenced and entertained by dystopian fiction: “Brave New World,” “1984,” “A Clockwork Orange,” just to name the ones I read in my youth.
In the cinema, Godzilla, a monster created by radiation, appeared in the aftermath of the atomic bombings of Japan. In the 1950s, during the anticommunist witch hunts, we were introduced to body snatchers who looked like us. More recently, gorgeous androgynous vampires multiplied just as Americans became more tolerant of gender differences.
I have no record of Donald Trump including “zombie” in his lexicon of insults, but there can be little doubt that his language and storytelling are meant to reflect the fears and grievances of his followers, fears that they are being invaded by creatures who are not quite human.
Voice of the people
It would be comical to argue that Trump has the eloquence of presidents such as Abraham Lincoln, Ronald Reagan or Barack Obama. Joe Biden has his own verbal issues, but Trump has something distinctive in his rhetorical style that has inspired an army of followers. We can begin by calling it a populist style, speaking and tweeting insults, slogans and catchphrases more associated with the feuds of professional wrestlers than the discourse of common politicians.
Orwell might have used Trump-speak as an example in his essay “Propaganda and Demotic Speech.” The word “demotic” is fancy talk that I had to look up: “Of or relating to the common people.” It shares the same root as “democracy” and derives from the Greek word for “people.”
As a world war became more inevitable in the early 1940s, Orwell noted that to defeat fascism the British people would have to make significant sacrifices. Life would change in countless undesirable ways. Who could persuade them to make the effort? Not the aristocrats, he argued. Not the high-toned speakers on the BBC. Not politicians with fancy educations. Their voices might only alienate people already feeling oppressed by rigid class distinctions. Persuasion could only come from those who spoke in the voice of the people.
Those who defend Trump’s language say things like “he tells it like it is” or “he says what he means” or “he speaks in plain English.” Others argue that we should “take Trump seriously, but not literally.” Or, “I don’t judge him by what he says. I judge him by what he does.”
I think I am pretty good with words. I can go high or low. I am a Philistine with a Ph.D. That means, if I were running for office, I could lie to you in the voice of a super scholar or the voice of the barely literate. I have wondered whether the language of Trump’s messages, filled with “mistakes” in grammar and usage, were so intended, to attract an audience already cynical about “elites” and their phony talk.
In 1976, I met the segregationist governor of Alabama, George Wallace, who made fun of people going up to the statehouse holding briefcases. The only thing in them, he argued, were “baloney sandwiches.” He described political speech as “getting the hay down where the goats can eat it.”
Even if we understand how certain politicians are abusing language, we are left with a problem: how to diss the effects of Trump’s dysphemistic language and dystopian narratives without having to resort to those fancy “dys” words in an essay such as “dys” one.
Roy Peter Clark is the author of “Tell It Like It Is: A Guide to Clear and Honest Writing,” now available in a paperback edition.
