Sherman Criner is the co-founder and co-editor in chief of The Lemur and a third-year undergraduate student majoring in History and Public Policy. He is interested in political history, theology, and classical ethics.

George Orwell saw the stakes of corrupted language. In his 1946 essay, Politics and the English Language, he warned that political speech, when distorted, doesn’t just reflect flawed thinking—it creates it. Orwell identified several ways in which language deteriorates: dying metaphors, unnecessary padding, pretentious diction, and meaningless words. These were tools of obfuscation. But his solution was simple:

1. Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech that you’re used to seeing in print.
2. Never use a long word where a short one will do.
3. If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
4. Never use the passive voice where you can use the active.
5. Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or jargon if there’s an everyday English equivalent.
6. Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

Orwell’s rules are not just good advice for writers—they are a blueprint for better politics. Clarity in language leads to clarity in thought, and clarity in thought leads to clarity in action. If we want a political culture that is less toxic, less petty, and less driven by soundbites and Twitter feuds, we need to rediscover the lost art of frankness. Not rudeness. Not vulgarity. Just plain, honest speech.

However, American politicians have traditionally had a fraught relationship with clear speech. The 19th century was full of linguistic acrobatics designed to confuse rather than clarify. Take President Franklin Pierce’s 1853 inaugural address, in which he declared, “The policy of my Administration will not be controlled by any timid forebodings of evil from expansion.” Translation: We will probably annex more land, but don’t worry. And, by his first two years in office, Pierce did precisely that by signing the Gadsden Purchase, securing land in the Southwest for rail expansion, and backing the unsuccessful Ostend Manifesto, an audacious plan to buy Cuba from Spain.

Pierce’s speech is but one example of a long political tradition: using lofty, vague, and convoluted language to hide controversial intentions. But while past politicians masked reality with needlessly complex language, today’s politicians have done the opposite. In an effort to “correct” political doublespeak, we’ve arrived at a point where clarity has largely been achieved—but at the cost of civility. Political leaders now speak with brutal bluntness, but that bluntness is infused with insults, crudeness, and the kind of “outright barbar[ity]” Orwell warned against.

Take the leadership of America’s two largest political parties. Donald Trump, for all his faults, speaks in an undeniably clear way—except for when he needs to denounce tiki torch-toting white supremacists. “Build the wall.” “Drill, baby, drill.” “There are only two genders: male and female.” His rhetoric is simple, direct, and effective. But it’s also riddled with exaggeration (“millions and millions of criminal aliens“), conspiracy theories (“they’re eating the dogs“), and dishonesty (2020 election denial). Meanwhile, Democrats—who once, far longer ago than my Co-Founder of The Lemur would like to think, prided themselves on high-minded rhetoric—have equaled Trump’s brashness. Minnesota Governor Tim Walz regularly curses in public speeches, Democratic Rep. Jasmine Crockett publicly told Elon Musk to “f*** off,” Democratic Rep. Maxine Dexter advised her colleagues “to f*** Trump,”  and Senate Democrats have infamously used the slogan “s*** that ain’t true” to characterize President Trump’s address to Congress. Even former Vice President Kamala Harris, famed for her unclear speech and unintelligible references to “what has been,” felt compelled to explain that  her favorite swear word “starts with ‘M’ and ends with ‘ah, not ‘er.’” And none of these examples even touch on Democrats’ recent attempts to redefine basic facts of reality—like the number of genders—along the hilariously vague lines of “people are often uncertain what there is.“

This linguistic decline is bipartisan. Both parties have abandoned clarity in favor of either incomprehensible jargon or crude insults. Where politicians once relied on excessive verbiage to conceal unpleasant truths, they now embrace unfiltered rage as a substitute for honest discourse. The result? A political environment where Americans no longer just disagree—they despise each other and make their disgust known. Unfortunately, this verbal decay is a symptom of a far more pernicious moral cancer, but I will leave that conversation for another day.

Still, bluntness should not be mistaken for historical civility. American political discourse has never been entirely gentle. The 1800 presidential election between Thomas Jefferson and John Adams was, famously, filled with venom. Adams’ supporters claimed that if Jefferson won, “murder, robbery, rape, adultery, and incest will be openly taught and practiced.” Jefferson’s allies shot back that Adams was a “hideous hermaphroditical character which has neither the force and firmness of a man, nor the gentleness and sensibility of a woman.” And, of course, the Civil War era saw political violence reach extremes, from the brutal caning of Charles Sumner on the Senate floor to the fiery rhetoric that preceded secession.

Yet, American history is also full of examples of language used to inspire, unify, and clarify. President Kennedy’s call to ask “not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country” remains one of the most powerful calls to perseverance and civic duty. Franklin D. Roosevelt’s “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself” cut through the fog of economic despair with piercing clarity. And how could one forget President Reagan’s timeless reference to the “shining city on a hill?” There is a reason why these words—not those filled with ill will and acidity—continue to be referenced decades after they were spoken. They inspire us to achieve something greater than ourselves rather than push others down for cheap political victories.

Orwell’s warning remains as relevant today as in 1946: the corruption of language leads to the corruption of thought. The problem is no longer just political obfuscation—it is political degradation. We no longer expect our leaders to elevate discourse; we simply hope they can speak in complete sentences. But democracy cannot function if its language is reduced to cryptic nonsense or primal screaming. The solution is not a return to empty, ornamental speech or a continued descent into profane bluntness but a revival of genuine clarity and intellectual sincerity.

For Duke students and future leaders, the lesson is simple: Stop trying to sound smart and start trying to be understood. The same applies to politicians. American democracy depends not on who shouts the loudest or swears the hardest but on who speaks the clearest and inspires the most. If our leaders want to rebuild trust, they must stop hiding behind jargon and stop posturing through profanity. Instead, they should embrace the radical idea of saying precisely what they mean—and meaning exactly what they say.

By Sherman Criner