Today’s U.S. politicians operate more like PR firms than statesmen. They create neologisms—newly coined terms and phrases that reshape older ideas in new ways—and use euphemisms to soften the negative impacts of what they are saying, making inconspicuous—yet convincing—implications about their talking points. Think of Orwellian Doublespeak.

For most University at Buffalo undergraduates, the Iraq War has simply been a fact of our college careers. For years—exactly three on March 19—our concept of American foreign policy has been dictated by this conflict, and our concept of the conflict has been dictated by the way our politicians have framed it.

This week, we at Generation decided to take a look back and to reflect upon the state of our nation after those three years. In this issue we attempt to examine the war in new ways—to cut through the standard frames, and to look at the wider picture.

But we wanted to take a moment—before you dive into the issue—to talk about, well, the way we talk about war. Last month, Michael Gerson, George W. Bush’s former speechwriter, told The New Yorker that, “In times of focusing national purpose, the words really do matter.” Politicians and media commentators use language to frame debates every day. When they control the way an issue is talked about, they’ve already won half the battle in convincing their audience, because any opposition is forced to debate them using the same terms.

U.S. politicians have long employed language like this in the rhetoric of war. When an enemy is killed, it is simply called “neutralizing the target;” a much nicer way of saying that their lifeless carcass—if one remained—is now rotting away into nothingness.

Similarly, civilian deaths are known as “collateral damage.” The term is so common that people seldom stop to think about what it means. Collateral, as defined in the dictionary means, “accompanying as secondary or subordinate,” so therefore, one can take collateral damage to mean, “damage done to those secondary or subordinate.” Or in lay terms, dead people who don’t really matter.

Another example of a neologism that has found a new home in the American lexicon during the Iraq War is “insurgent.” For many, the word carries a negative connotation. It literally means, according to Merriam-Webster, “a person who revolts against civil authority or an established government; especially: a rebel not recognized as a belligerent.” But that’s still a little confusing, especially the “not recognized as a belligerent” part. So let’s take a look at the definition of belligerent: “Waging war; specifically: belonging to or recognized as a state at war and protected by and subject to the laws of war.”

So, what does insurgent mean in this context? Well, it’s basically an Iraqi rebel who is being characterized as not belonging to any established group or sect. Sounds like an oversimplification of a very complex situation, no? Perhaps even more so when you consider this: if say, the British, were to have used the same term some 230 years ago, some popular historical insurgents would include George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and Thomas Jefferson.

You see, clarity—or the lack thereof—is exactly what is changed when pundits and politicians bandy their carefully crafted language about. When Bush gives a press conference, the way he says something is just as important as what he’s saying. Even this mini-primer in the framing of war rhetoric is being discussed on the grounds of today’s Doublespeak.

So, even though the opinions espoused in Generation are always correct (see page 12), just try to keep this in mind as you read through our magazine this week—and for that matter, whatever you read.

Sincerely, (whatever that means),

Ann Marie Olivo

Christopher Ahearn

Generation Editors and Linguistic Watchdogs