America is at war with itself over the dictionary. I’m not talking about political correctness—the idea that we should avoid offensive language for its own sake. I’m talking about the metaphors that are the currency of our politics: terms like “illegals” for undocumented immigrants or “tax relief” for promised tax credits. The phrases repeated so often that they become cliché.

I’m going to argue that as these formulations enter political discourse, they evoke images that can color our political consciences—for example, of Mexicans as law-breakers and taxes as heavy burdens. And that whenever we participate in a political debate, we bolster one side or the other with the words we use to express our position.

To argue politics persuasively, be strategic about the language you use.

The debate over immigration reform exemplifies the power of language to frame the nature of the policy problem. Turn on talk radio or go to a Trump rally, and you’ll hear the people under discussion referred to with phrases like “illegal immigrants,” “illegal aliens,” or even just “illegals.” Language like this ignores the human context in which immigrants live and make choices. Instead, it suggests that they should be identified and labeled based on a single binary: their relationship to American immigration law. It is the ultimate form of other-ing, making callous formulations like Trump’s possible: “They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists. And some, I assume, are good people.”

More humane terms like “undocumented immigrant,” “undocumented worker,” or “asylum seeker” suggest that the debate over immigration policy is about something completely different. They categorize immigrants in terms of their willingness to work, the danger or poverty in their home country, and their affection for American values. And they imply that when men and women decide to cross the border “without documents,” they do so often for the safety and welfare of their families. Gone is the insinuation that immigrants feel a sense of entitlement, or disrespect the rule of law.

What do Americans think about immigration reform? It all depends on how you phrase the question. An April poll from Rasmussen Reports found that, by a 56-35 margin, Americans disapprove of President Obama’s “amnesty” policy that allows “illegal immigrants…to remain in this country legally and apply for jobs.” But a Gallup study from August found that 65 percent—including the majority of Republicans—favor a substantially similar policy if it is described as a “pathway to citizenship.” The fate of ten million people may well hang on which phrase wins out.

Metaphor may matter even more when we conceptualize abstract policy questions. As Nicholas Kristof has argued, liberal rhetoric surrounding the contentious issue of “gun control” implies that Democrats want the government to control who can own a gun, or ban guns altogether. These narratives blend with the visual image of the government taking control of people's guns, becoming so closely associated that merely uttering the words "gun control" becomes counterproductive.

Surveys show that most gun owners support common sense restrictions on firearms. (For some perspective, only 6 to 7 percent of American gun owners are N.R.A. members.) But once a cognitive frame is established in which “gun control” equates to gun confiscation, moderates are prompted to respond emotionally rather than rationally. Perhaps this is why Congress has taken no action in three years since Sandy Hook, even though 89 percent of Americans support requiring background checks at gun shows. That’s why Kristof suggests ditching the phrase, and saying “gun safety” instead. Linguistic precision barely figures into it; we should care about the results.

Movements to change the language we use have already had an impact. In 2013, a petition demanding that leading news agencies stop using the term “illegal immigrant” gathered over 70,000 signatures. In response, the AP changed its style guide. The New York Times stopped short of a full-scale ban, but put limits on the phrase’s use. The debate continues today, as millions of Syrian migrants—or should I say “refugees”—pour into Europe.

Debates like this convince me that, despite all its flaws, the culture of political correctness has been a good thing for our society. By forcing us to recognize the harm our words can do, it has taught us to think before speaking, and to own the vocabulary we use. Now it is time for us to aim higher—to pay attention to our language because we want it to describe our values, not just because we fear causing offense.

In his famous essay, “Politics and the English Language,” George Orwell argued that the most fundamental terms in our political discourse—socialist, fascist, middle class—have become muddled almost to the point of meaninglessness. “What is above all needed is to let the meaning choose the word, and not the other way around,” Orwell wrote. “In prose, the worst thing you can do with words is to surrender to them.”

Whatever our politics, let’s stop surrendering to words, and start talking about what they’re actually saying.

Eyck A. Freymann '17, a Crimson editorial executive, is a history and East Asian studies concentrator in Quincy House.