The Language of Surrender

How Euphemism and Distortion Are Making Resistance to Authoritarianism Unspeakable

The corruption of language is often the first sign of democratic decay. When words lose their meaning—when they become detached from reality and repurposed to disguise rather than reveal truth—we lose the shared vocabulary necessary for maintaining democratic governance.

Bill Kristol's recent piece in the Bulwark on Paul Weiss's capitulation to Trump provides a textbook example of this corruption in action. The firm's description of its surrender as providing “$40 million in pro bono legal services... to support the Administration's initiatives” represents a perversion of language so profound it borders on Orwellian.

“Pro bono” literally means “for the public good”—work undertaken voluntarily for those who cannot afford legal representation or to advance important public interests. It has nothing to do with providing free services to the most powerful person in the world in response to explicit threats. The firm did not choose this work—it was coerced into it through an unconstitutional executive order. It is not serving the public good—it is serving a president who demanded tribute. It is not voluntary—it is extortion.

This linguistic sleight-of-hand serves a crucial function: it allows the firm to maintain the fiction that it hasn't surrendered to authoritarian demands. By cloaking capitulation in the language of public service, Paul Weiss attempts to preserve its self-image as an institution committed to justice while actively undermining the rule of law. The corruption of language enables the corruption of institutions by providing euphemisms that mask what's actually occurring.

As Kristol aptly notes in his piece, this form of capitulation is precisely what Rudyard Kipling warned against over a century ago in his poem about “Dane-geld”—the tribute paid to Viking raiders to prevent them from attacking. Kipling's warning that “the end of that game is oppression and shame, and the nation that plays it is lost” applies not just to the act of capitulation itself, but to the linguistic corruption that enables it.

We've seen this pattern repeatedly in recent years. The Department of Government Efficiency uses the language of “eliminating waste” to disguise what is effectively an extralegal purge of career civil servants. The Congressional abdication of oversight is framed as “deference to executive authority” rather than constitutional dereliction. Partisan loyalty to Trump is described as “loyalty to the Constitution” even as it enables direct assaults on constitutional principles.

In each case, language serves not to clarify but to obscure—to provide ethical cover for actions that, described accurately, would be recognized as destructive to democratic governance. This corruption of language has consequences far beyond semantics. It undermines our shared reality, making it increasingly difficult to identify threats to democracy, let alone respond to them effectively.

When a major law firm can describe surrendering to presidential extortion as “pro bono work,” we lose more than accurate terminology—we lose the ability to distinguish between service and subjugation, between voluntary contribution and coerced tribute. We begin to inhabit a world where resistance to authoritarian demands becomes literally unspeakable, because the vocabulary of resistance has been repurposed to describe its opposite.

History shows that resistance to linguistic corruption is possible and effective. During the Soviet era, Václav Havel's essay “The Power of the Powerless” described how simply “living in truth”—refusing to participate in official lies—could undermine totalitarian control. More recently, when the Trump administration prohibited CDC officials from using terms like “evidence-based” and “science-based,” scientists and medical professionals responded with public ridicule and continued using accurate terminology despite the directive.

Dane-geld, as Kipling understood, doesn't stop extortion—it encourages it. But the linguistic corruption that calls extortion “public service” is even more dangerous, because it dismantles our ability to recognize extortion at all. The nation doesn't just lose the game; it loses the capacity to understand that a game is being played.

The path back from this corruption begins with calling things by their proper names. Paul Weiss didn't undertake pro bono work—it paid protection money. Musk isn't receiving a briefing on China war plans to improve government efficiency—he's gaining classified information despite clear conflicts of interest. The judiciary isn't being reformed—it's being subordinated to executive will.

So what can you do in the face of this linguistic corruption? As I wrote previously, the most powerful resistance begins with refusing to participate in the lies. When language is being corrupted all around you, insist on clarity in your own speech. When euphemisms replace reality, speak plainly about what you observe. When institutions abandon linguistic precision for political convenience, hold them accountable by naming the contradiction.

This isn't about grand heroic gestures. It's about the daily choice to maintain linguistic integrity in your own sphere of influence. It means correcting misrepresentations in conversations, refusing to adopt corrupted terminology even when it's more convenient, and creating spaces—whether in your home, workplace, or community—where words maintain their connection to reality.

As I said previously, “the only resistance worth a damn is the one where you stop calculating the odds and start living your truth without reservation.” In the context of linguistic corruption, this means refusing to adopt Orwellian terminology even when it might be professionally or socially advantageous to do so. It means maintaining linguistic precision even when those around you surrender to euphemism and distortion.

Two plus two equals four. There are twenty-four hours in a day. And words have meanings that cannot be arbitrarily changed without consequences for our ability to perceive and respond to reality. The defense of democracy requires not just institutional resistance but linguistic integrity—the insistence that words maintain their connection to truth, especially when powerful forces benefit from severing that connection.

When words are taken from us, freedom isn’t far behind.