A war remains a war: when words must not hide reality
In our work, we come into contact with the consequences of war almost every day. We hear the stories behind the numbers. Stories of loss, fear, trauma, grief, and a life that has been irrevocably changed by events.
These stories do not remain only with the people who tell them. We carry them with us as well. That is precisely why it affects us when war is packaged in different words. Because words can create distance from reality. But behind every word are human lives.
When Putin said: “I have decided to begin a ‘special military operation'” in Ukraine, the response in “the West” was: “Call it what it is. This is not an operation, this is war! Giving violence another name does not change what it really is.”
At that time, people pointed to Russia and said: look, this is how language is used to make reality sound less serious. A war is not called a war, but a “special military operation”. Some people called it Kafkaesque or Russian propaganda.
But now? Now we see something remarkable.
The Dutch Minister of Foreign Affairs Berendsen said after returning from the NATO summit in Ankara: “We stepped off the train there and then we were told on the platform that a ‘conflict’ had broken out in Iran.”
And Trump said: “This was not a war. It was a ‘very targeted attack’.” (Iran)
Are “we” not now doing exactly the same thing that “we” strongly condemned back then?
Back then, we found it unacceptable that Russia used words to make reality appear smaller. But now the same kind of choice of words seems suddenly acceptable when it comes from our own side?
An “operation”, an “action”, a “conflict” or a “targeted attack” sounds different from war. But does another word change reality?
Are the dead any less dead? Are the wounded any less wounded? Are the relatives of those who died any less grieving? Do the soldiers who are sent suddenly stop being people and become merely pawns in a larger game? They too make sacrifices. Regardless of which side they are on, under which flag they fight, and whatever convictions they hold: war always has a human cost. For the estimated more than 2 million people who are currently bearing the consequences of this war, including the dead, wounded, missing persons and prisoners of war, word games do not change what is really happening.
For us as aid workers, a different word does not change anything either. The stories remain real stories. The pain remains real pain. The trauma does not disappear because a war is suddenly called a “conflict”. When words make reality appear smaller, it feels as if the stories of the people we support are also being taken less seriously. And that affects us in our work as well.
War is war. Let us be honest and not apply double standards. Let us stop using words to make reality appear more beautiful or smaller than it is. Whatever name we give it and whichever side we think we are on, war always has a human cost.
(Photo: Croatia. The war may be formally over, but the consequences are still visible. Years later, the ruins remain as silent witnesses of what war leaves behind.)
