I believe that political correctness can be a form of linguistic

Hear the voice of P. D. James, the novelist who lived through the storms of the twentieth century, who once said: “I believe that political correctness can be a form of linguistic fascism, and it sends shivers down the spine of my generation who went to war against fascism.” These words are not spoken in jest, nor in idle complaint, but in the solemn tones of one who remembers the weight of tyranny. They remind us that control of words can become control of thought, and that when speech is bound, freedom itself stands in peril.

The origin of these words lies in the memory of a generation tempered by the fire of World War II. James belonged to a people who bore the scars of war against Hitler’s regime, a regime that exalted uniformity, silenced opposition, and punished those whose voices strayed from the permitted script. For her and her generation, fascism was not an abstract concept, but a lived terror—bombs over London, soldiers on the march, and millions slaughtered in the name of control and conformity. Thus, when she saw in later years a zeal to police speech under the banner of political correctness, she felt in it a faint echo of that same old danger.

The meaning of her warning is not that kindness or civility in speech are wrong, but that when language becomes rigidly policed by authority or mob, it begins to crush the diversity of thought. To call this linguistic fascism is to recognize that power over words is power over minds, and that societies which forbid uncomfortable expression risk sliding into uniformity enforced not by persuasion, but by fear. For James, the shiver lay in the thought that her generation, who once fought for freedom, might see freedom itself weakened under the pretense of virtue.

Consider the tale of George Orwell, who, like James, fought tyranny with pen as well as with memory. In his novel 1984, he depicted a world where the ruling power created “Newspeak,” a language designed to shrink the scope of thought by eliminating forbidden words. When the vocabulary of dissent was erased, so too was the possibility of dissent. Orwell warned, as James did, that the road to tyranny begins with the subtle control of language, for words shape imagination, and imagination shapes action.

The lesson here is both subtle and urgent: speech must be free, even when it offends, for only in the clash of words can truth be tested and refined. To shield society from every offense is to risk robbing it of resilience, to build a cage in which only permitted thoughts may live. True freedom is not the absence of offense, but the ability to respond to it with reason, with dialogue, with strength of mind. If offense is silenced rather than challenged, then freedom rots at the root.

Yet James’s warning also calls us to balance. To speak freely is not to speak cruelly without conscience. Language must remain open, but it must also be used with responsibility. For words can wound, and their power must not be ignored. The path of wisdom lies between tyranny and recklessness: preserving freedom of speech while cultivating the virtues of compassion, courage, and reason in its use.

What, then, must we do? We must guard against every impulse, whether from government, institutions, or popular movements, that would strangle speech through fear or punishment. At the same time, we must teach ourselves and our children to wield words as instruments of truth and justice, not as weapons of malice. In this way, we honor both freedom and responsibility, ensuring that the sacrifices of the generation who fought against fascism were not in vain.

Therefore, let the words of P. D. James be carried forward: beware of linguistic fascism, for it is a chain forged not of iron but of silence. Let us remember that freedom is delicate, always at risk of erosion, and that those who once fought tyranny cry out to us still: defend the liberty of thought, defend the liberty of speech, and let no fear shackle the human spirit.