The world is drowning in words that mean nothing because they can’t be tested, proven, or falsified. Words like “racist” or “bias” often serve as weapons, not tools of understanding. They rely on feelings, assumptions, and shifting definitions, making them impossible to disprove.
If a person tells an offensive joke but is married to someone of that same race, are they a racist? Instead of using an unprovable label like “racist,” use precise language: “The comedian told this joke. I personally didn’t find it funny and felt offended by it. Here’s why it bothered me…” This approach acknowledges your perspective without leaping to moral judgment or shutting down dialogue. It invites understanding, not division.
If someone crosses the street to avoid a group of angry young men, is that bias or self-preservation? Instead of labeling the action as “biased,” consider describing the situation factually: “I felt unsafe, so I made a decision based on what I perceived as a potential risk.” This framing shifts the focus from accusation to explanation, opening the door to honest conversation about context and perspective.
And then there’s “fairness”—the ultimate phantom word. One person’s fairness is another’s unfairness. A rule that feels fair when you’re winning feels unjust when you’re losing. Fairness isn’t a standard; it’s a perspective, shaped by emotion and entitlement. It sets you up for disappointment because life doesn’t measure itself by anyone’s idea of “fair.”
This is why I’m working to eliminate the word “fairness” from my 6-year-old son’s vocabulary. It’s not helpful for him. When he focuses on fairness, he only feels sadness or resentment, fixating on what he doesn’t have instead of what he does. I want him to understand that life isn’t meant to be “fair.” If he plans for disappointment, he can enjoy the highs when they come and face the lows with resilience. The pursuit of fairness traps you in a constant state of comparison, a game you can never win.
Compare these phantom words to words tied to facts—things that can be tested, measured, or falsified. If you say, “This bridge can hold 10 tons,” we can verify it. If you say, “This medicine cures headaches,” we can run a double-blind study. These words point to truths we can all agree on because they’re anchored to evidence.
The problem isn’t just misuse—it’s the sheer volume of these unprovable terms. They spread like weeds in the garden of language, choking out clarity and reason. What’s worse, they create a moral high ground where the loudest voice wins, not the truest one.
We need a language of truth—one stripped of words that hide in the shadows of subjectivity. Words tied to observable, testable realities. Let’s call the rest phantom words: terms that live in emotion, accusation, and assumption. These phantom words do nothing but divide, distract, and distort.
To build a better discourse, ban phantom words from your vocabulary. Replace them with words that reflect the world as it is, not as someone feels it should be. Clarity comes from facts, not feelings. Truth emerges when we anchor language to what can be seen, measured, and agreed upon by all.
Speak with precision, or don’t speak at all. The fewer phantom words you use, the clearer your mind—and the world—will become.
Here are some of my least favorite phantom words, the ones most often used as weapons to divide us:
• Fairness: Impossible to define universally; always subjective.
• Racism: Overused and often detached from concrete, provable actions.
• Bias: A catch-all accusation with no measurable standard.
• Privilege: A relative concept that can mean anything to anyone.
• Justice: Frequently used as a stand-in for vengeance or ideological conformity.
• Hate: Labeled on anyone who disagrees, regardless of intent.
• Oppression: Often self-defined without clear metrics or evidence.
• Trauma: Increasingly used as a moral shield to shut down conversation.
• Toxic: Applied to behaviors, people, or even ideas without measurable harm.
These words are emotional shortcuts, designed to end conversations rather than start them. They serve to accuse, divide, and control—never to clarify, enlighten, or unite.
Here is an example of “Justice (injustice)” as an action, not only a word. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DAGYK8ut8so/?igsh=a25wbnRoZXR0cWhx
Woke and weird.
Woke used to mean I woke up and got out of bed. We all know what it means now.
Weird. It used to mean odd. Now every time I hear the word weird, I see JD Vance’s face.
Tell the Lake Superior State folks to put both of those words on the banned list for 2024.