"CSAM" vs "child porn" – does language matter?

In scholarship and reporting about the internet and social media, it’s been interesting to see the gradual adoption of the term CSAM (child sexual abuse materials) as opposed to its more ubiquitous predecessor, “child porn.” Why is that? What significance does this linguistic shift have? Why should you adopt it (or not)?

The easy answer is that CSAM is simply a more accurate, precise term for the subject it is describing. The history of the term “pornography” is one filled with constantly changing definitions, but one consistent dimension is its depiction of erotic acts for the purposes of sexual stimulus. The common implication of “depiction of erotic acts” is its consensual, performative nature: an adult film or photo shoot employs actors, overtly sexual drawings or writing is created by willing adults. I want to be clear: there certainly is no shortage of consent and labor problems in the adult entertainment industry (not unlike its more mainstream counterpart), and the idea that it is produced by willing participants is a historically contested one, particularly with AI-generated content. There is, however illusory, at least a pretense of consent, where actors are appearing in these videos or photos of their own volition. Some adult porn is consensual. No “child porn” ever is, as minors cannot consent to sex.

The choice to use the term is therefore a decision to describe these media for what they actually are — the sexual abuse of children, not a form of consensual entertainment. Many child advocacy groups prefer the term because it highlights the fundamentally abusive conditions of its production. There are, however, stylistic and cultural counter-arguments: that no one is under the illusion that this material is consensual, and that everyone knows (and reacts more viscerally) to a term like child porn compared to the sanitized, politically correct term CSAM. One writer, Patrick Phillips, makes those arguments with an interesting technical observation: that “CSAM,” which needs to be spelled out as an unfamiliar term, is 27 characters¹, whereas “child porn” is ten. Since the AP Style Guide recommends that headlines not exceed 60 characters, the spelled out version — an unfamiliar term that does not have the same horrifying emotional impact as “child porn” — already takes up half.

I am sympathetic to this. Shifts in language can often be purely performative. In Wicked, for example, a young Glinda the Good changes her name from Galinda to Glinda as a tribute to the kidnapping of her history professor, Dr. Dillamond – a choice that is lauded by others as brave while her main intention is to impress her love interest, Fiyero. The name change is solidarity theater for whom she is the sole beneficiary, not actual advocacy. So too is the invocation of "unhoused" vs "homeless" while supporting laws that criminalize poverty, or "differently abled" vs "disabled" while still infantilizing disabled people. More inclusive language is not the same thing as actually doing the work.

Personally, I will still default to CSAM — I sincerely believe in the value of naming abuse for what it is, and the idea that it is unfamiliar is less convincing as it becomes more commonplace in mainstream news and academic scholarship. If audience alignment and recognition are a major consideration, then it is the more commonly used term in my professional circles. Language signals group identity in a very visible way and can function as a shorthand for broader social debates. Take, for example, Berkeley law professor Khiara Bridges' exchange with Sen. Josh Hawley before the Senate Judiciary Committee in 2022.² In her testimony, Bridges very intentionally uses the term "people with the capacity for pregnancy," while Hawley tries to corner her into using the term "women" instead. Regardless of where you stand politically, it's pretty clear that using one term over the other places the speaker in specific political communities.

The implication of "people with the capacity for pregnancy" is the idea that trans men can get pregnant, making the term "women" imprecise. The implication of exclusively using the term "women" to describe the same group is to center reproductive anatomy as the defining feature of womanhood. Those who identify with Bridges' commentary find the opposing rhetoric transphobic, while Hawley's supporters might describe her language as absurd. Either way, the use of one term over the other is a cultural shibboleth – a shorthand for political identity.

So does language really matter? Why should you dispense with otherwise commonplace terms like "turning a blind eye" or "wheelchair bound"³ if language is entirely performative? Are you a bad person for using the wrong term? Certainly not, though some might argue as much – either as an admonishment (you use bad language and you should feel bad) or a form of ridicule (policing language is ridiculous). I would say instead that language is a reflection of how ideas permeate culture: the linguistic shift from "stewardess" to "flight attendant" is a result of changing norms around gender and work. Social expectations and technology also change: most people in the US no longer have parlors or calling cards, replacing them with answering machines and texts.

Slang might be an even better barometer of changing times than language that describes interactions with technology. One might describe something as "bad" in the 80s as a gender neutral term for good. A "baddie," however, is usually a physically attractive, confident woman with a distinct aesthetic. See also the synonymous shifts to describe something positively: groovy, fly, sick, fire, etc. (This paragraph – and the meme I'm about to share – has truly made me feel like Steve Buscemi holding a skateboard.)

The distinction between CSAM and "child porn" or the correction of ableist language is similarly subject to cultural forces. Using the term CSAM aligns the user with more contemporary work on children's rights that spotlights abuse. The ubiquity of linguistic ableism reflects how pervasive and normalized ableism has become in public life. So yes, the language we use is performative as it is a symbol of cultural identification. Sometimes, that performance is empty or an expression of moral superiority – which itself is an important observation. Even so, I still think that the performance matters. Language has the extraordinary ability to inflict harm and normalize violence: rhetoric describing the Tutsi people of Rwanda as "cockroaches" contributed to their dehumanization and subsequent genocide. It's not a clean causation where violent language = violent action, but an important part of a broader system that shapes group identity – a shared identity that enables a conflict between "us" and "the enemy."

I don't want to under or overplay the impact of the language we choose to use. Does CSAM sanitize or otherwise dull the horrific nature of this abuse? For some, maybe. For others, it is a clearer, more honest description of the media it describes. The terms and phrases you use inevitably change with your intended audience and purpose of writing, so it's worth being clear about what your goals of writing really are.⁴ Moral purity, to me, is a silly thing to pursue with language. But perhaps the point isn't whether or not linguistic shifts are "enough" – as political advocacy, cultural shift, or group identifier – but about how they shape the social conditions for those things to exist. Language reflects culture, and culture reflects language. This mirror effect is, in my opinion, why the debate over language is so fraught: people argue on which direction the arrow points. On the one hand, ableist language contributes to ableist culture; on the other, ableist conditions produce environments where ableism feels inevitable, embedded even in unremarkable language.

The most boring version of this debate, to me, is the supposed culture war about political correctness, which some use as a stand-in for moral superiority, social awareness, or even an example of linguistic coddling. I think it's actually simpler than that. It's about understanding the function of language, its intent, impact, and interpretation. Anthropologists call this language ideology: a set of shared and invisible beliefs about language's form and function. If we take CSAM and "child porn" as the example, one component of language ideology is the value and expression of clarity: for writers like Phillips, "child porn" is more immediately legible. For many internet scholars, "CSAM" is clearer (and more honest) about what it truly is.

To return: should you use "CSAM" or "child porn?" Frustratingly, the answer is "it depends." It's not necessarily about designating one term as the "correct" one, but to reflect on the ideas and communities you want to align with. Language matters, but not because it automatically fixes anything: it reveals what we believe in the worlds we inhabit.