From artificial intelligence to “super intelligence,” Donald Trump’s latest enthusiasm for renaming things raises an interesting question: how much power does a president really have over the language people use?
U.S. President Donald Trump has never been particularly shy about changing names. Buildings, geographical landmarks, bodies of water — all have, at one point or another, attracted his attention. But his latest target is rather different. This time, he wants to rename one of the most recognizable technologies in the world.
On September 29, 2026, Trump signed Executive Order 14434, directing federal agencies to replace the term “artificial intelligence” (AI) with “Super Intelligence” (SI) in official communications, government websites, reports, and other nonstatutory documents.
The reasoning behind the change is curious. Apparently, Trump believes that artificial makes the technology sound fake, while super better reflects its extraordinary capabilities and potential to transform society.
It’s an interesting way to address a complicated technological subject. Rather than change the technology, change what everyone calls it.
The trouble is that language doesn’t work quite like that. Neither does science. And public opinion, as politicians regularly discover, has a habit of resisting instructions from above.
When political branding collides with scientific reality
The announcement has met with skepticism from computer scientists, academics, linguists, and technology-policy researchers. Their objections aren’t simply about whether one name sounds better than another. They concern a distinction that matters considerably in the scientific community.
Superintelligence already has an established meaning. It is not another name for artificial intelligence.
In scientific discussions, superintelligence generally refers to a hypothetical form of AI capable of outperforming humans intellectually across virtually every domain. Existing AI systems have made impressive advances, but there is no demonstrated evidence that they have reached that level.
Pedro Domingos, a computer science professor at the University of Washington, made this distinction in comments to Deutsche Welle. Artificial intelligence, he explained, is a different kind of intelligence, not necessarily a superior one. Describing today’s AI systems as superintelligent could therefore mislead the public about what these technologies can actually do. It could also make people more anxious about them.
Simon Coghlan, a digital ethics lecturer at the University of Melbourne, raised similar concerns about scientific accuracy. The proposed terminology, he argued, exaggerates the capabilities of current AI systems.
Computer scientist Kokil Jaidka made much the same point, noting that the new label appropriates a term associated with a far more advanced technological development.
David Krueger, an AI researcher and founder of Evitable, also warned that treating AI and superintelligence as interchangeable could add another layer of confusion to an already difficult public debate about the technology’s capabilities and risks.
And the consequences of imprecise language aren’t limited to academic discussions.
Baobao Zhang, an associate professor at Syracuse University who specializes in AI politics, has emphasized the importance of clear definitions in technology regulation. Different technologies present different risks, and policymakers need to understand those distinctions if they hope to regulate them effectively. Blurring the terminology risks blurring the issues themselves.
Thomas Haigh, a historian of computing at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee, has questioned whether changing the name would do anything to reassure a public that is already increasingly concerned about AI.
Darrell West, an AI policy researcher at the Brookings Institution, has been similarly skeptical. He described the expectation that a new name would improve public acceptance as fanciful.
Then there’s the question of whether anyone outside government would actually adopt the term.
Tony Thorne, a lexicologist at King’s College London, offered a useful reminder in comments to Fast Company: words survive because people use them, not because someone in authority tells them to.
That is probably the most basic problem with the entire exercise.
Changing a technology’s name doesn’t make it more capable. It doesn’t address its weaknesses, resolve its risks, or automatically make people trust it. And calling today’s AI systems superintelligent risks confusing what the technology can already do with what researchers believe may become possible in the future.
None of this means that artificial intelligence is a perfect term. Scientists have debated its meaning since the field emerged in the 1950s, and technological language has always evolved alongside the technology itself.
But there’s a difference between a term gradually changing as scientific understanding advances and a government deciding that everyone should start using a new one.
The internet has a different opinion
Even if we put the scientific objections aside, a more practical question remains.
Will researchers, technology companies, journalists, and ordinary consumers actually start calling AI “super intelligence” because Trump wants them to?
So far, the evidence suggests that he has a considerable challenge ahead.
Consider the Google search interest comparison covering worldwide search interest between August 1 and November 7, 2026, for the terms “artificial intelligence” and “super intelligence.”
The difference is striking. Artificial intelligence remains overwhelmingly more familiar and visible in global search behavior, despite the administration’s attempt to introduce a replacement.
Of course, Google search interest isn’t a perfect measure of public language preferences. It shows relative search interest rather than absolute search volumes, and search activity alone cannot tell us whether a rebranding campaign has succeeded.
Still, it gives some indication of just how difficult it is to replace a term that has been part of scientific research, business, journalism, and everyday conversation for roughly seventy years.
Public opinion surveys tell a similar story.
A YouGov survey reported by Axios found that 53% of Americans preferred the term artificial intelligence, while only 9% favored super intelligence.
An Ipsos survey published on October 20, 2026, also found that Americans were substantially more familiar with AI than SI.
These are not particularly encouraging numbers for a rebranding campaign.
Washington can instruct federal employees to change the wording in official documents. Persuading millions of people to abandon a familiar term is another matter.
And as previous attempts at rebranding have shown, even powerful companies and political leaders can struggle to change the way people speak.
Twitter, The Shack, and a politically incorrect cup of coffee
Remember when Elon Musk decided that Twitter should become X?
In 2023, Musk discarded one of the most recognizable names in social media, replaced the familiar blue bird with a new logo, and introduced an entirely different corporate identity.
He could change the company’s name, its visual identity, and the terminology used across its platform. What he couldn’t do was instantly erase nearly two decades of habits.
Years later, plenty of people still call the platform Twitter and refer to its posts as tweets.
There’s nothing especially mysterious about this. Once a name becomes part of everyday language, it develops a life of its own. People don’t necessarily stop using it just because the company responsible has moved on.
And Twitter is hardly the only example.
In 2009, the American electronics retailer RadioShack tried to refresh its image with an advertising campaign built around a new nickname: “The Shack.”
The company wanted to distance itself from the increasingly dated associations of the word radio. Its marketing strategy emphasized mobile technology, wireless products, and a younger generation of consumers.
The nickname featured prominently in the advertising, although the company’s legal name and most of its storefront signage remained unchanged.
Unfortunately, calling RadioShack “The Shack” didn’t solve the problems facing the business.
Despite the campaign and later attempts to reinvent itself, RadioShack filed for bankruptcy protection in 2015.
The nickname wasn’t responsible for the bankruptcy, of course. The retailer had much deeper commercial problems. But the episode is a useful example of the limits of cosmetic change. A new identity can alter how a business presents itself without doing much to improve the business underneath.
For a more openly political example, consider what happened to a familiar cup of coffee in Russia.
In November 2016, Russian Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev was attending a meeting with fellow Eurasian leaders when he jokingly suggested that the name Caffè Americano was politically incorrect.
Another participant reportedly proposed a suitably patriotic alternative: “Rusiano.”
The suggestion attracted media attention and inspired some experimentation. A Moscow café began serving coffee under the new name, and Burger King in Russia also tried out the alternative.
But the enthusiasm didn’t last.
The word Americano continued to be used, and “Rusiano” never became a widely accepted replacement.
It’s a rather amusing example of the distance between political symbolism and everyday habits.
You can try to give an ordinary cup of coffee a new national identity. That doesn’t mean the people ordering it will remember, or bother, to use the new name.
Trump has already pursued similar renaming efforts involving geographical features, including the Gulf of Mexico and Lake Ontario in U.S. federal usage.
The circumstances differ from one case to another, but the underlying problem is familiar.
Changing an official name is relatively straightforward when you control the institution responsible for it. Changing the language used by everyone else is considerably harder.
The politics of renaming everything
Which brings us back to Trump.
Whatever one’s political opinion of the president, his ability to attract attention is difficult to dispute.
He understands the entertainment value of controversy. He knows how to generate headlines, provoke strong reactions, and keep himself at the center of public discussion.
Renaming things fits comfortably into that approach.
A new announcement attracts coverage. Supporters defend the decision, critics attack it, and experts are asked to explain why the change is unnecessary, misleading, or potentially harmful.
Before long, a debate that few people were having suddenly occupies a significant amount of media attention.
That’s exactly what happened with the proposal to replace AI with SI.
From the perspective of generating publicity, the strategy works rather well.
But publicity isn’t the same as policy, and getting people to discuss a new name isn’t proof that the name will stick.
There’s also something undeniably strange about watching accomplished scientists, academics, and technology professionals devote time to debating terminology that appears to have been chosen largely because the president likes the way it sounds.
The entire exercise sometimes seems less concerned with advancing our understanding of artificial intelligence than with reinforcing a political preference.
And when public officials or industry figures are expected to enthusiastically embrace the new terminology, it’s difficult not to wonder how much of the enthusiasm reflects genuine agreement and how much is simply political loyalty, flattery, or a desire to remain in the administration’s good graces.
The irony is that the administration appears to believe the term super intelligence projects greater technological sophistication.
Yet researchers are arguing that using it to describe current AI systems is scientifically inaccurate.
An attempt to make the technology sound more impressive may end up making the people promoting the change sound less informed about it.
Is the spectacle itself the point?
Some observers have suggested that Trump’s repeated renaming efforts could serve another purpose: distracting public attention from more consequential political developments.
More conspiratorial interpretations have even tried to connect these controversies to the Jeffrey Epstein files and allegations of political misconduct.
It’s important to distinguish speculation from evidence here.
There is no substantiated evidence establishing that the AI renaming initiative was designed to divert attention from the Epstein controversy.
And there’s no need to assume a hidden conspiracy to question the political value of these announcements.
Attention is a limited resource.
News organizations have only so much time and space. The public has only so much patience for political debate. When an unusual presidential announcement dominates the news, other subjects inevitably have to compete for attention.
A controversy over whether artificial intelligence should be renamed may be entertaining, but it can also occupy space that might otherwise be devoted to economic conditions, international conflicts, technological regulation, or government accountability.
That doesn’t prove the controversy was deliberately manufactured as a distraction.
It does, however, show how effectively political spectacle can crowd out more substantive discussion, regardless of whether that was the original intention.
The question worth asking isn’t necessarily whether every unusual announcement conceals some elaborate plan.
It’s whether the constant focus on political theater is actually doing anything useful for the people the government is supposed to serve.
You can rename anything. That doesn’t mean people will buy it.
The timing of Trump’s latest rebranding effort is particularly interesting.
Following the November 3, 2026, midterm elections, Democrats now control both the House of Representatives and the Senate, despite Trump’s efforts to rally Republican voters.
Those results reflect a range of political and economic pressures. Public dissatisfaction with the cost of living, economic conditions, and the administration’s overall performance played important roles.
There is no evidence that the AI rebranding initiative itself was responsible for Republican electoral losses, and it would be unreasonable to suggest otherwise.
Still, the contrast is difficult to miss.
While Trump has been generating attention with new names and terminology, many voters have been focused on much more immediate concerns.
They want to know whether they can afford their daily expenses, whether the economy is improving their standard of living, whether international conflicts are moving toward resolution, and whether their government is dealing effectively with the problems they face.
Changing the vocabulary used in federal documents does little to answer those questions.
And this points to a broader weakness in the politics of rebranding.
Names matter, certainly. They influence how people think about products, institutions, technologies, and even countries. But their meaning comes from shared understanding and repeated use.
A name becomes established because people recognize it, trust it, and incorporate it into the way they communicate.
That process takes time. It depends on cultural acceptance, professional usage, credibility, and habit.
It cannot simply be ordered into existence.
Trump can direct federal agencies to replace AI with SI in official communications. He can encourage technology executives to use the new terminology, and he can argue that super intelligence sounds more appealing than artificial intelligence.
He has the political authority to make certain changes within the federal government.
What he doesn’t have is the power to make scientists abandon established definitions, persuade consumers to change the words they use, or require the rest of the world to adopt his preferred language.
Nor can he change the political, economic, and social realities against which his administration will ultimately be judged simply by giving things new names.
There is nothing inherently wrong with questioning familiar terminology or suggesting alternatives. Language evolves all the time, and sometimes a new name genuinely reflects a better understanding of the thing being described.
But that change has to mean something beyond the preference of the person proposing it.
Trump can rename artificial intelligence in federal documents. He can pursue new names for geographical landmarks and encourage others to follow his lead.
What he cannot do is make something different simply by calling it something else.
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