Grammar is the first layer of liability architecture, and the most underestimated. Before an institution assembles a committee to disperse a failure, it composes a sentence to inter one. The tell is always the subject: replace the human actor with the machine, and the record has been instructed, in advance, where to stop looking.
Consider the specimens in their native habitat. "Mistakes were made." "The system experienced an error." "An automated decision produced an adverse outcome." "The model generated an unexpected output." Each is grammatically flawless and morally vacant. The first removes the doer by the passive voice; the rest promote the machine to actor so that no man need occupy the role. Grant the obvious objection at once: this is rarely a conspiracy. No one convenes to draft the exculpating sentence—it arrives by reflex, the house style of any institution that has learned what it costs to speak plainly. That is not the defense it appears to be; it is the deeper indictment. A deliberate evasion has a guilty author and can be traced to him. A reflexive one has none: the place has been built so that accountability evaporates on its own, with no hand on the eraser. The confession writes itself, and the defendant has already been struck from it.
The objection is not that such prose is ugly. It is that an investigation can recover only what its grammar concedes to exist. Build the record upon "the system erred," and it will faithfully preserve what the machine did while losing the man who let it. And because the evasion is reflexive, exhortation cannot cure it—you cannot ask a reflex to think better of itself. The committee launders accountability by scattering it across ten silos; the sentence launders it by deleting the subject outright—one crime, two instruments, neither answerable to good intentions. The only remedy is structural: a ledger whose grammar keeps no passive voice in reach, that will not accept an entry until a subject is named, that makes "an output occurred" impossible to write where the truth is that a person permitted it. You do not beat the reflex by resisting it; you beat it by building a record in which the evasive sentence will not form. An institution that cannot write the subject of its own failures has already chosen who will not be blamed—so take the choice from its hands, and make the sentence refuse to close until the name is in it.