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From the vaults:
Originally published in Plazm #2, circa 1993.
DevoLanguageby Karynn Fish, Andrew L. McFarlane & Joshua Berger
Yesterday I called a friend and a young woman answered, "House of Buddha." After a quick interchange I realized that the concept of Buddha meant no more to her than "Extra Action Tide" or "Global Warming." Of course the Buddha might tell us that each word is ultimately just a word, no more or less meaningful than another, but for those not blessed with the nirvanic perspective, words are the ties that bind and free us to and from each other and our many changing realities. If the Word was God, perfect and unchanging, words have fallen as surely as any Adams or Eves. Everywhere, complex words are discarded for any handy unspecific catch-phrase, and the complex ideas are reduced in conversation to mere fodder for repartee.
Language is our
primary means of communication, and we're getting worse at it. The
sending and receiving of soundbites from inside and outside the media has
pushed human thought processes to such a frenetic pace that deep
conceptual analysis becomes nearly impossible. It seems curious, that as
our collective means of communication increases in sophistication, the
sophistication of the messages themselves decreases in an almost perfect
inverse proportion. Catch-all catchphrases like "voter apathy"
or "the budget deficit" become baskets which we fill with a
vague hodge-podge of often unrelated conceptions. Well-worn euphemisms
allow us to skim the range of human suffering without confronting the pain
and dying beneath the poreless surface of "collateral damage."
Add to this an ever expanding population of cultural pet words—from
Cool to Not,
dudes—fuzzycute ways to comment and silence without actually
saying anything, and it is a wonder that we communicate at all. When
everyone bops around slinging the lingo of rebellion or chapter-and-verse
of their party line, we as a collective are reduced to little more than a
parade of hastily-scrawled picket signs marching back and forth at each
other. Am I just, as the phrase goes, bitchin' and moanin'? Or could
George Bush, with his this Thing and that Thing, be cynically playing to
the degraded linguistic capabilities of the masses?
As semiotics wafts
its way down from its lofty academic origins, many of us find ourselves
paying more attention to signs: how visual and literary representations in
the media work to either promote or undermine any -ology. Even those of us
who haven't studied the science of propaganda for some government or ad
agency might find it difficult not to notice, for instance, how those
recent TV ads for home pregnancy tests kits invariably depict the woman
hoping beyond hope that the dot turns pink, or reveals a plus sign.
(Never, ever is she finding God for the first time, praying beyond prayer
that she won't be paying for one night with the next eighteen years, or
wondering how many state lines she'll have to cross to decide her own
fate.) Equally transparent is the ceaseless barrage of opinion polls
telling us what we think so we don't have to. Dished out daily on the
evening news, accentless "personalities" toss us chewable bones,
the popularity ratings of check-bouncing congressfolk to gnaw upon while
the far more dangerous bouncing of the budget remains unaddressed, a
creeping ellipses at the fade to corporate sponsor plug. So now that
we're all competent deconstructionists, able to pick apart the ideological
manipulations intrinsic to everything from a president's hand gestures to a Calvin Klein
ad, what if we should turn the critical gaze back upon ourselves, our own
lives, gestures, and conversations?
Even children possess
the capacity to tell the truth, and to discern the truth from the lie. The
sense that warns us not to believe campaign promises and the eye of the
camera is the same sense with which we see, speak, write, dance, shape,
and offer our lives to each other. Whether we control words or they us is
a matter of our chosen perspective. If we accept as truth or even as
possibility the proposition that our use or misuse of language contributes
to the creation of a common experience, we must assume responsibility for
our individual contributions to that increasingly self-referential,
prefab, mass-marketed entity known as reality.
In this framework,
the specious attack of conservatives upon so-called "politically
correct" language is much darker and more sinister than those critics
would have us believe. Under the guise of opposing censorship and/or the
homogenization of language, the anti-PC crowd rages with the momentum of
its own self-righteous fury right on past the point. The point? The
point is not to simply adopt the trendy jargon of the week, nor even to
reject it out-of-hand.