OPINION: A popular state-owned radio station, finding itself short of actual experts the other day, asked if I'd join an on-air discussion about the evils of business jargon.
An Australian office supplies company had run a survey and come up with a list of people's most-hated examples. The radio show's producer wondered if I, as a renowned exponent of commercial English, might like to add some expert comment.
Sure, I said. Thanks for reaching out. I'm sure we can blue sky some take-home learnings if we all get on board the same waka and take a helicopter view.
At least, that's what went through my mind when I accepted the invitation. Jargon is bad, right? It can be impenetrable, and sometimes deliberately so. It makes the in-crowd feel in, and reminds the out-crowd that they're out.
George Orwell was no fan of jargon, especially when it came to politics. The abuse and deterioration of language is a thread that runs through every page of 1984, even if that's remembered less than its predictions of a state obsessed with surveillance and control. Orwell's take on newspeak and doublespeak were as interesting to me, though, as Big Brother, thought crimes and the catchy Eurythmics soundtrack to the forgettable movie version.
Here's Orwell in his 1946 essay Politics and the English Language: "Modern writing at its worst consists of gumming together long strips of words which have already been set in order by someone else."
And that's where I thought I'd go too. Proper English Good, Jargon English Bad.
Only that's not what happened. The more I thought about it (and to be fair you don't get to think very much between getting an email at lunchtime on a workday and being on air at 5pm) the more I realised that I rather like what jargon has added to our language.
English without catchphrases, jargon and figures of speech can be bland. When we play with the language; when we add colour, drama, surprise and sometimes a little mystery, it gives us a reason to read or listen beyond just extracting the facts.
Sure, we could say that management has "stopped" a project, but "pulled the plug" is much more evocative. I can see an angry hand, veins bulging, yanking a black Bakelite plug from a heavy-duty metal wall socket. I can hear the cheerful carousel music winding sadly down to nothing. I can see the bright white carnival lights dimming through yellow to darkness.
"Flavour of the month" is as good a way as I know to describe things that are fashionable only briefly. One day you're strawberry and everyone wants strawberry. The next, people are into pineapple, and you're left in the fridge next to the expired yoghurt and those chicken sausages no one wanted to begin with.
I could go on, and I probably would if you were to tell me that my repetitive actions are having no measurable effect. But if you were to say that I'm "flogging a dead horse," then you've added drama to meaning and I'll know exactly what you're on about. I might even hear the kid watching Homer Simpson beating up a hamburger chain's costumed burglar mascot and yelling, "Stop, stop! He's already dead!"
I love great writing. Lazy, unimaginative prose both grinds my gears and burns my hump. (Whatever that means; I've never really known but I still like it.)
Great writing needs both the baby and the bathwater. Throwing away jargon – even when you've got a survey of 500 people and a radio host to back you up – is as dumb as a sack of hammers.
Comments welcome. Whatever your take, I know we'll be on the same page.