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George Orwell
Clearing out some old papers, I came across a review of a book I had published more than 20 years ago. It contained the sentence: ‘[Humes’s] command of the art of verbal GBH is exemplary’.
The book in question argued that the official view of Scottish education was complacent and self-serving, and challenged the way in which inspectors, civil servants and senior office-bearers in educational organisations operated. My method was to dissect official publications (reports, minutes, policy documents), as well as statements by educational leaders, and draw attention to the disparity between their rhetoric and the reality of what happened in practice. I tried to avoid expressions of moral outrage, preferring instead to allow those identified to condemn themselves out of their own mouths. I did, however, permit myself to indulge in the occasional shaft of irony – thus, presumably, the reference to verbal grievous bodily harm.
I did not fully appreciate it at the time but my attack was as much against the norms and conventions of bureaucratic language as it was against the substance of educational provision. By doubting what I called the ‘received wisdom’, I was refusing to be drawn into the approved discourse of professional dialogue. From the perspective of those on the receiving end of my analysis, I was straying beyond the conventions of propriety, courtesy and civility which usually acted as constraints on the kinds of exchanges that could take place.
In professional fields, members are normally subject to a socialisation process, which initiates them into what is considered ‘acceptable’ language and behaviour. This is very evident, for example, in medical and legal fields where newcomers quickly learn the value of deference (however undeserved it may be). The socialisation process serves as a form of control, reinforcing the authority of those at the top and consolidating their power. Anyone who has the temerity to stray outside the (linguistic) rules of the game runs the risk of attracting disapprobation and damaging their career prospects.
Shifts in public attitude mean that managers (particularly those in the public sector) now cannot rely solely on their formal authority to maintain power and status. Thus they try to ensure that staff internalise the professional and organisational vocabulary which purports to describe the transactions that take place (eg ‘respect’, ‘teamwork’, ‘collaboration’, ’empowerment’, ‘ownership’). There is an emotional as well as a rational dimension to this process. One sociologist has referred to it as the ‘manipulation of emotions by self and others into a bland, mechanical, mass-produced yet oppressive ethic of niceness’.
What is not permitted is real emotion in its often raw and messy state. Most organisations contain a measure of anger, resentment, frustration and cynicism. The ‘oppressive ethic of niceness’ which, from a management perspective, is the preferred ethos and culture, makes it difficult to express these emotions without being pathologised through labelling as ‘over the top’ or ‘a troublemaker’. The result is a dishonest emotional climate in which the only permitted emotions are the sanitised variety. There is no place for anger, however justified it may be. Once again, the underlying agenda of control in the workplace is evident.
The review made me think that perhaps I have lost my edge in old age and that I need to try to recapture some of my early acerbity. There is always linguistic work to be done, whether exposing the deceptions of government, subjecting corporate boasts to critical scrutiny, or detecting new ways in which the language of power is abused. One feature that is often worthy of attention is the use of metaphor. Metaphorical representations of organisations – as ‘families’, ‘communities’, ‘partnerships’ – are commonplace. They are intended to be reassuring. But partnerships are rarely equal, communities can be fractured, and families may be dysfunctional. Another writer has observed: ‘any given metaphor can be incredibly persuasive but it can also be blinding and block our ability to gain an overall view’.
We live in an Orwellian world in which words often mean something other than which they ostensibly denote. Presentation has become all-important and ‘reality’ has become malleable, merely another commodity that can be packaged and marketed. Finding discursive space in which to challenge these trends is not easy, particularly as some of the institutions to which we formerly looked to defend knowledge and truth (notably the universities) have been compromised by their eager embrace of the cult of managerialism, complete with the techniques of marketing, branding and public relations borrowed from the business world. It is no accident that the most popular subject among undergraduates is now management studies. The benefits to the country, judging from the state of the British economy, have yet to be seen but that is unlikely to halt the collective blindness which is driving higher education policy.
Sometimes the issues are just too important to be concealed by a veil of politeness. There comes a point when only plain statement will do, even if it creates an atmosphere that is uncomfortable. I do not recommend the indiscriminate use of GBH (it would lose its effect if employed too often) but, judiciously employed, and aimed at deserving targets, it has its place in the repertoire of verbal techniques.
Walter Humes held professorships at the universities of Aberdeen, Strathclyde and West of Scotland and is now a visiting professor
of education at the University of Stirling
