Kel's previous Ozwords of the day...

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Gotham city Jonathan writes to say that in the Batman comics he read when he was a small boy the adventures always happened in Gotham City. It’s only as an adult that he realised Gotham City was the name being used for New York. So, he asks, where does that name ‘Gotham’ come from when applied to New York? It seems that we can blame 

American author Washington Irving (1783-1859) for this. It was he who first used ‘Gotham’ to mean New York in a humorous article he wrote for a magazine called Salmagundi (that strange name means ‘a salad consisting of many different ingredients’—so I suppose that’s what they thought their magazine was: a whole lot of stuff thrown together on a plate!) So, where did Washington Irving get the name from? One theory is that there was a village called Gotham in Nottinghamshire in England. The story is that bad King John (Magna Carta etc.) decided to visit Gotham on a royal progress. The villagers realised this would be expensive (when the king visited you, you had to pay the enormous costs of the visit of his huge retinue). So, they decided to pretend to be imbecilic in front of the king’s heralds, by trying to fish the moon out of a pond, running madly in circles, trying to drown an eel, clasping hands around a thorn bush to imprison a cuckoo, and other crazy actions. The ploy worked and the king decided he would rather not visit such a nutty place. A collection of stories about stupidity was published in the reign of Henry VIII, entitled The Merrie Tales of the Mad Men of Gotham. By Washington Irving’s time ‘Gotham’ had long been associated with stupidity, (even though the original story was actually about a kind of twisted cleverness). Washington Irving thought this just the name to give to a city which he believed was inhabited by fools. Why writer Bill Finger and artist Bob Kane (the creators of Batman) decided to pick up on Washington Irving’s lead and apply ‘Gotham’ to the New York of their day (Batman first appeared in 1939) is unclear. But they did!

Islamist Vs Muslim On Sky News Peta Credlin asked me to explain the difference between ‘Islamist’ and ‘Muslim.’ This was prompted by a letter from a viewer (Gordon) who asked why the followers of Islam used to be called ‘Muslims’ and now seem to be called ‘Islamists’—is there, he asked, a difference? The key to understanding this, I explained, is that unlike other world religions (unlike Christianity, Buddhism, Confucianism etc.) Islam is not one thing—it is two things. Islam is both (i) a religion and (ii) a political ideology. So, what is the difference? We can define the word ‘Muslim’ (a religious follower of Islam) as having five characteristics: (1) they say what is called the Shahada, ‘There is no God but Allah and Mohammad is his prophet; (2) they pray five times day; (3) they observe the fast of Ramadan; (4) they attempt a pilgrimage to Mecca at least once; and (5) they give alms to charity. These are benign religious activities. However, a follower of the political ideology of Islam (an ‘Islamist’) has three goals: (1) to struggle (the Arabic word is ‘jihad’)  for the establishment of a caliphate in which the Caliph is both a religious and political ruler who is seen as a successor to Mohammad; (2) to impose Shari’a law on society; (3) to offer infidels [non-Muslims] only three choices: (a) to convert to Islam, (b) to die, or (c) to come under what is called Dhimmitude—as second class citizens paying more tax and having fewer rights than Muslims. This is clearly much less benign than religious Islam (‘Muslims’). These two different ‘faces’ of Islam faithfully reflect the founder of Islam. Because, unlike the founders of other major religions (unlike Jesus, Buddha, Confucius etc.) Muhammad had two roles not just one role: (A) he was a mystic, but (B) he was also a military leader. When we look at the definitions of ‘Muslim’ and ‘Islamist’ we can see that the word ‘Islamophobia’ also makes sense. The Oxford English Dictionary says that ‘Islamophobia’ means ‘fear of Islam as a political force’. And looking at how Islamists have been running the nation of Iran that just looks like common sense.

Moral compass We are told that some of our political leaders ‘have no moral compass.’ A recent example was when Prime Minister Anthony Albanese had to be dragged by the US President into giving political asylum to members of the Iranian Women’s Football team (who faced possible death if they returned to their Ayatollah ruled homeland). This should, of course, be a no brainer—no one wants young women who choose not to sing their nation’s anthem to face arrest, imprisonment and possible execution at the hands of a murderous regime. Everyone’s ‘moral compass’ says that is wrong, and the young women should be saved. The expression ‘moral compass’ is recorded in English from 1817. It was coined in French in 1779, and translated into our language 38 years later. ‘Moral compass’ means ‘a guide to making a morally informed choice’ (Oxford). It is, of course, a metaphor that uses that navigational instrument which faithfully points to magnetic north as an image of clearly and faithfully pointing towards ‘good’ and ‘evil’, ‘right’ and ‘wrong.’ People who are vague about these things ‘have no moral compass.’ C. S. Lewis in a prescient book called The Abolition of Man demonstrated that the points of the ‘moral compass’ (good and evil, right and wrong) are objective facts—are just as much part of reality as the laws of thermodynamics. These moral realities are facts we are supposed know as moral beings. Lewis argues that humanity dies when people pretend that right and wrong, good and evil are just subjective expressions of emotion, or the opinions of society. Lewis demonstrates that all great cultures in history have had much the same ‘moral compass’ approving (or disapproving) of much the same things. He calls this the Great Tradition. However, Western civilisation has the clearest, most precise ‘moral compass’ because of its foundation in the Judeo-Christian worldview. This concept of objective moral value is what Thomas Acquinas called ‘natural law.’ Some might just call it wisdom. We can call it a ‘moral compass.’ There you are—a whole book of profound philosophy summarised in a few sentences. (All part of the service!) Sadly, when our leaders seem to have no moral compass we are (as a nation) in serious trouble. 

Corporate jargon (part 3) Alright, alright you’ve already had enough of this nonsense used in giant corporations. I get that. But it’s good to know what these nervous, insecure, pretentious people are doing in their attempts to ruin our magnificent English language. Here’s the third and final part of our list:

Reach out—a vastly overblown way of making contact: ‘Let’s reach out to Bob in accounting.’ As if Bob is not on the next floor of the building, but somewhere in outer Kazakhstan and very hard to get hold of. Perhaps inspired by Neil Diamond’s old song (‘Reaching out / Touching me / Touching you’)?

Socialize—sharing idea and getting some feedback. The boss says ‘Thanks for you idea. We’ll socialize it and get back to you.’ This is a real word with a real meaning—but not the meaning these monkeys give it!

Soup to nuts—from beginning to end. This comes from the fact that there was once a time when a formal dinner began with soup and ended with nuts and port. But apparently this is used in corporate circles to suggest completeness—or pretend to a non-existent completeness.

Space—this is used as an ‘add-on’ word when talking about almost anything: the ‘equity space’; the ‘beauty-supply space’; the ‘intellectual-property space’; the ‘media space’ and so on. Based on the mistaken theory that the more words you use the cleverer you sound.

Stakeholders—I have discussed this before when talking about political jargon (because those turkeys use it too). It just means anyone involved. Borrowed from the world of investment (and distorted to pretend that you are consulting everyone who cares).

Take a 10,000-foot view—in other words, take a broader view; look at the bigger picture. A common idea expressed in an almost childish image.

Thought leadership—this means ‘research’ or ‘analysis.’ But the highly paid consultants can’t use such normal language. They have to inflate their final report with rubbish like this to justify their enormous fee.

Unpack that—this is also consultant speak, and it just means ‘looking at the details.’ It was originally coined in British analytical philosophy in the 1950s, so I suppose they think they’re sounding like philosophers when they use this expression!

Utilize—this just means ‘use’: three letters, one syllable, but the corporate types wouldn’t deserve their pin-striped suits if they didn’t puff it up to something bigger. I like the comment from one of the smarter corporate crew: ‘I teach new writers to avoid “utilize” except in a MacGyver-like case, when something is used for a purpose it wasn’t originally intended for: “I utilized a bubble-gum wrapper and a paper clip to restart the computer.” Everything else is “use.”’

That’s enough! Quite enough! Tomorrow back to normal English.

Corporate jargon (part 2) Yesterday I shared the first part of this list of corporate jargon. You will have already worked out that a lot of it is saying entirely mundane and everyday things in language that is trying to make it all sound much more important than it is. Here are some more of these self-important and pretentious phrases that are battering the English language:

Lean in—it means ‘try harder’ but as a bit English it is nonsense. Lean in toward? Are you in a Rugby scrum?

Let’s take this offline—meaning ‘let’s talk about this later.’ This tries to make the old-fashioned business of dodging an issue look cool and high tech. But it’s still a dodge!

Leverage—apply a bit of power; or making something more powerful. In politics it usually means ‘I’ve got something on him, and I’ll blackmail him into agreeing with what I want.’ 

Move the needle—an image borrowed from electronic equipment covered with dials. It’s an especially silly way of saying your goal is to get a response.

Negative growth—there is no such thing! There is shrinkage! There is going backwards! There is failing! But ‘growth’ is never negative. This is taking an axe to the English language and chopping it into small bits of firewood! 

Piggyback—this is used in corporate meetings when someone wants to add something: ‘I’d just like to piggyback on that remark.’ What’s wrong with ‘add to’? What’s wrong with clear, basic English? Apparently in corporate circles clear English is an unwanted beast.

Pivot—Turn. That’s all it means. It is an attempt to make any turn sound like a piece of heavy engineering. Often used when the news is bad. The meeting is told to ‘pivot’ to ways of saving money. Just silly.

Probabilistic—this is just the word ‘probable’ with a bunch of additional (unnecessary!) syllables added to turn it into an inflated, pretentious bit of chest-pounding self-importance.

Put a pin in that—making a mark, or taking a note of where we’re up to. About as intelligent and adult as playing ‘pin the tail on the donkey.’

Double click on that—means exactly the same as the above, but this is drawn from the world of computing (by people who spend most of their lives glued to their laptops!.

Touch base—talk to someone. Yes, that’s all it means. But, somehow, by using a metaphor from the world of American baseball it is made to sound bigger and more important!

That’s enough for today. But (I’m sorry to say) it’s quite over yet—the third and final bit of this list tomorrow.

Corporate jargon (part 1) Some time ago I wrote about the current political jargon that is cluttering the linguistic undergrowth of an attempt at intelligent political thought. In response a very kind reader sent me a list of the current wave of ‘corporate jargon’—that stuff that gets used in giant corporations (especially global corporations) and in those ‘consultants’ who come in to write reports for corporations. As with political jargon this list of words and phrase is a substitute for intelligent thought. It is a long list—so I’ll brake up it up into digestible bites of the next few columns. Let’ start with these:

Bandwidth—borrowed from computing and telecommunications: it means the amount of data that can be transmitted at one time. One corporate turkey remembers his CEO cancelling the quarterly planning meetings ‘to protect everyone’s bandwidth’. In other words, so that people wouldn’t have to fill their head with too much information. But why pretend we are phone lines and call it ‘bandwidth’?

Change agent—this means the person who initiates change. This is a self-description that some people now put on their CV. Of course, it is based on the unexamined assumption that ‘change’ is always a good thing, and there is nothing worth preserving.

Circle back—Instead of saying ‘I’ll report to you’ or ‘I’ll get back to you on that’ the corporate monkeys now say, ‘I’ll circle back to you on that.’ (I guess if you don’t sound trendy, you’re in trouble.)

Decision tree—a tree diagram (with lots of branches) showing who makes what decisions where in the corporation. 

Decisioning—this just means ‘deciding’ and no, this is not a real English word. It’s just a piece of pretentious nonsense. It’s an attempt to make the process (and your part in it) terrible important. (When the cabin crew on your flight ask ‘Tea of coffee?’ you are pushed into a ‘decisioning’ moment!)

Deep dive—it just means looking at something properly (a bit of research? Investigation? Study? No, those words are too normal for the corporate monkeys to use).

Growth mindset—ambitious. The young team members are no longer asked ‘Are you ambitious’ but instead ‘Do you have a growth mindset?)

Hard stop—at the start of a meeting someone might announce that they have a ‘hard stop’ at 2pm—putting everyone under pressure to finish by then. (The ‘hard stop’ might be the time to pick up the kids from school?)

Hit the ground running—just means starting the job at the starting time, and not waiting until sometime after your morning coffee. This is, somehow, now an exciting virtue!

Juice isn’t worth the squeeze—all this effort is not being to produce a result that’s worth all that effort! I like this one—it’s very creative!

That’s enough for today. (You possibly need to take an aspirin and lie down after that bunch of nonsense!) More tomorrow.

Artificial Intelligence (again!) Yes, I have talked about this expression ‘artificial intelligence’ (normally abbreviated to just ‘AI’) before. In fact, more than once. The absurdity of this expression bothers me, so I keep coming back to it. Non-thinking journalists (a bunch of sheep!) keep rattling off ‘AI’ as if it meant something coherent. In the past I’ve pointed out that what computers do is super-speed calculations—and that is just calculating, not intelligence. But this time I want to switch the focus to the qualifying adjective ‘artificial.’ What does that mean? And what does it tell us about the reality of ‘AI’? The word ‘artificial’ turns up in English in the 1400s, and comes from classical Latin via Anglo-Norman French. Its core meaning is ‘an imitation of’ (Oxford English Dictionary). In other words, it is not the real thing—just an imitation of the real thing. The Collins English Dictionary suggests that the notion of ‘artificial’ includes the concept of ‘pretending.’ This makes it clear that ‘AI’ chatbots are just pretending to intelligent when, in reality, they are not. It is all pretence—just an imitation of the real thing. Mind you, their act of pretending is very well done—so well done that it will fool a lot of people into thinking that when they are dealing with a chatbot they are dealing with a real (human-like) intelligence. They are not. It is all pretence. That’s what the word ‘artificial’ tells us. The reality is that in the computer science industry these so-call ‘AI’ computers have another name (their real name, that gives the game away). They are called LLMs—Large Language Models. In other words, their sham imitation of intelligence is possible because they are drawing on massive data bases of natural human language. These huge Large Language storehouse (held in massive banks of servers) means that the replies from chatbots comes in an imitation of natural human language—as a pretence of exhibiting natural intelligence. But the word ‘artificial’ gives the game away—and admits that this is all a fraud, a pretence, and we should never be fooled into believing that there is any real intelligence involved as any point! 

Political propaganda When Operation Epic Fury began with the killing of most of the radical Islamist leadership of Iran our Prime Minister, Anthony Albanese, issued a statement which said that Iran’s Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei would not be mourned and he then doubled down on Australia’s support for the US to stop Iran from obtaining a nuclear weapons. However, the ABC’s John Lyons attacked this statement by calling it ‘political propaganda.’ So, what does this expression ‘political propaganda’ mean? Well, ‘propaganda’ is recorded in English from the late 1600s. What it means is, ‘information which is false or which emphasizes just one part of a situation, used by a government or political group to make people agree with them’ (Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English). So, what part of Albanese’s statement did John Lyons think was ‘false’? Did he really think most Australians would be mourning the death of this fanatical, unhinged, lunatic terrorist? Yes, I know a handful Australian Muslims did (so what are such hateful people doing in our country?) But the vast, vast majority of Australians celebrated this vicious man’s death along with the people of Iran. Or did John Lyons think that most people (in Australia and around the world) thought it would have been a good thing for the murderous mullahs running Iran to get nuclear weapons? Is that what he believes? If, as looks likely, Albanese was simply expressing the views strong held by the majority of Australians then how can the words be called ‘political propaganda’? I suppose there are several possibilities here. John Lyons may either (1) not understand the meaning of the English expression ‘political propaganda’; or (2) be deliberately trying to mislead the viewers of the ABC; or (3) is just completely off his rocker. (In the meantime, you and I are paying his salary!)

Autochthonous When I discover a new word (something I have never come across before) I am delighted. This is one I have seen occasionally, but which I have never bothered to look up in the past. Do you sometimes do that? Come across an unfamiliar word, but even though you don’t know what it means you can work out what the sentence (or paragraph) means so you just read on, and ignore the strange word? I’m sure you’ve sometimes done that—we all do. But I decided that this time I would look up ‘autochthonous’ and properly learn the word. This time I came across it in a review of a new collection of the poems of Seamus Heaney (1939-2013). By the way ‘autochthonous’ is pronounced aw-TOCK-thuhn-uhss (not easy to wrap your tongue around, but it can be done). What does it mean, I asked myself? Is it an unpleasant skin disease? Of course not (I was just being stilly when I thought of that). What the word actually means is ‘a person indigenous to a particular country.’ So, in the context of the review, the point was that Seamus Heaney was always deeply Irish. So why not say that? Why not just say that his poetry is very Irish? Because the reviewer (Michael Hoffman—let’s name the guilty party) was busy parading the enormous size of his vocabulary. Mind you (just to confuse things) ‘autochthonous’ can have other applications. It can also refer to micro-organisms or rock formations—but always (as far as I make out) in terms of being ‘indigenous’ to somewhere. So, there you are—now you have a sparkling new word to add to your already enormous vocab. (At which point you respond: ‘Kel, I’m way ahead of you—I already knew this word. So there!’) And if you are now interested in the poetry of Seamus Heaney, google his poem ‘Digging’ (which is about him thinking about his father as he sits at his desk writing). It really is great poetry! 

Menticide Are our governments guilty of ‘menticide’? Is that what they are doing to us? ‘Menticide’ is recorded from 1951, when it first appeared in the American Journal of Psychiatry (in the February issue). The official Oxford definition is ‘The undermining or destruction of a person’s mind or will, esp. by systematic means’ and, yes, the Oxford connects it to brainwashing. Clearly the word is a combination of part of the word mental’ with ‘-cide’ suffix that indicates killing. So, is this happening. Let me make a suggestion. Every time the Albanese government misleads us (by claiming they have nothing to do with the ISIS brides, or that our economy that is not spiralling out of control but is doing just fine)—they are guilty of attempted ‘menticide.’ I say ‘attempted menticide’ because it’s not working, is it? There appears to be a high degree of voter scepticism over Anthony Albanese and Tony Burke’s claim that they have nothing to do with the ISIS faction they have issued Australian passports to. And it’s not the only example. In fact, the most common piece of ‘attempted menticide’ I can think of is the expression ‘renewables are the cheapest and most reliable form of energy.’ This phrase has been repeated often by both Chris Bowen and Anthony Albanese. Do they actually believe it? Surely not? We all know that renewables (wind and solar power) are weather dependent—so they are not reliable. And our power bills tell us they are not cheap. Yet, they keep saying it. This must, surely, amount to an attempt at brainwashing (‘menticide’) by them aimed at us—do you agree? 

Gruzz New slang is breaking out all the time—rather like new pimples on the face of a teenager! And new slang is not always interesting. In fact, for anyone who cares about language a great deal of new slang is boring—uninventive, trite and simplistic. Those bits of new slang tend to have a short life—they get tossed around by the young (who don’t know any better) and then finally dribble down into the verbal gutter, die, and are flushed away. However, sometimes a bit of new slang is intriguing—such as this one: ‘gruzz.’ There are quite a number of rhyming ‘-uzz’ words. There are familiar ones such as ‘buzz’ and ‘fuzz’—and there are other, much less familiar words such as ‘huzz.’ That was once (from the 1500s) a rare synonym for ‘buzz’—another way of conveying that sound (but never a very common one), and it has now been revived (or, more likely, re-invented) in black American slang as the word for ‘house’ (as in ‘Hey bro, where’s your huzz?’) Then there’s ‘bruzz’—this is (according to the Oxford) a ‘familiar form of address to a man.’ This appears to also be a bit of black American slang, and to be a variation on ‘brother.’ A common abbreviation of ‘brothers’ is ‘bros’ and ‘bruzz’ is probably a deliberate corruption of that word. But there is also this new one— ‘gruzz.’ According to the great American dictionary the Merriam-Webster: ‘Gruzz refers to old/older people.’ They go on to say that the word ‘gruzz’ is often preceded by the definite article ‘the.’ In other words, those of us of a certain age (and wisdom!) are labelled ‘the gruzz.’ I’m not sure I really mind this. There are lots of other (more offensive) labels that have been used in the past (such ‘wrinklies’) so ‘gruzz’ is not too bad. It’s not clear where it comes from. Is it from the first two letters of ‘grey’ with the addition of the ‘-uzz’ suffix? Possibly. Or from start of the words ‘grisly’ or ‘grumpy’? (Well, we have been known to be grisly and grumpy on occasions!) At any rate I think I am prepared to welcome this new bit of slang (for as long as it survives) and happy to be one of ‘the gruzz.’

Clicktivist For many years now we’ve been hearing the word ‘activist.’. If often refers to those mindless demonstrators who block public roads to stop the rest of us going about our business. They seem to think that if they do this they will persuade the rest of us to agree with them. They seem to think that we’ll sit in our cars quietly fuming, and at the same time be persuaded to change how we think— ‘Ah yes,’ we’ll think, ‘these dear people who are blocking the public highway must be right and I’ll support their cause from now on.’ Except, it doesn’t quite work like that, does it? These ‘activists’ actually achieve nothing except nuisance status. And we suspect they are gluing themselves to the road because they have no idea how to mount an intelligent argument. The word ‘activist’ means ‘a person who believes strongly in political or social change and takes part in activities such as public protests to try to try to make this happen’ (Cambridge English Dictionary). This word first appeared in print (with this meaning) in America (in the Atlantic Monthly) in 1920. And now there is a new variation on this older word: ‘clicktivism.’ This seems to go back only to 2006, and is used these days to label activist campaigners who do all their activism and all their campaigning online—usually on social media sites. This the crowd that piles on to anyone who disagrees with them on Instagram or X and abuses them up hill and down dale. So, clearly this is the same mentality that says, ‘If I annoy people enough they’ll start agreeing with me.’ These folk are not only activists, they are lazy activists—who can manage noting more energetic than sitting in their bedroom, with their laptop, eating donuts and abusing everyone else. Not only these people (for the most part) both wrong and ignorant in matters of politics, society and culture—they don’t have the faintest idea of how to communicate, let alone how to persuade.

Hornswoggle I don’t think I’ve ever heard this word spoken in Australia (and, if you have heard it used, drop me a line and let me know). ‘Hornswoggle’ is American slang and means to trick or deceive someone, to bamboozle or hoax them. Mind you, when the word is first recorded back in 1829, the Virginia Literary Museum (that published it) said it meant ‘to embarrass irretrievably.’ Well, I suppose if someone has succeeded in putting one over on you, the result might be irretrievable embarrassment—so those meanings might well be connected. As to where it comes from—there is no clear story, and no certainty. It is, the experts say, probably an arbitrary formation, and probably just a fanciful formation. In other words, someone, somewhere in America, in the early 1800s, decided that this collection of syllables (‘hornswoggle’) captured the feeling of tricking or hoaxing someone. It is a transitive verb, so you might be engaged in ‘hornswoggling’ or you might have ‘hornswoggled’ someone. Now, might there be a use for this word in Australian English? Perhaps it’s just my cynical side, but I can see a use for this in describing certain politicians. Ah, yes, I see your eyes light up as soon as I say that! When the Albanese government promised to reduce our power bills by $275 and instead raised them by more than $1,500 they ‘hornswoggled’ us. When they were re-elected on a promise that cost of living would be lower under them, they ‘hornswoggled’ us again. When Sussan Ley promised to lead an Opposition that would hold the Albanese government to account she ‘hornswoggled’ us. So, yes, it is useful. There’s a lot of it going on!

Gobbledygook I was attracted to looking at this word ‘gobbledygook’ by a headline in The Australian newspaper. It was a headline over an article by the great economist Judith Sloan. Here is exactly what that headline said, “PM masters the art of gobbledygook.’ So, before I unpack the word, here’s the background. Judith Sloan quoted the following statement by Prime Minister Anthony Albanese: ‘Our commitment to responsible economic management means we are always looking to eliminate waste and drive maximum value for every taxpayer dollar. But responsible economic management is also about the responsibility we have to help people under pressure, here and now.’ You might look at those words and see nothing much wrong with them. But Judith Sloan looks at that claim as an economist, so she says, ‘This is basically gobbledygook. The government will spend like crazy to “help people under pressure”, but doing so means that people are under pressure for longer because spending is too high. Go figure.’ So the PM’s words are in okay English sentences, but are ‘economic gobbledygook’. The word ‘gobbledygook’ originated in America and is recorded from 1944. But it must have already been well known because that appearance is in a memo telling people involved in war work to ‘avoid gobbledygook.’ The Oxford English Dictionary says the word was coined out of an earlier expression (‘gobble’) that was used to name the way poultry (especially turkeys) sound. So it’s beginning was imitative or echoic—because turkeys do make a sound rather like ‘gobble, gobble’ don’t they? That is the history of the word. And it tells us that (based on her economic expertise) Judith Sloan says when our Prime Minister talks economics he is gobbling away like poultry!

Political jargon From time to time I have written about the jargon (both official terms and slang words) that live in some professions and trades. When it comes to political jargon, one of the problems is that jargon can change quite quickly, and keeping up with it can almost become a full-time occupation. But let’s do a quick ‘freeze-frame’ (if you like) and look at some of the political jargon that is around at the moment. Some of this has been around for quite a while and some of it is still newish. Here’s the list: 

Optics—how things look (which is not necessarily how things really are). Governments try to make the ‘optics’ better than the reality (‘no, the economy is doing fine—ignore the inflation rate and lack of real wages rises.’)

Mood music—the feelings that dominate the electorate. Much the same as being able to ‘read the room’ (to know what voters are feeling and thinking). The ‘mood music’ says that after Bondi voters won’t wear ISIS families being brought to Australia—that sort of thing.

Stakeholder engagement—getting all the people who might be affected by this on side. With things such as wind and solar projects, that means not only the green-minded voters but also the billionaires who have invested in wind and solar and think they deserve to make a lot of money.

Hard yards—the difficult bit (there are always ‘difficult bits’, it’s in the nature of politics).

Fiscal headroom— ‘fiscal’ really means anything to do with finance, so ‘fiscal headroom’ means there is enough money (in the accounts or stuffed in a ‘hollow log’) to allow a government to spend on the things it wants to.

Political capital—the residue of voter popularity that any government still has. This (like any capital amount) can dwindle over time. As a general rule, the longer a particular government has been in power the less political capital it has.

Dead cat strategy—this means aiming for a ‘dead cat bounce’ and that in turn means aiming to have a small, brief recovery (perhaps just enough to call an election and be voted back in before the illusion of the recovery is exposed). Based on the old saying that, if dropped from a height, even a dead cat will bounce once.

Bubble story—something that is only believed inside the ‘Canberra bubble’—the hot house world in which politicians, their advisors, and the parliamentary press gallery dwell.

Cut through—meaning a politician says or does something the voters actually notice.

Kick it into the long grass—put something off for a long time, in the hope that voters will forget about it. 

Reverse ferret—changing policy while refusing to admit that any change has happened. (‘There should never be a Royal Commission into Bondi—it would take too long and hurt too many people.’ ‘I now announce I am calling a Royal Commission into Bondi—which I have thinking about for a long time.’) The expression comes from a phrase used by British political journalists when they succeed in making politicians uncomfortable— ‘putting a ferret up their trousers.’ If the politicians get rid of the annoyance, the ‘ferret’, it is a ‘reverse ferret.’

There are, of course, many more bits of political jargon. But that’s quite enough for the moment. So now the rest of us can get back to our normal lives (and our normal language!)

Pitch-rolling This compound noun means ‘preparing the ground.’ As you will know it began in the world of cricket, where it is the responsibility of the grounds-keeper to prepare the ground for a match—especially an important match, such as a test match. Part of this preparation involves trundling a roller—a massive cylindrical weight—back and forth, evening out the bumps, and compacting the grass to give the bowlers the best bounce. But now this notion of ‘preparing the ground’ has been borrowed by politicians (and their spin doctors) to name the kind of work they do to keep the poor old voters quiet and passive while the government does something unpleasant. It works like this. The government has something nasty to announce. But they don’t just dump the news and then cop the howls of abuse that follow. Instead, they ‘prepare the ground’—they have their spin doctors and media team do a bit of ‘pitch-rolling’ first. Let’s image the government wants to raise taxes (doesn’t take a lot of imagination, does it?) Knowing the cries of pain this will call forth from ordinary voters they start by doing some ‘pitch-rolling’ (preparing the ground). They leak stories about deficits and the ‘need for balance’ to friendly journalists, they hint at what they are thinking of (to see if there is any immediate reaction) and they carefully avoid making any commitments about what they about to do (‘at this time we have no intention to …’) Only when people have got used to the idea that this unpleasantness of a tax increase is coming and can’t be dodged (when the ‘ground is prepared’) is the change actually, formally announced. And they get away with it because of all the ‘pitch-rolling’ that has already been done. (E.g. if there are enough weeks of rumbling about changes to the Capital Gains Tax then you can get away with announcing the changes because you have smoothed out the ground first—by doing some ‘pitch-rolling.’)

Quodlibet It seems likely that Andew Mountbatten-Windsor will end up paying a price for whatever evil he may have got up to with Jeffrey Eppstein. So far, the only person who has been sent to a long term of imprisonment is Ghislaine Maxwell. Which (on the evidence) is exactly what she deserves. As one recent commentator remarked: ‘Eppstein built the network (of trafficked under-age girls) but Maxwell ran it.’ The result is that she is called into innumerable hearings—either to answer addition questions raised by the latest dump of Eppstein documents, or because her lawyers keep inventing new ways for her to appeal her sentencing. On the subject of these Eppstein documents Maxwell responded to one burst of questions with an odd word. The TMZ news website reported as follows: ‘Ghislaine [Maxwell] responds with, “Stop it. My jealous quodlibet (look it up in the dictionary if you have not used this word before) is already full”.’ Well, I did look it up in the dictionary (that is, after all, my job when words like this surface!) and I found this definition in the full Oxford English Dictionary: a ‘quodlibet’ (pronounced KWOD-luh-bet) means ‘academic disputation.’ Eh? How can that apply to anything this odious Ghislaine Maxwell has ever had to say? ‘Quodlibet’ comes from the post-classical Latin word quodlibetum meaning an academic exercise in which a master would discuss questions on any subject, which could be posed by any member of the audience. Surely this woman doesn’t see herself as any sort of academic master?  The linguists at the Merriam-Webster Dictionary comment: ‘Quodlibet can also refer to a whimsical combination of familiar melodies or texts. The word traces back to the Latin quodlibet, neuter form of quilibet, “any whatever,” from qui “who, what” + libet “it pleases.” As the TMZ article notes, it is unclear how Maxwell was using the word. One website tells me that ‘One enduring aspect of the quodlibet tradition is its association with intellectual playfulness—engaging the audience through wit, surprise, and layered meaning.’ So did she think she was joking? Mind you, the good news is that this woman has very little to joke about these days!

Salchow Have you been watching the Winter Olympics on TV? Even those Aussies who are not snow bunnies and have never strapped on a pair of skis watch with amazement the spins and turns of the aerial skiers. And the death-defying plunge down the tube of ice called the luge (if I’ve got that word right) at 150 kilometres an hour (headfirst!) And that’s not to mention those people desperately sweeping the ice with their brooms in curling (am I the only one to find that funny?); and the pirouettes of the ice skaters—all quite amazing. Which brings us to this word ‘salchow.’ This is a manoeuvre that figure skaters perform as they work to earn points from tough-minded judges. Now that really is a weird word, isn’t it? And therefore well worth researching. The Oxford English Dictionary gives the following definition for the ‘salchow’ manoeuvre. The full name (they say) should be ‘salchow jump’ and what it means is: ‘A jump in which the skater takes off from the inside back edge of one skate and lands, after a complete rotation, on the outside back edge of the other.’ I think I understand what they mean… I think. But at the very least I can see that it means ‘a very tricky, clever, and difficult jump in the middle of a figure skating routine.’ So, where does the name come from? From a person. The ‘salchow jump’ is named after the person who invented it. And this was Ulrich Salchow (1877–1949), Swedish figure skater who invented it. He invented it in 1921, so it’s recorded from 1921. By the way, another Winter Olympics expression I’ve been asked about is ‘goofy’—some commentators may say that one ski has standard stance while another has a ‘goofy’ one. The word is American slang from early in the 20thcentury and started off meaning someone who makes ‘goofs’ (that is, mistakes). So being ‘goofy’ originally meant being mistake prone. It no longer means that. Over time it has come to mean ‘eccentric.’ I am told that in skiing (and in surfing) this means have one’s left foot forward instead of one’s right foot. But in those cases (as well as more widely in the language) that confirms my view that the core meaning of ‘goofy’ these days is ‘eccentric.’

‘Good Muslims’—part two Two days ago I wrote about the phrase ‘good Muslims’ – based on Pauline Hanson and her critics. In response I have had a flood of correspondence, and I’d like to share some of that with you. Susie writes to say that (as demonstrated by Rowan Dean on Sky News) ‘that Pauline’s comments were edited and taken out of the context of the point she was making about the Islamic issue.’ (Andew Bolt made the same point in his column in the Daily Telegraph yesterday.) Basically, I argued in my column that Islam is two things, not just one thing—it is BOTH a religion AND a political ideology. I was suggesting that there is nothing concerning in the RELIGION of Islam (prayer five times a day, fast during Ramadan etc.) but that we should be concerned about the anti-democratic, authoritarian nature of POLITICAL Islam. However, Jean-Jacques wrote to say: ‘Problem with your explanation, both sides are united under the Koran which many times speaks of Jihad.’ Garry wrote to say: ‘It really annoys me how they are always waiting to jump on anything Pauline says. I am no scholar and I haven’t read the Koran, but this is how I perceive what she meant: if you were a true Muslim, you would follow the Koran, and the Koran hates Western Society so then how can there be a Good Muslim in our world? The bloody press just takes the whole thing out of context because it is Pauline. Anyway, I’ve now got it off my chest!’ Aileen writes: ‘Thanks Kel, it makes perfect sense, but I think there must be many who embrace both religious and ideological Islam.  What is the most correct way to spell Qur’an? Is it Koran or Quran or Qur’an or are they equally acceptable?’ The answer is that in translating Arabic script into our Latin alphabet there is no precise equivalence, so both spellings are okay. Jan wrote: ‘Well explained Kel. I learned from your email. (Unfortunately it appears the good Muslims are intimidated by the political side of Islam).’ And, finally, Brian writes: ‘Hi Kel, you nailed it exactly as it is mate. Mohamad's biography is interestingly weird... Thanks for being a voice for the silent majority.’

Ramadan We keep hearing in news reports that this is the month of ‘Ramadan’ for Muslims, so this seems like the right time to unpack that word. Many people know that ‘Ramadan’ is the month of fasting, so it might strike them as odd that during Ramadan there are street foods stalls in the Sydney Muslim suburb of Lakemba, and a lot of feasting goes on. So how does that fit with fasting? The answer is that the fasting only applies between sunrise and sunset, and after sunset they are allowed to tuck in! Here’s the official Oxford definition of Ramadan: ‘The ninth month of the year in the Islamic calendar, during which Muslims observe strict fasting between dawn and sunset.’ The Oxford then adds this explanatory note: ‘The lunar calculation of the Islamic calendar brings the fast eleven days earlier each year, so that in a cycle of about thirty-three years it passes through all the seasons successively. Ramadan was also a holy month in earlier Arab tradition, and, according to the solar calculation of the pre-Islamic calendar, would have been uniformly one of the hotter months.’ And that bit about ‘hotter months’ is relevant because the word ‘Ramadan’ comes from Arabic word meaning ‘scorching heat.’ The word ‘Ramadan’ is recorded in English from the 1500s—so from around a thousand years after it was instituted by Mohammad. This year Ramadan more or less coincides with the Christian month of Lent. The Oxford definition says that Lent is ‘A period of fasting and penitence, beginning on Ash Wednesday and ending shortly before Easter.’ This comes from the Old English word ‘Lenten’ meaning the season of Spring. This word ‘Lent’ goes right back to the very birth of the English language among the Anglo-Saxons. Now what I find so interesting is that politicians and the media want to tell us all about Ramadan, but seem to have forgotten entirely about Lent. This is despite the fact that more 11 million Australians say they are Christians—while only one million say they are Muslims. So it doesn’t pay to belong to the majority, does it?