Will this nonsense language dull our reality or will we be bored to death before the virus reaches us?

The outbreak of coronavirus has led to a rash of cliches , loaded phrases, and weary metaphors. This contamination of our speech is isolating meaning, destroying semantics and, worse still, trivialising the crisis, says Robert Fisk

(Universal Images Group via Getty)

Hot on the heels of the coronavirus infection has come the infection of our language. Covid-19 will pass. The other disease may be more permanent. Within not days but minutes – even seconds – this potentially more long-lasting infection of our speech passed from politicians to reporters to the people. Few of us now question the loaded phrases, the old cliches put to new use, the tired metaphors and the weary references to war and frontlines – even, inevitably I suppose, to the Second World War. It was there yet again in Boris Johnson’s lacklustre new set of "instructions" last night.

If we “self-isolate”, I suspect we are not just closing our front doors. We are also isolating meaning, destroying semantics, misusing our language, mixing cliché with weary metaphor. It won’t make the virus go away, but it will self-isolate the words we speak. Perhaps for a long time. And be sure, there will be more of them.

Last night’s address to the nation contained many of Johnson’s more tiresome and repetitive expressions: “fantastic”, “absolutely”, “amazing”. And the usual comic-cuts logos: twice Covid-19 was “the invisible killer” against which we would “turn the tide” (like Canute, perhaps). The British will “rise to that challenge” as “they have in the past so many times”. What did this mean? Was this another yet another reference to the Luftwaffe bombing of Britain? Or the Brexit vote?

“We will come through stronger than ever,” Johnson insisted. But how, for goodness sake? The British have been “enlisted” in the fight. Good soldiers all. But if Britons are so dedicated to "turning the tide’", what was all this talk of coercion; the “instruction” with which the prime minister would “ensure compliance” from his people, the threats – “if you don’t follow the rules, the police will have the powers to enforce them” – and the two eerie references to “dispersing gatherings”? What was he talking about? House parties, we must assume, or ad hoc football games in the park. Fair enough. But what if the gatherings occurred because more than two people wanted to protest at Johnson’s “instructions”?

I’m tempted, here, of course, to kick off with the literally morbid “herd immunity” we heard so much about earlier this month. But let’s go back and begin with Boris Johnson’s first cowardly introduction to the idea that old people will die more quickly than young people. You might think that a mature, adult prime minister would treat his people to the realities of death. Death, after all, is what makes coronavirus so frightening. If it constituted only a mild, non-lethal but more than unusually unpleasant flu, we wouldn’t be – most of us, that is – hiding at home in fear.

But no, Johnson’s first babyish utterance on the subject of death was as follows: “Many more families are going to lose their loved ones before their time”. Let us, in the immortal words of a very young Noam Chomsky, when I studied his work at university, subject this immature sentence to a little linguistic analysis.

Johnson’s nonsense needs to be subjected to bitter irony. Other European political leaders told the utter truth. Leo Varadkar said in his St Patrick’s Day message that ‘sadly some people will die’. Now that’s socking it to us right on target

First of all, please notice that the word “death” does not occur in this homespun remark. Johnson begins with “families” who will “lose” those he describes as “loved ones”. ”Families” are the victims here, please note – not the actual victims who are going to die; and these families are going to “lose” relatives rather than have them cruelly snatched from them by a repulsive infection with which British health services may – or may not – be able to withstand.

And then we come to the sickening and childish ending of this sentence: “before their time”. Note how these “loved ones” are not going to be “lost” because they die of a cruel virus for which we have no cure. They are merely going to leave us before their scheduled departure. Their last hurrah will come earlier than forecast. Their death – speak not the word, but this is the inference of the Johnson treatise – was going to happen anyway. It’s just that the loss of the loved ones will happen earlier than expected. The loss will not be avoided, merely brought forward. The date has changed.

Varadkar didn’t mince his word. He told it like it is (AFP via Getty) (AFP via Getty Images)

All of the above must be understood before we confront the on-again off-again policy of ‘herd immunity’ to which Boris Johnson and his medical chums were at one stage going to condemn their people. The phrase certainly does add a new meaning to Thomas Gray’s observation that “the lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lee”. It is, remember, evening in Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, although one can only assume on a re-reading that the “herd” in question is rather elderly – they wind slowly, you see, it’s been a long day – and no doubt they have left behind them a number of their loved fellow bovines who, unable to wait longer, have gone to graze in elysian fields prior to their normal expiry date.

Johnson’s nonsense needs to be subjected to bitter irony. Other European political leaders told the utter truth. The Irish Taoiseach, Leo Varadkar, for example, said in his St Patrick’s Day message that “sadly some people will die…We will almost certainly soon get to a situation where people are dying from the virus every day.” Now that’s socking it to us right on target. No mealy-mouthed metaphors in Ireland – where the cancellation of St Patrick’s Day itself was far more in tune with the emergency than Johnson’s preposterous decision to allow the Cheltenham races to go ahead.

But then the Irish have never contemplated anything so heinous as allowing their population to deliberately become infected so that they – the survivors, that is – would be “immune”. I know that ‘herd immunity’ is an old medical term, but it is particularly pernicious now. Quite apart from the very word “herd” – which may indeed be the contemptuous expression which Johnson, Cummings and others use about UK citizens – the “immunity” which these cows/sheep/victims will enjoy can only be obtained by catching, suffering and in some cases dying of coronavirus.

If there was a vaccine for Covid-19, the offered “immunity” might be more easily digestible even if members of the herd did not really understand its implications. But in the context of the coroner-doctor’s early advice, the immunity was clearly only to have been bought at a deadly price: with a cull of pensioners, the “elderly” or the old among the common herd. Or those who might be expendable enough – albeit not to “loved ones” – to expire “before their time”.

But long before this pandemic, we abandoned the serious word ‘problems’ – since problems need to be understood, treated, solved, and resolved or at the very least temporarily ameliorated. Problems became issues

Or – wait for it – those who also have “underlying health issues”? I think this iniquitous and cowardly phrase popped up when we were first reporting the outbreak of coronavirus in China. Not only, at that early stage, were the majority of victims elderly. They also suffered from these mysterious underlying health issues. To the patients themselves of course, these were not “issues’’. They were problems; indeed, very serious problems – of the heart, of the lungs, of cancer and leukemia.

But long before this pandemic, we abandoned the very serious word problems – since problems need to be understood, treated, solved, resolved or at the very least temporarily ameliorated. Problems have thus already become “issues”. They merely need to be recognised. No further effort is required of us. We may have “travel issues” (if our plane is delayed) or “mental issues” (if we suffer from mental distress) or “work issues’’ (if we can’t stand our boss) or any other kind of issues. But they require no further worry by the rest of us. Issues are an explanation for something we needn’t concentrate upon. They have been acknowledged.

We now have ‘underlying health conditions’, which is almost as bad. ‘Condition’ can also have much wider applications. In Victorian times, a pregnant woman might be in a ‘delicate condition’

And while health issues clearly do represent a problem for many people, the very word “health” is itself a misnomer since any patient will tell you that they suffer from “ill-health”. And ill health is very much a problem. Nor, again for the victims, is this ill-health underlying. It is very much the primary cause of their suffering, their hospitalisation and their possible loss of life. What we are trying (and failing) to say, is that the patient’s illness had fatally weakened their immune system to the extent that the virus easily killed them. Or killed them more easily than it would if the victim who had tested positive was a young man or woman with no health issues.

What we should say is that patients are “already suffering from serious ill-health problems which made them more susceptible to the coronavirus”; given the lamentable state of a health system, which cannot look after all the victims of a pandemic, many are going to die. I have spotted these last few days the replacement of “issues” by “conditions”.

Johnson’s first babblings on the subject of death were babyish (Getty) (Getty Images)

We now have “underlying health conditions”, although this is almost as bad. Condition can also have much wider applications. In Victorian times, a pregnant woman might be in a “delicate condition” (the screenplay of the movie Titanic actually uses the word in this context). So a condition is not necessarily a problem or an issue at all.

And in any ordinary world, I should add, we would never have contemplated such a nonsensical phrase as ‘social distancing’ -- when what we actually mean is “keeping a physical distance from others” or, if you like, “physical distancing”. How did the happy-clappy “social” ever get involved in this? Given the plague of social media and its often hate-filled content, “social distancing” would be a very good idea to adopt forever and ever against the infection of abuse which so many of us now endure online.

But no, if it’s “social”, it must be good and close and kind of huggy, and so we’ve got to keep away from it at times like these and thus – and here’s the point, of course – we must “sacrifice” our social life in the interests of society/the nation/humanity/the world.

In fact, “social distancing” is the one thing we are not going to do. The Internet, the telephone and phone videos mean that most folk are right now moving socially closer to each other through the wonders of science and modern communication. What they have to do is stay apart by around six feet during encounters -- this might be called “socialising distance”, I suppose – and not “congregate” together, a good old fashioned word that seems to have been quite lost on our masters when they understandably close bars and nightclubs.

We might also recall the advice given to my Dad and other soldiers of the First World War when they arrived in the trenches: keep your head down. Or the snipers will get you. That’s really what six feet means today. Keep apart, rather than keep down

I do have some sympathy with the metaphors of war. Doctors, nurses, ambulance drivers and paramedics are indeed on a “frontline”. For not only are they literally fighting to save the lives of others; they are also, in a sense, coming under fire as they mind their posts – because the virus is shooting back at them, infecting them and in some cases killing them. They are in danger of being eliminated by an enemy which they are trying to destroy. Although we should not, perhaps, forget that we, too, are on a front line – it is the “wounded” among us that the doctors are trying to save.

And if we follow on from a metaphor like this, we might also recall the advice given to my Dad and other soldiers of the First World War when they arrived in the trenches of the Western Front: keep your head down. Or the snipers will get you. That’s really what six feet means today. Keep apart, rather than keep down. Or the virus will get you.

‘Herd’ is a contemptuous expression for Cummings to use about UK citizens (Reuters) (REUTERS)

I’m less easy, though, about the constant references to the Blitz spirit – not just because the Blitz was an invention of a certain nation which is now fighting the same “war” against coronavirus as us, but because these allusions lend themselves to dangerous exaggeration. I know that the UK’s coronavirus deaths are heading towards 300. But British fatalities in the German 1940-41 Blitz came to around 40,000. Don’t we need a sense of perspective here? Listening to health secretary Matt Hancock waffling on about our grandparents seemed a little bit obscene.

Not just because Hancock was born more than thirty years after the end of the Second World War – and can have no conception of its epic tragedy – but because he was so fawningly handing out praise to a generation whose survivors must sincerely hope they are not subjected to “herd immunity”. “Despite the pounding [sic] every night, the rationing, the loss of life, they pulled together in one gigantic national effort,” historian Hancock informed us. “Today our generation is facing its own test…”

I know that the UK’s coronavirus deaths are heading towards 300. But British fatalities in the German 1940-41 Blitz came to around 40,000. Don’t we need a sense of perspective here?

This sort of stuff wouldn’t matter so much if it wasn’t trotted out so frequently whenever suicide bombers or economic crises strike the UK. It smells about a century old. Wasn’t that when we were first told (in a typewriting manual, to be sure) that “now is the time for all good men [sic] to come to the aid of the party”? And along with “wartime” spirit, is it not also time to abandon the dreaded words “self-isolation”. What’s wrong with just “isolation”, something which priests and saints as well as many serious readers of books often practice? Why must we bring the “self” into this?

I notice that this is beginning – in the case of the elderly -- to morph into the idea of “cocooning”, another suspicious expression which originally applied to insects. To act like an insect might be safer than membership of a herd but the idea of a cocoon in its new linguistic use implies a “wake-up” time which some of those sleeping away may not ultimately enjoy.

I fear we are not going to be able to avoid the ridiculous verb-into-noun inventions which the great and the good invent for us on such occasions. The most recent is “the ask”. As in “we can meet the ask” – in other words, “we can meet the request of those who seek assistance in this epidemic”. I’ve spotted this atrocious phrase three times now. Others invent whole new administrative creatures whose names are intended to confuse all who hear them, like the preposterously entitled “local resilience forums” which was invented – you will not be surprised to learn – by Tony Blair’s government. These forums are now making their reappearance in admin-speak; they reportedly contain all kinds of police, medical and other auxiliaries who are supposed to, well, show “resilience” in times of peril.

Just over a week ago, Robin Swann informed his Protestant and Catholic people that ‘the scale of the surge [of the virus] coming towards us is of biblical proportions’. Really? The bible is full of statistics, many of them notional and most of them fictitious

Mind you, you’d need a bit of resilience if you took a rhetoric bath in Northern Ireland these days. Robin Swann is the unionist minister for health in Belfast – a hard-working guy who does talk about death like a grown-up – but whose background as an Orangeman during the present pandemic may have lent him a rather too strict adherence to the scriptures. Just over a week ago, for example, he informed his Protestant and Catholic people that “the scale of the surge [of the virus] coming towards us is of biblical proportions.”

Well, hold on a second, Robin, I said to myself when I read this old canard. Really? REALLY? The bible, God love it, is full of statistics, many of them notional and most of them simply fictitious. The rains during the Flood (Noah’s Ark and all that) lasted for 40 days and 40 nights – the same period as Christ’s sojourn in the desert when he was tempted by the devil. The exodus from Egypt might have involved two million Jews, or so it’s been calculated. Jesus is said to have fed five thousand people from a mere five loaves and two fishes. Maybe Robin Swann was thinking about the Old Testament’s ten plagues which were inflicted upon Egypt: blood, frogs, boils, lice, hail, locusts, darkness, the killing of the first-born, flies and a pestilence of livestock.

And all this nonsense-language must surely produce a reaction. Will it merely dull our senses to reality? Or will we be bored to death before the virus reaches us?

Now we’ve all been guilty of this biblical nonsense in our journalism. A flood or tsunami “of biblical proportions” has appeared in plenty of media reports. A certain R. Fisk has, I admit, once written about a tide of refugees “of biblical proportions” – perhaps more than once! – but surely we should keep the holy books out of Covid-19. The same minister, Robin Swann, I should add, went for the worst cliché of all when he suggested that Northern Ireland might suffer the “worst-case nightmare scenario” of 15,000 dead.

“Nightmare” is surely the most redundant and indigent of all words in such language – what is wrong with just “worst-case scenario” (always supposing we can still stomach “scenario”)? There are others. I’m growing weary of “lockdown” and also “epicentre” which – in the case of earthquakes or tsunamis – used to be in one location, but which can now emigrate, we are to suppose, from China to Italy.

We’ve even suffered from “the point of no return”, an entirely unscientific term which was once aeronautical (the moment when an aircraft was safer to continue its flight than return to its point of departure). And all this nonsense-language must surely produce a reaction. Will it merely dull our senses to reality? Or will we be bored to death before the virus reaches us?

A man walks along an empty road leading to S Mary Major Basilica in Rome whilst Italy is on lockdown (AP)

Trump, in his befuddled and confused way, remarked that “we are in a different place”. But I’ve now heard the fatal and most cinematic of all horror phrases on a satellite television channel: “Life as we know it”. As in ‘life as we know it has been changed forever/will be changed forever/has gone forever’ etc. Again, I ask, really? REALLY? Yes, I do think we may emerge from all this a little chastened. Maybe, as a friend said to me last week, we need a “pause” in our lives, a chance to assess our current history, to read and reflect rather than react. Books rather than screens, I asked? Yes came the reply. Hopefully.

Perhaps we should repair to Daniel Defoe’s “A Journal of the Plague Year” of 1665. I’m obliged to my journalist colleague Frank McNally of the Irish Times for reminding me of this distinctly uncliché’d tome. And yes, in the days of the bubonic plague, pubs were not closed, but the authorities prohibited “all plays, bear-baitings, games, singing of ballads, buckler-play [fighting with swords], or such-liked causes of assemblies…public feasting, and…dinners at taverns, ale houses and other places of common entertainment.”

This vivid account gets better. The mayor of London, Defoe tells us, only decreed that “disorderly tippling in taverns, ale-houses, coffee-houses, and cellars be severely looked into, as the common sin of this time and greatest occasion of dispersing the plague. And that no company of persons be suffered to remain or come into any tavern, ale-house, or coffee-house to drink after nine of the clock in the evening.”

So it was a curfew on licensing hours, rather than closure. All infected houses in the 17th century had to be marked with a red cross a foot long in the middle of the door with the words “Lord have mercy upon us” printed there. Households could literally be locked up and kept under police guard for 20 days (which would certainly thin out the herd). But at least Defoe did not write in clichés.

Yet soon, I fear, we’ll read the ultimate headline: KILLER VIRUS SWEEPS THE WORLD: DOCTORS FAIL TO BREAK THE MONSTER’S SECRET. Or is that just pretty close to the truth? Or have we read it already? So – looking out over a green-blue sea on a beautiful evening last week – I telephoned my brother-in-law, a long-standing and true friend whom I’ve always trusted for advice. He’s a cancer surgeon on the other side of the world, a 44-year old who has never hesitated to talk about his work with me, and the decisions he has to take over the lives of others.

Of course, he repeated to me over the line all that advice about washing hands and staying away from others. But tell me all you know about coronavirus, I said. So here, to end without further comment, is his exact reply to me, readers, spoken coldly, without a hesitation or a cliché: “There is no vaccine and we don’t know enough about it. The virus is very powerful. It moves very fast. It is easy to get it and it takes a long time for the body to fight it – and it lasts a long time. Soon, people will die whom you know.”