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Uncivil Tongues: The Bad Manners of the Babykillers

by Tom Van Dyke on October 14, 2011

Calling abortion rights advocates “babykillers” is pretty much a no-no in our civil society, and for good reason. Such talk only serves to inflame: nobody likes being demonized so they get pissed and return fire; on the other side, demonization and over-the-top rhetoric just opens the gates for more of the same from the maddened crowd.

On yet another 50-50 issue in a 50-50 country, we just don’t need the noise.

I’m not one to troll the news or the internet for the dumbest, loudest MFers on the other side of the aisle [I'm a gentleperson of the right and I don't mind] to rail against, but Nancy Pelosi is no mere blogger or even backbencher—the erstwhile Speaker of the House is still the House Minority Leader.

“Under this bill, when the Republicans vote for this bill today. They will be voting to say that women can die on the floor and health care providers don’t have to intervene if this bill is passed. It’s just appalling.”

Huh? Not just me, but somebody on her side of the aisle is obliged to say, WTF? If there’s a rhetorical or substantive difference between “babykiller” and “[Republicans] will be voting to say that women can die on the floor” I’d like to know what it is.

Perhaps someone will try to defend her out of culture war loyalty, but on substance, Politico tells us that the bill still provides the customary exceptions for “cases of rape, incest or the health of the mother.” If accurate, that puts Rep. Pelosi’s charge in the neighborhood of a dirty lie, since it wouldn’t permit anyone to “die on the floor.”

And even if Politico isn’t quite accurate here, surely there’s a more statesmanlike way for a top Congressional leader to convince the American people that the bill is imprudent.

[The bill is an attempt to restore the status quo ante Obamacare, where the 1976 Hyde Amendment bans government money being spent on abortions---a position still held by more Americans than not. It was also the goal of the late, great Stupak Amendment, the last gasp of the last Democrat pro-lifers in congress.]

Now, I’m used to overstatement, demonization and over-the-top rhetoric like this from the Pelosis of America: I know even her supporters are inured to it, so numb they barely notice. We barely raise an eyebrow, perhaps whimper a faint protest. But this isn’t right, unless it’s OK for me to start calling her and hers demagoging partisan hack babykillers.

Which I’d rather not. I’m a civil fellow, a good citizen, play by the rules. I’d rather the gentlepersons of the left get their own house in order. Because if they can be held responsible for the incivility and divisive rhetoric of anyone, surely it’s ex-Speaker Pelosi, only months removed from the third-highest office in the land per the 25th Amendment.

There are cynically partisan reasons to hope she just keeps digging deeper and her supporters help: I like to think that the American voter is as repulsed by this sort of talk as they would be by “babykiller,” the sort of rhetoric that’s the last resort of the unreasonable. Abortion is perhaps our most difficult issue of conscience of all, and I do believe that the vast majority of Americans have searched the souls on it good and hard, regardless of their eventual position on the spectrum.

Each side seeks to coax the conscience of the other; “babykillers,” or letting women “die on the floor” are of the same stripe, divisive enemies of the clarity of good conscience that we all seek.

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Feeling “badly”

by Tim Kowal on August 24, 2011

Jay Nordlinger points out our Education Secretary don’t speak English real good:

Arne Duncan, our illustrious education secretary, is all weepy over the young’uns in Texas. They don’t get no education, what with that mean Rick Perry in charge. Duncan said, “I feel very, very badly for the children there.”

He feels badly, does he? Something wrong with his sense of touch? He can’t tell wood from water from sand? Does he feel sadly and terribly and angrily too?

More on this at Language Log.

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There’s “Fair,” and then there’s “Fair”

by Tim Kowal on April 26, 2011

Professor Mondo has a recent post on a topic of particular interest to me: our disparate underlying conceptions of the meaning of “fairness.”  (The Professor and I also share an appreciation of Richard Weaver.)  One particularly good point:

But both sides will cheerfully claim the mantle of fairness for their goals. As the two definitions don’t really seem compatible, it seems like somebody’s misusing the word. An interesting question (to me, anyway) becomes not so much the definition the rhetor is using (as the emotional impact of the God-term supersedes the denotation, in many cases), but the definition held by the rhetor’s audience. The question then becomes one of which side is using the word fair in a counterintuitive (not to say disingenuous) manner for the larger audience.

Read the rest.

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A Plague on Words: Decimate, Disinterested, and Uninterested

by Tim Kowal on April 22, 2011

A couple weeks ago, Ben Yagoda at Slate offered several examples of words and phrases whose original meanings seem to be fighting a losing battle against their incorrect contemporary meanings.  Some of the more surprising examples include “fortuitous” (it actually means “unplanned,” not “fortunate”), “presently” (meaning “shortly,” not “at present”), and “verbal” (meaning “in words,” not just “oral” or “spoken”).  While I appreciate that language is conventional to a certain extent, it’s hard not to be stubborn about the meaning of words.  That’s what it means to “mean” something, doesn’t it?  That, whatever it means, it will mean it predictably and reliably each and every time.

There are two particular examples on Mr. Yagoda’s list that are especially interesting: the traditional and new meanings of “decimate,” and the distinction between “distinterested” and “uninterested.”

[click to continue…]

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Words to Retire: “Antediluvian”

by Tim Kowal on April 1, 2011

The odds are pretty good that if you know what the word “antediluvian” means, you had to look it up.  And if you don’t know what it means, you would not likely be aided by the hint that it means the opposite of “postdiluvian.”  (Good grief, that’s an actual word.)  “Antediluvian” is just too obscure—not to mention clunky—to pass off on a mainstream audience without distracting a large fraction of it from your meaning.  If you want to convey that something is old, there are plenty of familiar synonyms.  (On the other hand, if you’re actually talking about things older than the the Biblical flood, then by all means, indulge.)

Thus, it escapes me why lots of otherwise fine writers improvidently use “antediluvian” as if it conveyed clear meaning or produced pleasant sounding sentences.  Here are a few examples of particularly bad usage I pulled from my Google Reader feed:

  • Robert Teitelman:  “And to establish some historical context for the ’70s, you’re forced back to the antediluvian ’30s.”  By definition, this makes no sense.  Sending your readers to the dictionary to get your meaning, where they will inevitably find you have not even bothered to use your words correctly, will hardly endear any of them to you.
  • Leonard Gilroy:  “Given the power of the bureaucracy and the tenacity of industry opponents of ABC reform, it may end up taking the combined strength of two popular governors to begin shutting down a few of the 18 remaining, antediluvian state-run liquor monopolies that seem more appropriate for Venezuela than they do 21st Century America.”  Since this piece is actually about tax policy and history, one would expect an actual approximation of the monopolies’ inception rather than hyperbole.
  • Jacob Sullum:  “‘In a radio address around the same time, President Barack Obama dreaded “a flood of attack ads run by shadowy groups with harmless-sounding names,” unleashed by a ruling that “allows big corporations to spend unlimited amounts of money to influence our elections.’ [¶] In September a front-page New York Times story seemed to confirm these antediluvian prophecies.”  Ha!  “Flood” of attack ads.  Get it?

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