Talking About Words: Explain Yourself
By Richard Bailey
Democracies explain; absolute power does not.
The opening
sentence of the Declaration of Independence provides
a famous example. Having determined to be independent,
the signatories declare a need to explain themselves: "a
decent respect" for world opinion requires
them to enumerate the causes. And so the document does, right down
to the complaint that the monarch has called the legislatures
into session in "places unusual, uncomfortable and
distant from the depository of their public records."
Absolute power need not explain itself.
The creator does not state in Genesis: "So we can see ourselves better in here, let there be light." S/he just does it: Fiat lux.
The Queen of Hearts in Alice does not say: "So my reign of terror may continue undiminished, let's execute her." She says: "Off with her head!"
There seem to be more explanations around nowadays than at earlier times, and some of them are bogus.
"We're
sorry. We can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message."
This is almost entirely bunk. How much regret does the speaker feel?
When did he feel it? Though it's a macabre detail, a number I sometimes
call has these words uttered by the father of the person I'm calling.
And he's been dead these last three years. "No," I shudder, "he
can't come to the phone right now. Or ever."
"To
ensure the quality of our service, this call may be recorded."
Perhaps this means that they want to ferret out the rude operators
from their staff. Or it may mean they are snooping into your business.
A newish technical term for this practice, first noticed in 1991,
is data-mining. Whatever the real reason may be for mining
the data from customers' calls, there has to be an explanation.
A couple of seasonal signs to be seen on the University of Michigan campus illustrate the trend.
In response to budget cuts, the University has determined to save money by not scraping the snow and ice from all the broad steps leading up to Angell Hall and the ones to Hatcher Library. Only the center sections are kept passable; the two sides are chained off and kept in the environmentally natural state.
The Angell
sign is clear: "DANGER. Sidewalk closed. No winter maintenance."
The sign is a little misleading since the sidewalk is not closed;
only the two side stairs are closed. But it does explain what those
chains are all about.
The library
stair gets the same treatment but a different sign: "Section
Closed for Winter Maintenance. Please use center stair."
Perhaps these signs had different authors. One says there is no "winter maintenance" and the other that a special seasonal maintenance is in force. But the "maintenance" is the same in both cases. There isn't any. Such are the present uses of "maintenance." "Deferred maintenance" actually means neglect: "Because of deferred maintenance, they had to replace the whole roof."
If there were no democracy here, there would be no need for either of these signs. The groundspersons would simply chain off the stairs on the two sides and leave it at that. The phone machine would say, "Leave a message." The
announcement about recording the call would disappear altogether.
Democracies
tolerate evasion. They can seldom abide silence.
 Richard
W. Bailey is the Fred Newton Scott Collegiate Professor
of English. His most recent book is Rogue Scholar:
The Sinister Life and Celebrated Death of Edward H. Rulloff,
University of Michigan Press, 2003 - a biography of an American
thief, impostor, murderer and would-be philologist who lived from
1821 to1871. It was published by the University
of Michigan Press in August.
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