IT DIDN’T go unnoticed – I have spies everywhere – that during my recent absence from this space, the term “iconic” appeared in a diary, in apparent contravention of a ban imposed here some months ago.
All right, that ban was a personal gesture: a protest against what I saw as the unacceptable proliferation of the adjective in contemporary discourse.
It was a unilateral measure, and not binding on occasional contributors to this column, except perhaps as part of the same voluntary code of conduct that requires them not to bring drink on to the premises and to keep the noise down during the late afternoon when the people over there (to your left) are trying to write high-minded editorials.
But what, may I ask, was the term used to describe on this occasion? Which “symbol, representation [of] anybody or anything uncritically admired” – to quote my Chambers Dictionary – was described as “iconic”? Why, Adolf Hitler’s moustache, no less. I ask you.
Now, it must be admitted, the I-word has already evolved a long way from its original meaning, which related to stylised portraits of saints and religious figures. And I know that, whatever dictionaries claim, the adjective is these days often used in a morally neutral sense.
Hence the many terms that “iconic” now routinely replaces include “very famous” and “instantly recognisable”. Both of which Hitler’s moustache undoubtedly were.
But even aside its chronic overuse – sufficient in itself to justify a moratorium – I suggest that, in honour of iconic’s origins, we have to draw a line somewhere and refuse to cross it. If I may coin a phrase, the line could be described as “rubiconic”. And in my opinion, at least, Hitler’s moustache will always be the wrong side of it.
I’LL TELL YOU what I blame for the I-word’s appalling popularity. I blame that thing Alan McCarthy was writing about on the page opposite yesterday: the rise of “Globish” as an international language.
Globish is essentially English, as he pointed out. Yet in some respects, it has become a dialect unto itself, to the extent that – as McCarthy suggests – native English speakers may now need lessons in it.
Increasingly the language of senior management communication worldwide, Globish comprises a limited, idiom-free vocabulary of about 1,500 words that can express all the ideas needed in a typical business report or meeting, whether in Hanoi or Helsinki.
“Iconic” is surely one of those words. Everybody wants to have an “iconic brand” these days. Which is why “iconic” itself has been promoted to international brand manager in the Globish language empire, subsuming the roles formerly occupied by the hundreds of local adjectives that were laid off as part of the down-sizing.
“Passionate” (also on my ban list) must be another of the 1,500. As I wrote here before, passion seems now to an entry-level requirement for any career in business. Whether you’re shining shoes or designing space-ships, you have to be passionate about your work. Only in the sex industry is this still not a professional requirement.
IN A GLOBISH WORLD, you might think that being a native English speaker would be a big advantage, and it is. But there are drawbacks. McCarthy warns of the inhibiting effect native speakers, with their idioms, accents, and too-rapid delivery can have on a gathering of Globish speakers.
And yet in situations where they are the majority, it may be that it is we who have the translation problem. I say “we” advisedly, because the Financial Times had a piece on this subject a while back, wherein the head of an international communications company, while discussing the pitfalls of Globish for English speakers generally, quipped: “Nobody understands the Irish”. No doubt this was a slight exaggeration, but there may have been at least some truth in it. For with its vast vocabulary and proliferation of idioms, drawn from two languages, Hiberno-English must be especially difficult for foreigners.
The challenge is compounded by our multiple accents and habit (apparently) of speaking 300 words a minute, a combined effect of which, one fears, might be to make us uncompetitive in the global communications marketplace.
Maybe, thanks to long-term effects of cable television and the internet, this won’t be a problem for future generations. I notice that my children can get by on far fewer adjectives than we used to at their age: that, for example, everything good can now be described as “cool”, without further elaboration, and with a twang that wouldn’t trouble any Globish speaker’s comprehension.
So perhaps, beyond the courses for business people that Alan McCarthy suggests, there will be no need for more drastic action to address our competitiveness issues vis-a-vis language.
Let’s hope, in particular, that no Irish Government will ever need to consider any draconian rationalisation of our speech patterns. Otherwise you might fear for – say – the Cork accent. Which is a lovely thing in its own way, but impenetrable even to many Irish people and, in the Globish market-place, going forward, probably unsustainable.