I’m not sure I have enough tequila to get me through this.
Over a year ago, I wrote about the spate of so-called “town hall meetings” that the many presidential candidates were holding. Republicans and Democrats alike were booking these events in practically every available enclosed space in New Hampshire—schools, libraries, Elks lodges—everywhere, that is, except actual town halls. I was, I’ll admit, a bit exercised about the whole affair, certainly not without justification.
The presidential candidates are long gone from New Hampshire (notwithstanding Friday’s activities), and I naturally assumed that the town-hall-meetings-in-non-town-hall-venues were gone with them. But one evening last week I returned home to find on my answering machine this message from a closer-to-home politician: “Good evening. This is [a closer-to-home politician]. I was calling tonight to invite you to an exclusive live telephone town hall for your community.”
All right, I give up. What the hell is a telephone town hall? Here’s what I imagine—I dial a number that allows me to register my car, pay my property taxes, and license my dog over the phone. Do you think that’s what he was talking about?
No, I don’t, either. I think he was talking about some kind of political chat that has not the remotest connection to anything that goes on in a town hall. But he called it a “telephone town hall” because—uh, well, why not, right?
I’m sure this particular candidate had no improper motives when he agreed to use the term “telephone town hall”—a term you can be certain was invented by one of the sleazebag political consultants who are now running our country. “The town hall brand is exceptionally strong this year,” the candidate undoubtedly was told, and that was all the convincing needed.
But here’s the problem. Once a politician gets comfortable referring to an ordinary phone call as a “telephone town hall,” we’ve lost him. He has bought into the notion that he can say whatever he wants, because voters are too dumb to care. (Which may happen to be true, but let’s set that aside.) In no time, he’ll be talking about “weapons of mass destruction-related program activities” or saying, “I remember landing under sniper fire, or, you know, whatever.”
There is a concept that I would like to re-introduce to our culture. Here it is: words have meanings. In my ideal world, people would not merely open their mouths and be content with whatever words happen to spill out. Speech, rather than being considered an involuntary bodily function like breathing or sweating, would be used deliberately, to say something meaningful.
I realize it’s not going to happen. But I can dream, can’t I?
While I’m dreaming, here are a few other bits of political jargon that are ready for the dust heap:
The royal “we.” I learned in elementary school that the pronoun one uses to refer to oneself in the singular is “I.” “We” refers to two or more persons. Why can’t politicians remember that? I have never in my life mistaken myself for two or more persons. How does that happen?
Perhaps the most famous example was Margaret Thatcher’s announcement, upon the birth of her grandson, that “we are a grandmother.” (Better, I suppose, than what Maureen Dowd might have said: “We is a grandmother.”) But one certainly doesn’t have to go across the pond to find examples of such idiocy. I hereby pledge to give a dollar to any candidate for president, governor, or U.S. senator who can go one week without referring to himself as “we.” I think my money’s safe.
Fighting words. Just about every candidate for every office pledges to “fight for you.” Really? Fight? I spend my working hours observing one of the largest legislative bodies in the world, and in five years I have never seen a fight. I heard a loud argument in the hall once, but that’s about it.
It’s been over 150 years since the last decent legislative fight at any level, when Rep. Preston Brooks of South Carolina thrashed Sen. Charles Sumner of Massachusetts on the floor of the Senate. (“Beat him senseless with a cane,” as my high school history teacher fondly reminded us at least once a day.) And, actually, that was more of a sneak attack than a fight. Hamilton and Burr—now there was a fight; but that was over 200 years ago.
Personally, I’m not interested in a candidate who wants to fight. I prefer someone who will argue persuasively, vote intelligently, and perhaps compromise when necessary. In fact, I think fighting is against the rules.
So don’t tell me you’re going to fight for me. You’re not.
“Tough decisions.” This is all the rage these days. The candidate assures us that he’s willing to make tough decisions—which he proves by presenting a photo showing him staring pensively out the window.
Uh, excuse me? Isn’t making decisions, tough or otherwise, what lawmakers get paid to do? (Not paid much in New Hampshire, but paid nevertheless.) So when a candidate claims a readiness to “make tough decisions,” isn’t that sort of like saying, “I’ll go to work every day, even when it’s not a lot of fun”? It doesn’t exactly give me goosebumps.
Besides, you know what? I’d be happy just to have someone who can make the easy decisions, as long as he gets them right. “Let’s see—start a catastrophic war for no particular reason, or take a nap? I think I’ll try the nap.” Yeah, that’s my candidate. And if he can tell the difference between a telephone call and a town hall, I’ll pledge my everlasting support.
