Forbidden Words: Taboo and the Censoring of Language

120 Forbidden Words
who engage in random acts of censoring by writing to newspapers and
university linguistics departments, phoning in to radio stations or joining
associations for spelling reform. These vexatious activists regularly publish
lists of linguistic misdemeanours – mispronunciations, misplaced apostrophes,
incorrect words, crimes of grammar under headings such as ‘Lamentable
Language’, ‘Descent into Linguistic Slobdom’, ‘Linguistic Junk’. Such
acts are typically provoked by the fact that a celebrity, so-called ‘expert’ or
sizeable portion of the speech community uses a shibboleth. Take, for instance,
the current collision in Antipodean English of the two verbs bring and
buy. Increasingly bought is appearing as the past of bring, as in ‘Mr Eric
Grant of Glen Iris bought in a couple of his 1975 Bin 389 [bottle of wine] for
evaluation.’ The fact that bought now commonly appears in print as the past
of bring suggests the change is already entrenched. Many people are upset by
this state of affairs. Yet most are truly fascinated by word origins and the
stories that lie behind the structures in their language. Why, then, are they
squeamish when they encounter changes happening within their lifetime? One
of the main thrusts of verbal hygiene is conservatism; keeping the language
‘pure’ means maintaining it unchanged. People find it interesting that go stole
its past tense went from wend, and that to be is a linguistic mongrel comprising
verb forms from three or even four other verbs; but for bring to do
likewise is calamitous. Change is fine only if it remains a historical curiosity.
No matter what the verbal hygienists may wish for, Standard English may
soon embrace the mixed pedigree of bring as it did earlier suppletions.
The Standard English that developed from the eighteenth-century prescriptivists
is a linguistic fantasy – an ossified paragon of linguistic virtue that
would be more accurately called the ‘Superstandard’, to acknowledge its
otherworldliness. 33 Even Archbishop Lowth was aware that the rules he
was laying down belonged to something not-of-this-world, but to a more
abstract level of language to be distinguished from ‘common discourse’. In
his Preface, he wrote: ‘It is not owing then to any peculiar irregularity or
difficulty of our Language, but that the general practice both of speaking and
writing it is chargeable with inaccuracy. It is not the Language, but the
practice, that is in fault.’ 34 Yet, many speakers of English believe in the
Superstandard. They believe in, if not the existence, then the possibility of a
single correct language system. Such beliefs are powerful – as anyone who
has tried to meddle with the cherished standard knows. Speakers want their
reference books to tell them what is and what is not ‘correct’ because they
wish to appear well educated and to eloquently maintain ‘correct usage’.
Dictionaries and handbooks that acknowledge change are abrogating their
responsibility. So too are the style manuals that recognize options. Language
professionals are in a difficult position, as the shamans who stand between the
object of worship and ordinary mortals.