Posts Tagged ‘politics’

The language of conquest and control

Thursday, May 19th, 2011

We get the politicians that our language deserves.

If you can’t see the video, sorry. Here’s the transcript of it:

Now that the mudslinging, backbiting and tearjerking of the local election is all over, I thought I’d share with you one of the things that I noticed that interested/disgusted me. Namely, the language used around the reporting of results. Or, to be more accurate, the language used around the declaring of victories and defeats.

‘Labour takes Telford and Wrekin’ – that’s what the headline said. Now in this sentence, the very active thing was ‘Labour’. They’re the ones doing the doing. Poor old Telford and Wrekin (wherever Wrekin is – they were just the ones having it done to them. As far as I know the people of Telford and Wrekin might like having it done to them, but that’s not the point. We can’t expect our elected representatives to understand the relationship we have with them – or more importantly the relationship we should have with them – if we allow them and the media to use this kind of language.

When Labour ‘takes’ Telford and Wrekin, Telford and Wrekin is just the spoils of war. Labour are like this invading army taking territory. So it’s not surprising that this invading army of Labour councillors goes on to fiddle their expenses and disappoint the good burghers of Telford and Wrekin with poor planning decisions and inefficient public lavatories.

Now last time I looked, this isn’t really how elections worked. Telford and Wrekin (Wrekin, by the way, is about 4 miles West of Telford, in case you’re interested – I looked it up on Google), when they went to vote, they were the ones doing the doing. What that headline should have said is ‘Telford and Wrekin take Labour’. They chose Labour. The power rested with them. If language was used this way, we’d have a very different relationship.

The truth is, given the way elections are conducted in this country, it might be more accurate to say ‘the people of Telford and Wrekin take Labour. They chose Labour. It was their decision’. If the headline said ‘Telford and Wrekin choose Labour, at least for the time being’, it might have reminded those Labour councillors where power really lies – with the people. Their tenure is merely temporary.

If we could move away from all these military metaphors and talk instead about public service, maybe the people of Telford and Wrekin would get better planning decisions, and better public conveniences.

An Open Letter to Michael Gove

Wednesday, June 16th, 2010

Dear Secretary of State

Sounds good doesn’t it? Secretary of State for Education. Yes, I know it may not last long – tricky things these hung parliaments – but for now, congratulations.

And could we please have a change in the National Curriculum?

Look at the list of GCSE subjects. Media Studies, obviously. Ceramics, Biblical Studies, Nautical Studies. Maltese, Korean, Persian. All very worthy courses.

But are any of them within a hundred miles of being as important as Personal Financial Planning? Secretary of State for Education sounds great. But so does “I got an A* in PFP.” And if you seriously want to do some good, that might be the place to start.

Let me introduce you to my son. Sixteen. Took his first GCSE on General Election day. So far school has taught him how to care for the environment. Why he needs to eat five-a-day. How to avoid Chlamydia. Hell’s teeth, Minister – if we think school needs to teach my son how to put on a condom and how to turn the tap off every time I start brushing my teeth, is it not at least equally important that it sends him out into the world knowing how a mortgage works?

Now come with me to Downing Street. Number Eleven. There’s your brand new colleague, Vince Cable, slumped over his desk, already worn down by intractable problems. One of them is the pensions gap. Or chasm if we’re being accurate. The huge gulf between what people should put into their pensions and what they actually do put in.

Why don’t they contribute? The simple answer is, they don’t understand pensions – and sadly, they don’t trust them either. So how much is the average client going to contribute to something he neither understands nor trusts? The minimum. And if the minimum’s nothing, that’s fine.

Look, I know you pols like lists: something to tick off in front of Paxo. Here are three good reasons why PFP should be taught in schools:

  1. Pensions. Ease the eventual burden on the state. See above
  2. People would protect themselves: they’d buy into life cover and critical illness cover and redundancy protection. They’d take proper care of their families if they understood the risks
  3. You’d avoid mis-selling scandals. Educate the consumers and they’re better able to defend themselves against plausible young men in suits. They’d realise that if it sounded too good to be true it almost certainly was too good to be true. They’d be able to say, “Hang on, I’m a teacher. And you’re trying to flog me redundancy cover? No thanks.”

Oh, and there’s a fourth reason. You have a moral duty. We simply cannot have generation after generation whose concept of financial planning is informed by the ads on Cartoon Network. Get a loan, get another loan, consolidate, then fall over and sue for compensation is not a financial planning strategy. Neither is buying scratch cards.

So let’s have a commitment. That by the end of this parliament (I’m not expecting miracles, 2015 is fine) every child will leave school with a basic understanding of how a mortgage works. Why it’s important to save. How he can protect his family. And how to ask intelligent questions.

Think on, Michael. You’d have done more for the country than a hundred think-tanks and a thousand quangos. That’s not just doing some good. That’s the ‘L’ word. That’s a Legacy.

Great Debate – The Sequel

Thursday, April 22nd, 2010

A week ago we idly wondered if the televised leadership debates could make much difference to public opinion. Now we know they can.

The polls have the Liberals and Conservatives vying for first place, with Labour flailing in third place and without a clear strategy to pull back. It might be difficult for Brown to agree with and attack Clegg at the same time, but no doubt he’ll find a way. With two debates to go, there’s still everything to play for. Remember how Susan Boyle took the world by storm via YouTube? And then she lost.

Brown has been bitten by his own sound-bite – “I agree with Nick.” Ladbrokes are offering 2-1 for either Cameron or Brown to use the phrase “I agree with Nick” in this week’s debate. Gordon Brown has proved he’s not Derren Brown. His hypnotic embedded command (an NLP technique) “Nick supports me,” failed to put Clegg in a trance or the mood for romance.  Instead, he pulled an “ew…” face and has since called Brown “desperate.” Ouch.

Perhaps the most impressive thing the debate (and Facebook) has done is to get more young people aged 18-24 interested in voting. Not as easy as the phone voting they’ve been trained in, but 120,000 registration forms were downloaded in the four days after the debate – half as many as in the entire preceding month. If that translates into people in polling stations, it would say quite something about the power of the debates.

So how did this happen? Was it all down to style, with substance being disregarded?

We Quietroomers spend our days analysing people’s language and style. What are some of the techniques we spotted? And what do we think could push up the scores on the doors?

Clegg immediately used language to create distance between him, Brown and Cameron. In his opening speech he said, “These two…” which created distance and showed dislike. Clegg continued using this linguistic tactic by repeatedly using their full names: “I don’t know whether Gordon Brown and David Cameron will take up this invitation,” and often speaking about them, not to them.

Gordon noticeably used both men’s first names throughout the debate. He did it to diminish Cameron: “I don’t think David will support us on that.” But in Clegg’s case, it was always to create the impression of closeness: “I agree with Nick.” This backfired, which shows that when a technique isn’t used authentically, no-one believes it.

The name calling didn’t stop there. Each of the leaders used the first names of audience members asking questions. Cameron started it, signalling that he was being personal. Clegg went one better. He used the person’s name, played back to them what they’d said, and then agreed with them: “Gerard, you talked about a fair, workable immigration system. That’s exactly what I want.” He was signalling ‘I’m on your side.’

Clegg used this technique often, though not always accurately: “Jacqueline, you asked what can be done to stop burglary happening over and over and over and over again.” No she didn’t. Jacqueline’s question was about making the UK a safer place to live and work. But Clegg reframed what she said so that he could make a different point.

Cameron was the first to use storytelling: “I was in Plymouth recently, and a 40-year-old black man made the point to me…” Perhaps this literally was storytelling; Cameron said the man had been in the Royal Navy for 30 years, which made him ten when he joined…  After that, the stories came thick and fast. One of Clegg’s felt overegged with technique: “I met a young man…. His flat had been burgled five times, and one of them, would you believe it, Jacqueline, was when he was away at his father’s funeral.”

Brown opened the door to self disclosure: “When I was young my father ran a youth club with my brother…”. Cameron wasn’t to be outdone: “My mother was a magistrate.” Brown came back: “I’d been brought up to believe by my parents…”

A few word-counts. The most popular verb of the debate was “think,” used 134 times, with “know” only used 34 times.  Wouldn’t we prefer our leaders to know more? The more positive “can” (thank you, Obama) was used 116 times, with the negative “can’t” only uttered 20 times.

The scores for the most-used nouns show what politicians think our priorities might be: people (107) country (62) money (56) economy (36). “Sorry,” something we might want to hear from our leaders, was said six times, but three times it was because Cameron and Clegg couldn’t see the audience member they were speaking to.

Ding ding. Round two. What techniques will change in the second debate?

Clegg looked down the camera to speak to the audience at home. Will the others now copy this style? And will Clegg master finishing a sentence to camera without weakening his message by looking down on his final words?

Cameron avoided eye contact with Brown when Brown was addressing him directly. He’d be stronger if he looked and listened.

Brown’s attacking, interrupting style might disappear, if he can control himself. And after his fluffed attempt at wit – thanking Cameron for funding his smiling face on posters – maybe he’ll follow his own advice and go for substance.

Our favourite moment last time was the very end, after the handshakes. Brown jumped off the stage and heartily pumped the hands of every audience member in the front row.  Cameron held Clegg back on stage for a moment, before they both reconsidered and dived into the audience.

Illuminating moments. Let’s see what they come up with tonight.

The party line

Wednesday, March 3rd, 2010
I’ve never been much of a sloganeer. I’ve always been much more comfortable nailing a subject in a thousand words than in three.
Don’t get me wrong, I like a good slogan. ‘Just do it’. ‘Every little helps’. Fay Weldon’s ‘Go to work on an egg’. Or ‘Beans Means Heinz’, written by Y&R creative director Mo Drake in a pub in 1967. I like the sound of Mo.
But they’re the exceptions. The rest are generally dismal. And bad political slogans are the dismalest of all.
Over the last two weeks, the Conservative Party and the Labour Party have both announced their election slogans. So what’s the verdict? Poetry? Or pish?
The Tories’ slogan – Vote For Change – was unveiled on Sunday. On the plus side, it’s short, it’s single-minded and it’s got a pleasing punchy rhythm. It leads with a strong verb. It sets out a simple, albeit well-trodden, proposition. But I have a few reservations. Vote For Change comes across more as a plea than a promise to me. It seems to reveal an electoral rather than a political focus. And it’s not clear what kind of change we’re talking about. Will it be a good one? One of those ones that’s as good as a rest? Or a bad change, the kind that happens just for change’s sake? The party seems to be suggesting that any kind of change is better than sticking with the government we’ve got. They’re hoping the voters agree.
Contrast that with Labour’s approach. ‘A future fair for all’ is definitely more promise than plea. This is a deliberate decision. An incumbent government can’t argue against a change agenda: they have to change the nature of the choice. So instead of it being ‘change’ versus ‘more of the same’, they want to make it ‘change’ versus a ‘fair future’.
Strategically, then, bang on. But again, I have a few reservations. OK, lots of reservations.
1. They’ve used it before. Bournemouth. 2003. They had seven years to deliver that fair future. What happened? How much fairer can things get?
2. It’s not unique territory. The Green Party says that ‘Fair is worth fighting for’. The Lib Dems are ‘Building a fairer Britain’. This fair’s looking pretty crowded all of a sudden.
3. There’s no verb. Gordon’s got form in this department. Independent sketchwriter Simon Carr once noted that the closer you got to the end of one of the former Chancellor’s Budget speeches, the more he tended to dispense with verbs altogether. Jobs not cuts. An end to boom and bust. Prudence our watchword. Fairness our goal. Yada yada yada.
4. It’s missing a comma. Some straplines – like Direct Line’s ‘A good deal better’ or O2’s ‘We’re better, connected’ – play with this. This one doesn’t.
5. It sounds like it was written by Yoda. 99 out of 100 people would say ‘a fair future’. Come on, they just would. Campaign chief Douglas Alexander defended the future fair by saying voters in focus groups found it less clichéd and more intriguing than the more conventional word order. Which lame sounds excuse a like. It certainly generated a lot of internet chatter, although most of that centred on the very important question: will there be dodgems? And some Tory wags labelled it ‘a fete worse than death’.
6. It sounds like something the doctor might prescribe for an eye infection. Or is that just me? Phuturphepherol. 500mg. Three drops daily. Keep refrigerated.
I don’t know if lines like these change the way people vote. I think, rather than revealing meaning, they sometimes just obscure it behind a natty turn of phrase. Look beyond them and you’ll find substance in both parties’ policies, of course. But in the hands of the sloganeer, all that subtlety and nuance just becomes glib cliché.

I’ve never been much of a sloganeer.  I’ve always been much more comfortable nailing a subject in a thousand words than in three.

Don’t get me wrong, I like a good slogan. ‘Just do it’. That’s a cracker. ‘Every little helps’. Fay Weldon’s ‘Go to work on an egg’. Or ‘Beanz Meanz Heinz’, written by Y&R creative director Mo Drake in a pub in 1967. (I like the sound of Mo.)

But they’re the exceptions. The rest are generally dismal. And bad political slogans are the dismalest of all.

Over the last two weeks, the Conservative Party and the Labour Party have both announced their election slogans. So what’s the verdict? Poetry? Or pish?

The Tories’ slogan – Vote For Change – was unveiled on Sunday. On the plus side, it’s short, it’s single-minded and it’s got a pleasing punchy rhythm. It leads with a strong verb. It sets out a simple, albeit well-trodden, proposition. But I have a few reservations. Vote For Change comes across more as a plea than a promise to me. It seems to reveal an electoral rather than a political focus. And it’s not clear what kind of change we’re talking about. Will it be a good one? One of those ones that’s as good as a rest? Or a bad change, the kind that happens just for change’s sake? The party seems to be suggesting that any kind of change is better than sticking with the government we’ve got. They’re hoping the voters agree.

Contrast that with Labour’s approach. ‘A future fair for all’ is definitely more promise than plea. This is a deliberate decision. An incumbent government can’t argue against a change agenda: they have to change the nature of the choice. So instead of it being ‘change’ versus ‘more of the same’, they want to make it ‘change’ versus a ‘fair future’.

Strategically, then, bang on. But again, I have a few reservations. OK, lots of reservations.

1. They’ve used it before. Bournemouth. 2003. They had seven years to deliver that fair future. What happened? How much fairer can things get?

2. It’s not unique territory. The Green Party says that ‘Fair is worth fighting for’. The Lib Dems are ‘Building a fairer Britain’. I’m all for consensus, but this fair’s looking pretty crowded all of a sudden.

3. There’s no verb. Gordon’s got form in this department. Independent sketchwriter Simon Carr once noted that the closer you got to the end of one of the former Chancellor’s Budget speeches, the more he tended to dispense with verbs altogether. Jobs not cuts. An end to boom and bust. Prudence our watchword. Fairness our goal. Yada yada yada.

4. It’s missing a comma. Some straplines – like Direct Line’s ‘A good deal better’ or O2’s ‘We’re better, connected’ – play with this. This one doesn’t.

5. It sounds like it was written by Yoda. 99 out of 100 people would say ‘a fair future’. Come on, they just would. Campaign chief Douglas Alexander defended the future fair by saying voters in focus groups found it less clichéd and more intriguing than the more conventional word order. Which lame sounds excuse a like. It certainly generated a lot of internet chatter, although most of that centred on the very important question: will there be dodgems? Some Tory wags labelled it ‘a fete worse than death’.

6. It sounds like something the doctor might prescribe for an eye infection. Or is that just me? Phuturphepherol. 500mg. Three drops daily. Keep refrigerated.

I don’t know if lines like these change the way people vote. I think, rather than revealing meaning, they sometimes just obscure it behind a natty turn of phrase. Look beyond them and you’ll find substance in both parties’ policies, of course. But in the hands of the sloganeer, all that subtlety and nuance just becomes glib cliché.

Stories beat statistics

Friday, February 5th, 2010

Charity ads that tell you about John’s story get more people donating than ones that tell you how many people are sleeping rough on Britain’s streets. We can’t visualise big numbers. No one can tell you what making an 18% difference looks like. But we can all grasp the idea of helping one person in need. That’s a story. Stories help propel us into the action. For a moment, we can feel a bit of what the other person’s feeling.

There’s a saying in politics that the politician with the best stories wins. Crime figures are going down, for instance. But the polls show people aren’t buying the figures. They prefer David Cameron’s ‘Broken Britain’ narrative. It’s simpler and it engages the emotions – whether it’s true or not.

It turns out that US voters prefer emotional engagement to reasonable argument too. That’s why the most vociferous opposition to US healthcare reform comes from the very people it was designed to help, argues this fantastic BBC article . Healthcare reform is complex and messy. People prefer to buy a story that says they’re being patronised by do-gooders who think they know best. If you’re explaining, you’re losing. The piece quotes this exchange between Al Gore and George W Bush during a presidential debate in 2000:

Gore: Under the governor’s plan, if you kept the same fee for service that you now have under Medicare, your premiums would go up between 18% and 47%, and that is the study of the Congressional plan that he’s modelled his proposal on by the Medicare actuaries

Bush: Look, this is a man who has great numbers. He talks about numbers. I’m beginning to think that not only did he invent the internet, but he invented the calculator. It’s fuzzy math. It’s trying to scare people in the voting booth.

Mr Gore was talking sense, and Mr Bush nonsense, says the article. But Bush won the debate.