Our politicians don't "get it" on speaking plainly. Photo: Getty
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They just don’t "get it": time to muffle mealy-mouthed politicians

As a party leader celebrated for being straight-talking dominates the political agenda while our potential future prime minister can’t stop talking like a wonk, it’s time to call our politicians out on their mealy-mouthed mumblings.

There is no place for "got" or "get" in the English language, my grandmother often tells me. Her theory is that the use of this all-purpose verb can always be replaced with "to have". So rather than "I’ve got a pedantic grandmother" – "I have a pedantic grandmother". Or "I’ve got to watch my words" can be "I have to watch my words". She sees the words "get", "got" – and their terrifying American cousin "gotten" – as a lazy and ugly linguistic shortcut.

Perhaps this is a bit of a rigid rule from a lady who steadfastly calls a single piece of broccoli a "broccolo", but I think communication at the top of British politics would be improved vastly if it were applied there. Because you can’t move for politicians "getting it" into their speeches these days. And it’s a particularly rhetorically flaccid feature of a growing trend for mealy-mouthed answers to urgent questions.
 

  • “People in Ukip always say that the other politicians don't get it. I mean, I do get it and I get them,” Tony Blair told the Today programme yesterday, weighing in on the European elections analysis.
     
  • “The Tories don’t get it,” Ed Miliband earnestly declared in a speech about tackling the cost-of-living crisis in April. And he’s used the phrase often in Commons appearances, particularly during PMQs.
     
  • “I want you to show the public that you get it,” Theresa May instructed the Police Federation annual conference last week.
     
  • “I get that,” David Cameron conceded in the Commons after losing the vote regarding military intervention in Syria last year.
     
  • Then there are the multiple variations on the perpetual mantra of “working hard to get on” employed by both halves of the coalition in their elucidation of a uniquely vague British dream.
     

"Getting it" and "getting on" are ways of avoiding identification of a problem, and fudging the proposed solution to it – in an irritatingly faux-colloquial tone, to boot.

The author of books about etymology and Inky Fool blogger Mark Forsyth tells me: "It's not just the word 'get' which is so vague (though it has 34 primary meanings listed in the OED), it's the 'it' that amuses me. Whenever I hear a politician saying 'I get it', I like to imagine that they're talking about diarrhoea or syphilis. Mind you, it's easy to be cruel to politicians. You find just as much of this meaningless stuff in pop music. With it. Where it's at. etc."

Yet he does acknowledge why such phrasing is employed by politicians: "The important thing is, of course, that everybody can imagine for themselves what 'it' is. It's the same idea as 'decent people' or 'hard-working families'. Coal miners and hedge-fund managers both believe they're hard-working. The words are mirrors in which each voter sees themselves. Everybody believes they're decent. Or almost everybody. I wish sometimes that there were a party representing indecent, workshy bachelors like me. But I fear it shall never come to pass."

And "getting it" is just a symptom of a wider problem: politicians refusing to speak plainly. A recent example is the Labour leader failing to sum up his leadership and what he offers voters in one word. “I’ll give you two – One Nation”, Miliband replied to the journalist, after making a big show of rolling his eyes. He then went on to give a fuzzy description of what One Nation means. He wouldn’t deign to speak concisely and clearly, regarding it as a silly challenge set by a frivolous journalist.

This is a problem for politicians. Nigel Farage and his party were overwhelmingly successful in the recent European elections, and are dominating the political agenda. It’s often discussed that Farage’s straight-talking manner is appealing to an electorate starved of politicians speaking human. Tory MP Sarah Wollaston pointed out this week that the election results have taught us that people "like straight-talking politicians". Miliband gives convoluted, wonkish answers, and Cameron is often compared to a PR man for his superficial style – saying little and sticking to his lines. And the majority of their MPs aren’t much better.

Political jargon is inaccessible and alienating, but vague, fluffy phrases can be equally as evasive.

It may be a hackneyed reference, but George Orwell’s Newspeak, the language invented in his novel Nineteen Eighty-Four, warned that the fewer ways we have to say something, the less call there is to say it at all. If we want transparency in our politics, we have to ask our politicians precisely what they mean by their weasel words. Because at the moment they just don’t seem to get it.

Anoosh Chakelian is deputy web editor at the New Statesman.

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Indie band The 1975 want to “sue the government” over the Electoral Commission’s latest advert

Frontman Matt Healy perhaps isn’t aware that the Electoral Commission is not, in fact, the government (or believes that this is part of a wider conspiracy).

How do you make registering to vote in the EU Referendum cool? It sounds like something  from The Thick of It, but judging by the Electoral Commission’s latest TV ad for their new voting guide, this was a genuine question posed in their meetings this month. The finished product seems inspired by teen Tumblrs with its killer combination of secluded woodlands, vintage laundrettes and bright pink neon lighting.

But indie-pop band The 1975 saw a different inspiration for the advert: the campaign for their latest album, I Like It When You Sleep For You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware Of It (Yes, a title perhaps even more cumbersome than “The EU Referendum - You Can’t Miss It (Phase One)”).

Lead singer Matt Healy posted a picture of the guide with the caption “LOOK OUT KIDZ THE GOVERNMENT ARE STEALING OUR THOUGHTS!!” back on 17 May. The release of the TV spot only furthered Healy’s suspicions:

Healy perhaps isn’t aware that the Electoral Commission is not, in fact, the government (or believes that this is part of a wider conspiracy).

The 1975’s manager, Jamie Oborne, was similarly outraged.

Oborne added that he was particularly “disappointed” that the director for the band’s video for their song “Settle Down”, Nadia Marquard Otzen, also directed the Electoral Commission’s ad. But Otzen also directed the Electoral Commission’s visually similar Scottish Referendum campaign video, released back in September 2014: almost a year before The 1975 released the first promotional image for their album on Instagram on 2 June 2015.

Many were quick to point out that the band “didn’t invent neon lights”. The band know this. Their visual identity draws on an array of artists working with neon: Dan Flavin’s florescent lights, James Turrell’s “Raemar pink white”, Nathan Coley’s esoteric, and oddly-placed, Turner-shortlisted work, Bruce Nauman’s aphoristic signs, Chris Bracey’s neon pink colour palette, to just name a few – never mind the thousands of Tumblrs that undoubtedly inspired Healy’s aesthetics (their neon signs were exhibited at a show called Tumblr IRL). I see no reason why Otzen might not be similarly influenced by this artistic tradition.

Of course, The 1975 may be right: they have helped to popularise this particular vibe, moving it out of aesthetic corners of the internet and onto leaflets dropped through every letterbox in the country. But if mainstream organisations weren’t making vaguely cringeworthy attempts to jump on board a particular moment, how would we know it was cool at all?

Anna Leszkiewicz is a pop culture writer at the New Statesman.