Journalese for the Lay Reader

By John Leo

Journalese, the native tongue of newsgatherers and pundits, retains a faint similarity to English but is actually closer to Latin. Like Latin, it is primarily a written language, prized for its incantatory powers, and is best learned early, while the mind is still supple. Every cub reporter, for instance, knows that fires rage out of control, minor mischief is perpetrated by Vandals (never Visigoths, Franks or a single Vandal working alone) and key labor accords are hammered out by weary negotiators in marathon, round-the- clock bargaining sessions, thus narrowly averting threatened walkouts. The discipline required for a winter storm report is awesome. The first reference to seasonal precipitation is "snow," followed by "the white stuff," then either "it" or "the flakes," but not both. The word snow may be used once again toward the end of the report, directly after discussion of ice-slicked roads and the grim highway toll.

Every so often, an inexperienced reporter attempts to describe a dwelling as "attractive" or "impressive." This is incorrect. In journalese, all homes are either modest or stately. When confronted with a truly ramshackle fixer-upper, knowing scribes will deflect attention to the surrounding area, describing the residence as "off the beaten track" or "in a developing area," that is, a slum. Distaste for the suburbs is conveyed by mentioning "trimmed lawns and neat flower beds," thus artfully suggesting both compulsiveness and a high level of intolerance for life in its hearty, untrimmed state.

Journalese is rich in mystic nouns: gentrification, quichification, greenmail, dealignment, watershed elections and apron strings (the political coattails of a female candidate). But students of the language agree that adjectives do most of the work, smuggling in actual information under the guise of normal journalism. Thus the use of soft-spoken (mousy), loyal (dumb), high-minded (inept), hardworking (plodding), self-made (crooked) and pragmatic (totally immoral). A person who is dangerous as well as immoral can be described as a fierce competitor or gut fighter, and a meddler who cannot leave his subordinates alone is a hands-on executive. When strung together properly, apparently innocent modifiers can acquire megaton force. For instance, a journalist may write, "A private, deliberate man, Frobisher dislikes small talk, but can be charming when he wants to." In translation this means, "An antisocial, sullen plodder, Frobisher is obnoxious and about as articulate as a cantaloupe." The familiar phrase "can be charming" is as central to good journalese as "affordable" is to automobile ads and "excellence" is to education reports. It indicates that Frobisher's charm production is a rare result of mighty exertion, yet it manages to end the revelation about his dismal character on an upbeat note.

"Spry" refers to any senior citizen who is not in a wheelchair or a coma, and "stereotype" introduces the discussion of something entirely obvious that the writer wishes to disparage, as in "the stereotype that boys like to play with trucks and girls like to play with dolls." "Life-style" has made the transition from psychobabble to journalese. Though often misused to indicate gays, joggers, wheat-germ consumers and other defiant minorities, it actually refers to any practice that makes the normal citizen's hair stand on end. The fellow who tortures iguanas in his basement has a life-style. The rest of us merely have lives.

Many terms in journalese come from sportswriting. "A complex, sensitive man" (lunatic) and "ebullient" (space cadet) were developed by baseball writers. When baseball players of the 1940s and 1950s were fined for the usual excesses with women and booze, the writers faithfully reported that the penalties were for "nightclubbing." Nowadays the vast consumption of controlled and uncontrolled substances would be covered by circumlocutions like "he works hard and he plays hard." Sportswriters also taught journalese users how to recast a boring story with exciting verbiage. Hence all the crucial issues, dramatic confrontations and stunning breakthroughs. "Arguably" is the most useful adverb on the excitement frontier, because it introduces a sweeping factoid that no one will be able to check: "Frobisher is arguably the richest Rotarian living west of the Susquehanna."

Often English words mean exactly the opposite in journalese. "Multitalented" means "untalented" and is used to identify entertainers who have great pep and who perspire a lot but do nothing particularly well. "Community" means non-community, as in the intelligence community, the gay community or the journalese-speaking community. Under this usage, everyone shooting everyone else in and around Beirut, say, could be fairly referred to as the Lebanese community.

"Middle America" has disappeared from political journalese, for the simple reason that in the Age of Reagan, America is all middle, with no edges. Similarly, yesterday's "radical right-winger" is today's "mainstream Republican," while "unabashed" now modifies "liberal" instead of "conservative." Yet most political journalese is timeless. A "savvy political pro" is anyone who has lived through two or more Administrations and can still get a table in a decent restaurant. An elder statesman is an out-of-office politician who is senile, and a neoliberal is any Democrat under 45 with blow-dried hair. All seasoned reporters (old-timers) know that when two or more political appointees are fired on the same day, they need only check their calendars before tapping out "Bloody Wednesday" or "the Thursday Early-Afternoon Massacre." Political journalese has a number of famed option plays. One man's squealer is another's whistle blower, and Frobisher's magnificent five-point agenda can also be described as a shopping list, or worse, a wish list.

One inflexible rule of journalese is that American assassins must have three names: John Wilkes Booth, Lee Harvey Oswald, James Earl Ray, Mark David Chapman. This courtesy of a resonant three-part moniker is also applied to other dangerous folk. This is why the "subway vigilante" is "Bernhard Hugo Goetz" to many journalists who consider him a monster, and just plain "Bernhard Goetz" to almost everyone else. Another rule of the language is that euphemisms for "fat" are understood too quickly by the public and are therefore in constant need of replacement. "Jolly," "Rubenesque" and the like have long been abandoned. A Washington writer scored by praising a woman's "Wagnerian good looks," which is far more polite than saying she is not bad looking for a massive Brunnhilde. The disinfecting compliment is particularly deft. As all practitioners know, a corrective lurch toward balance is the hallmark of good journalese. After all, journalism is a crucially important field that attracts high-minded, multitalented professionals, arguably the finest in the land.