Journalese: a Ground-Breaking Study

By John Leo

Unbeknown to an unsuspecting public, Boy George's drug troubles touched off a severe crisis in the journalese-speaking community. How should reporters and pundits, all fluent in journalese as well as English, refer to the suddenly woozy singer? Naturally enough, conventions of the language demanded a hyphenated modifier. "Much-troubled" might have been acceptable, but that adjective is reserved, as are "oil-rich" and "war-torn," for stories about the Middle East. One tabloid, apparently eager to dismiss the celebrity as a wanton hussy, called him "gender-confused pop star Boy George." This was a clear violation of journalese's "most-cherished tenet": while doing in the rich and famous, never appear to be huffy. One magazine settled for "cross- dressing crooner," and many newspapers temporarily abandoned the hyphenated tradition to label George "flamboyant," a familiar journalese word meaning "kinky" or "one who does not have all of his or her paddles in the water."

Few readers realize how much effort is devoted to meshing the disparate tongues of journalese and English. In journalese, for example, the word chilling is an omnibus adjective modifying "scenario" in nuclear-weapons stories, "evidence" and "reminder" in crime stories and "effect" in any story on threats to the First Amendment. In English it is merely something one does with white wine. Reforms and changes can only be "sweeping" and investigations "widening," especially on days when the investigators have no actual news to report. "Mounting" is always followed by pressures or deficits. All arrays are "bewildering," whereas all contrasts are either "striking" or, if the story is weak, "startling."

Many sociologists have speculated (widely, of course) about the love affair between journalese-users and hyphenated modifiers. The gist of all this cerebration seems to be that readers cannot stand the shock of an unmodified noun, at least on first reference. Thus we have Libyan-sponsored terrorism, Ping-Pong diplomacy, debt-laden Brazil and the two most popular hyphenated modifiers of the 1980s, "financially-troubled" and "financially-plagued," which can fairly be used to describe most Latin American nations, many banks and the United States Football League. The Syrian-backed P.L.O., an earlier hyphenated champion, had to be retired when the Syrian backers began shooting at the P.L.O. backs. Any dictator who leaves his homeland hastily, with or without his bullion and wife's shoe collection, is not fleeing in disgrace, merely heading into self-imposed exile.

Some multiple modifiers in journalese have no known meaning, much like "clinically-tested" in headache-remedy advertising. Many seem to have been invented solely for their soothing rhythm: "Wide-ranging discussions" refers to any talks at all, and "award-winning journalist" to any reporter employed three or more years who still has a pulse. A totally disappointing report, containing nothing but yawn-inducing truisms, can always be described as a "ground-breaking study." The most exciting news on the hyphen front is that adventurous journalese users, like late-medieval theologians, are experimenting with new forms, to wit, multihyphen adjectives. So far, "actor- turnedpolitician," which can be found just to the left of Clint Eastwood's name in any story about Carmel, Calif., is the most beloved two-hyphen entry, while "state-of-the-art " is such a successful three-hyphen innovation that it may be used several times a week without risking reproof from an editor. Though of lower wattage, nonhyphenated modifiers also count for something in journalese. Since "buxom blond" and "leggy redhead" are no longer in fashion, journalese has evolved alternate descriptions of females, like a "handsome woman" (virtually any female over 50) or an "attractive woman" (any woman at all). Negative journalese, a strong branch of the language, combines a complimentary word with an apparently innocent but actually murderous modifier. "She is still pretty," for instance, means, "She is long in the tooth" or "Good grief! Is she still around?" Other useful adjectives include "crusty" (obnoxious), "unpredictable" (bonkers), "experienced" (ancient) and "small but well-financed" (don't invest in this turkey).

A subcategory of journalese involves the language used to indicate a powerful or celebrated person who is about to selfdestruct or walk the plank. Anyone referred to as an "American institution," for example, is in trouble. In politics, two or more stories in the same week referring to a power person as clever or, worse, brilliant indicate that the end is near. Soon Mr. Brilliant will be labeled a "loose cannon" and transmute himself into an adviser, the Washington version of self-imposed exile. In business journalism, the phrase "one of the most respected managers in his field" informs knowing readers that envy is unnecessary -- the respected manager is on the way out. Before long, there will be hints that his managerial ferocity is insufficient, and perhaps a profile mentioning that he drinks decaffeinated coffee, collects porcelain miniatures or loves San Francisco. This means that in a week he will be "leaving to pursue outside interests." In sports, it is understood that all such rapid declines are drug-related, and sportswriters, the original masters of journalese, are constantly casting about for nonlibelous ways of suggesting that Johnny Jumpshot is deeply in love with controlled substances. The current code words are "listless" and "lacking motivation or concentration." If the reporter writes that the athlete "occasionally misses the team bus," the astute reader understands that Jumpshot is a walking pharmacy who no longer knows where or who he is, though his body still turns up for games.

One of the many challenges in journalism is turning out serious articles about celebrities who say they served in Joan of Arc's army or strolled through Iran with Jesus Christ. "Free spirit," "flamboyant" and "controversial" are not really up to the task. In a profile of a well- known woman who insists that she has lived several times before, one journalese speaker came up with this deft line: "More than most people on this earth, she has found spiritual answers." In crime journalese, the top thug in any urban area is always referred to as a "reputed Mafia chieftain" and generally depicted as an untutored but charismatic leader of a successful business operation. The chieftain's apprentice thugs are his "associates." This sort of coverage reflects the automatic respect and dignity accorded crime figures who know where reporters live and recognize the understandable desire of journalists everywhere to keep their kneecaps in good working order.

As all users know, journalese is a formidable bulwark against libel, candor and fresh utterance. Any threat to its state-of-the-art ground-breaking terminology would have a chilling effect on everybody, especially us award- winning journalists.