In one of his more famous essays, Politics and the English Language, George Orwell argues that politicians and political parties often employ different generalities and don different clichés, “but [parties and politicians] are all alike in that one almost never finds in them a fresh, vivid, homemade turn of speech.” Here, Orwell claims that regardless of a candidates’ eloquence or attractiveness, very little that leaves their mouths will ever contribute to political discourse. Rather, their speeches will draw upon hackneyed “buzz words” from past elections, brimming with connotation but lacking entirely in substance. For, the perpetually recycled promises of change are always cheaper and more expedient than actual change. This doublespeak (of always promising but never delivering; of always concealing but never revealing; of always of always speaking but never saying a thing) subsumes modern politics, and this past Republic primary debate was no exception.
When the candidates were not busy patting themselves on the back for discussing “the substantive issues” that the Democratic debate lacked (as Senator Cruz said), the ten Republican frontrunners were (more often than not) verbosely and incomprehensively proposing equally ambiguous plans for the executive branch’s future. In total, candidates used the undescriptive word “plan” more than 40 times. For example, Governor Bush stated that his “plan actually gives the middle class the greatest break: $2,000 per family”; although this “plan” seems incredible and unquestionably promotable, the Governor (and all other candidates involved) does not actually say anything about it. Next, the candidates used the word “idea” 18 times, often preceded by “good” or “great,” but never succeeded by much. For example, Carly Fiorina argued that “there are loads of great ideas, great conservative ideas…about how to reform the tax code,” after which she (predictably) said nothing about these ideas, but rather claimed that “we need a leader in Washington who understands how to get something done.” Influential, ideological, and completely insubstantial.
To highlight a few instances of such shortcomings, one need only look to the candidates’ own quotes. In this past debate, Governor Kasich stated, “I actually have a plan. I’m the only one on this stage that has a plan that would create jobs, cut taxes, balance the budget and can get it done because I’m realistic. You just don’t make promises like this.” So, Mr. Kasich, what tax rates do you support? Who receives the biggest break? From where will you raise the necessary governmental funds? And perhaps most importantly, how will your administration accomplish any of these “within 100 days” of your inauguration?
Although this may seem like a harsh critique of one fraction of the whole debate, Governor Kasich failed to answer any of these question throughout the two hour debate, suggesting either that he did not have the opportunity to share this (rather pertinent) information or that he did not have the answers. As for another example of communication failures, former Governor Bush said, “Simplifying the code and lowering rates, both for corporations and—and personal rates, is exactly what we need to do…I have a plan to grow the economy at 4 percent, but you’re gonna have to make adjustments for both Medicare and Social Security.” So, Mr. Bush, what kind of “adjustments” need to be made? How extensively will you cut these two programs, and how will you pass such a policy? Where will the government make up the money it loses from your tax cuts? Solely from your “adjustments?” Will these plans not disproportionately support the wealthy and hurt the poor?
In this wonderland of doublespeak, presently known as the U.S. Presidential campaign, insubstantiality and oversimplification dominate the landscape with glittering generalities sprinkled throughout. “Freedom,” “liberty,” “value,” and “reform”—only a few of the most popular glowing generalizations—each contributed a sense of legitimacy to the latest primary debate without purveying even the remotest silhouette of a platform. To fashion more concrete foundations and to engender some sense of individual authenticity and experience, the candidates follow such glittering generalities and resounding nothingnesses with prefabricated statistics that are often hard to grasp and even harder to prove.
In this past debate, candidates used the word “percent” 55 times, often to emphasize the potentially (but improvably) positive effects of their already vague policy advice. Senator Ted Cruz, one of the few candidates to clearly lay out his tax plan, argued for a flat tax of 10 percent on any income above $36,000, a flat business tax of 16 percent, and an elimination of the payroll tax. Although most voters support a decrease in taxes, this plan would cripple the revenue of the federal government—a problem for which he proposed no clear solution. In some more extreme instances, a politician’s use of percentages can even derail his or her own platform. For weeks, Senator Marco Rubio has claimed that his tax plan supports the middle class more than it supports the rich, but during the debate, one moderator acknowledged that the top one percent’s after-tax income would increase by 27.9 percecnt, while the middle class’s would increase by only 15 percent.
In an attempt to appeal to everyone, the candidates (minus Trump) effectively provide the same “star-spangled,” conservative option nine times on the ballot. To explain this phenomenon, Orwell stipulates, “It follows that any struggle against the abuse of language is a sentimental archaism, like preferring candles to electric light or hansom cabs to airplanes. Underneath this lies the half-conscious belief that language is a natural growth and not an instrument which we shape for our own purposes.” Although pessimistic about the future of political speech, Orwell raises a noteworthy point: politicians mold modern language to manipulate audiences rather than to inform them, effectively adulterating the English language and denying constituencies authentic representation. When words no longer bear their original significance and promises no longer bind their original creators, advertisements and speeches and debates lose their purpose and candidates lose their sincerity. In fact, even the word candidate—candid-ate—no longer retains its etymological worth. In the political game, nothingness has clearly overtaken substance. This past Republican primary debate proved no different.