Mind your language: Journalists, politicians need a style counsel

John Howard’s use of ‘whilever’ in a statement to announce he would not make way for Peter Costello stuck in the memory, despite not appearing in the Oxford dictionary.

One of the many problems with having your house burn down is that even years afterwards, you go searching for things that you hope you might have misplaced, then discover they were, in fact, destroyed. Like books or photos or knick-knacks or favourite clothes.

One item I treasured that unfortunately disappeared was a style book given to me as a cadet journalist. All the words or phrases to be avoided like the plague — along with cliches like that one — were catalogued in one thick, indispensable volume. Heaven help those who transgressed.

I was reminded of it recently after an alert editor objected to my use of the word “whilever” in a column because it does not appear in the Oxford dictionary. See, right there I have committed a sin against style by using a personal pronoun. Even worse, it was at the beginning of the paragraph. Please note my use of the word “beginning” there rather than “start”. Start is, or should be, reserved for races. At least that’s what the style book said.

Before I bury myself in pet hates (of which also include that expression) I blame John Howard for the use of “whilever”. Howard used it in his brief statement to announce he would not relinquish the leadership so that my then boss, Peter Costello, could take over. Howard said he would remain Liberal leader “whilever” he retained the support of his party room. Howard was a plain speaker, with a commendably crisp way of expressing himself, even when he was delivering an unwelcome message.

We could do with more of it, from journalists and politicians. For instance, the style book was very firm about reporting death. Unlike now, journalists were expressly forbidden from saying someone had “passed away” or “passed”. They had to report that the person or persons had died. Because, sad as it is, that is what happens. If giving death another name was meant to make it easier for survivors to cope, trust me, it doesn’t work.

Then there is the persistent misuse of “disinterested” to describe people who are really “uninterested”. The first means impartial, the other that you couldn’t care less which one is used. Reporters should at least know the difference.

“Fewer” was supposed to refer to people and “lesser” to numbers, as in, fewer people than expected attended. Not less or lesser. Unless, of course, you mean the ones who turned up were inferior beings. “More than” also relates to numbers, whereas “over” should not. Over should be used to describe an action, as in, he/she/they/the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. Not “over 1000 people attended the funeral of Joe Blogs, who passed away last week”.

Regardless of dictionary definitions, in my old style book “nearly” and “almost” were not interchangeable. Nearly was meant to be used in the context of distance, whereas a deficit of almost $200bn is fine, if you get my drift.

“At this point in time” is an abomination used by politicians to get more space or more air time. They could just as easily say now. That’s roughly how the style book put it, and who can argue with that? After all these years reporting on them, definitely not me.

“Prior to” falls into that category, too. Before is enough. “Moving forward” wasn’t in vogue when my style book was written. Now, every politician uses it indiscriminately. Maybe they think it conveys vision or action. It’s inelegant verbiage, another abomination that should be banned, along with the speaking notes that have turned many of them into Star Trek Borgs or garden-variety parrots. Politicians in trouble have resorted to beginning answers with: “I don’t accept your characterisation.” Be on guard as soon as you hear this because it’s usually in response to questions that have caught them out in a lie or a contradiction.

Then there’s punctuation. My friend Laurie Oakes calls them rogue apostrophes. Please note that as it was used as a plural in the previous sentence, there was no apostrophe before the “s”. Yet somehow “Australian’s” (and that has appeared in print) manage to throw them in everywhere, just in case. It drives us nuts. Another former dear colleague, Trevor Hawkins, complained recently that journos today don’t even know how to use semicolons. To be fair, who does?

Another crime identified long ago was to begin a story with a quote. According to the biography of one long dead English editor, the only time it would be permissible to do it would be if the king fell off his throne and said, “f..k me”. Obviously, that came from a very old book. Nonetheless, it should still apply. That book has also disappeared, which is even more painful because it was a gift from Hugh Buggy, an absolute legend who covered nine hangings as a crime reporter for The Argus. Hugh worked part-time on the Dandenong Journal, where he did his best to tutor me. And that reminds me that people are hanged and paintings are hung. Always.

Old journos back then had ways of making you remember the rules that would incite charges if the same methods were used today. An exasperated Frank Quill waved my copy — it was last century and we used typewriters and paper — under my nose once as he corrected me on journalese.

“Buildings are not erected, Niki. The only time you use erect is to describe a man’s …” Frank finished with a graphic description heard by the whole newsroom about the only time to use erect.

It all led to a lifetime of intolerance of typos and verbal violence mixed with regret whenever I read or heard some favourite actor, author, or even politician had passed away. Regrettably, as readers are bound to point out, I make the odd mistake myself, or I get accused of it, which makes me even madder.

My first book was called So Greek. The title came inadvertently from Costello. He chose the wrong moment to blame my insistence on correcting an error for the release of the wrong media statement once. It wasn’t at all, but his accusation on a particularly difficult day drew an explosive “it wasn’t the f..king typo”. To which Costello calmly and wisely responded: “You are so Greek.” True. Which also reminds me English is my second language.