The Role of Militaristic Language During the Covid-19 Pandemic
(ORIGINALLY WRITTEN JULY 2020)
Language has the power to determine how we perceive the world. Language is used to inform, inspire and empower, but can as easily be used to influence, control or repress. While the Covid-19 pandemic is undeniably a crisis of health, a crisis of language is looming in the background, particularly in regard to militaristic language, or metaphors of war. It is a secondary crisis which encourages the deflection of blame and passing of responsibility — from those in power to the ordinary people; the elected to the electors — and invokes an unquestioning loyalty in these ordinary people.
Earlier in the pandemic, UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson was heavily criticised for blaming excessive care home deaths (due to Covid-19) on the fact that “too many care homes didn’t follow the procedures”. Leaving aside the fact that information given to care homes during this pandemic has been highly ambiguous, as well as the fact that care homes have been all but forgotten when it comes to PPE, or adequate funding, Johnson’s comment on them ‘not following procedure’ is evocative of a soldier being criticised by a superior. This is exactly what we, ‘the people’, have become during this pandemic: soldiers.
Globally, Coronavirus has been presented as the ‘invader’. We, the soldiers, harbour responsibility to “fight against” the virus which has invaded our sense of normal (whatever normal was or will be). Donald Trump, who has bestowed upon himself the title of “war-time President”, invokes ideas of the foreign invader by his racist appropriation of Coronavirus as “the Chinese virus”, “Wuhan virus”, and “Kung-Flu”. Secretary-General of the United Nations, Antonio Gutiérrez stated that we need a “war-time plan to fight” this virus. Locally, Matt Hancock has argued that “we will fight this virus with everything we have. We are in a war with an invisible killer”. Ironically this war won’t be fought on the beaches, which have become infested by swarms of British beach-goers, ignoring (or more likely confused by) the ambiguous lockdown rules. (Perhaps someone will remix Churchill’s speech, beckoning us to instead ‘stay alert’ on the beaches.) These same people who flood the beaches and flout the social distancing rules presumably hear talk of the “NHS frontline” on the news, and stand on their doorsteps every Thursday in order to clap for the “healthcare heroes”.
Those who have continued working during the pandemic, especially in a health care capacity, undeniably deserve our praise (although adequate pay might also help). But the language being used by the government, surrounding healthcare, is dangerous. As we are encouraged to “stay home; protect the NHS; save lives” we are being invoked as soldiers against the virus and the government — the order giver — passes us the baton of blame in the event that lives are not saved. I’d like to add, however, that during the virus’ first peak, staying home and being socially distant certainly saved lives. The problem is that these jingoistic slogans exploit some sense of national pride, encouraging a culture of unquestioning support from the soldier in favour of their superior. Thus, when the NHS becomes overwhelmed, or the death rate rises, the public is held accountable when the true blame rests elsewhere.
It’s evocative of movie scenes in which ordinary soldiers stand to attention in the face of enraged superior officers. The ordinary soldiers are so eager to comply that they barely draw breath between their screams of “yes” and “sir”. As the language used by the UK government invokes us as the soldiers in this “war against Covid”, we are being conditioned to give them unconditional support. When being told to do things for “our NHS”, or “our economy”, fighting Coronavirus “like a war” we are being instilled with an unquestioning obedience to governmental decree, hidden under the guise of national pride.
However, I am sure that a number of people would criticise my scepticism of militaristic language as being unreasonable. I admit that its use has worked to rally what seems to be the majority of the country into fearing Covid-19 enough that we treat it, and our actions surrounding it, seriously (except on beaches). Perhaps in a pandemic such as this — or “crisis” as it is frequently labelled — we, the ordinary people, should not be so questioning of those who seem to be working to help us. If the government, backed by scientists (or the ambiguously titled “scientific advisors”) tell us something, why should we question them?
Firstly, I would argue that even the most benevolent leader is no more ‘good’ than a malevolent one if they discourage, either explicitly or through use of metaphor, questioning and dissenting voices. They share the same intent, even if the consequences differ and, in this case, we have a duty to question their intent.
Whilst the government might have succeeded in what they call “flattening the curve” (despite the large variance between their reported death toll and that of the Office for National Statistics), I would argue that their intent, with regard to military metaphors, is to deflect blame from themselves. Take as an example the “NHS frontline” and the “health heroes” who have continued to work during the pandemic. The purpose of the NHS is to heal, not to wage wars. The use of the aforementioned metaphors portrays health workers as ‘heroic soldiers’, therefore excess deaths in healthcare are legitimised as heroic sacrifices, and not as tragedies which could have been prevented by adequate funding or PPE — both of which the government are responsible for supplying. Health workers’ humanity is disregarded by means of metaphor, simply so that the Government can avoid blame.
We come back to Boris Johnson’s bumbling blame of excess care home deaths on the same ‘frontline soldiers’ he stood on his doorstep and clapped for mere months ago. Having invoked health services, including care homes, and ordinary people alike as soldiers in the fight against Coronavirus, the government is now passing blame to the soldiers for not following orders which may or may not have been mixed up in an incoherent information overload. The same can be said of my earlier example of people flooding the beaches. Clearly common sense could have been better used, but blame was put upon the ordinary people by a government who gave deliberately ambiguous advice to “stay alert”, while senior advisors visited castles.
The means of power is no longer production, but communication, which, in turn, has become a political power game. Militaristic language has been used during this pandemic to encourage an unquestioning obedience in the soldier-public to their governmental superiors. As such, excess deaths become not the fault of government, but either heroic “war time” sacrifices or the fault of soldiers for not following orders. The danger is that language becomes abused in order to present certain ‘truths’ which benefit only those who abuse it. I’ll fall short of calling for a seizing of the means of communication, but I would argue that we have a duty towards questioning. Only by questioning the language surrounding this pandemic can we address the entire crisis.
UPDATE (SEPT. 2020): The Rule Of Six Snitch.
As though the government has learned nothing in the past few months, they have again dragged the public back into the ‘fight’ against Covid, this time attempting to turn neighbours on each other. Inevitably, cases have risen sharply in the face of the ‘opening up’ of the economy — schemes such as Eat Out to Help Out (shockingly) resulting in the mass mixing and congregation of people from varying households. As a result, the government introduced their ‘rule of six’, an admittedly necessary precaution to increase social distancing and reduce the spread of coronavirus. However, in the days since, senior members of the Conservative party have said that it’s not enough to simply follow the rules yourself. Priti Patel (the same woman who labelled environmental activists as terrorists, and said she would make the Channel crossing, a final lifeline for refugees fleeing war, famine, and disease, “unviable”) admitted that she would call the police on her neighbours if they broke the ‘rule of six’. The minister for crime and policing reinforced her sentiment, urging people to give the information of neighbours to the authorities, should they brake the rules. They bypassed the “talk to your neighbours” phase, urging us to report them to the police instead. Even beyond this, it’s an attempt to convince us that the increase in Covid cases is as a result of our neighbours inviting their mum and dad over for Sunday lunch, and so we divert our scrutiny from the houses of parliament to the houses next door. And yet, three days before the ‘rule of six’ came into place, it was announced that a Covid-19 contact tracing app would be launched in England and Wales on September 24th. Matt Hancock, who has championed this app as world beating, said that it was a “defining moment”. The rest of Europe had their defining moments back in May and June, when they launched their apps. Less than a week on from Hancock’s defining moment, it has been announced that the UK is falling behind on coronavirus testing capacity, and that only a third of people who are being tested receive their result within 24 hours. To ‘solve’ this problem, the government is asking only those with symptoms to book tests, despite the fact that the majority of young people, whom also find themselves subject to the government’s blame, are asymptomatic. (Young people, who are more likely to work in the service industry and travel to work on public transport.) All the while, cases continue to rise, and the R rate sits above 1 once more. The contact tracing app has arrived months late, the UK’s capacity to test is less than the government boasted, and large regions of the country find themselves back in lockdown. The government’s answer for all this: blame it on your neighbours.
