If I was ever to teach a class on the implications of the 'linguistic turn' that transformed the humanities and social sciences in the twentieth century, I would be tempted to use the now-notorious letter that the Labour MP Diane Abbott sent to the Observer newspaper last weekend:
The letter was indefensible and widely condemned. Abbott gave an apology fairly swiftly but this didn’t prevent her from being suspended from the party. For the record, here is what I said about it at the time.
It's been interesting to see how the controversy has proceeded since the letter was published. Inevitably, it's descended into a row about whether what Abbott said was antisemitic or not and whether the Labour leader Keir Starmer was right to characterise it as antisemitic. I don't think it was antisemitic - she insulted Irish people, Travellers and ginger people too with her comments and it's not credible to think she despises this substantial and diverse sub-set of humanity - but that's not what I want to discuss here. Rather, this seems to be a perfect case study for how the language with which we speak of difference imprisons us and condemns us to endless rounds of sterile, furious controversy.
While I said that I didn't think the letter was antisemitic, to be more precise my view is that the questions ‘Is this antisemitic?’ and ‘Is she antisemitic?’ are, in this instance, unproductive. In fact, I only made the statement to get it out the way and because, in these matters, one is expected to give a view. The problem though is that the question assumes that antisemitism has a fixed essence that can be easily identified in particular statements, behaviours, institutions and people. Now I am not arguing that definitions of particular social phenomena are unnecessary or important. I do think we can identify certain 'ideal types' of antisemitism and tropes that are associated with it. There are certainly actions and statements that can only be described as antisemitism. But we also have to recognise that such definitions can only take us so far and that particular terms cannot encompass every type of phenomenon that exists in the world.
What has struck me the most about the Diane Abbott affair is that the MP herself, her critics and her defenders have all been confronting the limitations of the language we use to describe these issues.
Here are some of the limitations of the terms and collective nouns that Abbott uses in her letter:
Racism: Implies the existence of races and, hence, anti-racism is framed in terms set by racists. And does this include antisemitism, Islamophobia and other forms of hatred/oppression/discrimination/prejudice/etc?
Prejudice: Sometimes used (as Abbott probably does) to distinguish the 'less serious' forms of racism from 'structural' discrimination and the like. Yet this distinction does not resonate more widely and it is highly offensive to those whose experience of racism is treated as ‘mere’ prejudice.
Irish: What Irish people are we talking about here? Residents of the Irish republic in 2023 (including 'non-white' Irish residents)? Starving 19th century Irish peasants during the famine? Irish immigrants in twentieth century UK turned away from rented accommodation?
Jewish: What Jewish people are we talking about here? Jewish anti-apartheid activists forced to flee South Africa? Jews of colour in the UK who experience everything that other people of colour experience? Jews from Middle Eastern countries who were expelled following the founding of the state of Israel?
Traveller: Is this being used as a synonym for Roma people in this context? Is this an ethnic term or one applied to a particular way of life?
Redheads: I concede that this one is pretty clear (although there is the whole ‘strawberry blond’ controversy).
White-seeming people: 'Seeming' white to whom? When? Where? Whiteness and blackness are defined differently across cultures and historically.
In their turn, Abbott's critics have also encountered the straightjacket of the terminology we use to talk about these matters. The principle one is the binary racist-not racist (or antisemitic - not antisemitic). The dominance of this binary means that, inevitably, those who criticised Abbott but did not think that her letter was racist or antisemitic, were in danger of being accused of exculpating her. Conversely, to call her racist or antisemitic, at least on the basis of this letter alone, seems to ignore Abbott's incoherence. She can certainly be accused of implying a 'hierarchy' of forms of prejudice/racism, but even if you think that anti-Irish prejudice in the nineteenth century is a less serious matter than the nineteenth transatlantic slave trade, that doesn't mean you deny that it is a bad, if lesser, thing.
[For those who only started to read this because the title mentions nu metal - have patience, I will get to it soon]
There is something unnameable at work in Abbott's letter; something I have been struggling to articulate for a long time. The best I can do is to call it a toxic mixture of indifference, carelessness, ignorance and offensiveness that hurts the other but does not wound as racism does. This thing is often fleeting, almost never fully thought-through and can coexist with opposition to discrimination, prejudice and oppression of the other. To some extent it is what David Baddiel is getting at in Jews Don't Count when he argues that sections of the left treat Jews as 'not counting' but he implies a certain callousness and ideological scaffolding that makes it a much 'stronger' concept than what I am getting at. And in any case my purpose is not to polemicise as Baddiel does, but the reverse.
My attempts - so far unsuccessful - to name this thing, stems from my growing conviction that there is a domain in which hurt is caused to particular groups that is nonetheless outside the domain of racism. It exists in the liminal space between hatefulness and tolerance - a liminal space we can all stray into from time to time, although some people also take up permanent residence. Part of the rationale of identifying this space is my conjecture that, whereas people who see themselves as not racist will close down completely if accused as such, those who sometimes or always inhabit the unnamed domain might be more open to dialogue (of course, I do not know whether this conjecture is correct or not).
Perhaps the best way to 'populate' this domain with a real case study is with this photo:
I have written extensively about how stock images of strictly orthodox Jews, such as this 'famous' example, are used to illustrate newspaper stories of Jews regardless of inappropriateness. In the many talks I have given to Jewish audiences about this issue, the reaction is usually a mixture of exasperation, amusement and intense frustration. But no one has told me that the use of such pictures constitutes antisemitism. What I can't do and my audiences have never been able to do is to find the right word for this attitude to Jews that is disrespectful, lazy and ignorant but not hateful.
Without the right words, this thing is hard to fight. Rather, we are left with a choice between vaguer words of condemnation or the nuclear option of accusations of antisemitism/racism. This is where the 'linguistic turn' in twentieth century scholarship has proved such a helpful and useful development. By treating language as actively constituting the world, rather than as reflecting essential phenomena, we are empowered to use language more actively, to draw attention to what needs to change. The human world becomes one of possibility, rather than of a ceaseless and fruitless struggle to fit words to essences.
So where does nu metal come in?
Whereas Diane Abbott's letter exemplifies our enslavement to language, the naming of genre is a much more vital process - for a time anyway. There is something thrilling about observing the birth of genre, as the webs between sounds and artists start to become visible and understandable.
The only time I have directly witnessed this process of genre-naming as it happened was in the mid to late 1990s, when I had the honour of serving as a (very) part-time writer for the now-defunct metal magazine Terrorizer.
For a few years I was a (usually peripheral but sometimes a bit more than that) witness to the attempt to name something that was clearly coming into being, but wasn't yet solidified under a commonly-agreed title.
That something was made by bands like Korn, Coal Chamber, Deftones, Limp Bizkit and the like. It's usually known as nu metal today, although Wikipedia tells me it is also stylised as 'nü metal' or 'aggro metal' (I have personally never encountered the latter). It took a while though - possibly longer than other metal genres - before a consensus finally emerged. Nick Terry, the editor of Terrorizer at the time, experimented with other terms such as 'SoCal metal' (due to the dominance of southern Californian bands) or the tongue-in-cheek 'woolly-hat metal'. I also encountered 'new metal' at the time and, even now, nu metal is often conflated with other genres so closely related that some might argue that they are part of the same thing: alternative metal, groove metal, rap metal and so on.
I wasn't a big fan of nu metal at the time and I am not now, although I have a soft-spot for Korn and selected songs by other artists. Even as a sceptic though, I do remember how, as the naming process coalesced into consensus, so a whole new metal phenomenon became visible to the naked eye - and a very popular one at that. I remember attending the OzFest in Milton Keynes Bowl in 1998, noting the masses of Korn shirts (although they cancelled at the last minute) and literally seeing nu metal.
The naming of a genre is a powerful process. Once a genre is named, so new fans and new artists can orient themselves to it, building and transforming the scene in the process. Naming creates 'facts on the ground'. Sometimes it 'just happens' and sometimes a small number of taste-makers consciously decide to do it. In the 80s 'world music' was a much-derided record company marketing tool that nonetheless created dedicated racks in record stores, thereby making it easier for non-western musicians become audible and visible. The process of naming can be over-ambitious, or even ridiculous. Notoriously, in the pre-Britpop early 90s, a small group of music journalists stitched together the 'new wave of new wave' out of guitar bands such as S*M*A*S*H and These Animal Men. It didn't last long and is remembered today, if at all, for paving the way for Britpop. Nevertheless, while none of the bands achieved great success, the naming did undoubtedly boost their prominence for a short time.
Of course, genre names can also be a millstone. Musicians are often reluctant to be pinned down, particularly when genres explode into the mainstream (many grunge or Britpop acts cringed at these terms). On the other hand, some genres celebrate their allegiance to the term, New York hardcore and classic heavy metal for example. Whether accepted or rejected, genre names require careful handling. Confusing the map for the territory can lead to stylistic ossification or, conversely, a narcissistic insistence on one's own uniqueness.
What happened if we think about how we name racism and difference as analogous to naming a genre? There are examples of 'successful' namings that are so widely adopted it's hard to think of a time before them: For black metal read homophobia or Islamophobia. There are also examples of terms that were heavily promoted but never really took off outside a hardcore adherents: For djent read Judeophobia. There are elite terms that became simplified and confused in their wider adoption: For speed metal read intersectionality. And there are terms whose formal chilliness precludes wider adoption: For post-metal read ethno-religion.
If I am to name the unnamed, liminal thing between racism and non-racism, - let alone ensure its wider adoption - the chaotic process of naming genres provides a degree of inspiration. What if, as with 1990s attempts to name nu metal, the process of naming could be fun, exciting and revelatory?
My role might be to get the ball rolling, but I'm struggling. So I turn it over to the reader: Do you see the unnamed thing that I see? What would you call it?
Inspired by the wonderful coinage 'misogynoir', which I heard for the first time the other day when Ash Sarkar used it to describe the kind of abuse directed at black women like Abbott, I have come up with the word 'dismissemitism'.
You're welcome.
I enjoyed this and found it helpful . However, I wonder if you are taking a pre "linguistic turn " position. You seem to be thinking in terms of a thing, and a word to attach to the thing. "Do you see the unnamed thing that I see? What would you call it?". From a linguistic turn point of view, it may be more accurate to think of things as coming into being only as a result of language/being named. They don't exist prior to it in some non linguistic sphere where, for example, you "see" things as you imply. (Which isn't to say there's no material reality).