Our "So-Called" Problem

The incessant use of the phrase "so-called" reflects not only a degradation of writing quality, but the cynicism that has taken root in our public debates

Every morning I wake up, switch on the news, open various newspapers online, and start to sort through the numerous newsletters that arrive in my email overnight. I do so knowing that I am about to be bombarded with one particular infuriating phrase. It will be placed in almost every article I read, as well as fly inattentively out of the mouths of journalists and newsreaders. Once you become aware of its ubiquity, this phrase will pierce your mind like a dart, with each usage eliciting greater pain and mental distress. 

The phrase so-called has become a linguistic virus. Like a contagion, its use breeds further use. Rather than recognising the way it has insidiously come to dominate journalism, analysis and opinion – as well as state-level communication – writers and commentators instead seem to take great delight in spitting the phrase continuously into their work. This may be done unconsciously – the pace of digital journalism means there is little time to carefully contemplate the words one uses – but I believe it is also a more conscious use of language reflective of our current political environment. 

To understand why the phrase grates on me, there is a need to contemplate the difference between writing – or good writing – and journalism. Although there is an obvious overlap between the two, and journalists can be great writers, there is a contrast between the tools of their craft that places the two in great tension. 

A writer is trying to write well – to be compelling, illustrative in a distinctive manner, and find a unique voice outside of conformity. This means avoiding clichés, stock-standard phrases, conventional or overused terminology, buzz words, and shibboleths. To do this means maintaining a vigilant eye on one’s own work, but also the work of others – to recognise what terminology to avoid. Good writing involves examining commonly used terms and phrases and questioning whether they are actually accurate and useful. Or what they may imply.  

Journalists, however, are trying to tap into pre-established receptors in the audience's mind; therefore, all these devices good writers should avoid are considered essential tools of the trade. Journalism has a mass audience to appeal to – or it did before our current siloed media – and therefore gravitates towards standardised language. The phrases used by other journalists are seen as the phrases journalists should use. It’s a self-reinforcing system. Although one, I believe, that in its efforts to inform and educate actually undermine this objective. 

Bad writers incorporate these inattentive journalistic traits. But alongside a lack of attention, the use of so-called is often steeped in bad faith and hostility. When used in commentary or analysis, it is snarky and dripping with cynicism. Its usage is intended specifically to discredit the noun that follows it. Of course, there are concepts, legalese and bureaucratic nonsense that do require exposure and suspicion. However, a good writer’s approach to interrogate these ideas and ill communication shouldn’t involve bad writing itself. 

And for those whose job is public engagement, the bad faith of so-called does little to appeal to the better angels of democratic societies. At the last Australian federal election, a loose movement of independent candidates targeted a number of seats traditionally held by the Liberal Party. In a panicked attempt to discredit these candidates, then-sitting Member of Parliament, Tim Wilson, wrote a 900-word hit piece in the Melbourne broadsheet The Age that used the phrase – so-called “independents” – eight times. The article was as embarrassing as his eventual electoral defeat. Embarrassing for The Age’s editors as well, who felt no shame with such repetitive use of terrible language being published in their paper.  

Wilson’s article contained what has become a common tautology – the use of scare quotes alongside this derisive linguistic device. Scare quotes should make the use of so-called redundant, but in an age where cynicism and bad faith are incessant, tautologies are apparently deemed necessary for effect.

Cynicism’s objective is to undermine trust and to make bad faith the general function of our societies. It is premised on a rejection of genuine attempts at public spirit and the trust that systems of governance can be improved – a belief that humanity is only ever capable of a blinkered and manipulative self-interest. The promotion of such a worldview is calculated to make falsehoods easy to sell, to create a world where there is no truth, where conspiracy is rampant, and where we are all malleable and submissive to alternative facts.

In our current era, the idea of cynicism has become distorted from its original meaning. Far from the curdled mistrust of modern politics, a cynic in ancient Greece was someone who engaged in conduct that should be central to the art of good writing and public communication. Theirs’ was an approach to public life based on rigour and curiosity, of withholding judgement to examine the evidence, of a constant search for meaning and a broader understanding of the good. As the University of Houston’s David Mazella wrote in The Making of Modern Cynicism – “Modern cynicism [has] come to describe something antithetical to its previous meanings, a psychological state hardened against both moral reflection and intellectual persuasion.”

This modern cynicism has not only been promoted by individual writers through their use of bad language – or become the operating principle of organisations like Fox News – but is the semi-official ideology of a number of authoritarian states, as well as those authoritarians seeking to capture Western states. It is the attitude of extremism, a disposition shared by authoritarians of all varieties. An essential element in the politics of force. 

Reflecting this, the undisputed champion of the overuse of so-called is the Chinese Communist Party. The phrase is a constant presence in China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs press releases – these fist-swinging missives that cast wholesale suspicion on the actions of all other states they consider showing a lack of deference. This suspicion extends to the very idea that there should be rules that states govern themselves by – with so-called “rules-based order” being their own favourite use of this tautology. 

This use of so-called has been an essential weapon of China’s wolf warrior diplomacy – the communications strategy designed to seize global narrative power through aggressive tweeting and spreading of laughably false information. This tactic has abandoned the idea of diplomacy itself, instead declaring to the world that the only form of legitimacy is power, and that all nouns that may even suggest cooperation or negotiation are to be dismissed through the preceding hiss of so-called.

For those with less ambition, the use of so-called can often serve as a positional signal, a way to feign engagement with an idea while simultaneously urging scepticism towards it. We are currently in era of deeply insecure writing that requires constant positional signals to be sent. Often an idea cannot be promoted or even explored without first declaring one’s group identity – “Although I am progressive, I believe [conservative politician] is right about X.” The use of so-called can form a more indirect substitute for this kind of framing. 

Its usage has become emblematic of our siloed media environments, where the discrediting of outsiders plays a powerful role in maintaining a sense of group identity through negative partisanship. These impulses have deep psychological roots and can be easily activated by writing that seeks to distort or reverse the meaning of words, writing that does not see itself as responsible for shaping public perceptions, and instead sees communication as merely a form of exploitation. 

If the use of so-called is mired in bad faith and meant to corrupt our reality rather than write with genuine engagement, what does it mean to write in good faith? Rather than positional signals, good faith writing should avoid terms or phrases that would immediately elicit a sense of group identity in the reader. The goal should be to keep each reader – regardless of their beliefs – engaged in your arguments until the very last sentence. To avoid signalling to an in-group, and try to avoid creating an out-group. 

The latter does not mean becoming a stenographer – to write in good faith doesn’t mean avoiding strong opinions. But it does mean treating subject matter with respect. Writing is the art of persuasion, the ability to build compelling arguments and speak to those who may not initially agree with you. At its best, good writing should foster civic attitudes that can transcend cynicism and challenge the politics of force. 

Our present is a turbulent period of ideological flux, with a realignment of interest groups and ideas, and the emergence of new interest groups and ideas. Both phenomena intersect with our natural dispositions, psychologies and emotions to intensify our political expression, but also unmoor it. Moving our world online has made our political discourse more narrative-focused than outcome-focused. Narratives expressed online can *feel* right, but their real-world implications can be different. 

The use of so-called feeds this narrative-focused politics – and often narratives that bear no resemblance to reality. It plays to reflex responses and eschews genuine engagement with ideas or even evidence. It rejects the necessity of liberal democratic politics as striving towards – if not always achieving – improvements in standards of governance and personal livelihoods. These ideals rely on a great deal of public good faith and shared commitment to verifiable information. This shared commitment doesn’t limit the variety of opinions and expressions available in society but instead provides a platform on which this expression can be justified. 

The incessant use of so-called disrupts this civic platform. As a form of doublespeak – language intended to obscure rather than clarify – its purpose is to limit how we think about ideas. In doing so, it diminishes both the writer and the audience, relegating each to the grim emotions of bitterness and mistrust. The power of doublespeak is its ability to become everyday language and for us to accept it as such. To undermine this power, the first editor to implement a blanket ban on the use of so-called in their publication should be awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Public Service.