It’s a good thing when the message itself can call a core its own.
The German word for message, Botschaft, already carries this seemingly new word “bot” within its structure. You know, those gadgets in cyberspace that handle tasks computer-style as self-employed contractors called “roBOTs.” Self-employed means that we, the Homo sapiens among us, play no role in it. Because these bots are autonomous, that is, automated. Chatbots answer customer inquiries or simulate human conversations without asking or informing anybody. Social bots, the social variety of bots, roam around social networks spreading messages or commenting on other people’s posts. Oh yes, also self-employed, without asking us.
I won’t even get into the toxic and malicious spam bots.
And what are we doing in the meantime?
We, the humane ones among all the animals (so the legend goes), try hard to understand these seemingly new stories of world events.
Any Idea?
Then ask the AI.
It doesn’t have one either — but it sounds more convincing about it.
It usually answers in a flash, leaving you to suspect that this depiction of human intelligence hasn’t thought at all before the answers get flung onto the screen.
The thinking — and especially the skeptical eyeing of results — is then our job again. I always needle these AI things with the question: “Are you sure?”
Guess how often the result then corrects itself.
Exactly: more often than I’d like.
But back to the bots, that is, the messages. I do like taking words apart into their components. Let’s see what might come of it. Because a word often hides a different core, and with it a more nuanced meaning, than you’d suspect from its everyday use in rhetoric.
And that’s where language and its history get even more prickling.
The other day I stumbled across a short speech by US Congressman Jamie Raskin — and got stuck on it.
He put the heckling of his opponents on the dissection table.
The diagnosis he makes is so simple it almost hurts.
When a term gets caught grasping that its own core already carries a message, the associations light up under a glaring spotlight.
A fellow politician from the Republican side said to Jamie: “You’re not a bad guy. The trouble with you is that you’re a liberal.”
Jamie’s answer: “You’re damn right. I’m a liberal. The core of the word means liberty, that is, freedom.”
Well, look at that. And Jamie got going, taking on more terms that get fired off all around as political ammunition.
“That guy’s one of those progressives!”
Oh yes, the word is handy for snipping away at things. After all, “progress” means making progress. Surely a better option than just standing still on the tasks at hand and waiting around.
“XY is a radical!”
Even better.
Because what does the adjective “radical” really mean?
It means getting at the root of the problem, to find its cause. The carpet gets pulled back from over the root that was hiding underneath.
“Somehow I’m a conservative.”
Well, look at that. Or several of those.
Let’s imagine what the original meaning of “conservative” actually is.
Conserving — that is, preserving things of value — is commendable in itself.
Rarely does that mean the money itself.
No, conserving land, air, and water is already a good start.
Or preserving the climate system, protecting fundamental rights, sheltering social security, and keeping the health of people running as a system.
So, how does conservative sound now?
Not to forget the preservation and care of fundamental rights such as the constitution, the Universal Human Rights, and of course democracy’s elixir of life: the right to vote.
Since I count myself among the dissectors of terms, I’ve become more careful about dishing out terms with a toxic undertone.
By now I know just how much harder rhetoric can wound.
Words can turn into weapons.
Let’s turn back to the core of the message.
Collateral damage from rhetoric really doesn’t have to happen.
We can do much better with positive words.
