Words embody more than just letters.
I have, until recently, been committing a thoroughly modern crime: putting full stops at the end of texts. My children alerted me to the transgression. A full stop is, apparently, ‘aggressive’, because it is ‘conclusive and therefore shuts down the conversation’. Texts should end ‘like this xx’ not ‘like this. Xx’. And there was I thinking I was simply using the correct grammar.
It can be a hard world to navigate for the non-teenager. For an example of an institution embracing this, it would be hard to beat Aberdeen Standard Investments’ recent announcement it was modernising by changing its name to Abrdn. There was a rationale. In a single swipe of vowels it burnished its web-savvy credentials, appealed to young people who had never heard of it, matched Reed Elsevier, which became the equally on-it Relx, reflected its sale of Standard Life to Phoenix, sounded like a startup software firm and – who knows? – maybe even added a point to the rating. After all, if a dull office property manager like WeWork could sell itself as a tech stock…
“The real danger, however, is that an august old firm has made itself look ridiculous: mutton dressed as lamb, the pony-tailed oldster”
The problem is that vowels have a purpose, not least as an aid to pronunciation. They also distinguish between similar words’ meanings. In Abrdn’s world, ‘flee’, ‘fail’ and ‘file’ become reliant on context. The real danger, however, is that an august old firm has made itself look ridiculous: mutton dressed as lamb, the pony-tailed oldster in funky financial services thinking he’s showing the kids how to use TikTok.
It is not alone. Displaying a similar desire to speak the language of the street, the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) announced its new (and largely reviled by traditionalists) short-form game, The Hundred, which would exchange the word ‘wickets’ for ‘outs’. A spokesman argues, “The Hundred is designed to make cricket accessible to everyone, so language should not be a barrier.” For many people, the idea that a ‘wicket’ has fallen when a batsman (or ‘batter’ under the ECB’s accessible new designation) is ‘out’ is one of the simpler concepts to understand in a game that includes fielding positions at ‘square leg’, ‘short leg’ and ‘long leg’, one man who is ‘third man’, and complex ‘leg before wicket’ (LBW) rules which would presumably become LBOs in The Hundred. This might appeal to debt financiers even if they are hardly the new target audience for the game.
Fortunately, like the European Super League, the ECB backtracked. Unlike the short-lived ESL, which would have destroyed football, the ECB offered no apology to the fans who fill its grounds. By contrast, horrified by the response to the ESL and specifically the potential effects on Manchester United’s bottom line, even the reclusive Joel Glazer broke cover long enough (albeit in the US) to admit he had “failed to show enough respect for its [football, his club’s] deep-rooted traditions”. This from a man who had owned Manchester United, the club and, more importantly, the brand, for 16 years.
JP Morgan, banker to the community-destroying deal, was equally disingenuous. CEO Jamie Dimon apologised for failing to understand “how this deal would be viewed by the wider football community and how it might affect them in the future”. This from the man who had only weeks earlier been trumpeting in his shareholder letter, “We take great pride in being a responsible citizen at the local level – just like the local bakery… We have long championed the essential role of banking in a community – it’s potential for bringing people together. For enabling companies and individuals to reach their dreams.” That was, perhaps, his truth, much as Meghan’s truth was aired on Oprah.
The point is, when language loses its integrity and words lose their meaning, it becomes hard to discern the truth. George Orwell understood this better than anyone – or, at least, better than anyone other than those dictators who have murdered academics, silenced free radio, destroyed books, railed against fake news and replaced it with ‘their truth’.
There is a danger in the UK that we are experiencing the fall-out from the failure to use words with their proper meaning. The Cabinet is subject to more concurrent enquiries than at any time in living memory, most into the Prime Minister’s behaviour and integrity, the disparity between what he says and what he does. As we have seen with scandals ranging from bullying to PPE, if there is no integrity at the top of an organisation, it does not take long for it to run downhill. Similarly, David Cameron’s claim that his bombardment of the Chancellor, senior politicians and civil servants with texts asking for taxpayers’ money to shore up the failing Greensill only reflected a selfless desire to help British industry through the pandemic and was in no way influenced by the millions he stood to make if the company survived, suggests the incumbent of 10 Downing Street is not as unique as he sometimes believes.
“Universities which should be seeking to raise standards appear happy to lower them in certain areas”
But as truth and the expectation of truth disappear from public life, so it encourages other institutions to denigrate language in a way that undermines the integrity of their mission. The news that several UK universities, including Hull and the University of the Arts London, no longer place any weight on correct grammar is one example. Universities which should be seeking to raise standards appear happy to lower them in certain areas. Almost everyone appreciates the need to ‘decolonise’ the curriculum, but dismissing the foundation of how we communicate – how we express truth – and dismissing excellence as a goal to be striven for seems a self-defeating way to go about it.
Yet there is no question the Western world is changing and language is at the heart of it. In the May Hartlepool by-election and council elections, Labour was trampled. There was much soul searching, and comedy firings and re-hirings in the Shadow Cabinet, but for the impartial observer there is an obvious explanation being overlooked: the world has moved on. The electorate is no longer interested in the language of class war, of blue and white collar workers. Yesterday’s miner is laying fibre optic cable and wondering about a bonus. Today’s battlegrounds are identity, gender, climate change and Labour has no better handle on any of these than the hated Tories, who do – amazingly – retain a reputation for economic competence. But if Labour cannot work out that the centrist Tony Blair is its only leader to have won an election in a two-horse race in almost 50 years, it is hard to feel sorry for it. Surely someone appreciates it is time to modernise the party’s language?
This is not an accusation that can be laid at Aberdeen/Abrdn’s door. If one would like to hear the CEO (or any Aberdonian/Abrdnn) pronounce the new name, it is not necessary. The website makes clear the new word is pronounced ‘Aberdeen’. Only it isn’t. ‘Abrdn’ is not pronounced ‘Aberdeen’, however much someone might protest it is. This is the world of Meghan’s truth, or Boris’s.
Aberdeen has misunderstood a fundamental truth about language and the language of brands. A brand, like a word, must remain truthful to what it describes. Aberdeen Standard Investments is a respected wealth manager with a storied history and we hope a bright future. It is hard to see how the word Abrdn conveys that. Full stop.
