Why we should speak the language of love, not war

About a week ago I noticed that military metaphors were becoming more and more prominent in the government’s messaging as well as in the media.

Wherever I turned, I heard and read that we were fighting a war against an invisible enemy with leaders forming war cabinets, with constant references to the Blitz spirit, the Second World War and how we are all conscripts in this battle.

This bothered me, as metaphors plant themselves deep into our unconscious minds and can be used to manipulate.

It seems I wasn’t alone. First of all, linguists at Lancaster University urged politicians and commentators to refrain from using war metaphors when discussing Covid-19.

Professor Elena Semino said: “Some aspects of hostile language such as ‘the fight against the coronavirus’ help to communicate how serious the situation is and can foster a spirit of solidarity in the face of an external threat. 

“But we know from the literature on public health communication that war metaphors are ill-equipped to make people abstain from their usual behaviours.”

She appealed for inspirational alternatives to be used, such as comparing coronavirus to a football game, where the result is not yet known. While I admire the sentiment, a sporting analogy is not as powerful as a military one.

After this, the floodgates opened and commentators everywhere started writing opinion pieces about the language of war.

Here’s just a selection.

From The Conversation: “If we are ‘at war’ for an undetermined amount of time, battle fatigue may derail all efforts. Leaders would do better to promote civil responsibility and global solidarity instead of the idea of warfare. Finding a solution to the pandemic is a shared responsibility, and the solution must be global.

“It is not by cultivating the image of warriors that governments will convince people to continue to comply with health authorities: it is by appealing to civic duty, solidarity and respect for fellow human beings.

“But some features of the war metaphor may actually have adverse effects in that they lead to anxiety or indeed aggression towards people who may be seen as guilty of causing or spreading the virus.”

From the Atlantic: “Another problem with using battle analogies is that they aren’t particularly well suited for telling people what not to do. ‘War metaphors call for mobilisation, for action, for doing something,’ says Veronika Koller, a linguist at Lancaster University. In this pandemic, governments are asking people to do the opposite: to forgo normal routines and avoid going outside. Put simply, to do nothing.”

From the New Statesman: “Unlike wars, which might be solved by peace negotiations, there are no political concessions that can make the virus leave us alone. There is no choice but to fight the best we can. Covid-19 is a universal threat. This is why, as we develop the responses we need to, we should veer away from the language of conflict and think in terms of cooperation in a global effort.”

From Sojourners: “Wartime metaphors aren’t about unity or shared purpose; they’re about dehumanisation. War is about killing other human beings and convincing nations that their deaths are justified. If we are going to use that language in a global pandemic, it will come with already built-in assumptions that death is not only inescapable but sacrificial, honorable, dutiful – not a public health policy choice.”

And here’s the brilliant Marina Hyde in The Guardian, writing when Boris Johnson was seriously ill in hospital and being hailed as “a fighter” who will “win this battle”: “We don’t really require a metaphor to throw the horror of viral death into sharper relief: you have to think it’s bad enough already. Plague is a standalone horseman of the apocalypse – he doesn’t need to catch a ride with war.”

BBC reporter Fergus Walsh made the case for using military metaphors in certain circumstances: “When it comes to language, I agonise over every sentence I write. I have used military metaphors. I do think we are in a war against the virus; the ICUs are the frontline in that war. But I don’t think fights should be assigned to people. If someone dies, they haven’t lost a battle, they’ve been killed by a disease.”

Finally, in a powerful 90-second monologue that went viral, Newsnight presenter Emily Maitlis summed it up when she said: “The language around Covid-19 has sometimes felt trite and misleading. You do not survive the illness through fortitude and strength of character, whatever the Prime Minister’s colleagues will tell us.”

I’m pleased that the commentariat expressed such a strong point of view about military metaphors in a time of pandemic, but I had little to add. Until our Prime Minister rose from his sick bed on Easter Sunday and proclaimed to the nation: “We will win because our NHS is the beating heart of this country. It is the best of this country. It is unconquerable. It is powered by love.”

It was such a surprise to hear our faux Churchillian leader speak about love, even though he still peppered the rest of his speech with military talk. As Russell Brand said in his recent letter to Boris, it seemed like “a tearful epiphany”.

I immediately wondered if he had, quite literally, had a change of heart. 

What if his leadership could be powered by love, not war? 

As I sat down to write this blog, I noticed a headline in Time magazine that read:

“The Dalai Lama on why we need to fight coronavirus with compassion”.

I immediately scrolled through the article to see exactly what he had said. He did not mention a fight. He talked about “emotional disarmament”, the antithesis of war, to help people see things realistically and clearly without the confusion of fear or rage.

He talked about how acts of compassion have the potential to help many – whether that’s working in a hospital or social distancing.

He did not talk about battles or wars or weapons. He talked about compassion, which is an act of love.

We keep being told that we’ll have to live with the coronavirus for at least a year, so perhaps, in the spirit of Rumi’s poem, it would be better to treat it linguistically like an unexpected and unwelcome house guest rather than an enemy that has to be defeated.

If we’re going to look for alternatives to military metaphors we could give the language of the heart a chance: not for the virus, but for ourselves, “our NHS” and all of humanity. Only then could we be powered by love. 

Postscript

Boris is back at work (as of 27th April), which is a undoubtedly a good thing, but unfortunately he hasn’t let go of the military metaphors. In fact, he has doubled down on them.

Apparently we’ve won the first phase of the conflict (mission accomplished – with up to 40,000 dead?) and now it’s on to the next battle.

But he couldn’t resist lobbing in another mixed metaphor: “If this virus were a physical assailant, an unexpected and invisible mugger, which I can tell you from personal experience it is, then this is the moment when we have begun together to wrestle it to the floor.”

Make your mind up – are we all sofa soldiers, victims of mugging or wily wrestlers? I’m metaphorically confused and exhausted.

Suzanne Moore in The Guardian reminded us: “Now he gets to make the rules, while trying to be upbeat, but still insisting on this ridiculous language of war and conflict. This is war as a game, in which there are victors and heroes who get medals while flags are waved. Real war is needless slaughter and torture and starvation, but that would spoil the metaphor of triumph.

“No one wins in a pandemic. The UK certainly isn’t winning now. We are set to have the highest death rate in Europe.”

And in the same newspaper, David Shariatmadari commented on the “colourful twist” on the Prime Minister’s martial metaphors, pointing out that the metaphors we choose both reflect our prejudices and influence our approach to the world.

“The PM’s idea that we “wrestle [coronavirus] to the floor” would seem at odds with the patient, precise work that will have to be done, over many months, to keep it at bay.”

I continue to observe language that obfuscates rather than illuminates.