Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Parliamentary Discourse
Discourse Approaches to Politics, Society and Culture The series includes contributions that investigate political, social and cultural processes from a linguistic/discourse-analytic point of view. The aim is to publish monographs and edited volumes which combine language-based approaches with disciplines concerned essentially with human interaction — disciplines such as political science, international relations, social psychology, social anthropology, sociology, economics, and gender studies. The book series complements the Journal of Language and Politics, edited by Ruth Wodak and Paul Chilton
General editors Paul Chilton and Ruth Wodak University of East Anglia/University of Vienna
Editorial address: Paul Chilton School of Language, Linguistics & Translation Studies University of East Anglia, Norwich NR4 7TJ, UK P.
[email protected] and
[email protected] Advisory board Michael Billig
Andreas Jucker
Loughborough University
University of Zurich
Jan Blommaert
George Lakoff
University of Ghent
University of California at Berkeley
Pierre Bourdieu †
J. R. Martin
Collège de France
University of Sydney
Bill Downes
Luisa Martín-Rojo
University of East Anglia
Universidad Autonoma de Madrid
Teun A. van Dijk
Jacob L. Mey
University of Amsterdam/Pompeu Fabra University, Barcelona
University of Southern Denmark
Mikhail V. Ilyin
Aston University
Christina Schäffner
Polis, Moscow
Volume 10 Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Parliamentary Discourse Edited by Paul Bayley
Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Parliamentary Discourse Edited by
Paul Bayley University of Bologna
John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam/Philadelphia
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Parliamentary Discourse / edited by Paul Bayley. p. cm. (Discourse Approaches to Politics, Society and Culture, issn 1569-9463 ; v. 10) Includes bibliographical references and indexes. 1. Discourse analysis--Political aspects. 2. Parliamentary practice–Cross-cultural studies. 3. Communication in politics--Cross-cultural studies. I. Bayley, Paul. II. Series. P302.77.C76 2004 401’.41--dc22 isbn 90 272 2700 4 (Eur.) / 1 58811 477 5 (US) (Hb; alk. paper)
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Table of contents
Introduction: The whys and wherefores of analysing parliamentary discourse Paul Bayley
1
Insulting as (un)parliamentary practice in the British and Swedish parliaments: A rhetorical approach Cornelia Ilie
45
Negotiating conflict: Interruptions in British and Italian parliamentary debates Cinzia Bevitori
87
Consent and dissent in British and Italian parliamentary debates on the 1998 Gulf Crisis Nicoletta Vasta
111
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates in the British House of Commons and the Italian Chamber of Deputies Denise Dibattista
151
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente ‘Truth, justice and the American way’: The appraisal system of judgement in the U. S. House debate on the impeachment of the President, 1998 Donna R. Miller Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong: Mapping histories, contexts, conflicts Teresa Carbó
185
237
271
301
Table of contents
Text and context of parliamentary debates Teun A. van Dijk
339
Author index
373
Subject index
377
Introduction The whys and wherefores of analysing parliamentary discourse Paul Bayley
It is well-known what happens on these occasions. The simplest and most obvious conclusion is rejected as unworthy of such experts in wisdom as these ingenious hoary old men, and an obscure alternative is warmly debated and then rejected; finally, a most far-fetched and marvellously improper conclusion is found and unanimously accepted. Robert Graves, Count Belisarius
.
Premise
This volume brings together a number of different studies of the language of representative assemblies, or parliaments, and thus it deals with the question of special discourse communities working within specific political institutions. Parliaments are institutions which are dedicated to talk; members of parliament debate legislative proposals and scrutinise the work of governments through questioning; they may also be the sites where governments explain and justify their policies. Parliamentary talk is a sub-genre of political language and represents its most formal and institutionalised variety. The volume does not attempt to make an exhaustive and definitive statement or description of the nature of parliamentary discourse, and given the fact that this is a collection of papers looking at specific instances of parliamentary sittings, such an aim would be arduous. Indeed, one may ask whether it would be feasible at all to make a definitive statement since there are many forms of representative assembly – at a local level, a national level and also a supranational level. Moreover, parliamentary talk may take place in different institutional contexts: in a full sitting in the chamber (where talk may tend
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to be adversarial), in committee (where it may be cooperative) and, informally, in the corridors (where it may be based on threats and promises). To limit the field of study, what shall be examined here is the language of national parliaments in full sittings. However, it should not be forgotten that national parliaments are ubiquitous – they can be found in dictatorships and democracies, one-party states and pluralistic liberal democracies, plutocracies and theocracies – and take on many forms and carry out various political functions. Nine out of ten countries have elected deliberative assemblies of one kind or another (Norton 1993: 4). Moreover, they are obviously sensitive to institutional-political and socio-cultural variations, or to political culture in general. And so to be more precise, these studies will be circumscribed, with perhaps one exception, to the analysis of national parliaments in western democracies. But even having circumscribed the domain in this way, it is not easy to identify a “typical parliament”. Indeed it could be said that the “typical parliament” is the exception and not the rule. For example, it could be said that a parliament is an assembly that is elected by universal suffrage; that, once elected, it assembles under its own initiative; that participation in elections is freely open to political parties, movements and individuals; that its functions include that of legislation and scrutiny of the workings of the executive. However, even though the first three sets of criteria might be satisfied in many cases – taking as given the fact that not all chambers, or not all members of legislative chambers, are directly elected (see the House of Lords in the United Kingdom or the Bundesrat in Germany) – national parliaments in western democracies may be of different kinds. So I shall begin this introduction by briefly summarising how parliaments may differ. In the first place, western democracies have different constitutional frameworks. Each nation may be classified as a unitary state (like France and Great Britain), as a regionalist state (like Italy and Spain) or as a federal state (like the United States and Germany), and in each case powers, and consequently parliamentary functions, are distributed differently. Moreover, to make the picture more complex, very few ‘pure’ models exist and all of them are subject to evolution over time. Britain is classified as a unitary state but it gives more autonomy to local authorities than France does and, besides, with the process of devolution, it has introduced an element of regionalism into its constitutional framework. Italy is a regionalist state but it has not allowed much autonomy to its regional structures, even though reforms are currently under discussion. The United States is a federal nation and yet the power of the single States de-
Introduction
clined over the twentieth century and throughout its history the problems of federalism have been frequently been the cause of contention. Federalist states are typically organised through a written constitution which endows parliament with enumerated powers (even though there is, in many federal states, a centralising tendency for them to acquire ‘implied powers’). Unitary states on the other hand tend to give complete sovereignty to parliament, even though many require qualified majorities for particular forms of legislation. However, some unitary states, such as those belonging to the European Union, have ceded some of their sovereignty to supranational bodies and as a consequence a considerable amount of their legislative activity is imposed from above. And so a major difference between parliaments, which may be reflected in the linguistic dimension in a banal way, is that the scope of the questions that may be the subject of parliamentary talk varies from institution to institution. The second variable regards the balance of powers between the legislative and the executive branches of government; parliaments may exist with systems that are presidential (for example, the USA), semi-presidential (France), or parliamentary (Italy). In presidential systems the legislative and the executive branches are elected independently, are endowed with independent powers, and members of one branch cannot simultaneously be members of the other; the executive is not formally accountable to the legislature and it does not have the power to dissolve it (Heywood 2001: 179–181). In parliamentary systems, on the other hand, governments are formed by parliament; members of the government are drawn largely from parliament; government relies on the confidence of parliament and may be removed by it if it loses this confidence; on the other hand governments may have the power to dissolve parliaments (Heywood 2000: 172–174). Once again, these features are typical of parliamentary systems but they are not universally so. For example, in the Italian system, governments cannot dissolve parliaments, even though there have been occasions when they have wanted to, because heads of states have jealously guarded this prerogative, while in constitutional monarchies, like Spain and the United Kingdom, the power of dissolution is exercised, de facto if not de jure, by the head of government. These differences will be reflected in parliamentary language because in parliamentary systems debate is generally constructed in terms of a conflict between government and opposition while in presidential systems this may not necessarily be the case. For example, a President of the United States may have to face the opposition of Congress, even when his party has the majority. Representatives, and to a greater extent Senators, may be more interested in upholding state or local interests than party interests.
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Thirdly, parliaments differ according to their overall role within the framework of policy-making and this variable may be independent of the two abovementioned considerations. Parliaments have been categorised as either policy making, policy influencing or executive dominated institutions (Norton 1984, 1994). The first, rather rare, are autonomous from the executive and have an active role in forming policy; an example could be the U. S. Congress. This may be a result of the U. S. presidential system which foresees a clear separation of powers, but not necessarily since counter examples may abound. For example, Mexico has a presidential system and an independently elected parliament which has, however, for most of its history, acted in support of an executive which was controlled by one party, the Partido Revolucionario Institucional, for a full 71 years. Most parliaments can be classified in one of the latter two categories. Policy influencing parliaments, like the Italian one, may exert authority over the executive while executive-dominated Parliaments, like the French, act as a rubber stamp for executive policy making. The difference between the last two may be rather hard to define. For example, both the British and the Italian parliaments are sovereign institutions and yet the Italian parliament may more effectively influence policy because the system of alliances that has held executives together since the Second World War has made policy making subject to negotiation and mediation, whereas in Great Britain most governments have been controlled by a single party and thus have been able to impose their will on parliaments. Systems of representation, moreover, vary considerably; they may be proportional or based on simple majorities, single or double ballot, and they may or may not foresee representative quotas. Electors may vote for parties or for individuals; the nation may be divided into constituencies or it may not. The elected may be considered as “trustees”, “delegates” or holders of a “mandate”, either from a political party or from a geographical region. Systems of representation may be designed to guarantee governability or to provide maximum representativity. In the latter case, electors may feel greater empathy with the institution while in the former the elector-elected relationship may be more distant. Similarly, proportional systems may allow for the election of parties occupying the extreme ends of the political spectrum, while majority systems tend to produce two-party parliaments. Clearly, ideas of representation and the design of electoral systems may determine what kind of language is acceptable or not in any given parliament. Moreover, even though the architecture of parliamentary systems is designed with particular objectives in mind, the language of constitutional law is notoriously indeterminate and the institutions themselves are sensitive to
Introduction
cultural variations and thus evolve over time. For example, the current relationship between the President of the United States and Congress was not foreseen by the founding fathers, neither was the system of universal suffrage for choosing Representatives and Senators. Similarly, India’s national, or “union” parliamentary structure and its electoral system were designed largely along the lines of the House of Commons and yet the two institutions certainly do not reflect one another either from the point of view of governability or from that of representativity. So, as well as institutional models as variables, it is also necessary to take into consideration differences in political culture. Political culture is determined by long-term orientation to government and by general beliefs, symbols and values. Political culture can interact with systems of representation, and with the rules and regulations of specific parliaments to create institutional practices that may seem surprising. For example, partly because of political culture and partly because of its electoral system, Britain has been a two party system for a long time, a system dominated by the alternation of two parties in government and opposition. Two party systems elected by simple majority systems tend to produce a political mainstream (even though individual parties, like the British Labour party, may contain a broad variety of political orientations) and to exclude parties at the political ‘extremes’ and it might be hypothesised that this kind of political hegemony would result in a rather low level of conflict. However, the House of Commons is typified by “adversarial” politics in which the role of the opposition is generally to oppose, at all costs. This could be a result of the rules and regulations of the House which allow the government to set the agenda, which exclude the opposition from presenting its own legislative proposals and which limit the capacity of the opposition to have its proposals for amendments discussed. In practice, the House of Commons is dominated by the government. The Italian parliament, on the other hand, from the inception of the Republic and the constitution of 1948 up to the beginning of the 1990’s, was characterised by a multi-party system elected by proportional representation, and the dominance of one governing party, the Democrazia Cristiana, supported by a constellation of allies, with the largest opposition party being the Partito Comunista Italiano. It would be feasible to imagine this as a potentially highly conflictual system, and in some ways it was. But Italian political culture was, and remains, fundamentally “consociationalist”: power tends to be shared. Because governments do not have full control over the parliamentary agenda, because bills and amendments can be presented by practically any MP and even through popular petitions, because governments cannot always count on the loyalty of the majority alliance in divisions, and, finally, because parliamentary
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committees have wide legislative powers and are not necessarily controlled by the governing majority, 90% of the legislation of this period was passed with an almost unanimous vote; the opposition was able to support the government, overtly or covertly, and at the same time negotiate its own amendments.1 The Italian electoral system was reformed between 1993 and 1995, with the introduction of majority voting for 75% of seats in the Camera dei Deputati. That the difference between Britain and Italy is a result of political culture can be demonstrated by the fact that these reforms have not reduced the number of parties represented in parliament. An illustration of the dissimilarity between the British and Italian system may be provided by what is arguably the most important function of parliament, approving the financial bill and thus distributing the year’s resources. In Britain, the finance bill, which cannot be amended in the upper house, is approved intact within a matter of days. In Italy, it occupies the agenda of both houses for a number of months and is usually amended quite radically during this procedure. To sum up this first part then, parliaments are institutions that vary according to constitutional frameworks, their function within the political system as a whole, representativity and political culture. This volume will presents a series of analyses of parliamentary texts, or transcripts of parliamentary talk, which have the aim of investigating how parliamentary language in liberal democracies can be analysed from the point of view of functional linguistics, and whether such analysis can give us insights into political behaviour. In fact, the study of naturally occurring texts within the perspective of functional linguistics may have two objectives; data can be studied in order to verify the soundness of theoretical models and methodological approaches, or they can be studied in order to see what the theory can tell us about the texts. This volume attempts to balance these two different aims. Of the following nine papers, six deal with comparisons between debates held in the national parliaments of members of the European Union – three constitutional monarchies (Britain, Spain and Sweden), one federal republic (Germany) and one parliamentary republic (Italy) – and in each of these cases, the House of Commons is one of the paragons. The three exceptions are, firstly, the paper by Carbò in which she draws on examples taken from Mexico, a presidential republic on the border of the northern and the southern part of the world, secondly, Miller’s paper on the 1998 impeachment debate in the U. S. House of Representatives, another presidential republic bordering on the former but located firmly in the northern part of the world, and finally Van Dijk’s paper on the “context” of parliamentary discourse which does, however, conclude with illustrative examples drawn from a House of Commons debate.
Introduction
The debates analysed tend to represent the most dramatic aspects of parliamentary life – for example, war, European integration and thus the ceding of sovereignty, the impeachment of a President, and so on. Three possible weaknesses may be perceived in this general outline. First of all, a large proportion of parliamentary work is dedicated to matters of routine and to uncontroversial questions. It is not uncommon to witness speeches being made to a practically empty chamber. By concentrating on matters of fundamental national interest, we may be misrepresenting parliamentary discourse as a whole, even though I would argue that while controversial and conflictual debate may not be the most frequent feature of parliamentary discourse, it might be said to represent its quintessence. Secondly, rather than dealing with parliamentary discourse in its complete sense, the analyses are based on official transcripts. These may be inaccurate and even if they are accurate, they lack a fundamental dimension of parliamentary discourse – it spokenness (Slembrouck 1992); they also lack (even though transcripts often try to represent it) that background of jeers, heckles and applause that contribute to the context of a parliamentary debate. Thirdly, the selection of debates may be seen to be eurocentric, perhaps anglocentric. This could possibly be justified by the fact that the British parliament is widely considered to be the “mother of parliaments”, although Iceland could stake a valid claim for this honour. Alternatively, it could be argued that, with the exception of the papers on the USA and Mexico, it has permitted the comparison of similar institutions – parliaments working within parliamentary systems of government in a European framework. Or, finally, it could be suggested that a volume published in English but covering various linguistic communities is all the more comprehensible if English is one of the major languages in the spotlight. But the point that I would like to make is that the papers offer models and methodological frameworks for analysis that can, mutatis mutandis, be applied to other parliamentary realities.
. Language and institutions There has been a considerable amount of interest, over the last few decades, in the study of how language functions within specific institutional contexts and how in many ways linguistic practices have come to define institutions, on the one hand, and how the institutions have defined discourse practices on the other. The two broad institutional areas which most closely intersect with parliamentary discourse – law and politics – have been the subject of a number of linguistic studies. Both politics and law are broad macro categories; studies
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on political language may include investigations into very different sub-genres such as electoral language, party political language, the language of diplomacy and international relations, the language of social conflict, the language of parliament, and so on. Similarly, studies in law and language could include such different activities as lawyer-client discourse, legislative language, judicial discourse, and so on. Linguistics has not been the only discipline to investigate the relationship between language and politics, or language and law, but similar interest has been shown within political science and jurisprudence – and in the latter case it is not easy, in some of the literature, to draw a line between linguistic analysis and legal studies (see, for example, Goodrich 1987; Schauer 1993 and Douzinas, Warrington, & McVeigh 1993). The interdisciplinary interest in the law/language or the politics/language interface should be hardly surprising since we cannot imagine either politics or law – as they are today – without language. The activities of a politician, which may include things such as seeking consensus, elaborating policy, negotiating and mediating in conflicts, representing interests and opposing the policy of others, are all fundamentally linguistic activities. Similarly, the activities of the various legal professions – formulating laws or contracts, constructing arguments for or against a given position, mediating disputes, interpreting laws or other legal documents – are intrinsically reflected in and shaped by linguistic practices. Of these two areas, parliamentary discourse can be most clearly positioned within the category of political language, of which there is a considerable literature, dating back to the classics. For recent book-length linguistic studies on politics, in the strictest sense, mention could be made of Rossini Favretti (1980), Atkinson (1984), Chilton (1985), Bolletieri Bosinelli (1985), Geis (1987) Wodak (1989), Fairclough (1989), Wilson (1990), Bayley and Miller (1993), Miller and Vasta (1997), Blommaert and Bulcaen (1998), Chilton, Ilyin and Mey (1998), Fairclough (2000). Depending on how broadly we were to define politics, a complete list of books and articles that could be fitted into this category would be very long indeed. Volumes in which political scientists have tackled language-related questions include Edelman (1964, 1977), Shapiro (1984), and Merelman (1993). However, we cannot say that there is such a thing as ‘the language of politics’ any more than we can claim that there exists ‘the language of law’. They are both composite discourse types which include a number of subsets, or specific functional varieties and politics in particular, because of its ubiquity, assumes a very large number of forms. For example, if it is true that one of the most important arenas for political socialisation is the family, even informal
Introduction
conversation around the meal table could be considered as a type of political discourse. This volume seeks to examine one of these varieties – parliamentary discourse(s) – in a cross-cultural perspective. The activity of parliaments is, or can be seen as, linguistic activity, and while we may question the centrality of the role of parliamentary interventions in the decision making process (many legislatures, as we have already seen, tend to ratify decisions taken elsewhere), parliament is the site where government and opposition go ‘on the record’, where justification and criticism of legislative initiatives is made, where interests are articulated and represented, and where politicians are judged by their peers, their party hierarchies and, perhaps to a lesser extent and indirectly via the media, by their electors. These processes are at the heart of western democracies. But notwithstanding the interest that has been shown in political language, there have been few studies on the language of parliament, and this despite the fact that all parliamentary discourse becomes an official document and is freely available, either through print or, over the last few years, on the internet. There are of course some exceptions; first of all mention should be given to two book-length publications: Carbò’s two volume study covering 30 years of Mexican parliamentary discourse (1996) and Wodak and Van Dijk’s book (2000) investigating discourses on ethnicity and immigration in six European parliaments. Wilson dedicates a section of his book on political language (1990) to parliamentary questions. In 1992, Carbò published an article on interruptions in parliamentary discourse and Slembrouck published an influential article on how transcripts of parliamentary reports are produced. Crystal’s The Cambridge Encyclopedia of the English Language (1995) dedicates a small section to questions in parliament, largely drawn from Wilson (1990), as an example of social variation in English. Other articles in the same field, published in journals or collections include Miller (1997, 1999), Bayley (1998, 1999), Ilie (1999, 2000, 2001), Antaki and Leudar (2001) and Harris (2001). Finally, the Journal of Language and Politics has recently dedicated an issue to parliamentary language (see Chilton 2003).
. Why study parliamentary language? I prefaced this brief review of the literature by saying that little attention had been paid to the language of parliament in the literature, yet it might be said that the list I have set out is more than sufficient; indeed, there is a certain amount of scepticism towards parliaments and their activities. The talk of
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members of deliberative assemblies is, moreover, frequently the butt of jokes, and this may be an old tradition, as the epigraph to this chapter suggests. Norton (1993: 207) reports that opinion polls taken in 1989 and 1991 in Great Britain indicated that 43% of citizens had “not very much” confidence in parliament. Similar trends can be observed in other nations. For example, the web site for the National Centre for Education Statistics publishes two polls which indicate that in 1996 39% of the sample had “very little” confidence in Congress while 41% had “some”. Two years later these figures were 20% and 48% respectively, while those who had a “great deal” of confidence were 3.4% and 10%. A poll conducted in Italy in 2003 by Abacus indicated that 46% of a sample of Italians had no confidence in the Senato della Repubblica and 51% had no confidence in the Camera dei Deputati while in the same poll 85% of the same sample declared that they did have confidence in the appointed Presidente della Repubblica. Even the major media seem to pay little regard to parliamentary discourse. It is true that many newspapers publish a digest of parliament and that, for example, in Britain the BBC has a specialist Parliamentary Channel and in Italy the RAI provides a similar service both on radio and on satellite links, and that debates on important or ‘newsworthy’ issues are reported; but they are not necessarily accurate, they tend to focus on the more spectacular events of parliamentary life, and they often pay more attention to the discourse that takes place on the margins of parliament, such as the extra-parliamentary forms of persuasion that may take place in the corridors or lobbies, rather than the debate itself (Bayley 1998). This may be a sound professional judgment on how journalists should represent political processes. For example, in some parliamentary systems, the British one for instance, it is unlikely that the rhetoric of an MP has ever switched a vote from one side to the other. As newspaper discourse suggests, persuading and convincing MPs probably take place through private discourse lying outside of public scrutiny. But there is nonetheless some tension between this apparent indifference towards parliamentary talk and one of the most deeply rooted beliefs of western democracies – the value of elected parliaments and universal franchise.2 However, as Norton argues (1993: 2–3), no sooner had parliaments reached their golden age in the nineteenth century than their importance began to wane. There are probably two major reasons for their apparent decline. Firstly, the site of political decision-making shifted from parliament to government, especially since, in many nations, the strength of parties has allowed governments to be sure of their parliamentary majorities, and consequently parlia-
Introduction
ment has become marginalised. It is, however, important not to generalise; parties in the USA are not so central to the behaviour of members of Congress as they are in many European countries. They owe their election to local, and not national, party structures and their constituents are likely to judge them on the basis of their voting record on single issues and not on their loyalty to a party. In Britain, the great expansion of the electorate after the 1867 Reform Act caused the rise of mass-membership parties and the consequent decline in the freedom of action of individual elected members. Obviously a broad generalisation needs to take into account specific historical circumstances and particular institutional arrangements. Indeed, as Hobsbawm reminds us, in twentieth century Europe democratically elected assemblies did not have a good track record and the only European countries with adequate democratic political institutions that functioned without a break during the inter-war period were Britain, Finland (only just), the Irish Free State, Sweden and Switzerland. (Hobsbawm 1994: 111)
In the United States the shift of power from the legislature to the executive had causes and dynamics related to the separation of powers enacted by the constitution, probably culminating in the New Deal era, that merit individual attention. This list could continue at some length. Secondly, the arena for political debate has shifted in the last fifty years from Parliament to the mass media, which have arguably become the principal organ for the communication of political ideas. Consensus for or against a particular policy proposal is sought through the mass media and parliamentary dialectic has only a limited persuasive function, perhaps a merely symbolic one. The media are the site at which many political issues are primarily aired, and at which political consensus is sought. Compare the contemporary role of television to mid-20th century Britain when in the infancy of television from 1944 to 1956, the BBC and later ITN were not allowed to cover questions that were to be debated in Parliament within the next fourteen days for fear that television might take on the role as an alternative forum for political debate; during these years there were very few televised political interviews and discussions, and until 1959 electoral campaigns for the Commons were not covered by television news. Moreover, television cameras were not admitted to the House of Commons until 1989 (Seymour-Ure 1996: 179–200). At the end of the century, however, the number of arenas for political debate had expanded exponentially. So we might question whether parliamentary debating, which is a form of public discourse, readily available to those that wish to consult it but probably
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consulted by very few, can be said to draw on and contribute to wider discourse practices or to ideology. However, I would argue that, although parliamentary discourse is institutionally the prerogative of a limited number of speakers and does not constitute a mass-consumed text-type, political debate does not take place in a void. There are mediating structures between MPs and society as a whole, and each politician has his or her interests to serve in the form of party organisations, constituents, pressure groups, etc. Political ideas, moreover, are circulated in the media as a result of the reciprocal interdependency of politicians and journalists. As in all forms of discourse, “every text [. . . ] makes its meanings against the background of other texts”, different social interests and competing discourses (Lemke 1982: 159). Moreover, even though the decision-making role of Parliaments may have declined, they do have a number of important functions – not least that of representation – which are not necessarily directly involved with legislation. Asking questions of ministers for example is not a legislative activity but a calling to account of the government in the name of party, constituency or other interests. Similarly, when a Minister makes a statement to Parliament, he or she may be promoting or defending the interests of a part of government policy, say foreign policy, but not legislating. The US Congress even has a judicial function in the case of impeachment. Bagehot (1867) listed five functions of the British parliament: elective, expressive, teaching, informing and legislative. Packenham (1970), attempting to identify universal functions, listed eleven which may be compressed, following Norton (1993: 7), into three: first, the legitimation of law-making; second, the recruitment, socialization and training of politicians; and, finally, making decisions or influencing opinion. Thus the discourse of parliament may serve to provide a formal stamp of approval to legislation, an arena in which politicians are judged by their peers, and a site where interests are articulated. Parliament, as the very etymology of the word suggests, is the site of discussion, of debate; its activity is linguistic activity, and the discourse of parliament results in (or is the final stage of a process which results in) concrete action in the outside world, establishing regulations as to what must, may and may not be done in a given society. Its structure is, generally speaking, confrontational and parliament is the site of a struggle over meanings (see Miller 1997). It is questionable whether language and argument in parliament actually succeed in persuading MPs to shift their votes from one side to the other – the discourse of party loyalty and the authority of governments seem to be the most decisive factors3 – but it does provide the semantic as well as the symbolic framework within which important social and political questions can be represented. It
Introduction
stakes out the boundaries which demarcate which meanings can and cannot be made at the symbolic centre of representative democracies.
. Characteristics of parliamentary language So, what characterises parliamentary language? Van Dijk argues that parliamentary discourse does not have any exclusive linguistic features, but that instead it may have a number of prototypical non-exclusive features (2000: 47) and of course he is right, even though certain of what might be called its epiphenomena, such as its peculiar turn-taking procedures and the authorised terms of address that are associated with it, do seem to be typical of this discourse model. However, only the most “frozen” functional varieties of language – such as the language of air-traffic control, of playing bridge, or, to a lesser extent of legislation – are characterised by strong linguistic constraints. Most functional varieties are characterised not by the exclusivity of the linguistic choices that typify them but by the high probability of the occurrence of particular features which combine in texts in distinctive ways. Indeed, I would venture to suggest that most people would be able to identify and classify as such a recording of a parliamentary intervention, in much the same way that they would be able to identify a recording of a sermon as part of a religious ceremony or a recording of a lesson as part of educational processes. Thus it might be argued that particular combinations of certain features involving various levels of linguistic and discursive analysis, such as some phonological features (see Moosmüller 1989), interaction strategies, intervention length, terms of address, metadiscursive and argumentative lexis, direct and indirect quotation, explicit expressions of belief and opinion, epistemic modality tending towards certainty rather than probability, and complex structures of subordination favouring conditionals and concessives, give parliamentary language its distinctive and recognisable flavour. These are of course linguistic features that are common to many functional varieties, but it is the way that these features are combined, probabilistically, which leads to the definition of a register. In order to better present these features, it would be necessary to begin with an analysis of the context of parliamentary debating, since most linguists of a functional orientation agree that language is determined by the context in which it is produced. However, since Van Dijk in this volume tackles precisely this question, I shall merely consider a rather unsystematic series of non-linguistic variables that may contribute towards shaping the discourse of MPs and which might prove to be fundamental factors in the definition of an
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ethnography of parliaments. On this point see also Van Dijk (2000: 45–78). I shall draw my examples from the two parliaments I am most familiar with – the House of Commons and the Italian Camera dei Deputati. In the first place it should be said that although on a cross-cultural level parliaments fulfil broadly similar functions, they are sensitive to the context of culture and history in the widest sense. This would involve a number of linguistic and non-linguistic variables such as: the general rules of politeness, tolerance of aggressive linguistic behaviour, preferences towards abstract or concrete political language, concepts of irony and humour, etc. in a given culture (see Ilie and Bevitori in this volume); the form of political representation – parliaments elected by systems of proportional representation are more likely to host voices from outside the political mainstream, or outside the paradigms of dominant discourse, than assemblies elected on first-past-the-post systems; constitutional arrangements on the separation of power – parliaments which are totally independent of the executive are likely to have discourse patterns which differ from those in which legislative and executive power are closely intertwined; the strength of political parties – political systems with strong centralised party organisations are likely to produce different discourse from systems characterised by weak party structures. Other variables may include procedural question such as the extent to which filibustering is tolerated, or the extent to which the government of the day controls the parliamentary agenda. It can thus be hypothesised that the social and institutional norms and, perhaps above all, the history of a given culture will determine to some extent the kind of language that can be used in parliament. Secondly, parliamentary discourse is ritualised and rule-bound; it is governed by tradition, rules and regulations and new Members are required to respect them. Naturally the rituals and rules observed change from nation to nation but they will all determine particular linguistic choices. For example, in the House of Commons, MPs are not allowed to read from a prepared text, but they may use notes. They are not permitted to directly address their colleagues,4 but only the chair. This means that, while the frequency of the first person pronoun is very high, the frequency of you is extremely low for spoken discourse. In fact, with the exception of you being used to address the Speaker of the House, any other instances of its are embedded in direct quotations, invented indirect discourse, or are used in rhetorical structures of apostrophe. These are of course by no means universal features of parliamentary discourse. In Italy, for example, reading from a written text is not just permitted but common practice; direct address is permitted and an Italian MP may address the chair of the House (Signor Presidente), the whole house (Signor Presidente, onorevoli
Introduction
colleghi), a part of the house (voi della maggioranza attuale) or a single member, and in which case he or she may choose between a variety of address terms – the honorific, the polite personal pronoun Lei, the informal pronoun tu, and even surname. This is illustrated in the following example drawn from a debate held on November 27th 2002 in which two MPs, the first a member of the Democratici di Sinistra and the second of the Lega Nord Padania, in which the former accuses the latter of dealing more with procedure than with substance, who replies with a charge, or rather an insinuation, of inconsistency:5 (1) PIERO RUZZANTE. Vediamo come voti oggi! ALESSANDRO CÈ. Ruzzante, intervieni sul doppio voto e via dicendo: questo è il tuo campo d’azione. Su questi argomenti, qualche volta, ti vorrei sentire nel merito. PIERO RUZZANTE. Vediamo se sei coerente. (Camera dei Deputati. 27.11.2002) RUZZANTE. Let’s see how you [informal address term] vote today! CÈ. Ruzzante, you intervene on the question of the double vote and things like that: that’s your field of action. Now and then, I’d like to hear your opinion on the substantive issues. RUZZANTE: Let’s see if you’re consistent.
Note the use of surname as address form and the use of the informal tu form in what was an aggressive, although vacuous exchange. Such use of language would not be authorised in the House of Commons. However, MPs in both countries generally refer to each other by a system of honorifics which, in the House of Commons, may denote status (the right honourable and learned gentleman), gender (the right honourable lady) and political allegiance (my honourable friend) and an individual MP is identified not by name but by the constituency he or she represents.6 In the Italian parliament, the address term is more simply onorevole, plus surname. This does cause some difficulty in translation, not least because of the differences in the constitutional frameworks of parliaments and the different status of MPs in terms of representativity as outlined in the first section of this chapter. MPs in the House of Commons may interrupt one another, but only with the consent of the speaker who is holding the floor, by using the prescribed non-linguistic gestures (standing up) or by uttering a ritual request (will the honourable gentleman give way?). Reponses to such attempts to gain the floor are almost as equally ritualistic (see Bevitori in this volume); for example they often invoke the question of the lack of time, or the need to ‘make progress’ as a justifica-
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tion for not giving way. In the Camera dei Deputati, an MP may ask the chair permission to interrupt on a point of order, or he or she may interrupt without permission, and such interruptions may be ignored or they may be answered. In the House of Commons, questions put to Ministers in the time allocated to this activity of parliamentary control of the executive are constructed in a particular form. For example, Hansard reports them as indirect questions (If she will make a statement on the implications for her Department’s spending plans of the pre-Budget statement), while on the floor of the House the question will normally be indicated by its number on the order paper (Number one). The first question in Prime Minister’s question time is invariably vacuous (If he/she will list his official engagements for Wednesday 19 December) in order to leave space for an unpredictable supplementary question. In the Camera dei Deputati, the practice of questioning a minister follows a rather similar, but not identical procedure; the chair introduces the question by number (l’onorevole X ha facoltà di illustrare la sua interrogazione n. 3-02021- “The honourable [Deputy] X has the right to illustrate his/her question”), the questioner is permitted to illustrate the question, after which the chair introduces the minister (il ministro dell’economia, onorevole Y ha facoltà di rispondere – “The Minister of the Economy, the honourable [Deputy] Y, has the right to respond”) who responds, while the questioner has the right to reply (l’onorevole X ha facoltà di replicare – “The honourable [Deputy] X has the right to reply”), thus having the last word. Question time is typical of parliamentary systems of government rather than Presidential systems. Moreover, for the very reason that parliaments are governed by complex rules and regulations, in moments of tension the procedures themselves may be the cause of conflict and the object of discussion. For example, parliamentary chairs are often called on to decide whether a point of order, a classical strategy to get the floor, is a legitimate one or not. On the 10th February 2003, the following exchange between the speaker of the House of Commons and MP Tom Dalyell, the “father of the House”, took place over the question of whether Dalyell was authorised to intervene on a point of order and to raise the question of the threatened war against Iraq rather than proceeding with the “business of the day”. (2) Mr. Dalyell: On a point of order, Mr. Speaker. Mr. Speaker: Order. Unless it is a new matter, I say to the Father of the House— Mr. Dalyell: You mentioned the business of the day, Mr. Speaker. The business of the day is trivial compared to the question of peace and war. [Hon.
Introduction
Members: “Oh.”] All right, the business of the day may be important in Northern Ireland for a time, but— Mr. Speaker: Order. Please be seated while I am standing. That is not a matter for the Chair. Mr. Dalyell: On a point of order, Mr. Speaker. Mr. Speaker: Order. Mr. Dalyell: On a point of order, Mr. Speaker. Mr. Speaker: Order. I tell the hon. Gentleman to resume his seat. Mr. Dalyell rose— Mr. Speaker: Order. I am instructing the hon. Gentleman to resume his seat. I have been very— Mr. Dalyell rose— Mr. Speaker: Order. Please be seated. I am instructing the hon. Gentleman to resume his seat. Mr. Dalyell rose— Mr. Speaker: Order. The hon. Gentleman has tested the patience of the Chair. He must be seated. Mr. Dalyell rose— Mr. Speaker: Order. I tell the Father of the House to resume his seat. I do not want— Mr. Gummer: Sit down, Tam. Mr. Dalyell: No. Mr. Speaker: Order. The hon. Gentleman is treading on very dangerous ground. Mr. Dalyell: On a point of order, Mr. Speaker. Mr. Speaker: Order. The hon. Gentleman must resume his seat. Mr. Dalyell: I insist on the parliamentary right to put a point of order— Mr. Speaker: Order. I insist on my rights as the Speaker, and I tell the hon. Gentleman to resume his seat. He must— Mr. Dalyell: I insist on putting my point of order. In matters of peace and war, the House of Commons— Mr. Speaker: Order. I say to the hon. Gentleman that I am in the situation, very reluctantly, that I shall have to tell the hon. Gentleman to withdraw. Mr. Dalyell: I do not wish to cause you embarrassment, Mr. Speaker— Mr. Speaker: Order. We now come to the main business— Mr. Dalyell: If that is what you wish— Mr. Speaker: Order. The Clerk will now proceed to read the Orders of the Day. Mr. Dalyell: The House of Commons is— Mr. Speaker: Order. (House of Commons. 10.2.1992)
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In the following extract from the transcript of the Camera dei Deputati of the 10th October 2002, an opposition MP, speaking in an extremely contentious debate concerning a bill which would allow defendants in criminal trials to object to being tried in a particular court in front of a particular judge on the grounds of “legitimate suspicion”, threatens to behave non-collaboratively – that is he threatens to open hostilities – if the procedure for submitting and discussing amendments and sub-amendments is not carried out in a certain fashion. This is an example of how parliamentary opposition can be made not on the basis of argument but on the basis of a procedural gambit, and this strategy seems more frequent in the Camera than in the Commons. (3) MARCO BOATO. È una materia delicata sul piano procedurale. Se questo non avvenisse, ci troveremmo di fronte alla possibilità, da parte dei relatori – cosa che non hanno fatto ma potrebbero farlo –, di presentare la sera prima un maxiemendamento e la mattina successiva una serie di subemendamenti a se stessi, i quali sistematicamente falcidierebbero i nostri subemendamenti presentati alle 7,40 di questa mattina, dopo aver lavorato tutta la notte. Questo non è concepibile. Difatti, possiamo risolvere questo problema collaborativamente, prima di aprire un conflitto – in caso contrario apriamo un conflitto – con l’assenso del presidente della Commissione, intendendo riferiti i nostri due subemendamenti con i numeri citati al nuovo testo presentato questa mattina. Ciò risolve proceduralmente la questione. Se non la risolvesse, si aprirebbe un conflitto politico di proporzioni non irrilevanti, perché si ostruirebbe la strada agli emendamenti dell’opposizione. Non sta avvenendo questo e mi auguro che non avvenga. (Camera dei Deputati. 10.10.2002) BOATO. This [the procedure and the timing of tabling amendments] is a tricky question from the procedural point of view. If it didn’t happen, then we’d be faced with the possibility of the rapporteurs – something they haven’t done yet, but they could – presenting on one evening a major amendment and the following morning a series of sub-amendments to it, which would systematically wipe out our sub-amendments presented at 7.40 this morning, after having worked the whole night. This is inconceivable. In point of fact we can resolve this problem in a collaborative way, before starting a conflict – otherwise we’ll start a conflict – with the agreement of the Chair of the Committee, taking as given our two sub-amendments with the numbers cited on the new draft presented this morning. This would resolve the problem from a procedural point.
Introduction
If it weren’t resolved, a political conflict of no little significance would begin because the amendments of the opposition would be blocked. This is not happening and I hope it doesn’t.
Procedures, moreover, may be formally respected and yet at the same time be flouted by MPs in order to reiterate a concept and to hold the floor, as in the following example drawn from a debate held in the Camera dei Deputati on February 26th 2003 to discuss a proposal to reduce employers’ contributions to the national pension scheme for newly hired staff, during which 17 opposition MPs – with a few minor variations – repeated the same intervention. The example below reproduces the first three; there are minor variations between them but I shall translate just the first. (4) PRESIDENTE. Ha chiesto di parlare per dichiarazione di voto, a titolo personale, l’onorevole Nigra. Ne ha facoltà. ALBERTO NIGRA. Signor Presidente, onorevoli colleghi, il principio della decontribuzione che sta per essere approvato produce un danno gravissimo al nostro paese, ai suoi cittadini, ai lavoratori e alle lavoratrici. La decontribuzione – com’è noto – fa saltare i conti pubblici, inquina il mercato del lavoro e assicura, in prospettiva, pensioni da fame ai nuovi occupati. Mette in ginocchio la previdenza pubblica rispetto alle assicurazioni private che, peraltro, non tutti, si potranno permettere. Onorevoli colleghi, fermateti un momento! Per qualche promessa elettorale non togliete la speranza di un futuro sereno alle nuove generazioni (Applausi dei deputati del gruppo dei Democratici di sinistra-l’Ulivo)! PRESIDENTE. Ha chiesto di parlare per dichiarazione di voto, a titolo personale, l’onorevole Lettieri. Ne ha facoltà. MARIO LETTIERI. Signor Presidente, la norma relativa alla decontribuzione, che si sta per approvare, produce un danno gravissimo ai lavoratori ed alle lavoratrici e sicuramente non giova al paese. Infatti, la decontribuzione fa saltare i conti pubblici ed inquina il mercato del lavoro. Si promettono pensioni da fame ai nuovi occupati e, in prospettiva, si mette in ginocchio la previdenza pubblica rispetto alle assicurazioni private che, sia chiaro, non tutti si potranno permettere. Colleghi, non approvate questa norma! Essa toglie la speranza di un futuro sereno alle nostre nuove generazioni: ai nostri giovani ed ai nostri ragazzi. PRESIDENTE. Ha chiesto di parlare per dichiarazione di voto, a titolo personale, l’onorevole Reduzzi. Ne ha facoltà. GIULIANA REDUZZI. Signor Presidente, onorevoli colleghi, il principio della decontribuzione produce un danno gravissimo al nostro paese, ai suoi cittadini, ai lavoratori ed alle lavoratrici. La riduzione dei contributi
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fa saltare i conti pubblici, inquina il mercato del lavoro, promette pensioni da fame ai nuovi occupati e, in prospettiva, mette in ginocchio la previdenza pubblica a favore delle assicurazioni private, che non tutti si potranno permettere. Onorevoli colleghi, non togliamo la speranza di un futuro sereno alle nuove generazioni (Applausi dei deputati del gruppo della Margherita, DL-l’Ulivo – Applausi polemici del deputato Ascierto)! (Camera dei Deputati. 26.2.2003) PRESIDENT. The Honourable [Deputy] Nigra has asked to speak in order to explain his vote, in a personal capacity [i.e. not as a representative of a parliamentary group]. He has the right to do so. NIGRA. Mr. President, Honourable colleagues, the principle of reducing [employers’ pension] contributions which is about to be approved will result in serious damage to our country, to its citizens and to its workers. Contribution reduction, as is well known, ruins the public spending balance, has a deleterious effect on the labour market and guarantees, in the future, starvation-level pensions for new employees. It will cripple the public pension system in favour of the private system which, by the way, not everyone can afford. Honourable colleagues, for the sake of some electoral promise, let’s not deprive the new generations of the hopes of a secure future.
Procedural rules also determine the formal staging structures, or schemata (Van Dijk 2000: 69) of parliamentary discourse. They vary from nation to nation but they determine the activity of parliaments at any given moment. Thus, in the House of Commons a bill will be presented in a number of ‘readings’, each with its own formal structures. The first reading is a formality in which the bill is presented without debate or discussion. In the second reading the Speaker of the House will invite a member of the government – the majority of bills discussed in the Commons are government bills – to present the bill, which is done in a formulaic manner (I beg to move . . . ). The presenter of the bill will then argue the grounds of the legislation and this intervention will be followed by that of a member of the opposition. Other interventions considering the principles of the bill will follow, alternating between government and opposition parties and, depending on the number of MPs wishing to address the question at hand and the time allocated to the debate, they are frequently limited to a period of ten minutes. Thus Ministers and frontbench opposition MPs, who are allocated more time, will organise their interventions in a different fashion to backbenchers. At the conclusion of the debate, a vote, or division, is held and MPs walk through either the “Aye” lobby or the “No” lobby. The bill
Introduction
then goes to the Committee Stage, the Report Stage and returns to the whole House for a third reading during which no amendments can be presented. The most substantial debate takes place during the second reading. In the Camera dei Deputati, government bills (disegni di legge) do not predominate over non-government bills (proposte di legge) as they do in the Commons. The normal procedure is as follows. The bill is presented to the House in a similar way to the first reading in the Commons. However, before being discussed in the whole House it goes to Committee where amendments are submitted. The Committee selects a rapporteur from among its members who has the duty to present the bill to the whole House. A member of the government may reply and then interventions are made on behalf of the various parliamentary groups. Amendments are voted on individually, which interrupts the continuity of the debate as a whole. Once all the amendments have been voted upon, the parliamentary groups and, if they wish, individual MPs may make an intervention explaining the reason for their vote (dichiarazioni di voto) and finally the whole bill is subject to a division. A further point, which may seem obvious but in fact is not, is that parliamentary discourse is fundamentally adversarial. However obvious this may seem, it needs some qualification. First of all, in many parliaments, such as the U. S. Congress, many proposals are voted on in a bipartisan fashion. Moreover, all parliaments deal with a considerable amount of routine business for which there is no fundamental political issue at stake. Most parliaments will share consensual values and MPs will at times be cooperative with one another across party lines – politics is characterised by both conflict and cooperation. Besides, some parliaments, such as those of the member states of the E. U., have to approve legislation originating from a supranational body and their power of discretion regarding the bill is practically zero. Furthermore, and perhaps most importantly, as was observed in the premise to this introduction, the political culture of some nations is consociationalist, and decisions are reached through mediation rather than opposition. For example, in the Italian parliament, at least until 1994, parliamentary interventions may have seemed to be confrontational but, on a closer examination of the extremely complex language that was typical of this era, they would often contain vague, blurred and encrypted messages indicating possible points of mediation or convergence (and sometimes convergenze parallele – “parallel convergences”) addressed to both allies and opposition. An example of the way in which MPs can behave cooperatively is provided by the following example drawn from the debate in the Camera dei Deputati held on March 25th 2002 to ratify the Nice Treaty in which the opposition
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MP, Gerardo Bianco of the Partito Popolare Italiano, replies to the “rapporteur” of the bill, Gustavo Selva of Alleanza Nazionale who had opened the debate, by complimenting him not only on the quality of his intervention and his “exquisite framing of the question” but also on his “excellent report” presented in committee which “exempts” parliament from its duty to examine the details of the Treaty: (5) GERARDO BIANCO. Signor Presidente, signora sottosegretario, innanzitutto intendo dare atto al relatore, presidente Selva, del pregevole inquadramento della questione. Direi che ha toccato i punti rilevanti, quelli più significativi del Trattato di Nizza. Tuttavia, accanto alla sua relazione intrisa di passione europeista, vorrei ricordare anche la pregevole relazione presentata in Commissione che affronta i problemi nei loro dettagli. Questo, in qualche maniera, ci esime dal dover ritornare sui punti specifici del Trattato di Nizza. (Camera dei Deputati. 25.3.2002) BIANCO. Mr. President, Madam Undersecretary, first of all I would like to give credit to the rapporteur, Chairman Selva, for his exquisite framing of the issue. I would say that he covered the most significant points, the most important that concern the Nice Treaty. However, besides this report, steeped as it is in pro-European passion, I would like to mention his excellent report presented to the Committee which tackled the question in detail. To a certain extent, this exempts Parliament from having to return to the specific questions of the Nice Treaty.
Similar interventions, however, may carry a sting in the tail, as the following may illustrate. The British Shadow Foreign Secretary responds to the Foreign Secretary in a debate held on February 26th 2003 on a motion which rather blandly aimed at reinforcing the UN Security Council’s famous resolution 1441 (2002) in the following terms: (6) Mr. Michael Ancram (Devizes): The Opposition support this motion. In many ways, it is a rerun of the debate in this House on 25 November last year, in which we also supported the Government motion. This motion poses no new questions or challenges. We have therefore tabled no amendment. (House of Commons. 26.2.2003)
This can most certainly be seen as an example of cooperation and yet it may be interpreted in another way; both the government and the opposition were certainly aware that in this particular debate a large number of Labour MPs would vote against the government motion and so it is possible to interpret this inter-
Introduction
vention of the Shadow Foreign Secretary as fulfilling one of the functions of an opposition: demonstrating that it is capable of substituting the government. However, on most occasions, independently of how allegiances are drawn up in different parliaments, MPs clearly speak either for or against a given motion, and they do so explicitly.7 (7) Mr. Tim Collins (Westmorland and Lonsdale): [. . . ] I support the amendments, and I hope that they will be passed. (House of Commons. 15.1.1998)
They tend to do so using expressions of certainty: (8) Mr. Tim Collins (Westmorland and Lonsdale): The result of the extension of qualified majority voting provided by the Bill will be a less democratic Europe. Decisions will be taken away from national Parliaments, and will be made by institutions that, at best, lack comprehensibility and, at worst, lack any form of accountability. The great purpose for which the European Community was originally created was to expand a zone of peace and co-operation across Europe. This measure will block the expansion of the European Union, and will be an impediment to competitiveness of European countries and European businesses across global markets; (House of Commons. 15.1.1998)
or passion: (9) Mr. Paddy Ashdown (Yeovil): [. . . ] I agree that the Bill involves a shift of sovereignty – one that I recommend to the British people and in which I passionately believe – but the House does not have the right to give away sovereignty that it does not possess. (House of Commons. 4.11.1992)
Opponents and their arguments are dismissed on the basis of their own (lack of) personal qualities: (10) The Prime Minister (Mr. John Major): [. . . ] So much for principle. The right honourable and learned gentleman has his principles adrift on a sea of expediency; (House of Commons. 4.11.1992)
their competence: (11) Mr. John Smith (Monklands, East): [. . . ] The right hon. Gentleman, just as appears to be the case today, appeared to be totally incapable of comprehending the disordered logic of his own case, which simply amounts to the bizarre claim that in order to opt in, Britain, somehow, has to opt out (House of Commons. 23.7.1993)
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their consistency (12) Mr. Peter Lilley (Hitchin and Harpenden): [. . . ] While the right hon. Gentleman is talking about cheap words, I remind him of his own words of 8 May 1997, when he said that he thought there was “no point in making theological decisions about subsequent Parliaments”. Does he recall those words and, almost a year to the day later, has he suddenly converted to a different way of theological thinking; (House of Commons. 30.4.1998)
their honesty: (13) Mr. William Hague (Richmond, Yorks): [. . . ] Given that the Maastricht treaty clearly stipulates that the president of the bank should serve for eight years and that the Prime Minister has caved in to a shorter term, did he actually have a straight face when he said in Brussels that he was ”maintaining entirely the sanctity of the treaty.”? (House of Commons. 5.5.1998)
And the soundness of their argumentation: (14) The Prime Minister (Mr. John Major): [. . . ] I would say what many business men would have said to my hon. Friend had he asked them, that he is talking nonsense. (House of Commons. 23.7.1993)
As Ilie in this volume points out, argument in parliamentary debates does not necessarily follow the schemata of “ideal critical discussion” and insults, ad hominen arguments, and aggressive behaviour in general are common. However, many parliamentary interventions, especially long ones, are characterised by discourse structures such as claim (or counter-argument) followed by support for claim (or reason). Moreover, MPs are very explicit about what is being done in parliament – the construction of arguments – and this is realized through a very high frequency of meta-argumentative lexis, such as argument, issue, point, reason, agreement, verbs relating to cognitive processes such as believe, know, think, nouns referring to truth and knowledge such as view, opinion, doubt and truth, and so on. Parliamentary discourse is composed of a sequence of monologues which are intertextually and contratextually interwoven as MPs respond to what has been said previously, not just in the House but elsewhere. It is thus multivoiced. For example, in the final debate to be held in the House of Commons on the ratification of the Maastricht treaty (July 23rd 1993), the then Prime Minister John Major in his opening speech (which amounted to nearly 4,000 words, including interruptions from other MPs) makes reference to what he himself had said the previous day, to what the leader of the opposition had
Introduction
said the previous day, to what the chairman of ICI had said on an unspecified day, to how Jacques Delors had described Britain’s position in the UK, to the content of the legislation at hand and to the Social Chapter of the Maastricht treaty, to a quote from the President of the CBI from the previous day’s issue of The Times, and to a quote from Dr. Johnson. His various interrupters referred to arguments made by non-specified businessmen, to something that the Monarch might possibly say, to a written answer to a question deposited in the Commons library. Similarly, in his reply, the then leader of the opposition, John Smith made reference to three comments that the Prime Minister had previously made in the House, to how Major had returned from Maastricht claiming to have won “game, set and match”, and to what a Conservative MP had said in a radio interview, to a letter signed by “the chairmen of banks”, and to a statement made by a Labour MP. This same kind of feature can be found easily in practically any long speech in the Camera dei Deputati; particularly characteristic is the tendency to quote a fellow MP on what he or she had said on a prior occasion (see Antaki & Leudar 2001). Parliamentary discourse, from a textual point of view, is made up of a series of monologues all addressing the same question. But the nature of the discourse is not monologic but dialogic. As we have just seen MPs refer to what their colleagues have said but, despite the frequent use of the metaphor of ‘making progress’ in their speeches, MPs frequently engage in genuine dialogues which may be either ‘friendly’. (15) Mr. King (Bridgwater): [. . . ] As my right hon. Friend the Prime Minister brought out clearly, Europe used to be competitive with America, but we are now in the opposite position of being uncompetitive compared with the largest modern economy in the western world. Mr. Nicholas Winterton (Macclesfield): Does my right hon. Friend agree that we now have a Prime Minister who is more devoted to manufacturing industry than any Prime Minister has been in recent times? Is my right hon. Friend aware that our right hon. Friend intends to introduce a deregulation Bill in the next Session of Parliament which will help to improve our international competitiveness? Mr. King: I am grateful to my hon. Friend for making two extremely important points. He and I share an interest in one particular manufacturing industry which we both represent in the House. I share his views on the matter (House of Commons. 23.7.1993)
or aggressive:
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(16) Mr. Smith (Monklands): [. . . ] The hon. Gentleman appears to have forgotten that they would be able to come back with the prospect not of three or four years in power, although that must be rather uncertain in the present situation, but with five years in power. Why do not they seize the advantage that they are being offered by the Opposition? What is troubling the Conservative party? Sir Teddy Taylor (Southend, East): If the Maastricht treaty goes through, does the right hon. and learned Gentleman think that there will be many issues to talk about in general elections? Mr. Smith: I think there will be quite a number of issues to discuss. If the hon. Gentleman asks his constituents, he will find that many of them would like to talk to him about the imposition of VAT on heating bills. (House of Commons. 23.7.1993)
In the Camera dei Deputati these exchanges are less frequent and when they occur they tend to be aggressive. However, in comparison with the House of Commons, there are more frequent dialogic exchanges between the chair of the assembly and the current speaker, as in the following example drawn from a debate held on February 19th 2003: (17) FRANCESCO RUTELLI. Signor Presidente, questo dibattito si svolge mentre registriamo una delle più drammatiche divisioni tra Europa e Stati Uniti (Commenti dei deputati del gruppo della Lega nord Padania). La viviamo con sofferenza. . . (Una voce dai banchi della Margherita: «Silenzio!»). ALESSANDRO CÈ. Vaff. . . Avete fatto un casino prima! PRESIDENTE. Onorevoli colleghi, cosa sta capitando? Onorevole Cè, onorevole Cè, la richiamo all’ordine. Qual è il problema? ALESSANDRO CÈ. Chiedo di parlare. PRESIDENTE. No, no, no, adesso non posso darle la parola. Venite a dirlo alla Presidenza. Sto vedendo dei tumulti. Non capisco cosa stia succedendo. Sento delle urla incivili! ALESSANDRO CÈ. Quando parliamo noi, gli altri disturbano. PRESIDENTE. No, scusi onorevole Cè, quando lei ha parlato, il Presidente ha richiamato per due volte i deputati del centrosinistra scampanellando. ALESSANDRO CÈ. Lei ci può richiamare, non loro! PRESIDENTE. In ogni caso, la civiltà fa premio su tutto il resto. Onorevole Rutelli, le chiedo scusa, può continuare. FRANCESCO RUTELLI. Grazie, signor Presidente, questo dibattito si svolge (Commenti dei deputati del gruppo della Lega nord Padania) (Camera dei Deputati. 19.2.2003)
Introduction
RUTELLI. Mr. President, this debate is taking place while we are witnessing one of the most dramatic divisions between Europe and the United States (comments from deputies of the Northern League). We are distressed by this division . . . (a voice from the benches of the Daisy coalition “Silence!”) CÈ. Go and get f. . . You were making a bloody din before. PRESIDENT. Honourable colleagues, what’s happening? Honourable Cè, honourable Cè, order! What’s the problem? CÈ. I’d like the floor. PRESIDENT. No, no, no. I can’t give you the floor now. Come and say what you want to the Presidency. I can see disorderly behaviour. I don’t understand what’s happening. I can hear indecorous shouting CÈ. When we have the floor, the others interrupt us. PRESIDENT. No, I’m sorry honourable Cè, when you [formal address term] were speaking, the President called the deputies of the centre-left to order twice, by ringing the bell. CÈ. You [formal address term] can call us to order; not them. PRESIDENT. In any case, a sense of decency should prevail. Honourable Rutelli, I apologise, you [formal address term] may proceed. RUTELLI. Thank you Mr. President; this debate is taking place (comments from deputies of the Northern League) [. . . ]
This list of possible features of parliamentary discourse is of course totally provisional, and, given that the examples are all referred to two European parliaments, rather ethnocentric; the individual contributions to this volume, which deal with a number of national parliaments and some of which are comparative should prove to be more useful. The listed features are moreover not exclusive to parliamentary discourse and occur in many other registers. However, I do believe that an adequate model of context which can take into consideration culture specific features of national settings will be able to demonstrate a series of (non-exclusive) linguistic traits which when combined contribute to the formation of characteristic and culture-specific register features of parliamentary discourse.
. Methodologies The contributions to this volume all use the analytical tools of functional linguistics but they are at the same time eclectic; they draw on three distinct research traditions: critical discourse analysis, systemic functional linguistics
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and corpus linguistics. As many readers will probably be familiar with these traditions and since a full description of them would require volume-length treatments, my account of them will be very brief and, in consideration of the vast literature associated with each, it risks being grossly oversimplified. What I wish to do, however, is to point out that although the three traditions are often presented as incompatible, there are also ways in which they may complement one another. . Critical discourse analysis Critical discourse analysis (CDA) can be traced back to the end of the 1970s, in particular to British ‘critical linguistics’ (Fowler et al. 1979, and Kress & Hodge 1979) and French discourse analysis (Pêcheux 1982), although their methodologies are rather different from each other and from those of CDA today (for which see Fairclough 1995; Caldas Coulthard & Coulthard 1996; Van Dijk 1997a, 1997b). Stated very briefly, the aim of the early work in critical linguistics was to identify the social meanings that were expressed through lexis and syntax and to consider the role that language plays in creating and reinforcing ideologies. Its underlying presupposition was that linguistic choices relate to ideological positioning. French discourse analysis instead focussed on more abstract analysis of discursive formations and power. For CDA (like other schools of functional linguistics), language is a form of social practice; “discourse is socially constitutive as well as socially shaped” (Fairclough & Wodak 1997: 258), while unlike other traditions, CDA is socially and politically committed and engaged; it is seen as intervening on behalf of oppressed groups and against dominating groups. It seeks to identify, moreover, linguistic change in terms of social change and posits the fundamentally linguistic or discursive nature of power relations; the link between text and society is mediated by ‘orders of discourse’ – the network of conventions that underlie and legitimise discourse practices. CDA is interdisciplinary and seeks to combine elements from diverse areas such as history, sociology, social psychology, semiotics and cultural studies as well as, of course, linguistics. For example, the work of Van Dijk emphasises the role of personal and social knowledge and belief and thus adds a cognitive element to CDA. Readings and interpretations of texts vary according to the cognitive schemata of individual hearers or readers which may be determined by factors such as class, gender, ethnicity, age, etc., and yet at the same time CDA claims to be able to identify ‘inherent meanings’ through systematic analysis. The analytical in-
Introduction
struments that it uses include syntax, local and global semantics, pragmatics, argumentation structures, cognition and contextual modelling. CDA has been criticised from a number of points of view. Miller (1993: 401– 408), despite asserting her sympathy for the CDA project, argues that its attempt to combine many different research traditions is at times contradictory and has led to what she has called “model muddle” in particular as regards interpretation and multiple readings of texts. How is it possible, for example, to take on board the relativity and indeterminacy of Foucault and yet still to claim to be able to make authentic readings? Widdowson in an article published in 1998 and another in 2000 (in which he manages to criticise not only CDA but also systemic functional linguistics and corpus linguistics) makes a rather trenchant attack on CDA, accusing it of what amounts to intellectual dishonesty. The intentions of producers and consumers of texts, he says, “are vicariously inferred from the analysis itself, by reference to what the analyst assumes in advance to be the writer’s ideological position” (1998: 143). The main accusation is that CDA, being explicitly committed and engaged, is looking only for textual confirmation of a bias that is presumed to exist in a given text. The principal argument against this line of reasoning, which Carbò deals with in this volume, is that the analyst is necessarily a socially and politically positioned subject – the observer is part of the theory – and consequently a recognition of this contributes to greater transparency. De Beaugrande (2001) presents an articulated critique of Widdowson, arguing, inter alia, that language study over the last 25 years has been trying to come to grips with the relationship between language and ‘reality’, and not limiting itself to idealisations and abstractions, and that Widdowson puts three different traditions – critical discourse analysis, systemic functional linguistics and corpus linguistics – under the same umbrella and in so doing frequently misrepresents many of their fundamental precepts. A further implicit criticism of CDA has come from Martin who has recently argued that if discourse analysis is to enact social change, it will have to take into consideration discourse “that inspires, heartens; discourse that we like, that cheers us along” and not just that which we dislike (1999: 38). In other words, Martin argues that alongside critical discourse analysis, we need positive discourse analysis. . Systemic functional linguistics Systemic functional linguistics (henceforth SFL) derives from and is generally associated with the work of Michael Halliday and, like CDA, it sees language as social practice but unlike CDA it seeks to present a unitary vision of the
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systems, structures and functions of language, tolerating the fuzziness of categories that this inevitably implies. It fundamentally has two aspects. It is systemic, and this means that its grammar is based on the notion of choice and that any grammar can be represented as an open-ended and (extremely large) interlocking network of options. For the genesis of systemic theory, which is the major theoretical component of SFL, see Kress (Ed., 1976), Halliday and Martin (Eds., 1981) and Halliday and Fawcett (1987). Secondly, it is functional and the functional aspect is the one that interests us most in this volume since we are engaged in text analyses. SFL posits that the relationship between a language and the social functions that its serves is reflected in the internal organisation of the language. A grammar is thus not arbitrary but motivated and can be explained by the uses to which a language is put. Meanings, moreover, are created in and through language and not merely encoded by it. Function in the SFL perspective, however, does not amount to an inventory of the things we do with language but with more general and abstract categories. Firstly language functions to interpret and to represent the world – real or imaginary – around us in terms of actions, actors, objects relationships of time and space, and so on. Secondly language has to express logical relationships such as ‘and’ and ‘or’. Thirdly language expresses the participant roles and statuses of speakers and the way speakers act or try to act on others. Finally language has to do these three things at the same time, relating what is being said now to what has been said before as well as relating it to the context of situation in which it is being produced. Within SFL these functions of language are known as metafunctions and they are classified into the ideational (including experiential and logical), the interpersonal and the textual metafunctions and together they represent the basic semantic system of a language – our potential to make meanings. These functions are intrinsic to language but are also related to the ‘context of situation’; every text takes place in a recognisable social event and concerns a particular subject matter. This is known as the ‘field of discourse’ which is said to activate the ideational metafunction of language. Ideational meanings are ‘realised’ in the lexicogrammar (the system of wording) through the system of transitivity by and through which we can express actions, events, states and their participants as well as other notions such as time and space. Furthermore, any text involves Speakers and Adressees whose roles and statuses are reflected in or constructed by the interchange between them, expressing not only individual identity but also social roles based on varying degrees of power and solidarity. This is known as the ‘tenor of discourse’ and is realised in the grammatical systems of Mood and Modality. Finally texts are transmitted
Introduction
in a certain channel – they may be oral or spoken – and in a certain rhetorical mode, according to the intertextual tradition of that certain situation type. This is known as the ‘mode of discourse’ and is realised in the grammar, according to standard SFL thought, through and by the systems of Thematic and Information systems and by non-structural relationships of cohesion. These various meanings are realised contemporaneously and thus linguistic units are to be seen as multifunctional. For example, a non-functional descriptive unit such as a nominal group could be labelled at one and the same time an Actor in a process of doing, a Subject in the mood system realising the meanings indicative: positive, a Theme in thematic structure, representing the speaker’s departure point, a Given element in the information system as well as a cohesive lexical tie, linking back in the text to other words in relationships of synonymy, antonymy, hyponymy or meronymy. In short, according to SFL, the context of situation, filtered through the context of culture, determines the text; ways of saying realise meanings which are determined by contexts and these levels combine to construct functional varieties of texts, or registers. For an account of the functional aspects of SFL see Kress (1976), Halliday (1978), Martin (1992) and Halliday (1994). SFL theory has been applied in various different fields and work has been continued both in grammatical description and discourse analysis. It is not incompatible with CDA in as much as it claims to provide a model through which we can interpret texts. Indeed, many exponents of the CDA tradition, such as Fowler, Kress and Fairclough, have been influenced by SFL, and have included the term ‘social semiotic’ as one of the components of CDA. However, as Fowler has put it, the descriptive apparatus of SFL grammar “offers both more and less than is required” (1996: 8). The grammatical detail of SFL is perceived as being too great; “critical linguistics gets a very high mileage out of a small selection of linguistic concepts such as transitivity and nominalisation” (ibid.) but at the same time CDA theorists argue that other methodologies are more suitable and, together with some concepts drawn from SFL, CDA makes use of speechact theory, Gricean cooperative principles, pragmatics, conversation analysis, relevance theory, cognitive psychology and Foucault’s discursive formation. In this volume, Van Dijk is particularly critical of one of the fundamental pillars of SFL – its model of context – which he sees as being an ill-assorted assembly of different concepts and as lacking what is seen as vital to CDA analysis, that is a cognitive component. Van Dijk, furthermore, argues that although the hypothesised hook-up between the contextual configuration, the semantic metafunctions and the grammatical systems (according to which, for example, the field activates the ideational metafunction which is realised in the grammar
Paul Bayley
through the system of transitivity) may work in some cases – for example the tenor can be seen to relate to mood and modality – the correlations seem far less clear in other cases, such as the relationship between the mode of discourse and thematic and information systems. Questions of this kind have also been raised within SFL itself (see Thompson 1999: 101–124). . Corpus linguistics Corpus linguistics is an empirical approach to the study of language based on the computer assisted analysis of the actual patterns of language on the basis of a “finite-sized body of machine-readable texts, sampled in order to be maximally representative of the language variety under consideration” (McEnery & Wilson 1996: 24). Its origins can be dated back to the 1960s, at a time when Chomsky (1957, 1965) was asserting the irrelevance of corpus data for linguistic inquiry, with the construction of the Survey of English Language, the Brown corpus, the London-Lund corpus and the Lancaster-Oslo/Bergen corpus, which were corpora amounting to between 500,000 and 1,000,000 running words. But it was in the 1980s and 90s, with the ever-growing memory sizes and operational speed of computers, improvements in scanning techniques and the greater and greater availability of text through the internet, that corpus linguistics definitively took off. In Great Britain in particular, two large-corpus projects have been realised: the Bank of English – a corpus developed at the University of Birmingham now amounting to over 400 million running words which is constantly being up-dated and controlled via a monitor corpus – and the British National Corpus – composed of 100 million running words, 10 million of which of spoken language. There are also many other corpora which claim to represent languages other than English – such as the COSMAS corpus of almost 400 million running words of German developed by the Mannheim Institut für Deutsche Sprache and the CORIS/CODIS corpus of 100 million running words of written Italian developed at the University of Bologna. The kind of linguistic information that a corpus can provide include data on the relative frequencies of lexemes, their distributions across the corpus and the patternings of collocation and colligation associated with lexemes, and patterns of co-selection. Work on corpora has demonstrated that language use is characterised by spectacular regularities of patterns; it highlights the very routine constrained nature of much language behaviour, in contrast to its creativity and individuality. The data it provides us with are not merely quantitative but also qualitative. For example, corpus linguistics has shown us that the meanings of words are not properties that can be found in dictionar-
Introduction
ies but are highly sensitive to their immediate linguistic context. Thus while the OED gives the following definition of the verb cause: “Be the cause of, effect, bring about; occasion, produce; induce, make [. . .]”, findings from corpora demonstrate that the thing caused is nearly always something presented as undesirable. Conversely, the complement of the verb provide is nearly always something desirable (Stubbs 1996: 173–174), and many other findings of this kind of semantic prosody have been provided by the analysis of corpora. Perhaps the most important claim is that “corpus linguistics is finally reinstating observation, and on a scale previously not feasible” (De Beaugrande 2001: 115) and I believe that it is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. For a basic bibliography of corpus linguistics, see Aijmer and Alternberg (Eds., 1991), Aston (Ed., 2001), Baker, Francis, and Tognini Bonelli (Eds., 1993), Biber, Conrad, and Reppen (1998), Hoey (Ed., 1993), Hunston and Francis (2000), Leitner (Ed., 1992), McEnery and Wilson (1996), Partington (1998), Sinclair (1991), Stubbs (1996), Svartvik (Ed., 1992), and Tognini Bonelli (2001). But corpus linguistics has also raised some questions. Firstly there is no general agreement on what the role of corpora should be vis-à-vis linguistic theory. Should linguistic study be driven by a study of the data we find, in other words should the procedures be bottom up and deductive? Or should corpora be used for verifying descriptions, models and theories, following a top down deductive approach? Sinclair’s position is that corpus findings cannot be modelled onto existing theories of language and that we should always start with the data and postpone “the use of [abstract categories] for as long as possible” (1991: 29). Indeed he argues that starting from theory is likely to blinker the linguist. Corpus linguistics has alternatively been dubbed as data in search of a theory, but this idea can be overturned. Berry, in fact, in describing the relationship between SFL and discourse analysis, says “systemic theory (is) currently an explanation in search of some facts while the facts of the Birmingham discourse analysis (are) currently facts in search of an explanation” (1987: 41). The question here is, rather obviously, which should come first – the data or the theory? Within mainstream corpus linguistics, there is no doubt over this question and Tognini Bonelli (2001) has suggested an acronym for an independent discipline within linguistics – CDL, or corpus driven linguistics. Next we have the problem of corpus dimension, the question of size. On this point Sinclair has been very clear. The larger the corpus the better. From one point of view this claim is fully justified – especially if we are primarily interested in lexicography. A small corpus simply does not give us enough lexemes or enough instances of each to conduct sophisticated lexicographical
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research. But the size question is also a claim for representativity – the more running words a corpus contains the more likely it is to represent a language. However, the claim may be too strong. Can 300 million words be said to be representative of a population or universe whose size nobody has been able to quantify? The definition of the dynamic, extremely varied, potentially infinite and continuously expanding ‘population’ of a language is in itself rather problematic. Moreover, to my knowledge no general corpus dedicates a sufficiently large collection of spoken language. The British National Corpus, made up of 100 million running words, contains some 4.5 million running words of unscripted conversation. Collecting this data, it must be admitted, is no mean feat, but it was drawn from recordings made by just 125 informants and makes up less than 5% of the whole corpus. The Bank of English seems to be steadily increasing its share of casual conversation, but I think that smaller and more specialised corpora can provide the degree of delicacy required to create an ethnographically sound definition of speech situation. The last reservation on corpus linguistics concerns the nature of quantitative studies and the potential loss of the textual dimension of language that it necessarily involves. Within most functional linguistics it is taken for granted that we should study entire texts and not isolated examples; it is taken for granted that meanings are made over long stretches of text and across texts, and that to understand a text we need to know something about the context of situation, the social positioning of speakers, etc. In a very large corpus this aspect of textual analysis is difficult, if not impossible, to recover. The language we find in a concordance line is no longer discourse, it is a decontextualised abstraction. Meanings that seem to be apparently clear in a concordance line often turn out to be very different when we see it situated in its full context. When Sinclair argues that corpus data should be studied from the bottom up, he is making a claim for a qualitative study of language. However, as he concedes, there is a price to pay for dealing with large quantities: a qualitative study of language implies a considerable amount of insight into the texts themselves and the conditions of their creation, the intertextual network that they fall into. This is simply not possible with large corpora. However, in dealing with parliamentary discourse, the tools of corpus linguistics can be very useful for the very simple reason that there is such a quantity of data available – most national parliaments produce approximately a thousand hours of talk in the course of a year, just by taking into consideration full sittings. Thus it is possible to construct small corpora of parliamentary language, which may be focused, say, on a given period of time or a given subject matter, on which hypotheses may be tested, comparisons made (across
Introduction
languages, between parliamentary corpora and large reference corpora, for example), without losing the textual dimension of linguistic analysis.
. A brief overview of this volume This book consists of, beyond this introduction, nine contributions by various authors all working in the field of language analysis with special attention to political language. The first two (Ilie and Bevitori) present comparative analyses of interactional norms of parliaments and how they may be breached. The following four (Vasta, Dibattista, Bayley, Bevitori and Zoni, and Bayley and San Vicente) are comparative analyses of debates on specific issues – discourse on war in Britain and Italy, and discourse on European integration in Britain, Germany, Italy and Spain. The final three (Miller, Carbò and Van Dijk,) deal with questions of methodology, although each illustrate their proposals with analyses of parliamentary texts. The papers by Ilie and Bevitori both present comparative analysis of how the rules of parliaments impinge upon the discourse and how the rules themselves may be infringed. Ilie tackles the questions of insults in parliament in Sweden and Britain from a cognitive and rhetorical perspective. According to Ilie, “parliamentary insults fulfil different roles with regard to reinforcing certain beliefs and values, challenging others, as well as to imposing or rejecting certain norms and principles that regulate the practices for negotiating shortterm and long-term political goals”. The questions she poses include: what constitutes an insult in the two settings? How are insults sanctioned? What kind of insults are preferred or dispreferred? How is this related to the context of culture? In her analysis, Ilie illustrates how the type of insult most frequently used, the function of insults, and the responses to them are different in the two national contexts as a result of different historical, social and political traditions. Bevitori considers the question of parliamentary interruptions in Britain, where under certain conditions they are authorised, and Italy, where they are not but where nonetheless they occur quite frequently. Referring to the systems of mood, modality and reference, she investigates how interaction by the “interruption device” is managed by the participants in the two parliaments. In the House of Commons, interruptions normally come in the form of questions, and in particular polar questions, but, as Bevitori points out, they are very often crypto-statements and may perform various discursive functions. An interesting feature of interruptions in the House of Commons is that, if
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they are to be considered authorised, they require the consensus of the interrupted speaker. Since they are not authorised at all in the Italian parliament, this condition does not hold but, despite this, unauthorised interventions often give way to lengthy stretches of dialogue. Unlike British MPs, their Italian counterparts typically use imperatives or exclamatives to interrupt and the overall effect is more aggressive and often interruptions lead to the reciprocal exchange of insults. Furthermore, Italian MPs often invite interruptions by directly addressing another MP, behaviour which is sanctionable in Britain where all remarks must be addressed to the chair. The contributions of Vasta and Dibattista also engage with comparative analyses of British and Italian debates, but rather than looking at particular forms of discursive behaviour they examine debates held on the same days in both countries to discuss major world crises – the 1998 Gulf crisis and the Kosovo war. Vasta, in a paper whose methodological framework combines discourse analysis, systemic functional linguistics and (small) corpus linguistics, analyses three debates which took place in the House of Commons, the Camera dei Deputati and the Senato della Repubblica on December 17th 1998 after the Anglo-American pre-emptive air strikes on Iraq of December 16th. The majority position in the House of Commons was in favour of the attack, while the two Italian chambers expressed an unfavourable (or at least ambivalent) opinion. After a lengthy analysis of a number of pivotal terms used in the debates, Vasta concludes that on the one hand some of the crucial legitimating terms used in one national context are absent in the other, while on the other hand some shared argumentative strategies appear to serve diametrically opposed purposes and construct different versions of reality. Dibattista analyses a corpus of parliamentary debates held in the House of Commons and the Camera dei Deputati between January and June 1999, where possible selecting debates that were held on the same day. Like Vasta, Dibattista finds that “a number of linguistic resources are constantly employed in different ways in the two Houses, thus suggesting that different underlying meanings were at stake”. The principal differences that emerged suggest that much of the discourse in the Italian chamber seemed to satisfy an apparent need to legitimate military action while in the House of Commons the discourse appears to be “informative” (even though, of course, informative discourse need not be without persuasive ends). Among the many comparative examples provided in the paper, one seems to be particularly relevant; on the 24th March 1999, both the British deputy Prime Minister and the Italian Deputy Prime Minister took the floor of their respective chambers to inform MPs of an air strike carried out the previous day. The verbs used by John Prescott all represented action (at-
Introduction
tack, fly, operate) while those used by Sergio Matarella were all verbal processes (summarise, inform, announce, etc.). It is quite possible to hypothesise that the differences between the two different discursive styles can be attributed not only to the geographical distance separating the site of war from the two countries, to different socio-cultural attitudes to war, but also to the institutional relationships between executive and legislative of the period, characterised in Britain by an secure parliamentary majority for the governing party (and in this particular case the backing of the opposition) while in Italy the government was sustained by a fragile and fractious alliance. The papers by Bayley, Bevitori and Zoni, and Bayley and San Vicente are experiments in comparative small-corpus linguistics. The first of these, drawing on a sub-corpus of parliamentary debates on European integration held in Britain, Gemany and Italy between 1992 and 1999 (which is part of a wider domain-specific multilingual corpus including a variety of text-types all related to the question of European integration), examines lexical choices related to the broad semantic area of danger and reaction to danger. The aim of the paper is, first of all, to compare the grammatical configurations of these terms in the three languages and the intensity of the lexical items that MPs privileged (and to compare the results to those in the press corpus). It was found that Italian MPs, despite the tendency of the Italian chambers to be highly conflictual, tended to select low-intensity words to express dangers and fears in comparison with British and German MPs. German MPs evoked dangers and fears more frequently than their counterparts from Britain and Italy. However, in comparison with the press, MPs in all countries were less forceful than journalists both in terms of the intensity of the lexical choices and their frequency. The second aim was to identify what MPs represented as the source of danger and the cause of fears. It emerged very clearly that in the House of Commons the external threat most frequently evoked was represented by the process of European integration itself, while in Germany and Italy it was the failure of this process. ‘Prosperity’ and ‘stability’ were endangered entities in all national parliaments, while ‘peace’ was under threat only in Germany and Italy. The second of these two corpus analyses, drawing on the same corpus for its data but taking into consideration British and Spanish parliamentary talk, analyses the lexical choices related to ‘work’. Work is evidently a crucial concept for European parliaments, as evidenced not only by its high lexicalisation but also by the ideological orientations that seem to lie behind certain choices; for example work, in English, tends to represent the position of those who perform it (or wish to) while labour represents the position of those that use, or employ, it. Since this distinction is not so strong in Spanish – trabajo can suffice
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for both –, it seemed interesting to make a comparison between work-related lexemes, in a world in which the regulations of work are becoming ever-more globalised. Miller, through an analysis the House of Representatives’ impeachment proceedings against President Clinton for perjury and obstruction of justice, handles the methodological question of appraisal systems, that is to say, the potential resources of speakers to express value orientations and to position themselves as subjects through language. The study of appraisal is part of an ongoing project within SFL which seeks to formulate a comprehensive map, notwithstanding the inevitable analytical ‘messiness’, of the way in which speakers express evaluation of various kinds. In particular she looks at what has come to be called the system of “judgement”, or the system deployed by speakers to make moral evaluations of the behaviour of others. The principle meaning realisations that she analyses are those cotextually related to the node words ‘truth’ and ‘justice’, the latter being analysed from the point of view of its interaction with the former. This does not mean, however, that the ‘tokens’ of the appraisal are to be seen as realised exclusively in lexis; appraisal is realised instead in global patterns stretching across texts and involving linguistic systems and structures at all levels of analysis. What emerges from the textual analysis is the varying meanings given to truth – ranging from the absolute to the relative – according to the positioning of individual speakers, and the overlapping of the concepts of ‘truth’ and ‘justice’. Perhaps the first thing to note about Carbò’s paper is that she deals with, as she has done in the past, an analysis of Mexican parliamentary discourse practices and thus is not, unlike the other papers in this volume, writing about the affluent corner of the world. This is important since, as I have commented previously, parliaments or legislative assemblies are ubiquitous and their political, institutional and social roles on a world-wide scale may be very different indeed, and it is no coincidence that she stresses the importance of history in any analysis of discourse. The role of the Mexican parliament during much of the period that Carbò has studied was to sustain for a very long time a long cycle of successful domination regime. In this volume, she tackles the question of methodologies from a very broad perspective, advocating an approach that will embrace multiple, intersecting models or planes of analysis since this is the only way to handle the overwhelming complexity of discourse that is both historically grounded and politically crucial. The methodological questions that she addresses include the role of the analyst, the role of history, the social and cognitive dimensions, contexts, parliamentary practices and their anomalies
Introduction
and the paper concludes with an illustration of how graphical representation of discourse features can contribute to our understanding of complex processes. In the concluding paper, Van Dijk tackles the question of the context in which language is produced and the ways in which this context is reflected in the language by proposing a model through which parliamentary debates may be analysed. At the beginning of his paper, after having asserted that “a more or less explicit theory of context remains on the agenda”, he makes a critique of the way in which the context-semantics-grammar relationship is handled within SFL. He argues that the analytical construction of context into field, tenor and mode is based on vague and heterogeneous categories, and that it lacks a cognitive element, seeking instead to treat knowledge as a societal and not an individual feature. This is a rather controversial position and not all of the authors contributing to this volume would necessarily agree with him, although all welcome the debate. Although this is not the forum to enter into the merits of Van Dijk’s critique, it is my opinion that the levels of “delicacy” foreseen in SFL analysis in general, which can certainly be applied to contextual modelling, would be able to cover most of the categories Van Dijk considers necessary. However, SFL modelling has had little time for “thought” and the “mind”, even though it is possible to find categories such as “purposes” as an element in contextual configurations (for example, Halliday 1978: 62), and perhaps, since parliamentary discourse and political discourse in general is self-conscious and purposive social action, a cognitive element would not be out of place. However, as well as being purposive action, parliamentary discourse is not necessarily characterised by frankness and opacity of intentions. We could not, for example, apply Gricean cooperative principles but would need to look much more closely at history. Van Dijk’s model of context includes “macro-level” categories such as domain, global actions and institutional actors, and “micro-level” categories, such as setting, local actions, participants and cognition. The paper concludes with an analysis of a House of Commons intervention on asylum seekers in order to illustrate how these categories impinge upon the text. To sum up then, this volume takes into consideration certain forms of parliamentary behaviour, certain instances of parliamentary talk according to topic, and some methodological considerations on how such talk can be analysed. Many areas have been left unexplored; for example no consideration of phonology has been made – accent as regional identity of MPs, for example, could be of interest; thorough analysis of political systems, political culture and parliamentary language is still to be undertaken; a comparison between discourse in committee and discourse in full sittings could prove important;
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more attention should be paid to parliaments in the less affluent part of the world, and so on. The list of omissions could continue, but at the same time I hope that much has also been achieved.
Notes . I am grateful to Professor Giliberto Capano for this observation (personal communication). . But see Williams (1976). Democracy acquired its unequivocally positive connotation in the 20th century, and until recently it was characterised by a dichotomy between “people’s democracies” and “representative democracies”. . However, despite the widespread belief that the sovereignty of Parliament has been undermined by the strength of political parties and of government majorities, data supplied by Birch (1998: 183) suggests that parliamentary oppositon to government legislation has often “checked or wrecked” bills. . “A member of the House who wishes to speak [. . . ] must rise in his place uncovered. When his name has been called by the Speaker [. . . ] he must address himself not to the House [. . . ] but to the Speaker”. “A member must speak in English and is not allowed to read his speech”. Halsbury’s Laws of England (1980), 4th edition, Volume 34, p. 460. London: Butterworths. . The examples in languages other than English will all be followed by an English translation. Parliamentary interventions are very often impermeable to translation, not least because they embody national political cultures and institutions. In this volume we have attempted to strike a balance between “literalness” – to maintain the flavour of different national parliaments, and “congruence” – a good rendering into the target language. So, institutional titles and terms of address, for example, have been translated literally. The “pomposity” and gravity of some interventions has been maintained, to the extent that this has been possible. . On this point it should be remembered that, according to Slembrouck, the use of honorifics in Hansard is rather inflated in comparison to the actual practice on the floor of the House. . The following eight examples are taken from the CESLIS domain specific multingual corpus on European integration. See Bayley, Bevitori and Zoni in this volume.
References Aijmer, Karin & Alternberg, Bengt (Eds.). (1991). English Corpus Linguistics: Studies in Honour of Jan Svartvik. London: Longman. Antaki, Charles & Leudar, Ivan (2001). Recruiting the record: using the opponents’ exact words in Parliamentary argumentation. Text, 21(4), 467–484.
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Aston, Guy (Ed.). (2001). Learning with Corpora. Bologna: CLUEB. Atkinson, John M. (1984). Our Masters’ Voices: the language and body language of politics. London: Methuen. Bagehot, Walter (1867). The English Constitution. London: Chapman and Hall. Baker Mona, Francis, Gill, & Tognini Bonelli, Elena (Eds.). (1993). Text and Technology: in Honour of John Sinclair. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Bayley, Paul & Miller, Donna R. (1993). Texts and Contexts of the American Dream: a Social Semiotic Study of Political Language. Bologna: Pitagora. Bayley, Paul (1998). Argument about Argument: the Discourse of Winning and Losing. In M. Bondi (Ed.), Forms of Argumentative Discourse. Per un’analisi linguistica dell’argomentare (pp. 157–174). Bologna: CLUEB. Bayley, Paul (1999). Lexis in British parliamentary debate. In J. Verschueren (Ed.), Language and Ideology: Selected Papers from the 6th International Pragmatics Conference, Vol. 1 (pp. 43–55). Antwerp: International Pragmatics Association. Berry, Margaret (1987). Is teacher an unanalysed concept? In M. A. K. Halliday & R. Fawcett (Eds.), 41–63. Biber, Douglas, Conrad, Susan, & Reppen, Randi (1998). Corpus Linguistics: Investigating Language Structure and Use. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Blommaert, Jan & Bulcaen, Chris (Eds.). (1998). Political Linguistics. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Bolletieri Bosinelli, Rosa Maria (Ed.). (1985). U. S. Presidential Election 1984: an interdisciplinary approach to the analysis of political discourse. Bologna: Pitagora. Caldas-Coulthard, Carmen R. & Coulthard, Malcolm (1996). Texts and Practices: Readings in Critical Discourse Analysis. London: Routledge. Carbò, Teresa (1992). Towards an interpretation of interruptions in Mexican parliamentary discourse. Discourse and Society, 3(1), 25–45. Carbò, Teresa (1996). El discorso parlamentario mexicano entre 1920 y 1950. Un estudio de caso en metolodogia de analisis de discurso [2 Vols.]. Mexico: CISAS and Collegio de Mexico. Chilton, Paul (Ed.). (1985). Language and the Nuclear Arms Debate. London: Pinter. Chilton, Paul (2003). Introduction. Journal of Politics and Language, 2(1), 1–3. Chilton, Paul, Ilyin, Mikhail V., & Mey, Jacob L. (Eds.). (1998). Political Discourse in Transition in Europe 1989–1991. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Chomsky, Noam (1957). Syntactic Structures. The Hague: Mouton. Chomsky, Noam (1965). Aspects of Syntax. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Crystal, David (1995). The Cambridge Encyclopedia of the English Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. De Beaugrande, Robert (2001). Interpreting the discourse of H. G. Widdowson: a corpusbased critical discourse analysis. Applied Linguistics, 22(1), 104–121. Douzinas, Costas, Warrington, Ronnie, & McVeigh, Shaun (1993). Postmodern Jurisprudence: the law of texts in the texts of law. London: Routledge. Edelman, Murray (1964). The Symbolic Uses of Politics. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Edelman, Murray (1977). Political Language: Words that Succeed and Policies that Fail. New York: Academic Press. Fairclough, Norman (1989). Language and Power. London: Longman.
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Fairclough, Norman (1995). Critical Discourse Analysis. London: Longman. Fairclough, Norman (2000). New Labour, New Language? London: Routledge. Fairclough, Norman & Wodak, Ruth (1997). Critical Discourse Analysis. In T. A. Van Dijk (1997b), 258–284. London: Sage. Fowler, Roger, Kress, Gunther, Hodge, Robert, & Trew, Tony (Eds.). (1979). Language and Control. London: Routledge. Fowler, Roger (1996). On critical linguistics. In C. R. Caldas-Coulthard & M. Coulthard, 3–14. London: Routledge. Geis, Michael L. (1987). The Language of Politics. New York: Springer Verlag. Goodrich, Peter (1987). Legal Discourse: Studies in Linguistics, Rhetoric and Legal Analysis. London: MacMillan. Halliday, Michael A. K. & Martin, James R. (1981). Readings in Systemic Linguistics. London: Batsford. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1978). Language as Social Semiotic: the Social Interpretation of Language and Meaning. London: Edward Arnold. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1994 [1985]). An Introduction to Functional Grammar. London: Edward Arnold. Halliday, Michael A. K. & Fawcett, Robin (Eds.). (1987). New Developments in Systemic Linguistics. Vol. 1: Theory and Description. London: Pinter. Heywood, Andrew (2000). Key Concepts in Politics. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Harris, Sandra (2001). Being Politically impolite: extending the politeness theory to adversarial political discourse. Discourse and Society, 12(4), 451–472. Hobsbawm, Eric (1994). Age of Extremes. The Short Twentieth Century 1914–1991. London: Abacus. Hoey, Michael (Ed.). (1993). Data, Description, Discourse. London: Harper Collins. Hunston, Susan & Francis, Gill (2000). Pattern-grammar: A corpus driven approach to the lexical grammar of English. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Ilie, Cornelia (1999). Disagreement about agreement. Key word polarization in parliamentary debates. In P. Linell, L. Ahrenberg, & L. Jönsson (Eds.), Samtal och språkanvändning i professionerna (Conversation and language use in the professions). Rapport från ASLA’s höstsymposium. Linköping, 6–7 November 1997 (pp. 111–122). Uppsala: Uppsala University. Ilie, Cornelia (2000). Cliché-based metadiscursive argumentation in the Houses of Parliament. International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 10(1), 65–84. Ilie, Cornelia (2001). Unparliamentary Language: Insults as Cognitive Forms of Confrontation. In R. Dirven, R. Frank, & C. Ilie (Eds.), Language and Ideology, Vol. II: Descriptive Cognitive Approaches (pp. 235–263). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Kress, Gunther & Hodge, Robert (1979). Language as Ideology. London: Routledge. Kress, Gunther (Ed.). (1976). Halliday: System and Function in Grammar. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Leitner, Gerhard (1992). New Dimensions in English Language Corpora. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Lemke, Jay L. (1982). Thematic Structures: Systems, Structures and Strategies. Recherches Sémiotiches: Semiotic Inquiry, 3(2), 159–187.
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Martin, James R. (1992). English Text: system and structure. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Martin, James R. (1999). Grace: the Logogenesis of Freedom. Discourse Studies, 1(1), 31–58. McEnery, Tony & Wilson, Andrew (1996). Corpus Linguistics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Merelman, Richard R. (1993). Language, Symbolism and Politics. Boulder, CO: Westview. Miller, Donna R. & Vasta, Nicoletta (Eds.). (1997). La Costruzione Linguistica della Comunicazione Politica. Padua: Cedam. Miller, Donna R. (1993). Model muddle? Some thoughts on the ideological bases of critical discourse analysis. In V. De Scarpis, L. Innocenti, F. Marucci, & A. Pajalich (Eds.), Intrecci e Contaminazioni. Atti del XIV Congresso Nazionale dell’Associazione Italiana di Anglistica (pp. 401–408). Venice: Supernova. Miller, Donna R. (1997). Reasoning Europe: alternative political reality construction, or the ‘stealing back and forth of symbols’, in British Commons Debates on Maastricht. In D. R. Miller & N. Vasta (Eds.), La costruzione linguistica della comunicazione politica (pp. 93–135). Padua: Cedam. Miller, Donna R. (1999). Meaning up for grabs: Value orientation patterns in British parliamentary debate on Europe. In J. Verschueren (Ed.), Language and Ideology: Selected Papers from the 6th International Pragmatics Conference, Vol. I (pp. 386–404). Antwerp: International Pragmatics Association. Moosmüller, Sylvia (1989). Phonological variation in parliamentary discussions. In R. Wodak (Ed.), 165–180. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Norton, Philip (1984). Parliament and policy in Britain: the House of Commons as a policy influencer. Teaching Politics, 13(2), 198–221. Norton, Philip (1993). Does Parliament Matter? Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Norton, Philip (1994). The Legislative Powers of Parliament. In C. Flinterman, A. W. Heringa, & L. Waddington (Eds.), The Evolving Role of Parliaments in Europe (pp. 15–32). Antwerp and Baden-Baden: Maklu Uitgevers. Packenham, Robert (1970). Legislatures and Political Development. In A. Kornberg & M. D. Musolf (Eds.), Legislatures in a Developmental Perspective (pp. 521–582). Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Partington, Alan (1998). Patterns and Meanings. Using corpora for English language research and teaching. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Rossini Favretti, Rema (1980). Il Discorso e il Potere. Bologna: Patron. Schauer, Frederick F. (Ed.). (1993). Language and Law. New York: New York University Press. Seymour-Ure, Colin (1996). The British Press and Broadcasting since 1945 [2nd edition]. Oxford: Blackwell. Shapiro, Michael J. (Ed.). (1984). Language and Politics. Oxford: Blackwell. Sinclair, John McH. (1991). Corpus, Concordance and Collocation. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Slembrouck, Slem (1992). The parliamentary Hansard ‘verbatim’ report: the written construction of spoken discourse. Language and Literature, 1(2), 101–119. Stubbs, Michael (1996). Text and Corpus Analysis: Computer-assisted Studies of Language and Culture. Oxford: Blackwell. Svartvik, Jan (Ed.). (1992). Directions in Corpus Linguistics. The Hague: Mouton.
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Thompson, Geoff (1999). Acting the part: lexico-grammatical choices and contextual factors. In M. Ghadessy (Ed.), Text and context in functional linguistics (pp. 101–124). Amsterdam and Phialdelphia: John Benjamins. Tognini Bonelli, Elena (2001). Corpus Linguistics at Work. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Van Dijk, Teun A. (2000). Parliamentary Debates. In R. Wodak & T. A. Van Dijk (Eds.), 45–78. Klagenfurt: Drava Verlag. Van Dijk, Teun A. (Ed.). (1997a). Discourse as Structure and Process. Discourse Studies: a Multidisciplinary Introduction [Vol. I]. London: Sage. Van Dijk, Teun A. (Ed.). (1997b). Discourse as Social Interaction: Discourse Studies: a Multidisciplinary Introduction [Vol. II]. London: Sage. Widdowson, Henry G. (1988). On the limitations of linguistics applied. Applied Linguistics, 21(1), 3–25. Widdowson, Henry G. (1988). The theory and practice of critical discourse analysis. Applied Linguistics, 19(1), 136–151. Wilson, John (1990). Politically Speaking. The Pragmatic Analysis of Political Language. Oxford: Blackwell. Wodak, Ruth & Teun A. Van Dijk (Eds.). (2000). Racism at the Top: Parliamentary Discourses on Ethnic Issues in Six European States. Klagenfurt: Drava Verlag. Wodak, Ruth (1989). Language, Power and Ideology: Studies in Political Discourse. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
Insulting as (un)parliamentary practice in the British and Swedish parliaments A rhetorical approach Cornelia Ilie
Everyone on the British side understands the constraints. Foreigners, for obvious reasons, do not. Insulting a visiting President may be fine if it’s intentional. But if not, it is careless and can be damaging. (Memorandum submitted by N. M. Rothschild and Sons Ltd to the Select Committee on Foreign Affairs Minutes of Evidence, House of Commons, 1999)
.
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Why study parliamentary insults, rather than parliamentary politeness conventions? And why a comparative study? The reason for choosing this particular topic is threefold. First, the intention was to counterbalance the proliferation of studies concerned almost exclusively with linguistic politeness. Second, an institution’s principles of conduct may often be most clearly revealed through violations and disruptions of normative forms of politeness and through negotiated claims about those violations. Third, since verbal abuse involves evaluative statements grounded in specific social and cultural systems of moral values, a comparative study can best reveal the institutionally and culturally available forms of verbal offence, the insult response frames, the ideologically based patterns of ascribing blame and assuming responsibility, as well as the relative balance between the insult’s rudeness and the target’s vulnerability. Institutional acts of verbal abuse and defamation, such as parliamentary insults, provide a rich ground for the study of interpersonal dynamics, of the unpredictable changes in the power balance and of the reasoning fallacies underlying verbal controversies.
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The present analysis focuses on the implications and consequences of traditionally established norms and values and of culture-bound institutional constraints that underlie unparliamentary rhetorical manifestations. When tackling controversial issues, it is normally the task of the opposition to suggest alternative solutions and to criticise the government and its representatives, who are in their turn expected to counter-attack and to provide justifications for their policies and course of action. The emotional aspects of parliamentary adversariality can be detected at several discursive levels and in varying forms, and most of them are basically perceived as detrimental, although this need not always be the case: As it is the case with adversariality, there are ancillary aspects to controversy which are clearly of negative value. Controversies often involve rudeness, disrespect, hostility, animosity, name-calling, put-down, insults, ad hominem attacks, misinterpretation, diversions into unnecessary and irrelevant themes, intolerance, dogmatism, wasted energy, failures of communication, and waste of time and talent. . . (Govier 1999)
From a rhetorical point of view, parliamentary debates represent prototypical instances of the deliberative genre of political rhetoric, but elements characteristic of the forensic and epideictic genres are also present, even if to a lesser extent. Although MPs’ (Members of Parliament) interventions exhibit a number of representative features of these classical genres of rhetoric, their verbal confrontational exchanges are a far cry from the ideal critical discussion envisioned by proponents of various forms of normative theories of argumentation (cf. Van Eemeren 1992). Abusive and insulting behaviour is generally perceived as a deviation from the commonly assumed rationality of public debate. It is usually meant to call into question the addressee’s ethos, i.e. credibility and moral profile, while enhancing the speaker’s own ethos in an attempt to strike a balance between logos, i.e. logical reasoning, and pathos, i.e. emotion eliciting force. As far as insults are concerned, it is not simply the occurrence of offensive language that needs to be taken into account, but also the type and intensity of the abuse, as well as the reactions triggered by the perceived or alleged offence. Within the framework of the present study, parliamentary insults are envisaged and analysed in terms of the degree, focus and target of the institutional adversariality-based verbal abuse, rather than as deviations from politeness rules. Non-verbal forms of insulting behaviour and certain politeness-related discursive moves, such as interruptions, have been left out from the present analysis, because their inclusion would have involved a far broader analytical frame that would go beyond the scope and goal of the proposed study.
Insulting as (un)parliamentary practice
. Aims and method For the purposes of the present analysis, I have chosen to examine and compare the distinctive features and functions of the British and Swedish MPs’ ‘unparliamentary’ language and behaviour. The present approach is located at the interface between rhetoric, discourse analysis and cognitive linguistics. The examination of a number of specially selected parliamentary debates reveals some recurring patterns of ideological conceptualisation of human rationality and human emotionality, as they are reflected in varying strategic uses of insults as unparliamentary rhetorical practices. Unlike other types of insults, parliamentary insults fulfil different functions with regard to reinforcing certain beliefs and values, challenging others, as well as to imposing or rejecting certain norms and principles that regulate the practices for negotiating short-term and long-term political goals. The investigation has been carried out contrastively, by focusing on the cognitive processes that underlie the discursive manifestations of more or less hostile or aggressive behaviour in the British House of Commons and the Riksdag, i.e. the Swedish Parliament, with a view to identifying the culturespecific and institutional correlations between their underlying external causes, internal motives and actual effects. Two major issues are addressed from the start, namely the more general characteristics of institutional insults, on the one hand, and the more specific manifestations of insulting rituals in the two parliaments, on the other. The questions to be asked in the first case are the following: What counts as an insult in the two institutional settings? How do accusations turn into insults or into responses to insults? When and why do ironical utterances become insulting? To what extent are insults institutionally sanctioned in the two countries? In the second case, the relevant questions are: Which types of parliamentary insulting strategies are preferred and dispreferred, respectively, in British and in Swedish debates? Are there any consistent and deep-going similarities and differences between insulting behaviours in British and Swedish parliamentary debates? To what extent and in what ways does abusive language reflect institution-specific and culturespecific constraints?
. Corpus In order to carry out a contrastive investigation of (un)parliamentary confrontational strategies, two sets of transcripts have been examined, namely
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transcripts of debates in the House of Commons (selected from the Hansard records), and transcripts of debates in the Swedish Riksdag (selected from the Rixlex records). Some of the prototypical manifestations of confrontation in parliament are to be found in Question Time in the British House of Commons and in its counterpart, Frågestunden (i.e. Question Time) in the Swedish Riksdag. This is why transcripts of these sessions have also been included in the corpus under examination. In both countries, Question Time is devoted to questioning the foremost representatives of the Government, namely the Prime Minister and/or Government Ministers, by their fellow parliamentarians. The question-response sequences represent the default adjacency pairs of Question Time and they often display exchanges of challenging, accusatory and often denigrating, remarks between MPs belonging to Opposition MPs and Government MPs, but also friendly and cooperative questions from MPs belonging to the Government party.
. Unparliamentary language revisited In several types of discourse, the abusive use of language emerges as a product of socio-cultural practices and beliefs, and it is likely to occur in contexts where power differences are salient, tensions are high, and the cost-benefit is appealing to the speaker (Jay 1999). While the discursive norms underlying most institutional settings tend to discourage confrontational behaviour as a dispreferred form of interaction, one of the basic prerequisites of parliamentary debates is to deal with controversies, to negotiate the reasons and results of disagreement, and thus to handle overt and strong expressions of emotional bias. Diverging or opposite ideological commitments and goals are asserted, refuted and defended by means of ritualised parliamentary practices. It is not the (un)parliamentary words and phrases themselves that are insulting, but the interlocutors’ roles and relation to each other, the insult initiator’s offensive attitude and the intentionality of derogatory conceptualisations. A relatively general definition of ritual insults that may apply to different discourse types and situations has been provided by Irvine (1993), who examined insults in a Wolof village in Senegal: [. . . ] insults are not simply a set of statements, or a type of content inherent in statements. Instead, insult is a communicative effect constructed in interaction – constructed out of the interplay of linguistic and social features, where the propositional content of an utterance is only one such feature. (1993: 110)
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As far as parliamentary insults are concerned, the MPs’ mind set and emotional balance or, rather, imbalance, becomes a motive force in the use of abusive language, whereby strong negative emotions and energies are allowed to explode (though under fairly controlled forms). A definition that applies specifically to unparliamentary language is provided in Ilie (2001): Parliamentary insults represent institutional instances of aggressive selfassertion, which imply both standing out from the group and arguing on behalf of the group. To sum up, parliamentary insulting strategies can be seen as subversive transgressions of the institutional boundaries of parliamentary language use and practices. (2001: 259)
Depending on their past history and evolutionary development, both the British and the Swedish parliaments are currently experiencing different types and degrees of change. The House of Commons (Searing 1994; Döring 1995; Norton 1997) is increasingly becoming a more specialised and less closed institution under the growing influence of interest group activities through parliamentary lobbying. In Sweden the parliamentary committees have become more active, more bills and resolutions are proposed, more interpellation debates are held (Damgaard 1997). As a result, the parliamentary parties have become more competitive in the Swedish Riksdag. Moreover, “the increased level of conflict or disagreement reflects a higher level of party competition and each of the parties has a strong need for public visibility in order to attract and maintain electoral support” (Damgaard 1997: 92). . Unparliamentary language in a cognitive theory perspective Lakoff and Johnson’s (1980) cognitive schemata theory provides a comprehensive and integrative framework that gives a consistent view of the human process of understanding with regard to the image-schematic structures which mesh with our embodied experience. Since schemata are rooted in preconceptual embodiment patterns, insulting strategies give indications about emotional perceptions and culture-specific constraints on the network of inferential processes and implied meanings that are derived in the course of institutional confrontation. The cognitive part of the theoretical framework of the present study is based on Ilie’s analysis (2001) of the cognitive mechanisms of insulting language in the House of Commons. That approach was inspired by the work of Lakoff and Johnson (1980), Sweetser (1990), Johnson (1990/1987) and Goatley (1998), especially their emphasis of the importance of preconceptual bodily activities for shaping our consciousness and mental
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processes through metaphorical projection and metonymic conceptualisation. A brief summary of the criteria used in Ilie’s approach to the cognitive analysis of parliamentary insults is provided in the following account: There are three main reasons why insults are perceived as more challenging and more intense than reproaches, accusations and criticisms. First, they allow for the emotional force of the message to exceed its rational force, which affects not only the targeted addressee, but also other participants who are witnessing the verbal exchange. Second, insults reinforce the ideological bias of stereotypical patterns of reasoning by integrating them into publicly accessible conceptualisation structures. Third, while accusations or criticisms do allow for the addressee’s right and possibility to justify and/or rehabilitate him/herself, insults undermine the addressee’s image, position, and authority so seriously as to inhibit any further dialogue. (2001: 260)
A certain use of abusive language often results in stirring up prejudices and stereotypes by calling into question, and/or undermining the justifiability of the other party’s conceptual categories, while strengthening the stability of one’s own party’s conceptual categories. Eventually, the political use of ideologically rooted insults can reveal as much about individual as about cognitive group representations. One of the claims made in this paper is that rhetorically constructed parliamentary insults are often used to minimise cognitive differences within one’s own political group and to maximise cognitive differences between this group and adversarial groups. Individual utterances can sometimes instantiate more than one type of facework strategy, for example “dual-effect strategies (directed toward self and other) and/or dual-face strategies (directed towards positive and negative face)” (Penman 1990: 23). Parliamentary insulting behaviour often exhibits such dual-effect strategies in that the insult initiator’s face is equally involved in the insulting process as that of the insulted interlocutor(s). Moreover, an overlap of targets may also occur, in that insults can be directed both to individual MPs and to their respective political parties. The insult target’s vulnerability may reflect back on the vulnerability of the insult initiator. An MP’s vulnerability pertains, on the one hand, to his/her role as a private person (including sub-roles such as member of a particular professional category, of a particular constituency, etc.) and, on the other, to his/her role as an elected spokesperson for a political party (including sub-roles such as member of a political party, champion of a particular ideology, holder of a position in the government, etc.). The interplay between the different manifestations of two types of vulnerability, namely individual vulnerability and institutional vulnerability, is decisive for the impact of unparliamentary language on the insulting, as well as
Insulting as (un)parliamentary practice
on the insulted MPs. Vulnerability is multi-layered in that it can be associated with one or several sub-roles of each of the two role categories. By attacking one type or level of an MP’s vulnerability, the insult initiator also intends to extend it by projection to other areas of the insult target’s private and/or public face. The shifting interface between self-facework and other-facework in the debate proper makes it possible for the analyst to identify another important variable, that of relative power. In cognitive terms, several dimensions of an MP’s personal vulnerability may be targeted by an adversarial MP who boosts his/her relative power by maximising self-facework. . Unparliamentary language in a politeness theory perspective One of the basic notions involved in adversarial dialogue is that of facework, which is included in Brown and Levinson’s politeness theory (1978). However, while facework is seen to provide the underlying dynamics of face saving and mitigation of potential threat, the authors overlook the issues of face aggravation, such as insults. In Harré’s (1979) view, the major goal of facework is the generation of respect for self and the avoidance of contempt. But it also implies that contempt can be conveyed as part of the interpersonal facework strategies and incurred by the self in certain circumstances. In parliamentary debates, for example, there are institutionalised tokens of respect and contempt that may operate as complementary dimensions. Within the framework of politeness theory, rudeness is envisaged simply as a deviation from or a violation of rules and maxims of cooperative/polite communication, as has been shown by Kienpointner (1997). He duly argues that the dichotomy of politeness and rudeness should be replaced by a continuum and become a matter of degree rather than principle. Furthermore, while it is plausible to assume that cooperative strategies of verbal behaviour are present in any communicative exchange, it is also necessary to account for the fact that rudeness seems to be a universally occurring phenomenon. Among the types of rudeness discussed by Kienpointner is included the category of ‘competitive rudeness in inter-group confrontation’, which bears a certain resemblance to the unparliamentary nature of parliamentary insults. With regard to rudeness, Kasper (1990) makes an important distinction between motivated and unmotivated rudeness. According to her, unmotivated rudeness refers to the violation of the norms of politic behaviour due to ignorance, whereas motivated rudeness refers to deliberate violations of norms in the sense that the speaker intends to be heard as rude and to hurt the interlocutor. She discusses three types of motivated rudeness: rudeness due to
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lack of affect control, strategic rudeness and ironic rudeness. The third type, ironic rudeness, is viewed as a subset of strategic rudeness in that it is deliberate and goal-directed. Kasper’s categories of rude behaviour can reveal group and personal variations both intra-culturally and cross-culturally and are useful in distinguishing between different manifestations of unparliamentary behaviour. The view taken in this study is that certain kinds of institutional rudeness, such as parliamentary insults, have acquired an acknowledged legitimacy that underlies ritualised confrontational encounters. During more heated debates, the exchange of rude remarks tends to get out of hand by becoming a default institutional adjacency pair. This tendency is nevertheless kept under control by the Speaker of the House, whose monitoring role is to intervene and call to order exceedingly troublesome MPs. . Unparliamentary language in a rhetorical theory perspective Rhetorically, parliamentary insults can be regarded as attention-getters meant to shake up a political adversary into reacting emotionally and thus revealing less flattering aspects of his/her personality, political responsibility and/or moral profile. Of particular importance for the rhetorical part of the theoretical framework of this study are the classical Aristotelian appeals to logos (the appeal to reason), ethos (the appeal to a speaker’s moral qualities) and pathos (the appeal to the audience’s feelings), as well as contextualised culture-specific uses of figurative language. While the speaker’s logos and ethos are relevant to the evaluation of the scope and focus of parliamentary insults, the speaker’s pathos is undeniably decisive for the uptake of strong emotional undertones and credit claims (Ilie 2003b). Parliamentary insulting behaviour represents a conventionalised and not unexpected response-triggering act because it is powerful enough to make the addressee prone to react. Thus, insults fulfil primarily two rhetorical functions, namely that of movere (= to move, to engage the addressee/audience emotionally) with special respect to the target of the insult, and the rhetorical function of delectare (= to please and entertain the addressee/audience) with special respect to the audience as a whole. In particular circumstances, certain types of insults may fulfil a third rhetorical function, i.e. docere (= to instruct and educate, but also to lecture the addressee/audience). The docere function can be detected as a surreptitiously used strategy in responses to insults, but also in insults themselves. The insulting mechanisms in the two parliaments can, for example, be differentiated to a certain extent according to their frequency of occurrence.
Insulting as (un)parliamentary practice
The present investigation starts from the assumption that what is generally referred to as unparliamentary uses of language represents instances of institutionally ritualised confrontational interaction. Parliamentary insults are offensive rhetorical acts performed in a highly competitive institutional setting. They are deliberate in the sense that they are intended to be perceived and recognised as such by the person targeted. Unparliamentary language uses can provide important clues about moral and social standards, prejudices, taboos, as well as value judgements of different social and political groups and individuals in a community. Because they underlie culturally defined negative values and norms, insults are meant to reduce the targeted person, group or institution (and what they stand for) to stereotypically undesirable or detestable attributes. Cross-cultural studies are particularly enlightening in this respect, since it can safely be assumed that the forms and functions of insults and their respective feedbacks vary in different cultures and institutional settings.
. English and Swedish parliamentary insults In spite of essential political differences, the Swedish Riksdag and the British House of Commons display significant parallels with respect to issues of procedure continuity and change, as well as a socio-culturally rooted search for stable and effective inter-party solutions. A number of institutional features shared by the parliamentary discourses in Britain and in Sweden, such as procedural rules, patterns of leadership, and decision-making routines, make it possible to undertake meaningful and context-sensitive comparisons of politically motivated strategies. Both British and Swedish MPs resort, on various occasions, to several strategies of discursive directness or indirectness when making derogatory evaluations of their political adversaries. The basic strategies and certain actual manifestations of unparliamentary language in the two parliaments display several commonly shared features. At the same time, however, there are institutional discursive patterns and rhetorical functions that can be distinguished in the unparliamentary uses of language in the two parliaments in terms of institution-specific and culture-specific norms. Three main aspects of insults in the two parliaments are going to be examined more closely, namely, manifestations of (un)parliamentary polarisation in 5.1, (un)parliamentary mitigation strategies in 5.2 and (un)parliamentary interplay between in-group identity and inter-group dissent in 5.3.
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. (Un)parliamentary polarisation: Political vs. rhetorical polarisation English parliamentary debates are notorious for the very heated disputes that often turn into interpersonal verbal duelling. In general, the institutional debating patterns among British MPs display a confrontation-seeking tendency, which in many ways is the very opposite of what Swedish cultural norms recommend, namely to avoid confrontation and to minimise disagreement. This is partly a consequence of the postwar ideology of consensus and harmonising in Sweden and it represents “not only a culturally given personality trait but also the border between the private and the public in Swedish culture” (Daun 1996: 77). It does not mean, however, that conflicts and confrontational situations do not arise in Swedish society, and particularly in the Riksdag. However, in order to keep things under control and to avoid extreme dissent, Swedish MPs show an inclination to steer the discussion mainly towards the assessment and interpretation of tangible facts and technical matters. Since there is a consensus to focus primarily on verifiable data (which is less likely to arouse controversies), emotional outbursts, interruptions, shouts and laughter, which are normal occurrences in the House of Commons, hardly occur during Swedish parliamentary debates. Unlike British rhetorical tradition, which allows for ridiculing and making fun of the most serious topics, Swedish traditional rhetoric requires that serious talk, such as political discussions, should preferably be kept apart from joking. An illustration is given in example (1) below. (1) Bo Könberg (fp): Herr talman! Jag lyssnade till socialministern [Margot Wallström, Sdem]. Jag lyssnade förstås till hela hennes inlägg, men bl.a. lyssnade jag när hon talade om att oppositionen ägnar sig åt att skära pipor i vassen. Det lyssnade jag med stor respekt på. Socialministern representerar ju det parti i Sverige som är mästare i den branschen, så det är klart att vi lyssnar på synpunkter av den typen. Skämt åsido är det förstås bra att socialministern säger att dessa frågor skall tas på allvar [. . . ] (Riksdagsprotokoll, 3 oktober 1997) Bo Könberg (Lib): Mr. Speaker! I listened to the Minister for Social Affairs. I listened, of course, to everything she said, and in particular when she said that the Opposition are dealing with unscrupulous vote fishing. I listened to that most respectfully. After all, the Minister for Social Affairs represents the Swedish party which is unsurpassed in that field, so we obviously listen to their viewpoints. Joking aside, it is actually a good thing that the Minister urges us to take these issues seriously. [. . . ]
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By replying to the Social Democratic Minister’s accusations with a counteraccusation, Könberg (Opposition MP) ascribes not only morally questionable activities to the Social Democrats, but also a considerable lack of self-criticism in that they blame the Opposition for the same, less than correct, political tactics as the ones used by themselves. The last statement in his intervention is meant to draw a line between the serious and the jocular styles, by signalling explicitly the transition from ironical, viz. non-serious, remarks to serious talk: “Joking aside, it is actually a good thing that the Minister urges us to take these issues seriously”. This statement is also meant to reinforce the rational nature of the discussion by tactfully banking on an occasional (and superficial) convergence of opinions with the same minister who had been the target of his preceding ironical attack. This sensitivity to and consideration for the rigours of the interplay between a politician’s personal and institutional role is a recurrent feature of Swedish confrontational strategies. This shifting facework act is intended to restore the other’s face, while de-escalating the conflict dynamics (Rogan & Hammer 1994). Debating British MPs can often be seen to adopt the opposite approach, namely their speech tends to gradually gather momentum, even if they start on a relatively balanced and consensual note. They often finish their interventions on a sarcastic or ironical note, as in (2) below:1 (2) John Butterfill (Con): I am sure that all hon. Members accept that the euro’s success is vital to this country’s economy and will wish the euro well, but that makes the issue of the corporate governance of the central bank even more important. The Prime Minister has rightly said that there will be an important principle of rotation of board members, but will he confirm that Mr. Noyer, a Frenchman, will be the vice-president for the first four years, to be followed by Mr. Trichet, another Frenchman, who will be the president for eight years? When the Prime Minister embarked on his marathon lunch with Mr. Kohl and Mr. Chirac, where lunch went on to tea, then to dinner and then to supper, did he realise that they were going to have him for breakfast? (Hansard Debates, 5 May, 1998, Column 575)
The two examples above represent only a couple of several polarisation patterns that are recurrently used by Swedish and British MPs, respectively. British MPs resort more frequently than their Swedish counterparts to climactic pathosoriented strategies, such as the hyperbolic rhetorical question in (2), when attacking or counter-attacking their political adversaries. Swedish MPs show more restraint in using colourful metaphors, since they are more concerned with building up an ethos based on common sense, moral virtue and practi-
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cal wisdom, on the one hand, and balancing other-face threatening acts with other-face saving acts, on the other. While British parliamentary debates exhibit a stronger political polarisation, whereby the adversarial relations between opposite political camps are constantly and intensively reinforced, Swedish parliamentary debates exhibit a stronger rhetorical polarisation, whereby serious and reasoning talk is traditionally kept apart from playful and entertaining talk. These two types of polarisation are reflected in the unparliamentary language strategies used in the two parliaments. British insulting acts are particularly based on pathos-oriented logos, whereas Swedish insulting acts are particularly based on ethos-oriented logos. Basically, the persuasive power of a speaker’s ethos and pathos depends ultimately on the audience that the speaker has in mind. The form and content of the manifestations of ethos and pathos reflect to a large extent the background, mind sets and expectations of the targeted audiences. . (Un)parliamentary mitigation strategies Within the institutional frame of parliamentary debates, MPs’ identity and multiple roles are normally challenged and called into question by political adversaries. This is usually achieved by means of mutual negative evaluations. In order to avoid being accused and institutionally sanctioned for using explicit unparliamentary language, MPs in both parliaments resort to a number of mitigation strategies. It is the directness, as well as the strength, of insults that is often mitigated. On examining the two parliamentary corpora, three recurrent mitigation strategies have been identified: (i) the juxtaposition of opposite notions, i.e. contempt vs. respect; (ii) the formulation of insults as questions rather than as statements, and (iii) the attribution transfer strategy. .. The juxtaposition of opposite notions: Contempt vs. respect In political controversies, scornful behaviour is an explicit display of disrespect that challenges the legitimacy of the other as a person deserving respect. Contempt is undeniably a very strong emotional ingredient of insults that perpetuates inter-group conflict fuelled by identity issues. By publicly expressing contempt towards a person, one increases that person’s vulnerability, thus damaging his/her image, prestige, authority and reputation (Ilie 2001). It is therefore symptomatic, and fully understandable, that rhetorical appeals to the notion of respect should co-occur with the use of abusive words addressed to the interlocutor. The insult initiators do sometimes attempt to neutralise the harmful effect of the expressions of contempt by means of the concomitant use
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of verbal tokens of respect. This strategy enables the simultaneous performance of both self-face saving acts and other-face saving acts, helping to strike a balance between other-face threatening acts and other-face saving acts. Consider Blair’s utterance “if I may respectfully say so” in (3) below: (3) William Hague (Con): It is no good the Prime Minister wriggling off the point because he does not know the answer to the questions. [. . . ] The Prime Minister (Tony Blair, Lab): I think that the right hon. Gentleman’s comments may look a little foolish when the results of the consultation are announced, if I may respectfully say so. Since this is about the only health service subject that he dare raise – he knows that he has nothing to say about anything else – it is correct that there have been many representations on community health councils, and it is for that reason that we said we would listen to them. [. . . ] (Hansard Debates, 14 February, 2001, Column 307)
The co-occurrence of Blair’s obviously insulting statement “the right hon. Gentleman’s comments may look a little foolish” and the conventionally respectful phrase “if I may respectfully say so” is signalling an explicit incongruity, enhanced by the abusiveness of the following insults: “this is about the only health service subject that he dare raise - he knows that he has nothing to say about anything else!”. As Cicero once remarked, a politician’s major motivation, and sometimes only reward, is to gain public respect and esteem, while at the same time s/he always runs the risk of being humiliated and losing respect. One of the British MPs’ ways of dealing with this dilemma is to try to reach a balance between expressing contempt and apparently indicating respect for the targeted MP. To this end they resort to a recurring two-sided institutional strategy, which creates a striking incongruity between the genuine expression of contempt (through the proferred insult) and the ritualistic expression of respect for the targeted MP. Könberg’s ironical attitude in example (1) in 5.1 above where he discloses the discrepancy between the Minister’s words and deeds is conveyed not only by the rhetorical strategy of pretending to admire what he is actually attacking, but also by appearing to adopt an over-respectful attitude: “I listened to that most respectfully”. The ironically meant expression of respect is conveyed in the Swedish excerpt by an adverbial phrase, which functions as a complement at sentence level, i.e. it qualifies the predicative verb ‘listened’. In the English example (3), however, the hypothetical clause “if I may respectfully say so” is a ritualistic utterance that functions metadiscursively at inter-sentential level, i.e. it conveys a comment on the speaker’s previous statement. Könberg’s ad-
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verbial represents an instance of ironical overstatement created by pragmatic incongruence, whereas Blair’s metadiscursive utterance operates as a rhetorical understatement. The notion of respect is central to interpersonal communication in most cultures and this is why the ironical use of the term respect in connection with insults by MPs in both the Swedish and the British Parliaments is significant. It acts as a reminder of the rhetorical tension between the concepts of contempt and respect when invoked simultaneously. .. The formulation of insults as questions rather than as statements Another recurrent (un)parliamentary mitigation strategy of both British and Swedish MPs involves conveying negative evaluations of political adversaries in question form, as illustrated in (4) and (5) below: (4) Sir Peter Tapsell (Con): Is the Prime Minister not being disingenuous in pretending that he cannot understand the political fact that article 109a of the Maastricht Treaty invalidates the appointment of anyone to be president of the European Central Bank who is not intending and hoping to serve an eight-year term? [. . . ] My question is this: is not what I predicted 12 days ago exactly what has happened under the ineffectual presidency of this British Prime Minister [Tony Blair, Lab]? (Hansard Debates, 5 May, 1998) (5) Birger Schlaug (mp): [. . . ] Arbetstiden måste sänkas. 40-timmarsvecka är inte någon naturlig. Jag skulle vilja fråga Moderaterna, Socialdemokraterna, Folkpartiet och Centerpartiet: Vad menar ni med att vara sådana envisa betongfundamentalister? [. . . ] (Riksdagsprotokoll, 12 oktober 1996) Birger Schlaug (GreenP): The number of working hours must be reduced. The 40 hour-week is not a natural choice. I would like to ask the Conservatives, the Social-Democrats, the Liberals and the Centrists: Why do you persist in being such concrete fundamentalists? (Riksdag debates, 12 October, 1996)
Sir Peter Tapsell can get away with his insults targeted at Prime Minister Blair precisely because they are not directly conveyed in a statement, but only inferable from the questions in which they occur. By avoiding to actually say that the Prime Minister is disingenuous, the MP indirectly declines responsibility for uttering an insulting statement. Instead, he addresses an apparently regular, but not exactly innocent, question, whose underlying meaning can obviously
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be understood as an insult. However, since he does not make any direct statement to that effect, Sir Peter Tapsell cannot be held accountable for proferring the insult. In the Swedish example, Schlaug similarly avoids making a direct statement that would describe MPs of different political colours as “concrete fundamentalists”. In Swedish political jargon, the notion of ‘concrete party’ refers to a political party (often the Social Democratic party or the Conservatives ‘Moderaterna’) that does not pay particular attention to environmental issues. He is asking instead to be told why they are “such concrete fundamentalists”, so that this attribution is treated as a currently acknowledged description. In institutional settings, such as courtrooms and parliaments, why-questions like these are frequently multi-layered and loaded questions, specifically intended to surreptitiously introduce ready-made assumptions and prejudicial ideas. When used for argumentative purposes by politicians with hidden agendas these types of questions tend to contain reasoning fallacies. In both (4) and (5) above, the insult initiators are committing the fallacy of many questions, whereby more questions than one are piled together in an apparently single question. In (4), the first question uttered by Sir Peter Tapsel is rhetorical in that it elicits not an answer, but an acknowledgement from the audience to the effect that the Prime Minister is being disingenuous. As for the second question, it is a multiple question since it falsely presupposes that the speaker and the audience have previously agreed that ‘the presidency of the British Prime Minister is ineffectual’. Starting from this assumption, the question focusses on one issue, namely the correctness of the speaker’s prediction. A similar case is displayed by Schlaug’s question in (5), where the speaker also starts from a false premise, namely that an agreement has been reached, according to which the members of all the four parties are considered to be “concrete fundamentalists”. .. The attribution transfer strategy A mitigation strategy commonly used by MPs in adversarial encounters and especially in (un)parliamentary exchanges is what I propose to call the attribution transfer strategy. It consists in the speaker’s making use of indirect attribution strategies in order to avoid taking direct responsibility for using derogatory qualifiers to characterise someone. Thus, instead of directly applying a negative qualifier to the targeted person him/herself, the insulting MP applies it (by transfer) instead to one of the targeted person’s acts or statements. Consider the second question in (4) above, where it is one of Blair’s institutional roles that is primarily called into question, namely his role as a President of the European Union. However, Sir Peter Tapsell is careful not to apply the derogatory quali-
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fier “ineffectual” to Blair as a person, but to his EU-presidency, thus avoiding taking the blame for calling the Prime Minister names. Swedish MPs also resort to the strategy of attribution transfer, although to a lesser extent than their British counterparts. Consider example (6) below: (6) Cathrine Pålsson (kd): [. . . ] Jag tycker att Margot Wallström [s] gör ett fegt konstaterande. (Riksdagsprotokoll, 3 oktober 1997) Cathrine Pålsson (Christian-Dem): [. . . ] I think that Margot Wallström [Sdem] is making a cowardly statement. (Riksdag debates, 3 October, 1997)
Pålsson avoids calling Wallström herself a coward, although this is obviously her implicit message. Instead, she operates an attribution transfer of the negative qualifier “cowardly” from the position of subject complement that qualifies/labels the person herself (‘Wallström is a coward’) to the position of nominal attribute that qualifies one of that person’s acts/sayings (“Wallström is making a cowardly statement”). Such indirect strategies of name-calling are powerful rhetorical devices, contributing to create in-group solidarity by alienating out-group members. Attribution transfer is also one of the strategies used by the Liberal Democrat MP Kennedy in (7) below: (7) Charles Kennedy (LibDem, Ross, Skye and Inverness, West): Which does the Prime Minister [Tony Blair, Lab] consider the voters of London will view as more offensive: the Conservatives’ disgraced mayoral candidate or Labour’s discredited selection system? (Hansard Debates, 24 November, 1999)
Kennedy is not calling the Conservatives and/or the Conservative Party “disgraced”, just as he avoids calling Labour MPs and/or the New Labour Party “discredited”. Instead he transfers these two derogatory qualifiers from the position of subject complements to that of nominal attributes. Moreover, he makes use of one further strategy. The disjunction highlighted by Kennedy relies actually on a recurrent argumentative fallacy, namely the fallacy of false alternative or false dilemma, which occurs when the speaker fails (deliberately or not) to consider all the relevant alternatives. One of its common forms involves the polarisation of positions, reducing all possible alternatives to only two and discarding them as equally unacceptable (Ilie 1999). On closer investigation, it becomes apparent that the other political alternatives, such as smaller political parties, are deliberately overlooked. In this case, Kennedy has purposefully excluded the other British political parties that are competing for the
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Londoners’ votes, in order to implicitly assert the role of the Liberal Democrats as the only viable option. The House of Commons, unlike the Swedish Riksdag, exhibits also instances of unmitigated negative attribution, as illustrated in Hague’s intervention in (8) below: (8) William Hague (Con.): Is it not the truth that a Government who promised no tax increases at all and better public services all round have now produced higher taxes all round, accompanied by a crisis in the police, a crisis in teacher recruitment, a permanent crisis in the national health service, and a standstill on the railways and the roads? Nothing makes it clearer that this Government is all spin and no delivery. (Hansard Debates, 10 January, 2001)
When used without mitigation, direct and/or strong negative attributions are harmful in that they become exclusively derogatory accounts and blaming descriptions of political adversaries, bearing little relation to their actual policies and actions. Because they rely on and reinforce recognisable stereotypes, such attributions maintain and/or fuel inter-group conflict. At the same time, they have an entertaining function for the public at large, on the one hand, and a silencing function, on the other, in that their degree of rudeness cannot be easily matched by an equally powerful reply. . (Un)parliamentary dissociation between in-group identity and inter-group dissent Group identification is based on perceptions of salient differences in the interpretation of socio-political events and phenomena. The stronger the perceived difference, the greater will be the tendency to form in-group and out-group identifications. Starting from the observation that individual and group identities are linked, Tajfel and Turner (1979) argue that the more an individual’s social and political identity is derived from group identity, the greater will be the motivation to define and denigrate an out-group. Parliaments in general are prototypical instances of identification and dissociation processes, which are being reproduced by in-group identity and inter-group dissent. Their concrete manifestations may, however, differ in terms of intensity and frequency of occurrence. The emotional load of unparliamentary language reflects and at the same time strengthens the degree of inter-group conflict. Insulting language often consists of more or less stereotypical derogatory attribution transfer strategies,
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as has been shown in 5.2.3, which are the cornerstone of developing and maintaining in-group and out-group differentiations. The nature and functions of ego-focused emotions differ considerably from other-focused emotions, depending on the view of self and of other(s). Special insulting strategies are often used to target simultaneously individual MPs and their respective parties. In the House of Commons it is not uncommon to come across double or multiple insults, viz. insults with a double or multiple target. One such instance is illustrated in (9) below: (9) William Hague (Con): [. . . ] At this weekend’s summit, all the major decisions about a single currency were fixed and fiddled, but can the Prime Minister tell us what happened behind the scenes that caused such anger among his fellow Heads of Government? How does he respond to the Italian Prime Minister, who said that he was “ill prepared”? or to the Prime Minister of Luxembourg, who, among others, protested that the Prime Minister had not even bothered to brief other leaders properly on the deal? [. . . ] Has he been taking lessons in diplomacy from the Foreign Secretary? Is this what the Prime Minister means by a new relationship in Europe? The Prime Minister (Tony Blair, Lab): With the greatest respect to the right hon. Gentleman, I think that the one group of people we are not entitled to take any lessons from about Europe are the Conservatives. [. . . ] (Hansard Debates, 5 May, 1998)
On uttering the scornful rhetorical question “Has he been taking lessons in diplomacy from the Foreign Secretary?”, the Opposition leader Hague is killing two birds with one stone. In other words, he is targeting simultaneously two MPs who are central figures of the ruling New Labour Party, namely Prime Minister Blair (to whom the question is directly addressed) and the Foreign Secretary (who is indirectly criticised). Hague intends thereby to weaken the authority of his political adversaries and to strengthen the position of his own party. However, while Hague’s insult is personally addressed to the Prime Minister and is indirectly attacking the New Labour Party, Prime Minister Blair’s counter-insult (see 6.2) is uttered on behalf of his own party and is explicitly targeted at the Conservative Party as a whole: “I think that the one group of people we are not entitled to take any lessons from about Europe are the Conservatives”. He thus contributes to redirect the audience’s attention from the one-to-one dispute to the larger and decisive confrontation between the two political parties. Comparable examples of double insults may also be found in the Swedish Parliament, although to a lesser extent:
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(10) Lars Leijonborg (fp): Det har ett högt pris för Sverige att stå utanför EMU, [. . . ] ett pris i form att det svenska ordförandeskapet år 2001 kan bli ett ännu större fiasko än statsministerns utlandsresor därför att utanförskapet, som Pierre Schori påpekar i en artikel i dag, marginaliserar oss inom EU. (Riksdagsprotokoll, 30 november 1999) Lars Leijonborg (Lib): Sweden will have to pay a high price for choosing not to join the EMU, [. . . ], a price in that the Swedish chairmanship of the EU in 2001 can be an even greater fiasco than the Prime Minister’s trips abroad, because, as Pierre Schori [Sdem] argues in an article today, it will marginalise us within the EU. (Riksdag debates, 30 November, 1999)
Leijonborg (Liberal Party) is one of the Opposition party leaders who is actively supporting Sweden’s joining the EMU. The insult targets Göran Persson in his double role as Sweden’s Prime Minister and as Chairman of the EU. Leijonborg is using this intervention to undermine Persson’s credibility by means of a double insult, namely by claiming that the latter’s future role as Chairman of the EU is going to be a failure comparable to earlier unsuccessful trips abroad (the parallel alludes particularly to the Prime Minister’s controversial visit to South Africa). In his multiple insults in (11) below, Prime Minister Blair focusses first on facts, namely on what he calls Hague’s misjudgements in order to provide tangible evidence for the fact that Hague is playing very poorly the role of Party Leader. (11) The Prime Minister (Tony Blair): It is not the hopeless misjudgements of the Leader of the Opposition [William Hague] over the Conservative party that should worry people; it is his misjudgement over Bank of England independence [. . . ]. As Leader of the Opposition he may be a joke, but as Prime Minister he would be a disaster. William Hague (Lab): At least my jokes are read out; the Prime Minister’s jokes are all in the Cabinet. (Hansard Debates, 24 November, 1999)
Blair’s derogatory phrase “the hopeless misjudgements of the Leader of the Opposition” can be seen as the result of an attribution transfer strategy operated in a possibly underlying sentence “The Leader of the Opposition is hopeless”, where the subject complement “hopeless” may have undergone an attribution transfer to the position of nominal attribute in the actual sentence in (11). Blair is further reinforcing his insults when he attacks Hague’s double political profile by establishing an ironical dichotomy between Hague’s poor role as Leader of the Opposition, on the one hand, and his presumptive role as
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Prime Minister, on the other. This is meant to provide further justification for Blair to exclude the possibility of Hague’s becoming Prime Minister. Hague’s counter-insult appears less powerful, also because he is operating a shift in discourse levels, from the confrontational to the reproachful and moralising tone, by commenting metadiscursively on Blair’s intervention. Even when they engage in unparliamentary exchanges, Swedish MPs are focussing more emphatically than their British counterparts on major ideological issues, in an attempt to reinforce traditional party-political values and in-group identity, as well as to highlight differences across party lines, as illustrated in (12) below: (12) Birger Schlaug (mp): Hans Andersson [v] sade att om man står på vår sida i dag så är man nästan en reaktionär kapitalist. En grundläggande kurs i ekonomisk historia vore kanske inte helt fel i det här fallet. [. . . ] Anders Karlsson [v] målar ut att miljöpartister är kapitalets lakejer. Det är i och för sig kul att höra det, men jag är lite ironisk när jag säger att det känns roligt.[. . . ] Jag tycker faktiskt att ni har fastnat i lite gammal rödvinsreorik, om jag skall vara ärlig. Jag tror inte att ni kan skilja på småföretag och ABB. [. . . ] Hans Andersson (v): [. . . ] Birger Schlaug talar mot bättre vetande. Detta tal om småföretagshat och sådant är fullständigt fel. (Riksdagsprotokoll, 17 mars 1998, anf. 180) Birger Schlaug (GreenP): Hans Andersson [left] said that only a reactionary capitalist can be on our side. A basic course in economic history is what he needs. [. . . ] Anders Karlsson [left] describes the environmentalists as footmen of the capital. It is actually funny to hear that, but I am being a little ironical when I say that it feels funny. [. . . ] To tell you the truth, I actually think that you got stuck with red wine rhetoric. I believe that you cannot tell the difference between a small company and ABB. Hans Andersson (Left): Birger Schlaug does not know what he is talking about. This nagging about hostility against small companies is completely wrong. (Riksdag debates, 17 March, 1998)
The exchange of insults between Schlaug and Andersson provides evidence for the fact that stereotypical thinking still controls inter-party controversies. The two Swedish MPs insult each other by specifically attacking each other’s ideologies that allegedly underlie the policies of their respective political parties. Whereas environmentalists (members of the Green Party) like Schlaug are sometimes described by political adversaries as “reactionary capitalists”,
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Left Party MPs are sometimes blamed for still cherishing the long outdated (Communist) ‘red wine rhetoric’ and for lagging behind in the current debate concerning small and big companies. It is significant for this kind of ideologyoriented controversy that both Schlaug and Andersson are accusing each other of insufficient knowledge and understanding of the issues under consideration. Schlaug sums up his accusation of Andersson: “I believe that you cannot tell the difference between a small company and ABB” (focusing on the latter’s lack of discriminating spirit), whereas Andersson’s retort reads: “Birger Schlaug does not know what he is talking about” (focusing on the latter’s ignorance).
. Responses to insults by English MPs and Swedish MPs The use of insulting language is extremely challenging for the target of the insult, and this explains why it triggers strong emotional reactions, primarily from the addressee(s), but also from other discussants or members of the audience. There is an anecdotal parallel between Arturo Toscanini and Herbert von Karajan which illustrates the way in which cultural and situational variations occur and are reflected in the personal and institutional features of both the insult initiators’ behaviour and the insulted audience’s reactions. The musicians in the pit of La Scala are said to have thoroughly enjoyed Toscanini’s abusive remarks, while the musicians in the Vienna Philarmonic Orchestra deeply resented the very similar sarcasm of Karajan. It is the uptake of insults, rather than the intrinsic value of insulting utterances themselves that often determines the insulting force of a statement, and, more importantly, the magnitude of the perceived insult, namely whether an insult is meant and received, respectively, as a rather playful or as a more serious move. Sometimes it is difficult to draw a line between the two, since individuals may vary considerably as to the degree to which they feel offended by emotionally loaded language. Like insulting MPs, targeted MPs can and do react to utterances, often on several discursive levels (institutional, interpersonal, ideological, etc.) at the same time. Institutional conventions and rhetorical constraints appear in the form of a necessary choice between opting, for example, for the playful or non-literal frame of the insult, or breaking that frame in order to respond seriously to the insult. The neutral and rather unemotional rhetorical style traditionally used in the Swedish Parliament was long considered the only legitimate one. However, increasing international contacts at personal and official levels, the newly emerging European cooperation, as well as the new ‘rhetorical situations’
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(Bitzer 1968) have gradually affected the nature and form of Swedish parliamentary discourse. This is particularly noticeable in the MPs’ increased involvement in the use of and reactions to unparliamentary language. Three main aspects concerning responses to insults are discussed below, namely addressee-responses vs. other-responses to insults in 6.1, ironising vs. moralizing responses in 6.2 and responses to insults focused on ideological notions like ‘democracy’ vs. responses to insults focused on mental capacities like ‘intelligence’ in 6.3. . Addressee-responses vs. other-responses to insults As has already been mentioned, important clues about the intention and the effect of insults are provided by responses to insults. These responses may be provided by the insult targets themselves as addressee-responses, or by other participating MPs as other-responses. Two instances of responses are provided in (13), the former being an other-response, while the latter an addresseeresponse. (13) Birgit Friggebo (fp): [. . . ] Kenneth Kvist [v] sade att det tog 40 år för EU att upptäcka medborgarna. Det tycker jag faktiskt är en skymf emot fäderna till Gemenskapen och sedermera EU. Hela syftet var att undanröja risken för att medborgarna än en gång skulle drabbas av krigets fasor i Europa. [. . . ] Kenneth Kvist (v): Herr talman! Jag tror att det är en felsyn att det skulle vara EU:s huvudsakliga syfte att vara en sorts fredsprojekt, det är framför allt ett ekonomiskt projekt, ett systemprojekt, ett projekt för att stärka storföretagen och försvaga de fackliga organisationernas möjligheter att åstadkomma vissa förändringar.[. . . ] Birgit Friggebo: Herr talman! Jag tror att Kenneth Kvist nu ägnar sig åt att skriva om historien. [. . . ] (Riksdagsprotokoll, 28 mars 1997) Birgit Friggebo (Lib): Kenneth Kvist [Left] said that it took the EU 40 years to discover its citizens. I think that this is actually an insult to the founding fathers of the Union, viz. EU. Their major goal was to diminish the risk for the citizens of being affected again by the horrors of war in Europe. Kenneth Kvist (Left): Mister Speaker! I think that it is wrong to say that the EU’s major task is a sort of peace project, it is primarily an economic project, a systemic project, a project meant to strengthen big companies and to weaken the possibilities of trade union organisations to achieve certain changes. [. . . ]
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Birgit Friggebo: Mister Speaker! I think that Kenneth Kvist is now committed to rewriting history. [. . . ] (Riksdag debates, 28 March, 1997)
Friggebo’s first response concerns what she perceives as Kvist’s insult targeted at the founding fathers of the EU. When admonishing Kvist, she is reacting in her capacity as one of the promoters of the EU. Her response also contains counter-arguments to Kvist’s statement. Since this responsive strategy does not seem to work, she adopts a new strategy in her second intervention, namely she provides an addressee-response in which she implicitly accuses Kvist of giving a biased reinterpretation of historical facts. The responsive strategies illustrated in example (13) above are more common in Swedish than in English parliamentary debates. Their rhetorical force consists in resorting not so much to hyperboles, but to litotes, i.e. understatements that signal an underlying message. Because the message is conveyed in plain terms, more is understood than is said in litotes. Claiming to feel insulted or to have detected an insult addressed at a third party is a fairly common rhetorical strategy in both parliaments, because it enables the speaker to accuse and even insult in his/her turn the alleged insult initiator. Consider the following example: (14) Mr. Lilley (Con): On a point of information, Mr. Deputy Speaker. Is it not customary for someone who makes a false accusation to apologise, rather than, after recognising that the person accused is not guilty, letting it be a matter for further derogation? Mr. Deputy Speaker: That is purely a matter for debate. Mr. Darling (Lab): A former Minister complains that he has been falsely accused of being a Minister. I can understand why he feels guilty about that. If he thinks that it is an insult to say that he was a junior Social Security Minister, of course I am sorry for insulting him. I did not realise that it was insulting to say that someone was a member of a Government. Mr. Tim Boswell (Con): My right hon. Friend was a junior Minister in the Treasury at that time. Mr. Darling: He cannot deny that he was a member of the Government when these problems arose, or is that an insult, too? Is it insulting to say that someone was a member of the Conservative Government? It may be; I do not know. (Hansard Debates, 9 July, 1997)
In order to restore his institutional image, Conservative MP Lilley takes up the issue of insults based on false accusations in relation to what he describes as Labour MP Darling’s offensive statement. He is supported by his fellow Conservative MP Boswell, who argues for the necessity of making a correc-
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tion concerning the former junior minister’s actual ministerial department (the Treasury and not Social Security). It is obvious that Darling does not admit to having insulted the Conservative MP and his is only a circumstantial apology: “If he thinks that it is an insult [. . . ] of course I am sorry for insulting him”. The actual core of the dispute concerns the focus of the insult: Lilley considers that he cannot be blamed for issues pertaining to Social Security issues since he was a junior minister in the Treasury, whereas Darling considers that he should take the blame anyway, as a member of the Conservative Government. The following example displays an instance of a response to what is perceived as a collectively felt insult. (15) Mr. Fabricant (Con): [. . . ] I remember the Deputy Prime Minister, when still in opposition, discussing that in the House of Commons just a few months ago. When I intervened on him to ask about the effects of the national minimum wage on small businesses, he said, “Well, it works in America, doesn’t it?” It works in America because the national minimum wage there is around £2 an hour. Is that to be the national minimum wage in the United Kingdom? If it is, many trade unions will regard it as an insult. If it is not – if the figure is £4 or £4.50 an hour – it will be an insult to people in work. (Hansard Debates, 15 May, 1997)
While in example (14) above the insult initiator is criticized by both the insult target and by a fellow MP, in (15) Conservative MP Fabricant chooses a more generally valid strategy when he reacts to an alleged insulting statement by the Labour Deputy Prime Minister. He intends thereby to be perceived as the champion of fair wages for all the “people in work”. . Ironising vs. moralising responses Responses to insults that are insults themselves can be regarded as counterinsults (see examples in 5.3). They are meant to reciprocate the insult, which thus bounces back at the insult initiator. Insults and counter-insults are most common occurrences in British parliamentary debates. Consider example (16) where Hague and Blair try to outsmart each other in the use of hyperbolically formulated one-liners: (16) Mr. William Hague (Con): Is this not the real verdict on this Government, without an inquiry? A Government of spin and dishonesty – guilty. A culture of cronyism and favours – guilty. A Prime Minister who promised a new type of politics and has once again failed to deliver – guilty. The Prime Minister (Blair, Lab): Shall I tell the House what the Conserva-
Insulting as (un)parliamentary practice
tive party is really angry about? Last week, my official spokesman compared Conservative economic policy to that of Mickey Mouse. I want to make it clear that he has been reprimanded strongly for that. We are a fan of Mickey Mouse. It was wrong to compare Conservative economic policy to that of Mickey Mouse. (Hansard Debates, 31 January, 2001, Col. 303)
Actually, the ironical tone used by the two political adversaries on exchanging rude comments about each other confirms one of Schopenhauer’s observations that rudeness defeats all arguments. Indeed what else can silence an adversary more surely than an insult? And who can argue with an adversary who keeps behaving rudely? In fact, neither Blair, nor Hague can be easily silenced. Each of them answers back, but not with water-tight arguments, which would be out of place during such unparliamentary encounters. This particular exchange consists exclusively in insulting and counter-insulting each other. The default adjacency pair is made up of two successive face threatening acts. Hilariously far-fetched and ironically meant analogies, like Blair’s parallel between the Conservatives’ economic policy and that of Mickey Mouse, have a hyperrhetorical dimension intended to emphasise the basic ideological gap between the two parties. As a result of growing internationalisation of the political debate and intensified political consultations with EU-countries, the manifestations of the Swedish political debate have been lately undergoing a number of changes: discussions of controversial issues are becoming more frequent, while personal opinions, as well as interpersonal confrontations, are starting to play an increasingly important role. Nowadays even the previously excluded delectare rhetorical function is not entirely absent from Swedish parliamentary insults, as illustrated in (17) below: (17) Jan Bergqvist (s): [. . . ] I sitt sätt att argumentera påminner Anne Wibble [fp] en hel del om den amerikanske generalen i Koreakriget som tvingades till en snöplig reträtt, men drog sig tillbaka med parollen: Nu anfaller vi åt andra hållet. [. . . ] (Riksdagsprotokoll, 12 oktober 1996) Jan Bergqvist (SocDem): [. . . ] By her way of arguing, Anne Wibble [Lib] reminds us of the American general in the Korean war who was forced into a deplorable retreat, but withdrew with the slogan ‘We shall now attack in the opposite direction’. [. . . ] (Riksdag debates, 12 October, 1996)
Ironically intended rhetorical parallels like the one used by Bergqvist in (17) may nowadays occur in the Swedish Riksdag, although not as frequently as in
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the House of Commons. What is nevertheless more typical of unparliamentary exchanges in the Swedish Riksdag is the admonishing tone adopted by MPs who attack political adversaries when claiming to have detected insulting expressions or statements in their interventions. The reaction to what presumptive addressees perceive and interpret as insults takes the form of moralising responses, which are often metadiscursively expressed, as in (18) below: (18) Birgit Friggebo (fp): Fru talman! Den sista delen av anförandet tycker jag faktiskt är en liten oförskämd insinuation från Per Rosengrens sida. [. . . ] (Riksdagsprotokoll, 3 juni 1997) Birgit Friggebo (Lib): Mr. Speaker! I think I can detect a somewhat insulting insinuation in the last part of Per Rosengren’s intervention. [. . . ] (Riksdag debates, 3 June, 1997)
An admonishing remark such as Friggebo’s is best suited as a moralising stance, which is supposed to be deliberate and controlled, as if it were meant to follow the biblical saying “A fool is quick-tempered; a wise man stays cool when insulted” (Proverbs 12:16, TLB). Starting from the basic democratic principle of egalitarianism, Swedish debaters are expected to refrain from strong personal attacks and direct confrontation, as well as to avoid showing off and ridiculing, thus abstaining from an exaggerated use of ambiguities and innuendos. This may explain why occasional ironical statements are normally responded to in a moralising tone. A Swedish debater’s virtue consists in sticking to facts and in putting forward well-balanced standpoints since Swedish debating style does not encourage extreme polarisation of opinions. However, even if the frequency of moralising responses to insults is higher by far in the Swedish debates as compared to the English ones, there is, nevertheless, a gender-based commonly shared feature; moralising responses tend to be provided to a larger extent by female, rather than by male, MPs. (19) Ms. Glenda Jackson (Minister for Transport in London, Lab): [. . . ] The right hon. Gentleman [Mr. Ottaway, Con] seemed to suffer from a desperate lack of argument and conviction. Again, the Labour Party was strongly represented in the bulk of his speech, which was devoted to re-quoting what my hon. Friend the Member for Brent, East (Mr. Livingstone) said on Second Reading. The right hon. Gentleman was not alone in dubbing my right hon. and hon. Friends “lobby fodder”. It was an insult leveled at my hon. Friends by the hon. Member for Croydon, South (Mr. Ottoway) as well. [Interruption] I am delighted to hear the right hon. Member for Sut-
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ton Coldfield say, “Shame”. Indeed it is shameful that the trust placed in my hon. Friends by the electorate in London should be so described. In truth, in describing my hon. Friends as lobby fodder, the right hon. Gentleman offers an insult not to them, but rather to the people of London who exercise their franchise in every election with both information and conviction. (Hansard Debates, 26 November, 1997)
Paradoxically, while these moralising replies are supposed to refute extreme manifestations of sophisticated rhetorical skills, they display in fact the speakers’ patronising attitude in that they show that they do not lower themselves to the discarded discussion style of their interlocutors. Metadiscursive devices are extensively used by British MPs in connection with insults (Ilie 2000, 2003a), but not necessarily for the same purposes as those of their Swedish counterparts. More often than not, their comments introduced in parallel with their ongoing discourse are deliberately meant to be perceived as insults too, as illustrated in (20): (20) The Prime Minister (Tony Blair, Lab): [. . . ] The position of the official Opposition nowadays – if there is such a notion – is that the pound should be lower, which is an odd position for the Conservative party to argue. (Hansard Debates, 5 May, 1998)
Blair’s metadiscursive statement, if there is such a notion, has the function of simultaneously questioning the existence and/or validity of the very political grouping that he is referring to, viz. “the official Opposition”. As for responses to insults, British MPs normally exhibit an ironising, rather than moralising, attitude, in that their statements are primarily intended to fulfil an entertaining function, namely the rhetorical function of delectare. It is a hyperbole-based rhetoric, i.e. based on deliberate effect-seeking exaggeration, which is expected by the British parliamentary audience, as well as by the public at large in Great Britain. Somehow comparable, although relatively fewer, examples of metadiscursive ironising devices can be found in Swedish parliamentary debates as well. Consider (21) below, where the Conservative MP’s metadiscursive statement is meant to call into question, and even cancel, a successful attempt of the Social-democratic ruling party to introduce a new tax: (21) Gunnar Hökmark (m): [. . . ] Tobinskatten är en tull på valutatransaktioner. Den kommer att göra det dyrare för låntagarna. Hur tänker ni, om ni skulle lyckas genomföra den, kompensera låntagare i fattiga länder [. . . ]? (Riksdagsprotokoll, 30 november 2000, anf. 168)
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Gunnar Hökmark (Con): The Tobin tax is a duty on currency transactions. It is going to be expensive for money borrowers. How do you envisage, provided you succeed in introducing it, compensating the money borrowers in poor countries? (Riksdag debates, 30 November, 2000)
Instances of mixed responses, i.e. ironising and moralising responses can sometimes occur in the British Parliament. In such mixed responses, ironising counter-insults may be followed by moralising responses, as illustrated in the following example: (22) Mr. Oppenheim: I thank the hon. Gentleman for having the courtesy to give way. He is in the misquotation mood. He claimed earlier that I made a statement on “Breakfast with Frost”. It may have been a little too early for the right hon. Gentleman – he was probably bleary. [. . . ] I hope that the right hon. Gentleman will have the good grace to apologise for his earlier misquotation. [. . . ] (Hansard Debates, 11 December, 1996)
Reacting to what he perceives to be an insult, Oppenheim adopts first an ironical tone and then a moralising tone, when he voices a serious request for an apology. In general, when responding to perceived insults, British MPs tend to compete rhetorically in terms of appeals to pathos, whereas Swedish MPs are more prone to assert their respective political image by making particular use of appeals to ethos. The insults proferred by Swedish MPs are also generally conveyed more indirectly than in the House of Commons. In fact, while we may refer to ‘British’ insults as instances of unparliamentary language, many ‘Swedish’ insults could be more adequately described as instances of sharp personal admonition and vehement criticism, as can be seen in example (23) below. (23) Leif Pagrotsky (s): Fru talman! Jag är inte à jour med debattreglerna för frågestunden. Hur många gånger får man komma tillbaka om man har gjort bort sig i en fråga, och gå ut och ropa på hjälp från någon annan kollega som har taletid kvar? Jag ska upprepa de siffror som Eva Goës kanske inte hörde. Hon kanske inte hade hunnit hit då de nämndes. [. . . ] Eva Goës hade också en uppgift om årets siffror. Jag har inte sett någon siffra ännu, men jag tvivlar på att den siffra hon nämnde har med verkligheten att göra. Eva Goës (mp): Fru talman! Jag har dessutom anmält mig i förväg. Jag är inte här för att vara oförskämd, och jag tycker inte att Leif Pagrotsky behöver vara det heller. [. . . ] Leif Pagrotsky: Fru talman! Jag bara konstaterar att det inte finns några
Insulting as (un)parliamentary practice
siffror för i år ännu. Jag har inte sett några, och det vore intressant att höra vad Eva Goës har för källor. Jag tvivlar på att det stämmer. (Riksdagsprotokoll, 29 maj 1997) Leif Pagrotsky (Sdem): Mrs. Speaker! I am not familiar with Question Time debating rules. How many times is one allowed to come back, if one has failed in one issue, and go out to ask for help from a colleague who still has speaking time left? I am going to repeat the figures that Eva Goës may not have heard. Perhaps she had not managed to get here when they were mentioned. [. . . ] Eva Goës also referred to this year’s figures. I personally have not seen any figure yet, but I doubt that the figure she indicated has anything to do with reality. Eva Goës (GreenP): Mrs. Speaker! My intervention was actually notified in advance. I am not here to insult anybody, and I think that Leif Pagrotsky shouldn’t do it either. [. . . ] Leif Pagrotsky: Mrs. Speaker! I was only pointing out that there are no figures for this year yet. I haven’t seen any, and it would be interesting to hear which are Eva Goës’s sources. I doubt that they are correct. (Riksdag debates, 29 May, 1997)
The issues highlighted in the excerpt above and in several other instances in my corpus indicate that the focus of Swedish insults is often related to verifiable facts, such as lack of punctuality, breach of parliamentary rules, lack or inaccuracy of information. Unlike British unparliamentary language, which resorts to overstatements and hyperboles, the insults addressed by Swedish MPs are mitigated and operate more like litotes. In his first intervention, Pagrotsky performs several acts that Goës perceives as insulting. For example, he deliberately singles out what he regards as three shortcomings in Goës’s parliamentary behaviour, namely breaking parliamentary rules (i.e. deceiving), being late (and thus missing part of the debate) and making up figures (i.e. lying). Three particular types of argumentative patterns underlie Pagrotsky’s verbal attacks: an ad hominem argument, an ad verecundiam argument and an ad ignorantiam argument. In his first intervention in (23), the first insulting act takes the form of an ad hominem argument, which turns out to be fallacious when Goës provides evidence for the fact that his blaming her for breaking parliamentary regulations is unfounded. In his second and third insults during his first intervention, Pagrotsky makes use of the ad ignorantiam argument, which also turns out to be fallacious. An ad ignorantiam fallacy consists in the assumption that a proposition is true because it has not been proved false, or because the opposing proposition has not been proved true. It is an argument for or
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against a proposition on the basis of a lack of evidence against or for it. If there were positive evidence for the conclusion, then we could find other reasons for accepting it, but a lack of evidence by itself is no evidence. By adopting a moralising tone, Goës indicates in her intervention that she is determined to refute what she perceives as Pagrotsky’s unmotivated insults in order to stop him from continuing in the same vein. Unfortunately, her response does not deter him from repeating and reinforcing one of the insulting statements in his immediately following intervention. While the ad hominem and the ad ignorantiam arguments are obviously fallacious in this case, the ad verecundiam argument displays a certain degree of validity. An ad verecundiam argument, or appeal to authority, is an argument that relies on the arguer’s authority in the relevant field of expertise under consideration. Pagrotsky, as Government Minister, is expected not only to have first-hand knowledge about, but also to be directly involved in the release of overall figures concerning the country’s economy. Consequently, he should theoretically have the authority and the required evidence to call into question what appear to be preliminary and/or officially unendorsed figures. . Responses to insults focused on ideological notions like “democracy” vs. responses to insults focused on mental capacities like “intelligence” The targets of both British and Swedish parliamentary insults cover generally a wide range of aspects, from stigmatising descriptions of individual MPs’ character, temperament and/or acts, to incriminating representations of adversarial party-political groups, as well as of their ideology. As expected in a political setting, democracy is one of the frequently invoked ideals in responses to ideology-related-insults. Confrontations, when unavoidable, have long been regarded in Swedish political debates as basically ideological and institutional, rather than personfocussed. This may account for the fact that insults perceived as such by MPs are more often than not associated with ideological and collective concepts such as ‘democracy’ and ‘people’, as illustrated in (24) and (25) below: (24) Birger Schlaug (mp): Ett ytterligare exempel på en sovjetiserad modell som EU har tagit efter är jordbrukspolitiken. [. . . ] EU:s regelverk och EU:s lagstiftning hämmar tyvärr utvecklingen på liknande sätt som i Sovjet, därför att enskilda länder inte har rätten att gå före. Jag tycker att det är skamligt att vi, även om vi är överens om att man skall genmärka genmanipulerade livsmedel, inte får göra det. Jag tycker att det är en skymf mot
Insulting as (un)parliamentary practice
demokratin. Håkan Holmberg (fp): [. . . ] Jag har tidigare, men också i kväll, hört Birger Schlaug dra paralleller mellan den Sovjetiska unionen, som är avskaffad, och den Europeiska unionen, som han tycker bör avskaffas. Jag tycker att denna parallell är ganska stötande. [. . . ] Jag tycker att han i så fall skall be om ursäkt för detta sätt att lägga upp argumenteringen. Be ester, letter, ryssar och ukrainare om ursäkt, för det är dem som det handlar om! De har levt under den Sovjetiska unionen. De vill nu bli medlemmar i den Europeiska unionen. [. . . ] Det kan verka demagogiskt att ta upp detta, men det här sägs så många gånger från Miljöpartiet. Jag tycker att det är ovärdigt för svensk politik att man på det här sättet för en debatt och jämför det som har drabbat människor bara några mil från oss med demokratiska länders frivilliga samarbete. (Applåder) (Riksdagsprotokoll, 28 mars 1997) Birger Schlaug (GreenP): One further example of a Soviet-based model that has been taken over by the EU are the agricultural policies. [. . . ] EU rules and regulations, as well as EU legislation, do, unfortunately, prevent a normal development in the same way as under the former Soviet Union, in the sense that individual countries do not have the right to take one step ahead. I think it is outrageous that we may not label genetically manipulated food. I think it is an insult to democracy. Håkan Holmberg (Lib): I have heard Birger Schlaug on several occasions draw parallels between the Soviet Union, which has been abolished, and the European Union, which he thinks should be abolished. I find this parallel quite offensive. [. . . ] I think he should apologise for this kind of argumentation. Please apologise to Estonians, Latvians, Russians and Ukrainians, because this concerns them! They are the ones who lived under the Soviet Union. Now they want to become EU members. [. . . ] It may sound somehow demagogical to take this up, but those arguments have been repeated so many times by the Green Party. I think it is unworthy of Swedish politics to witness such a debate in which the plight of our close neighbours is compared with the voluntary cooperation of democratic countries. (Applause) (Riksdag debates, 28 March, 1997) (25) Marianne Samuelsson (mp): [. . . ] Vad är det för demokrati, och vad är det för insyn för människor? Det är en skymf. (Riksdagsprotokoll, 26 maj 1998)
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Marianne Samuelsson (GreenP): [. . . ] What kind of democracy and what kind of consideration for people are these? It is an insult. (Riksdag debates, 26 May, 1998)
Two major tendencies are generally noticeable in Swedish MPs’ responses to what they perceive as insults. One tendency is to adopt a pedagogical and advisory role with the intention to produce a moral impact, as in (24) above: “I find this parallel quite offensive. [. . . ] I think he should apologise for this kind of argumentation”. The second tendency is to reinforce traditionally cherished moral values, such as those illustrated in (24): “I think it is unworthy of Swedish politics to witness such a debate in which the plight of our close neighbours is compared with the voluntary cooperation of democratic countries”, and (25), respectively: “What kind of democracy and what kind of consideration for people are these? It is an insult”. Both statements fulfil the rhetorical function of docere, reflecting thereby a default moralising attitude characteristic of Swedish MPs’ responses to perceived insults. Occasionally, a display of the movere function may accompany the docere function, as in the emphasis on “consideration for people” in (25), or in the urge to apologise to the people in the Baltic countries in (24): “Please apologise to Estonians, Latvians, Russians and Ukrainians, because this concerns them!” Unlike Swedish parliamentary insults, their British counterparts are more frequently focused on personality features, such as wit and intellectual capacity. British parliamentary insults are concerned to a greater extent both with individual and collective/group intelligence. Since the unwritten rules of British parliamentary debates encourage and praise quick, witty and humorous interventions, it is no wonder that a major focus of British MPs’ insults is the insulted target’s intelligence level, as illustrated in (26) below: (26) Garnier (Con): [. . . ] We have heard nothing intelligent from the [Labour] Government that would produce a climate of innovation. (Hansard Debates, 24 November, 1999)
The notions of intelligence and wit as crucial mental capacities in British parliamentary rhetoric are so significant that even MPs’ responses to both actual or alleged insults acquire more weight when they invoke either of them as focus of the alleged insult, as illustrated in (27) and (28) below: (27) Wardell: [. . . ] When the former East Dyfed health authority had the gall to issue a consultation paper the quality of which was so low as to insult the intelligence of the local people, the Committee visited Tumble and was appalled to find that the chief nursing officer of the health authority had
Insulting as (un)parliamentary practice
never visited the hospital, although he was in large part responsible for drawing up the consultation document. The quality of this month’s Dyfed Powys health authority document shows that it has not learnt the lessons of the old East Dyfed health authority. It is prepared to issue consultation documents that again insult the intelligence of local people. (Hansard Debates, 27 February, 1997, Column 497) (28) Davies (Con): The effect of the Government’s so-called concession is to tell people: “If your income is below £22,000, or whatever it is, you will be able to rebuild, but if you have a bit more money you will not be able to rebuild.” That is tantamount to saying, “If you are financially able to rebuild, we shall prevent you from doing so, and if you are financially unable to rebuild, you will be allowed to do so.” That is insulting to the intelligence. (Hansard Debates, 17 April, 1999, Column 305)
Examples such as the ones above indicate that another important feature that distinguishes British from Swedish parliamentary insults is their specific focus. For example, derogatory statements focussing on a political adversary’s education standards, and implicitly IQ levels, are not too uncommon in the House of Commons, as illustrated in (29) below: (29) St. Aubyn (Con): [. . . ] Therefore, in 98 per cent of the cases that will now suffer the higher rate of tax, a clear penalty will be imposed as a result of the individual involved having died, and possibly because it may have taken some time before the assets of that estate were distributed to another group of individuals who were also, by and large, subject only to the basic rate of tax. Burnett (LDem): Did the hon. Gentleman get a degree in mathematics? I cannot understand his preposterous extrapolation. St. Aubyn: I have to confess that I did not get a degree in mathematics. [. . . ] (House of Commons Standing Committee E, Finance 2 Bill, 11 June, 1998)
In (29) above, Burnett makes use of a rhetorical question, followed by a statement which is apparently meant to give the reason for uttering the question, when he is in fact adding insult to injury. The message he wants his addressee and the audience to infer may read as follows: ‘It is most unlikely that the hon. Gentleman has got a degree in mathematics because he cannot make himself understood’. By using the attribution transfer strategy, Burnett qualifies the attributed ‘extrapolation’ with the strongly connoted modifier ‘preposterous’. The validity of his argument is obviously questionable, since a degree in
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mathematics does not automatically guarantee an increased ability to give clear explanations of mathematically complex issues. However this move operates as an unparliamentary blow below the belt directed by the Liberal Democrat MP Burnett against the Conservative MP St. Aubyn. Like most insults, this move operates as an ad hominem argument. An ad hominem argument implies that the person rather than the person’s argument is being attacked. Its various implications for political discourse have been extensively analysed by Kelley (1994 [1988]): In its crudest form, the ad hominem fallacy involves nothing more than insults – calling one’s opponent an idiot, slob, lowlife, airhead, fascist, pinko, nerd, fairy, bleeding heart, wimp, Neanderthal, and so on through the rich vocabulary of abuse our language offers. [. . . ] In politics, ad hominem arguments are a common technique of propaganda and a common device of politicians who try to enlist support by attacking their enemies. (1994 [1988]: 140)
Such explicitly offensive statements like Burnett’s, which are directly targeted at the intellectual capacity or academic merits of other MPs, are rather uncommon in the Swedish Parliament, where explicit defamations of an MP’s education or intelligence levels are either culturally, or socially, unacceptable.
. Rhetorical functions of (un)parliamentary language Insults, like metaphors, are highly sensitive to personal experience. Cognitively, they operate a temporary removal of the repeatedly used schemata for thinking and perception, whereby certain features are highlighted, while others are suppressed. The emotional force of insults outweighs their rational force, which is meant to exploit the fact that people are generally more easily affected and persuaded emotionally than rationally. Emotional force works faster and its impact is usually stronger than that of rational force. Moreover, most people are less prone to resist or oppose emotional force than rational force. Parliamentary insults are specifically mapping individual and subjective meaning upon institutionally shared meaning. Rhetorically, offensive irony and humour in connection with insults are meant to disguise the speaker’s underlying hostile and scornful attitude. At the same time, they reveal the speaker’s and the respective in-group’s moral and socio-political values, as well as the sources of tension and discontent in inter-group communication or in a given community at a particular moment in time.
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Insults are basically logos-oriented because they are intended to focus attention on, or to distract attention from, a particular topic or act by extremely powerful verbalisation. Speakers use insults as attention-getters in order to capture the audience’s interest and, hopefully, adherence to challenging views, or, as ways to drift away from the main issue, normally by denying responsibility. Apart from the logos orientation, insults also display a speaker’s ethos and/or pathos. Ethos-oriented insults are intended to enhance the speaker’s trustworthiness, while challenging or undermining the trustworthiness of the targeted interlocutor. The examination of unparliamentary language in the two parliaments indicates that insults may fulfil all or some of the following ethosoriented functions: – –
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to discourage and disarm adversary MPs by exploiting/increasing their vulnerability and by challenging their institutional role and authority; to boost one’s image and to score political and/or personal points (increase one’s personal credibility and prestige) by silencing and embarrassing political opponents; to undermine and deteriorate the ethos of adversary MPs (character and personality, moral values and standards, guiding beliefs, principles, ideals/visions, actions).
Recent research carried out by Krogstad and Gomard (2001) provides evidence for the fact that one of the most salient cross-national differences that have been registered between Danish, Norwegian and Swedish political speakers concerns the presentation of ethos arguments. Their finding that Swedish politicians made more use of ethos arguments than their Danish and Norwegian colleagues is also confirmed by Bauhr and Esaiasson’s (2001) results. The contrastive analysis of Swedish and British parliamentary debates, and especially of their unparliamentary strategies, seems to confirm once again the significant role played by the speaker’s ethos in the Swedish Riksdag. The pathos orientation of insults is intended to capture the audience’s undivided attention in order to trigger their emotional reactions. The rhetorical analytical tools accounted for in Sections 5 and 6 above reveal a higher occurrence of stronger emotional load in British insulting strategies as compared to their Swedish counterparts. The unparliamentary pathos of British MPs exhibits elements of both showmanship and competitiveness, which are less salient in the Swedish parliamentary debates. The examination of unparliamentary language in the two parliaments indicates that insults may fulfil all or some of the following pathos-oriented functions:
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– – –
to strengthen one’s own group cohesion and to restore the political balance in its favour; to entertain the audience, both fellow MPs and the public at large, normally by making political adversaries lose face; to directly affect the audience emotionally, by sublimating and/or projecting more or less general underlying anxieties, worries, discontent, of certain social or professional categories, lobbying groups, etc.
In Swedish parliamentary debates, certain latitude is given to the display of pathos, but to a much lesser extent than in other parliaments (there can be no comparison, for example, with the explosive pathos of MPs in the Israeli Knesset). Since there is considerably less confrontational polarisation in the Swedish Riksdag, as compared to the House of Commons, the competitive spirit of the debates does not reach the same high levels, while the inclination for showmanship is less motivated. Priority is given to facts in pro- or counterargumentation and this may be the reason why expressing negative feelings about an issue is normally not countenanced as an valid argument in Swedish debates, as has been pointed out by Daun: A debater who shows too much emotional engagement in an issue has in principle lost the debate on those grounds (which does not preclude the debater’s also attracting a certain amount of sympathy). A Swedish politician must keep a cool head and calmly and collectedly weigh the facts. (1996: 124)
The British and the Swedish MPs clearly appreciate and cultivate two generally different sets of rhetorical virtues and accomplishments (although they also display partly overlapping features). Parliamentary insults are no exception in this respect. The performance-orientation of British parliamentary and unparliamentary discourse is enhanced by a particular audience expectation, namely to see MPs call into question other MPs and thus engage in a real battle of wits. This is why it is reasonable to conclude that British unparliamentary language is marked particularly by pathos-oriented logos, whereas Swedish unparliamentary language is marked particularly by ethos-oriented logos.
. Concluding remarks Why are parliamentary insults so frequent and how do they succeed in having such an impact? Probably because they call into question MPs’ very prerequisites for participating successfully in the debates. Some of these prerequi-
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sites are different in the British and the Swedish Parliaments. In the House of Commons it is essential to outsmart political adversaries by giving quick and witty replies and by displaying a sense of humour. In the Swedish Riksdag it is essential to give evidence for personal reliability and credibility, as well as cool-headed professionalism. The contrastive analysis of British and Swedish unparliamentary language structures was intended to provide evidence for the fact that the preference for certain types of rhetorical appeals is rooted in political traditions, such as higher or lower levels of competition and conflict tolerance, higher or lower political control of societal developments, tendency towards open or closed confrontation, and process or result-oriented consensus. The basic assumption is that what is generally referred to as unparliamentary uses of language constitute instances of institutionally ritualised confrontational interaction. Parliamentary insults are deliberately offensive rhetorical acts performed in a competitive institutional setting. They are specifically mapping individual and subjective meaning upon institutionally shared meaning. The emotional force of insults outweighs their rational force, which is meant to exploit the fact that people are generally more easily affected and persuaded emotionally than rationally. Because they underlie culturally defined negative values and norms, insults are meant to reduce the targeted person, group or institution (and what they stand for) to stereotypically undesirable or detestable attributes. More than any other interactional strategies, insults are to a large extent based on fallacies. The study of unparliamentary language strategies provides important clues about moral and social standards, prejudices, taboos, as well as value judgements of different social and political groups, as well as individuals in a community. Cross-cultural studies are particularly enlightening in this respect, since the forms and functions of insults and their respective feedbacks vary in different cultures and institutional settings. A number of institutional features shared by the parliamentary discourses in Britain and in Sweden, such as procedural rules, patterns of leadership, and decision-making routines, make it possible to undertake meaningful and context-sensitive comparisons of politically motivated strategies. However, at the same time, the actual manifestations of unparliamentary language in the two parliaments display a number of institution-specific and culture-specific differences. One of the claims made in this paper is that rhetorically constructed parliamentary insults are often used to minimise cognitive differences within one’s own political group and to maximise cognitive differences between this group and adversarial groups. These types of insults can be directed both to individual MPs and to their respective political parties. MPs’ reac-
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tions to insults may take the form of counter-insults or responses to insults. Three main aspects of insults in the two parliaments have been examined in this paper, namely, manifestations of (un)parliamentary polarisation in 5.1, (un)parliamentary mitigation strategies in 5.2 and (un)parliamentary dissociation between in-group identity and inter-group dissent in 5.3. British parliamentary debates exhibit a stronger political polarisation, whereby the adversarial relations between opposite political camps are constantly and intensively reinforced, while Swedish parliamentary debates exhibit a stronger rhetorical polarisation, whereby serious and reasoning talk is traditionally kept apart from playful and entertaining talk. These two types of polarisation are reflected in the distinctive rhetorical strategies used in the two parliaments. British insulting acts are particularly based on pathos-oriented logos, whereas Swedish insulting acts are particularly based on ethos-oriented logos. In order to avoid being accused and institutionally sanctioned for using explicit unparliamentary language, MPs in both parliaments resort to a number of mitigation strategies. On examining the two parliamentary corpora, three recurrent mitigation strategies have been identified: (i) the juxtaposition of opposite notions, i.e. contempt vs. respect; (ii) the formulation of insults as questions rather than as statements, and (iii) the attribution transfer movement. As far as the first mitigation strategy is concerned, rhetorical appeals to the notion of respect co-occur with the use of abusive words, normally conveying contempt, addressed to the interlocutor. The institutionalised tokens of respect and contempt may operate as complementary dimensions in parliamentary debates because insult initiators sometimes attempt to neutralise the harmful effect of the expressions of contempt by means of the concomitant use of verbal tokens of respect. This strategy enables the simultaneous performance of both self-face saving acts and other-face saving acts, helping to strike a balance between other-face threatening acts and other-face saving acts. A second recurrent mitigation strategy of both British and Swedish MPs involves conveying negative evaluations of political adversaries in question form. When used for argumentative purposes by politicians with hidden agendas, these types of questions often contain reasoning fallacies, such as the fallacy of many questions, or the fallacy of false dilemma. When used without mitigation, direct and/or strong negative attributions are harmful in that they tend to become exclusively depreciative accounts and blaming descriptions of political adversaries, bearing little relation to their actual policies and actions. A third mitigation strategy used by MPs is what I proposed to call attribution transfer. It consists in the speaker’s use of indirect negative attribution in order to avoid taking direct responsibility for using derogatory qualifiers to
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refer to other MPs. Thus, instead of applying a negative qualifier in relation to the targeted person, the insulting MP resorts to a transfer and applies instead the negative qualifier to one of the targeted person’s acts or statements. For example, it is the MP’s statement or action that is qualified as ‘cowardly’, and not the person him/herself, although the latter is clearly the actual intended target. Parliaments in general are prototypical instances of identification and dissociation processes, which are reflected by in-group identity and inter-group dissent. Insulting language often consists of more or less stereotypical derogatory attribution transfer strategies, which are the cornerstone of developing and maintaining in-group and out-group identifications. Both the House of Commons and the Swedish Riksdag exhibit instances of double or multiple insults, viz. insults with a double or multiple target. MPs do not only defend themselves and offend their political adversaries, they also become champions of their respective party’s ideology and policies. Unlike their British counterparts, Swedish MPs tend to focus their insults more on ideology-related, than on personality-related differences and incompatibilities. Responses to insults that are insults themselves have been treated as counter-insults. Other types of responses to insults are often critical, reprimanding and/or ironical comments on the preceding insult(s). British parliamentary insults are more often followed by counter-insults, whereas Swedish parliamentary insults are more often followed by castigating and moralising responses to insults. However, both patterns are identifiable in both Parliaments. Three main aspects concerning responses to insults have been discussed, namely addressee-responses vs. other-responses to insults, ironising vs. moralizing responses and responses to insults focused on ideological notions like democracy vs. responses to insults focused on mental capacities like intelligence. The moralising and admonishing attitude of Swedish MPs is a far cry from the ironising attitude of British MPs. However, even if the frequency of moralising responses to insults is higher in the Swedish debates as compared to the British ones, there is, nevertheless, a commonly shared feature, namely moralising responses tend to be provided in both cases especially by female, rather than by male MPs. Unlike British unparliamentary language, which resorts to overstatements and hyperboles, the insults addressed by Swedish MPs are mitigated and operate more like litotes. Confrontations, when unavoidable, have long been regarded in Swedish political debates as basically ideological and institutional, rather than person-focused. Unlike Swedish parliamentary insults, their British counterparts are more frequently focused on personality features, such as wit and intellectual capacity. In British political culture it is
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accepted/acceptable to adopt a playful tone, to show rhetorical skills, to linguistically outsmart one’s opponents. Ironical criticism is expected and even encouraged by traditionally established ritualistic duelling. In Sweden there is no equivalent to such a strongly rooted institutional tradition, although ironical replies do occur. The ironical bias occasionally exhibited in the Swedish Riksdag is due to the individual personality of the debaters, rather than to a well-established institutional ritual. Starting from the basic democratic principle of egalitarianism, Swedish debaters are expected to refrain from strong personal attacks and direct confrontation, as well as to avoid showing off and ridiculing, thus abstaining from the use of ambiguities and innuendos. That is why occasional ironical statements are often responded to in a moralising tone. Paradoxically, while they are supposed to refute manifestations of sophisticated rhetorical skills, these moralising replies normally display the speakers’ patronising attitude in that they show that they do not lower themselves to the playful style of their interlocutors. Because Swedish debating style does not encourage extreme polarisation of opinions, a Swedish debater’s virtue consists in showing a preference for facts and in advancing well-balanced standpoints.
Note . In the citations from the House of Commons that follow, the MP’s name is followed by his or her political party. It should be remembered that the only information concerning MPs in the official record published in Hansard is the MPs’ constituency, and, in the case of a Minister, his or her position in the government. In this paper, party allegiances are considered important and have thus been added.
References Bauhr, Monika & Esaiasson, Peter (2001). “Trust me!” – on the nature of ethos argumentation. In K. Gomard & A. Krogstad (Eds.), Instead of the Ideal Debate: Doing politics and doing gender in Nordic political discourse (pp. 129–154). Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Bitzer, Lloyd, F. (1968). The rhetorical situation. Philosophy and Rhetoric, 1, 1–14. Brown, Penelope & Levinson, Stephen C. (1978). Universals in Language Usage: Politeness phenomena. In E. Goody (Ed.), Questions and Politeness: Strategies in social interaction (pp. 291–347). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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Damgaard, Erik (1997). The strong parliaments of Scandinavia: Continuity and change of Scandinavian parliaments. In Gary W. Copeland & Samuel C. Patterson (Eds.), Parliaments in the Modern World: Changing Institutions (pp. 85–103). Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Daun, Åke (1996 [1989]). Swedish Mentality. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press. Döring, Herbert (Ed.). (1995). Parliaments and Majority Rule in Western Europe. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Van Eemeren, Frans H. & Grootendorst, Rob (1992). Argumentation, Communication and Fallacies: A Pragma-dialectical Perspective. Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum. Govier, Trudy (1999). The Philosophy of Argument. Newport News, VA: Vale Press. Harré, Rom (1979). Social Being. Oxford: Blackwell. Ilie, Cornelia (1999). Disagreement about agreement: key word polarization in parliamentary debates. In P. Linell, L. Ahrenberg, & L. Jönsson (Eds.), Samtal och språkanvändning i professionerna. Rapport från ASLA:s höstsymposium, Linköping, 6–7 November 1997 (pp. 111–122). Uppsala: Uppsala University. Ilie, Cornelia (2000). Cliché-based metadiscursive argumentation in the Houses of Parliament. International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 10(1), 65–84. Ilie, Cornelia (2001). Unparliamentary language: insults as cognitive forms of confrontation. In R. Dirven, R. Frank, & C. Ilie (Eds.), Language and Ideology, Vol. II: Descriptive Cognitive Approaches (pp. 235–263). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Ilie, Cornelia (2003a). Discourse and metadiscourse in parliamentary debates. Journal of Language and Politics, 1(2), 269–291. Ilie, Cornelia (2003b). Parenthetically speaking: Parliamentary parentheticals as rhetorical strategies. In M. Bondi & S. Stati (Eds.), Current Studies in Dialogic Communication (pp. 253–264). Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag. Irvine, Judith T. (1993). Insult and responsibility: verbal abuse in a Wolof village. In J. Hill & J. T. Irvine (Eds.), Responsibility and Evidence in Oral Discourse (pp. 105–134). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jay, Timothy (1999). Why We Curse: A Neuro-Psycho-Social Theory of Speech. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Johnson, Mark (1990 [1987]). The Body in the Mind: The Bodily Basis of Meaning, Imagination, and Reason. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Kasper, Gabriele (1990). Linguistic politeness: current research issues. Journal of Pragmatics, 14, 193–218. Kelley, David (1994 [1988]). The Art of Reasoning. New York and London: W. W. Norton. Kienpointner, Manfred (1997). Varieties of rudeness: types and functions of impolite utterances. Functions of Language, 4(2), 251–287. Krogstad, Anne (2001). Image and issue in televised debates. In K. Gomard & A. Krogstad (Eds.), Instead of the Ideal Debate: Doing politics and doing gender in Nordic political discourse (pp. 155–184). Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Krogstad, Anne & Gomard, Kirsten (2001). A debate on the debates. In K. Gomard & A. Krogstad (Eds.), Instead of the Ideal Debate: Doing politics and doing gender in Nordic political discourse (pp. 185–200). Aarhus: Aarhus University Press.
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Lakoff, George & Johnson, Mark (1980). Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Norton, Philip (1997). Representation of interests: the case of the British House of Commons. In G. W. Copeland & S. C. Patterson (Eds.), Parliaments in the Modern World: Changing Institutions (pp. 13–28). Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Penman, Robyn (1990). Facework & politeness: multiple goals in courtroom discourse. Journal of Language and Social Psychology, 9(1–2), 15–38. Rogan, Randall G. & Hammer, Mitchell R. (1994). Crisis negotiations: A preliminary investigation of facework in naturalistic conflict discourse. Journal of Applied Communication Research, 22, 216–231. Searing, Donald (1994). Westminster’s World. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Sweetser, Eve (1990). From Etymology to Pragmatics: Metaphorical and Cultural Aspects of Semantic Structure. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tajfel, Henri & Turner, John C. (1979). An integrative theory of intergroup conflict. In W. G. Austin & S. Worshel (Eds.), The Social Psychology of Intergroup Relations (pp. 33–47). Monterey, CA: Brooks/Cole.
Negotiating conflict Interruptions in British and Italian parliamentary debates* Cinzia Bevitori
.
Introduction
This article explores a particular aspect of discourse: the occurrence of interruptions in British and Italian parliamentary debates from a cross-linguistic and cross-cultural discourse analysis perspective. As a kind of turn-taking device, interruptions may also be described as one of the major and most challenging phenomena of interaction in parliamentary discourse. As a mode of face-to-face verbal interaction, parliamentary debates share with conversation some important linguistic features of discourse. However, if conversation, as described by the ethnomethodologists Sacks et al. (1974), represents the basic form of speech-exchange system occupying one pole with regard to turn allocation, debate seems to occupy just the opposite pole. In both cases, speakerchange recurs, though the mechanics of turn-taking are different. In debate, as opposed to conversation, a turn allocation technique is used and interruptions are events occurring within the turn-taking procedures. The distribution of turns as well as the turn-order and the turn-length is pre-allocated. As far as a comparative analysis of the two parliamentary systems is concerned, it should be pointed out, however, that there is a major difference between them. Whereas interruptions are “authorised” and established by the Rules of Procedures in the British system – and this contributes to give it a distinctive texture – in the Italian parliamentary system, talk is expected to be continuous, according to the turn-order and turn-length determined by the Rules. Members who wish to intervene in the discussion may do so only in sede di replica – a special session that follows the discussion where turns are formally allocated. However, although they are unauthorised and sanctions
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are threatened for the “culprits”, interruptions are a recurring phenomenon in both Chambers. The present article intends, therefore, to contribute to the investigation of this complex phenomenon of face-to-face interaction in an institutional setting, in which the relationship between participants must be informed by the constraints imposed by these rules. Moreover, and most importantly, I shall argue that the confrontational and adversarial nature of this political event, which conversation explicitly lacks, involves the idea of conflict as a central concept within decision-making situations to be negotiated.
. Theoretical preliminaries The purpose of this paper is to describe the occurrence of interruptions within the framework of systemic-functional linguistics, drawing insights from the model first proposed by Halliday (1985, 1994) and extended by other scholars (Martin 1992; Eggins & Slade 1997). The systemic functional linguistics (henceforth SFL) approach offers an integrated and systematic model of language which enables the interruption/reaction interactive linguistic patterns to be described at different levels on the theoretical assumption that language as a system is strictly tied to the social context. In the SFL view of language, the task of discourse analysis is to describe “the choices that are available to interlocutors at different points in the discourse process in the form of systems operating at different places in the discourse structure” (Tsui 1989: 163). In the present study I shall refer to the systems of mood, modality and reference in order to investigate how interaction by the “interruption device” is being managed by the participants. For the purpose of this study, I shall be looking at patterns from a twin perspective: –
–
from the point of view of the lexicogrammar; i.e. the constituent mood structures, which are verbally expressed through clauses, or non-verbally through paralinguistic features; from the point of view of discourse; i.e. moves made in the interactive context.
The reason for this is that, as stated by Eggins and Slade (1997) in their analysis of casual conversation, the same grammatical structures can perform different interactive functions, and different grammatical structures can achieve equivalent interactive functions. This might well apply to more formal situations
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in order to understand the detailed linguistic realisation of the parliamentary (and political) processes in which power and status are realised, maintained and disputed. Indeed, as I shall attempt to demonstrate, in the adversarial and political setting being examined, these functions also carry significant implications regarding the concept of “face” related to politeness/impoliteness phenomena (Brown & Levinson 1987). To begin with, a distinction should be made between conventions and practices regulating this phenomenon in more formal and institutional settings as opposed to informal situations such as ordinary conversation (Lakoff 1999; Harris 2001). Moreover, drawing further from Brown and Levinson’s framework and their contention for universalism, I shall claim that, from a cross cultural perspective, an inquiry into the linguistic strategies adopted to interrupt in the two parliamentary systems will provide some useful insights into how rules and conventions (and the breaking of them) across different cultures imply different means and ways of negotiating conflicting opinions and dissent.
. Methodology: The data The data I will use are drawn from the parliamentary section, more specifically the debate sub-section of the domain specific multilingual corpus on European Integration, constructed over the last few years at the University of Bologna. The corpus consists of the written transcription of selected documents of political, institutional, media and academic texts, covering a wide variety of topics, all concerning the process of European Integration between 1992 and 1999.1 Although our method is not quantitative, it should be said that resulting 3,000,000 word corpus makes it to some extent representative. Moreover, despite being a domain-specific corpus, the basic structural and linguistic features analysed are typical of this kind of discourse. In the present study, a concordancing programme, Wordsmith Tools,2 was used to make concordances of some relevant lexicogrammatical items, related to particular interactional features. However, since this program is mainly designed to look up lexical items, it was not possible to rely only on the computer to make concordances of structures to distinguish mood types. To solve this problem some analysis was completed manually, although this will raise some issues from a methodological point of view on the use of this tool to find occurrences of certain mood structures, like the interrogative in a rule-bound discourse type, such as British parliamentary discourse.
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. Negotiating conflicts: The system of mood and speech functions This preliminary analysis is based on the investigation of occurrences of some instances of interruptions in British and Italian parliamentary discourse in order to consider the implications of each clause type selected. First, a few questions shall be raised concerning the clause function in parliamentary discourse: how are meanings negotiated by use of this “device”? What are the typical types of clause structures chosen by interactants in this specific kind of negotiation? What is the meaning associated with the different choices speakers make by selecting different clause types? How do particular choices at the clause level affect the on-going interaction through the phenomenon we are attempting to describe? All these questions will raise some issues on the contextual – both political and institutional – factors that may influence mood selection in parliamentary discourse and I shall make the point that interaction in political debating practices is motivated by pragmatic purposes, and that the language is used as a resource to negotiate conflict (Carbò 1992; Harris 1989). Negotiation, being a typical feature of spoken discourse, refers to the fact that “interpretations are jointly negotiated by speaker and hearer and judgement either confirmed or changed by the reaction they evoke” (Gumperz 1982: 5). However, it is important to note that negotiation of meaning in political debating practices strongly implies a negotiation of conflict between the participants as opposing ideologies are at stake. Halliday’s functional concept of mood, on which our analysis is based, is defined as the element of the clause that “carries the burden of the clause as an interactive event” (Halliday 1994: 77), and from a discourse perspective “as a resource for negotiating meaning in dialogue” (Martin 1992: 31). Its definition refers to patterns of clause types (interrogative, declarative, imperative and so on), and it is further explained by means of components: the Subject and the Finite, the latter including the systems of polarity and modality of the clause. According to the functional approach, these are the main constituents of the clause that allow negotiation to take place between the interactants. Let us first attempt a description of the basic structural features that characterise this type of discourse in both systems. For the purpose of this study the British data will be analysed first. Polar or yes-no questions are typically used to interrupt in British parliamentary debates. Polar questions are defined in functional terms as those forms intended to seek or request information: “they are typically used to initiate an exchange by requesting information from the speaker. They thus
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construct the speaker as dependent on the response of the other interactants” (Eggins 1997: 85). The focus is thus on the role of questions within the interactive context. In the British parliamentary system the interactive components that demand specific attention are “points of information” and “points of order”. The former are more interesting for our purpose and will be discussed presently. MPs in the British parliamentary system may “interrupt” and so enter the debate by a variety of means, which are linguistic and paralinguistic: by standing and formally requesting to enter the debate, by rising and extending a hand, or simply by standing. Any of these means communicate to the speaker that his/her opponent is requesting a “point of information”. In British parliamentary debates, the typical and more frequent mood used to interrupt and to initiate the exchange is as follows: modulated question: closed: requesting Will the (right) hon. (and learned) Gentlemen/Lady give way? Will my (right) hon. (and learned) Friend give way?
This is the established verbal mode – a sort of ritualised formula – to “interrupt” in order to enter the debate. Our data show that the interrupter initiates the exchange with a “modulated” closed question in functional terms. The “interrupter” realises this question by means of a full (i.e. non-elliptical) polar interrogative clause. From a lexicogrammatical point of view this implies the presence of the lexical item give way and another dimension of the interpersonal grammar – that of modality. As far as modality is concerned we might observe that will tends to collocate with this first kind of request. Will as a question form, as already observed by Wilson (1990) in his pragmatic analysis of political language, and particularly in the parliamentary context, occurs more frequently than can – where it functions in the interrogative mood in similar way to will – or than the unmodulated question does. This is the case with our data, too. Moreover, as Wilson argues, will is a “useful discourse marker” (1990: 152), which by carrying increased politeness makes it somewhat difficult for the respondent to refuse or reject the “request”, the permission to intervene. It might be argued, however, that this does not seem a very clear indication of the members’ expectation that their request will be fulfilled. Although I agree with the claim of an adherence to a more polite form, I believe that this act has become formulaic. This is also supported by our data, which show a more frequent use of unmodulated polar questions than modulated will-questions. I shall make the point that the “interrupter” adopts the role of “requester” and assigns the complementary role of
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intended “respondent” to the “current speaker” who has the floor and can decide whether (as well as to whom and when) to give way. For the purpose of this study, three main speech roles are identified and will henceforth be classified as “interrupter”, “respondent” and “current speaker”. If the “current speaker” accepts the role assigned to him, his move is a responding one: he complies with the request and makes a response statement. In our data, responses to this request are realised in different ways. For the purpose of analysis they are divided into the negative and positive system of polarities. Let us consider negative polarity first. The following examples illustrate some of the most frequent patterns of reaction through which the “current speaker” declares his/her unwillingness to yield the floor. When the response is negative in most cases the “respondent” adopts the “interrupter’s” formula by using the same modal will (or in some cases shall): (1) Mr. Robert Wareing (Liverpool, Derby): Will the Prime Minister give way? The Prime Minister: No, I will not give way to the hon. Gentleman. (House of Commons 4.11.1992) (2) Mr. Joseph Ashton (Bassetlaw): Will the Prime Minister give way? The Prime Minister: Not upon this point, because I should like to make some progress, if the hon. Gentleman will permit me. I am sure that hon. Members will wish to develop many questions of substance later, and I will wish to give way when we reach some of those points. (House of Commons 4.11.1992)
Patterns of insistence are rather frequent in debates. Moreover, as shown in this first example the “respondent” realises this response statement by means of a full declarative clause. No as a mood adjunct can be either present or omitted. This is generally based on the same lexicalization of the current speaker. In example (2), the responses are realised by means of an elliptical declarative clause. Through ellipsis the “respondent” takes on the part of what the “interrupter” said. The initiation has already created a dialogic context and the ellipsis is here a symbol of the sharing that takes place in dialogic interaction. Time-limitations are a major excuse/motive for refusing to give way as well as “to make some progress”, which might be defined as a metaphor of the speaker’s argumentation. In the next example (3), the ellipsis involves the two inherent elements of the mood element in a declarative clause, i.e. the finite can(not) expressing a change in modality, politely mitigated by the adverb unfortunately, by which the speaker refuses to accept the request.
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(3) Mr. Derek Enright (Hemsworth): Will the right hon. Gentleman give way? Mr. Howell: No, unfortunately I cannot give way, because of the 10minute rule. Otherwise, I should be happy to talk to the hon. Gentleman. (House of Commons 4.11.1992)
In the examples which follow (4) again the use of the if-clause does not express a hypothesis, but negotiates politely a possibility. The mood elements here are the subject my hon. Friend / the hon. Lady, the Finite will/does not and the Residue forgive me/mind. The clause here seems to be functioning so as to negotiate politely with the “interrupter” his intention not to give way. (4) Mr. Robert Jackson (Wantage): Will my right hon. and learned Friend give way? Mr. Howard: If my hon. Friend will forgive me, I want to develop my argument before giving way. (House of Commons 4.12.1997) Mrs. Margaret Ewing (Moray): Will the right hon. Gentleman give way? Mr. Darling: If the hon. Lady does not mind, I will not. (House of Commons 9.6.1997)
A more polite kind of negotiation, though less frequent, is realised by the use of counter question, as shown here below: (5) Dr. Tony Wright (Cannock and Burntwood): Will the Prime Minister give way? The Prime Minister: Will the hon. Gentleman forgive me? I have given way generously to hon. Members on both sides, and I would like to make a little more progress. (House of Commons 4.11.1992)
The non-verbal mode which corresponds to the verbal request is the standing up of the “interrupter”, which is reported in Hansard (the official Parliamentary report) as [rose]. Patterns of insistence are generally followed by the Speaker or Deputy Speaker calling members back to order – a command congruently realised as an imperative. This frequently occurs after what in Hansard is conventionally reported as [interruption], to refer to cheers, jeers, unidentified voices and the like. Examples are as follows: (6) Mr. Ashton: rose Mr. George Howarth (Knowsley, North): rose Mr. Giles Radice (Durham, North): Will the Prime Minister give way? Madam Speaker: Order. The Prime Minister has made it clear that he is not giving way. (House of Commons 4.11.1992)
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From the point of view of discourse, this request-procedure to enter the debate is the basic structural component of British parliamentary discourse, which is also marked linguistically as the examples above have made clear. Furthermore, as the semantic content of this move is extremely constrained, we may observe a low incidence of variation. If, on the contrary, the “current speaker” gives way, she/he must sit down, letting the “interrupter” formulate his/her own intervention. No written indications are in the transcriptions of the occurrence of this passage which is made clear by direct observation of the debates. The data in the British corpus show that, even at a more delicate description of the exchange, the polar question is the most frequently used clause type in our material; however there is often embedded within the clause a complex set of propositions. This may be due to the fact that a member who wants to interrupt the speaker is generally allowed to do it only once and therefore concentrates a number of issues in one intervention. At the same time, however, I would argue that other reasons are related to that choice. Firstly, our data show that questions asked within this specific type of speech event (in a similar way to other socially grounded types of events) carry meanings and expectations which are grounded in the activity itself (Wilson 1991: 133). Secondly, drawing further on the assumption that interruptions are a kind of turn taking device, a central concept within Conversation Analysis (CA) may be useful to illustrate the occurrence of the phenomenon of interruptions in an institutional and political speech event such as parliamentary debating. I am referring to the concept of “adjacency pair” (Sacks et al., cit.). Behind this concept is the idea that turns come in pairs and the first-pair part creates certain expectations which the next speaker is supposed to fulfil. Expectations, however, are not often easily attended to. Let us look at this example in which the “interrupter” tries by the use of irony and sarcasm to attack his opponent, failing in this way to attend to the speaker’s expectations: (7) Mr. Oppenheim: I thank the right hon. and learned Gentleman for his courtesy in giving way. May I suggest in a helpful spirit that he should celebrate his accession to the Labour leadership by changing the rather faded red rose symbol for a fig leaf behind which to hide what little is left of his party’s integrity? Mr. Smith: Not for the first time I have made an error of judgement in giving way to the hon. Gentleman. I thought that he was going to raise a point of substance. (House of Commons 4.11.1992)
Though conducted by expressions of politeness, through the use of modality (may/should) and realising a proposition (in the interrogative form), it may be
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argued that this kind of interruption, which is rather frequent in our corpus, is actually a proposal. In other words, it is quite clear that the “interrupter” is intentionally failing to fulfil the speaker’s expectations, in order to achieve an utterly different goal. This will further be explored by considering in more details the following example. Here the interruption addressed to the Prime Minister indirectly fulfils several discursive functions: (8) a.
question: closed: agreement Does the Prime Minister agree that the declaration adopted at Birmingham stated that there could be no change to the Maastricht treaty?
b. conjunction: enhance If so, c.
wh-question: open: contradict how can the Prime Minister argue that the Danish position has been made clear, when the Danish Government are arguing for a legally binding change? How can there be a legally binding change that will satisfy the needs of the Danish people while, at the same time, there is no change to the Maastricht treaty?
d. statement: opinion: challenge The Prime Minister: Almost every intervention from Labour Members, has been trying to find another weaselly excuse for not voting for a motion that they are in favour of. e.
command: sustaining and challenging [HON. MEMBERS: [“Answer”.]
f.
statement: response I shall answer specifically in a second.
g. statement: response: confront: contradict The answer to the hon. Gentleman’s specific question is that the Danish Government are not seeking to change the substance of what is in the treaty. h. statement: elaborate: They are seeking to add to it clarifications and extra matters beyond the treaty, as their Prime Minister has repeatedly made clear. (House of Commons 4.11.1992)
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From a lexicogrammatical point of view, the “interrupter” first attempts to elicit an agreement from the “current speaker”, construing his argument by the use of a polar question. And we must observe that agree/accept/confirm are the processes in the corpus concerning argument which tend to collocate with this kind of linguistic structure. This will also lead to some considerations from a methodological point of view on the implication of the use of the concordancing tool to analyse mood structures. The presence of the Finite element expressing tense does/did (or modality will/would/can) combined with the imposed terms of address (the article the to refer to hon. Gentlemen and the possessive my to refer to hon. Friend) as structural components of the English clause allowed us to make use of the tool to find occurrences in the corpus. However, this was not feasible for the analysis of mood in Italian, where polar questions are recognised only by the presence of the question mark (in the written medium), or by means of rising intonation (spoken). In addition, it must be pointed out that the kinds of argument advanced in this form of elicitation could, in Schiffrin’s own terms, be defined as “oppositional argument”, which entail that: “a willingness to acknowledge the other’s point of view before attacking that point is frequent in argument that it is often reduced to an even more minimal token of ritualised agreement” (Schiffrin 1989: 43). After having set up his claim, the “interrupter” proceeds further to build up his argument, drawing on the assumption that the “current speaker” might accept or agree with the point raised. The “interrupter” is therefore signalling congruently that he is seeking agreement on the basis of shared knowledge. If so is a type of enhancement that creates a causal–conditional type of cohesion. It might be considered a completion marker signalling a consequence and the “interrupter’s” intention to complete his utterance on the basis of his previous assertion. Furthermore, lexical cohesion comes about through the repetition of the lexical items argue/argument which is also very frequent in our material; indeed, it must be said that a recurrence of meta-argumentative lexis is quite typical of this kind of discourse (Bayley 1998). The argument which follows is then typically construed by a set of modalized wh-questions. Can expresses an epistemic modality which indicates something that is potential rather than actual. Let us now turn to example (8c) and consider wh-questions. Although typically used in conversation to elicit some additional circumstantial information (Eggins & Slade 1997), the wh-form seems to function here as a strong response-provoking act. To begin with, this form, in the above case how, contains the presupposition that the “current speaker” is to confirm that there will not be any “change to the Maastricht treaty” as stated in the mentioned dec-
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laration.3 This shared presupposition is difficult for the “respondent” to deny without also denying the basis on which the “interrupter”, in this case, built up his argument in favour of a motion to be voted. A high percentage of instances of this structure (polar question + embedded wh-question) in our data are of this type, and therefore it would seem difficult to argue that the “interrupter” is merely requesting a “point of information”. What seems much more significant is that within a single turn, the ”interrupter” is achieving different aims: by eliciting an agreement he actually confronts and challenges the “current speaker” while introducing an opposing ideological stance into the discourse, thus attempting to undermine the speaker’s (and the Government’s) credibility. Indeed, I believe that this response-provoking act, might be considered a typical example of “face threatening act” (Brown & Levinson 1987). Based on an interpretation of the work of the sociologist Goffman (1981) on the role of “face” in social interaction, this concept has been developed by Brown and Levinson in their theory of politeness phenomena with reference to verbal acts which intrinsically threaten face and may therefore require faceredressive action. As Brown and Levinson (1987: 63) claim: Our notion of “face” is derived from that of Goffman and from the English folk term, which ties up face notions of being embarrassed or humiliated, or “losing face”. Thus face is something that is emotionally invested, and that can be lost, maintained or enhanced, and must be constantly attended to in interaction.
Although primarily focused on informal situations and particularly on ordinary conversation exchanges, Brown and Levinson’s theory is nevertheless a good starting point to explore this concept further and to extend it to different discourse types belonging to more formal settings (Lakoff 1989; Harris 2001). In her recent paper on politeness (and impoliteness) phenomena in an institutional setting, Harris (2001) argues that extending the politeness theory to more adversarial institutional contexts can generate different forms of politeness. She further considers Prime Minister’s Question Time as an example of adversarial political discourse, which is particularly significant for politeness phenomena. By regarding the House of Commons as “community of practice” (Wenger 1998; Holmes & Meyerhoff 1999) with its own set of expectations, she suggests that: it is these expectations which enable Members in the House as a community of practice to interpret intentional face threatening acts as important component of an adversarial and confrontational political process in such a way that
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they do not lead either to a breakdown in communication or interpersonal relationship, as would almost be in ordinary conversation. (Harris 2001: 469)
Members of the House of the opposition party thus seem to show a mutual co-operation in attacking and demeaning the “face” of the opponents by interacting through these forms of interruptions. In other words, they deliberately choose, as Harris concludes, to be “politically impolite” (Harris 2001: 470). Let us now turn to the speaker’s response, in our example, in order to see what kind of reaction is set up by the interruption. The response is in this case, as in many cases, not straight to the point. The “respondent” is first, just like the previous example (8d), “attempting” (since he is in turn interrupted by several members) to comment on the nature of the question, which is not perceived as such by him and indeed, by analysing the speech function, we must agree that it is not. By so doing, the “respondent” (The Prime Minister in this case) explicitly challenges the “interrupter’s” move. [Answer] is Hansard’s way of reporting unidentified voices in the House, which might be quite plausibly interpreted as another form of interruption. By the use of this imperative mood – which in this case functions congruently as proposal: i.e. a command – members in the House, by predicting a possible evasion of the answer, ask the “current speaker” to do what he is supposed to do: i.e. to answer the question, thus acting co-operatively with the “interrupter” in his face-threatening act. The “respondent” then tries a face-redressive action; he responds by contradicting the “interrupter’s” assertion and by elaborating his point further. By exploring further our example, it is important to note that the “interrupter” is at the same time claiming for a truth validity, which in parliamentary debating is typically based on a contingent political and historical context (Bayley 1998). The “truth”, though, can be either validated or denied, as the example below illustrates: (9) The Prime Minister: I am talking about the substance of debate today. The difficulties and concerns that some people have expressed about the relationship, Mr. Neil Kinnock (Islwyn): Last week, the Foreign Secretary said that tonight’s vote would decide whether the Prime Minister leads the British representation at the Edinburgh summit. Does the Prime Minister agree with the Foreign Secretary? If he does, does that not make tonight’s vote a confidence vote? The Secretary of State for Foreign of and Commonwealth Affairs (Mr. Douglas Hurd): Not true. The Prime Minister: I think that the right hon. Member for Islwyn (Mr.
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Kinnock) will have heard my right hon. Friend the Foreign Secretary say, from a seated position, that that was untrue. The right hon. Gentleman has been misled , I know that he will accept that. (House of Commons 4.11.1992)
The interesting point here is that it is not the “respondent” who immediately denies it, but a “third” MP (whose words had been reported by the “interrupter”). This third member positions himself co-operatively, by providing the “current speaker” and the audience with further relevant information, while at the same time supporting the “respondent’s” answer, thus “enhancing his face” and that of his own party. A recurring feature related to questions is what might be defined as questioning repeat. This phenomenon is generally realised by an elliptical question consisting in the repetition of one of a few words uttered by the current speaker. This is in conversationalists’ terms a misapprehension sequence consisting in a three-part structure. However, in the context examined and again as opposed to conversation, this misapprehension is again used as a strategy to threaten the “current speaker’s” positive face by intentionally ridiculing the adversary: (10) Mr. Cook: [. . . ] The Danish Government have tabled a new proposal on fraud– Sir P. Cormack (South Staffordshire): Frog? Mr. Cook: No, fraud. It would be distinctly anti-European to table a proposal on frog. I was about to say that fraud is a massive blot on the European Union’s record, but, in view of that intervention, perhaps I should rephrase my sentence. (House of Commons 12.12.1996)
As far as a contrastive analysis between the two different systems is concerned, we shall make the point that whereas in British debates the “current speaker” (at least in the first stage) can exercise some degree of control over the next turn, either by choosing or not to give way, in the Italian debating system this is not “formally” possible. Members in the Italian parliament, who may wish to interrupt the “current speaker” simply break in. This kind of interruption occurring at a close boundary, or in the middle of an utterance, comes over as unexpected to the “current speaker”, as more or less aggressive replicas or responses to assertion on his/her part. The interruption might be considered in this sense as an overlap although, unlike in ordinary conversation, this is not merely expressing contradiction and disagreement with regard to the “current speaker”. It seems rather a strategy in order to gain the floor and, in some cases, to shift the focus on the points debated. Let us consider the following exchange
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taken from the Italian corpus and make some considerations on the nature of the discursive functions: (11) COLOMBO, (ministro degli affari esteri). [. . . ] Tuttavia se ci sarà la dissociazione dei singoli, la dissociazione dei partiti e se la stessa stampa continuerà, ogni volta che si è in presenza di questi provvedimenti, a definirli stangate, quasi per dire che sono interventi prepotenti ed ingiustificati sui contribuenti, anche nel settore sociale. . . (Proteste del Gruppo del MSI-DN) COLOMBO: (Minister for Foreign Affairs). [. . . ] However, if individuals dissociate themselves, if political parties dissociate themselves and if the press still continues to define these legislative measures as “drastic tax squeezes” as if to say that they constitute arrogant and unjustified interference in the lives of tax-payers, in the social sector too. . . (Protests from the MSI-DN group) a.
exclamative: opinion: judgement PONTONE. Non sono stangate, sono carezze! PONTONE. They’re not drastic tax squeezes; they’re caresses! COLOMBO, (ministro degli affari esteri). Non sono carezze, ma sono cose che si devono fare. Credo che se lei avesse responsabilità di governo, cosa che non le auguro, le farebbe anche lei e le difenderebbe come le difendo io. COLOMBO: (Minister of Foreign Affairs). They are not caresses, but things which have to be done. I believe that if you had government responsibility, which I wouldn’t wish on you, you would do them and you would defend them as I do.
b. exclamative: opinion: contradict PONTONE. Il Governo non è responsabile! PONTONE. The government is hardly responsible! COLOMBO, (ministro degli affari esteri). Male sarebbe se, illustre senatore, di fronte a simili situazioni che investono la vita del paese, che investono i nostri rapporti esteri, che investono la nostra capacità . . . (Interruzione del senatore Libertini) COLOMBO: (Minister of Foreign Affairs). It would be a bad thing, honourable Senator, when facing a situation which involves the life of
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our country, our foreign affairs, our capacity . . . (Interruption of Senator Libertini) c.
exclamative: opinion: judgement MAGLIOCCHETTI. Altro che capacità, è l’incapacità dei governi che si sono succeduti. MAGLIOCCHETTI: What are you talking about? Capacity! It is the incapacity of successive governments. COLOMBO, (ministro degli affari esteri). Questo lo dice lei, io sto dicendo. . . (Proteste del Gruppo del MSI-DN) COLOMBO: (Minister of Foreign Affairs). That’s what you say; what I’m saying . . . (Protests from the MSI-DN group) MEDURI. I guai partono da quando come Primo Ministro lei predispose quel famoso “pacchetto” di cui ancora oggi paghiamo il fallimento. MEDURI: The troubles started when you as a Prime Minister arranged that notorious “set of measures”, and we are still paying the costs of its failure today. COLOMBO, (ministro degli affari esteri). Quel “pacchetto” era buono, fece calare l’inflazione, ma i deputati e i senatori fecero. . . COLOMBO: (Minister of Foreign Affairs). That “set of measures” was a good one, it helped decrease inflation, but Deputies and Senators. . . .
d. imperative: advice: challenge MEDURI. Non dimentichi mai quali pesanti responsabilità lei ha avuto nel mettere l’Italia in una crisi profonda. Ricordi l’intervento per il centro siderurgico di Gioia Tauro! MEDURI: Don’t ever forget that you had the grave responsibility for throwing Italy into a serious economic crisis. Remember the state intervention for the steelworks in Gioia Tauro! e.
exclamative: opinion: contradict COLOMBO, (ministro degli affari esteri). Ma quale pesante responsabilità, per aver aumentato le tasse o il prezzo della benzina? Ma cosa è questo, se non intervenire sui consumi. . . (Proteste del Gruppo del MSI-DN)
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COLOMBO: (Minister of Foreign Affairs). What do you mean – grave responsibility? For having increased taxes or petrol costs? What are you talking about? If not taking measures regarding consumption . . . (Protests from the MSI-DN group) PONTONE. Oggi parliamo della situazione attuale. PONTONE. Today we’re discussing the current situation. COLOMBO, (ministro degli affari esteri). Va bene, ma la prego di non interrompermi e di farmi parlare. Ho raccolto alcune interruzioni e, poiché ho l’abitudine di rispondere, dovrete accettare che il mio intervento sia un po’ più lungo. COLOMBO: (Minister of Foreign Affairs). All right. But I kindly ask you not to interrupt me and let me proceed. I’ve accepted some interruptions, and since I’m accustomed to replying, you’ll have to accept that my intervention will be a bit longer. (Senato della Repubblica 17.9.1997)
Although Members are expected to listen in silence, these “unauthorized conventions” invite response. First of all, I shall make the point that the clause types selected by the Italian speakers to interrupt are of a different mood from the English ones. Our data show a very low frequency of polar questions and an extensive use of exclamative and imperative clauses. Moreover, they do not tend to cluster with other clause types and are usually very brief. The move (11a) above illustrates different functions of the exclamative mood. Exclamatives are typically used to encode a judgement and, at the same time, an evaluation of the events. By selecting this mood type, as Eggins and Slade again contend, “the speaker must take on the role of judge and in so doing positions other interactants as likely to agree with the judgement” (1997: 89). The first one is a declarative clause produced with an emphatic intonation, which is represented in the written discourse by the use of an exclamation mark. This kind of interruption, as frequently occurs, is based on the current speaker’s lexicalization, which is in turn contradicted by use of a negative adjunct and then followed by an antonym to realise an opposite metaphor (stangate/carezze – “squeezes”/”caresses”) referring to provvedimenti (“legislative measures/actions”). The rhetorical response creates a clearly biting and polemical effect. Example (11c) shows a distinctive structure of the exclamative: altro che (or ma che in other instances) which is, in this context, a negative discourse marker. It involves a wh-word, che, preceded by a discourse marker, altro, which here carries an emphatic function. The Finite constituent is omit-
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ted. In addition, as in the previous example, it is based on the same lexicalization of the current speaker (capacità – “capacity”) in order to deny it, while introducing the antonym incapacità (“incapacity”) as a device of the speaker for emphasis. Example (11d) shows the use of a different type of mood; i.e. the imperative: the former dimentichi (“forget”) belongs in a negative mood environment: non dimentichi mai (“don’t ever forget”), which is then followed by ricordi (“remember”), an antonym of the previous one in a positive mood, with an emphatic function again. The omission of the subject refers implicitly to Lei the 3rd personal pronoun used in Italian as a form of respect. However, the imperative here does not function semantically to make a command, but rather negotiates the action indirectly, by encoding conflicting opinions. All the examples above aim at illustrating the typical pattern of interruptions of Italian debates. Participants seem here to enact the role of the “accuser” or “offender”, in a mutual and in some way “co-operative”4 attempt to aggressively blame each other. Though monologue-based, the Italian discursive model, through the interactive device of interruptions, becomes polyphonic: the participatory roles create a cohesive event based on the same lexicalization of the speakers which helps to weave a kind of multi-party discourse. Thus, the concept of adjacency pairs does not apply fittingly to Italian debating, where the event typically involves more than two participants. Indeed, if metaphors are one of the means to represent experience in terms of another, the metaphor of “face” is particularly interesting here. In Italian, in fact, we can speak not only of enhancing, saving, or losing face, but also of mangiare la faccia.5 In other words, we might take a step forward in developing this metaphor further. Here the metaphor, realised by the same lexical item, foregrounds a different dimension of “face” and carries a very different function: it implies insulting and offending in quite aggressive terms. The examples above show that this kind of “marked” interruption in the Italian parliamentary discourse allows the unauthorised speakers to get the floor, thus performing an action of control and power on the “current speaker”. In the majority of examples, the speaker who holds the floor engages in the exchange of insults, which, according to Harris (2001), would mean losing face. However, in the Italian parliamentary context, cases in which the “political game” becomes really heated and all the Members in the House engage in a sort of very aggressive behaviour are not infrequent. Although the pattern described is the most frequent type in our material, a distinction should be made between two “macro-categories” of interruption, which seem to characterise the Italian discursive event. On the one hand, as I have already mentioned, the interruption is “marked” in the sense previously
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explored: i.e. it comes unexpected to the speaker. On the other, there are cases in which the “current speaker” who holds the floor directly addresses other members in the House, thus deliberately “inviting” the interruption to occur. Typically, addresses of this kind may be defined “unmarked” and are more or less aggressive; however they are overtly polemical in their basic assumptions: (12) POZZO, (relatore di minoranza). [. . . ] A questo proposito mi consenta, ministro Colombo: vorrei chiedere, come ho sempre fatto fino ai limiti dello scoramento, che il Ministro degli affari esteri, ci illustri chiaramente (non vogliamo fare processi: abbiamo già chiesto la costituzione di un’inchiesta di indagine) il modo in cui sono stati gestiti la cooperazione e i rapporti con la Somalia, l’Eritrea, l’Etiopia e gli altri Paesi del Corno d’Africa; spero che finalmente, prima o poi, e approfitto della sua presenza per dirglielo, lei voglia aiutarci a capire. COLOMBO, (ministro degli affari esteri). Non oggi. POZZO, (relatore di minoranza). E’ soltanto una sollecitazione [. . . ] POZZO: (minority rapporteur). On this point, if you allow me, Deputy Colombo, I’d like to ask – as I’ve always tried, although I have been discouraged on many occasions – that the Foreign Minister make clear (we do not want to put anyone on trial: we’ve already asked for an official inquiry) how cooperation and relations were managed with Somalia, Eritrea, Ethiopia and other countries in the Horn of Africa; I hope that finally, taking advantage of your presence here to say it, you will help us understand. COLOMBO: (Minister of Foreign Affairs). Not today. POZZO: (minority rapporteur). It is only a request [. . . ] (Camera dei Deputati 11.7.1997)
As the example above illustrates, it is the “current speaker” who challenges the “potential interrupter” to intervene in the debate. These “invited” interruptions are generally realised by a sort of “indirect” question by which the “current speaker”, who generally belongs to a minority party, directly challenges the Foreign Minister while performing a face-threatening act.
. The reference system: Terms of address in parliamentary debates The importance of the reference system and the selection of the pronominal choice by language users, as well as the consequences of this selection in any social context and political and institutional setting, is by now well estab-
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lished. As much research on the topic has amply demonstrated, pronominal choice reflects issues of identity, solidarity and persuasion and is considered an important strategy in helping politicians signal their involvement with their audience.6 However, since our purpose is to investigate the phenomenon of interruptions, I shall concentrate on terms of address as related to this specific feature of interaction. As far as a comparative analysis is concerned, some significant differences between the British and Italian discursive models will be discussed presently. First, in the British parliamentary system, terms of address are Rule-bound. That is to say that MPs must direct their remarks through the Chair and this implies the use of the third person pronoun as a preferred “indirect” address mode. Direct address and the second person pronominal choice “you” is thus forbidden as the example which follows clearly illustrates: (13) Mr. Collins: Will the hon. Gentleman give way? Mr. Murphy: Yes, and perhaps in your comments you can identify your constituency and I can– Mr. Deputy Speaker (Sir Alan Haselhurst): Order. Mr. Collins: rose– Mr. Deputy Speaker: Order. The hon. Gentleman must resume his seat. I must remind the hon. Member for Eastwood (Mr. Murphy) that he has been slipping into direct address. He should address all his remarks to the Chair and refer to Opposition Members in the third person. Mr. Collins: As the hon. Member for Eastwood is on the subject of two parties and talking about who agrees with whom, does he agree with the hon. Member for Great Grimsby (Mr. Mitchell), who is so clearly against a single currency? For that matter, earlier in the debate when the hon. Member for Eastwood was not here, the hon. Member for Thurrock (Mr. Mackinlay) made it clear that he thought that the Government had made a complete pig’s ear of the negotiations on border controls for Gibraltar. Mr. Murphy: I thank the hon. Gentleman for those comments and I apologise to you, Mr. Deputy Speaker, for using the incorrect personal pronoun. (House of Commons 12.11.1997)
Secondly, the data also show a high distribution of honorifics, which are imposed by the Rules either as a form of address for the MPs or as a form of reference to other members. In addition the choice of honorifics changes according to whom the speaker is addressing: a Member of the interrupter’s own party as in My right and (learned) honourable Friend, or a member of the Opposition, as in The honourable Gentleman/Lady or Honourable Members.
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Moreover, they tend not to be used when referring to The Prime Minister or to a Secretary of State. All members are in any case addressed with the attribute of Honourable, while Right is attributed to members only if they are member of the Privy Council. If Members are addressed from the Chair, the forms of reference used are either The hon. Lady/Gentleman, My Honourable Friend or the plural Honourable Members. Instances of unpronominalised reference also occur. Members use either “the Hon. Member for (any constituency)” or the minister’s role title. Therefore the reference system, especially the set of pronouns and honorifics, signals the relation between the participants in the interaction. Furthermore, it must be pointed out that the way in which interactants make reference to each other can provide a valuable understanding of the speakers’ identities and attitudes and their relationship with the Chair. The use of the third person in this institutional context, as Harris suggests, is clearly a distancing strategy “associated primarily with formal contexts and identified as a feature of negative politeness which usually both distances interactants and denotes mutual respect” (Harris 2001: 463–464). However, although from a different perspective and for different goals, Slembrouck (1992) argues that the use of the third person lies in the powers of the Chair and that cases of referential switch might be attributed to MPs’ declaration of “autonomy” from this power.7 This is not the case with the Italian parliamentary context, in which MPs commonly direct remarks at opponents and, quite interestingly, no terms of address are used to interrupt. This might find a possible explanation from a lexicogrammatical point of view by the mood choices selected for interruptions in the Italian parliamentary system, i.e. the imperative or the exclamative as shown above, which do not co-occur with personal pronouns. Furthermore, the equivalent of the English honorific, Onorevole in Italian, which is used both as a form of reference and as an address term from other MPs or from the Chair, rarely occurs in this kind of interruptions. In addition, this title is usually added to the name of the speaker so that to refer, unlike English, to his/her civil identity and not to his/her role in Parliament.
. Conclusions In this paper a number of observations have been made regarding the nature of interruptions in British and Italian parliamentary debates from a cross-cultural and cross-linguistic discourse analysis perspective. A major contribution coming from the application of the systemic-functional model to our analysis,
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along with the concept of “face” shows how the notion of conflict and power as well as ideological commitment is negotiated through interruptions as a major device regulating the mechanics of turn-taking in parliamentary debates. In particular, there is a clear-cut distinction to be made between the two discursive models as I shall summarise as follows. Firstly, although by no means comprehensive, the analysis indicates that there is a significant difference to be made between the grammatical structure of clauses and the discourse function they perform in any specific context. The inter-relationship between participant roles and institutional constraints is a very composite and complex one and this, I believe, has been brought out by the contrastive analysis in both settings by the system of mood and speech functions, through the cross investigation of interruption/reaction patterns, as well as by the system of reference, particularly the terms of address. As far as the latter is concerned, I made the point that the way in which interactants make reference to each other can provide a useful understanding of the speakers’ identities and attitudes and their relationship with the Chair. Whereas parliamentary discourse in Britain is rule-bound and more distancing strategies are adopted, in Italy, the absence of any preordained terms of address to interrupt signals a “less personal” addressing practice, shifting from a twoparty discourse towards a multi-party discourse. Third, the notion of face and politeness phenomena needs to be extended and redefined not only accordingly to the specific context of occurrence and (i.e. informal settings vs. more formal and institutional settings), but also against a set of expectations and discourse practices across different cultures and from a cross-linguistic and cross-cultural perspective.
Notes * A first version of this article was presented in the 11th Euro-International Systemic Functional Workshop, “Systemic Functional Linguistics, Computing and Corpus Studies”, University of Glasgow, Scotland, July 19–22, 2000. . For further details on the corpus, see P. Bayley, C. Bevitori, C. and E. Zoni, “Fear and threat in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy”, this volume. . M. Scott (1999). Wordsmith Tools. Oxford: Oxford University Press. . Although it would be quite interesting to analyse the full context in which this exchange took place, such an analysis goes beyond the scope of this paper. It should be pointed out, however, that the example is taken from the Common’s rather “heated” debate session of the
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4th November 1992, in which the motion for the ratification of the Maastricht treaty was under discussion. . The notion of the cooperative function of interruption in debates as opposed to conversation is discussed in T. Carbò (1999: 40). . I borrowed the metaphor from P. Bayley (1998b: 46). It could be best translated in English as “biting someone’s head off ”. . See, for example, Wilson (1991); Fina (1995: 379–410). . Slembrouck further contends that address forms, along with honorifics, are often “adjusted” by transcribers in Hansard in order to make them conform to the rules. See also Bayley (1998a: 165).
References Bayley, Paul (1998a). Argument about Argument: the Discourse of Winning and Losing. In M. Bondi (Ed.), Forms of Argumentative Discourse. Per un’analisi linguistica dell’argomentare (pp. 157–174). Bologna: CLUEB. Bayley, Paul (1998b). Qualche riflessione sulla comunicazione telematica della lingua inglese: tra la globalizzazione e la particolarizzazione del discorso. In P. Bayley & F. San Vicente (Eds.), In una Europa plurilingue. Culture in transizione (pp. 35–48). Bologna: CLUEB. Brown, Penelope & Levinson, Stephen C. (1987). Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Carbò, Teresa (1992). Towards an interpretation of interruptions in Mexican parliamentary discourse 1920–1960. Discourse and Society, 3(1), 25–45. Eggins, Suzanne & Slade, Diana (1997). Analysing Casual Conversation. London: Cassel. Fairclough, Norman (1989). Language and Power. London: Longman. Fawcett, Robin P. & Young, David J. (Eds.). (1988). New Developments in Systemic Linguistics, Vol. 2: Theory and Application. London: Pinter. Fina, Anna D. (1995). Pronominal choice, identity and solidarity in political discourse. Text, 15(3), 379–410. Goffman, Erwin (1967). Interaction Ritual. London: Doubleday. Goffman, Erwin (1981). Forms of Talk. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Gumperz, John J. (1982). Discourse Strategies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1994 [1985]). An Introduction to Functional Grammar. London: Edward Arnold. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1989). Spoken and Written Language. London: Oxford University Press. Halliday, Michael A. K. & Hasan, Ruqaiya (1985). Language, Context and Text: Aspects of Language in a Social Semiotic Perspective. Deakin University Press: Geelong. Halliday, Michael A. K. & Fawcett, Robin P. (Eds.). (1987). New Developments in Systemic Linguistics, Vol. 1: Theory and Description. London: Pinter.
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Harris, Sandra (1988). Court Discourse as genre: some problems and issues. In R. P. Fawcett & D. Young (Eds.), New Developments in Systemic Linguistics, Vol. 2: Theory and Application (pp. 95–115). London: Pinter. Harris, Sandra (2001). Being politically impolite: extending the politeness theory to adversarial political discourse. Discourse and Society, 12(4), 451–472. Holmes, Janet & Meyerhoff, Miriam (1999). The Community of practice: theories and methodologies in language and gender research. Language and Society, 28, 173–185. Kress, Gunther (1985). Ideological structure in discourse. In T. A. Van Dijk (Ed.), Handbook of Discourse Analysis, Vol. 4 (pp. 27–43). New York: Academic Press. Ilie, Cornelia (1994). What else can I tell you? A Pragmatic Study of English Rhetorical Questions as Discursive and Argumentative Acts. Doctoral dissertation at the University of Stockholm, Dept. of English. Lakoff, Robin (1989). The limits of politeness, therapeutic and courtroom discourse. Multilingua, 8, 101–129. Levinson, Stephen C. (1983). Pragmatics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Martin, James R. (1992). English Text: System and Structures. Philadelphia and Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Sacks, Harvey, Schegloff, Emanuel, & Jefferson, Gail (1974). A simplest systematics for the organization of turn-taking for conversation. Language, 50(4), 696–735. Schiffrin, Deborah (1989). Everyday argument: The organization of diversity of talk. In T. A. Van Dijk (Ed.), Handbook of Discourse Analysis, Vol. 3 (pp. 35–46). New York: Academic Press. Schiffrin, Deborah (1994). Approaches to Discourse. Cambridge, MA: Basil Blackwell. Sinclair, John McH. (1991). Corpus, Concordance, Collocation. London: Oxford University Press. Sinclair, John McH. & Coulthard, Malcolm (1975). Towards an analysis of discourse. London: Oxford University Press. Slembrouck, Stef (1992). The parliamentary Hansard ‘verbatim’ report: the written construction of spoken discourse. Language and Literature, 1(2), 101–119. Stubbs, Michael (1983). Discourse Analysis. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Thompson, Geoff (1996). Introducing Functional Grammar. London: Edward Arnold. Tsui, Amy-Bik-May (1989). Systemic choices and discourse processes. Word, 40, 163–187. Van Dijk, Teun A. (Ed.). (1989). Handbook of Discourse Analysis. New York: Academic Press. Van Dijk, Teun A. (Ed.). (1997). Discourse as structure and Process; Discourse Studies: A Multidisciplinary Introduction, Vol. 1. London: Sage. Ventola, Eija (1988). Text analysis in operation: a multilevel approach. In R. Fawcett & D. Young (Eds.), 53–77. London: Pinter. Wenger, Etienne (1998). Communities of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilson, John (1990). Politically Speaking. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Wodak, Ruth & Van Dijk, Teun A. (2000). Racism at the Top. Parliamentary Discourses on Ethnic Issues in Six European Countries. Klagefurt: Drava Verlag.
Consent and dissent in British and Italian parliamentary debates on the 1998 Gulf Crisis Nicoletta Vasta
.
Introduction
. Aims and approach In this paper I will try to illustrate some recent developments of a wider research project, which originated in 1998, on the construction of power and solidarity in official statements during the 1991 Gulf War (Vasta 1999). More precisely, what I propose to do here is investigate some discursive (cognitivesemantic) macrostructures and textual microstructures – including the strategic use of a limited number of key-words as encoded in and by specific ideational, interpersonal and textual realisations – underlying the construction of explicit or implicit consent, as well as the voicing or monitoring of dissent, in British and Italian parliamentary debates on the Dec. 16th 1998 air strike against Iraq, subsequently dubbed as Operation Desert Fox. Of all the issues that a parliament may debate, war or military action is certainly among the most controversial and multi-faceted in nature, since it entails the construction of complex ideological/discursive positions which stem from a web of emotional and moral evaluations inevitably superimposed on, and intertwined with, strictly legal/logical considerations. As such, these complex ‘voices’ often escape a clear-cut classification into ‘voices’ for or against the war/action – at least, as we shall see, in the Italian parliamentary context – and, even when they can indeed be classified, they build consensus on the grounds of a more or less explicit dialogic relationship with contrasting voices. On these premisses, some conceptual tools appear therefore essential in undertaking such an analysis: first of all, the notion of “heteroglossia”, as devel-
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oped by Bakhtin ([1935]1981) and Lemke (1988, 1992), i.e. the social diversity of “discursive and metadiscursive practices for allying or opposing, combining or disjoining” different voices (Lemke 1988: 30), even within the same text. Secondly, the concepts of intertextuality (Lemke 1995) and contratextuality: no text “means” in isolation and every text makes meaning against the web of implicitly or explicitly constructed relationships with “other texts, text-types, situation types and cultural stereotypes which serve to assign it a position in the meaningful social universe” (Lemke 1992: 85). As we shall note in the course of the analysis (see, for instance, Extracts 12 and 13 in the Appendix and Tariq Aziz’s quotation in §1.3 below), relationships of contratextuality, in particular, are often realised by echoing the words and ideological stances of the opponent with a view to fulfilling a mocking or discrediting function, thereby constructing positive self-presentation and consensus on one’s own stance. Recurrent configurations of intertextual ties, on the other hand, join texts that speak of the same things in the same manner [. . . ] and construct [. . . ] common systems of semantic relations, or intertextual thematic formations, [which represent] a community’s recurrent saids and dones, [as well as] the semiotic resources for saying and doing. (Lemke 1988: 30 and 32; also see Lemke 1995)
More specifically, in this context, co-thematic intertextual ties tend to build consensus on things and concepts ‘that cannot be denied’ by projecting them as ‘shared’ and/or ‘dominant’, and, as such, ‘non-negotiable’. The methodological framework adopted is that offered by (a) discourse analysis (with an emphasis on cognitive and pragmatic aspects) and (b) systemic-functional linguistics. The tools provided by corpus linguistics (see, e.g., Aijmer & Altenberg (Eds.) 1991; McEnery & Wilson 1996; Stubbs 1996 and 2001), and by Wordsmith Tools concordancing software (Scott 1999) in particular, are used to further corroborate general observations. A word of caution is in order here: as Stubbs (2001: 152–153) rightly points out, since concordances make repetitions visible, this can lead to an emphasis on the repetitive and routine nature of language use, possibly at the cost of striking individual occurrences [. . . ]. Frequency is not necessarily the same as interpretative significance: an occurrence might be significant in a text precisely because it is rare in a corpus. But unexpectedness is recognizable only against the norm.
In the course of the analysis the relative frequency (or absence) of parallel terms across the Italian and English texts will be shown to correlate with different communicative significance and point of view.
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The unifying macro-topic of my discussion will be the concept of “use of force”/uso della forza, as well as its quasi-synonyms “military action”/azione militare [+euphemistic/mitigating] and “war”/guerra [+derogatory]. The ideological positions linguistically construed in and by such expressions will be investigated firstly on the grounds of the transitivity structure of the clauses in which the expressions feature as grammatical participants (Halliday 1994); the analysis will also touch upon the ideational (experiential) meanings constructed about and around the metaphor of “war-as-a-pathway-to-peace” (also see Lakoff 1991). Secondly, as regards the activation of interpersonal meanings,1 the analysis will focus on different emotional responses (constructed through the Affect System) of the participants to the decision to “use force”, with particular reference to the voicing of a range of reactions – going from (being) “supportive”/solidale to (being) “concern(ed)”/preoccupato or “nauseated”/indignato – and very often merging into contrasting (i.e. supportive v. sanctioning) moral evaluations of human behaviour (enacted by the Judgment System). These evaluations tend to be based either on ethics/propriety (e.g. “legitimate”/“(il)legal”/“justified”/“right”/“wrong”/“responsible”/“reasonable”/“(im)moral”/“ethical” and the corresponding Italian expressions) or on veracity (e.g. “real”/“true”/“credible”; “experience”/“history”, and the corresponding Italian expressions). Moral evaluations are very often inextricably intertwined with an evaluation of objects and products (based on the Appreciation System), notably as regards the subject matter of the debate or the debate itself (e.g. “logical”/“rational”/“reasonable”/“clear”/“obvious”, and the corresponding Italian expressions). Finally, at the level of logical and textual (or, more precisely, meta-textual/meta-argumentative) meanings, I shall touch briefly upon a very specific aspect of the structure of persuasive reasoning, i.e. the discourse role of the semantic relation of Contingency in constructing point of view. . Description of the corpus The fieldwork for my discussion will be a limited (about 75,500-word) corpus made up of the three debates of December 17th, 1998 (the first in the House of Commons, the second and the third in the Italian Senato and Camera dei Deputati, respectively). These debates can be considered “parallel” texts inasmuch as they took place in the two countries at the same time, i.e. in the immediate aftermath of the Anglo-American pre-emptive airstrikes against Iraq launched on December 16th, 1998, following the Butler Report2 to the UN Security Council, which
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accused the Iraqi regime of erecting fresh obstacles to the work of Unscom, the special commission monitoring the destruction of Iraq’s chemical and biological weapons. (Lockwood 1998: 1)
Moreover, the three debates under examination can be considered as the only ones suitable for cross-linguistic comparison for a variety of reasons. Firstly, the debates of Dec. 17th in the Camera and the Senato are just about all that is available for analysis at parliamentary level in Italy, the only other occasion for debate since the beginning of the Iraqi crisis in February 1998 having been the Dec. 18th, 1998 sitting of parliamentary Commissions III (Foreign Affairs) and IV (Defence). However, that event obeys different interactional rules and has a more restricted character with respect to parliamentary debates proper.3 The paucity of occasions for public confrontation in Italy is to be contrasted with 4 statements – 2 by Tony Blair and 2 by Robin Cook – plus 2 private notice questions and 7 debates in the House of Commons throughout that year; these were followed, on January 26th, 1999, by Labour MP Tam Dalyell’s presentation of a Bill [called Military Action against Iraq (Parliamentary Approval) Bill] which failed to receive the Royal Assent in April 1999 and is unlikely to be ever passed. The Bill would require the prior approval, by a simple majority of the House, of any further military action by United Kingdom forces against Iraq. This statutory initiative was prompted by the indignant reaction of a minority group within the Parliamentary Labour Party which, in the debate of Dec. 17th, had been “cheated of the opportunity to record its vote as a result of a procedural trick” (Galloway, 17.12.98, Column 1190). That “trick” was allegedly used when Tony Benn (Labour) claimed to move “That the Question be now put” – a standard formula called “Closure” to enforce a division, i.e. a vote, in the House – and, since there was no Member willing to act as Teller for the Ayes, the motion lapsed and the House was denied the opportunity to vote. All that is available in Italy to contrast with this Bill is Giulio Andreotti’s ordine del giorno – which nevertheless was a middle-of-the-road initiative, eventually not even subjected to a vote – together with the decision that the Parliamentary Commissions concerned (III and IV) should “monitor” the situation on a permanent basis and, if necessary, summon Parliament. The difference in the number and relevance of the occasions for debate in Italy and in Britain speaks volumes about the two countries’ relative degree of involvement in the crisis,4 and it parallels the difference in size between the English and Italian sub-corpora here under examination:
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Table 1. Quantitative data on the corpora 17 Dec. 1998 Text File Tokens Types Type/Token Ratio Standardised Type/Token
COMMONS 54.594 4.831 8.85 (*) 40.26
CAMERA 11.384 2.709 23.80 (*) 48.23
SENATO 9.602 2.382 24.81 (*) 48.74
As can be seen in the Table above, the Commons debate contains about 54,600 words, while the debates in the Italian Senato and Camera dei Deputati globally consist of almost 22,000 words. This difference will necessarily have to be borne in mind in the course of the treatment, when considering the relative frequency of occurrence of corresponding Italian/English words and phrases. What is more, the difference among the type-token ratios (indicated by (*) in the Table above) would seem to suggest that the Italian debates are semantically more precise and informationally more dense than their British counterpart;5 in fact, it must be pointed out that (i) the type-token ratio is sensitive to the size of the corpus, and that (ii) a text in Italian will always contain more word forms per tokens than an English one, even one of the same size, because of inflections (unless, of course, one has lemmatised the word forms). The second and most important reason why I have decided to concentrate on these three debates, and these three alone, is that they share similar situational features (including the temporal context of their production and reception), while being indicative of the two opposing official stances on the attack: “for”, in the case of the British debate, versus “against”, in the case of the Italian debates. To be more precise, the Italian government’s position, illustrated in Extracts 19 and 20 in the Appendix, is synthesized by Prime Minister Massimo D’Alema’s obsessively frequent use of the word preoccupazione (“concern”). It is interesting to note that of all of the 23 occurrences of the lemma preoccupazione (“concern”) in the Italian corpus, evenly distributed across the Camera (13 occurrences) and the Senato (10 occurrences), no less than 9 appear in the speeches of Prime Minister D’Alema (5) and Foreign Secretary Lamberto Dini (4), who respectively reported on the military action at the Camera and the Senato; however, of the 14 remaining occurrences only 4 (all of which in the debate at the Camera) feature in the context of open criticism against the Italian government’s stance (as in MP Grimaldi’s è poca cosa esprimere preoccupazione – “expressing concern is of little significance” – chiediamo che il Governo italiano esprima qualcosa di più della preoccupazione – “we ask that the Italian government expresses something more than concern”, or
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in MP Tassone’s non bastano le preoccupazioni e le perplessità – “concerns and doubts are not enough”). Similar observations apply to the use of the adjectives preoccupato/i (4 occurrences) and to the verbal forms preoccupante (present participle, 1 occurrence) preoccupa (simple present, third person singular, 3 occurrences). In the British context, conversely, the lemma “concern” (as a noun) features only 7 times and is never used by either Prime Minister Tony Blair or Foreign Secretary Robin Cook, who seem to favour the semantically related expressions “regret” and “reluctance” (see Extracts 1, 2, 3, and 7 in the Appendix) to describe the government’s feelings towards the action threatened and eventually taken.6 Indeed, the Italian government’s stance might better be defined, in the words of a British journalist (Freedland 1998: 1), as “ambivalent”, rather than overtly critical, or, as the leader of Rifondazione comunista Fausto Bertinotti put it during the debate, as atteggiamento cerchiobottista (Camera dei Deputati, 17.12.98, p. 49) – an original grammatical metaphor (nominalisation) coined from what is already a metaphorical verbal construction.7 What is interesting in Bertinotti’s coinage is that the nominalisation denotes the Italian government’s atteggiamento (“attitude”), rather than its action; in fact, the action verb (dare un colpo/“hit”, see Note 7) totally disappears when the verbal metaphor is conflated into an adjectival post-modifier (cerchiobottista/“typical of [those who alternately hit] the hoop and the barrel”), devoid of any reference to human agency. Thus, even the sharpest scourge of the Italian Government’s official stance seems to take on an indirect attitude, which, mutatis mutandi, is in line with the general tendency observed by Dibattista (this volume) apropos of the Italian debates on the Kosovo war. Be that as it may, the use of nominalised metaphors to sanction the Italian government’s ambiguous stance, while contrasting it with the [+positive] uncompromising stance taken by the Anglo-American coalition, is rather frequent in the Italian corpus. See, for instance, the remarks offered by Pierferdinando Casini (my emphasis, as in all the following examples): (1) La conseguenza di queste divisioni è un imbarazzato balbettio su temi che richiederebbero, invece, grande linearità. Del resto, è lo stesso balbettio e lo stesso zigzagare che abbiamo visto sul caso Ocalan. E’ evidente che questa contraddizione, per la sua ampiezza, lacera la politica del Governo e, più ancora, lede l’immagine internazionale del nostro paese. (Camera dei Deputati, 17.12.98)
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The consequence of these divisions is the awkward stammering out of excuses on issues which instead would require great linearity. After all, it is the same stammering out of excuses and the same zigzagging attitude that we saw at work during the Ocalan debate. It is quite evident that such a profound contradiction is tearing Government policy apart and, what is worse, it is damaging the image of our country on the international scene.
Again, Antonio Martino (my emphasis): (2) E’ una maggioranza che [. . . ] definirei ‘arlecchino’ perché ha messo insieme pezze di colori contrastanti, nel tentativo di mantenere in vita un Governo. [. . . ] Non mi sembra che queste due posizioni possano coesistere nella stessa maggioranza e, in questa luce, non posso, onorevole Presidente del Consiglio, non esprimere la mia sincera ammirazione per quel piccolo miracolo di equilibrismo dialettico che è stato il suo discorso. Con esso lei ha tentato di conciliare l’inconciliabile, di accontentare quelli che vedono nella NATO un nemico da combattere e quelli che vedono in essa, viceversa, un pilastro di sicurezza. (Camera dei Deputati, 17.12.98) It is what I would dub an “Arlecchino” majority [Arlecchino is a wellknown Italian carnival character wearing a colourful patchwork costume and featuring in many a comedy by the Venetian playwright Carlo Goldoni] because it is made up of gaudy remnants stitched together in an effort to keep the Government alive. [. . . ] I do not think that these two stances can coexist in one and the same majority and, in the light of this, Mr Prime Minister, I cannot but express my sincerest admiration for that little piece of dialectic tightrope walking that was your speech. With it, you have tried to reconcile what cannot possibly be reconciled, to satisfy both those who see NATO as an enemy to be fought against and those who conversely see it as a pillar of security.
. Contextualising the December 1998 strike against Iraq In order to set the December debates in Britain and Italy against their proper socio-historical context, it is necessary to quote at least one key passage from Prime Minister Tony Blair’s statement to the House of Commons of Monday, 16th November 1998, exactly one month before the start of Operation Desert Fox and two days after the already planned military strike against Iraq had been called off at the very last moment; then, “in the face of the credible threat of force” as Blair put it, Saddam Hussein had finally agreed to offer unconditional
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resumption of co-operation with UNSCOM inspectors (for the second time after the deal announced on February 23rd but followed by Baghdad’s August 5th and October 31st decisions to suspend co-operation and to maintain restrictions on the work of the inspectors).8 The Extract from Blair’s statement of Nov. 16th, 1998 is no. 1 in the Appendix. If one skims through that text and compares it with a subsequent statement by Blair (see Extract 2), issued at 10 Downing Street – when, exactly one month later, he was the first to announce to the world that Operation Desert Fox had started –, one will not fail to notice that time seems to have stopped on Nov. 16th – which, of course, holds good for what Blair was to say on Dec. 17th (see Extract 3), during the House of Commons debate here under examination. The web of intra- and inter-textual cohesive ties, which I have tried to reconstruct partially in the Appendix, shows that what is foregrounded, at the level of cognitive/semantic macrostructures, is the fact that, in Britain, the “threat of force”, and ultimately its “use”, is consistently represented across time as being necessary on account of the threat posed by Saddam Hussein to his neighbours (and to the whole world, for that matter). That threat “must”/“has to” be reciprocated by those “responsible” politicians who, in the end, “feel obliged” to act, “having exhausted all other avenues”. The “use of force” is thus constructed as necessary in the face of external, objectively inescapable circumstances – an argument which, as can be inferred from temporal expressions such as “[there are] circumstances in which”, “[there comes] a point when”, etc., in Extracts from 4 to 9, is forcefully reiterated by all those who, from Prime Minister Tony Blair to Foreign Secretary Robin Cook and Defence Secretary George Robertson, support the “military action”. See, in passing, the “de-legitimating”, “face-threatening” function of what the then Iraqi Deputy Prime Minister, Tariq Aziz, was to say on Dec. 18th, 1998, at a press conference broadcast live by CNN (source: CNN on-air transcript, my emphasis): (3) [. . . This] is not a military conflict. It’s a criminal aggression by the United States and Britain against Iraq, the Arab nation, the Muslims and against the whole international community. It’s a criminal violation of the charter of the United Nations, and it’s a contempt to the Security Council of the United Nations. Clinton and Blair, in their justification of this criminal aggression, used the report of Richard Butler. [. . . ] The matter is not Butler’s report. The matter is a deliberate precipitated wish to commit this criminal aggression against Iraq. The matter, also, is not weapons of mass destruction. They could have waited until January, witnessed the
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review, heard what UNSCOM could say, what Iraq might say, and then make a judgment – an objective, honest judgment of the situation. And if the judgment, the consensus in the Security Council is that Iraq had violated its commitments, then they could act unanimously, not only the United States and Britain. Because this resolution – 687 – and Resolution 715 were adopted unanimously by the five permanent members as well as the other existing members in the Security Council. The fact that they acted unilaterally against the will of the Security Council by contempt of the rules of the Security Council tells that the matter is not weapons of mass destruction. The matter is not the report of Butler. The real objective of this aggression is to show that the United States is the sole superpower in this world; to show the arrogance of the United States; to show that the United States is ready to impose its will on the whole – on the whole world, not only on Iraq – according to its greedy interests, not according to moral values or to international law. In this, Britain joined the United States. You know Britain has lost its previous status as the superpower, or one of the major powers, but being a colonialist and an imperialist in nature, they would like to join the elephant as a small rat in order to get their share of the petty results of such an aggression.
Before I go on to a more detailed analysis, it is necessary to point out that dissenting voices, though very few, were exclusively from within the majority party (viz. the ‘old’ left), in Britain, while they were far more numerous, as well as scattered across party ranks, in Italy. That is something which should be borne in mind when analysing the construction of the “enemy-within” (i.e. the construction of dissenting voices) from the point of view of those who, both in Britain and in Italy, spoke in favour of the use of force.
. Constructing consent and monitoring dissent on the “use of force” in the House of Commons If we examine the 37 relevant9 occurrences of “force”/“use of force” in the British debate (Table 2) against their co-textual environment, we can observe that all the uses of the word “force”, as either a noun or a verb, are unsurprisingly found in the context of legitimating discourse. Leaving aside the two occurrences of “force” (nos. 26 and 27) as a verb encoding deontic modality and featuring in a transitivity structure with “Saddam Hussein” or “him” in the Role of Patient/Affected, the word “force” (often collocating with “military”) mainly features in material processes (of “doing”,
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Table 2. Concordances of force 1 2 3 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 37 38 39 40
and his neighbours by military ity, and a recurring threat of responsibly could, the use of that the need to use military l, diplomatic solution. Unless capability without the use of egime-or we act with military lity again-or we decide to use a pacifist view and argue that , we are never prepared to use s compel the need for military eign Minister said “The use of h such brutality that military -that the basis for the use of ne is provoked incessantly but s for the application of armed moment. The plan to use armed allow UNSCOM to become a token ing the type of opposition and all be British-a multinational I realise that a multinational ch the failure to use military ter evils than the use of such ing that we were determined to we try to pretend that we can creen was crucial to the mixed ly convinced that the alliance cult to conclude that military nstincts and say that military in his desire to use military the long term to use military ver a month ago, in return for or, we shall use all necessary of those opposed to the use of . Those who oppose the use of r. Those who oppose the use of today, have opposed the use of
force. force, force. force force force. force. force. force force force. force. force force force force force force, force force force force force. force force force force force force force force force force force. force forceforce
He wants to retain all the first in October 1997-when At the same time, we and t against Saddam Hussein shou is always ruled out, it is That is why we have done w That was the honest, true Unless people take a pacif should never be used, irres to stop him. Mr. Nicholas S The aim of diplomacy is to arose above all from the b is the only response. 17 De to deal with the danger lie is not used. I suspect that shall be made by the Securi was not a decision taken by simply a flag-waving exerc that can bring Saddam Husse would be involved-but the C would be involved. What abo leads to far greater evils I am satisfied that we fac Saddam Hussein to comply wi him to do so when he has se that was necessary in the G was fighting Israel’s war. is the right solution. It t is not the right solution. in pursuit of the desired o to suppress that programme. not being used. Mr. Corbyn: to ensure that they do so. Perhaps some of us have sy must ask what alternative t Mr. Canavan: It is not cle have to answer the simple q
e.g. “use force”), as is also the case with the expressions “use of force/need for force” (in themselves nominalised material processes with “force” as Qualifier). The grammatical role they fulfil is either as object/Goal (as in “avoid the use of force”, “[need to] use [military] force”, “force is ruled out”, “force should never be used”, “we shall use all necessary force”) or as an instrumental adjunct (i.e., in Halliday’s terms, a Circumstance of Manner of the type Means), as in “act with military force”, and “prevent the development of such a capability without the use of force). This is of course not surprising. What is more significant, however, is that in many cases the grammatical participants “force” and “use of force” are inserted into a logical structure which foregrounds a semantic relation of Contingency, realised clausally (see Appendix, Extracts 5 and 6) through such
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conjunctions as “if ”, “unless”, and “(either. . . ) or”. Contingency, in Halliday’s terms (1994: 151; 155–156), is probed by the question “under what conditions?”. The effect of encoding the relationship between the use of force and the threat posed by Saddam as one of Contingency, then, is that the concept of “[the use of] force” is projected as “the” alternative if one wants to do “the right thing”, or – to quote from the collocation patterns in which “military force” features in Relational processes of “being” (of the type “X is a”) – as “the only response”/“the right decision” (see Appendix, Extract 7), or “the right solution” (Extract 8). Note that when the alternative views of the ‘enemies-within’ (i.e. “those who oppose/have opposed” the government’s position) are taken into consideration (as in Extract 9 in the Appendix), the participant “use of force” functions as a Phenomenon in the embedded relative clause containing the verb “oppose”, which, in this context, I therefore interpret as encoding a Mental process.10 Following Collins Cobuild dictionary definition,11 I would be inclined to interpret this process as being of the type “mental affection” (i.e. akin to “dislike”/“disapprove of ”) rather than “mental cognition” (in the sense of “think wrong”). The notion of Mental Affection, as opposed to Mental Cognition, is, I suggest, very important for argumentative purposes, inasmuch as that distinction parallels the difference between “persuasion” and “conviction”.12 Extract 9 can thus be considered as metonymically indicative of the main strategy adopted by those who support the use of force, since – throughout the debate – it is on “conviction” that arguments for the use of force tend to be based. Those who are against the “use of force” are challenged (see “must”/“have to”), by those who support it, on strictly cognitive, not emotional or affective, argumentative lines; indeed, the grammatical participants “those who oppose/are opposed to. . . ” are encoded as the Sayers of two verbal processes (“ask”/“answer”), with the projected locutions being realised in the form of indirect questions. In the addressor’s intentions, these amount to rhetorical questions, and the answer to a rhetorical question is, of course, the speaker’s argument, which is presented as either rational (i.e., logically necessary and therefore timelessly valid) or reasonable (i.e. contingently defined through reference to common sense and present circumstances) (Perelman 1979). In other words, it is an argument which should override emotional “feelings” (see Extract 9), or “instincts” (see Extract 8).
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. Emotional responses to the use of force As can be noted when going back to Extract 3 in the Appendix, Blair himself projects the Anglo-American coalition’s decision as being motivated by “reason, not vengeance”, the latter obviously being in the domain of instincts. The statement that the Anglo-American uncompromising stance was motivated by reason is to be contrasted with, and corroborated by, the statement that Saddam is “blind to reason”, which is one of those “things-that-cannot-bedenied”13 – just like the lessons of history or experience (see Miller 1997: 110– 111; Vasta 1999: 134) –, and which, as such, by-passes negotiation. By way of contrast, powerful emotional responses characterise the discursive and ideological stance taken by those who oppose the use of force on moral grounds, namely Tam Dalyell (see supra, §1.2, and Extract 11 in the Appendix) and Tony Benn (see Extract 12), no doubt the staunchest opponent of the British government in the entire debate. The former defines the media coverage of the air strike as “vomit-making”,14 and significantly turns the opponent’s language (viz. Blair’s use of the term “responsibl(y)” in Extract 3) to his own advantage, by playing on the ambiguity of “[being] responsible” and constructing it as “being responsible for what happened”, which he sees as “pretty terrible”. For his part, Tony Benn constructs his own ideological stance as “heteroglossic” with respect to the government’s, and to the Establishment’s in general, for that matter: he defines “what was done [. . . ] as deeply immoral and contrary to an ethical foreign policy, of which we [I=dissenter + you=supporters] boast” (emphasis added); at the same time, however, he identifies himself as a member of the class of the “many people who believe” that what was done was immoral, thereby forcefully rejecting the implicit argument that his is a minority stance. It is not surprising, then, that he should label the “action” a “war” (see infra, §2.2). It must be acknowledged that even Foreign Secretary Robin Cook, obviously supporting the “action”, resorts to emotionally-loaded language in evaluating the government’s decision (see “great reluctance” and “real regret”, in Extract 7). Yet, in his view, emotions are overridden by the “clear” perception that “it was the right decision” (my emphasis), an argument which leads us nicely into the investigation of the moral issue from the point of view of those who supported the military strike.
Consent and dissent on the 1998 Gulf Crisis
. Moral evaluations: Ethics and veracity As Oakes, Haslam and Turner note (1994: 207), “the ad hominem argument – that the groups we disagree with hold their views because they are irrational, crazy and abnormal – has always been part of the armoury of political rhetoric”. This strategy was of course consistently used by the western coalition against Saddam Hussein also during the 1991 Gulf War within the framework of what, borrowing Stella Ting-Toomey’s definition, I have called a “line-logic style of conflict management”(Vasta 1999: 128–136 et passim). This is based on the strong projection of the “us [+rational] vs. him [+irrational]” script. Since the projection of Saddam as a “mad dog” is to be contrasted with the western world’s alleged superiority in terms of the power of rationality, it is not surprising that, at British Parliamentary level, the elicitation of support for the Anglo-American attack, i.e. its legitimacy, should be sought in the appeal to the use of force as the only [+reasonable/rational/responsible] alternative to Saddam’s irrationality, unreliability and brutality (see again Extract 7). This is also perfectly synthesised in what Labour MP Bruce George said during the debate (see Extract 10): “I believe that most rational people [incidentally, this is, interestingly enough, the only occurrence of “rational” in the entire debate] who stand back coolly and consider the alternative of doing nothing will [in its epistemic sense of “certainly”/“clearly” or “obviously”] agree that the consequences of that would be infinitely worse than the action taken yesterday evening”.15 The following tables (Tables 3 and 4) illustrate the occurrences of the semantically related options “reasonable”/“reasonably” and “responsibility(ies)”/“responsible”/ “responsibly”, all of which correlate with support for the government’s action. The entries of “responsible”/“responsibility” which have been omitted in the Tables refer to Saddam’s “responsibility” for what happened/is happening (whether it be the military action itself or the enforcing of UN sanctions and/or the embargo), or, in one case each, to the media’s having precise responsibilities and to the US Secretary of State’s being “responsible Table 3. Concordances of reasonable and reasonably 1 2 3 4 5 6
fficult to find any other That support ranges from as been proved beyond any egion and to build on the is replacement was a more taken by the Government a
reasonable reasonable reasonable reasonable reasonable reasonable
conclusion if there is no cha enthusiasm to tacit support o doubt. The second issue conce consensus that exists in the Iraqi Government would be equ and realistic alternative str
1 2 3
ot think that anybody can ter seven years, they can nternational community is
reasonably reasonably reasonably
complain about the length of 17 Dec 1998: Column 1111 say confident that they will not
Nicoletta Vasta
Table 4. Concordances of responsibly/responsible/responsibility/responsibilities 1 2 3 4 5 6
determined to avoid, if we annot make that commitment think that we could do so every effort to do that as only choice that we could rime Minister set forth so
responsibly could, the use of force. At responsibly. What will happen once the responsibly-to that outcome as an actua responsibly as we should, and I hope th responsibly make. Mr. George Galloway ( responsibly earlier today. The speeches
1 tances, there was only one responsible 10 hat the United Nations is responsible 11 ible to think that we are responsible, 1 3 4 5 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 1 2 3 4 5
reat regret. It is a heavy with a profound sense of hese circumstances with a r said, it is a very heavy ake under his own wing the e finally been dashed. The t, once we depart from our onsibilities, including a d all too much. We have a o minimise them.We have a ng-as it is right to do-a .s in his grasp. It is our ons have a clear sense of The United Nations has a United Kingdom fulfils a vice men, to rise to that as an awful abdication of , there can be no greater h refers to international ion carries with it heavy nical power game. We have lly help, just as we have nment are rising to those
choice to make. We are acti for the suffering of the I and that is a moral quest
responsibility. There will be casualtie responsibility. However, I do so confid responsibility that Saddam Hussein woul responsibility to commit our forces, an responsibility to ensure that our allie responsibility that rested on the shoul responsibility to the United Nations ch responsibility to the people of Iraq, responsibility to try to ensure in eve responsibility to our armed forces, wh responsibility on behalf of a safer wo responsibility to make sure that those responsibility. There is no concrete b responsibility to enforce the sanction responsibility to help to deal with a responsibility-especially those of us responsibility by the UN, by NATO and responsibility for any politician tha responsibilities responsibilities, responsibilities responsibilities responsibilities
and the fact that our t including a responsibi to the oppressed people to the oppressed Muslim and I join hon. Members
for the majority of the negotiations”. It is interesting to note that only once (see entry no. 11 in Table 4, group 2, and Extract 11 in the Appendix) is the word “responsible” used to voice strong condemnation (for the reasons explained above), and that the antonym “irresponsible” never occurs in the debate. The “use of force”, or the “action” as Labour MP Bruce George and many others euphemistically call it, is thus encoded, to adapt my metaphor from the one contained in Extract 4, as a “means-to-a-far-lesser-evil-end” or, more generally speaking, as a “means-to-an-end”, which can be equated with “achieving international justice” (see entry no. 12 in Table 5 below). But, of course, “if we/one will the ends, we/one must will the means” (see entries nos. 1, 11, 13). All the entries of “means” reproduced in Table 5 (minus the seven which I have omitted because irrelevant, e.g. “means” as a verb), appear in the con-
Consent and dissent on the 1998 Gulf Crisis
Table 5. Concordances of means 1 4 6 7 8 9 12 13 14 15 16 17 21
l the ends, we must will the If we can possibly find the can be achieved by any other ondly, I want to discuss the ake just one point about the ons, I believe that the only -rightly so-to use military although one must will the larger recourse to military Saddam Hussein by military the aims, he would will the attack option, as the only s that the ends justify the
means. means means. means means means means means. means, means. means, means means.
We cannot have war on the chea of removing him, we will. 17 De Under the powers given to it i of achieving those objectives a of achieving our objectives. It of averting such a colossal dis as a way of achieving internat In 1991, the decision was tak such as the hon. Member for N The House should not misunder and vote for defence expendit of definitively removing Sadda In these circumstances and wi
text of legitimating discourse, except for the last one (no. 21), contained in the intervention by Labour MP Tony Benn discussed above (see again Extract 12). If the main reason for not willing the means is a moral one, based on a forceful rejection of the logical paradox of “war-as-a-pathway-to-peace”, it is not surprising, conversely, that the advocates of war (which is what opponents call the “action” most of the time) should shift even the morality argument from the domain of “ethics” and “propriety” to that of “veracity”. What they do, in other words, is tackle the moral question from a strictly “rational”/“syllogistic-like” perspective, relying on a meta-argumentative Appreciation of its “apparent inconsistency” (see Extract 13) and “dodgy logic”. If one looks at Extract 13 in the Appendix (viz. paragraphs 2 and 3), which is of course a refutation of Extract 12, one will see that the use of enumerative and contrastive connectives, of Mental Cognition processes and of an “if-then” reasoning pattern (“However, [. . . ] if the attack was immoral I don’t see how a United Nations resolution could have made it moral”) would seem to ascribe an appearance of logical consistency to Mr. Maples’ counter-argument, if only his was a truthful interpretation of what Tony Benn actually said, which, incidentally, is not the case. What Tony Benn actually said was: (4) It is no good saying that a resolution that is seven years old provides a permanent permission for anyone in the UN to go to war. It is absolute nonsense and no one believes it for a moment. The plan to use armed force was not a decision taken by the Security Council. Why? It is because the Government and the American Government knew that they would never get the support of the Security Council (my emphasis). (House of Commons, 17.12.98)
Going back to the preferred ways in which different parties refer to the event, it is not surprising that the most frequently used word to describe what is going
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on while expressing dissent both in Britain and in Italy should be the antonym of “peace”, that is to say “war”. It is true that, in the House of Commons, dissent is rather lukewarm and “war” occurs less frequently (114 entries) than the more neutral word “action”, which occurs 241 times and which is in fact the most frequent content word – after honorific titles (e.g. “Mr. So-and-so”, whose high frequency is probably due to the mentioning of the speaker’s identity in the Hansard transcripts) and the name of Saddam – and undoubtedly the most significantly frequent in the whole text. Incidentally, the same applies to the Italian debates, wherein azione (“action”) is the most frequent content word used to refer to the use of force, although intervento, unlike “intervention” in the English corpus, is also rather frequent. Yet, “action” seems to correlate with support in all but the 20 uses of the word which are made by the same three dissenting Labour speakers (i.e. Tony Benn, Jeremy Corbyn and Alice Mahon). Conversely, “war” strongly correlates with dissent; if, among the 114 entries of “war” (not reproduced here for reasons of space), we isolate those which refer to the present situation – and leave aside those that are not pertinent, because they refer either to “Saddam’s war crimes” and “military war machine”, or to other wars (like the two World Wars, the Gulf War, the cold war, the Iran-Iraq war etc.) –, we are left with only 21 occurrences, no less than 10 of which are part of dissenting discourse (6 by Tony Benn and 4 by George Galloway). What is more, not one of the remaining 11 occurrences appears in Blair’s statement and/or replies. That is also the case, in the Italian context, with guerra (“war”), which, in its 32 relevant occurrences (the other 11 referring to the 1991 Gulf War) is brought up no less than 29 times to condemn the military action and, what is more, is never mentioned by either Foreign Secretary Lamberto Dini or Prime Minister Massimo D’Alema. Generally speaking, leaders therefore seem to prefer less strongly connoted / more euphemistic words, such as “action”/azione, “operation”/operazione and the like, as is testified, at least in the American context, by what Secretary of State Madeleine Albright said, during a visit to Tennessee State University on February 19th, 1998 (quoted in Fisher 1998: 796), when asked how President Clinton could order a military strike against Iraq after opposing American policy in Vietnam: (5) We are talking about using military force, but we are not talking about a war. That is an important distinction.
which shows that, to borrow Deborah Cameron’s words (1994: 31),
Consent and dissent on the 1998 Gulf Crisis
meaning works by contrast: the words you choose acquire force through an implicit comparison with the ones you could have chosen, but you did not.
. The Italian parliamentary debates compared and contrasted with the British debates If we contrast all of these findings with what emerges from the Italian corpus, we notice that the co-textual environments of the word forza (“force”, 41 occurrences) and of the various noun phrases in which it features as Qualifier of a nominalised material process – such as impiego/uso della forza (“use of force”), ricorso alla forza (“resort (n.) to force”), and azione di forza (“action of force”) – are more or less the same as in the English text, since they often fulfil the role of Goal in collocation with such verbs as compiere (“perform”), scegliere (“choose”), usare (“use”), impiegare (“employ”). This is illustrated in Table 6 below (most of the entries omitted there refer to Forza Italia, the political party led by Silvio Berlusconi, or to other forze politiche, “political forces [i.e. parties]”). Yet, unlike their English counterparts, the discourse function they most often fulfil is one of social sanction (in its primary meaning as opposed to ‘support’), as is made evident by the fact that forza is often synonymous not Table 6. Concordances of forza 1 2 3 4 6 7 9 10 11 13 14 15 18 22 23 24 27 28 30 31 32 33 35
anno indicato che l’azione di go processo. L’impiego della occhio critico all’uso della anno indicato che l’azione di licemente compiere un atto di rto all’azione militare, alla e, per scegliere la via della ni volta che un paese usa la e motivazioni dell’uso della ‘interruzione dell’azione di un utilizzo del ricorso alla a di disinvolto ricorso alla una inutile dimostrazione di e che riguardano l’uso della i dei deputati dei gruppi di egittimazione dell’uso della averso inevitabili azioni di mondo, come monopolio della e parole, punterà solo sulla opunire. Non ho dubbi che la contro l’ulteriore uso della a con uno sbrigativo atto di affermato “L’impiego della
forza forza, forza, forza forza, forza, forza forza forza forza forza forza forza. forza. forza forza forza, forza, forza forza forza forza. forza
è intesa a colpire le armi nuc che la comunità internazional soprattutto quando essa riscd è intesa a colpire le armi nuc in particolare, contro Saddam le sorti non soltanto della p e della guerra per regolare i militare, l’interrogativo che militare siano talmente forti militare.(Applausi dai Gruppi per rallentare o condizionare militare, tanto più che il mo Vorrei parlare anche di un Credo che le posizioni espre Italia, di alleanza nazionale e dell’identità europea di di è evidente che esistono opin che decidono di usare a prop militare, passeremo da una gu vera, su cui l’occidente deve e verso la democrazia, che è Come ricorda spesso il Ponte che la comunità internazionale
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only with azione militare, but even with guerra, and it collocates with negatively connoted modal adjuncts (con un occhio critico, “with a critical eye”; semplicemente, “simply”) and adjectives (disinvolto, “laid-back”; sbrigativo, “hasty”) which touch on a moral evaluation of the object of the debate. In my discussion I have so far ignored the collocations of (azione[i]/atto/dimostrazione di) forza with inutile (“useless”) and inevitabili (“inevitable”): the reason why I have done so is that inevitabili and inutile appear, together with necessario (“necessary”) and più che legittimo (“more than legitimate”), in the context of two interventions (by Pierferdinando Casini and Jas Gawronski, see Appendix, Extracts 14 and 15, respectively) distinctly in favour of the use of force on the grounds of its usefulness and necessity in the light of objective, external circumstances. Here again, as has been observed in the British context, the two main discursive strategies used to create consensus on the use of force reside, on the one hand, in encoding it in a semantic relation of Contingency (altrimenti, “otherwise”), and, on the other, in ascribing it the role of a Circumstance of Manner: Means (attraverso, “with/through”), which leads us back to the metaphor of “war-as-a-pathway-[or a-means]-to-peace” (cf. presidiare la pace anche attraverso inevitabili azioni di forza, “‘patrol’ peace even through inevitable actions of force”, see entry 27 in Table 6 above and Extract 14 in the Appendix). Yet, if we look at the unexpectedly very few occurrences of the lexical item mezzo (“means”) itself, we see that it is used not to legitimate the action, as it was in Britain, but to refer intertextually, in no less than two of its three occurrences (entries no. 1 and 3 in Table 7 below), to article 11 of the Italian Constitution,16 which explicitly condemns “war” as a pathway to peace. Similarly, albeit contrary to the expectations created by the analysis of the Commons debate, the lexical items logica (“logic”) and ragione (“reason”), to denote intellectual faculties, feature in such expressions as la logica del negoziato Table 7. Concordances of the lemmas mezzo and strumento 1 2 3
talia ripudia la guerra come sere risolto, purtroppo, con rtà degli altri popoli, come
mezzo mezzo mezzo
di risoluzione delle controver militare, essendo falliti tutt di risoluzione delle controver
2
endo falliti tutti gli altri
mezzi,
il problema della restituzion
1 2 3
Le sanzioni non sono uno se a disposizione di questo alia ripudia la guerra come
strumento strumento strumento
risolutivo. Esse possono, a di guerra. Insomma, signor di offesa alla libertà degl
2
giore efficacia o con altri
strumenti
il controllo delle situazio
Consent and dissent on the 1998 Gulf Crisis
(“the logic of negotiation”) – often synonymous with azione della diplomazia (“diplomatic action”, as opposed to azione barbara/inaudita/punitiva /irresponsabile, “barbarian/outrageous/punitive/irresponsible action”, all of them collocating with azione in the context of sanctioning discourse). As for ragione, see, in Extract 16, bisogna far prevalere la ragione allo stato d’animo emotivo del momento e [. . . ] porre fine all’azione militare (“This momentary emotional state of mind must be overcome by reason and [. . . ] put an end to the military action”), an argument which, in its premise, is exactly the same as that found in the British context, but which leads to exactly the opposite conclusions, i.e. that the military action is to be condemned and stopped as soon as possible (cf. Extract 10). As regards ragionevole, razionale and responsabile – whose English counterparts we have shown to be so vital in supporting arguments for the use of force – ragionevole (“reasonable”) and razionale (“rational”) are not present in the Italian corpus; this is already fairly significant in itself, but, what is more, the only entry for responsabile (“responsible”, Table 8, below) features in collocation with un giudizio serio e responsabile (“a serious and responsible judgment”), on the grounds of which the Anglo-American action is to be condemned. The pragmatic/argumentative function of responsabile is thus exactly the opposite of what it has been found to be in Britain for the word “responsible”. Irresponsabile (“irresponsible”), on the other hand, though appearing twice, applies, in the first case, to UNSCOM chief Inspector Richard Butler’s comportamento veramente irresponsabile17 (“really irresponsible behaviour”, but compare entry no. 14 of responsabilità as applying to Butler’s indubbia responsabilità, “undoubtedly responsible behaviour”) and, in the second case, to Table 8. Concordances of responsabile/irresponsabile/responsabilità 1 per un giudizio serio e responsabile su quanto avviene in queste ore i 1 2
comportamento veramente ali a causa di un’azione
3 4 5 7 8 9 14 15 16 19
parole, ministro Dini. Le nell’individuazione delle non è stato fatto e ciò è emblee, ferma restando la iamo un momento di grande alvo verificare eventuali r, scienzato di indubbia to - l’intelligenza e la ciente, di un sistema di di distruzione di massa,
irresponsabile, irresponsabile. responsabilità responsabilità responsabilità responsabilità responsabilità responsabilità. responsabilità, responsabilità responsabilità responsabilità
quale quello del capo de Questa è una giornata di non sono da accertare un e del ruolo dell’Italia, anche dei Governi degli internazionale del Gover del nostro paese, che vi Tuttavia quello è un ev ha dimostrato, con corr di dotarsi di una politi individuale e collettiva ben evidenziate da altri
Nicoletta Vasta
the Anglo-American azione irresponsabile (“irresponsible action”). Finally, the concept of responsabilità is indeed brought up in Italy, but, when it does not refer to Saddam’s responsibilities (as in most of the omitted entries in Table 8), it is mainly exploited to accuse the Italian past and present governments (as in entries 4, 5, 7, and 15), namely of non aver avuto l’intelligenza e la responsabilità di dotarsi di una politica estera efficiente (“not having been intelligent and responsible enough to equip itself with an efficient foreign policy”). To sum up, then, what is totally lacking as a justification for the military action in the Italian context, but not in the British one, is any reference to “responsibility” or to “acting responsibly”, “reasonably” or “rationally”. On the contrary, what we might expect to be a very powerful transnational, common argument when it comes to a positive evaluation of the “use of force”, is the two countries’ “credibility” – a word which, although not very frequent, does feature in the debate in the Camera while it is totally absent in the Senato: see Table 9. Credibilità always features in the context of criticisms against the Italian Government’s lack of a consistent foreign policy by two Members of the Opposition: one is Mirko Tremaglia, who defines the operazione militare (“military operation”) as inevitabile (“inevitable”), and the other is Antonio Martino (the entire quote is in Extract 17), who brings up the “lessons of history and experience” to justify the action – a strategy which, in the UK context, is to be compared with Frank Cook’s supporting argument (Col. 1160: “One of the truisms of our time is that those who ignore the lessons of history are condemned to repeat them”, my emphasis) and contrasted with Labour MP Alice Mahon’s reference to “history” as a justification for condemning the action on moral grounds (Col. 1174: “History shows that tyrants will eventually be toppled by their own people, if given the right help”, my emphasis). Antonio Martino thus significantly anchors his own judgement/argument to the issue of “veracity” and to Italy’s obligation to be “credible” (see the only entry of credibile in Table 9 below) and trustworthy as an ally, although the vexed question of there having been, or not, an explicit authorisation to the use of force by the UN remains of course open to alternative interpretations. Indeed, the language in Resolution 678, adopted on November 29th, Table 9. Concordances of credibilità/credibile 1 2 3
cherebbe la caduta della he abbiamo dilapidato la rno ha dilapidato quella
credibilità credibilità credibilità
italiana in politica estera. internazionale dell’Italia. internazionale (Applausi dei
1
dovere, cioè deve essere
credibile.
Lei ha letto quanto ha detto
Consent and dissent on the 1998 Gulf Crisis
1990, less than two months before the beginning of the Gulf War, is rather ambiguous. It authorized member states to use all necessary means “to uphold and implement resolution 660 (1990) and all subsequent relevant resolutions and to restore international peace and security in the area”. Now, as Fisher (1998: 796) asks, what does ‘subsequent’ refer to? Any resolution issued after 678? Or any resolution issued after 660 but before 678? It could be read either way. [. . . ] Supporters of presidential power argued that the phrase ‘all subsequent relevant resolutions’ meant that whatever the Security Council promulgated after January 14th, 1991 [when Congress enacted P. L. 102-1 to authorise U. S. armed force against Iraq and the start of the Gulf War] would be automatically sanctioned by P. L. 102-1,
in its function as a sort of “advance blessing” for any subsequent military operation. Even when limiting the investigation to the UN Resolutions specifically pertaining to the condemnation of Iraq’s decision to limit the work of, or suspend co-operation with, UNSCOM inspectors – viz. Resolutions 1154 (March 2nd, 1998), 1194 (Sep. 9th, 1998), and 1205 (Nov. 5th, 1998) – the language used does not appear to be any clearer, as, for instance, in UN Resolution 1154: “any further interference with the work of UNSCOM would expose it [i.e. Iraq] to the severest consequences” (my emphasis). Indeed, the ambiguity was variously exploited during the debates at issue to condemn or support the action on different moral and legal grounds. In Italy, for example, Giulio Andreotti (in Extract 18) explicitly shifts the debate from its being a matter of “veracity” (i.e. credibility as an ally) to its being a matter of “ethics” and “propriety” and, on these grounds, he condemns the present action, as opposed to the 1991 Gulf War, in that it bypasses the authority of the United Nations (see: Qui non si tratta di essere alleati o non alleati: si tratta di essere legati o no a dei princìpi [. . . ], “It is not a question of whether we are or we are not allies: it is a question of being bound or not bound by principles [. . . ]”); conversely, Lamberto Dini (Extract 20) contends that le risoluzioni delle Nazioni Unite contengono un linguaggio univoco (“the language of the UN resolutions is unequivocal”) to support a military action, albeit one which is taken as a weapon of last resort after a series of ineffectual avvertimenti non equivoci (“unequivocal warnings”; also see again Extract 15).
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. Conclusion: Comparing contexts and strategies – or, “your word is who you are” Also in Britain “credibility” is invariably called into play either by Blair or by those who support the action. Yet, what seems to change across the Italian and British contexts is the yardstick against which “credibility” is to be evaluated, which is, of course, a function of the different weight of the two countries in the international arena (see Table 10). In Britain, “credibility” is to be evaluated not simply in the light of UN membership, but, most importantly, in the light of the November agreement with Saddam Hussein which explicitly committed Britain and the US to taking action should Saddam break his word again. And Saddam did “break his word”, leading Blair to stigmatise him as “a serial breaker of promises”: (6) We said at the time [Nov. 14th, 1998] very clearly, very directly that we would hold Saddam to his word, and that should he break that word once more, there would be no warnings, no wranglings, no last-minute negotiations. So we made the position crystal clear to him and to the entirety of the world community. [. . . ] It [Richard Butler’s report] is damning. It is a catalogue of obstruction. It shows quite clearly one more time that Saddam has no intention whatever of keeping to his word. He is a serial breaker of promises. (CNN Transcript, Breaking News – United States launches attack against Iraq, aired Dec. 16, 1998, my emphasis)
On these grounds, Britain is therefore forced to keep its own word to sustain the government’s “credibility” in the face of what Blair, during the Commons debate, calls a “real and present danger”: Table 10. Concordances of credibility/credible 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 1 2 3
en at the risk to our own used. I suspect that the looked foolish and lacked his operation but for the nd we would have lost all tive, we should have lost ortance of sustaining the ble to do their job, what y much connected with the vernment’s position. The ut of Kuwait? That is not war. That argument is not er Leslie (Shipley): What
credibility, credibility credibility credibility credibility. credibility credibility credibility credibility credibility credible. credible. credible
we were determined to avoi of the United States, the U if we had not responded, if of the international commun However, the military opti and simply encouraged Sadda of the Government’s positio would the allies have had? of the United Nations, its of the willingness of the U
I accept that not all the int I received about 100 telephon alternative strategy does my r
Consent and dissent on the 1998 Gulf Crisis
(7) We have acted because we must act to counter a real and present danger from a tyrant who has never hesitated to use whatever weapons are to hand. (House of Commons, 17.12.98, Col. 1102, my emphasis)
President Clinton himself defines Saddam’s failure to co-operate as a “clear and present danger”: (8) This situation presents a clear and present danger to the stability of the Persian Gulf and the safety of people everywhere. The international community gave Saddam Hussein one last chance to resume cooperation with the weapons inspectors. Saddam has failed to seize the chance [. . . ]. If we turn our backs on his defiance, the credibility of U. S. power as a check against Saddam will be destroyed”. (CNN Transcript, Breaking News – United States launches attack against Iraq, aired Dec. 16, 1998, my emphasis)
And again (loc. cit.): (9) Saddam Hussein and the other enemies of peace may have thought that the serious debate currently before the House of Representatives [i.e. the impeachment debate, originated by the notorious Lewinsky sex scandal, on which the House was to vote the next day] would distract Americans or weaken our resolve to face him down. But once more, the United States has proven that, although we are never eager to use force, when we must act in America’s vital interests, we will do so (my emphasis).
It goes without saying that the opposite was in fact the case, and it was the military strike, and its perfect timing, that was seen by many as a way to deflect public opinion’s attention from the impeachment debate. In what is certainly its least authoritative, yet no less significant intertextual reference,18 Clinton’s phrase “clear and present danger” recalls the title of the famous film with Harrison Ford and, in particular, its climactic scene, where the US National Security Advisor says to the protagonist: “You gave your word to the people of the US. Your word is who you are”. In the final analysis, what seems to emerge quite clearly in the context of legitimating discourse in both the Italian and the British Parliaments is that a government tends to be strategically constructed as being only as good as its word. In this particular institutionalised setting, then, the underlying leit-motiv of legitimating discourse would seem to be the need to preserve an individual’s and/or a group’s “credibility” (as a more specific term for ‘face’) as an ally. Thus, arguments for the “use of force”/“action” (as euphemistic, cover terms) tend to be encoded as either “rational” (i.e. logically necessary and therefore timelessly valid) or “rea-
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sonable” (i.e. contingently defined through reference to common sense and/or to the “lessons of history”). Conversely, as is to be expected, the social sanctioning of “war” (tellingly, a term which correlates only with dissent) draws on emotional and/or moral considerations and forcefully challenges the “dodgy logic” of consent based on the standard metaphor of “war-as-a-pathway-topeace”. What is nevertheless quite surprising when it comes to the contrastive analysis of the British and Italian debates under examination is that, for one thing, some of the legitimating arguments deemed to be crucial in one context are significantly absent in the other, and, what is more, some of the argumentative strategies appear to serve diametrically opposed persuasive purposes in the two socio-cultural and institutional settings. Accordingly, also the collocations of seemingly related English and Italian words show the lack of one-to-one correspondences. What emerges, then, is what Hodge and Kress (1993: 157)19 call an “ideological complex”, i.e. “a deeply contradictory set of versions of reality whose contradictions are intrinsic to their function”. The analysis offered here is just a first step in what I see as one of my main future research interests in that, to borrow Hodge and Kress’s words (1993: 161), “[my] concern with language is inseparable from a concern with the wider issues that are raised by the war, including the vexed issues of ‘truth’ and ‘what really happened’.”
Notes . The following classification of evaluative lexis as activated by different Appraisal Systems (Judgment, as moral evaluation of human behaviour based on rules and regulations; Appreciation, as evaluation of objects and products based on criteria like ‘balance’, ‘impact’, and ‘social significance’; and Affect – the non-institutionalised, core system of which the other two institutionalised systems partake – as evaluation of participants’ reactions based on emotional responses) is drawn from J. R. Martin’s “appraisal theory” as developed in Martin (2000). Also see Miller (1999), and Miller in this volume. . Named after Richard Butler, the United Nations chief weapons inspector. . The parliamentary Commissions sitting was made public through the Parliament’s closed circuit TV system, whereas the Camera and the Senato debates were broadcast live by national TV networks and made available in their written and audiovisual versions at the Parliament’s official website. . Suffice it to say that, in Italy, the 14th November crisis, when the Anglo-American military attack was called off at the very last minute, was met with total indifference at Parliamentary level.
Consent and dissent on the 1998 Gulf Crisis . “A high degree of lexical diversity (type-token ratio) increases the semantic precision and informational density of a text” (Biber & Finegan 1991: 216). . Cf. Bayley, Bevitori and Zoni in this volume, who note that preoccupazione is one of the more frequent words not only in Italian Parliamentary debates on the European Union, but also in the British ones – which is not surprising in the light of the specific question being debated and of the crucial role played, in that political and socio-discursive context, by eurosceptics. . I.e. dare un colpo al cerchio e un colpo alla botte [lit. “alternatively hit the hoop and the barrel”], wherein the material action verb dare un colpo (“hit”) implies a human agent as the responsible “doer”. It roughly translates as “keep two things going at the same time”, although the Italian metaphor denotes a much more negatively connoted [+noncommittal]/[+compromising]/[+hypocritical] stance than either the literal or my tentative translations can possibly render. . For an account of President Clinton’s use of force against Iraq in 1993 and 1996 and the threatened bombing of January 1998 see Fisher (1998). For an analysis of the February 23rd, 1998 co-operation deal see Gelb (1998). . In Table 2, I have deleted the three occurrences of “force” in “Royal Air Force” while maintaining the original numbering of the entries found by the concordancer. From now on, only the relevant occurrences of the word forms analysed will be reproduced in the concordance tables. . Although in the context of political discourse at large the verb “oppose” may, and often does, take the value of a verbal process (in the sense of “putting forward [verbal] objections”) or even that of a material action (i.e. “place as an obstacle”, in the sense of “voting/taking action against sth./sb.”), I contend that what is specifically “opposed” here are the ‘opponents’ views”, not their words and even less so their actions, in that the actual, concrete action of voting was an opportunity explicitly denied to British MPs (see supra, the remarks on Tony Benn’s failed attempt to enforce a vote after the debate) and not even taken into consideration by Italian MPs, who debated on an Informativa del Governo on a military action which did not directly involve Italy. . “If you oppose someone or something, you express your strong disagreement with them or disapproval of them, often in a formal way by making speeches or writing letters” [entry no. 1 = contest]; “If you are opposed to something, you strongly disapprove of it because you think it is wrong, evil, or stupid” [entry no. 2 = be against]. The “affective”/“emotional” connotations (“dislike”) of the verb “oppose” thus seem to override (cf. “because”) its “cognitive” meaning (“think” that sth./sb. is wrong). . As defined by C. Perelman and L. Olbrechts-Tyteca [1958] (1969), notably on pp. 26–31. Also see K. Sornig (1989: 97): “Whereas the mechanisms of convincing and conviction obviously work mainly along cognitive argumentative lines, seduction [= persuasion], instead of trusting in the truth and/or credibility of arguments, rather exploits the outward appearance and seeming trustworthiness of the persuader.” . The expression is borrowed from Miller (1997: 110). . Cf. Dibattista’s remarks (in this volume) on the frequent references to television, in the British debates on Kosovo, as an authoritative medium projecting factual information and
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“fuelling the desire of the people of this country for action”, which is certainly not the case in this Extract from Tam Dalyell’s speech. . Compare the present use of the “rationality argument” in support of the attack with its contrasting exploitation, based on the ad hominem strategy, in the following comment offered in The Observer (Editorial 1998: 2–3): “If Iraq was a state in the Western sense then the punitive attacks might have delivered the goods. But Iraq is not like that. It is a family fiefdom based on patronage and terror, and where rational governance – and thus effective deterrence – is impossible. Iraq is not an orthodox state, and assessments of its weapons of mass destruction are over-estimates. The probability of Saddam responding rationally to our bombing is tiny” (my emphasis). . “L’Italia ripudia la guerra come strumento di offesa alla libertà degli altri popoli e come mezzo di risoluzione delle controversie internazionali; consente, in condizioni di parità con gli altri Stati, alle limitazioni di sovranità necessarie ad un ordinamento che assicuri la pace e la giustizia fra le Nazioni; promuove e favorisce le organizzazioni internazionali rivolte a tale scopo” (my emphasis). Dibattista (in this volume) points out that the same thing happens in the Kosovo debates. . See the beginning of §1.2 and Note 2 above. . The “original”, “authoritatively binding” reference is of course to Art. I, section X, of the American Constitution: “No State shall, without the consent of Congress, [. . . ] engage in war, unless actually invaded or in such imminent danger as will not admit of delay” (my emphasis). . Also see Hodge and Kress’s notions (1993: 157) of S-form, or solidarity function, and P-form, or power function: these are the two components of an ideological complex which contribute to its inherent contradictions by respectively blurring and exacerbating differences.
References Aijmer, Karin & Altenberg, Bengt (Eds.). (1991). English Corpus Linguistics. London and New York: Longman. Bakhtin, Mikhail M. (1981 [1935]). Discourse in the Novel. In M. Holquist (Ed.), The Dialogic Imagination (pp. 259–422). Austin: University of Texas Press. Biber, Douglas & Finegan, Edward (1991). On the exploitation of computerized corpora in variation studies. In K. Aijmer & B. Altenberg (Eds.), 201–220. London and New York: Longman. Cameron, Deborah (1994). ‘Words, words, words’: the power of language. In S. Dunant (Ed.), The War of the Words. The Political Correctness Debate (pp. 15–34). London: Virago Press. Fisher, Louis (1998). Military Action against Iraq. Presidential Studies Quarterly, 28(4), 793– 798. Freedland, Jonathan (1998). Friends Standing together. The Guardian [electronic ed.], 18 December 1998.
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Gelb, Norman (1988). The Iraq crisis – 2. How Blair helped Clinton. The New Leader, February 23: 7–8. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1994 [1985]). An Introduction to Functional Grammar. London: Edward Arnold. Hodge, Robert & Kress, Gunther (1993). Language as Ideology [2nd ed.]. London: Routledge. Lakoff, George (1991). Metaphor and war: the metaphor system used to justify war in the Gulf. Peace Research, 23(2/3), 25–36. Lemke, Jay L. (1988). Discourses in conflict: Heteroglossia and text semantics. In J. D. Benson & W. S. Greaves (Eds.), Systemic Functional Approaches to Discourse (pp. 29–50). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Lemke, Jay L. (1992). Interpersonal meanings in discourse: Value orientations. In M. Davies & L. Ravelli (Eds.), Advances in Systemic Linguistics. Recent Theory and Practice (pp. 82–104). London and New York: Pinter. Lemke, Jay L. (1995). Intertextuality and text semantics. In P. H. Fries & M. Gregory (Eds.), Discourse in Society: Systemic Functional Perspectives. Meaning and Choice in Language: Studies for Michael Halliday (pp. 85–114). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Lockwood, Christopher (1998). Damning report from UN triggers showdown. The Daily Telegraph [electronic ed.], 17 December 1998. McEnery, Tony & Wilson, Andrew (1996). Corpus Linguistics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Martin, James R. (2000). Beyond exchange: APPRAISAL systems in English. In S. Hunston & G. Thompson (Eds.), Evaluation in Text (pp. 142–175). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Miller, Donna R. (1997). Reasoning Europe: alternative political reality construction, or the ‘stealing back and forth’ of symbols in British Commons debates on Maastricht. In D. R. Miller & N. Vasta (Eds.), La costruzione linguistica della comunicazione politica [Quaderni linguistici del Dipartimento di Scienze Politiche dell’Università degli Studi di Trieste, no. 2] (pp. 93–135). Padova: Cedam. Miller, Donna R. (1999). Meaning up for grabs: Value orientation patterns in British parliamentary debate on Europe. In J. Verschueren (Ed.), Language and Ideology: Selected Papers from the 6th International Pragmatics Conference, Vol. I (pp. 386–404). Antwerp: International Pragmatics Association. Oakes, Penelope J., Haslam, Alexander, & Turner, John C. (1994). Stereotyping and Social Reality. Oxford, UK and Cambridge, USA: Blackwell. [The] Observer (1988). This colossal misjudgement [Editorial] [electronic ed.], 20 December 1998. Perelman, Chaïm (1979). The rational and the reasonable. In The New Rhetoric and the Humanities (pp. 117–123). Dordrecht: Reidel. Perelman, Chaïm & Olbrechts-Tyteca, Lucie (1958 [1982]). Traité de l’argumentation. La nouvelle rhétorique. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France [Translation John Wilkinsom and Purcell Weaver, The New Rhetoric: a Treatise on Argumentation. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press]. Prat Zagrebelsky, Maria Teresa (1992). Processes of lexical and semantic innovation in contemporary English: the case of the Gulf War. Textus, 5(2), 111–122. Scott, Mike (1999). Wordsmith Tools. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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Sornig, Karl (1989). Some Remarks on Linguistic Strategies of Persuasion. In R. Wodak (Ed.), Language, Power and Ideology. Studies in Political Discourse (pp. 95–113). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Stubbs, Michael (1996). Text and Corpus Analysis. Computer-assisted Studies of Language and Culture. Oxford: Blackwell. Stubbs, Michael (2001). Texts, corpora, and problems of interpretation: A response to Widdowson. Applied Linguistics, 22/2, 149–172. Vasta, Nicoletta (1999). The semantics of conflict: the system of power and solidarity in official statements during the Gulf War. In M. M. Mechel, N. Vasta, & C. Leggeri (Eds.), Rappresentazioni dell’identità: la dimensione linguistica del conflitto [Quaderni linguistici del Dipartimento di Scienze Politiche dell’Università degli Studi di Trieste, no. 3] (pp. 115–153). Padova: Cedam.
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Appendix
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Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates in the British House of Commons and the Italian Chamber of Deputies Denise Dibattista
.
Introduction
The aim of this article is to make a linguistic analysis of parliamentary discourse by focusing on the debates on the Kosovo conflict which took place in the British House of Commons and the Italian Camera dei Deputati (Chamber of Deputies) from January to July 1999. Neither Question Time nor its Italian counterpart, Interrogazioni Parlamentari, have been taken into account because of their peculiar function, governed as they are by distinct rules within parliamentary sittings. Similarly, debates in the House of Lords and in the Italian Senate as well as in committee have been excluded. The initial corpus amounts to about 250,000 words in the House of Commons and about 180,000 in the Italian Chamber of Deputies, which reflects the fact that more debates on Kosovo took place in the House of Commons than in the Chamber of Deputies, and that the British sittings were generally longer than the Italian ones. However, in order to make some representative comparative reflections about the peculiar linguistic features of the British and Italian parliamentary debates, an equal number of words for each language1 has been examined, so that the total corpus under analysis consists of about 350,000 words. The present analysis draws on some descriptive and critical principles of discourse analysis from various areas of functional linguistics (Brown & Yule 1983; Fairclough 1992; Halliday 1985; Hodge & Kress 1993; Van Dijk 1993b), as well as some basic notions of corpus linguistics (Biber et al. 1998; Stubbs 1996). In particular, some of the discursive strategies employed by British and
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Italian MPs will be analysed in this paper in order to highlight and explain the differences in their linguistic realisation in relation to their specific contexts both in the House of Commons and in the Chamber of Deputies. A comparative examination of the daily records of the parliamentary debates, i.e. the Hansard transcripts and the Resoconti parlamentari (Official Reports of the Italian Chamber of Deputies), reveals that, although the two parliaments were debating the same issue – the Kosovo situation and the necessity for intervention – a number of linguistic resources are constantly employed in different ways in the two Houses, thus suggesting that different underlying meanings were at stake. The main finding of this text-based analysis is that a kind of legitimising political talk prevailed in the Italian debate, whereas the tendency in the British texts is towards a more explicit, informative discourse. The higher frequency of “statements to the House” in the British parliamentary corpus conditions only in part the results of the analysis, considering the fact that the “informative” parts of the Italian parliamentary debates (or, Informativa del Governo) have stronger legitimising features than their British counterpart, as will be shown later. For the purposes of this paper, I will focus on the presence of significant differences in distribution and use of noteworthy syntactic and lexical patterns within the two parliamentary contexts. Accordingly, comparative examples will be provided which correspond to what I consider to be the most representative samples recurrent in the debates in order to try and evaluate the effectiveness of the linguistic resources for the purpose they are called on to fulfil in each text. The choice of analysing only a number of discourse categories should give a deeper insight into the meanings of the debates. As suggested by the data, the linguistic differences apparently express a different attitude towards the events, which is related to precise geopolitical reasons and probably also to an attempt to construct different versions of reality.
. The geopolitical context A detailed description of the historical, political background of the “Kosovo question” goes beyond the scope of this paper, so only a brief outline of the main facts will be given.2 On March 24th 1999, Nato air forces began to bomb the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, after Slobodan Milosevic, leader of the Serbian government, had refused to accept Nato’s Rambouillet agreement. The reasons for the inter-
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vention are several and multi-faceted; they date back to the difficult history of tension in the Balkans. In particular, the Kosovar people had enjoyed a considerable degree of self-rule under Marshall Tito, but the situation began to deteriorate following his death. Kosovo’s autonomy was rescinded by Milosevic in 1989. After a first period of non-violent strategy, the Kosovo Liberation Army’s attacks against Serbia as well as an expansion of popular support for an armed independence struggle, among other factors, led to an escalation of violence in Kosovo. Negotiations to stop the fighting were attempted until the abovementioned failure of the Rambouillet agreement and the following NATO bombing raids. The attacks lasted until June 3rd, when a peace agreement was reached between Nato and Serbia. There was no consensus of opinion concerning an armed intervention within NATO countries, and Italy in particular proved sceptical of the USA’s and Great Britain’s preference for force. Such attitudes are reflected in the Kosovo parliamentary debates, with stronger internal contrasts in the Italian Chamber debates and therefore a general tendency towards legitimising or indirect discourses, whereas, in the Commons debates, the wide agreement on an active intervention force, led to informative, more direct discourses. As already briefly mentioned, the differing positions are expressed through specific syntactic and lexical choices, which are used in a distinct way in the two parliamentary contexts. In the first place, Kosovo’s geographical proximity to Italy was a problem for Italian politicians, and one which required participation but also caution, as expressed in examples (1) and (2):3 (1) Roberto Manzione: [. . . ]Pensiamo invece che sia il momento che il Parlamento rivendichi il diritto di partecipare a scelte decisionali che ci sono «vicine» non soltanto dal punto di vista logistico ma anche da quello territoriale. (Camera dei Deputati. 23/3/1999) Instead, we believe that the time has come for Parliament to claim its right to participate in the decision-making process, making choices that are not only “close” to us logistically, but also territorially. (2) Gualberto Niccolini: [. . . ] In ogni caso, l’Italia è coinvolta in tutto questo gioco e lo è fino al collo e ancora di più, perché non è soltanto un alleato della NATO, ma è anche il paese più vicino ai problemi provocati dalla guerra; anzi, li ha in casa: mi riferisco all’arrivo dei profughi, alle bombe nell’Adriatico e a tutto ciò che ne consegue. (Camera dei Deputati. 3/6/1999)
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In any case, Italy is involved in all this game, and is so up to her neck. And even more so, as Italy is not only a NATO ally, but also the country which is physically closest to the problems caused by the war. Indeed, these are domestic problems. I am referring to the arrival of refugees, to the bombs in the Adriatic Sea, and to all their potential consequences.
On the contrary, according to the words of some British MPs, even though the events were not underestimated, they were felt as distant, at least geographically, a factor which allowed the speakers a higher degree of explicitness in their linguistic choices (examples (3) and (4)): (3) Mr. George Galloway: [. . . ] Mr. Norris memorably said that most MPs did not know whether a Kosovar was something you ate, drank, licked or drove, and that was true. (House of Commons. 25/03/1999) (4) Mr. Martin Bell: [. . . ] We either say to ourselves, “That is a far away country of which we know little and care less – let them kill each other to the last drop of blood”, or, with the French and our other allies, seriously prepare an active intervention force. (House of Commons. 18/01/1999)
For the same reason, on March 23rd, 1999, the day before the NATO intervention, the Italian MP quoted in example (1) referred to such intervention through the generic expression “scelte decisionali”, without specifying the real military implication of such “decision-making choices”, while some English MPs had already employed the much more straightforward phrase “active intervention force”, as exemplified in extract 4, which dates back to January 1999. In the second place, the Italian Government, through its parliamentary representatives, needed not only to justify the military action itself, but also seek to legitimate its political power, as its credibility was at risk due to division within the alliance that supported the government in parliament on the question of military intervention. The consequence of this political situation was an open challenge to the Government’s legitimacy: (5) Antonio Martino: [. . . ] Come possono questo Governo e questa maggioranza onorare davvero quegli impegni, quando la maggioranza di governo è fortemente divisa, quando al suo interno coesistono due linee contrapposte di politica estera? [. . . ] Un Governo che non è in grado di rappresentare adeguatamente lo Stato come soggetto di relazioni internazionali ha il dovere di trarre la logica conclusione e di dimettersi. (Camera dei Deputati. 24/3/1999)
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How can this government, and the majority, truly honour such commitments, when the government majority is incredibly split, when there coexist within it two diametrically opposite foreign policy lines? [. . . ] A government proving unable to represent properly its country as a subject of international relations is duty-bound to draw the only logical conclusion, and to resign. (6) Pier Ferdinando Casini: [. . . ] Signor Presidente, non saremo certo noi a ricordarle le obiezioni e le contrarietà che la sua posizione incontra nella sua stessa maggioranza. Ella conosce bene queste critiche e ne ha tenuto conto a tal punto di destreggiarsi, in queste ore, tra Cossutta e Tony Blair. In quest’aula la maggioranza di Governo si trova ancora una volta divisa su fondamentali questioni internazionali. Negli altri paesi i passaggi cruciali della politica internazionale uniscono Governi e opposizione. (Camera dei Deputati. 26/3/1999) Mr. President, it is certainly not up to us to remind you of the objections and opposition that your position meets within your own majority. You are well aware of such criticism, and have taken it into account to the extent of steering a middle course between Mr. Cossutta and Mr. Tony Blair. In this assembly, the Government majority is once again divided over basic international issues. In other countries, crucial moments of international politics have the effect of uniting both Government and opposition.
In the House of Commons, on the other hand, opposition to the intervention was mostly an expression of individual dissenters and, apart from the Scottish Nationalist Party, an overwhelming majority of British MPs were in favour of an active intervention force. As the analysis of the data will show, this general agreement had some effects on linguistic practices; in particular, some typical forms of indirectness used as a legitimising device occur much less systematically in British discourse than in Italian discourse on Kosovo.
. Legitimising and informative discourses When we talk about legitimising as opposed to informative discourse, we are supposing that in the first case language may be used to justify an action, and that in so doing certain elements may be represented in a positive fashion, while others may be backgrounded or even suppressed in order to persuade an audience of the rightness of those actions (see example (7)); in the second
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case, informative discourse, language is descriptive, clear and explicit and apparently without a persuasive function. Of course this distinction needs to be examined more carefully and it would be wrong to suggest that informative or technocratic discourse is devoid of any rhetorical aim. However, in the case of legitimising discourse, speakers are more open to challenge and contestation. To give an example: (7) Domenico Comino: [. . . ] Non c’è ombra di dubbio che il linguaggio esprime delle posizioni politiche e credo non ci siano nemmeno molti dubbi sul fatto che da parte del Presidente del Consiglio si è cercato, senza convincerci a questo proposito, di nascondere quella che è una realtà: nella maggioranza vi sono posizioni diverse non soltanto sul da farsi, ma anche radicalmente differenti sulle responsabilità di quello che sta accadendo nei Balcani. (Camera dei Deputati. 13/4/1999) It is unquestionable that language expresses political positions, and I believe it is hardly in doubt that an attempt has been unsuccessfully carried out by the Prime Minister to hide the actual situation: positions within the majority differ with regard not only to the course of action to undertake, but also, dramatically, to the responsibility of what is going on in the Balkans.
In this quotation, an MP is accusing the Italian Prime Minister (Presidente del Consiglio) of having exploited a specific discursive strategy in order to mask reality; that is, “an attempt has been unsuccessfully carried out [. . . ] to hide the actual situation” (“si è cercato, senza convincerci a questo proposito, di nascondere quella che è una realtà”). Apart from the criticism contained in the cited statement, the linguistic data examined confirm a “mitigating” attitude assumed by Italian Prime Minister as well as of other speakers of the Government majority, that is to say, a tendency to attenuate or justify, by means of linguistic choices, the questionable and actually questioned nature of the action. It can be stated that most of the Italian debate represents an instance of political discourse with a legitimising function or, more simply, a legitimising discourse.4 Its features belong to a particular kind of persuasive discourse which “aims to persuade a critical audience that such actions were acceptable within the normative order” (Rojo & Van Dijk 1997). From a more strictly political point of view, “to each of the negative characteristics of power relations, therefore, there stands a corresponding form of justification or rectification, which renders it morally acceptable” (Beetham 1991: 60).
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Furthermore, the contextual categories required so as to be able to speak of a legitimising function (Van Leeuwen & Wodak 1999), such as the authority of the speaker and the institutional setting, are satisfied within the parliamentary discourse. Reference to past events is another essential factor for legitimation, and this too is present, since most of the discussion in the Italian Chamber took place after the NATO intervention in Kosovo had already begun. Moreover, a typical function of parliamentary debate is to attach legitimation to decisions already taken, allowing public opinion to be informed of the political position of the various parties. Thus, it is possible to refer to a “persuasive function” from this viewpoint, not just as an attempt to convince the listener of the rightness of a political position or of a certain course of action, but as a legitimation strategy, involving a justification of controversial or criticised actions. As far as the British parliamentary debate is concerned, the persuasive function of discourse is not predominant. It is true that in the British parliamentary corpus analysed there are several occurrences of the rhetorical use of language, typical of political oratory, which aim to achieve a general consensus, convince addressees of the truth and quality of the words used, create a positive self-presentation, and more generally show one’s own rhetorical ability. During the Kosovo debates, however, rhetorical devices were not usually employed by British MPs to de-emphasise the problematic features of the action, as a means of reinforcing legitimation. On the contrary, there is a tendency towards more “explicit” linguistic uses such as, at a syntactic level, a similar number of occurrences of both impersonal and personal constructions to describe events. Not only does this imply a dissociation from the facts, as in the case of impersonal structures, but it also suggests an involvement and the assumption of responsibility witnessed to by personal uses of language, which do not prove equally frequent in the Italian debates. At a lexical level, there is a preferred use of informative, almost technical language, exemplified by the prevalence of precise, accurate or exact terms to describe events, as opposed to the recurrent search for downgrading effects in the Italian parliamentary texts.
. Syntactic choices Although the paper has been organised in terms of common levels of analysis, specifically syntax and lexicon, the structures of discourse involve several levels of description at the same time, such as the relevant semantic dimension.
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Halliday (1978, 1994) has extensively dealt with the assumption, here reduced to its lowest terms, that all linguistic usage contains representations of the world. Much recent text analysis starts from this approach, so that, according to Stubbs (1996: 130), “it is always possible to talk about the same thing in different ways, and the systematic usage of different syntactic patterns encodes different points of view”. In particular, the ways of expressing different semantic connotations in sentence structures might include features such as a specific use of pronouns and the variation of word order, as in passives, nominalisations or clause embeddings. The function of deictic pronouns will not be taken into consideration here, since they tend to display corresponding strategies in British and Italian debates, which are common to political discourse at large, with well-known implications of inclusion in or exclusion from a certain political group.5 At a syntactic level, therefore, the most prominent feature is an unequal distribution of personal and impersonal constructions. The results reveal that the occurrence of impersonal constructions is significantly higher in the Italian corpus than in the English one. . Impersonal constructions By “impersonal constructions”, reference is made to those structures, such as passives, agentless clauses and nominalisations, which serve either to avoid any mention of the ‘doer’ of an action or to diminish the agency and hence the responsibility for an event. Brown and Levinson (1978: 274) indicate that the primary function of passive constructions is “the demotion of an underlying subject”, thus serving politeness ends. More specifically, passives with deleted agent are linguistic structures which may serve not only to give thematic prominence to the element in the subject position, but also to reduce the prominence of the actor, that is, the person who causes or controls an action completely excluding this participant from mention. The analysis of several occurrences of processes realised in passive voice and dealing with war events (such as, for example, “hit/colpire”, “kill/uccidere”, “bomb/bombardare”, “murder/assassinare”, etc.) confirms this general tendency towards depersonalisation and abstractness both in the British and Italian corpora. However, the distribution of personal and impersonal constructions shows causation and human agency more frequently in the British texts. A more detailed examination of the data reveals particularly interesting cases. For
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
example, the nouns “errors” and “mistakes” involve an actor committing the error, who, though not explicitly expressed, is the implied target of criticism. As to the instances from the British debates, whose total number of occurrences is 48, different levels of agency can be found, ranging from the most detached agentless passives of examples (8) and (9) – in which, however, the impersonal conditional clause is immediately followed by a personal clause, reducing the “abstractness” of the whole proposition – to active structures (examples (10) and (11)) which imply an assumption of responsibility by the speaker, as the use of the pronoun “we”, in this case inclusive, suggests: (8) Mr. Bruce George: [. . . ] Wars do not proceed according to paths laid down by analysts, progressing swiftly towards the ultimate objective. There have been mistakes – political, strategic, tactical and intelligence mistakes. (House of Commons. 18/05/1999) (9) Mr. Bill Rammell: [. . . ] When mistakes are made, we must admit and explain them honestly and openly. (House of Commons. 18/05/1999) (10) Mr. Menzies Campbell: [. . . ] We have another duty, and that is to be frank. If NATO makes mistakes, it should say so and publish all the evidence, including the video evidence. (House of Commons. 19/04/1999) (11) Mr. Chris Mullin: [. . . ] When we make mistakes – and we have made some very bad ones – they should be faced up to squarely. (House of Commons. 18/05/1999)
On the other hand, in the 42 occurrences of errori in the Italian corpus, the identity of the agent responsible for having committed the mistake is systematically omitted. The typical structure is the passive with deleted agent, illustrated in example (12), namely an action brought about without the involvement of human agency. It must be added, however, that there are a few occurrences in which errori is the head of a prepositional phrase, such as gli errori della NATO (“NATO’s errors”), so that an agent is present. Yet, because of its position within a nominal phrase, it is rankshifted to a secondary position, as shown in example (13). (12) Massimo D’Alema, Presidente del Consiglio dei ministri: [. . . ] La discussione circa l’efficacia di tali misure si è riaccesa dopo i più gravi e drammatici errori compiuti nelle ultime settimane. (Camera dei Deputati. 19/5/1999)
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Discussion of the effectiveness of such measures has been refuelled as a consequence of the most grievous and dramatic errors committed in recent weeks. (13) Irene Pivetti: [. . . ] Ricordiamo fra l’altro che i cosiddetti errori dell’aviazione NATO, che provocano tante vittime civili, sono solo destinati a moltiplicarsi. (Camera dei Deputati. 19/5/1999) We would like to point out, among other things, that the so-called errors by NATO aircraft, which have claimed so many civil casualties, are only bound to increase.
An extreme syntactic means to minimise the negative implications of military actions consists in hiding all traces of human presence; therefore, not only the actor, but also the semantic goal or patient of the action are deleted. This aim is reached by means of ergative or ergative-like verbs, which describe the action from the point of view of the object affected by the action, that is to say, causation is not expressed and the process is represented as being self-caused:6 (14) Federico Orlando: [. . . ] Ci auguriamo, perciò, che a Belgrado non solo cessino di cadere le bombe che colpiscono anche l’Europa in costruzione, ma che fiorisca una cultura liberale del patriottismo. (Camera dei Deputati. 19/5/1999) We wish, therefore, not only that bombs would stop falling on Belgrade, bombs which also strike the building of Europe, but also that there would flourish a liberal culture of patriotism.
Although there is some external form of agency involved in the dropping of bombs, the use of the verb cadere (to fall), with its ergative interpretation, shifts the focus from such an agent to the apparently self-engendered process. A key role in the realisation of legitimation is played by objectivisation, very frequently achieved through the use of nominalisation. This syntactic choice, which consists in conveying the functions of the verb to the noun, thus levelling the predicate-argument relations and producing greater semantic complexity, has essentially one function in parliamentary texts: the speaker objectifies the content and makes it possible to treat it as something which is set apart from persons, actors or goals, and time, as well as devoid of causality. Such a circumstance is in line with the tendency, already mentioned, to represent facts impersonally, and therefore as being unavoidable. In this case, innumerable examples can be found both in the Italian and British debates. As foreseeable, among the most recurrent processes
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
there are those involving “military” events, words which suggest violence, such as “intervention/intervento”, “bombardment/bombing/bombardamento”, “killing/uccisione”, “disintegration/disintegrazione”, “suffering/sofferenze”, etc.; consequently, the analysis of lexical frequencies does not present particular divergences. Yet, in order to achieve its desired effect, the addressee must not detect a rhetorical device, otherwise it could turn out to be a counterproductive instrument.7 Within the Italian debate, however, impersonal style has sometimes been used by debaters to such an extent that in a few cases it did trigger an antagonist’s ironic reply. This circumstance is brilliantly exemplified by the following extract in which an MP’s (in this case the Deputy Prime Minister’s) affirmation provokes an interruption which refers back to the previous statement with the aim of making it ridiculous. The second intervention is based on the same mutuallyshared knowledge of political dialectics: the interrupter uses an argumentation ad absurdum in order to ensure irony and so as to discredit the opponent: (15) Sergio Mattarella: [. . . ] Il Governo italiano, come è stato già riferito in Commissione, ha autorizzato, attraverso il cosiddetto trasferimento di autorità, la messa a disposizione dell’alleanza di quarantadue velivoli della nostra aeronautica. . . Fausto Bertinotti: Volano da soli! Hanno il pilota automatico! (Camera dei Deputati. 24/3/1999) – As already reported to the Commission, The Italian Government has authorised, through the so-called transfer of authority, the making available of forty-two Italian aircraft to the alliance. . . – “They fly by themselves! They have an automatic pilot!”
In this segment, in trying to avoid being held directly accountable for the statement, the first MP resorts not only to the use of embedded prepositional phrases, but also to an introductory nominalisation, la messa a disposizione (“the making available”) of forty two aircraft, which further contributes to avoiding any mention of agency. The activity to be legitimated is objectivised, represented as a “thing”. As a result, the interruption “They fly by themselves! They have an automatic pilot!”, developing this evident depersonalising effect, provokes irony, a rhetorical device whose meaning is traditionally regarded as implying the opposite of its literal form.8
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. Quotations and other sources of authority In order to achieve their aims, MPs tend to strengthen the factual validity of their statements so as to emphasise the authoritativeness of their discourse and hence the credibility of their representation of events. The persuasive force is thus enhanced by quoting other credible or authoritative sources. This feature is typical of political oratory at large, aiming at appearing reliable in contrast to one’s opponents, and is therefore shared by British as well as Italian parliamentary discourse. The analysis of the two corpora shows that direct quotations are more frequent in the Italian parliamentary context, taking the form of short narrative segments embedded in a larger narrative, or else of a longer repetition of someone else’s statement, especially in the original wording. The more authoritative is the quotation, the more reliable is the version of the events presented by the speaker. Thus, among the several quotations from authoritative political texts, official documents and institutional sources, the most recurrent is the following one from the Italian Constitution: (16) Simone Gnaga: [. . . ] «L’Italia ripudia la guerra come strumento di offesa alla libertà degli altri popoli e come mezzo di risoluzione delle controversie internazionali»: questo recita l’articolo 11 della nostra Carta costituzionale. L’Italia ripudia la guerra come mezzo di risoluzione delle controversie internazionali: lo ripeto, è l’articolo 11 della nostra Costituzione. (Camera dei Deputati. 26/3/1999) “Italy rejects war as an instrument by which other peoples’ freedom is offended, as well as a means of settling international disputes”: so reads Article 11 of the Italian Constitution. Italy rejects war as a means of settling international disputes: I will say it again, it is Article 11 of our Constitution.
The effectiveness of the quotation is reinforced by its thematic prominence; the choice of a marked theme shows the ability of the speaker to foreground the objective, authoritative value of the source in the use of a rhetorical strategy, further emphasised by the value of the repetition. Probably because of the political division within the very majority supporting the Italian government and therefore of a more urgent necessity to obtain parliamentary support for its own policies, such linguistic devices, belonging to the legitimatory class, are more frequently adopted in the debates held in the Italian Parliament. Similarly, the purpose of discrediting the political opponent is achieved especially through “indirect or vague quotations”.
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
When authority rises from openly cited sources, it guarantees the legitimation of the utterance and therefore the truth of its contents as well. Conversely, mentioning sources in an indeterminate, confused or unspecified way, or not explicitly citing them at all, reduces the authoritativeness and credibility of the source itself – usually a political opponent.9 (17) Simone Gnaga: [. . . ] L’altro giorno un rappresentante del Governo ha detto che adesso sarebbe il caso di smettere di buttare le bombe e di tornare alla via politica. (Camera dei Deputati. 26/3/1999) A few days ago, a Government representative said that now it would be time to stop chucking bombs and go back to political action.
A vague phrase, “a Government representative” (un rappresentante del Governo), instead of a referential subject, can be found here, and this conveys an idea of indefiniteness and therefore reduced trustworthiness. The indefinite time deixis (l’altro giorno – “a few days ago”) and the use of the verb buttare “to chuck”, not typically referred to bombs, rather than of the more precise and neutral lanciare – “to drop”, further contribute to this process. This is actually the only occurrence of buttare in the Italian corpus, and therefore is probably not the exact expression used by the government representative. As already mentioned, although this discursive strategy belongs to political rhetoric in general, its higher frequency in the Italian parliamentary context reveals a more accurate search for forms of justification or legitimation, which reflects the more intense political conflict. In particular, manifest intertextual embedding of a discourse may be considered as part of a more global credibility strategy. On the other hand, an analysis of various kinds of sources used as evidence reveals that in British parliamentary debates an important role is played by television, which produces an image of objectivity and factual information. Television is commonly referred to as a trustworthy and authoritative medium because of its power to illustrate more vividly and more effectively the dramatic situation. As British MPs repeat, television transmits “unforgettable”, “dreadful”, “terrible” or “intense images”, “scenes”, “pictures”, of “suffering”, “pain”, “anguish” and “slaughter”, which lead people, more strongly than by words, “to be deeply moved and deeply angered”. These words are confirmed by the Deputy Prime Minister, who states that “watching pictures of slaughter on television leads us to think deeply about the actions that we must take” (24/03/1999, c. 493), and similarly other MPs
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insist that “those powerful images on the television are fuelling the desire of the people of this country for action” (Mr. Gerald Howarth, 18/05/1999, c. 952). However, the lack of balance between the reference to television in the British and the Italian parliamentary debates under analysis is significant: television was mentioned in 59 cases in the House of Commons, whereas Italian MPs referred to it only 8 times. Furthermore, this feature is highlighted by the comparison with the frequency of quotations or other forms of evidence taken from the press, which is the same in the House of Commons as it is in the Chamber of Deputies. Thus, it would be interesting to examine more deeply if this recurrent appeal to television is a typical interactional characteristic of the British parliamentary debate at large aimed at making a speech more credible and effective, as the Kosovo debate data seem to suggest. In the debates under analysis, a partial explanation of this tendency may be provided by a British MP’s very words: (18) Mr. George Galloway: [. . . ] Since television has been mentioned, I shall digress briefly. I have lost count of the number of people who have said today, in support of the action, that we had to do it because of what we saw on our television. (House of Commons. 25/03/1999)
In the British parliamentary debates, television is represented as being the most explicit, direct source of knowledge and perhaps its inherent directness limits reference to the medium in the Italian parliamentary context, where, as already mentioned, other sources are preferred in order to increase the reliability of the speaker, or to be persuasive.
. Lexical resources Speakers select among linguistic resources in order to achieve specific goals, so that they can refer to the same event in very different ways. In particular, word meanings will be firstly analysed in this section as to their level of indirectness and explicitness. In other words, a description may be given in vague or precise terms, and be more or less detailed, thus serving different purposes in the texts. Furthermore, significant information may be conveyed by the frequency of occurrence of relevant lexical patterns or by the connotations implied by typical collocates. Thus, in order to gain deeper insight into specific contents, the general discourse analysis methods will be combined here with a more “quantitative” approach.
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
. Indirectness versus explicitness In this article, the terms “indirectness” and “explicitness” have been partly adopted from Brown and Levinson (1978), Obeng (1997) and Gruber (1993) as very general categories, almost antonyms, which imply various communicative strategies. Under the label “indirectness” different kinds of violation of the maxims of cooperation of Grice’s theory (1975) have been taken into consideration, especially when indirectness implies a violation of the Quantity Maxim by saying less than is required, and a violation of the Manner Maxim by being vague or ambiguous. As Brown and Levinson have asserted (1978: 221ff.), instances of indirect use of language are also given by a violation of the Quality Maxim carried out by the use of irony, metaphors or rhetorical questions, since the intended meaning is expressed indirectly. However, since the instances of this third form of indirectness from British and Italian parliamentary debates present more similarities than differences, they will not be highlighted. Explicitness is closely related to the concept of commitment to the content of a proposition and is not, consequently, an inherent property of a text, but related to the subjectivity of utterances. In the present study, explicitness does not mean only “finding the right balance between what is said and what can be assumed, and therefore not giving more information than is needed or wanted” as Stubbs (1996: 205) defines it, but is rather connected to the degree of completeness as explained in Van Dijk (1997), namely the way in which adding or leaving out details may contribute to the positive or negative image of a social group. In the Brown-Levinson politeness model, participants in a communicative act adopt various strategies so as not to threaten each other’s faces or signal face threatening moves. In particular, indirectness plays a significant role in the maintenance of face and in politeness, in order to avoid problematic direct expressions. It therefore appears to be typical of formal situations such as parliamentary debating. Obviously, the communicative property of conveying meanings in either an explicit or indirect way involves all levels of discourse analysis. Indirect language may be employed in political metaphors, personal pronouns or referring strategies of political discourse, as Wilson (1990) has shown. The adoption of a significant syntactic-semantic choice may have a purpose of indirectness, for example, when avoiding to mention the agent of an action, as in the case of impersonal constructions, or similarly when referring to vague quotations.
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A level of analysis which appears equally meaningful is provided by different lexical choices. I have analyzed some specific cases in which the degree of indirectness or explicitness could be revealing of a general tendency: specifically the use of a significant proper noun or a corresponding paraphrase, the occurrence of negatively connoted terms, and the distribution of either vague or precise expressions in relating similar events. Among the possible forms of naming or forms of address, the use of the proper name is certainly the most referential and direct. If we consider the Commons debates on Kosovo, “President Milosevic”, being the most frequently mentioned person in the debates under study, was generally referred to in an individual way by his unique proper name. The frequency of “Milosevic” is relatively high – 470 occurrences – but it particularly stands out when compared with the corresponding use of the same proper noun in the Italian debate – only 295 cases. Italian MPs tended to use a wider series of referential expressions to identify, not always explicitly, Milosevic. This different form of identification, proving common in the Italian debates, is provided by a paraphrastic manipulation of the proper noun, so that its unique reference is replaced by a plural or singular description of a group to which the individual belongs. This reference is still definite, but does not involve a personal identification, thus limiting a personalisation of positions. On the other hand, the British choice of naming Milosevic could be explained also by the will to create an identifiable enemy, abstracting him from the institution to which he belongs. The following are among the most common examples of such numerical discrepancies in the use of referential expressions: Table 1. References to authorities in the two Houses Belgrade government Belgrade/Serbian/Serb authorities Serbian/Serb government Yugoslav government
3 5 6 3
Governo di Belgrado Autorità di Belgrado/serbe Governo serbo Governo jugoslavo
28 12 16 16
Once again, therefore, we are given an example of adoption of two discursive strategies tending either towards explicitness or indirectness, thus defining the speakers’ perspective in different ways. The avoidance of a direct identification of the discourse referent by Italian MPs may be aimed at not excessively personalising the attack, at least from a linguistic point of view, and is anyway a typical property of semantic distantiation.
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
As we would expect, such choices are confirmed by the analysis of the use and frequency of terms defining explicitly the speaker’s position by their rather marked negative connotation. For example, with regard to the use of “crime/criminal” in the English debate, we find 104 occurrences overall whose most frequent lexical collocate is “war”: (19) Mr. Malcolm Wicks: [. . . ] Despite the complexities, which we understand, is there not one common factor – Milosevic himself, who, time and again, is the puppet master of evil in the former Yugoslavia? Why do we treat him as a statesman and not name him as a war criminal? (House of Commons. 18/01/1999)
The expression “puppet master of evil” too enables us to perceive the linguistic mediation-free accusation meant to be brought against Milosevic by the British MPs. In the Italian parliamentary debate, there emerged an attempt to smooth excessively sharp and direct stands, so that out of the only 23 occurrences of crimine/criminale, 5 are used to describe the NATO forces’ actions, as in example (21). Otherwise, when the term is applied to Milosevic, it is often followed by a disclaimer, in this case “but”, which has a mitigating function (Van Dijk 1993b), as in the following segment: (20) Mario Tassone: [. . . ] Milosevic viene ora considerato un criminale – come in realtà è –, ma egli fu l’interlocutore dell’Occidente ed, in occasione di quella vicenda, ebbe riconoscimenti molto importanti. (Camera dei Deputati. 3/6/1999) Milosevic is now deemed to be a criminal – as he actually is – but he was an interlocutor of the Western world, and he was then attributed great importance. (21) Mara Malavenda: [. . . ] Il criminale atto di guerra contro la Serbia. (Camera dei Deputati. 26/3/1999) The criminal act of war against Serbia.
Recourse to the term “enemy/nemico” causes further personalisation of positions, and therefore higher explicitness in defining one’s own as well as the opponents’ stand on the military intervention. The frequency of such a term does not prove to be high overall in the texts under consideration, which is probably due to the political implications involved by it. Nevertheless, the 20 occurrences of “enemy” in the British debates amount to twice the frequency found in the Italian ones, that is 10 occurrences.
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Still, the context in which this term is employed is even more significant. If at least 12 cases out of the 20 in the House of Commons clearly refer to the opponent in the war as the “enemy”, an explicit referent can never be found for nemico in the Italian debate; on the contrary, it is even introduced by an adverb of negation emptying it of its negative connotation, as in the following excerpt: (22) Massimo D’Alema: [. . . ] Noi continuiamo a ricercare il dialogo anche in questo momento. A Belgrado non c’è un nemico che vogliamo distruggere, c’è un Governo che sicuramente ha pesantissime responsabilità e noi vogliamo costringerlo alla pace, ma, ripeto, non c’è un nemico che vogliamo distruggere. (Camera dei Deputati. 26/3/1999) We are still seeking a dialogue, even at this moment. There is no enemy in Belgrade whom we wish to destroy; there is a Government which surely bears a ponderous burden of responsibility, and we want to force it to the peace table. But, I repeat, there is no enemy we wish to destroy.
By utilising terms such as either “criminal” or “enemy”, a linguistic strategy commonly found in political discourse in general – not only in parliamentary debates – is implemented, namely the semantic polarisation of positions. Generally, it is carried out through “the typical positive evaluation of us and our actions in positive terms, and of them and their actions in negative terms” (Van Dijk 1997: 28). However, the data analysed show that such a strategy was more frequently adopted by British MPs rather than Italian ones, evidence of the fact that the need to soften the Italian government’s official positions was then felt, and that neither excessively offensive attributes nor too drastic a responsibility judgement could be uttered in Italy with regard to Milosevic. Similarly, the typical use of the deictic pronoun “we”, in contrast with “them”, presupposes the presence of different groups, and, in the case of the parliamentary debates held in the British House or in the Italian Chamber, also a different interpretation of their roles and identities. Although the speaker identification is not fixed throughout a discourse, in the British parliamentary debates MPs generally tended to identify with others of the same nationality, or, more broadly, with NATO forces, as well as to create a group identity, by using “we”. The deictic “they” is reserved for the Serbs instead; the polarisation of positions is therefore between these two groups. Such a linguistic strategy tends to invite solidarity with the group represented as “us” and dissociation from “them”, the antagonist group. An example is provided by the next fragment of the Deputy Prime Minister’s speech, where negative contrasts and address forms are also used to delegitimise the oppo-
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
nents. Furthermore, in the following example contraposition is achieved not only by the use of “them”, but also by the pronoun “you”, which reduces the distance between the speaker and his interlocutor, as if to show confidence in his own words, and is further emphasised by the repeated use of the deontic modality, indicating the speaker’s involvement: (23) The Deputy Prime Minister Mr. John Prescott: [. . . ] We must say to Mr. Milosevic, “You started it, and you have the chance to end it. We have to make it clear that we consider your actions repressive and offensive. We want to stop them, and that is what we are doing with our NATO forces.” (House of Commons. 24/03/1999)
On the other hand, “we” was frequently used the Italian parliamentary debate when referring to the majority in favour of the intervention, whereas “them” was generally used when referring to Italian MPs opposing armed intervention, and not to Milosevic or the Serbs. The Italian parliamentary debate hardly shows a similar contraposition between we/you; on the contrary, it is more common to find an attempt to reconcile distant positions, as in the following extract from a long appeal to Milosevic. Moreover, the tone of this intervention tends to establish a footing between the MP and the Serb leader sounding, in the first place, respectful, or at least not threatening. It emerges clearly from the following example, which ends with an almost poetic image and proves extremely different from the words of British MPs’: (24) Gabriele Cimadoro: [. . . ] In verità ho intenzione di rivolgere il mio intervento, vostro tramite, direttamente al Presidente della Federazione jugoslava [. . . ] Ritengo sia sbagliato considerarla come il responsabile assoluto di quanto sta avvenendo; [. . . ] Io la rispetto, Presidente Milosevic, e con me il Governo ed il Parlamento italiano, [. . . ] ma il dialogo si fonda sulla capacità di ascolto, [. . . ] Ascolti la nostra voce, Presidente Milosevic! [. . . ] Aiuti davvero il suo popolo che vuole tornare a rivedere le stelle, che anche a Belgrado sono più luminose dei tracciati della contraerea. (Camera dei Deputati. 13/4/1999) Indeed, I intend to address my intervention, through your mediation, directly to the President of the Yugoslav Federation, [. . . ] I believe it is wrong to consider you as being the only person responsible for what is happening; [. . . ] I respect you, President Milosevic, and so do the Italian Government and Parliament, [. . . ] but dialogue is grounded in the capacity to listen, [. . . ] Listen to our voice, President Milosevic! [. . . ] Truly help
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your people, who want to see the stars again, stars that, even in Belgrade, are brighter than the traces left by anti-aircraft guns.
. Vagueness and generalisation In parliamentary debates, vagueness is one among various forms of indirectness which may be strategically adopted for several reasons. The most significant cases, which would be worth quoting in full, are represented by two speeches made on the same day, March 24th 1999, by Mr. John Prescott and Mr. Sergio Mattarella, respectively the then British and the Italian Deputy Prime Ministers (Vicepresidente del Consiglio dei Ministri). They held the same office, they were speaking about the same topic on the same day, and were supposed to share the same knowledge about the events. And yet, their texts do not realise the same meanings but, on the contrary, have different relevant implications from a linguistic as well as political perspective. (25) The Deputy Prime Minister Mr. John Prescott: [. . . ] Earlier this evening, four British aircraft, together with missiles from the submarine HMS Splendid, attacked targets in the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia as part of a co-ordinated NATO air strike. Two other aircraft flew supporting missions. The UK Harriers operated out of Gioia del Colle in Italy. In addition, attacks were mounted by seven United States Air Force B52 bombers from Fairford in Gloucestershire. The strike in which they participated was a very significant one, involving both air-launched and sea-launched cruise missiles and manned aircraft from the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Canada and Spain. A number of other allied air forces flew supporting missions. The targets being attacked in this first phase were mainly elements of the Yugoslavian air defence system, but also included a number of Serbian military facilities related to the repression in Kosovo. (House of Commons. 24/03/1999) (26) Sergio Mattarella, Vicepresidente del Consiglio dei ministri: Signor Presidente, onorevoli colleghi, vorrei anzitutto riassumere gli aggiornamenti di queste ultime ore in relazione alla crisi nel Kosovo. Ieri sera, come è noto, il segretario della NATO Solana, dopo aver consultato i Governi alleati, ha annunciato pubblicamente di aver impartito istruzioni al comandante in capo, generale Clark, per l’avvio della prima fase delle operazioni aeree. Lo stesso Solana ha reso noto di avere informato della sua decisione il Segretario generale delle Nazioni Unite Kofi Annan e al contempo ha preso
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
contatto con il Cancelliere tedesco Schroeder, nella qualità di Presidente di turno del Consiglio dell’Unione europea, anche nella prospettiva del vertice che è in corso a Berlino oggi e domani. (Camera dei Deputati. 24/03/1999) Mr. President, honourable colleagues, first of all I wish to summarise the update of the past few hours with respect to the crisis in Kosovo. Last night, as it is well known, NATO’s Secretary Mr. Solana, after having consulted the allied Governments, publicly announced having instructed Commander-in-Chief General Clark to begin the first phase of airborne operations. Mr. Solana also made it known that he had informed UN Secretary-General Mr. Kofi Annan of his decision, and that at the same time he had contacted German Chancellor Mr. Schroeder, as temporary President of the EU Council, also in light of the summit currently being held in Berlin today and tomorrow.
The same fact is represented in two completely different ways, each encoding a distinct interpretation of the events. Halliday’s transitivity theory (1994) suggests that the distinction is related to specific grammatical realisations, above all the kind of processes used. On the one hand, there is a majority of verbal processes in the Italian Deputy Prime Minister’s intervention, in which the action involved is that of “speaking” rather than of “doing”. The only material action is realised as a nominalisation (l’avvio della prima fase delle operazioni aeree) so that some of the semantic information concerning the participants in the process is lost. On the other hand, if we consider the verbs used in the fragment of the British Prime Minister’s speech, they represent a long list regarding exclusively material processes (“attack”, “fly”, “mount attacks”, “participate”), namely processes of “doing” by which the speaker describes the participants in the actions and the circumstances under which such actions were carried out. For this purpose, a great number of details are used in the British Deputy Prime Minister’s speech to avoid abstraction and illustrate in specific terms the reality of the facts, thus highlighting the typical features of an informative discourse. It is evident that the repeated use of verbal processes by the Italian Deputy Prime Minister fulfils a different function: they introduce other authoritative sources to whom the responsibility may be shifted. Moreover, his words include few temporal and spatial references and provide few technical details (as opposed to the technicality, for example, of “RAF Harrier GR7s, based in southern Italy, using Paveway 2 laser-guided bombs”), so that information about the events referred to shows a different degree of accessibility in the
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British and Italian Parliaments. Example (26) is particularly significant, considering the fact that it is an extract not of a debate but of a formal statement of the Government in order to inform parliament of events (Informativa urgente del Governo), and yet it is characterised in particular by legitimising features. Obviously, these are specific discourse strategies which, in the Italian case, contribute further to the semantic indeterminacy and to the speaker’s reduced commitment to propositional content. As a consequence, the overall effect of the Italian Deputy P.M.’s speech is one of distancing, whereas the British Deputy P.M.’s explicit words avoid such linguistic mechanisms in favour of a definitely more objective, direct and informative style. As previously pointed out, vagueness is an important form of indirectness beside which we should consider similar linguistic strategies which may be defined as “generalisation”. According to Van Leeuwen (1995), generalisation is a kind of abstraction which plays a central role in texts mainly concerned with legitimising. A frequent example is provided in the Italian corpus by the terms bombe (“bombs”) and missili (“missiles”), always presented as generic entities or, at least, endowed with some abstracted, “distilled” qualities. In the words of Van Leeuwen (1995: 99), “these distillations not only highlight some aspect of an action at the expense of others, they also realise purposes of legitimation: purposes through the kind of qualities highlighted”. Actually, “bombe/bombs” and “missili/missiles” were never defined in detail or by means of accurate attributes in the Italian debates, as in the following instances: “una terrificante pioggia di missili e di bombe su Belgrado”, “una selvaggia pioggia dal cielo di missili e bombe”, “qualche centinaia o qualche migliaia di bombe e di missili” (“an appalling rain of missiles and bombs over Belgrade”, “a wild rain of missiles and bombs falling from the sky”, “hundreds or even thousands of bombs and missiles”). Such a loss in precision appears functional to a legitimising attempt: if a situation, or else an entity, is presented as a general statement, it may be considered more easily as being a commonly held belief; moreover, the lack of precision should make it more difficult for it to be criticised. In addition, the considerable room left for interpretation may be strategically used by opponent MPs to attack, by means of the same indeterminacy, the validity of NATO’s intervention, so that non bastano quattro bombe o tre missili per destituire Milosevic (“four bombs or three missiles are not enough to dismiss Milosevic”), or un po’ di bombe . . . (“some bombs”). As already noted, the action of dropping bombs or missiles is typically represented as an almost-involuntary event, although, as we know, it must necessarily be brought about by a human agent. For the same reason, bombs are
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
attributed human features, so that, in the case of the frequent bombe criminali (“criminal bombs”), the bombs, rather than human agents, are the target of criticism. As we have seen, agentless expressions are also used in the Commons debates, (e.g. “bombs and missiles have been targeted on”, “bombs had been dropped”, etc.). Nevertheless, the room left for each case of generalisation is limited, completeness and terminological accuracy being preferred as in the following fragment: (27) The Secretary of State for Defence Mr George Robertson: [. . . ] Follow-on attacks were conducted by manned tactical aircraft, including RAF Harrier GR7s, based in southern Italy, using Paveway 2 laser-guided bombs[. . . ] Six RAF Harriers were tasked to attack an ammunition storage facility to the east of the Tomahawk target. Four of the aircraft were armed with two Paveway 2 1,000 lb laser-guided bombs – the type used extensively and with considerable success during Operation Desert Fox. (House of Commons. 25/03/1999)
. “Smart weapons and surgical strikes” The linguistic features of political rhetoric have been extensively researched.10 A Parliament is, by definition, one of the conventional places in which argumentative ability is displayed through debates. As Atkinson (1984) has indicated, most of the rhetorical devices available to politicians are used specifically to invite applause and approval. In this study, I have analyzed the way in which linguistic resources are used during specific parliamentary debates in order to explain and support a political course of action, to legitimate controversial decisions, or, more broadly, to obtain parliamentary support as well as approval from the public, which is often implicitly addressed in parliamentary interventions. However, the analysis of the data does not always allow us to draw a clearcut boundary between the discursive practices in the two different contexts. In many cases, Italian and British MPs employ the same linguistic choices, representing an expression of parliamentary debating tout court. Beyond the most common rhetorical devices traceable in the two corpora – such as the use of several argumentation strategies like rhetorical questions, metaphors, repetitions, hyperboles and other figures of speech – euphemisms, which would seem to be a typical feature of talk about war, present distinctive characteristics which are worth discussing briefly.
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Euphemisms are a typical strategy to manipulate meanings at a lexical level; they are used for rhetorical purposes and therefore commonly found in political discourse at large. The use of the most common euphemisms concerning war, such as “ethnic cleansing”, “humanitarian war”, “smart weapons”, “surgical strikes” and “collateral damages”, shows that similar linguistic choices are made by Italian and British debaters. Nevertheless, the frequent use by British as well as Italian MPs of “ethnic cleansing/pulizia etnica” suggests that this expression has probably lost part of its euphemistic connotation.11 Thus the occurrence of this expression is similar in the Italian (79 instances) and British (97 instances) debates, whereas other typical euphemistic phrases tend to be avoided in both Houses, as confirmed by the frequency table hereunder: Table 2. Euphemisms in the two Houses humanitarian war smart weapons surgical strike collateral damage
2 1 1 4
guerra umanitaria armi intelligenti attacco chirugico danni collaterali
3 6 2 2
In these cases, they are often used in quotes or modified by lexical items such as “so called/ cosiddetto”, illustrated in examples (28) and (29), which provide instances of “markers of detachment” (Stubbs 1990: 208) and therefore suspend the literal interpretation. Both in examples (30) and in (31) the speaker distances himself from the euphemism being used by signalling explicitly its use or through the quotation marks, a transcription convention used to report a particular tone of the voice, a meaningful intonation or a pause signalling, in this case, the detachment of the speaker. Again, the frequency and even the wording of the euphemisms used by the Italian and British Members of Parliament are analogous: (28) Mr. Menzies Campbell: [. . . ] In recent time, the most obvious illustration of that is the belief – almost ineradicably lodged in the mind of the public after the Gulf war – that so-called smart weapons are in all cases capable of pinpoint accuracy, and that so-called surgical strikes can be effected without risk to anyone or anything other than the designated targets. (House of Commons. 17/06/1999) (29) Giovanni Bianchi: [. . . ] La ferinità della guerra moderna, pur con le sue armi cosiddette chirurgiche (ma non esistono armi intelligenti, come ricorda il Presidente della Repubblica Scàlfaro), sembra destinata ogni volta
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a colpire il contesto e quindi, alla fine, più la popolazione civile. (Camera dei Deputati. 26/3/1999) The savagery of modern warfare, despite its so-called surgical weapons (but intelligent weapons simply do not exist, as former Italian Republic President, Mr. Luigi Scalfaro, rightly pointed out), seems bound to strike every time a specific context, and therefore, ultimately, the civilian population. (30) Mr. Malcolm Savidge: [. . . ] As my hon. Friend the Member for Dunfermline, West (Ms. Squire) said, it would not cut out those horrible euphemisms, “friendly fire” and “collateral damage”. (House of Commons. 18/5/1999) (31) Rino Piscitello: [. . . ] Oggi appare umanamente insopportabile il peso di quelli che, con un orribile eufemismo, vengono definiti tragici errori o effetti collaterali. (Camera dei Deputati. 19/5/1999) Today, the moral burden of what, with a horrible euphemism, is defined as a tragic error, or a collateral effect, appears truly too heavy to bear.
The findings suggest that both the distribution and the function of euphemisms in the British and Italian texts are very similar, a result apparently in conflict with the overall analysis, according to which the discursive strategy of rhetorical mitigation, typical of euphemisms, is used most frequently by the Italian MPs debating on Kosovo, as evidence from data will confirm. Yet, beyond the different syntactic constructions or the divergent lexical choices, the properties of parliamentary texts are, first of all, genre-specific and, more broadly, related to the features of the sub-genre of political discourse to which House of Commons debates belong. . Keywords and lexical choices The frequent occurrence of certain words and lexical patterns conveys specific meanings; therefore, a comparative examination of recurrent wordings in the two corpora of parliamentary debates should provide further evidence of two linguistic as well as political attitudes towards the same events. For these purposes, a more revealing insight seems to come from a quantitative approach, more specifically from the analysis of frequency and distribution of fixed patterns and of the most frequent collocates.
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As far as specific lexical items are concerned, I would like to comment briefly on a few cases which reveal different underlying attitudes more clearly, or else confirm some typical features of parliamentary debates respectively in the House of Commons and the Chamber of Deputies. Among the keywords of Kosovo debates, i.e. the most recurrent and important lexical words from a semantic point of view (Stubbs 1996), we find: “NATO”, “action”, “war”, “government”, “ground”, “bombing”, “peace”, “conflict”, “refugees”. Obviously, most of these terms belong to the context of Kosovo war in general, but some forms differ as for their distribution and collocations in the British and Italian parliamentary debates. The frequency of the lemma “war” (464 occurrences) is very similar to that of the Italian guerra (486), but if we consider the approximate synonyms and semantically related words, some differences prove to be significant. The most dissimilar frequencies concern the terms “intervention” and “attack”. The former is very common in the Italian corpus analysed, where 260 occurrences of the term intervento12 have been found, whereas it is used only 68 times in the Commons debates. Conversely, the latter, whose Italian corresponding form is attacco, presents a low frequency amounting to 31 occurrences in the Kosovo debates held in the Italian Chamber. It is much more frequent in the British debates in the two synonymous variants “attack” (48 occurrences) and “strike” (65 occurrences). It is well-known that the use of synonyms presupposes different implications. From these simple data, it clearly emerges that, in order to describe a military action, a term implying the use of weapons or some sort of violence, as in the case of “attack” or “strike”, is largely preferred by British MPs. Such a military connotation is still implicit in the term “intervention”, referring to a more generic participation in a situation, which is more typical of the Italian debate. As a result, we could once again trace such tendencies to definite linguistic choices which are more or less explicit depending on the relevant context. As already mentioned, the different geographical and political situations strongly affect the debate and therefore the MPs’ lexical selections as well. Since meanings are also conveyed by the frequency of collocations throughout the texts, it is interesting to analyse the most frequent lexical collocates of two relevant keywords, i.e. “war” and “bombing”, whose frequency is very similar in the British and Italian parliamentary debates (“war” – 464 occurrences, guerra – 486; “bombing” – 249/ “bombardment” – 29, bombardamento – 262). In the Italian corpus, in particular, among the most frequent lexical collocates of guerra or bombardamento, we find: sospensione, sospendere, fermare, fine, and tregua (amounting totally to 156 cases), whereas the corresponding “suspen-
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
sion”, “stop”, “end”, “cease, “suspend”, “call off ”, and “cessation” are not the most common collocates of “war” or “bombing” in the British corpus (only 33 occurrences). Therefore, in consideration of the differences in their typical cooccurrences, their connotations also differ in the two parliamentary contexts. With specific reference to the comparative analysis of distinct distributions of the most frequent words, a manifest disproportion emerges between the British debate and the Italian one with regard to ground attacks, as revealed by the frequent use of “ground” (321 occurrences) in expressions such as “ground forces” and “ground troops” (House of Commons), and truppe, contingente, soldati, intervento, attacco, azione, operazione or guerra di terra/terrestre (Camera dei Deputati, only 40 occurrences overall). If we consider other contrasting data concerning the frequency of relevant word forms, the term “peace”/pace plays an important role with its 210 occurrences in the British parliamentary texts, but presents a much higher frequency (373 occurrences) in the Italian debates. Similarly, though on a smaller scale, the different frequency of the lemma “victory”/vittoria in the British and Italian texts (respectively 11 and 8 occurrences), as well as that of “win”/vincere (respectively 22 and 6),13 can be traced to definite political reasons. As examples (32) and (33) confirm, the British MPs’ words were outspoken, explicit, whereas the Italian linguistic choices correspond to a more cautious political position. Italian MPs needed to settle internal disagreement, and this could also be carried out by employing lexical forms suggesting positive or neutral semantic connotations, as we have seen for “intervention” or “peace”, or otherwise in association with collocates which mitigate the inherent negative meaning as in the case of “war” and “bombing”. At the same time, they do not imply too active an involvement in the events, as in the case of words like “ground”, “victory” and “win”: (32) Mr. John Wilkinson: [. . . ] Once our country is engaged upon war, there is only one acceptable outcome, and that is victory. (House of Commons. 18/05/1999) (33) Massimo D’Alema, Presidente del Consiglio dei ministri: [. . . ] In questo modo offriamo una speranza a tutti e rendiamo evidente che il nostro progetto non prevede che nei Balcani di domani ci siano vincitori e vinti, dove i vinti saranno lasciati a contare i loro morti ed i vincitori, anch’essi non privi di morti, chiamati a festeggiare o a spartirsi il bottino della vittoria. (Camera dei Deputati. 19/05/1999) In this way, we offer hope to everybody, and make it clear that neither does
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our project envisage any winners and vanquished in tomorrow’s Balkans, nor that the vanquished may be left counting the dead, nor that the winners, not devoid of casualties themselves, may be invited to celebrate or share out the spoils of victory.
The above considerations can also be applied to terms such as “pride/proud”, which tend to highlight involvement in the military action (as in example (34)). Their frequency in the British debate is twice that in the Italian debate; in particular, 22 out of the 24 occurrences are explicitly self-referring, as pointed out twice in the British Deputy Prime Minister’s speech and emphasised by the repeated use of inclusive “we”, claiming common ground and in-group membership. (34) The Deputy Prime Minister Mr John Prescott: [. . . ] The House overwhelmingly supports our forces in this action. We offer our consideration and sympathy to the families of our soldiers, airmen and airwomen. We are proud to be involved in these matters, we have a right to be involved, and our action is based fully on international law. It will help people who are being brutally repressed, and that is the job of a democratic nation. I am proud to belong to a country that is part of an alliance trying to stop that repression. (House of Commons. 24/03/1999)
Italian MPs express solidarietà (52 occurrences versus 5 overall of “solidarity/sympathy”), rather than “pride”; the term orgoglio (“pride”), which recurs 12 times in all, is frequently referred (6 occurrences) to the Serbs’ ethnic pride. Moreover, the only expression of pride including the pronoun noi (“we”), therefore suggesting participation, is uttered by those opposing the intervention, as shown in the following extract: (35) Domenico Comino: [. . . ] Noi siamo orgogliosi delle nostre posizioni antinterventiste e pacifiste: non le abbiamo assunte per biechi fini elettorali, perché parliamo direttamente alla gente senza la mediazione ed i pietismi dei mezzi di informazione di regime. (Camera dei Deputati. 19/5/1999) We are proud of our pacifist and anti-interventionist positions, which we have not espoused for mean political expediency, but because we speak directly to the people, without recourse to mediation nor to the sanctimoniousness typical of the media of the regime (36) Giancarlo Cito: Signor Presidente, sono d’accordo che facciamo parte di un’alleanza, così come è giusto che in quest’aula si esprima solidarietà ai nostri ragazzi e ai nostri militari. (Camera dei Deputati. 26/3/1999)
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
Mr. President, I do agree that we are part of an alliance; it is right to express our solidarity toward our boys and our soldiers in this assembly.
The same appears to be true of the use of “credibility/credibilità”. In the Commons debates, the concordances show that this term, which recurs 36 times, is expressed 30 times as “Nato’s credibility”,14 contrasting manifestly with the Italian context in which “the credibility of Italy” is an equally important issue (see examples (37) and (38)), underlined 10 times, out of 20 occurrences, by the words of different Italian MPs. The lexical choice is clearly linked with the already discussed strategy of legitimation which prevailed in the Italian debate on Kosovo. (37) Mr. Tony Benn: [. . . ] Many times I have heard people say, “NATO must be credible” and I realise that the war is not so much about the refugees as about NATO’s credibility. (House of Commons. 19/04/1999) (38) Mauro Zani: [. . . ] Si pone un problema di serietà del nostro Parlamento, del nostro paese, del nostro Governo, un problema di rigore per mantenere quella forte credibilità che abbiamo conquistato anche con la missione «Arcobaleno». (Camera dei Deputati. 6/4/1999) There is a problem of seriousness of our Parliament, our country, our Government; a problem of rigour in order to preserve the high credibility which we have also gained through the “Acobaleno” Mission.
. Conclusions: “a debate is appreciated because of its frankness” It may be said that while the debates on Kosovo held in 1999 in the British and Italian Parliaments share a number of features, there are also a number of distinguishing characteristics. I have tried to present and discuss data which show that the same events are often represented in different ways in the two parliamentary contexts, thus expressing different attitudes towards the action represented. Accordingly, Italian debaters employed several linguistic strategies mostly as legitimising devices, whereas British MPs tended to use primarily linguistic resources typical of informative discourse. I have tried to illustrate these findings on the basis of an analysis as to the level of generality and specificity of the word meanings, as well as to indirectness and explicitness of the overall linguistic representation of the events. In particular, several forms of indirectness systematically occurring in the Italian
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discourses on Kosovo, but not common in the corresponding British texts, have been considered. To conclude, a few words on some metalinguistic expressions used by MPs themselves, which are particularly enlightening. In fact, thanks to the capacity of natural languages to refer to or describe themselves, it is possible to be informed of some value judgements directly from the speakers. Among the essential feature of the Commons debate, “frankness” is repeatedly praised: (39) Mr. John Maples: [. . . ] A debate is appreciated not because of its persuasive effect, but because of its frankness. Once again, we have had an interesting debate. Opinions have not changed much, but we have heard a good deal more frankness. (House of Commons. 19/04/1999)
Conversely, recurrent metalinguistic considerations from the Italian Chamber debates tend to criticise openly the widespread use of “double meanings underlying the words” (parole a doppio senso – Mario Tassone, Camera dei Deputati, 3/6/1999) and the tendency “to play with words, so as to avoid real debates in Parliament” (giocare con le parole, ad evitare vere discussioni in Parlamento – Gualberto Niccolini, Camera dei Deputati, 3/6/1999). The following extract is even more drastic: (40) Fausto Bertinotti: [. . . ] Continua la guerra e voi dite parole ambigue o false: dite che le forze italiane sono impegnate in funzioni difensive. Signori della maggioranza, siete bugiardi! Le basi sul territorio nazionale sono quelle da cui partono gli aerei che bombardano la Serbia, altro che funzione difensiva! (Camera dei Deputati. 26/3/1999) The war continues and you pronounce ambiguous and false words: you say that the Italian forces are engaged in defensive functions. Gentlemen of the majority, you are liars! The planes bombing Serbia take off from bases on Italian territory, and you call that a defensive function!
As a reading of the last example reveals, even the very debating styles are different, according to precise rules of procedure of the debates. A remark such as “bugiardi” (“liars”) would have been considered as being “unparliamentary language” in the House of Commons, and the MP having pronounced it would have been sanctioned. However, beyond manifest differences in the use of specific syntactic and lexical devices, awareness of the adopted linguistic choices emerges in both British and Italian Parliaments. On the one hand, Italian debaters wish their debates were characterised by more explicitness:
Legitimising and informative discourse in the Kosovo debates
(41) Mario Brunetti: [. . . ] Via, dunque, l’ipocrisia: chiamiamo le cose con il loro nome! (Camera dei Deputati. 26/3/1999) Away, then, with hypocrisy: let’s call things by their real names!
On the other hand, perception of an excessively explicit language lead some British MPs to wish for a more indirect, cautious way of describing events and actions: (42) Mr. Donald Anderson: [. . . ] We should leave the door open for compromise, and avoid that absolutist language which, alas, is used by some retired US generals and even President Clinton. To make an eventual negotiated settlement possible, we should avoid using words such as holocaust and genocide. (House of Commons. 19/04/1999)
Notes . The selection was made trying to include, whenever possible, debates occurring on the same dates. The list of the sittings analysed is given in the Appendix. . For a fuller critical framework of the Kosovo war, see Chomsky (1999). . The translations have aimed at a literal rendition of the original in order to maintain the “flavour” of the Italian debates. The emphasis is mine. . For a theoretical framing of legitimation as a discourse activity, see Van Leeuwen and Wodak (1999). . The interpretation of deictic expressions has been extensively dealt with in Brown and Gilman (1972), Quirk et al. (1985) and Wilson (1990). . Halliday (1994), Sinclair (1990). . Persuasive speech acts are characterised by the fact that “the person to be persuaded must not recognise the rhetorician’s actual persuasive intention”, Sornig (1989: 110). . See Brown and Levinson (1978: 226). . Fairclough (1992), Martin Rojo and Van Dijk (1997), Obeng (1997). . See, among many others, Atkinsons (1984), Wilson (1990), Van Dijk (1993a), Van Dijk (1997), Wodak (1989). . Euphemism has been defined as a metaphor which implies rhetorical mitigation (Van Dijk 1994: 5). . The cases in which the term was used meaning “turn to speak” in the parliamentary debate have not been counted. In all the other occurrences, its meaning is that of “military, armed intervention”.
Denise Dibattista . Only the cases pertaining to the war context have been counted, the absolute frequency not having been considered. . In his critical analysis of Kosovo war, Chomsky (1999: 134–136) explains that one persistent concern of Prime Minister Tony Blair, and President Bill Clinton as well, was to guarantee the “credibility of NATO”.
References Atkinson, John, M. (1984). Our Masters’ Voices: the language and body language of politics. London: Methuen. Bayley, Paul (1998). Argument about argument: the discourse of winning and losing. In M. Bondi (Ed.), Forms of argumentative discourse (pp. 157–174). Bologna: CLUEB. Beetham, David (1991). The legitimation of power. London: Macmillian. Biber, Douglas, Conrad, Susan, & Reppen, Randi (1998). Corpus Linguistics. Investigating Language Structure and Use. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brown, Penelope & Levinson, Stephen C. (1978). Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brown, Gillian & Yule, George (1983). Discourse Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brown, Roger & Gilman, Albert (1972). The pronouns of power and solidarity. In P. P. Giglioli (Ed.), Language and Social Context (pp. 252–282). Harmondsworth: Penguin. Chomsky, Noam (1999). The New Military Humanism. Lessons from Kosovo. London: Pluto Press. Fairclough, Norman (1992). Discourse and Social Change. Cambridge: Polity Press. Grice, Paul (1975). Logic and Conversation. In P. Cole & J. L. Morgan (Eds.), Syntax and Semantics, Vol. 3 (pp. 41–58). New York: Academic Press. Gruber, Helmut (1993). Political language and textual vagueness. Pragmatics, 3(1), 1–28. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1978). Language as Social Semiotic: the Social Interpretation of Language and Meaning. London: Edward Arnold. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1994 [1985]). An Introduction to Functional Grammar. London: Edward Arnold. Hodge, Robert & Kress, Gunther (1993). Language as ideology. London: Routledge. Obeng, Samuel G. (1997). Language and politics: indirectness in political discourse. Discourse and Society, 8(1), 49–83. Quirk, Randolph et al. (1985). A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language. London: Longman. Rojo, Luisa M. & Van Dijk, Teun A. (1997). There was a problem and it was solved! legitimating the expulsion of illegal immigrants in Spanish parliamentary discourse. Discourse and Society, 8(4), 523–567. Sinclair, John McH. (Ed.). (1990). Collins Cobuild English Grammar. London: Harper Collins.
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Sornig, Karl (1989). Some remarks on linguistic strategies of persuasion. In Ruth Wodak (Ed.), Language power and ideology (pp. 95–113). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Stubbs, Michael (1996). Text and Corpus Analysis: Computer-assisted Studies of Language and Culture. Oxford: Blackwell. Van Dijk, Teun A. (1993a). Elite discourse and racism. Newburg Park, CA: Sage. Van Dijk, Teun A. (1993b). Principles of critical discourse analysis. Discourse and Society, 4(2), 249–283. Van Dijk, Teun A. (1994). [Editorial] The discourses of Bosnia. Discourse and Society, 5(1), 5–6. Van Dijk, Teun A. (1997). What is political discourse analysis. Belgian Journal of Linguistics, 11, 11–52. Van Leeuwen, Theo (1995). Representing social action. Discourse and Society, 6(2), 81–106. Van Leeuwen, Theo & Wodak, Ruth (1999). Legitimizing immigration control. A discoursehistorical approach. Discourse and Society, 10(1), 83–118. Wilson, John (1990). Politically Speaking. The Pragmatic Analysis of Political Language. Oxford: Blackwell. Wodak, Ruth (Ed.). (1989). Language Power and Ideology. Studies in Political Discourse. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
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Appendix Parliamentary sittings used as corpus data.
House of Commons Official Report, Parliamentary Debates (Hansard): January 18th 1999 February 1st 1999 February 24th 1999 March 23rd 1999 March 24th 1999 March 25th 1999 April 13th 1999 April 19th 1999 May 18th 1999 June 9th 1999
Camera dei Deputati Resoconti officiali: Sitting no. 494 – March 1st 1999 Sitting no. 495 – March 2nd 1999 Sitting no. 510 – March 23rd 1999 Sitting no. 511 – March 23rd 1999 Sitting no. 513 – March 26th 1999 Sitting no. 514 – April 6th 1999 Sitting no. 515 – April 7th 1999 Sitting no. 518 – April 13th 1999 Sitting no. 531 – May 4th 1999 Sitting no. 537 – May 19th 1999 Sitting no. 548 – June 6th 1999 Sitting no. 550 – June 16th 1999 Sitting no. 565 – July 9th 1999
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni*
.
Introduction
There are many activities in which Members of Parliament are required to engage, but among the most general we may enumerate the activities of promoting themselves, and/or their parties, their record and their programme. Conversely, MPs also engage in the activity of criticising their opponents, their record and their programme. It has become rather a commonplace to say that, in the electoral arena at least, the former activity is more fruitful than the latter. Negative campaigns, if they remain within the field of legitimate controversy, are said to be destined for failure. However, in Parliament, where the function of the majority is to promote and defend its legislation and that of the opposition is to challenge it, constructively or otherwise, it is to be expected that parliamentary discourse will necessarily involve a considerable amount of negative criticism. This of course can be realised through the presentation of complex arguments, but it may also be realised through more simple means, such as lexical choices representing the question at hand in a negative fashion. For example, an MP might claim that a particular instance of legislation poses a danger to the nation, or that it instils fear among the public. In this paper we shall examine how a number of lexemes in the broad semantic area of danger and reaction to danger have been used in British, German and Italian parliamentary debates on European integration during the 1990s. Their use and their distribution will then be compared to the way these same words were used in press reports on the same subject published at the same time as the debates. We will thus be making a cross-linguistic and crosscultural analysis of how MPs in different countries and representing electorates with diverse orientations to European integration construct the idea of danger.1
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
The primary methodology used will be that of corpus linguistics2 using a small, specialised domain-specific multilingual corpus that has been under construction in Bologna and Forlì over the last few years. The languages involved in the project are English, German, Italian and Spanish and this particular paper will be concerned with the first three. The corpora, each amounting to about 3,000,000 running words, consist of selected political, institutional and media texts concerning the process of European integration dating from between 1992 and 1999, and each is divided into various register specific files. In this paper we will limit our analysis to the parliamentary and press sections. The software utilised is Wordsmith Tools (Scott 1999) which allows, among other things, the identification of all instances of a given word or lexeme, the display of the immediate co-text of each instance of its use, and the documentation of all the collocates of the search term, or ‘node’. The results will be compared with data drawn from much larger reference corpora. In particular, in the assessment of relative frequencies we shall be using a word list derived from British National Corpus composed of 90,000,000 words of written English and 10,000,000 tokens of spoken English. As far as concordances are concerned, we shall be making reference to the Bank of English data commercially available as Collins Cobuild English Collocations on CD-Rom (henceforth CEC). The Italian data will be compared to the CORIS/CODIS corpus of 100,000,000 tokens of written Italian compiled at CILTA, the Language Centre of the University of Bologna. The data in our German corpus will be compared to general data drawn from the Mannheim COSMAS corpus, which is the largest reference corpus of the German language available on line for public consultation, and which consists of over 374,000,000 tokens. The first aim of this research is linguistic. We will examine the chosen words in terms of their different meanings and usages in small register-specific corpora as well as in larger ones and we will investigate their co-text and consequently the recurring patterns which may be evinced. To be more precise, rather than looking at words, or word forms, we will look at lexemes.3 In other words, we shall attempt to come to a clearer understanding of how these terms are used, in particular how they are used by Members of Parliament, and ultimately what different meanings they realise. We shall furthermore draw comparisons between instances of usage and lexical patterns in the three different languages and in the three different social contexts in order to see, among other things, whether the languages have similar grammaticalisations to make similar meanings.
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
The second purpose is cultural; ‘danger’ may be said to be a cultural keyword. All societies have perceptions of danger – fear is a part of a selfpreservation mechanism – and these perceptions influence human behaviour and may also be used as forms of social control. Where there exist sanctions, we might say that there exist threats. A sociologist may study what a given society perceives as dangerous by giving a questionnaire to a random sample of a population. For example, a study (Diamanti 2001) with the aim of analysing attitudes towards immigration in eight European countries asked a sample population questions such as “Are immigrants a danger to our culture and identity?” and “Do immigrants constitute a threat to employment?”.4 As linguists, we shall instead be looking at a sample of texts to see how the terms are used in natural language in a particular institutional setting. The sample is drawn from political language, which has the aim, inter alia, of constructing consensus not just through the creation of a positive vision of how a nation should be governed but also through the creation of a negative construction of either a political opponent or an external force. The particular sample we are working with concerns the question of peaceful relationships between nations and institutional change, and therefore does not deal with the concrete possibility of physical danger. Nonetheless, as we shall see, MPs do invoke dangers and fears. Politicians make appeals not merely to the aspirations of the public, but also to its anxieties. They make promises but also, implicitly or explicitly, refer to the threats posed by alternative policies. Political language tries to construct an ideological vision of what is desirable but also what is undesirable in a given culture. The questions we shall pose are: what undesirable outcomes were constructed in the three national parliaments? What was held to instil fear? What was said to pose a threat and what values were supposedly endangered? At this point an important caveat should be made. A work of this kind is historically grounded and this particular case looks at Europe in the last decade of the twentieth century and its concerns over Maastricht, monetary integration and a relatively small movement towards enlargement. We would expect very different results in the first decade of the twenty-first century where concerns have shifted to other problems such as Europe’s incapacity to have a foreign policy or the much more radical process of enlargement that is on the horizon.
. The frequency of fear and threat The primary purpose of this paper is not to provide quantitative data, which may be of little significance in themselves. Nevertheless, in order to provide
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
some kind of warrant for our findings, and in order to see how the lexemes are distributed across different registers, we shall present a brief summary of relative frequencies, expressed in terms of the number of instances per 100 tokens. In the English parliamentary corpus, the lexeme threat has a relative frequency of 0.018 per 100 tokens. This figure is quite similar to its frequency in the British National Corpus – 0.016. However lexemes are sensitive to register and in the press corpus the relative frequency is significantly higher – 0.04. Moreover, it may also be noted that the quasi-synonymous lexemes danger and risk have both a similar frequency and distribution so that a sum of the frequencies of all three gives us an aggregate relative frequency of 0.054 in the parliamentary corpus and 0.1 in the press corpus. In the Italian parliamentary corpus, minaccia (“threat”) is rather infrequent – 0.007 instances per 100 words – and this corresponds to the frequency data of the reference corpus, CORIS CODIS. Its frequency in the press corpus is a little higher – 0.009 – but this is still considerably lower than the English data. Consequently we extended the search to pericolo (“danger”), whose relative frequency is 0.022 in the parliamentary corpus and 0.016 in the press corpus, while the reference corpus registers 0.012. Thus it would seem that the lexis of danger is less frequent in Italian than in English, and, unlike English, it is slightly more frequent in parliamentary discourse than in the discourse of the press. Extending the search to rischio (“risk”), however, it emerges that this lexeme has a relative frequency of 0.025 per 100 words in the parliamentary corpus and a surprisingly high 0.09 in the press corpus; the CORIS/CODIS data give us a relative frequency of 0.014. Thus the overall frequency of the three lexemes is 0.054 in the parliamentary corpus – identical to the English findings – and 0.15 in the press. The rather anomalous results for risk require some comment. The terms chosen are within the same semantic area but are certainly not synonyms. Each of them has its own peculiar nuances; the word risk is particularly associated with the concept of probability and thus we speak of high risk, low risk, and so on. Unlike the other terms, moreover, it often concerns a danger that is voluntarily undertaken, and thus we can take a risk, as well as run one. The collocates of risk in the Italian press corpus are largely words belonging to the field of finance (rischio di cambio, fondi per rischi, etc. “exchange rate risks” “risk funds”) and its very high frequency in the press corpus can perhaps be attributed to the serious difficulties that Italy’s public finances were undergoing during the 1990’s, together with a change in investment patterns. We have decided to leave these data unanalysed for the present.
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
In the German corpus, our search terms were gefahr (“danger”), bedrohung (“threat”), and drohen (“threaten”). In the parliamentary corpus the relative frequency of the first is 0.048, considerably higher than both English and Italian, while in the press corpus it is 0.046. In the reference corpus, COSMAS, the relative frequency is considerably lower – 0.017 – and thus we may conclude that German MPs invoke the notion of danger more frequently than in general German. The frequencies of bedrohung in the parliamentary and press corpora are 0.0095 and 0.012, respectively, while in COSMAS it is 0.007. drohen has a relative frequency of 0.01 in the parliamentary corpus, 0.028 in the press corpus and 0.006 in COSMAS. Overall frequencies amount to 0.067 in the parliamentary corpus and 0.086 in the press corpus, whereas data from the reference corpus of general German show that this aggregate figure is only 0.03. To sum up, the aggregate frequency of the lexis of danger is rather similar in all three parliamentary corpora, although it is used most frequently by German MPs, and frequencies are higher in the discourse of the press, but less markedly so in Germany. In Italian there is considerable disequilibrium between the lexemes, with a clear predominance of risk, particularly marked in the press corpus. As far as the lexis of reaction to danger is concerned, in the English parliamentary corpus the relative frequency of fear is 0.018, compared to 0.016 in the British National Corpus and 0.04 in the press corpus. These findings are remarkably similar to those concerning threat. In parliament, far more frequent than fear was the less intense concern (0.045 in the parliamentary corpus, 0.026 in the press corpus). Note that there is an inverse relationship between the frequency of fear and concern in the parliamentary and press corpora; in parliament the latter prevails, in the press the former. In the Italian corpus we took two quasi-synonyms paura (“fear”) and timore (“fear”) together, and their joint relative frequency in the parliamentary corpus is 0.014 in parliament, 0.028 in the press and 0.017 in CORIS/CODIS. The lexeme preoccupazione (“concern”) has a considerably higher relative frequency – 0.04 – in parliament, while, like the English corpus, in the press its frequency is lower – 0.028. In the reference corpus the figure is 0.014. The three lexemes for German are sorge (“concern”), angst (“fear”), and furcht (“fear”). The first of these is the most frequent in the parliamentary corpus, with a relative frequency of 0.047, and, like concern and preoccupazione, its meaning suggests a rational, objectivised reaction, rather than an instinctive and affective one. In contrast, in the press corpus its relative frequency is lower – 0.027 – and in the reference corpus considerably lower – 0.01. angst has a relative frequency of 0.024 in the parliamentary corpus, 0.031
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
in the press corpus, and 0.01 in the reference corpus. The corresponding relative frequencies for furcht are 0,03, 0.046 and 0.014. Once again we have observed what seems to be a systematic tendency of the press to use lexis with a higher force of intensity more frequently than it is used in general language or by MPs.5 It may also be noted that the frequency of the lexis of fear is far higher in the German parliamentary and press sub-corpora than in the English and Italian ones, while the reference corpus indicates that this is not true of general German.
. The semantics of fear and threat It should immediately be pointed out that we are not examining the semantic notion of the illocutionary act of threatening;6 in other words, we are not looking at how the ‘threat’, understood as a declaration of an intention to do harm (with the intention of achieving another aim), is realised in the grammar – Do this, or else! If you don’t do X, I’ll do Y. In fact we will not even be principally concerned with this particular meaning which implies coercion, but rather with threat meaning a danger posed by some external, and non-human agency – X poses a threat to Y. The lexemes fit into two distinct semantic categories. fear and concern are mental processes – that is to say verbs that express processes of thinking, feeling or sensing, or nominalisations of mental processes. fear is typically at the affective end of the cline, indicating some kind of instinctive reaction, while concern is of the cognitive kind as well as being weaker in intensity than the former. threat, danger and risk are words related to the possibility of harm or destruction and thus seem to be associated with material processes, in other words with verbs associated with ‘doing’ and ‘acting’ although as we shall see, their semantics are rather more complex. . Meanings of threat Threat is a polysemous lexeme, realising separate but related meanings which can be teased out by looking at verb forms. In Systemic Functional Linguistics terminology, verbs can be classified into different process types in the system of transitivity;7 the examples below show that threaten can be a verbal process, material process, a quasi-modal, a relational process, and an ergative verb,8 which could also be interpreted as an ideational metaphor (Halliday 1994: 344) of an existential process. They will be glossed below as Meanings 1–5. The
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
three languages are not quite the same; there is no direct equivalent, without substituting the verb, of Meaning 4 in German, and no direct equivalent of Meaning 5 in Italian. Meaning 5 in English, moreover, is probably limited to a single collocation pattern (danger threatens). There are no examples of Meaning 4 in the corpus, and it is probably typical of narrative or descriptive registers. Unless otherwise indicated, all the examples are drawn from the parliamentary corpora. (1) to declare one’s intentions of carrying out an unwelcome action etc. – a verbal process: The Prime Minister has had to threaten an election to bring his own party into line. (House of Commons. 23.7.1993) Il premier inglese Major ha minacciato di sciogliere il Parlamento. (Camera dei Deputati. 27.10.1992) (The English [sic] Prime Minister Major has threatened to dissolve parliament.) [Der Vertrag] droht mit Sanktionen [. . . ]für die Länder, die sich finanziell übernehmen. (Bundestag. 13.12.1991) ([the treaty] threatens financially overstretched states with sanctions [. . . ].) (2) to endanger – a material process Our prosperity is threatened by a resurgence of dirigiste, old socialist ideas. (House of Commons. 9.6.1997) I contenuti del processo di unione sono oggi fortemente minacciati. (Camera dei Deputati. 29.10.1992) (The substantive questions concerning the unification process are, today, seriously threatened.) Regionale Risiken, die uns bedrohen, sind wirtschaftliche Zusammenbrüche im Osten [. . . ]. (Bundestag. 6.11.1991) (The Regions are threatened by the possibility of financial collapse in the East.) (3) to appear likely to do something (unwelcome) – a quasi-modal It threatens to destroy the integrity of our nation (House of Commons. 19.1.1998)
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
I fallimenti bancari minacciano di destabilizzare il sistema bancario. (Il Sole 24 Ore. 7.7.1998) (bank failures are threatening to destabilise the banking system.) [. . . ] dann drohen wir die historische Chance auf die Erweiterung der EU zu verpassen. (Bundestag. 18.3.1998) ([. . . ] we risk losing a historical opportunity for the enlargement of the EU.) (4) to be a sign of the approach of something unwelcome – a relational process: The stillness threatened violence.
(Paul Theroux)9
Le nubi minacciano tempesta. (Dizionario della Lingua Italiana Devoto Oli) (The clouds are threatening a storm.) (5) to be approaching (or to loom) – an ideational metaphor of an existential process (there is danger of . . . ) Tortoises are able to withdraw their head [. . . ] should danger threaten. (Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary)10 Stillstand droht. (Stagnation is looming.)
(Bundestag. 11.6.1997)
The meanings, though distinct, are all related to one another; in particular they all contain epistemic modality and negative appraisal11 – the meaning of a possible future action that is to be construed as unwelcome. In general terms, the lexeme presages instability and this can be illustrated by the CEC corpus, in which the most common collocates of threaten include nouns such as stability, future, survival, peace, existence, interests. The Italian minaccia collocates with items like crisi, paura, armi, terrorismo and morte (“crisis”, “fear”, “arms”, “terrorism”, “death”). In German the results are similar; according to COSMAS, the most frequent nominal collocates of bedrohung are Existenz, Frieden, Sicherheit, Stabilität (“existence”, “peace”, “security”, “stability”). Thus the verb is typically associated with events that are to be construed as serious dangers to the social and political status quo. However, semantically and grammatically the five types given above carry different meanings and they also have different structural configurations and different co-occurrence patterns.
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
Meaning 1 realises an action of attempted coercion and is used to report, albeit indirectly, a locution. It may be classified as a verbal process (even though a threat may be issued non verbally) and is typically associated with a person making the threat (the Prime Minister) – which we may gloss as the Threatener – a person or institution threatened (his party), or the Target, and the Means by which the threat is to be realised (an election). It is generally found in contexts in which some particular political contingency is at stake, typically a conflict within or between institutions. The act of threatening, typically in past or present perfect tense, represents a process of persuasion, and as such may be considered less interesting for our purposes than Meaning 2 – we are primarily interested in threats that are construed as being posed by external forces. Meaning 2 is a rather anomalous material process – representing an act of ‘doing’ with an Actor (typically a Thing, unlike Meaning 1, rather than a Person) potentially acting upon a Goal. It is anomalous in the sense that the event that is represented is an abstract possibility rather than an accomplished action. There is a kind of epistemic modality attached to the verb. The attested English example (2), “Our prosperity is threatened by a resurgence of dirigiste, old socialist ideas” could be paraphrased “Our prosperity might be damaged by a resurgence of dirigiste, old socialist ideas”.12 As we shall see, Meaning 2 is typically realised with some kind of social force or institutional procedure in the participant role of Threatener, potentially acting upon an institution in a manner that is to be construed as unwelcome. Tense is typically present. Meaning 3 involves a kind of modal expression in a verbal group complex; threaten adds a meaning of probability to the non-finite verb which follows it. The non-finite is typically a material process representing a rather generic but undesirable action. In the attested English example (3) (“It threatens to destroy the integrity of our nation”), the verb may be classified as a quasi-modal carrying an element of epistemic modality (threatens could be substituted with is likely) with an implicitly negative appraisal attributed to the hypothesised outcome. As in Meaning 2, the Threatener is typically a Thing rather than a Person, and social forces are posited as a danger to some institution or structure. As with Meaning 2, tense is typically present and there is considerable semantic overlapping between them. The example above could be paraphrased as “it threatens the integrity of our nation” without too much loss of meaning. Meaning 4 is a relational process, once again with an element of epistemic modality; presage or portend could be synonyms although they lack the negativity associated with threaten. As we have already noted, no examples were found in the parliamentary corpus and we shall not consider it.
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Meaning 5 is only relevant, for our purposes, in German and is used ergatively (the grammatical subject is itself the ‘danger’ while the ‘endangered entity’ remains implicit) to express both a strong probability that a given event will take place and its negativity. . The meanings of fear fear shares with threat the tendency to carry meanings of modality, expressing the probability of an unwelcome event taking place in the future. The lexeme fear is not so complex, semantically and structurally, as threat, and although dictionaries do list various meanings, for our purposes we may identify two. The verb fear is a mental process and in functional terms involves a person who perceives the fear, the Senser and a feared entity, the Phenomenon. The verb is interesting inasmuch as its fundamental meaning would seem to be an affective mental process in which the fear is a part of the emotional world of the Senser. However, in many instances fear expresses meanings closer to that of a cognitive mental process, or rather the result of a conscious act of reasoning on the part of the Senser rather than an emotional reaction; for instance, in the following example drawn from the parliamentary corpus, the value of believe seems to be similar to that of fear: (6) I believe that those fixed-interest exchange rates brought about the crisis, following tremendous tensions that eventually proved to be insupportable and unsustainable. I fear that similar considerations will in due course hit the euro, and will cause havoc in the economies of continental Europe. (House of Commons. 17.6.98).
In fact in the majority of examples, at least in the corpus drawn from British parliamentary debates, the verb fear seems to be closer to the meaning of it is my opinion than to I am frightened. Meanings related to involuntary emotive fear are far more common when the lexeme is realised as a noun, where the fear is often disembodied from the cognition of any particular Senser. However, the two meanings overlap and interact with each other so that we could say that, in the example given above, I fear carries both the meaning of in my opinion and that of the prospect is frightening. In other words, the distinction between cognitive and affective meanings is not to be construed as a rigid polarity, but rather that the meanings are situated on a continuum with purely cognitive and purely affective at the two extremes. An expression such as I fear that X may also be classified as a metaphor of modality (Halliday 1994: 354), whereby the speaker expresses his or her opin-
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
ion as to the possibility that the projected proposition is valid. However, as Halliday points out, there are various ways in which the speaker may orient himself towards the modality. It may be considered as ‘subjective’ when the speaker explicitly associates him/herself with the element of probability (“I believe that those fixed-interest exchange rates brought about the crisis”) and ‘objective’ when the speaker, dissimulating the fact that he or she is expressing an opinion, projects it as a generally held view (“it’s likely that those fixed-interest exchange rates brought about the crisis”). This distinction can be realised grammatically in a number of different ways. In dealing with instances of the use of the verb fear, an important distinction can be made between the use of the first person and the use of the third person. This is because fear may be classified as a ‘private’ verb (Stubbs 1996: 223–224) in the sense that it is an expression of the intimate world of a given Senser. In general terms, the first person explicitly expresses a subjective opinion or emotion of the Speaker; the third person, on the other hand, presumes that the intimate and emotive private sphere is open to public scrutiny. It is one thing to say “X expressed his fears that Y”, a proposition that is nothing other than a reported locution, but quite another to say that “X fears Y” since the Speaker is offering information about modality and about the orientational evaluations of another person or persons, while in fact the responsibility for the proposition resides with the Speaker. Speaker evaluations about individual or collective perceptions are thus expressed as if they were evaluations of another perceiver.
. Threats in the parliamentary corpora . Threat in the House of Commons In the English parliamentary corpus, the nominal form of threat is more frequent than the verb form threaten. We will, however, begin with the various verb meanings. Among the examples of meaning number 1, a considerable majority involve an institutional Threatener (such as a nation, a government, a Prime Minister) threatening to carry out a legitimate but drastic action (the Means), which is expressed as either non-finite verb or as a nominalisation (such as dissolving Parliament, resigning, using a veto). The Target is a potential but not a compulsory structural element. In Table 113 all examples include at least one of the above-mentioned categories.
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Table 1. Concordances of threaten (1) subject to QMV? The French were e Euro rebel sits at No. 10 and at clear. The Prime Minister is ster must come to the House and e Sunday Telegraph. Angry Major he Sunday Times, we read: Major t the Prime Minister has had to ically survive today only if he forced, in order to survive, to t information is that Spain was
threatening to block liberalisation threatens the destruction of his pa threatening the destruction of an e threaten a dissolution, to drag rel threatens an election. On the fligh threatens general election if he fa threaten an election to bring his o threatens his entire party with sel threaten his own party with elector threatening to take Britain to the
Table 2. Concordances of threaten (2) s threatened. Our prosperity is home-based industries were not pushes sterling up further and treaty. My concern is that what ant about that. Mr. Pound: What hen we do say no to issues that thcoming Amsterdam summit which suit of federal conformity will out which of those improvements jobs and economic interests be
threatened by a resurgence of dirig threatened. Sir Denys was surprised threatens the European economy itse threatens the nation may well be co threatens the nation has been addre threaten Britain’s national interes threaten British national interests threaten the social stability which threaten the survival of Britain as threatened? In the past two weeks,
These co-occurrence patterns could be seen as being rather specific to the English parliamentary corpus and related to the particular historical context of debates on the Maastricht Treaty. In fact, threats of elections and resignation were a prominent feature of brinkmanship employed by the Conservative government in convincing its eurosceptic rebels to vote in favour of the Maastricht treaty. However, data from CEC demonstrate that terms such as resign, government and veto are among the most frequent collocates of threaten also in general English. As far as Meaning 2, the material process, is concerned, we typically find a Threatener which poses the danger and a Target, which is the endangered entity, although it is frequently realised in the passive voice with the Threatener elided. The most commonly found Threateners in the parliamentary corpus may be classified as some kind of EU institution or policy, while the endangered entities may be classified under the broad semantic categories as interests, prosperity, and stability, (as illustrated in Table 2), all areas which figure as frequent collocates of threaten in CEC. It thus appears that Meaning 1 and 2 of threaten, albeit related, not only have different grammatical structures and semantic valencies, but also different co-occurrence patterns. Other meanings of threaten are too infrequent to justify comment.
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
As we have previously noted, the majority of instances of threat are nouns and from an analysis of our data, two features clearly emerge. Firstly, the noun threat collocates frequently with adjectives which intensify the force of the ‘threat’ such as serious, greatest, fundamental, direct, grave, humiliating, draconian, insidious, sinister, primary, deepening, dire, etc. This finding is confirmed by CEC according to which serious is the fourth most frequent collocate of threat. In several instances in the corpus in which the intensification is particularly high, such as draconian and sinister, the terms are in fact used ironically by a speaker representing the arguments of an adversary. In other words it would appear that when MPs use highly intense lexis, they are often using irony. The majority may be taken at face value, but it should be noted that in analysing concordances of argumentative language, care should be taken to identify rhetorical structures such as irony, which are not immediately evident over short stretches of text. Secondly, the noun collocates frequently with the verb pose (which is its fourth most frequent collocate in CEC). Taking pose as a node word, it emerges that threat is by far its most common collocate, occurring once in every six instances of its use. The two terms may thus be said to have a reciprocal attraction. The expression pose a threat may be taken as a synonym of Meaning 2 of threaten, whereas make a threat is a synonym of Meaning 1. The majority of instances of the noun threat are related to either Meaning 1 or 2 of threaten. As can be seen from Table 3 below, the use of threat as ‘a declaration of an intention to do something unwelcome (to the Target)’ is, as in the case of the verb, related to cases of political contingency and party discipline. However, the majority of instances of threat correspond to Meaning 2 of threaten. In instances where pose is collocated with threat, the participant roles of Threatener and endangered entity are explicit: ‘X poses a threat to Y’. However, in general nominalisations are less explicit than verbs in terms of time and of participant roles, functional elements which may or may not be recoverable through the interpretation of prepositions. However, prepositions Table 3. Concordances of threat (1) g, most startlingly, the on-off can a motion that attracted the anguard protecting ICI from the on. Friend confirm that neither that have been made. No greater refully before dishing out idle stricht proposals, giving in to pace and constantly prey to the ology there was, of course, the h them. Last night, without the
threat of a general election. If th threat of a general election not be threats of a noble Lord in the othe threats from Ankara nor bluster fro threat can be made than that of col threats about beef wars and import threats, I believe, and I do not th threat of blackmail. That is why I threat of coercion, the big stick o threat of dissolution, Parliament t
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Table 4. Concordances of threat/threaten erected the social chapter as a were saying that the fundamental unity; they can only see it as a ht hon. Friend suggests might be g that the single currency is no lant about that. Mr. Pound: What hat the proposals are a sinister and they see every measure as a he Amsterdam treaty amounts to a hapter no longer poses a serious
threat to Britain and Europe. He w threats posed by the euro to sover threat. What I find most depressin threatened. Equally, I would argue threat to nation states. Why does threatens the nation has been addr threat to our economic future, a d threat to the British way of life. threat to the nation state, as he threat” to the United Kingdom. For
within a nominal group can express a set of complex transitivity, relational and causal properties between its various constituents. threat typically collocates with the prepositions of and to. The former tends to specify the meaning of the general term threat (e.g. “the threat of creeping federalism”) while the latter tends to identify the endangered entity (e.g. “a threat to British interests”). The Threatener may be identified through adjectives or classifiers (e.g. “socialist threats inherent in the European scheme”), but not unequivocally so. For example, the classifier in “veto threat”, an example drawn the press corpus, expresses the Means with which the Threatener tries to coerce the Target, and thus the threat is represented as something ‘in the air’, so to speak. In most instances the Actor is left unidentifiable in the immediate linguistic context. Some examples of threat 2 are illustrated in Table 4. As in the case of Meaning 2 of the verb threaten, the endangered entity that British MPs construct in their discourse is frequently an element in the semantic field of interests (“threat to British interests”), prosperity (“threat to British prosperity”), and stability (“threat to the British way of life”). Clearly, then, in many though not all of the examples, the threatened interests are not general interests but the particular interests of the nation, and the threat is an external one. What emerges then is that the collocation patterns of the meanings of threaten 1 and threaten 2 are very similar to those found in the meanings of Threat 1 and Threat 2. Looking at meaning 2, there emerges an image of a rather ethnocentric euro-sceptic parliament. However, the data have to be handled carefully and, once again, an analysis of concordance lines needs to take into consideration the fact that isolated strings of 10 words belong to a rich argumentative fabric in which meanings may not be what they immediately seem. Several instances belong in an environment of negative polarity (e.g. “It is not seen as threat to jobs”) and in others, despite positive mood, the threat is being denied (e.g. “it is fantasy to suggest that it poses a threat in any way to this country”). However the most common interpretive problem comes from the
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
typical rhetorical strategy of a speaker using the discourse of another in order to rebut that other’s claims. The following example is immediately identifiable as such even with very limited co-text: (7) they can only see it as a threat
(House of Commons. 9.6.1997)
However, the concordance line that gives us: (8) that the proposals are a sinister threat to our economic future, a deadly [. . . ]
is embedded in a very rich co-text: (9) I shall remind the House just what the social protocol is about. I do not make any enormous claims for its proposals, which are fairly modest. But the Government say that the proposals are a sinister threat to our economic future, a deadly plot by the Brussels bureaucrats to destroy jobs and economic growth from which, in the nick of time, our heroic Prime Minister has rescued us all. The irony of the Prime Minister posing as a job protector will not be lost on the millions of people who have been victims of the economic policies for which he has been responsible as Chancellor and Prime Minister. That self-styled saviour of jobs and growth has the worst record on jobs and growth of any British Prime Minister since the war. (House of Commons. 22.7.1993)
Therefore, while concordances may provide an excellent instrument for the identification of lexicogrammatical patterns, they require a more thorough textual analysis in order to fully recover argumentative meanings. . Threats in the Camera dei Deputati and the Senato As in the English corpus, all the meanings conveyed by the selected lexemes express a potential future action which is to be construed as unwelcome. This potential meaning is often made more concrete by the occurrence of collocates such as: reale, fondato, credibile (“real”, “well-founded”, “credible”); or, as in the following example: (10) Io sostengo che il pericolo oggettivamente esiste. (Camera dei Deputati. 9.10.1992) I maintain that the threat really exists.
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Table 5. Concordances of minaccia (1) gli embarghi; ecco perché si pugnato l’arma estrema della iderato che i popoli europei il premier inglese Major ha opei, anche quello italiano,
minaccia continuamente l’uso della for minaccia elettorale per piegare le res minacciano di ribellarsi pericolosamen minacciato di sciogliere il Parlamento minacciano infatti di ribellarsi peric
Table 6. Concordances of minaccia (2) i poi, peraltro, quando sono olte, che oggi riappare e ci fa entro i suoi confini può tiva militare dovunque siano so di unione oggi fortemente ovunque nel mondo essi siano difficile gestazione non ne endercene conto. La Grecia è ‘ha ereditata dal padre: ”Il l’incomparabile e gravemente
minacciati da comportamenti (in effett minaccia con il rischio di nuovi ed in minacciare direttamente il benessere e minacciati gli interessi degli Stati c minacciati non tanto dalle politiche d minacciati si viola appunto quanto pre minaccia la nascita nei tempi anch’ess minacciata dal caos sociale: per la te minacciato declino di Maastricht ricor minacciato patrimonio storico-artistic
Although Italian MPs seem quite reticent about using the verb minacciare – its frequency is low – our analysis will take it as a starting point. All the examples of Meaning 1, the verbal process, are found in Table 5. As far as the three participant roles and the collocates are concerned, a number of similarities may be traced between the Italian and the English corpora. However, one difference between the two is represented by the impersonal form si minaccia. The English translation below, which has been rendered literally without either the Threatener or the Target, appears forced and improbable since we would expect the instantiation of at least one of these two participant roles. (11) [. . . ] con gli embarghi; ecco perché si minaccia continuamente l’uso della forza. (Camera dei Deputati. 8.10.1992) [. . . ] with embargos; that’s why the use of force is continuously threatened.
This structure permits the elision of both the Threatener and the Target; and thus the Means (“embargoes”) by which the threat is to be carried is made explicit, but it is not clear in the immediate linguistic co-text who is threatening whom. Meaning 2, the material process discussed above, is rather more frequent. Let us look in more detail at the participant roles in this process, starting with a few examples from the corpus shown in Table 6. As noted above, in this kind of process we find a Threatener and an endangered entity. From a strictly linguistic perspective, the main features comprise either active or passive constructions and pre-nominal modifiers, e.g. Il minacciato declino di Maastricht (“The threatened decline of Maastricht”). The
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
passive may be either with or without agent. However, in most cases, the concordance line is too short to identify the Threatener. The following example illustrates very clearly the syntactic complexity characterising the argumentative fabric of discourse. An expansion of the co-text and a more thorough textual analysis is needed in order to recover all the participant roles and the meaning. The concordance line is as follows. (12) [. . . ] che oggi riappare e ci minaccia con il rischio di nuovi [. . . ] [. . . ] which today reappears and threatens us with the risk of new [. . . ]
The deictic ci (“us”) identifies the Target, but the Threatener is not immediately identifiable. Let us expand the 11-word line in order to get more co-textual information. (13) E state attenti: questo modello non era e non è una mera architettura intellettualistica. Era e resta la risposta necessaria ai rigurgiti nazionalistici, ai conflitti etnici e al protezionismo, insomma a tutto ciò che ha diviso e disgregato per secoli il nostro continente, che nel nostro secolo ci ha portato ad esiti catastrofici per ben due volte, che oggi riappare e ci minaccia con il rischio di nuovi ed inimmaginabili drammi. (Camera dei Deputati. 8.10.1992) And be careful. This model was not and is not a piece of mere intellectual formalism. It was and remains the necessary answer to the ghastly resurgence of nationalism, ethnic conflicts and protectionism, in short to all that which has divided and broken up our continent for centuries and which has led to catastrophical results no less than twice in this century, which today reappears and threatens us with the risk of new and unimaginable tragedies.
The Threatener can thus be identified as tutto ciò (“all that”) which in turn is a pronominal form which refers back to the list of “ghastly” features which precedes it. In short, a considerable amount of co-text, not available in a concordance line, is necessary to identify it. In other instances, on the other hand, the concordance line alone may be quite misleading, as shown in the example that follows: (14) un’Unione accentratrice e livellatrice, minacciosa delle peculiarità nazionali. (Senato della Repubblica. 3.9.1992) a centralising and levelling Union, threatening to national characteristics.
From this word string, the European Union might be interpreted as the Actor posing a threat to national identity, whereas an examination of the wider
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
argumentative context reveals that it is just the opposite: a reported locution expressing the denial of what is thought to be one of the key topics of the euro-sceptics: (15) [. . . ] sia perché garantisce l’autonomia del ruolo e delle responsabilità degli Stati nazionali e delle Comunità locali, sia perché introduce solennemente nel Trattato stesso la confutazione dell’argomento cardine della polemica antieuropeista: quello di un’Unione accentratrice e livellatrice, minacciosa delle peculiarità nazionali e delle autonomie locali. (Senato della Repubblica. 3.9.1992) [. . . ] not only because it guarantees the autonomy of the role and the responsibility of nation states and of local communities, but also because it solemnly introduces into the Treaty the rebuttal of the central argument of the anti-European position: that of a centralising and levelling Union, threatening to national characteristics and to local autonomy.
A number of observations on the discourse of Italian MPs can thus be made. Firstly, the Threatener, although the frequency counts are to be handled carefully, is represented in most cases by the States bordering Italy and by Europe as a military power. Unlike the findings in English, only in a small number of instances is the Union seen as a Threatener. Secondly, the endangered entity is typically represented by gli interessi degli Stati, il nostro Paese, i valori comuni, il benessere (“the interests of the States” “our country”, “common values”, “wellbeing”). Thus Italian MPs, like their British counterparts, represent ‘stability’ as an endangered entity although the source of the danger is different. Finally, among the verb collocates, we should note the frequent occurrence both of spatial and temporal conjunctions and the use of conditional forms, which introduce hypothetical sentences with epistemic modality: ovunque, quando, là dove (“everywhere”, “when”, “wherever”). In order to complete the analysis of this meaning of threaten, we need to take into consideration the expression in pericolo (“in danger”). This expression, which frequently co-occurs in strings like mettere in pericolo, essere in pericolo (“put in danger”, “be in danger”) may be taken as a synonym of Meaning 2 of minacciare; the occurrence of the lexeme in a prepositional group has, in fact, the same semantic valency. Its most frequent collocates are vita, sovranità, bene, pace (“life”, “sovereignty”, “the common good”, “peace”), as illustrated in Table 7. We shall now consider the nominal form of the two lexemes minaccia and pericolo. The noun frequently collocates with the verbs esporre and avver-
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
Table 7. Concordances of in pericolo ionali. C’è tutto questo La sovranità è ’dunque , peraltro, essere messe ico modo per non mettere ontrasto se questa mette l male, il bene è sempre to in questi anni rimane
in in in in in in in
pericolo e quindi non dobbiamo meravigl pericolo: su questo non vi sono dubbi! pericolo dalle varie forme di criminali pericolo la vita delle persone consiste pericolo la vita delle persone. Molte a pericolo. Il bene della pace costruito pericolo se non sapremo assicurarlo con
Table 8. Concordances of minaccia (3) economici sono esposti alla Europa, hanno avvertito la e in modo più efficace alle a e non già dalla credibile nsioni tra le monete, dalla edesco e soprattutto per la ; i problemi ambientali; le sione “militare”. Poiché le Per i governi dei Dodici le ernare con la forza, con le
minaccia dell’accumulo del disavanzo pu minaccia derivante dall’applicazione ac minacce che incombono oggi sulla pace, minaccia del ricorso alla forza avanzat minaccia di svalutazioni competitive, d minaccia sovietica, firmarono a Bruxell minacce per la sanità pubblica. Queste minacce possono essere di altro tipo: i minacce sono prevalentemente militari, minacce, con le pressioni, con i ricatt
tire (“to expose to danger”, “to be aware of danger”). The first usually occurs in agentless passive constructions and corresponds to Meaning 2 of the verb. Avvertire, on the other hand, is a verb of perception. On a semantic level, the representation seems rather to correspond to a mental process in which the participants roles may be identified as a Senser, in this case, le popolazioni e le forze politiche (“the people and the political parties”) and a Phenomenon: l’applicazione acritica delle politiche alla coesione sociale (“acritical application of social cohesion policies”). The majority of the instances of minaccia (see Table 8) correspond to Meaning 2 of minacciare. The noun typically collocates with the prepositions di, a and per. The former tends to specify the concrete meaning of the general term minaccia or pericolo, (e.g. minaccia dell’accumulo del disavanzo, “the threat of an increasing public deficit”), whereas the prepositions a and per tends to identify the endangered entity (e.g. minacce per la sanità pubblica, minaccia ai possibili sviluppi, “threats to the national health service”, “threats to potential developments”). In most instances the Threatener cannot be identified in the immediate co-text. As has been said for Meaning 2 of the verb, and in a very similar way to the English findings, the potential victim hypothesised by Italian MPs is frequently an element in the semantic field of economic stability (minaccia dell’accumulo del disavanzo pubblico, minaccia di svalutazioni economiche, pericolo per la sicurezza sociale, “the threat of an increasing public deficit”, “the threat of devaluation”, “danger for the welfare system”). However, unlike the English data, most collocates are in the semantic field of security
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
(minaccia del ricorso alla forza, il pericolo di un’Europa militarista, il pericolo fondamentalista, “the threat of the use of force”, “the danger of a militarised Europe”, “the danger of fundamentalism”). From a study of the collocation patterns one feature clearly emerges: the noun frequently collocates with tedesco, fondamentalista, militarista, comunista (“German”, “fundamentalist”, “militarist” “communist”); in other words the analysis reveals that the geographic areas nearby, like Germany, the Mediterranean, and ex-Yugoslavia, are represented by Italian MPs as an element of threat and danger. Moreover, l’ambiente, la sanità pubblica, la pace (“the environment”, “national health”, “peace”) are represented as endangered entities. Some examples are illustrated in Table 9. Finally we analysed the adjective pericoloso (“dangerous”). Examples are in Table 10. The following observations can be made. First of all, in the majority of the instances, the epithet collocates with terms like crisi di credibilità, tensioni sociali, caduta dei sentimenti europeistici and sbriciolamento delle aree europee (“credibility crisis”, “social tension” “the decline of pro-European sentiments”, “the disintegration of areas of Europe”). It can thus be said that it is the European Union which is here clearly represented as the “endangered entity”; in other words what is threatened according to Italian MPs, quite unlike the discourse of their British counterparts, is the failure of the European Union itself. Table 9. Concordances of pericolo ad antiche visioni e si crea il ici e paure verso il cosiddetto ione di un’economia globale. Il m francese è stato uno scampato ‘occidente. Oggi non c’è più il uscitato alcune perplessità. Il le e dell’interdipendenza: è un no non abbia avvertito l’enorme ti livelli. Io credo che questo azia: la Rete, ha insistito sul
pericolo della Germania. Condivido pericolo tedesco, sussulto che il g pericolo per la sicurezza sociale e pericolo mortale, ma ha dimostrato pericolo comunista ma il pericolo f pericolo fondamentalista parte da l pericolo grave, perché prefigura un pericolo, proprio per l’Europa e pe pericolo non sussista: abbiamo mill pericolo di un’Europa militarista.
Table 10. Concordances of pericoloso i sintesi che si contrappone al . Per questo si nota una caduta llo di alimentare una torbida e nione europea, onde superare la di disinnescare la miccia delle ini - possono essere forieri di il declino del nostro paese, un nte sotto il profilo politico e bba impegnarsi più a fondo - la non sembra rendersi conto della
pericoloso sbriciolamento che tante pericolosa dei sentimenti europeist pericolosa caduta di credibilità de pericolosa crisi di credibilità, di pericolose tensioni sociali che att pericolosi effetti sociali, economi pericoloso regresso del nostro cont pericoloso per le sorti della democ pericolosa instabilità nella ex Jug pericolosa, progressiva destinazion
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
. Threats in the Bundestag As noted earlier, the different meanings of threaten in German do not correspond to a single verb, but are covered by at least two, drohen and bedrohen, to which we can add the synonym gefährden. Meaning 3 is more frequent in the German corpus than in the English corpus, whereas Meaning 1, the verbal process of threatening, yields only a few examples. Meaning 2 turns out to be the most frequent, with 87 occurrences. In the first meaning, drohen occurs only three times in the whole corpus and it will not be discussed here. The two verbs bedrohen and gefährden are quasi-synonyms. According to the reference corpus, they also share a number of collocates (Existenz, Gesundheit, Frieden – “existence”, “health”, “peace” ). As far as bedrohen is concerned, the most frequent construction in our corpus is the passive, with the Threatener elided, as shown in Table 11. The verb gefährden, on the other hand, can frequently be found both in the active and in the passive form. The threatened entities are mainly abstract concepts like Frieden, Freiheit, Stabilität (“peace”, “freedom”, “stability”), as well as entities and processes related to the EU. It is perhaps of interest that both German and Italian MPs posit peace as a threatened entity in the hypothesis of a failure of the process of integration whereas British MPs do not. See Table 12. Among the collocates of gefährden, the reference corpus gives Sicherheit, Stabilität, Frieden, Gleichgewicht, Existenz, Bestand (“security”, “stability”, “freedom”, “peace”, “identity”, “existence”). Since these words all connote situations of gravity, we could say that in this respect COSMAS is substantially analogous to our corpus.
Table 11. Concordances of bedrohen ußland ist vom Westen her nicht Wirtschafts- und Währungsunion Beschäftigten in Europa droht. PD). Regionale Risiken, die uns uns schützen und wen sollen sie
bedroht. Seine Risiken liegen eher bedroht. Er wird deshalb bedroht, w Bedroht werden davon vor allem diej bedrohen, sind wirtschaftliche Zusa bedrohen? Was mich manchmal wundert
Table 12. Concordances of gefährden rieden und Freiheit immer auch bis die Zivilisation insgesamt ne wirtschaftliche Zukunft als auf Brüssel herauszureden. Das Stabilität der gesamten Union sche Einigungsprozeß insgesamt allem durch Kerneuropakonzepte
gefährdet und bedürfen vorsorglichen gefährdet ist, ganz abgesehen davon, gefährdet ansehen, und das alles in gefährdet Grundrechte der Bürgerinne gefährden. Deshalb ist die konkrete gefährdet wird. Wir sollten uns nun gefährdet. Dahinter verbirgt sich di
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Another frequent structure is the hypothetical sentence introduced by wenn [. . . ] dann or only by wenn [. . . ], which expresses the conditions for the threat or danger to be effective: (16) Der europäische Einigungsprozeß wird gefährdet, wenn sich die EU zuviel vornimmt. (Bundestag. 19.10.1996) If the EU tries to do too much, that will threaten the European unification process. (17) Wenn Sie so weitermachen, dann gefährden Sie die drei zentralen Ziele der Regierung. (Bundestag. 10.10.1996) If you carry on like this, you’ll threaten the three central goals of the government.
Unlike bedrohen, gefährden often collocates with intensifiers which add force to the meaning of the verb (ernsthaft, massiv, aufs höchste – “serious”, “massive”, “the highest”). A very common structure in the German corpus is drohen zu followed by a verb in the infinitive form. For Meaning 3 as well, the Target of the threat almost always coincides with the EU or with a related institution. Verbs related to drohen mainly carry negative appraisal. Examples are given in Table 13. Let us now return to the fifth meaning of drohen. This typically German structure, where the subject is the threat itself (etwas droht, eine Gefahr droht), occurs very frequently in our corpus. The difference with respect to English14 and Italian is that it is a synthetic form where the verb drohen is used ergatively to express both a strong probability that a given event will take place and its negativity. It is frequently found in hypothetical sentences. The equivalent impersonal form introduced by es is less frequent: examples are shown in Table 14. It should be pointed out that the looming threats, when expressed, are almost always very specific, often pertaining to the economic sphere, like Schwellenpreisen (“threshold prices”) or Verdrängungswettberwerb (“crowding out”). This is confirmed by the reference corpus, where the structure etwas Table 13. Concordances of drohen (1) ie es hier geht, zu zerstören opäische Projekt zu verwüsten schleunigst abschließen, dann ie das in Dublin zu scheitern gemeinsames Leben bestimmen, r- und Kulturchaos zu stürzen enn es um große Politik geht,
droht. Die Rede ist von der Rechtsent droht. Die politischen Kräfte, die mi drohen wir die historische Chance auf drohen, dann kann man den Mißerfolg a droht verlorenzugehen. Eine nationale droht, als es die spätantike und früh drohen sie auf der Strecke zu bleibe
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
Table 14. Concordances of drohen (2) bei sogenannten Schwellenpreisen gt. Wenn wir sie nicht anpassen, tellen hat deutlich gemacht, was selt er, dann zerfaselt er. Dann abhängig Beschäftigten in Europa
drohen. Deshalb fordert die SPD, s droht Stillstand. Die Beitrittskan droht, wenn die Europäische Zentra droht das, was der Bundeskanzler s droht. Bedroht werden davon vor al
s gibt heute Krieg in Europa. Es drohen weitere gewaltsame Konflikt e und gerichtliche Kontrolle. Es droht ein Europa der Regierungen a
Table 15. Concordances of drohung and bedrohung icht verläßt. Herr Fischer, die chen Druck standen, nämlich der ive sein, Europapolitik mit der ur als Chance, sondern auch als efordert hat: Die martialischen Arroganz, das ist wirklich eine
Drohung mit Karlsruhe ist kein gute Drohung, Maastricht gegebenenfalls Drohung zu betreiben, daß wir dann Drohung empfunden. Wo es- wie in de Drohungen Serbiens, das ganze Land, Drohung. Statt Zukunft, Erneuerung,
Herausforderung angesichts der iten Teilen der Bevölkerung als uropäische Union erwachse keine der Vergangenheit gegenüber der wachsenden Weltbevölkerung, die
Bedrohung Bedrohung Bedrohung Bedrohung Bedrohung
von Staaten und Gesellsch von Arbeitsplätzen empfun für die NATO, durch den T durch die Truppen und Ato durch organisiertes Verbr
s in die Lage versetzen, dieser Bedrohung Europas und Deutschlands ich auf dem Tisch. Daß über die Bedrohung unseres Planeten nicht nu atsache ist: die konventionelle Bedrohung der NATO ist weg. Tatsach
droht has a very high frequency, especially when accompanied by words such as Strafe, Sanktion or Verlust (“fine”, “sanction”, “loss”). When the lexeme threat is realised as a noun, Meaning 1 is covered in German by Drohung, whereas Meaning 2 is expressed by Bedrohung, and by Gefahr. There are 6 occurrences of Drohung in our corpus, of which only one is in the plural. Two occurrences of Drohung are nominalisations, the first of drohen mit, and the other of drohen, zu. Bedrohung also has a relatively low frequency, and only occurs in the singular. In most cases the participant roles can be identified by looking at the preposition which follows the noun. Durch introduces the Threatener or the cause of the threat, whereas für (or more rarely von) introduces the endangered entity. Table 15 illustrates concordances of the first two lexemes. The cataphoric reference used to introduce the endangered entity can be expressed either through the article in the genitive or through a – declined – possessive adjective, or by expressing only the goal in the genitive. Table 15 illustrates concordances of the first of these two lexemes. The verbal collocates of Bedrohung include erwachsen, von etw. ausgehen, to express the origin of the threat, or verbs such as empfinden, which express the perception of a threat. Interestingly enough, Gefahr never collocates with
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Table 16. Concordances of gefahr Bundesländer auch nicht ohne der Einheit beginnen sich als s notwendig, der eigentlichen die richtige Antwort auf die
Gefahr Gefahr Gefahr Gefahr
für für für des
Stabilität und Beschäftigu den Wohlstandszuwachs und Stabilität in Europa zu b Nationalismus. Angesichts
s Versehen, jene schreckliche s notwendig, der eigentlichen renz, sondern die eigentliche ihnen gehörte. Die wirkliche
Gefahr, verringert worden; gebannt is Gefahr für Stabilität in Europa zu be Gefahr liegt hier und heute darin, da Gefahr von Europa geht von Deutschlan
empfinden (“to feel”), but with sehen (“to see”) or erkennen (“recognise”). Both verbs belong to the visual sphere, and therefore emphasise the concreteness of the danger, whereas empfinden, as a verb of perception, has a more subjective connotation. Most occurrences of Gefahr are in the singular, as we have already seen analysing the other words. Gefahr is a quasi-synonym of Bedrohung, its most typical collocates being Sicherheit, Stabilität, Frieden, Wohlstand (“security”, “stability”, “peace” and “prosperity”). Sometimes in the surrounding context we find nouns that are related to Gefahr by a cause-effect relationship, such as Sorge, Problem, Angst. Many verbal phrases formed with Gefahr can be found in our corpus: Gefahr laufen, in Gefahr geraten, eine/die Gefahr bergen, and especially the impersonal form es besteht die Gefahr, followed by a relative clause, which has a very high frequency both in our corpus and in the reference corpus, and can be translated into English as “there is a danger that”. Moreover, both Gefahr and Bedrohung share many collocates, such as the verb ausgehen, which expresses the source of the danger. The most frequent adjectival collocate of Gefahr is groß (“great”), which also occurs in the superlative form größt. In the reference corpus, groß is the second most frequent collocate of Gefahr after kein. Other adjectives that collocate with Gefahr are ernsthaft, schrecklich, wirklich and eigentlich (“serious”, “frightening”, “real”, “true”). These collocations show that MPs underline that the dangers they are invoking are represented as either grave or concrete (see Table 16). The analysis of the adjectives drohend and gefährlich confirms the results we obtained with nouns, especially as far as the threatened entities are concerned, which are, again, stability, peace, political and economic balance and above all the ongoing integration process within the EU. There are some interesting examples with the adjective gefährlich where the cause of the danger is the so-called Automatismus. This word refers to the
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
rigid, mechanical application of the convergence criteria set by the Maastricht treaty. Even before the ratification of the treaty in 1992, the criteria were a hotly debated subject, not only in Germany. In the examples of our corpus, the word Automatismus always carries negative value, since it is seen as a threat to the unification process. The following two examples were expanded from the concordances in order to show more of their context: (18) Die für sich sehr lobenswerte Absicht, den Ländern mit Anpassungsschwierigkeiten Zeit für ihren Beitritt zu geben, verwandelt sich durch diesen Automatismus in eine gefährliche neue Qualitätsstufe des Einigungsprozesses, in einen Weg der zwei Geschwindigkeiten, der zwangsweise ist. (Bundestag. 13.12.1991) The intention to help countries that have adjustment problems by giving them more time to join, which in itself is very praiseworthy, might, if automatised, lead to a threatening new ‘quality-based’ stage of the unification process, a forced two-speed lane. (19) Ich halte die Kriterien für sinnvoll, aber durch den Automatismus werden sie für den Einigungsprozeß sehr gefärlich. (Bundestag. 13.12.1991) I view the criteria as reasonable, but if their application is automatised then they might turn out to be a dangerous threat to the unification process.
In conclusion, what is being threatened or compromised, according to German MPs, in most cases belongs to the sphere of the EU’s interests, be it an internal threat – inadequacy of the institutions, lack of social and political cohesion – or an external danger. Although anxiety and fear emerge from the parliamentary debate, they are mostly linked to the good functioning and to the positive outcome of the European unification process, which is mainly taken for granted, rather than to a supposed loss of political and economical independence for Germany; as a matter of fact, the interests of Germany turn out to be, for the most part, identical with those of the European Union. Therefore, despite some dissenting voices on Maastricht, especially among the Green party, the German parliament, as opposed to the British, apparently gave full and sustained support to the political and economic integration of Europe. What is being questioned is therefore not so much the integration process in itself, but the implementation strategies and the schedules of the integration process.
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
. Threats in the press In comparing the findings in the parliamentary corpus with those in the press corpus, a number of features emerge. In the first place, the relative frequency of threat is considerably higher in the press corpus – 0.04 per 100 words as opposed to 0.018 – and it may be hypothesised that the lexeme is particularly frequent in the register of journalism,15 reflecting the tendency of the press either to dramatise events or to select those events which lend themselves to dramatisation. Secondly, unlike the findings in the parliamentary corpus, the number of verb forms is greater than the number of noun forms (59–43), and the frequency of Meaning 1 is also higher. So it would seem that, in comparison with MPs, the press is more overtly concerned with the action of individuals (and their acts of coercion) than of structural dangers, which are less personal and less immediate. Thirdly, the structure Classifier + Thing, as in “beef threat”, “veto threat” and “EMU threat”, is present in the press corpus but not in the parliamentary corpus. This kind of structure, typical of the tendency of the press to tightly package information, is ambiguous; for example veto threat can be interpreted as ‘threat of a veto’ while EMU threat can be paraphrased as ‘a threat posed by the EMU’. Other nominal groups typical of the register of journalism are “threatened Tory marginals”, “threatened veto” and “threatened ban”. Fourthly, the frequency of Meaning 3 of the verb threaten (as in “threaten to disrupt”) is considerably higher in the press than in parliament, accounting for 13 instances out of a total of 59 verbs, as opposed to 4 out of 58. The sample is admittedly too small to make definitive conclusions but we would suggest that this linguistic choice is related to the press’s tendency to dramatise events, since the structure allows the writer to intensify negativity. Examples are in Table 17. Finally, regarding the nature, the cause and the potential victims of the threat, the press corpus is considerably more varied than the parliamentary Table 17. Concordances of threaten (press corpus) refusing to die down. It was proper standards of behaviour ng support for monetary union our membership of the EU now single European currency that as the Franco-German dispute r budget reform. The disputes n of personalities, the issue ight “fade away”. His remarks uers, the rising jobless toll
threatening to disrupt the two-day Eu threatens to drag the institution dow threatens to highlight Tory divisions threatens to infect us with high taxe threatened to leave France isolated a threatened to overshadow the start of threatened to overshadow the launch o threatens to reopen a long-smoulderin threaten to reopen a dispute which al threatens to wreck both countries’ ef
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
corpus, and the threats themselves tend to be related to single episodes (e.g. “Spain has threatened to block any such change”) rather than to the complex long-term processes which seem typical of MPs’ talk (“the social chapter poses a threat to British national interests”). In comparing the Italian data to the English ones, a few differences may be highlighted. Firstly, unlike the findings in the English press corpus and unlike the Italian parliamentary corpus, nominal forms are more frequent than verbal forms (47 out of 76), although a higher frequency of Meaning 1, with respect to the parliamentary corpus, is confirmed by the Italian data as well. Secondly, unlike the Italian parliamentary corpus and the English press corpus, as far as Meaning 2 is concerned, the endangered entity is generally represented as the European institutions, while the Threatener is frequently a non-European country. Examples drawn from the corpus are as follows: Table 18. Concordances of minaccia (press corpus) a grande opportunità, non una ternazionalizzato. Dunque una to dell’euro rappresenta una entrismo, lei dice, perché le ti. Ben più consistente e’ la la globalizzazione, contro le ntità, una volta scomparsa la serie di altri Stati che sono o eurocentrismo: le maggiori uce, dall’America provengono
minaccia. Perché? Stimola una mentali minaccia o una grande opportunità a s minaccia o un’opportunità per le impr minacce sono mondiali. Anche l’econom minaccia dei giapponesi, le cui espor minacce competitive che provengono da minaccia del nemico dall’Est. Gli Usa minacciati dall’interno, come il Belg minacce vengono non dall’Europa ma da minacciosi venti di guerra commercial
In the German press corpus, the frequency of the verb drohen (Meaning 1) is higher than in the parliamentary corpus, as in both English and Italian. There are also traces of a peculiar structure, which corresponds to Meaning 2, where the endangered entity is expressed in the German dative. In the parliamentary corpus there is only one instance of this structure: (20) [. . . ] sonst drohe der EU nach der Osterweiterung die Lähmung. (Die Zeit. 23.9.1998) [. . . ] otherwise a paralysis would threaten the EU after its enlargement to the East.
The noun Gefahr is relatively more frequent in the press corpus than in the parliamentary corpus. As far as the verb gefährden is concerned, the endangered entity is very often linked to monetary union. Finally, as far as Bedrohung is concerned, both in the German and in the Italian corpus there are instances of the collocation Bedrohung von außen – “an external threat” (3 occurrences out of 14), which never occurs in the parliamentary corpus.
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Table 19. Concordances of gefahr, drohung and bedrohung (press corpus) rsverzerrungen immer wieder in icht nach dem Ende des EWS die ropa ohne die Währungsunion in Nr. 131 / Seite 13 Frankreich s darf die Stabilität des Euro Wirtschafts- und Währungsunion
Gefahr gerieten. Doch dieses Argum Gefahr, dass die Devisenspekulanten Gefahr geriete, könne die Währungsu gefährdet die Europäische Währungsu gefährden, die Nichtteilnehmer müss gefährdet wäre. Sie erinnerte daran
e an, die die Bonner Koalition Die EU würde man dadurch nicht ls Fremden ablehnen, sind eine elagern? Daß eine militärische gehandelt werden, schliesslich
bedrohen. Schon geht das Gespenst v bedrohen, aber man würde mit gutem Bedrohung fuer die Sicherheit ganz Bedrohung von außen die Europäer wi bedrohen die ostdeutschen Billingss
hmen sinken, Zahlungsengpaesse würden automatisch Sanktionen und mit vorzeitigen Neuwahlen in dem, was Dänemark unter der . Kaum verhüllt folgt dabei die
drohen. Ausserdem: Seit sich die An drohen. Die einzelnen Regelungen ei drohen. Damit konnte er die “Verabr Drohung eines zweiten Neins für sic Drohung: Wenn dies und das und jene
The above concordances of Gefahr, Drohung and Bedrohung in the press (Table 19) could all be translated by threat or threaten.
. Fear in the parliamentary corpora . Fear in the House of Commons In the parliamentary corpus 51 of the 71 instances of the verb form (including two instances of “I am fearful”) are found in the first person. These can be classified into various types, for example the use of a parenthetic I fear, which serves to permit the speaker to express the subjective modality, or the tentativeness, of the proposition of which it is a part. A few examples may be found in Table 20. But the majority of the instances of the uses of the verb fear realised in the first person singular have a projected idea in the role of Phenomenon. They are thus, like the examples in Table 20, cases of explicit subjective modality. Some examples follow in Table 21. Table 20. Concordances of fear (1) d t g d
to the local economy. That, is rising relentlessly and, to assist enlargement will, European Union. Ultimately,
I I I I
fear, fear, fear, fear,
is the logic of his position. menacingly, and will certainl prove to be folly. Mr. Hayes: we will have to have a refere
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
Table 21. Concordances of fear (2) and in Japan 2.3 per cent. e European market. However, To quote from article 130s, Minister goes to Amsterdam, m. More than anything else, ut from the social chapter, terests for many years, but f much freer trade. Indeed, Fisheries and Food arrives. tion of the United Kingdom.
I I I I I I I I I I
fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear
that that that that that that that that that that
if the methodology and the the logic of further extens we are about to agree to qu the prosperity of my consti we are creating a situation our relative decline will c the current Government are action may be needed on tex it is too late for me to re the hon. Member for Thurroc
In many of these instances, the Phenomenon that the speaker fears is related to the metadiscursive structure of the debate itself; the Phenomenon consists of a response of some kind to something said previously; for example: (21) I fear that the hon. Member for Thurrock will not be satisfied on that. (House of Commons. 15.1.1998)
In other instances, because of the syntactic complexity that is common in clauses of projection, it is not easy to identify the nature of the Phenomenon without looking at stretches of text that are considerably longer than that afforded by a concordance line; for example: (22) I fear that those who say that we should turn our backs on Maastricht are taking a tremendous risk, the black risk of a centralised Europe, the risk that Europe will go on without us if necessary, and even if we are part of it, and our colleagues will say, “You’ve had your chance. In future you can take it or leave it.” (House of Commons. 4.11.1992)
To the extent that it is possible to identify any patterns in the nature of the feared Phenomenon, the erosion of prosperity is the most frequent semantic category. However, it should be pointed out that a considerable number of instances of the usage of fear do not seem to be a subjective reaction to a danger posed from outside but rather a result of a process of reasoning. An appropriate agnate form for ‘it frightens me’ would in fact be ‘it concerns me’, a more cerebral representation of the perception of danger than the affective fear. The few remaining examples (Table 22) realised with the first person singular are either quite clear as to the nature of the feared Phenomenon, or they require anaphoric recovery of a previously mentioned element. In cases in which mood structure is realised in the third person, the explicit subjectivity of the modality is often lost, especially with examples like “The House and the country have much to fear”, or “investors fear”, in which speakers represent the private sphere of others, and the Sensers – those oth-
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Table 22. Concordances of fear (3) e Euro-sceptics. I would have e strength of his case? No, I e to do so. I trust so, but I criticisms tonight. I do not me out of Europe but I do not “federal” when they mean, “We
feared for our country, had the right fear not. He tried all that yesterday fear not. 7.6 pm Mr. David Heathcote fear Germany and I wish that it would fear the possibility. 7.31 pm Mr. fear a unitary state.” That is fundam
Table 23. Concordances of fear (4) n that Westland has nothing to l was first advanced that they ents from the Opposition. They ank are quite mistaken if they , or any of the other spectres d Friend the Foreign Secretary so misleading? Too many people f some business organisations, y and I wish that it would not To my hon. Friends who do not
fear from the social chapter because feared that their position in the Un fear the idea of reformed, modern an fear that the single currency will b feared by some Conservative Members. fear a hard core of other countries fear that it means centralisation, w fear that if Maastricht is rejected fear itself, but I recognise that it fear the effect of that article, I m
ers – are generically defined. In other words the speaker is not representing the ‘fears’ as an individual and subjective perception, but as a generalised and indisputable fact. The corpus data however suggest that, in parliamentary discourse, this option is relatively rare. Data from CEC, however suggest that this may not be the case in general English, where, for example, in the role of Senser they is more frequent than I. Other frequent Sensers in CEC are police, officials and government. Examples from the parliamentary corpus are in Table 23. When fear is realised grammatically as a noun, it tends to collocate frequently with antonyms and quasi-synonyms such as aspirations, concerns, belief, worries, terror, loathing, prejudices.16 These illustrate clearly the relationship with the two meanings of the verb fear. Collocation with words like concern and beliefs tend to identify the noun with the cognitive mental process, whereas collocations with worries and terror tend to identify it with the affective mental process. If we presume that the noun fear is a nominalisation of the verb fear,17 the structural element of the Senser may be either recoverable or not. It is expressed through collocation with verbs such as express, share, and raise, as well as through possessive structures (my, the Euro-sceptics’, etc.). Again, the same kind of feature that emerges from the use of the verb may be observed. It is one thing to talk about my fears, quite another to refer to public fears, and it seems that MPs are more prone to use this kind of generalisation of fear in the nominal group than in the verbal group. Some examples from the corpus are displayed in Table 24. However there are also many other examples in which MPs posit fear as a concrete entity unrelated, to a particular Senser. This is most marked when
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
Table 24. Concordances of fear (5) expressed their aspirations and Europhiles and the fantastical tirely legitimate way, people’s of a super-state arouses public ight hon. Friend raised general . It exposes the Euro-sceptics’ one of them appears to have the ebate today, we heard about the hon. Members have expressed the more of its members regard with
fears about the changeover to a sin fears of the Euro-sceptics. I would fears about BSE and beef, it will h fears and deprives the public of se fears about the massive extension o fears of a centralised, federalised fears and worries that are expresse fears of the hon. Member for South fear that the treaty gives the Comm fear and loathing? The Euro-sceptic
Table 25. Concordances of fear (6) ngham (Mr. Redwood), said is a able to its people. There is a y, precisely because there are learly represent the concerns, last 18 months. There are now nt it or not. I am afraid that is brought out of the box. The n the second world war and the arke: I have been debating the because that will lead only to
fear of Germany and a belief that we fear of a bureaucracy that is not ac fears throughout Europe and among in fears and aspirations of Europe. I b fears of plant closures and job loss fear of the people hangs over the Go fear is that, having failed in two w fear of further war. The drive is to fear of a European super-state with fear and unhappiness. I welcome the
the word functions as the Existent in an existential process (“there is a fear of bureaucracy”). See Table 25 for some examples. The Phenomenon, the entity that is construed as arousing fear, that recurs most frequently is related firstly to the semantic area of the erosion of prosperity, and, secondly, to the area of institutions, in particular EU institutions. Note also that there is one specific nation that is posited as a feared Phenomenon – Germany – and this recurs not only in the Italian but also in the German data; part of Germany’s anxiety is thus attributed to the concern of being feared. In conclusion, it may be remarked that while an initial survey of the relative frequencies of threat and fear reveals numerical similarities, a more detailed semantic analysis demonstrates that British MPs’ representations of danger posed from the outside are much more frequent than their representation of the emotional reaction to it. . Fear in the Camera dei Deputati and the Senato della Repubblica For the Italian equivalents of fear we chose the lexemes paura, timore (and the related verb form temere) and preoccupazione. The latter expresses a cognitive meaning and is similar to the English concern, while the others tend towards the affective meaning, although like the English fear, their meaning may oscillate between the two poles.
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
At a first glance, many similarities between the collocation patterns identified in English and those in Italian can be found. Their collocation with particular verbs can be noted; for example: manifestare timori; condividere una paura; guardare/assistere con preoccupazione; destare paura (“show fears”, “share fears”, “look on with concern”, “generate fear”). Let us consider the two lexemes paura and its quasi-synonym timore. First of all it can be noted that they are used only infrequently by Italian MPs, who prefer the more ‘dignified’ and less forceful preoccupazione. They are both nouns but they co-occur quite frequently with the verb avere, and this colligation may be said to constitute a verbal group meaning “to fear” or “to be afraid”. The verbal form aver paura collocates either with the preposition di, as in aver paura di un partner come l’Italia (“to be afraid of a partner like Italy”), or che, for example ho paura che il voto si disperda (“I fear that the vote will be dispersed”). Both Io temo che and ho il timore che can be synonyms, and, like the equivalent in English, in the first person they carry both the meaning of “in my opinion” and that of “the prospect is unwelcome”. In other words it is a resource that speakers may use to “hedge” or to express the relevance of the proposition that follows, rather than to express fear. While this meaning is quite frequent in the British parliament, it is not in the Italian; in fact the corpus yields only nine instances, only one in the form aver paura. In the other cases, the verbal group is realised in the third person and it is possible to observe the propensity of Italian MPs to be vague about the identity of the Senser, through either impersonal constructions – si abbia paura, si ha il fondato timore (“one fears”, “one has the well-founded fear”) – or through the use of indefinite determiners – qualcuno ha avuto paura, alcuni temono (“some fear”). A similar effect is produced with the noun form as a complement of the verb “to emerge” – è emerso inannzitutto il timore. In these cases, we can say that the fear of otherwise unspecified persons is being constructed, rather than reflected, in the discourse of Italian MPs. The Phenomenon that instils fear in the Sensor is related to and tends to collocate with Europe, or, more precisely, with the novelties that the process of integration might bring about - l’Europa delle nazioni, delle società (“The Europe of nations, of local communities”) – or the Union itself. Examples of the verbal form can be found in Table 26. We might claim that the “fears” expressed in the Italian parliamentary corpus are construals of reactions to a danger posed from outside, or to put it differently, a reaction to those elements of novelty brought about by the process of integration (e.g. la paura del nuovo, ansia di nuovi valori, “the fear of what is new”, “fear of new values”). However, these fears are frequently expressed in the
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
Table 26. Concordances of avere paura, avere timore and temere a l’Europa delle cancellerie ha ltre nazioni cominciano ad aver autoritario. Credo che si abbia te che quando qualcuno ha avuto e chiedo altresì di chi abbiamo di ciò non dobbiamo avere certo ta e ne hanno una comprensibile poi abbiamo tentennato: avevamo dell ’ Europa delle nazioni, ha ra dell’Europa dei - popoli, ha
paura dell’Europa dei - popoli, ha paura di un partner come l’Italia, paura di un’Europa delle società, d paura di questa unificazione, e ha paura e per quale motivo sia stata paura (Applausi dei deputati del gr paura. I popoli d’Europa hanno biso paura di doverci fermare ad esamina paura di questa ansia di nuovi valo paura dell’ Europa delle nazioni, h
io continente, si ha il fondato timore che questi si aggraveranno s tibilità economica. Abbiamo il timore che, mentre a Est abbiamo vi questione in esame ho quasi il timore che gli anni dei Movimento s ntraddizioni e culture diverse, nte all’inclinazione che faceva una economia integrata. Alcuni ante è dunque un pessimista che lánder; molti di essi infatti, astricht, in quanto fra l’altro timo, signor Presidente (perché re che nell’intero paese. Molti paese avrebbe tanta ragione di spaventati e hanno cominciato a
teme di poter perdere quelle che so temere per il futuro del processo d temono un’economia antisociale; non teme, per altro, la supremazia tede temono una riduzione delle loro com temiamo che questa chiusura euro-ce temo che lei l’abbia dimenticato) a temevano che il legame con le valut temere. Peraltro, teniamo a sottoli temere che tirarsi in casa un paese
third person or in an impersonal form and we might come to the conclusion, then, that fears in the Italian corpus, unlike the English data, seem to be more objectivised and frequently detached from a well-defined Senser. In many instances, as we have seen before, due to syntactic complexity, we need to expand the co-text in order to understand the nature of the Phenomenon. This is frequently expressed by the deictics questo and questa (“this” and “that”) which introduce an anaphoric or cataphoric reference. In the majority of examples this is strengthened by the repetition of the lexical items, which also functions as a cohesive element; for example: (23) Temo – non lo affermo ma ho questa paura e vorrei manifestarla davanti all’Assemblea – che ci si trovi all’interno di un labirinto di vetri e di specchi, come accadeva quando eravamo ragazzi ed andavamo alle giostre, un labirinto di vetri e di specchi che sembra farci avvicinare all’obiettivo finale ma che, in realtà, potrebbe portarci soltanto in un vicolo cieco. Se questo timore fosse reale, ben altrimenti ci spiegheremmo le manchevolezze del trattato di Amsterdam che, infatti, ha rinunciato, come lo stesso onorevole Fassino ha ammesso poco fa, ad approfondire il tema delle riforme istituzionali, un tema capitale di fronte alla prospettiva di un’Europa unita. (Camera dei Deputati. 25.3.1998)
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
I fear – I don’t confirm it but I have this fear which I’d like to express to the House – that we are in a hall of mirrors, like those we went to at the fun fair when we were children, a hall of mirrors that seems to allow us to see the final objective but which, in truth, only leads into a blind alley. If this fear were to prove real, we would have to find very different explanations for the shortcomings of the Amsterdam Treaty, which failed, as the Honourable [Deputy] Fassino himself admitted not long ago, to delve into the question of institutional reform, which is a fundamental issue for the prospects of a united Europe.
Looking, on the other hand, at collocation patterns of the nouns paura and timore, two observations can be made: firstly as with English, the nouns frequently collocate with antonyms or quasi-antonyms and synonyms such as diffidenza, preoccupazione, timore, speranza, certezza; (“diffidence”, “concern”, “fear”, “hope”, “certainty”); secondly, the nature of the ‘feared’ Phenomenon is frequently related to the semantic field of economic (in)stability (il timore dell’inflazione, “the fear of inflation”), but especially, and in this case unlike the English findings, by the failure of the process of European Integration (il timore di venire rifiutati, la mancata ratifica, “the fear of being refused”, “the fear of non-ratification”). Interesting to note is the fact that in three cases the feared Phenomenon is the old European hobgoblin – Germany. Examples are in Table 27. Lastly, let us briefly consider the lexeme preoccupazione. The absolute and relative frequency of the lexeme is considerably higher than the others we have considered. The number of nouns is greater than the number Table 27. Concordances of paura and timore Un’ondata di diffidenze e di cora segnato da diffidenze e be sussulti nazionalistici e di, e forse anche con quelle e peculiarità. Certamente la a diffidenza e su reciproche rché poi in realtà la grande
paura si è sollevata verso la Germania paure portò al declino di una costruzi paure verso il cosiddetto pericolo ted paure che sono sempre un freno al nuov paura dei nuovo desta sempre perplessi paure, riceviamo ora in eredità una si paura è questa. E’ vero che il quadro
allo stesso tempo speranze e anche in altri interventi il le critiche, le riserve ed i reale. Di fatto ha pesato il ritrovo speranze, certezze, ugare. é emerso anzitutto il questo processo, anziché di cupazione. La verità è che il i; ma altrettanto grande è il ostra finanza, in fretta, nel
timori. È la prima volta che l’Europa timore che il mercato unico possa esse timori manifestati, di dover esprimere timore dell’inflazione da parte tedesc timori che sono anche del Governo: inv timore che l’unificazione europea poss timore e. di estraneità come è avvenut timore dell’inflazione da parte della timore che la mancata ratifica possa timore di venire rifiutati dall’Europ
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
Table 28. Concordances of preocccupare/preoccuparsi certi allargamenti ad est mi tiamo assistendo sbigottiti e o del tutto indifferente e mi tituzione. Ripeto: quello che pazio di tre anni. Sono anche fferente e mi preoccupano. Mi ece, ed anzi siamo fortemente continuo ad essere fortemente punto su cui siamo fortemente n dato essenziale: comincia a
preoccupano perché rappresentano un c preoccupati per le prospettive e le s preoccupano. Mi preoccupano anche per preoccupa della discussione non è tan preoccupato nei confronti della psico preoccupano anche perché ambienti leg preoccupati circa la coincidenza fra preoccupato per questo progetto di un preoccupati, che non riguarda il Trat preoccuparci non più l’Europa prossim
of verbs (110–55); however the different grammatical categories seem to express a shared function. All the remaining 28 occurrences are expressed by the adjective preoccupante which is a quasi-synonym of serio, grave. From an analysis of the collocation patterns in the parliamentary corpus both the noun and the verb form collocate frequently with intensifiers such as fortemente, gravemente estremamente, gravissime, serie, fondate (“highly”, “gravely”, “extremely”, “extremely grave”, “serious”, “real”). Examples of the verb are in Table 28. In the majority of examples of the verb preoccupare and essere preoccupati, the Senser is realised by the first person pronoun both singular and plural (e.g. siamo preoccupati di quello che accadrà; questa alternativa mi preoccupa “we are concerned about what will happen”, “this alternative concerns me”); and this, as previously said, confirms the use of the first person to explicitly express the subjective opinion or emotion of the Speaker. The Phenomenon that the speaker is concerned with pertains to and is related to several issues of the process of integration, among which the more frequent are the economic parameters of Maastricht and how they will be met, the “democratic deficit”, the questions of sovereignty, stability (pro EU) and problems associated with borders and immigration. It must be noted that even when the lexeme is realised grammatically as a noun, it tends to show these same features, in particular as far as the Phenomenon is concerned. The Senser, on the other hand, may be recoverable or not and it frequently co-occurs with verbs such as esprimere, condividere, suscitare (“express”, “share”, “raise”). From this, we might observe a similarity with the noun fear in English. Examples from the corpus are in Table 29.
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Table 29. Concordances of preoccupazione i colleghi hanno poi espresso politica sociale suscita vive in considerazione della forte ti che ci inducono a profonde zione, che è una delle nostre raneo; condivido, infatti, la gravissime, serie e profonde stituzionale. Ci sono inoltre isavanzi pubblici, guardo con di divisioni tra i paesi. La
preoccupazione circa i rischi di ades preoccupazioni, in quanto ne emerge u preoccupazione che abbiamo, crediamo preoccupazioni; ma altrettanto grande preoccupazioni essenziali. Quali sono preoccupazione che questi problemi ha preoccupazioni?. Noi - lo dicevo prim preoccupazioni e pericoli di ordine e preoccupazione al patto di stabilità. preoccupazione che emerge unanime der
. Fear in the Bundestag For the German corpus, the three lexemes analysed are sorge (and the word forms sorgenvoll, besorgt, Besorgnis, besorniserregend), angst (ängstigen, ängstlich, and Angstmacherei), and furcht (along with Befürchtung, fürchten and befürchten). Sorge, Angst and the quasi-synonym Furcht are all nominalisations of mental processes, and capture different nuances of the meaning of fear. Angst (“fear”), definitely stronger than Sorge (“concern”), expresses the emotive and instinctive dimension of fear. Half-way between the affective and the cognitive sphere, Furcht can be compared to the Italian timore. Finally, Sorge expresses the cognitive mental process, which is a more reflexive response to a danger or threat. Of the three, Sorge is by far the most frequent and since Sorge is semantically less forceful than Angst, this could mean that German MPs’ lexicalisation of fear avoids the more affectively-oriented expressions, as British and Italian MPs seem to. However, a more careful analysis reveals that this is not necessarily the case. Verbal phrases with Sorge or Angst are the most frequent structures. There are grammatical restrictions as to what preposition must be used with a particular word (um for Sorge, vor for Angst) to introduce the Phenomenon. Sometimes, however, speakers in our corpus substitute um with vor (Sorge vor) and vice versa (Angst um). The result is a modification in meaning – Sorge becomes like Angst, and vice versa. Compare the following two examples: (24) Denn ihre Sorge um die Stabilität der Währung ist nicht unberechtigt. (Bundestag. 8.10.192) For her concerns about currency stability are not unjustified. (25) Dafür gebührt den Konferenzteilnehmern Dank, ganz besonders unserer deutschen Verhandlungsdelegation, die es verstanden hat, mit Beschick und Beharrlichkeit die Interessen unseres Landes zu vertreten, ohne un-
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
seren Partnern Anlaß zur Sorge vor deutscher Dominanz zu geben. (Bundestag. 10.10.1996) Therefore, it is our duty to thank the conference participants, in particular the German delegation, for being able to defend the interests of our country with enthusiasm and perseverance, without giving our partners any reason to fear German domination.
In the first example Sorge expresses a cognitive mental process, whereas in the second instance the preposition vor, which typically collocates with Angst, expresses something closer to an affective state of mind. This use of Sorge as a quasi-synonym of Angst is confirmed by a third example, where the speaker comments on the words of a fellow MP, using first the preposition vor to express his own interpretation of those words, and then the preposition um to report what the previous speaker has actually said, suggesting that the MP is really trying to conceal his fears about the future of the EU defence policies: (26) Wissen Sie, es mutet mich schon merkwürdig an, wenn Sie unter anderem hier heute morgen Sorge vor der Entwicklung der europäischen Verteidigung begründet haben mit der Sorge um die Zukunft der Allianz, um die Rolle der Vereinigten Staaten in Europa. (Bundestag. 2.12.1992) You know, what seems to me a bit strange about the speech you delivered this morning is that you motivate your fear over the development of European defence with a concern over the future of the Alliance and the US’s role in Europe.
The substitution of the preposition um with vor therefore seems an intentional argumentative device. The same happens with Angst, which is sometimes followed by the preposition um. In the following example, the preposition um brings the meaning of Angst closer to that of Sorge, and could even be substituted with Sorge: (27) Glauben Sie nicht, daß es nach der Schilderung dieser Erfolgsgeschichte des Europäischen Währungssystems den Sozialdemokraten in der Bundesrepublik gut anstünde, das Schüren der Angst um die D-Mark zu beenden und eher auf die positiven Zeichen zu setzen? (Bundestag. 13.12.1991) Don’t you think that, after this illustration of the successful story of the European currency system the social democrats of the Federal Republic would do best to stop stirring up concerns about the German mark and start putting their trust in the positive signs?
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
The high syntactic complexity of subordinate clauses in German, where the verb must be retrieved at the end of the clause, means that one often has to expand the context in order to identify the Phenomenon, as we have seen also in the Italian and English corpora. Subordinate daß-clauses expressing the Phenomenon are especially frequent with the verb fürchten. Sometimes there are anaphoric references (das, dies) which must be disambiguated: (28) Ich fürchte immer noch, daß viele die wahre Dimension dieser Gefahr unterschätzen. (Bundestag. 2.12.1992) I still fear that many people underestimate the real size of this threat. (29) Wenn der amerikanische Präsident in seinem diesjährigen Drogenbericht schätzt, daß der weltweite Drogenhandel 300 Milliarden Dollar beträgt, dann kann sich doch jeder denken, daß diese 300 Milliarden Dollat nicht in die wirtschäftlich schwächeren Länder Europas gehen, sondern dorthin, wo die Hartwährungen zu Hause sind – und jeder weiß, wo das ist. Ich fürchte immer noch, daß viele die wahre Dimension dieser Gefahr unterschätzen. (Bundestag. 2.12.1992) In this year’s drug report the American President estimates that the worldwide drugs trade amounts to 300 billion dollars. Now, everyone can imagine that these 300 billion dollars will not end up in the economically disadvantaged countries of the EU, but where strong currencies are at home, and everyone knows where that is. I still fear that many people underestimate the real size of this threat.
Some expressions, often used in the first person, such as ich fürchte, daß (“I fear that”), and other synonyms like meine Furcht ist, meine Sorge ist, ich befürchte + object, ich habe die Befürchtung/Sorge, daß. . . , ich habe Angst, daß, carry the kind of negative modality that can also be found in the English and Italian examples. The following is one of many examples where ich fürchte could be substituded with ich denke (“I think”): (30) Ich fürchte, hier ist ganz bewußt vor einem entscheidendem Datum in Deutschland mit Zahlen Schindluder getrieben worden. (Bundestag. 5.3.1998) I fear that in this case figures have been intentionally distorted before a decisive date.
Sometimes this negative modality is meta-discursive, i.e. the speaker refers back to the previous intervention of a colleague:
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
(31) Ich befürchte, der Hinweis der Rednerin war nicht unberechtigt. (Bundestag. 8.10.1992) I fear that what the speaker suggests is not unjustified.
Unlike the English corpus, there are not many examples of subjectivised fear (only 4 out of 50 examples of Sorge + verb are in the first person singular), while there are many instances of verbs in the third person, many of them meta-discursive (er hat Angst, er hat Sorge, die Angst des Kollegen). Sometimes the speaker addresses his colleagues directly in the polite form (Sie haben Angst, daß), other times the source of the utterance is left unexpressed: es ist die Befürchtung geäußert worden (“the fear was expressed that [. . . ]”). The first person plural is also frequent, since many MPs speak on behalf of an entire party or party group. In many instances, the Senser is a collective noun or an abstract, often institutional, entity (Deutschland, russische Minderheiten, Westeuropäische Parlamente, Institutionen, Bürger, Partner, die kleineren Nationen, Umweltverbände – “Germany”, “Russian minorities”, “West European Parliaments”, “institutions”, “citizens”, “partners”, “small nations”, “environmental groups”) or a generic Viele, viele Menschen, or even the impersonal form man. Furcht often indicates a collective attitude of concern, as can be inferred from the concordance lines in Table 30. Sometimes the Senser is left unexpressed, and the fear is posed as something which is “out there”, as an objective existential process. This objective existence is expressed through impersonal or indefinite structures like es gibt Table 30. Concordances of furcht, angst and sorge (1) er Alltag ist, die kollektive die größte und unmittelbarste n auf sie zukommen und welche und der F.D.P.). Weil wir die t. Westeuropäische Parlamente noch bestehen. Viele Menschen sagen, was Sie fürchten. Sie
Furcht vor Interventionen selbst ange Furcht der Europäer auf die Arbeitslo Befürchtungen unsere Wirschaft hat? D Befürchtungen der Bevölkerung dadurch befürchten Souveränitätsverlust, viel befürchten ein zentralistisches Europ fürchten, daß Stoiber letztendlich de
ht zulassen, daß die Menschen Angst vor der Zukunft haben, und nich g des Kollegen Waigel und die Angst der Bundesregierung vor einer avor hat dann wieder Stoiber Angst, und er befürchtet Transferleis mitzuteilen. Nur so kann der auch von Umweltverbänden die eine größte Sorge. Aber meine che Hilfe wünschen, macht mir rger von uns erwartet. Er hat rspruch bei der CDU/CSU) Mit stärken. Das war immer unsere . Dies erfüllt uns mit großer
Sorge der Menschen um die Stabilität Sorge geäußert, daß ungeachtet aller Sorge ist, daß Sie auf diesem Wege de Sorge. Daß das noch mehr Sorgen unter Sorge, daß eine überstürzte Einführu’ Sorge sehen wir, Herr Bundeskanzler, Sorge. Deshalb haben wir immer gesagt Sorge. (Beifall bei der PDS sowie bei
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Table 31. Concordances of furcht, angst and sorge (2) in Brüssel beschäftigen. Man Davor braucht sich niemand zu daß viele Menschen in Europa gswut anonymer Instanzen, man ürchtet den Zentralismus, man tschland kommen muß. Viertens ng erfahren: Zum einen ist zu n Europas werden - das ist zu er Frauen?” auf den Punkt: Zu ationalistischer Emotionen zu
fürchtet den Zentralismus, man fürcht fürchten. (Beifall bei der F.D.P.) Ic fürchten, sie könnten in einem europä fürchtet den Verlust nationaler und r fürchtet Regelungswut anonymer Instan fürchten viele Menschen den im Maastr befürchten, daß die Währungsunion rüc befürchten - durch die Dampfwalze der befürchten ist, daß dds Versprechen v befürchten wäre. Wenn wir diese Gefah
rüber. Schließlich gibt es die müssen. Das ist zum einen die s; es ist eine Gefühlslage der retiert haben. Da gibt es die haben. Zum dritten gibt es die at gezeigt: Die Menschen haben ichts mit Europa zu tun. Diese
Angst vor der Überfremdung. Sie spie Angst um das Geld, die unsere Bürger Angst. Wir müssen diese Ängste ernst Angst um die Erweiterung der Europäi Angst um die Souveränität. Da haben Angst vor dem Verlust ihrer eigenen Angst sitzt viel tiefer. Die Mensche
ssen wir diese Vorbehalte und derzugehen. Manche Sorgen und utschland gibt es verbreitete htiges Beispiel nenne ich die ren zu tun, Viele treibt die
Besorgnisse ernst nehmen. Ich persönl Besorgnisse haben sich im Zusammenhan Sorge um die Stabilität einer zukünft Sorge um die Sicherheit der Kernkraft Sorge um, ob wir uns über die deutsch
+ object (es gibt die Furcht, Angst, etc.), es herrscht eine Furcht, etw. ist zu befürchten, etw. läßt sich befürchten, etw. muß befürchtet werden, man befürchtet. The verb befürchten and the noun Befürchtung are even more objectivised than Furcht, since their most frequent collocates are either impersonal syntactic structures or indefinite pronouns (man, mancher, viele) (see Table 31). To sum up, we could say that the majority of the Sensers in our German corpus are either in the third person, or are generic and indefinite. Therefore, fear in the German corpus seems to be more objectivised than in the English corpus. It is also important to analyse the nouns and verbs that collocate with fear as Phenomena in order to find out the semantic categories to which the most feared entities belong. Unlike the English and Italian corpora, adjectives such as zunehmend (“growing”), verbreitet (“widespread”), formlos (“formless”), unbestimmt (“undefinable”) and real, which act as modifiers of the nouns Angst, Furcht, Befürchtung, Sorge and Besorgnis are rather infrequent. As in the English and Italian corpora, Angst, Sorge, Besorgnis and the quasi-synonyms Furcht and Befürchtung are often found together (Ängste und Befürchtungen, Befürchtungen und Sorgen, Befürchtungen und Unsicherheiten, Ängste und Unsicherheiten, etc.), usually when the speaker wants to add emphasis to his expression. A typical collocation is Ängste und Sorgen.
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
Angst is often found in the plural, acquiring something of the cognitive and more objective meaning of Sorge, as it almost always collocates with a generic Senser. Moreover, in the plural, Angst is never followed by a preposition, and therefore the Phenomenon is not mentioned. In the singular form, Angst mostly collocates with words belonging to the same semantic category, like Unsicherheit, Unbehagen, Bange, (“uncertainty”, “unease”, “anxiety”) or with negatively charged words like Mißtrauen, Verdrossenheit, Ärger, Vorurteile, Nationalismus (“mistrust”, “sullenness”, “trouble”, “prejudice”, “nationalism”) and it is interesting to note that tokens like Nationalismus may be either the cause of the fear or the result of it. A variety of verbs collocate with angst, the most frequent being auslösen, schüren (“fuel” or “spark”), einjagen (which describes how fear rises), and reagieren, abbauen, überwinden, aufnehmen, sitzen, (which describe different kind of reactions to fear). Angst is also found in fixed phrases like ohne Furcht und Angst, or in compounds like Angstmache (Angstmacherei, Angst- und Bangemache, Angst- und Stimmungsmache), which refer to the alarmist attitude of some politicians, or even in idioms like Politikern sitzt die Angst tief im Nacken (“politicians are filled with fear”). Let us now briefly review the concordances for each word in order to identify the most feared Phenomena in our German parliamentary corpus. For angst, the fears are mostly linked to the European economic and political integration process and the effects it could have on Germany (Verlust der D-Mark, Stabilität, nationale Identität, politische Zukunft, Souveranität, Abhängigkeit, Erweiterung der EU, Verschiebung des Euro, ein zentralistisches Europa, Brüsseler Bürokratie – “loss of the D-Mark”, “stability”, “national identity”, “political future”, “sovereignty”, “dependence”, “enlargement”, “postponement of the introduction of the Euro”, “centralised Europe”, “Brussels bureaucracy”) in particular the fear that the integration process could entail a loss of political power and economic instability for Germany. That is why one of the most feared Phenomena is the loss of the powerful D-Mark in the process of creation of the Euro. For sorge, we find similar results (Stabilität der Währung, Zukunft der Allianz – “currency stability”, “future of the alliance”), but also internal threats, in particular Rechtsextremismus (“extreme right wing political activity”) and Nationalismus, as well as the oft-recurring Arbeitslosigkeit (“unemployment”). When talking about the European integration process, German MPs talk about a fear of German predominance (Sorge vor deutscher Dominanz) on the part of the less powerful European nations, and this, as well, is seen as a problem. Therefore, Germany has to reassure the other countries that they will not be politically overwhelmed.
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Table 32. Concordances of furcht, angst and sorge (3) ntralismus, vor Regelungswut, kein Zurück zu Nationalismus, müssen. Das ist zum einen die r Grundstimmung, die sich aus retiert haben. Da gibt es die dem Punkt kommen, der bei der s Sie versucht haben hier als
Angst Angst Angst Angst Angst Angst Angst
vor dem Verlust der eigenen Wäh und Mißtrauen geben. (Beifall b um das Geld, die unsere Bürger vor einem Zuviel an Abhängigkei um die Erweiterung der Europäis vor Europa im Moment die Herzen vor Europa zu definieren, wird
ger und Bürgerinnen und deren en und kulturellen Identität, ie stabile Währung. Denn ihre der Gesellschaft und 90% ihre ter anderem hier heute morgen gswut anonymer Instanzen, man leineren europäischen Staaten
Sorge um die stabile Währung. Denn ih Sorge vor Überbürokratisierung und vo Sorge um die Stabilität der Währung i Sorge über steigende (D) Kriminalität Sorge vor der Entwicklung der europäi fürchtet den Verlust nationaler und r fürchten, in einer Superstruktur völl
änder!) die nicht zuletzt aus Furcht vor der Vormacht der D-Mark in ls genug - muß man sagen: Wer Furcht hat vor Deutschland, und sei s die größte und unmittelbarste Furcht der Europäer auf die Arbeitslo
As for furcht, the most frequent Phenomena are Arbeitslosigkeit (“unemployment”), Armut (“poverty”) and problems with the Sozialer Schutz (“welfare”). For befürchtung, the Phenomenon is again linked to currency instability (Deutsche Mark, Währung – “currency”). Other collocates are, again, Nationalismus, Zentralismus (“centralism”) and Entdemokratisierung (“the democratic deficit”). The Integrationsprozeß (“the integration process”) and Europa itself are allegedly a source of concern for many Germans. Stability, both economic and political, therefore, seems the major concern of the German parliament, judging by the high number of occurrences. Examples are in Table 32. As it turns out, the most feared Phenomena in our corpus coincide with the semantic categories of the threatened entities (stability, social security and welfare, economic balance and the outcome of the integration process). However, the political and economic autonomy of Germany within the EU seems to be more significant in the concordances for fear, with respect to the data on threat.
. Fear in the press corpora The data from the English press sub-corpus are rather different from the parliamentary sub corpus for a number of reasons. In the first place, the relative frequency of the lexeme in the press is considerably higher than in parliament – 0.04 per 100 words as opposed to 0.018. This corresponds to the data on
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
threat, and so we may tentatively conclude that the press is more concerned than MPs with danger and reactions to it. Secondly, noun forms are more frequent than verb forms; and in the case of nouns, affective interpretations are more common than cognitive interpretations. Thirdly, in the verb form, first person in the mood structure is very infrequent and therefore the fears tend to be ‘objectivised’. While in the parliamentary corpus, the principal linguistic mystification was related to the use of a generic Senser, in the press corpus there is an abundance of instances of fear which are totally detached from any Senser. For example, in instantiations like “there are fears”, “[something] reflected growing fears”, “the single currency focused fear”, there is absolutely no way of tracing the emotion of fear to any given subject. Similarly we find examples where fears seem to take on a life of their own (32) Deep down in the French psyche [. . . ] still lurk fears born of centuries of war. (The Economist. 4.12.1999)
In others, where we find that fears may be fuelled or sparked, emphasis is placed on the threat or the danger, rather than on the subject that experiences the emotion. Some examples of this kind of disembodied fear, which abound in the corpus and which seem to be typical of press discourse, are in Table 33. In the Italian corpus, the data in terms of frequency of paura, timore and preoccupazione in the press corpus are similar to those of the parliamentary corpus. The first two lexemes together have a relative frequency of 0.017 per 100 words; preoccupazione, again, is more frequent with 0.029. However, there are some remarkable differences in terms of linguistic patterns. Firstly, nouns are more frequent than verbs; moreover, like the findings in the Italian parliamentary corpus (and the English press corpus), nouns may be identified with an affective mental process. Secondly, both paura and timore tend to be objectivised; only in a few cases may we observe markers of personal involvement in the text. Thirdly, unlike the parliamentary corpus, we may note Table 33. Concordances of fear (press corpus) nion” is actually defined, the ndum on the subject. The great enlargement. There are already ment in the European Union and s foreign policy and will fuel h Europe’s politicians sparked tions from the dark caverns of German partnership, still lurk a volatile session today amid euro trading. There have been
fear of a United States of Europe ca fear over Europe is not that Labour fears that foreign investors will be fear about further integration. But fears that Labour is far more commit fears that long-term plans for tax h fear that now make them impossible f fears born of centuries of war. The fears that the euro’s standing has b fears that the new currency will und
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
the occurrence of the verbal expression far paura – “frighten” – (e.g. la valuta unica europea non fa paura né alle multinazionali, “The single currency doesn’t frighten either the multinationals [. . . ]”), frequently found in a negative mood environment (e.g. senza paura, non ci fa paura, “without fear”, “it doesn’t frighten us”). Moreover, in terms of collocation patterns and of the feared Phenomenon, economic stability is the most frequent semantic category associated with timore (il timore dell’inflazione; il rialzo dei tassi “the fear of inflation”, “the fear of an increase in interest rates”, for instance, are among the most frequent word-clusters), followed by the question of employment. A comparison with the lexeme preoccupazione in the press corpus quite interestingly shows that the feared Phenomenon is also represented by the lack of political clarity and by politicians themselves. According to the press, Italian institutions are not trusted by public opinion, and the State itself is represented in several instances as a threatening element causing fear and concern (e.g. è l’Italia a farci paura, non la Ue; La paura di non avere alle spalle uno Stato “It’s Italy that frightens us, not the EU”, “the fear of not having a State structure behind us”). Examples are in Table 34. Table 34. Concordances of paura, timore and preoccupazione (press corpus) a e occupazione, senza nessuna paura di una ripresa dell’inflazione conquistare proseguendo senza paura nell’innovazione istituzionale Paura della nuova frontiera? a paura da disuguaglianza. La paura di non avere alle spalle uno S prezziamo molto meno. E poi fa paura anche la legislazione europea, amento economico europeo ci fa paura - dicono gli economisti cinesi Spalanzani: è l’Italia a farci paura, non la Ue. ndo. Ma una paura resta: e’ la paura da disuguaglianza. La paura di i umori della popolazioni. “La paura del nuovo” è il pericolo numer (+0,49%), una volta svaniti i il 61% dei tedeschi guarda con tranquillamente nell’euro. Il . E se a questo si aggiunge il ergenza occupazione, denota il e cifre confermano anche che i materiale dell’euro. Forse il ione dei prezzi. Credo sia un rmiatori. Così, tra polemiche, irigente tedesca, divisa tra i del fatturato - A destare oneta unica. Loro primaria ’euro. Lo rivela non senza i governativi, per ora, le ora una sensazione di vaga però letto l’opuscolo. Le ri europei. Diffusa e’ la io e finanziario non desta nche se serpeggia qualche con interesse ma anche con
timori timore timore timore timore timori timore timore timori timori
di rialzo dei tassi americani alla moneta unica, mentre sol della grande crisi finanziari di un leggero rialzo dei tass dei governi di uscire dal ver di un prosciugamento del cred di dover gestire una fase com infondato. L’effetto, se cons e preoccupazioni e mentre è g di un’Italia fuori dell’euro
preoccupazione e’ l’incertezza legislati preoccupazione è riuscire a contenere i preoccupazione per il ritardo che intere preoccupazioni sono altre. Come si pres preoccupazione per la stabilità dei mer preoccupazioni della gente di fronte all preoccupazione che il passaggio all’euro preoccupazioni. Il grado di consapevolez preoccupazione circa possibili effetti r preoccupazione all’avvio dei colloqui tr
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
In the German press subcorpus, sorge has a relative frequency of 0.027 per 100 words, angst of 0.031, and furcht of 0.046. Some interesting differences with respect to the parliamentary corpus emerge: First of all, Angst is more frequent than Sorge, and this seems to confirm findings in the English and Italian corpora: the tendency of the press to use words with the highest intensity. As in the parliamentary corpus, nouns are more frequent than verbs. This is due in part to context and register factors, in part to the tendency to nominalisation typical of the German language. At the level of grammar and syntax, the most evident difference is, first of all, the lower number of subordinate daß-clauses, which is a typical feature of journalistic style. Another peculiarity is the use of neologisms like the compounds Euro-Angst, which occurs twice. The creation of this neologism reflects Germans’ fears about the outcome of monetary union, which the press particularly focuses on. Journalists also employ imaginative metaphors, describing the Euro as a train which threatens to derail (Die Entgleisung des Euro-Zuges). To further emphasise this situation, in the press Sorge collocates with Skepsis (“scepticism”), which is absent in the parliamentary corpus. There is also an insistence, as we have seen in the Italian corpus, on the extent and objectivity of this fear, which is real and ernst zu nehmen (“real”, “to be taken seriously”). Besides, in the German press, the Sensors – the perceivers of the sensation of fear – include Italy and France, which are said to be besorgt (“worried”) about their economic performance and about a possible supremacy of Germany in Europe. As far as collocates for Angst, Sorge and Furcht are concerned, the majority of the Phenomena belong to the semantic category of the Euro and monetary union (Währungsunion, Wechselkurse, schwache Währung) and of the possible negative consequence it could have. In particular, even more than the loss of the D-Mark, what is feared is the instability of the new currency. Sometimes, what is questioned is the whole concept of monetary union. Although this was an issue also in the parliamentary corpus, the emphasis here is much stronger. To sum up, although there are traces of Phenomena like “unemployment” and “Germany”, the German press debate focuses mainly on monetary union, on the fears related to it and on the advantages and disadvantages that it could bring. Table 35 illustrates some examples from the press subcorpus.
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Table 35. Concordances of furcht, angst and sorge (press corpus) Weniger Angst vor dem Euro. cher - auch das schürt die Euro-Angst. Das ist ökonomischer Unsinn Generation sei die unbegründete Angst weit verbreitet, daß mit der rittel der Deutschen Sorgen und Angst haben vor dem Euro. Das ist her nutzten die wachsende “Euro-Angst” und böten betrügerische Anla nger Alexandre Lamfalussy: Die Angst, eine gemeinsame Währung wird en kaum noch zu vermitteln. Die Angst vor dem Verlust der Mark trüb Brüssel will Ängste vor Währungsunion beseitigen n, die öffentlichen Zweifel und Ängste vor der Währungsunion seien e, daß die Menschen irrationale Ängste vor der neuen Währung für Ri lge der Vorschattenwirkung der die Entgleisung des Euro-Zuges h ihre Reden über angeblich zu raumatischer Übergang zum Euro wählt Europa den falschen Weg’ enn vor einer “herbeigeredeten In der Bundesrepublik herrscht n Konzepten zu überdenken. Die
Befürchtung eines weichen Euro, geg befürchten. Damit widersprachen sie befürchtende Instabilität des Euro befürchtet / Aufklärung nötig / Vom befürchten sie steigende Arbeitslos Furcht vor einem schwachen Euro ge Furcht vor einer schwachen Währung. Furcht der Franzosen vor Deutschlan
t von Frankfurter Experten die t nur die um ihre stabile Mark lgiens und Italiens ernsthafte reich, in Italien und anderswo ndesbankpräsident äußerte sich sen. Die binnenwirtschaftliche s Hurd versuchte sogleich, die en. Die Bundesbanker trieb die
Besorgnis der Währungshüter unterstr besorgten Deutschen (mit 53 Prozent Besorgnisse”. Und fordert in ihre Besorgnisse ausgelöst. Als jüngst C besorgt über die Schwächen mehrerer Sorge für die Preisstabilität sei al Sorge der EG-Partner vor einem moegl Sorge vor der Währungsunion als “hin
gte, sie sehe keinen Grund zur bergang zum Euro teilweise mit or allem müßten die Ängste und nur ,bekräftigt‘ sehen. Seine geplanten Währungsunion werden daß zwei Drittel der Deutschen nde der Euro auf der Liste der
Sorge. Nicht der Euro sei schwach, s Sorge betrachte, komme den Banken ei Sorgen im Zusammenhang mit der neue Sorge gilt den Qualifikationskriteri Sorge und Skepsis laut, die Zeichen Sorgen und Angst haben vor dem Euro Sorgen, die unsere Bürger bedrücken
. Conclusions After having taxed our readers’ patience with a detailed account of the uses of threat and fear, by way of conclusion we shall make a short summary of the findings, beginning from some comments on the methodology. It has already been commented in the introduction to this volume that there is what we consider to be a healthy tendency within functional linguistics of all kinds to make use of relatively small corpora, as well as the very large corpora, such as the British National Corpus or the Bank of English (see Aston 1988). This is particularly useful since it allows the analyst to switch back and forth between concordance data and the full text with considerable ease. In fact there are some things that a large electronic corpus can do and others that it can-
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
not; it can identify frequencies and collocates, and it permits the teasing out of particular meanings of given words. However, it cannot identify larger argumentative structures and the results that it gives could be very misleading indeed unless the full text was available. The electronic corpus provides us with quantitative data, and as we have already said, these are not necessarily of primary interest. However, they do allow us to make some interesting observations. For example, English and Italian MPs invoke dangers and fears with the same frequency, perhaps a little higher, that is found in very large corpora, whereas our data would lead us to conclude that German MPs do so with a considerably higher frequency compared both to the general data from the reference corpus, and to their English and Italian counterparts. Of the three parliaments, in the Italian chambers less forceful lexical choices are preferred (even though in all three parliaments concerns prevail over fears), and this is rather surprising since the Camera dei Deputati can be a very disputatious assembly indeed, where physical conflict – albeit in a rather theatrical mode – is not unknown. It is also interesting, although not surprising, to observe the high frequency of danger and fear in the press in all three national corpora, and the systematic selection of the most forceful lexical choices. The electronic corpus provides us with access to collocations which, if carefully monitored, reveal patterns which recur across large chunks of parliamentary language. Analysing different languages but similar kinds of texts, moreover, allows us to see how different languages share the same semantic resources and yet grammaticalise them rather differently. In analysing threat it emerges very clearly that in all three parliaments the most frequently constructed endangered entities included ‘stability’ and ‘prosperity’, and perhaps this is hardly surprising since this is close to the hearts of many electors. However, in the House of Commons the source of the danger was the European Union itself, or some of its institutions, whereas in the German and Italian parliaments it was the failure of the integration process that was posited as the source. Similarly, in both the Italian and the German parliaments ‘peace’ was a threatened entity, and yet this collocate never appears in House of Commons discourse on Europe, and this brings us back to the very origins of the European Economic Community, one of whose political functions was to tie large European nations together in the hope of maintaining peace in Europe. It is not so easy to find a clear characterization for fear. Common to MPs from all three countries is the propensity to express the fears of other people, generically or otherwise – “people fear . . . ”, “there are fears . . . ”. Both Italian and German have impersonal forms which perform a similar function. In
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
terms of the feared Phenomena, MPs of all three countries speak of fears in relation to ‘prosperity’ and ‘stability’. Similarly, in all three parliaments, the Bundestag included, fears were expressed about Germany. In the House of Commons, the feared Phenomenon was frequently represented by EU institutions and the loss of identity that would result from the integration process. Italian MPs expressed fears concerning the possibility of being excluded from the process of integration, and the stability of the EU; but they also spoke of fears related to a loss of sovereignty – like the British – and to the internal structure of the EU, in particular the “democratic deficit”. Similarly, discourse in the German parliament contained contradictions. On the one hand, fears were expressed about loss of power and sovereignty, while on the other, they were expressed about the perception of Germany as being too powerful.
Notes * This paper is a result of collaboration between the three authors. Bevitori is responsible for the sections on Italian and Zoni for those on German. The remainder of the paper is to be attributed to Bayley. . To give an idea of how the different parliaments voted on questions of European integration we can look at the majorities expressed in the three countries on the ratification of the Maastricht Treaty. In the Bundestag, only seventeen MPs voted against the Treaty, while in the Bundesrat approval was unanimous. In the Italian Camera dei Deputati 46 members voted against but 403 voted in favour while in the Senato the majority in favour was 176– 17. In the House of Commons the majority was 292–112, but 41 Conservative MPs voted against and 5 abstained. The Labour opposition officially abstained, although 61 Labour MPs voted against. That national orientations are subject to change can be taken as given; the current Italian parliament, for example, is considerable less europhile than parliaments of the 1990’s. . For a bibliography on corpus linguistics, see Section 5.3 of the introduction to this volume. For a case for “small-corpus linguistics, see Aston (1998). . By lexeme we mean a lexical unit which includes all the possible variants of its root. We shall also make the distinction between ‘token’, an instance of a given word in a text or corpus, and ‘word form’, which is defined paradimatically. Lexemes will be represented in small capital letters, and instances of word forms in italics. See Lyons (1977: 18–25). . The translation is ours, as is the emphasis. . Galtung and Ruge (1965) argue that in order for an event to become news it has to be characterised by certain features glossed as frequency, amplitude, cultural proximity, relevance, unexpectedness, negativity etc. and that news are consequently distorted as news workers tend to produce stories that highlight these factors. In an empirical study of New
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
Zealand newspapers, Bell (1991: 213–229) makes a convincing demonstration that this is, in fact, so. . For an example of this approach, see Turner (1987). . On the classification of different verb types, see Halliday (1994). . Ergative verbs are verbs that can be either transitive (or ‘effective’ in SFL terminology) or intransitive (middle) and which permit the same nominal group to be complement (or Goal) in transitive clauses and subject (or Actor) in intransitive clauses. See Halliday (1994: 161–174) and Stubbs (1996: 131–138). . This example has been taken from the novel Girls at Play by Paul Theroux (1969). . We would suggest that the English and German structures are rather different. In English, with this particular meaning threaten collocates only with very general words, like danger, while in German it collocates with very specific terms, as we shall see. . For the term appraisal, see Miller in this volume. . The modality inherent in threaten is nicely illustrated in an example given in the Oxford English Dictionary (Simpson 1989) as a definition of disease: “disorder of structure or function in an animal or plant of such a degree as to produce or threaten to produce detectable illness or disorder; a definable variety of such a disorder, usu. with specific signs or symptoms or affecting a specific location; (an) illness, (a) sickness” . Exemplifications of attested data in concordance lines will be restricted to 10. . But see Note 10. . It is surely no coincidence that as far back as 1965, Michael Frayn’s rather tongue-incheek article on “unit headline language” selected threat as a an example of highly preferred journalistic jargon for headline construction, with the invented, but not improbable examples of “Strike threat bid”, “Strike threat probe” and “Strike threat plea”, and so on. . When a word is polysemic, its meaning can often be identified by collocation patterns. Indeed, collocations across large bodies of text can change the meaning of words. For example, in analyzing the lexemes federalism and democracy it was found that British MPs construed the two quite compatible terms as quasi-antonyms. See Bayley (1999). . In one way it is obviously a nominalisation. But it can happen that noun and verb forms have different semantics. For example, the verbs frighten and scare, in the same semantic area as fear, are synonyms. The noun forms, fright and scare, however, are rather different – the former being used for a reaction to something quite concrete, the latter often being used for something unsubstantiated.
References Aston, Guy (1998). What corpora for ESP. In M. Pavesi & G. Bernini, L’Apprendimento linguistico all’Università: le lingue speciali. Roma: Bulzoni.
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Bayley, Paul (1999). Lexis in British parliamentary debate. In J. Verschueren (Ed.), Language and Ideology: Selected Papers from the 6th International Pragmatics Conference, Vol. 1 (pp. 43–55). Antwerp: International Pragmatics Association. Bell, Alan (1991). The Language of News Media. Oxford: Blackwell. Collins Cobuild English Collocations on CD-ROM (1995). London: Harper Collins. Devoto, Giacomo & Oli, Gian Carlo (1992 [1990]). Il dizionario della lingua italiana. Firenze: Le Monnier. Diamanti, Ilvo (2001). Vecchi e nuovi muri. Limes, 2001/3, 211–233. Frayn, Michael (1965). Unit headline language. In S. Cohen & J. Young (1973), The Manufacture of News. Deviance, Social Problems and the Media (pp. 244–247). London: Constable. Galtung, Johan & Ruge, Mari (1965). Structuring and selecting News. In S. Cohen & J. Young (1973), The Manufacture of News. Deviance, Social Problems and the Media (pp. 52–63). London: Constable. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1994 [1985]). An Introduction to Functional Grammar. London: Edward Arnold. Lyons, John (1977). Semantics, Vol. 1. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Roget’s Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases (1998). [Betty Kirkpatrick (Ed.)]. London: Longman. Scott, Mike (1999). Wordsmith Tools. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Simpson, John (Ed.). (1989). The Oxford English Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sinclair, John McH. (Ed.). (1998). Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary. London: Collins. Stubbs, Michael (1996). Text and Corpus Analysis. Computer-Assisted Studies of Language and Culture. Oxford: Blackwell. Turner, Geoffrey J. (1987). Sociosemantic networks and discourse structures. In M. A. K. Halliday & R. P. Fawcett, New Developments in Systemic Linguistics. Vol. I: Theory and Description (pp. 64–93). London: Pinter.
Reference corpora consulted CORIS/CODIS. Bologna. Alma Mater Studiorum, Università degli Studi di Bologna. COSMAS. Mannheim: Institut für Deutsche Sprache. The Bank of English. Collins Cobuild and The University of Birmingham. The British National Corpus. Oxford University Computing Service.
Threat and fear in parliamentary debates in Britain, Germany and Italy
Appendix Dates of parliamentary sittings used to generate the parliamentary corpora and newspapers used to generate the press corpora:
Great Britain House of Commons Debates 4.11.1992 22.7.1993 23,7.1993 28.4.1994 28.4.1994 21.3.1996 11.12.1996 12.12.1996 9.6.1997 18.6.1997 27.10.1997 12.11.1997 14.12.1997 15.12.1997 21.4.1998 30.4.1998 5.5.1998 21.5.1998 9.6.1998 11.6.1998 17.6.1998 13.1.1999 15.1.1998 19.1.1998 16.4.1999 29.4.1999 19.10.1999 1.10.1999 13.12.1999
House of Commons Question Time 30.10.1996 28.10.1997 15.1.1998 13.1.1998 16.2.1998 1.4.1998 7.4.1998 23.4.1998 6.5.1998 11.5.1998 12.5.1998 21.5.1998 14.6.1998 14.6.1998 27.10.1998 1.12.1998 19.1.1999 19.3.1999 17.3.1999 18.5.1999 22.6.1999 20.7.1999 7.12.1999 Newspapers The Daily Telegraph The Economist The Independent The Guardian The Times
Paul Bayley, Cinzia Bevitori, and Elisabetta Zoni
Italy Camera dei Deputati debates 25.10.1992 26.10.1992 27.10.1992 28.10.1992 29.10.1992 17.2.1997 18.2.1997 16.4.1997 15.5.1997 26.5.1997 9.6.1997 10.6.1997 11.6.1997 15.7.1997 22.9.1997 28.10.1997 29.10.1997 14.1.1998 11.2.1998 25.2.1998 18.3.1998 25.3.1998 1.4.1998 16.4.1998 5.11.1998 25.11.1998 1.2.1999 30.4.1999 3.2.1999 Senato della Repubblica debates 3.9.1992 8.9.1992 14.9.1992
15.9.1992 16.9.1992 17.9.1992 28.5.1998 Newspapers Il Corriere della Sera Il Sole 24 Ore La Repubblica La Stampa
Germany Bundestag debates 6.11.1991 13.12.1991 15.9.1992 8.10.1992 1.12.1992 17.6.1992 23.11.1994 15.2.1995 10.10.1995 7.12.1995 19.10.1996 12.12.1996 11.6.1997 1.10.1997 11.12.1997 10.12.1998 15.3.1998 18.3.1999 Newspapers Der Spiegel Die Zeit Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung Hamburger Morgenpost Stuttgarter Zeitung
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente*
.
Introduction
National parliaments are the site at which issues of social, institutional and political importance are debated and decisions about them are made or ratified. As only a limited number of people are allowed to address them, parliaments constitute closed and elite discourse communities. However, politics does not take place in a void and it can thus be presumed that Members of Parliament (MPs) are aware of speaking to a wider audience than that of their peers; as membership of their closed community depends, at least to some degree, on public consensus, it is likely that they will be particularly careful of the language they use. Thus, despite the elite nature of the institution, language within parliaments might be expected to reflect to a certain extent the wider concerns of the nation at large. As parliamentary debates may also be confrontational, they are also likely to comprise a heterogeneous set of different voices, even though radical ones – depending on the form of representation of the national parliament – may well be excluded. Parliamentary discourse has always been readily available to us in the form of official minutes and now it is available in electronic form on the internet, and this kind of resource may prove useful in interdisciplinary language studies to see how social problems are discussed and to hypothesise on what forms of discourse are constructed. Questions of social importance are defined, inter alia, in and through language, and there are numerous ways in which certain discourse patterns may be linguistically formed, one of these being through lexical choices; that one person’s “terrorist” is another’s “freedom fighter” has been probably been said frequently enough to not require repeating here. By discourse patterns, we mean that recurrent patterns of language provide “pre-fabricated means by
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which ideas can be easily conveyed and grasped” (Stubbs 1996: 158). Or to use the words of Kress (1989: 6), discourse is a society’s potential for making meanings through systematically-organised sets of statements which give expression to the meanings and values of an institution [. . . ] they define, describe and delimit what it is possible to say and not to say (and by extension what it is possible to do and not to do) with respect to the area of concern of that institution, whether marginally or centrally.
The point here is that questions that are socially problematic tend to highly lexicalised. That is to say, cultures tend to develop a wide range of vocabulary to denote various semantic nuances where certain values may be in conflict, thus construing different ways of looking at the same thing. The nuances of particular words may reflect political orientations – or discourse formations – towards a phenomenon that has become socially problematic. Work seems to have become just one of these areas; it is one of the major concerns of humankind – indeed it might not be exaggerated to say that the history of work is the history of mankind. All historical epochs have been characterised by kinds of work and different types of work-based social relationships. Even the Old Testament sees work as one of the characterising traits of post-fall man: “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread”.1 It could be said – at least in English – that while Eve was condemned to labour, Adam was condemned to work. There is a considerable amount of talk about work, both in the public and in the private sphere; talk about work tends to be polarised because problems concerning work can be seen from different perspectives – since most persons work for others – depending, for example, on social class; talk about work may reflect the interests of either employers or employees, or the growing category of persons who, despite their being engaged in work, are neither one nor the other. Different discourse perspectives could produce utterances like: “There is not enough work” or “there is not enough labour”; “it is not secure enough” or “it’s not flexible enough”; “it does not pay enough” or “it costs too much”. Not only is our work-related vocabulary quite rich, but also it has been undergoing change. Talk about labour and talk about human resources, for example, may well reflect different ways of representing the same thing, different ideological orientations. Employers may sack, dismiss, lay off, or make their employees redundant, and they may rationalise, downsize or even rightsize their concerns (in Spanish, equivalent terms are reestructuración, remodelación, recompactación or racionalización de la empresa), but the result of these different operations may be the same, at least for some of the people concerned.
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
What we shall do in this paper is to look at how MPs in Great Britain and Spain talk about work by investigating the data of the CESLIS domain-specific multilingual corpus, in particular the parliamentary debate section concerning the process of European integration in the 1990s – a decade in which employment was a question that was very clearly on the political agenda. In Britain, unemployment was on a downward trend but, as we shall see, British MP’s frequently posited the process of European integration as a threat to British jobs. In Spain, after the election which saw the formation of the government of the Partido Popular in 1996, there was a certain optimism about the possibility of reducing unemployment to “European levels”, which was one of the major priorities of all political parties during the “transition” and one of the greatest concerns in Spanish society in general. However, despite the reduction in unemployment in relative terms, it is still perceived as a problem, particularly from the point of view of female unemployment and the temporary nature of contracts, or new forms of “flexibility”. In the European Union, work-related questions were on the agenda through two proposed Treaty “chapters”: the Social Chapter, which became a part of the Maastricht Treaty but from which Britain opted out, and the Employment Chapter, which was one of the proposals for the Amsterdam Treaty but which was rejected, at least in part because of Britain’s opposition to it. We shall conduct our study by focussing on the collocation patterns that emerge from an analysis of certain node words related to work, using two parallel corpora which will be described below, beginning with the English data and following with the Spanish. The English data will be compared to those derived from larger and more general corpora in order to see whether parliamentary discourse on work differs from more general discourse. According to the data of a large corpus, composed of 100 million running words, the British National Corpus, the relative frequency of word forms deriving from the lexemes work, labour and job is 0.276 per 100 words. This frequency is very high and would suggest that the vocabulary of work has an considerable impact on everyday language, and even though all three of these are all polysemic and do not always refer to “paid employment”, the list could indeed be much longer and include others such as employment, manpower, human resources, occupation, profession, trade and livelihood. Within English linguistics, Firth was the first to propose a systematic study of the distribution of words which he considered to be of fundamental sociological importance, or what he called focal, or pivotal words (1935: 40, 51), among which he included work, labour, trade and leisure. Firth never realised this project, but Raymond Williams in his famous Keywords (1976, 1983)
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente
delved into the historical uses of culturally significant terms including labour, unemployment and work. Arcaini and Rossini Favretti (1980) analysed historical developments of lexis – from Old English to Middle English – in the semantic area of work. Stubbs (1996), comparing data from Williams and the Oxford Dictionary (henceforth OED) with data from the Collins Cobuild English Dictionary and other corpus data, illustrates some new tendencies derived in particular from collocation patterns. In the field of Spanish linguistics, studies in political language in recent years have concentrated on particular historical periods, focussing attention on the description of the ideological content of lexis both from the point of view of the way in which lexis adapts itself to a changing reality in Spain and the way it is used in a contratextual sense to challenge political authority (Seoane 1968, 1977; Battaner 1977; Santos 1980; Lagunilla 1986; Rebollo Torío 1978 and Lagunilla 1999). However, studies on the lexis of work in Spanish have been on the sidelines, also in recent work which has focussed attention on the ideas of “governability” and “reconciliation” after the abandonment of Marxist terminology from the Spanish political scene – following the end of the Franco era and the shift of the Partido Socialista Obrero Español (PSOE) from Marxism to social democracy. What we propose to do in this paper is to select a number of lexemes from the semantic area and work and examine their most frequent collocates in the CESLIS domain-specific multilingual corpus – looking at the parliamentary sub-corpora in English and Spanish, to see exactly how collocation patterns characterise the terms and to see whether there are any divergences and/or convergences between English and Spanish. The two parliamentary corpora are of comparable dimensions: 856,908 running words of English and 886,986 in Spanish. The lexemes analysed are work, job, labour and employment in English, and trabajo, empleo and ocupación in Spanish. It will be seen that work terminology in both English and Spanish is characterised by polysemy, but in the discourse of British MPs it tends to be quite specialised, while in Spanish parliamentary discourse work lexemes are characterised by semantic overlapping. Moreover, there seem to be different discourse formations in play in the two parliaments. In the House of Commons, the dominant discourse is one of deregulation: job creation is the business of the private sector. In the Spanish parliament, on the other hand, there is still a clear struggle between the discourse of deregulation and that of government intervention.
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
. Work in the House of Commons . Work Given the high frequency of the lexeme work, it was decided to search the corpus for individual morphological variants with particular attention on work, working and worker. The lexeme, which derives from the Old English weorc (OED),2 is one of the most generic terms in the English language for “an action” or a “thing done”, in the nominal form, and “to do” or “to perform” in the verbal group. However, despite the considerable number of meanings given in the OED, since the 14th century it has gradually assumed a more specific meaning – that of “paid employment” or “to perform paid employment” (Williams 1983: 335). Of the 1,1003 instances of the use of the lexeme in the corpus, 600 can be traced to this meaning, which means it has a relative frequency of 0.07 per 100 words, making it a very frequent lexical item. Spurious, or non-relevant, or ambiguous instances have been removed from the concordances. For instance, taking the most common word form work (564 instances), the frequency of the verbal form in its meaning of “run, operate or function” is rather frequent: (1) it is right to emphasise the dangers if the single currency doesn’t work properly. (House of Commons. 9.6.1997)
Also frequent is the phrasal verb with a very specific meaning work out. The corpus also yields some instances of work in its meaning of “product”, or more specifically “work of art”: (2) That was a great work of science fiction. (House of Commons. 21.4.1998)
The area of greatest indeterminacy regards the use of the verb meaning “to act in order to produce something” but not necessarily “to be engaged in paid employment”. The following three examples can be positioned on a cline in which the first means simply “to perform” while the others are ambiguous between “to perform” and “to be engaged in paid employment”. (3) They want to work as a nation state within Europe. (House of Commons. 15.1.1998) (4) The commissioners must all work under his political guidance. (House of Commons. 15.1.1998)
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente
(5) those who are appointed as Commissioners will work with the President. (House of Commons. 15.1.1998)
After the elimination of 380 instances not unambiguously related to the concept of paid employment, the corpus yields 181 examples of the word form work. Of these, 153 are in the nominal form and tend to have an abstract meaning. Functionally, 73 of these are Classifiers, and out of these 56 are found in the nominal group work force. According to the corpus findings, then, work is used very frequently in the House of Commons to indicate the abstract concept of the set of people who are either employed or employable, and so it could be considered as a quasi-synonym of manpower (a word that does not occur in the corpus) and represents the idea of work as a “commodity” or a “resource”. In the examples that follow in Table 1,4 note the recurrence of possessive pronouns referring to employers and also the frequency of collocates construing meanings of a fruitful partnership between management and the work force, characterised by “teamwork” in which workers should be “educated”, “motivated” and “valued”. The concept is frequently subject to further qualification, as can be seen in Table 2, making it rather more concrete, through deixis or adjectives, and allowing it to be classified into a number of interrelated areas. Firstly, the national identity of the work force: our work force (8), British work force (6); secondly a particular quality of it: adaptable work force, skilled work force, flexible work force, quality work force, competitive work force. Table 1. Concordances of work (1) er. The United Kingdom needs a ent, high value added and on a onfrontation, teamwork between sult. Every employer wants his ise the House that so will his not. The anxiety felt by ICI’s point. The point is that ICI’s ral in Norfolk has reduced its er for a company to reduce its ates successful deals with its ause of the fine skills of its een a Japanese company and its pter. Britain should value its training and motivation of the ry in which 4 per cent. of the ocial chapter, which gives the nts barely 20 per cent. of the nable them to deliver to their e need to put a lot into their way in which they treat their
work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work
force that is educated, motivat force that is valued. That is t force and management is working force to have the best possible force, because I shall see that force is now being transmitted force will see allegiance to a force by 25 per cent., and the force, to make a company take l force, and claim that its posit force. For those inward investo force. We may regard that relat force; we should be engaged in force here and in Europe will m force are employed. It is espec force the chance to share owner force. What about the other 80 force conditions which were bel force if they are to get high m force. The Prime Minister invit
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
Table 2. Concordances of work (2) skilled, trained and adaptable skilled, trained and adaptable ts to Britain and to Britain’s they are selling their British which can offer their British een an increase in the British ess is a skilled and committed towards that more competitive y motivated and self-confident killed, adaptable and flexible r success is that we value our we improve the quality of our hapter for our economy and our talents and motivation of our ortant asset. We invest in our uality goods through a quality oods unless you have a quality o create a more highly skilled le and relatively well-trained exploited, untrained low-wage
work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work
force and flexible labour marke force and labour markets respon force, which has nothing to do force short compared with worke force rates of pay, conditions force of over 2 million people force showing initiative at the force, and a committed partners force. We hear a lot from the G force, we are investing in our force. We recognise that our wo force. Labour has opposed every force. That is what we will do force. In the north-east, we ha force. We provide them with ter force. The hon. Member for Harr force. That is what the social force and a more flexible labou force, low social on-costs for force, but because they take se
It should be noted that the adjectives flexible and atypical do collocate with work, but with a frequency significantly lower than in discourse in some other European parliaments, although as we shall see flexible does collocate rather more frequently with labour. This is most probably due to the fact that the British labour market, seen in terms of the conditions of employment, is more “flexible”, or has been “flexible” for a longer period of time, than in other European nations. However, the lexeme flexible is rather frequent in the discourse of British MPs on Europe, but an examination of its immediate linguistic context shows that the flexibility thus invoked concerns not so much the labour market but the European institutional infrastructure, as the following example illustrates:5 (6) We need a flexible Europe that builds on intergovernmental structures. (House of Commons. 12.12.96)
The third semantic area refers to the concept of (un)employment and thus indicates a discourse whose concern is with employees rather than employers: people out of work (16); people in (o at) work (5); back to work (3); to the concept of employment policy – welfare to work (12, all instances subsequent to the 1997 general election). The fourth area regards the concept of work conditions: conditions of work (2), fairness at work (2), rights at work (4) health and safety at work (6) (this latter clearly being a citation from the Maastricht Treaty) and accidents at work; and finally to the contractual nature of work – part-time work (3), night work (2).
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente
One characteristic of the lexeme which emerges from other English corpora – i.e. its presence in a considerable number of composite words – is not evident in the parliamentary corpus. This can be attributed simply to the typographical conventions of Hansard, according to which the form work force, for instance, is preferred to workforce.6 . Working While an analysis of the word form work in the corpus allows us to identify five typical semantic and lexical areas with which it is associated, a search for the word form working reveals that its use is more narrowly defined. The 149 instances of the form can be classified into three dominant sets, all of which representing the semantic area in terms of employees and their interests. Firstly that of the conditions of work – working conditions (33), working environment (4), and working practices (6). These nominal groups frequently collocate with improve, health, and safety. The second area concerns the duration of working time, or working life: working hours (10); working time (34 instances – 29 of which collocating with directive, and thus assuming a technical meaning deriving from EU legislation7 ); working week (4); working age (4); working lives (3). And finally workers themselves: working people (27); working men (2). In this case a comparison with other corpus data is interesting; in Collins Cobuild English Collocations on CD-ROM (1995, henceforth CEC), the most frequent collocate for working is class, while in the parliamentary sub corpus this combination occurs just twice and from this we might tentatively deduce that despite the historically class-based nature of British political parties, social class itself is not a predominant element in the discourse of British MPs; similarly the eight most frequent collocate in CEC is women, which does not figure at all in our corpus, although there are four instance of female workers. It is not so much the presence of these three collocation patterns which is interesting, but rather the extent to which they predominate in the corpus – 127 instances out of 149 can be classified in one of them. . Worker The word worker in general English, as testified by CEC, is typically characterised by a high frequency of collocation with Classifiers which specify the kind of work that is performed, such as factory worker, social worker, etc. In the parliamentary corpus collocations of this kind are relatively rare. Out of 108 instances of workers, there are only six examples in which the kind of work is
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
Table 3. Concordances of worker tection for millions of British nment’s duty to protect British social chapter so that British That is the best protection for orkers? The best protection for for protective legislation for 1979. What about protection for bout this - more protection for urity, the social protection of ributions, social protection of spoken about the protection of urchill to protect the low-paid working environment to protect enuous. We must ensure that the
workers, but they are not supported workers from the benefits of improv workers will enjoy the same protect workers and that is what happens in workers is not edicts from politici workers. One quarter of Europe’s po workers? The best protection for wo workers. The 20 million unemployed, workers and the termination of empl workers generally, redundancy pay a workers, their rights in the workpl worker and the good employer. It ha workers’ health and safety or the i workers are protected from losing t
specified, and three of them are highly specific: industrial workers; defence industry workers, skilled workers, distillery workers and offshore workers. It may be supposed that mentions of particular social groups such as distillery workers corresponds to the particular constituency interests of individual MPs, and as such this phenomenon may be considered as a typical feature of parliamentary discourse; MPs are often called on to represent local, or constituency, interests. Much more frequent on the other hand are classifications responding to wider interests, based on either the nationality or the age of the workers – British workers (18); our workers (4); young workers (3); older workers (1); or on the contractual nature of the work – part-time female workers (3), part-time workers (4); full-time workers (1); part time and temporary workers (1); atypical workers (1). In general, workers seems to be associated with blue-collar work while as we shall see, this is not the case for the Spanish trabajadores. It is interesting to note that self-employed never collocates with workers but only with people, thus confirming the idea that work is primarily associated with paid employment. A further observation is that workers frequently collocates with the lexeme protect, as Table 3 demonstrates.
. Job in the House of Commons Job is the term which, within the semantic field of work, is used with the most concrete and the most colloquial meaning to indicate “paid employment”. Its origin is uncertain but according to Williams and the OED its original meaning was that of “occasional work”, and while this meaning still survives today (odd job, for example), its most common contemporary meaning is quite the opposite, that is, “permanent paid employment”, of any kind, and it has substituted
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente
other terms such as situation, position, post, appointment, etc. (Williams: 336). Lexical usage is of course register-sensitive, however, and in specialised fields, such as law for example, occupation is the most commonly used term. According to Arcaini and Rossini Favretti (1980), when job was introduced into the English language, work was used exclusively as a countable noun. The use of the former allowed the specialised non-countable meaning of work to take hold. In the corpus, the lexeme job is very frequent, with an absolute frequency of 509, and its meaning is that of “permanent paid employment” in 473 instances. The few exceptions have the meaning of “task”, and in these the term is typically collocated with the verb do and the Epithet good; for example: (7) the Foreign Secretary did a marvellous job of negotiating. (House of Commons. 4.11.1992) (8) Our job in this House is to do what is good for the British people. (House of Commons. 14.12.1997)
In the other cases, a certain number of very clear collocation patterns emerge. For example, when MPs talk about jobs they frequently use expressions of quantification. The 20 concordance lines in Table 4 have been drawn from the 61 examples in the corpus. Secondly, they are often qualified by terms referring to the nation (British) or to more circumscribed geographical locations (in my constituency) and this can be taken as a characteristic of British parliamentary discourse since MPs are Table 4. Concordances of job (1) coal reserves, destroy 100,000 ight Farm Machinery has shed 11 nd that it will cost only 3,000 y, Honda is busy creating 4,000 they then changed it to 500,000 ully appreciated. Those 800,000 ive was the creation of 800,000 will not cost a single British at scupper thousands of British our country. Some 70,000 extra es about unemployment-one extra randed in rural areas, with few ens, less flexibility and fewer tment, and 50,000 manufacturing South Derbyshire. When so many ffective talking shop. How many tive was able to assist so many ompany in Hull, but create many ted Kingdom has created as many l the Minister tell us how many
jobs in the mining and related indu jobs. Robert D Webster is closing a jobs. The House might be interested jobs. We cannot leave Europe withou jobs at a stroke. They even claimed jobs are clearly a big enough achie jobs in the United Kingdom since 19 job? If so, can he give the calcula jobs through the back door. What is jobs have been created through Japa job simply by writing it into the t job opportunities. I welcome, too, jobs. In this new age, the social c jobs flow from Japanese investment jobs depend on us being at the hear jobs for British people will the ne jobs in the north-west. One of the jobs in my constituency. If we had jobs in the private sector as the w jobs were created in Europe as a re
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
Table 5. Concordances of job (2) was hoping to bring another 100 m told that it is worth 100,000 ive was the creation of 800,000 ish competitiveness and British ing fast and loose with British in the United Kingdom. British apter that will destroy British goes off. The damage to British le currency is good for British rency would be good for British is in the interests of British rency would be good for British or British business and British will not cost a single British nothing to create a single new r, which could mean the loss of he Eurofighter? As thousands of ces can create a huge number of ne, the effect that that had on y larger role in our trade, our
jobs into their constituencies. Are jobs in this country. We are not go jobs in the United Kingdom since 19 jobs, and on its consequences for t jobs and businesses. Hard-working p jobs and growth, therefore, depend jobs and it gives away our interest jobs and prosperity will be irrevoc jobs and British industry, and if i jobs, British business and future p jobs, British business, British inv jobs, business and future prosperit jobs. Coming as I do from the north job? If so, can he give the calcula job in my constituency, and I belie jobs for Bradford, will not be prev jobs in my constituency and many mo jobs in Britain, but that will happ jobs in my constituency and the eff jobs and our economic future while
consciously representing either national or local (constituency) interests. The 20 examples in Table 5 are drawn from the 49 instances found in the corpus. Table 4 and 5 clearly show, that MPs are very interested, not unsurprisingly, in the quantification of jobs, located either in the nation as a whole or in the constituency they represent. Thirdly, jobs collocates frequently with lexemes in the broad semantic area of destruction, classified in Roget’s Thesaurus (1998: 103–105) under “Causation”, sub-class “power in operation” (for example destroy, damage – 75 instances). It is interesting to note, furthermore, that destroy and jobs seem to have a strong mutual attraction in British parliamentary discourse. In the 130 occurrences of destroy in the parliamentary corpus, it collocates with job in 47 instances, while in a more general corpus, CEC, this pattern does not figure at all and the most common collocates of destroy it illustrates are weapons,8 homes, buildings, life and city. Table 6 gives 20 examples. However, if there is a discourse of job-destruction in Commons debates on the EU, there is also a discourse of job-creation, which, according to CEC, is also common in general English. A close look at these two patterns, however, reveals that in the grammar of British parliament, the ‘destroyer’ of jobs is typically some EU institution, and in particular the Social Chapter, while the ‘creator’ is typically a member of the entrepreneurial class. See Table 7. In contrast to the Spanish data, it emerges very clearly that in the 110 hours of talk that go to make up the House of Commons corpus there is a very clear discursive pattern – not purely monologic of course, but dominant – which
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente
Table 6. Concordances of job (3) nd job prospects. It is truly a ys that the social chapter is a now fears of plant closures and lously lock us into the biggest apter that will destroy British ritain. It will destroy British at scupper thousands of British icy. Others may want to concoct to care that that would damage the social chapter would damage tset - the charter will destroy it will push up costs, destroy Brussels bureaucrats to destroy that our joining would destroy n in Britain. That will destroy in British industry and destroy hat has done so much to destroy burdens on business and destroy our competitiveness and destroy res which unnecessarily destroy
job-destroying chapter. How ludicro job destruction machine which will job losses.” Thank you, new Labour. job-destroying measure that Europe jobs and it gives away our interest jobs. It falls short of what could jobs through the back door. What is job-destroying social policies betw jobs and competitiveness, although jobs, and I am happy to reiterate t jobs across the EC. Mr. Tony Benn ( jobs and be a bureaucratic nightmar jobs and economic growth from which jobs, and we can see that Europe’s jobs. Having listened to all the de jobs. I am afraid that some in the jobs in Europe? Will the Minister o jobs. Last week the President of th jobs, of course that is a threat to jobs. One only has to look at what
Table 7. Concordances of job (4) nd to promote employability and ack unemployment assistance and ncy has given to employment and nturn in output, investment and create jobs; businesses create are essential to help to create words in treaties do not create nment-run schemes do not create the European Union must create ement. It is in order to create d economy, especially to create wealth to invest and to create m treaty does nothing to create that Governments do not create loyment offices would it create Flexible labour markets create the social chapter would create om bureaucratic burdens, create a single job. Businesses create
job-creating entrepreneurship. That job creation schemes. They are doin job creation in the employment chap job creation. All the signs are tha jobs, and they would be able to cre jobs and to ensure that monetary un jobs; businesses create jobs, and t jobs? Entrepreneurs and flexible la jobs for the peoples of Europe. It jobs for working people that we are jobs for the unemployed. The Europe jobs. He concluded with these words jobs. It seeks simply to create in jobs? It is businesses, entrepreneu jobs. Mr. Tony Marlow (Northampton, jobs. My right hon. Friend the Memb jobs, not cost them. Only in the em jobs: not Governments, not summits, jobs. They would be able to create
tends to disparage not only the role of the institutions – any institutions – in the construction of economic well-being but also the role of social dialogue between trade unions and employers. In the 36 instances in which the term trades union was uttered, there is only one instance in which trade unions are represented in any positive fashion: (9) Mr. Roger Casale: [. . . ] As a condition of access to the wider European market, the treaty also sets in motion a process by which those freedoms and rights can be enhanced progressively. As it does so, in partnership
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
not only with our European neighbours at a national level but through the process of a social dialogue between employers’ federations and trade unions, we can be sure that social progress will not be bought at the cost of our competitiveness – indeed, our competitiveness will be enhanced. (House of Commons. 12.11.97)
while a second, although implicitly criticising the trade union movement, does posit a positive function for the institutions: (10) Mr. Mike Gapes: [. . . ] I can understand free market Thatcherites taking that view but not why people on the left or left of centre in the Labour party or the trade union movement take it. We believe that there is a role for state and society in the way in which our affairs are governed. [. . . ] Some of us believe that there is more to life than a free market and that the European Union has a role in minimum standards, environmental protection and other matters about which we can co-operate with our neighbours. (House of Commons. 11.12.1996)
Far more frequent, however, are representations of trade unions in the following manner: (11) Mr. Rifkind: [. . . ] The Labour party is arguing that we therefore need a treaty chapter on employment. Why? What would it achieve except employment for new armies of bureaucrats and trade unionists? Fine words in treaties do not create jobs; businesses create jobs, and they would be able to create more of them if they were left to get on with it without bright new initiatives either from Brussels or from the Labour party. (House of Commons. 21.3.1996)
and representations of the role of the state and civil society in the construction of economic well-being are frequently congruent to the following: (12) Mr. Streeter: [. . . ] Of course, it [the Amsterdam treaty] contains some new Labour doublespeak on employment schemes, but when will the Government learn that Government-run schemes do not create jobs? Entrepreneurs and flexible labour markets create jobs. The Amsterdam treaty does nothing to create jobs. It seeks simply to create in Britain the European social model that has failed elsewhere. (House of Commons. 12.11.1997)
The final pattern associated with jobs is its collocation within typical two or three-part lists of political priorities expressed in vague and symbolic terms. So, joined together by the conjunction and, jobs is associated with lexical items
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente
Table 8. Concordances of job (5) ed discrimination in housing and that we shall secure justice and ot care a fig about business and sport, environment, training and hat commitment to employment and utting, institutional reform and onomic issue of unemployment and is in the interests of British mic interest, better for British s can create for my constituents a deepening recession, destroyed that the language on employment, e defence of the country and for em and provide opportunities for a pity that the Delors plan for artner and so that we could have gle currency will help or hinder results for British interests in hat affect people’s daily lives: ogress on our people’s agenda of
jobs, although discrimination stil jobs and safeguard democracy for p jobs, but manufacturers know that job creation issues to be looked a jobs for EMU and the 1999 start da jobs-has been right. Measured aga job insecurity. That is the issue jobs, investment and industry, we jobs, investment and industry and jobs, security, opportunities and jobs, homes and businesses and bli jobs and growth was more realistic jobs and skills. Sir John Stanley jobs and sustainable economic grow job, growth and employment was all jobs and employment.” At the time, jobs, prosperity and growth. Does jobs, border controls, defence, cr jobs, the environment, crime. Prog jobs, the environment and the figh
associated with economic well-being, such as employment, growth, industry, trade, investment, commerce, wealth, prosperity, with terms associated with public policy aims, such as environment, crime, social exclusion, housing, justice an even democracy (there are in all 96 instances of this). This feature, illustrated in Table 8, seems to be a characteristic of parliamentary discourse, or perhaps of political discourse in general, since there are no similar examples to be found in CEC. Note that from the concordance lines it is possible to discern competing political discourses; combinations such as “transport, environment, training and job creation” construct different positions to those like “jobs, border controls, defence, crime”.
. Labour in the House of Commons The word labour, derived from French (Williams 1983: 176, and the OED) or Latin (Arcaini & Rossini Favretti 1980), can be traced back to the 13th century and originally had the meaning, as a verb of “to plough”, or “to work the land”, but also to perform manual work in general. From the 16th century, according to Williams, it assumed the meaning of “pain”, particularly in relation to childbirth. Arcaini and Rossini Favretti argue that the emergence of labour coincided with, or was a result of the restructuring of what we would now call the workforce as a consequence of the Great Plague. Labour was used to refer to heavy manual labour and this meaning still survives today, especially in the
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
Table 9. Concordances of labour (1) he Prime Minister talked about labour costs. That showed his attitu te commitment to push down all labour costs. How can those two aims he United Kingdom offers cheap labour and that we gather investment ources of Canada and the cheap labour pool of Mexico, and a much lo sian nations using their cheap labour. We cannot avoid the fact tha its maquiladoras in the cheap-labour countries to the east - is no tain and you will find cheaper labour. That is a very humiliating a ow interest rates, competitive labour costs and competitive interes d on that basis. Hong Kong had labour costs only 25 per cent. of th e pressures on costs-including labour costs-and inputs, and the req tment only because we have low labour costs. The opposite is true. the Common Market, with lower labour costs. Sir Teddy Taylor (Sout ted: Despite having the lowest labour costs per working hour, Brita They will always undercut our labour costs. Our failure is on unit is labour costs. He says that labour costs must be kept down, whic costs. Our failure is on unit labour costs compared with the Unite truggles with the highest unit labour costs. That is proof surely, to, inter alia, wage and unit labour costs. Support is also requir of attempts to cut unnecessary labour on-costs, in the context of p accept that in Italy, non-wage labour costs are about £40 for every
contrast worker/labourer. From the 18th century, beginning with Adam Smith and Malthus and later with Marx, it began to take on the meaning of a “commodity” that can be quantified, bought and sold. Together with employment, labour is the term within the semantic field of work which is found within the parliamentary corpus almost exclusively with this meaning. In fact, after having eliminated numerous instances of Labour intended as a political party, there is only one example of the term being used in any other sense: (13) the real wealth was created by the labour and sweat of people. (House of Commons. 22.7.1993)
No reference whatsoever is made to labourer, although as we have seen, worker is a frequent token. The remaining 144 instances of labour in the corpus shows that British MPs construe labour as a “commodity”, and this can be seen through the frequent collocation with costs or some other money-related feature, such as cheap. In this sense the meaning is rather close to that of work force but it is more abstract and more closely identified with the activity of “buying and selling”. See Table 9. In one half of the instances, labour is collocated with market, and within this sub-set flexible and mobility are frequent collocates. This finding partially qualifies the observation made earlier that the co-occurrence of work and flexible is rather rare. The latter is more likely to collocate with labour than with work, confirming the hypothesis that labour is used principally with the meaning of a “commodity”, as illustrated in Table 10.
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente
Table 10. Concordances of labour (2) ment have damaged our flexible e both a single and a flexible work force and a more flexible ay a great deal about flexible to explain what real flexible o not understand what flexible ess, introducing more flexible et, a new emphasis on flexible t they also press for flexible ion of labour and the flexible ptable work force and flexible bs? Entrepreneurs and flexible l help to deliver the flexible that is no accident. Flexible ricultural policy. On flexible the task of promoting flexible sed the importance of flexible e moving towards less flexible sed competition, worries about ? Thirdly, we could facilitate
labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour labour
market, to the specific detri market. Europe’s labour marke market. Does he agree with me markets over the past few day markets are all about. We sha markets are. They seek flexib markets and employability. Th markets and education and ski markets and lower business co markets that exist in other c markets responsive to economi markets create jobs. The Amst markets that his party now cl markets create jobs. My right markets, we must take our mes markets, and education and sk markets, especially if we joi markets, as they insist on le mobility and concern about th mobility through pension port
Table 11. Concordances of labour (3) open door for Brussels-driven do is extend areas of the EC tten in the stone of European n of whether it was right for Thanks to the changes in the hich has some of the toughest hose in Europe who would wrap etition, reform of inflexible onomy, or France, which needs y means of social charters or conomic Council. They require
labour law and over-regulation. That labour laws where the EC already has labour law. The measure will not be t labour law to be determined at nation labour laws under the Government, Bri labour regulation laws but the highes labour law in bogus health and safety labour market regulations, reduction labour-market reform-. Mr. Deputy Spe labour regulation but by providing a labour market reform through greater
A final characteristic of labour, albeit less marked than the previous two, is its collocation with terms within the semantic field of legislation. On the one hand this should be of little surprise in a parliamentary corpus, since legislation is the everyday concern of most deliberative assemblies, but on the other it can be remarked that the choice of labour rather than, say, work could be discursively significant. See Table 11. Comparing the parliamentary corpus findings with the data in CEC, it emerges that also in general English, the most frequently used meanings of labour remain in the same rather restricted semantic field of “commodity”. In fact, it lists merely three collocates; market, force and costs.
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
. (Un)employment in the House of Commons According to Williams (1976: 325), the term unemployed, used to refer to those persons defined either as “idle” or without a fixed occupation, was introduced in the 17th century. From the 19th century the terms employment and unemployment were introduced in their contemporary sense of “social condition or problem”. A corpus search for *employ* yields 847 instances and seven different word forms: employment (395), unemployment (257), employers (77), employees (67), employed (25), employability (18) and employing (8). I shall take into consideration the two most frequent forms – employment e unemployment. First of all it should be noted that the most frequent collocation of the former – employment chapter (72) – can be found exclusively in the 1996 and 1997 debates during which the Treaty of Amsterdam was being discussed. This collocation is thus related to historical contingency and to a specific institutional discourse of those years. In fact the protocol on the “Employment Chapter” was never approved and it is quite likely that it will be forgotten. This is one of the problems of working on a corpus collected over a relatively short period of time; certain collocations are not indicative of language use in general but are related to a particular historical period. A classic example of this can be found in CEC where the second most frequent collocate of the node ethnic is cleansing, a pattern that is very closely associated – but perhaps we say this with an excess of optimism – with the 1990s. However, this pattern does reveal one of the most evident characteristics of the use of employment; it is used very frequently as an institutional term in reference to things such as government departments,9 committees and legislation. Patterns of this kind make up a quarter of all the occurrences in the corpus. From one point of view the collocations of employment are not dissimilar to those associated with jobs, although the co-occurrence pattern jobs and employment frequently occurs, which suggests that though they may be treated as similar in some ways, they also have certain register specific characteristics which distinguish them. In particular, the word is frequently collocated together with other terms associated with public policy, such as growth, industry, trade, investment, commerce, wealth, prosperity, environment, crime, social exclusion, housing, justice. It also frequently collocates with terms with an orientation to the future, such as prospects and opportunities. However, as we have previously commented, while jobs does not frequently collocate with these terms in general English, according to the data of CEC, employment typically does. It may be hypothesised that the lexeme job is preferred by MPs because
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente
Table 12. Concordances of employment (1) vention, the environment and hey deal with issues such as hich we wish to concentrate: business cycle, flexibility, investment, prosperity, full mic policy should be growth, cision process. They include y a full part in a Europe of lt of the excellent terms of e disadvantages, in terms of tement on various aspects of environment, a high level of to refer to the promotion of rime Minister’s statement on particularly initiatives on ip in Europe that focuses on policy, education policy or e that will secure long-term in making issues related to se concerned with jobs, with
employment. Mrs. Margaret Ewing (Mora employment, investment and sustainable employment, growth, competitiveness, s employment and investment, we must be employment? It is just not possible. I employment and competitiveness, and th employment, social policy, transport, employment and opportunity. That is th employment and the competitive conditi employment and economic well-being, of employment and competitiveness, which employment and social protection, rais employment, prosperity and investment. employment and growth, he did not spec employment and competitiveness. Perhap employment and competitiveness so that employment policy-on any of the subjec employment and prosperity by giving pe employment, and skills and education f employment and with the prosperity of
of its concreteness and its potential for consensus-building. Note that, as in the case of two or three-word lists with jobs, collocation patterns reveal competing discourses; the combination “employment and competitiveness” is discursively different from “employment and education”. See Table 12. From another point of view, however, the patterns in which jobs and employment differ. For example employment does not collocate with destroy and only rarely with create. However it does collocate with terms like promote, encourage, discourage and ensure. This would suggest that while “jobs” are the concern of the entrepreneurial class, “employment”, which is a more abstract construal of the same phenomenon, is within the competency of the government whose role in ensuring it is, however, indirect. Like labour, employment collocates with costs but with a much lower frequency and with a different pattern: costs of employment rather than labour costs. Like working, employment does co-occur with conditions and also standards, but with a significantly lower frequency. Two further characteristics of the meanings of employment emerge from the corpus; firstly it is treated as an area of public policy, as illustrated in Table 13. Secondly, it is treated as an “index” and frequently collocates with terms such as level, rate, full, high. See Table 14. On the other hand, unemployment, as is hardly surprising, is never used to indicate an area of public policy but it does collocate with issue and more frequently with problem. Unemployment, then, is the term which is brandished
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
Table 13. Concordances of employment (2) stablished common social and nited Kingdom of continental c action to improve Europe’s ntion. We must look out lest pter and flirt with Europe’s what they would mean for its esponsibility for social and ly with regard to social and clear opt-out on social and and labour market reform and policy, education policy or matters, such as social and opean Union into determining Union’s role to determining core of the European Union’s verdue. The co-ordination of ce a national action plan on bout addressing the issue of emphasis on policies of full firmly that the goal of full
employment policies and widened the po employment policies that have been man employment policies and markets, signi employment policies are used to counte employment policies, which have led to employment policies, so it wrote to th employment policy from the Government employment policy, the environment, wh employment policy, which really works. employment policy-matters that they w employment policy-on any of the subje employment policy. If it felt that a p employment policy. We were pledged to employment policy. Mr. Radice: I have employment strategy. The EU must not m employment strategies, the disseminati employment, and Cardiff will be the fi employment at the IGC. It is wrong for employment in both existing and potent employment should be anchored explicit
Table 14. Concordances of unemployment (1) , to enjoy increased and full emphasis on policies of full investment, prosperity, full firmly that the goal of full inflation as to ensuring full urope, people want jobs, full tments to high, or even full, ent. target, backed by fuller east if we are to ensure high achieve the objective of high anced by a commitment to high nt flexibility without higher p to create growth and higher opean partners to create more he urgent need to create more environment, a high level of we are here - is the rate of performance, a high level of on to achieve a high level of t it is not matched by rising
employment, and is a country in which employment in both existing and poten employment? It is just not possible. employment should be anchored explici employment? To use the old American p employment-what is wrong with that as employment might help the treaty draf employment. When those who are now un employment and growing prosperity. Se employment. The employment chapter pu employment? Why should we not take th employment levels is not sustainable employment. They will encourage prepa employment and more prosperity. The p employment in Europe. I pick up the employment and social protection, rai employment in our country and in our employment”. Interestingly, but proba employment. When Opposition Members employment. Employment flexibility wi
as a political arm, denoting an undesirable social condition, and very often the discourse around it emphasises its dynamics through collocations like falling and rising. See Table 15. Unlike other terms that we have investigated unemployment is frequently associated with terms realising meanings of forceful negative appraisal, through collocations with adjectives such as crippling, foregrounding its effects, or massive, foregrounding its dimensions, as illustrated in Table 16.
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente
Table 15. Concordances of unemployment (2) Gentleman, but that has an g living standards, falling hypocrisy. We have falling to take credit for falling d to the growth and falling ing public debt and falling ich can only lead to higher in has, as a result, higher on low wages but to higher om; it also has the highest ncy and some of the highest west wage rates and highest ns, experienced the highest Europe, to ever-increasing ce stability and increasing he UK at present and rising en faced a crisis of rising goes on to refer to rising y. Germany is facing rising have had the highest rising
unemployment rate of 23 per cent, turne unemployment and strong exports is seri unemployment because we made our supply unemployment, it is the ultimate hypocr unemployment that we have experienced f unemployment. When I asked the Economic unemployment for western Europe if it i unemployment? Mr. Henry Bellingham (N unemployment on no wage and total depen unemployment. If we provide minimum wag unemployment in Europe. How does one a unemployment in my part of the world we unemployment in the European Community? unemployment and to a 35 per cent. incr unemployment. Therefore, the central ba unemployment elsewhere, such migration unemployment. I shall remind the House unemployment in rural areas, when in fa unemployment - the figure is approachin unemployment, the lowest levels of inve
Table 16. Concordances of unemployment (3) ling. It is experiencing an the answer to the crippling n Europe, on the disastrous nt for having such enormous not to be plunged into mass modest social problem-mass Le Pen in France. With mass l inevitably result in mass must be to tackle the mass ways seems to go with mass a-has collapsed in massive iven the misery and massive Germany, which has massive ot be creating such massive rice with massive levels of urope’s crippling levels of right to put the scourge of ho daily see the victims of and unacceptable levels of Europe that will tackle the
unemployment crisis, and there are gett unemployment from which it suffers in a unemployment in the Community, and even unemployment. All of us are distressed unemployment. 8.13 pm Mr. Calum Ma unemployment across Europe. It provides unemployment and despair, it is easy to unemployment, misery and the sort of in unemployment that has left 18 million o unemployment? Will the Prime Minister unemployment and misery? Will he appeal unemployment in almost all the other co unemployment of almost 5 million people unemployment. We all know the real rea unemployment and poverty beside which t unemployment-another of his original W unemployment at the top of their Europe unemployment. Mr. Cormack: Will the h unemployment will persist. Red tape and unemployment nightmare - it is a nightm
Finally unemployment tends to be classified by terms indicating its causes – structural – its duration – long-term – and the category of persons affected by it – youth. See Table 17.
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
Table 17. Concordances of unemployment (4) the consequence of endemic rly unacceptable structural fering levels of structural itain, persistent long-term o something about long-term ries experiencing long-term ck upon youth and long-term gies; by reducing long-term eat difficulties. Long-term treaty have generated youth e and Germany and the youth es on about relieving youth
unemployment, and the need for subsidie unemployment. More than a third of youn unemployment. We do not even have enoug unemployment and lack of skills, and in unemployment and social exclusion; thir unemployment and stagnation to have fis unemployment and will take early steps unemployment, especially among young pe unemployment started when the trans-Atl unemployment of 28 per cent. in France unemployment. The Prime Minister goes o unemployment with a so-called five-poin
. Trabajo in the Congreso Among the selected lexemes for Spanish, trabajo – like work in English – is the hyperonymic work-related term with the greatest polysemic valency. However, its meanings do not overlap perfectly with work since it can also correspond to the English labour, employment and, when it is a qualifier for the headword puesto, job. According to the dictionary of the Real Academia Española (DRAE), the original meaning of the verb trabajar was associated with the concepts of “pain” and “suffering”. In the 13th century it took on the meaning of “to toil”, and in the 14th century it assumed the meaning of “to work”. The noun trabajo had assumed the meaning of “work” by the 15th century. In the 18th century it maintained the meanings of “occupation”, “activity”, “toil” and “product of the human intellect” (as in “work of art”). Since 1925 the word has been registered in the DRAE as having the Marxian meaning of “labour” as opposed to “capital” but it was not until the edition of 1992 that it was registered as meaning of “paid employment”. There are 476 occurrences of the lexeme in the parliamentary corpus, corresponding to a relative frequency of 0.05 per 100 words, which puts it on a par with a number of lexemes frequently used by Spanish MPs, such as estabilidad (“stability”, continuously invoked in the broader context of the internal terrorist threat), coesión (“cohesion” – infrequent in British parliamentary discourse but emerging as one of the post-Maastricht neologisms in the nominal group “social cohesion”), crecimiento (“growth”) and economía. So, as in Britain, work is firmly on the agenda of the Congreso and a significant element of parliamentary discourse. According to our corpus findings the meanings of trabajo in parliamentary language can be classified as “paid employment” (in 310 cases), “activity” (105), “products of intellectual labour” (50) and “toil” (11). In the plural form, trabajos (96 occurrences) has the generic meaning of “ac-
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente
tivities” in all but one instance whose meaning is “products of human labour”. We shall concentrate our attention on the meaning of “paid employment”. In two-thirds of the instances in the corpus, the noun is collocated within a nominal group in which trabajo is a qualifier: puesto(s) de trabajo, which corresponds to the English “job(s)” (110); rentas de(l) trabajo, in English “earned income” (34); mercado de trabajo, corresponding to “labour market” (25) which is, however, also realised as mercado(s) laboral(es); Ministro or Ministerio de trabajo y asuntos sociales – “Minister for Employment and Social Affairs”; retenciones de(l) trabajo (5) “income tax”; and derecho al trabajo (3), “right to work”. A number of contrastive comments may be made at this point. Trabajo, according to its immediate linguistic context, can have the same meaning as any of the four major-work related terms in English, and in some cases, such as rentas de trabajo and retenciones del trabajo, a meaning which in English is only indirectly associated, in the lexical sense, with work, even though, of course, the lexeme earn can be considered as a fundamental part of the semantic field of work. The nominal group derecho al trabajo (“right to work”) has no equivalent in the English corpus, although there are numerous references to “labour law”, which is of course quite different and in Spanish would be derecho del trabajo or derecho laboral. There are only a few examples and so any conclusions would be inappropriate. However, it could be suggested that the “right to work”, conceived as an individual social right is not part of the discourse formation of British MPs although it is of their Spanish counterparts. Trabajo, like both job and employment in English, is frequently used to indicate an area of public policy and collocates with other similar terms; however, as the following examples illustrate, in translation the work related term would be translated as jobs and labour: (14) Barber Chiquillo: [. . . ] Estamos hablando de la importancia económica, de la importancia medioambiental y del futuro de miles y miles de puestos de trabajo y millones y millones de jornales a partir del año 2000 hasta el 2006. (Congreso de los Diputados. 23.02.99) We’re talking about the economic importance, the environmental importance, and the future of thousands and thousands of jobs and millions and millions of working days from the year 2000 to 2006. (15) Aznar López: [. . . ] La combinación de políticas de saneamiento de las finanzas públicas, reformas estructurales, medidas de desregulación y privatización, con una transformación del mercado de trabajo orientado a la creación de empleo estable, están dando sus resultados y creo que su man-
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
tenimiento traerá consigo nuevos éxitos. (Congreso de los Diputados. 25.06.97) The combination of policies for the reduction of the public deficit, structural reforms, measures for deregulation and privatisation, together with the transformation of the labour market aimed at the creation of permanent jobs [note that ‘empleo estable’ is here translated as ‘permanent jobs’, not ‘stable employment’] is giving results and I believe its continuation will lead to further success.
Like job, on the other hand, in the nominal group puestos de trabajo, trabajo frequently collocates with the verb crear (more than 100 instances), although unlike British MPs, members of the Congreso only rarely collocate it with destruir, although there is evidence from other sources that this pattern is becoming more frequent. Similarly, and once again like job, in the same form it collocates with quantifiers such as millones de and adjectives like nuevos. The most frequent derivate of trabajo is trabajador (“worker”) or trabajadores, trabajadoras and trabajora (143 instances, and, like English, typically plural). Similarly to the English data on worker, this word is rarely qualified by adjectives specifying the particular kinds of work performed, but, unlike British MPs, members of the Congreso do not seem to qualify workers in terms of their regional location or nationality, apart from two instances of de Andalucía, one of the regions of Spain which suffers the highest level of unemployment. However, they do tend to counterpose trabajadores with empresarios (“employers”), a collocation of which there is no trace whatsoever in the British parliamentary corpus, although “employers” and “employees” do co-occur. (16) Martínez Ríos: [. . . ] Esto es el mundo al revés. ¿Cómo los empresarios tienen menos retención que los trabajadores? (Congreso de los Diputados. 11.6.1998) This is an upside-down world. How can employers pay less tax than workers?
Similarly the collocation with sindicatos, “trade unions”, and empresarios is also common in the Spanish corpus: (17) Vicepresidente Segundo y Ministro de Economía y Hacienda: [. . . ] Vamos a tener, seguro, mucho más tiempo para debatir las propuestas del Gobierno, desde el punto de vista de la modificación de la legislación laboral, sobre el acuerdo interconfederal entre sindicatos y empresarios, y de las medidas de incentivación de la contratación estable, pero tengo que de-
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cirle que las afirmaciones rotundas que ha hecho S. S. no son ciertas. (Congreso de los Diputados. 21.5.97) We’re certainly going to take much more time to debate the proposals of the government, which range from the reform of labour laws, to the inter-confederal agreement between trade unions and employers, and the measures to provide incentives for permanent contracts but I must say that the emphatic statements that the Honorouble Member has just made are not true
Whereas in the English corpus this collocation occurs a mere five times, suggesting perhaps that labour/capital conflict is rather low on the agenda of British MPs. However, as we have already pointed out in section 3 of this chapter, among the 36 instances of trade unions in the House of Commons corpus, a certain animus towards them, as well as a fear that European integration will prove to be a kind of Trojan horse which will undermine the legislation that had reduced union power and influence, is clearly discernable. (18) Mr. Dickens: [. . . ] Would not it mean that the trade unions would control the nation again? (House of Commons. 22.7.1993) (19) Mr. Hunt: [. . . ] They will be voting to overturn the reforms that we have fought so hard for over the past 14 years. They will be voting to put the trade unions back into the driving seat, not just here but in Europe. (House of Commons. 22.7.1993)
The contractual nature of work seems to be considered as far more problematic by Spanish MPs than their British counterparts, as is shown by the frequency of collocates of trabajador such as contratos indefinidos “permanent contracts” (26), contratos temporales, “temporary” or “fixed-term contracts” (5) and precariedad, “precarious work”, in the sense of low job-security (27).10 This can be explained by, on the one hand, the fact that in Great Britain dismissal is relatively easy (Bruegel & Hegewisch 1995: 47), and on the other by the fact that reform of labour law and the introduction of flexibilización is clearly on the Spanish political agenda, as the following two extracts from interventions by Prime Minister Aznar and a member of the opposition illustrate: (20) Presidente del Gobierno (Aznar López): [. . . ] En consecuencia, al mismo tiempo que conseguimos que haya más empleo reducimos la presión fiscal sobre los trabajadores con la reducción del impuesto sobre la renta; si tiene usted otras propuestas que hacer, hágalas. (Congreso de los Diputados. 23.6.99)
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
Consequently, at the same time as we achieved higher employment, we have reduced taxation levels for workers with the reduction of income tax; make some other proposals. (21) González Anguita: [. . . ] Su señoría, señor Presidente del Gobierno, sin duda estará informado – le puedo pasar los informes – de que hay trabajadores que ya firman el finiquito cuando hacen el contrato para que el empresario le ponga la fecha cuando le parezca. (Congreso de los Diputados. 18.12.96) Honourable Gentleman, Mr. Prime Minister, undoubtedly you are informed – if you’re not I can tell you – that there are workers who hand in their written notice at the same time as they they sign a contract, so that employers can put a date on it whenever they feel like it.
Other terms related to trabajador include personal, “personnel” (17) and recursos humanos, “human resources” (9). The latter is an expression which seems to have become more frequent in Spanish during the 1990s, while it is very infrequent in the discourse of British MPs. Its meaning tend to oscillate between “workers” or “personnel” on the one hand, and “work force”, on the other, as the following examples illustrate: (22) proporcionar a las empresas los recursos humanos que precisan con calificación profesional. (Congreso de los Diputados. 24.3.1992) to provide companies that require professional qualifications with human resources. (23) liberación de recursos humanos y materiales para destinarlos a la lucha contra el fraude. (Congreso de los Diputados. 11.06.1998) making available human and material resources to be used in the fight against fraud.
Spanish work terminology also permits distinctions based on class and thus the word obrero denotes a manual worker whereas trabajador is more universal. There are no instances of obrero in the corpus however – as there are no instances of labourer in the English corpus – but there are frequent instances of the term profesional (84), which is practically absent in the House of Commons, at least in our corpus. Profesional obviously denotes a more highly qualified form of occupation and has become more and more frequent in contemporary Spanish; it tends to collocate with terms realising meanings of positive appraisal, as the following example illustrates:
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(24) Jarabo Madero: [. . . ] La dirección de Agrosfera, su equipo de redacción – repito – y cuantos profesionales y trabajadores colaboran en el programa dan cada semana una nueva muestra -según opinión de mi grupo- de profesionalidad, sensatez y honestidad. (Congreso de los Diputados. 27.4.1999) The management of Agrosfera, its staff – I repeat – and all the professionals and employees that collaborate in the project give, week by week a demonstration of – in the opinion of my parliamentary group – their professionality, their good sense, and their honesty.
. Empleo in the Congreso Empleo is a more recent lexeme than trabajo in Spanish, as is its English equivalent employment. It does not share the same polysemy as trabajo, although the Diccionario de Autoridades does give the definition: ocupación, puesto y oficio que uno tiene, y en que se emplea; occupation, post and position that a person holds and that keeps him or her employed;
which makes it an equivalent of job. However, its meaning in Spanish parliamentary discourse is also very similar to that of employment in the British: it is an index, and an area of public policy. Pleno empleo, or plena ocupación (“full employment”) is a major political objective. As such, it is the work-related term most used by Spanish MPs (1,124) – as employment is in English. Its most frequent collocates are creación de empleo (182) and crea empleo (48), while as we have seen British MPs tend to prefer the more concrete and tangible job when they talk of “creation”. Evidence from the Spanish parliamentary corpus attests the frequency of collocates like plan(es) de empleo (“employment schemes”) (42), plan(es) nacional(es) de empleo (“national employment scheme”) (12), and pacto por el empleo (“employment agreement” or “social contract”) (8). This latter term underlines the concept of the Spanish government’s role as a mediator between employers and employees – and in fact this is inscribed the Spanish Constitution – and the procedure of “concertation”, which is attested in the European discourse section of the English corpus (composed of official texts issued by EU institutions) but never in the British parliamentary corpus. The only occurrence of employment schemes in the entire House of Commons, which is illustrated in example (12), shows, in the instantiation “new Labour doubles-
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
peak on employment schemes”, not only that the term is eschewed by British MPs but also that on the rare instances in which it is used, it is construed negatively. The following two examples, one from Prime Minister Aznar and the other from an opposition MP illustrates how both sides, with different nuances, see the role of public policy in the field of employment. (25) Presidente del Gobierno (Aznar López): [. . . ] El proceso comenzado en Luxemburgo ha salido reforzado. Entramos en la unión económica y monetaria con una buena situación de crecimiento económico generador de empleo, basado en un modelo compartido que implica una mayor estabilidad y coordinación económica, el fomento del espíritu de empresa, la creación de pequeñas y medianas empresas, la promoción de la competitividad y las reformas estructurales. (Congreso de los Diputados.16.12.98) The process that began in Luxemburg has been reinforced. We are entering European economic and monetary union in a positive cycle of economic growth which generates jobs; it is based on a mixed model which implies a greater economic stability and coordination, the encouragement of an entrepreneurial spirit, the creation of small and medium-sized businesses, and the promotion of competitiveness and structural reforms. (26) Masats Alcaraz: [. . . ] El Gobierno actual no tiene política de empleo. Dice que en función del crecimiento económico, de manera mecánica [. . . ] se creará empleo, pero hemos demostrado con números concretos que no se crea ese empleo del que se habla, el empleo digno, el empleo estable, sino un empleo absolutamente precario, un empleo basura, y, al mismo tiempo, la protección de los desempleados cada vez baja más con relación a las necesidades del país y a la media europea. (Congreso de los Diputados. 23.6.1999) The current government has no economic policy. It says that it is the function of economic growth, in a mechanical fashion [. . . ], to create jobs; but we have shown with numerous examples that it doesn’t create those jobs that were being spoken of – dignified jobs, permanent jobs, but absolutely insecure jobs, worthless jobs – and, at the same time, unemployment benefits are falling all the time both in relation to the needs of the country and to the European average.
Associated with this is the frequent collocation of empleo with terms denoting the kind of employment, with particular regard to its security: empleo estable “permanent jobs” (7), empleo público “public sector employment” (1), empleo temporal “temporary work” (1), empleo a tiempo parcial “part-time work” (1)
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empleo indefinido “permanent employment” (1). The instances are not particularly numerous but there certainly does seem to be more concern about the contractual nature of work in Spain than there is in Britain. As we said above, both employment and empleo are used to denote an area of public policy – política(s) de empleo (“employment policy) (42); and both are used to indicate an index of measurement – pleno empleo (“full employment”). However, Spanish MPs tend to use paro and the neologism desempleo, both meaning “unemployment”, as an index more frequently than empleo; for example, tasa de paro (24), nivel de paro (8), tasa(s) de desempleo (14), nivel de desempleo (7) (“unemployment rates”). Furthermore, MPs from both countries use these terms to indicate the duration of unemployment – parados de larga duración (“long-term unemployment”) – and the category of persons affected – desempleo juvenil (“youth employment”). Another neologism in Spanish with the same meaning as empleo is ocupación. It occurs 20 times in the corpus and collocates regularly with laboral with the general meaning of “employment”. Examples (24) and (25) show how the two terms are used in the same way. (27) López De Lerma i López: [. . . ] Y en último lugar, en lo que se refiere a ocupación laboral, debemos exigir al Gobierno el cumplimiento estricto de las medidas y acciones contenidas en el Plan de empleo. (Congreso de los Diputados. 16.6.1999) And finally, in referring to employment, we have to demand that the government strictly carries out the measures and provisions contained in the employment scheme. (28) Noval Martínez: [. . . ] En nuestra resolución, planteamos una política activa de empleo, dirigida sobre todo a las mujeres, que conlleve no sólo el aumento de la ocupación sino también el aumento de la tasa de actividad femenina”. (Congreso de los Diputados. 23.06.1999) In our resolution, we present a pro-active employment policy, with special reference to women, which may lead not only the to the growth of employment but also to the growth of female employment levels.
It also collocates with tasa or nivel (“rate”) which confirms this. Its other principal collocate, creación, also places it in the same field as empleo in Spanish but the equivalent in English in this case, as we have seen, is job. The number of attested examples is rather low; however there are also a number of derived words such as ocupacional, the verb ocupar, and the noun ocupado meaning
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
“an employed person”. Languages do constantly change and this is a natural and necessary linguistic feature. However, in political language neologisms or new metaphors are often a way of attributing new, and often euphemistic, nuances to concepts; if we were to be suspicious of neologisms in an area of social and economic concern, the following example would be of some interest; an MP contests the government for having, according to him, falsified unemployment figures by defining as ocupado any person of 16 years or older who has been in paid employment for at least one week. “In this way”, concludes the MP ironically, “the problem of unemployment will soon be behind us”: (29) González Anguita: [. . . ] El recordatorio era, lo digo por la cuestión de las estadísticas, que la EPA, la encuesta de población activa, define al ocupado como la persona de 16 años o más que ha tenido un trabajo por cuenta ajena asalariado durante el tiempo de una semana. Así se acaba rápidamente con el paro. (Congreso de los Diputados. 22.6.1999) The memorandum say, and I’m saying this because of the statistics, that the EPA, the survey of the working population, defines an employee as any person of 16 years or over paid to work for another person for a period of at least one week. In this way, the problem of unemployment will soon be behind us.
. Conclusions This paper has confirmed that concordancing software used together with relatively large collections of text is capable of identifying the regularities that seem to be inherent in language use in a way that would not be possible, or would be very time-consuming, with the naked eye. It has also confirmed – if confirmation were necessary – that the meanings of words, especially polysemic ones, are determined by the company that they keep. Of course, as Vasta has already pointed out in this volume, highlighting the regularities in language may hide other aspects of language use; unexpected occurrences may be just as significant as predictable ones. Not only: electronic concordance analysis needs to be integrated with the analyst shifting back and forth between close textual reading and electronic reading. A further weakness of the methodology underlying this work is the relatively small size of the corpus. 110 hours of talk represents only a very small proportion of the parliamentary discourse of the decade we were investigating. However, as I have argued in the introduction, alongside
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the very large corpora that are now becoming available for a great number of languages, there is a role for the use of smaller, register-specific corpora. From a comparative point of view, the analysis has shown that the distribution of the lexis of work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain is very similar, although the lexicalisation of the various meanings associated with it are rather different in the two languages. As we have seen, trabajo can be an equivalent of either work, job, labour or unemployment, according to the collocation patterns that are evinced in the corpora. Empleo is very similar to the English employment – although it may sometimes be the equivalent of job – but this meaning in Spanish is also expressed through neologisms such as ocupación, and when neologisms associated with social problems enter into use, often new meanings and subtle nuances enter into play. There are a number of similarities which emerge from the two corpora; in neither of the parliaments do MPs use particularly specialised or technical terms to decribe unemployment. Similarly, very few references are made to the kind of person affected – although in the few instances that can be found, problematic areas are youth unemployment and long-term unemployment. However, a number of differences also emerge from the two corpora. For example, meanings of work associated with the idea of a “commodity”, and therefore part of the discourse of employers, realised through such collocations as work force, labour market, labour costs and cheap labour are far more frequent in the British parliament than in the Spanish. In fact there is no trace of an equivalent of work force in the Spanish corpus, while in the English one this collocation is in absolute terms the most frequent. In the House of Commons jobs is frequently collocated with the possessive British, while there are no instances of this in the Congreso. In the House of Commons, MPs rarely talk about relationships between “employers” and “employees (and never “workers”) or the trade unions that represent them, nor of a possible mediating role of government between the two, whereas this is quite frequent in the Congreso. It would thus seem that the idea of a social contract has not only disappeared from British political practice but it has also disappeared from British parliamentary discourse. A similar point may be made about the question of “law” and “rights”. British MPs tend to make reference to the former while Spanish MPs refer to the latter. The difference between the two concepts is eloquently illustrated by this quote in the House of Commons: (30) Mr Oppenheim. [. . . ] If wages and conditions are out of line with productivity, the result is unemployment. The classic example is Spain, which has
Ways of talking about work in parliamentary discourse in Britain and Spain
some of the toughest labour regulation laws but the highest incidence of involuntary redundancy and some of the highest unemployment in Europe. How does one achieve productivity in one’s economy? One does not achieve it by means of social charters or labour regulation but by providing a good education and high levels of investment. (House of Commons. 23.7.1993)
Notes * This paper is a result of collaboration between the two authors. The sections on English and the comparative analysis are the responsibility of Bayley; those on Spanish are the responsibility of San Vicente. . Genesis. 3: 19. . For a more detailed philological description see Arcaini and Rossini Favretti (1980). . Frequencies will henceforth be given as raw data – absolute frequencies – which are not necessarily significant in and of themselves. Remember, however, that the two corpora are of very similar dimensions; the British one a little over 850,000 running words, the Spanish of little under 900,000. . All illustrations in this paper will be given as lists of 20 concordance lines elaborated by Wordsmith Tools and drawn from the corpus. . This is indicative of a particular lexical distribution in British politics during the 1990s while the country, or a part of the country, sought to maintain its own sovereignty and defend itself from what is often represented as the encroachment of EU institutions on Britain’s independence. Thus terms such as coordination are construed as an antonym of harmonisation, intergovernmental as an antonym of supranational, while two-speed Europe and the rather surprising variable geometry, are used to defend Britain’s policy of opting out of certain EU institutions. . The word list derived from the British National Corpus, however demonstrates just how many words are derived from combinations with work: workaholic, workaholism, workarounds, workbase, workbays, workbench, workcamp, workcard, workclients, workday, workface, workfare, workforce, workgirl, workhouse, workingman, workless, worklessness, worklife, workload, workman, workmanlike, workmanship, workplace, workrate, workroom, workshy, workshyness, workstation, worktime, workwoman. Some of these appear to be rather antiquated, for example workman o workingman, while others refer to obsolete institutions – workhouse, while others yet, such as workfare, are neologisms. In any case, these data testify to the extraordinary productiveness of the root word work and its centrality in our vocabulary.
Paul Bayley and Félix San Vicente . The word is being used loosely here. What the EU Commission emanates are ‘regulations’, ‘directives’, ‘decisions’ and ‘recommendations’, while the European Parliament only exercises the function of control. . It is interesting to note that in CEC the typical configuration for collocations of weapons and destroy posits weapons as the destroyed entity and not the destroyer. . In British government this is however subject to change over time. Currently competencies related to employment are under the Department of Work and Pensions. In the first Blair government it was under the Department of Education and Employment. In the past it has also been the Ministry of Labour. . The term “precarious” occurs in the English corpus only twice, on each occasion in relationship to the precariousness of the government majority.
References Arcaini, Enrico & Rossini Favretti, Rema (1980). Il concetto del lavoro nei suoi rapporti con le istituzioni inglesi: work, labour, job. Studi Italiani di Linguistica Teorica ed Applicata, 9(3). Battaner Arias, María P. (1977). Vocabulario Político-social en España (1868–1873). Madrid: Anejos del Boletín de la Real Academia Española. Bruegel Irene & Hegewisch, Ariane (1995) Flexibilization and part-time work in Europe. In P. Brown & R. Compton, Economic Restructuring and Social Exclusion (pp. 32–54). London: Sage. Collins Cobuild English Collocations on CD-ROM (1995). London: Harper Collins. Diccionario de Autoridades (1994). Madrid: Gredos. DRAE, Real Academia española (1984). Diccionario de la lengua española. Madrid: EspasaCalpe. DRAE, Real Academia española (1992). Diccionario de la lengua española. Madrid: EspasaCalpe [Electronic version 1995]. Fernández Lagunilla, Marina (1986). Aportación al estudio semántico del léxico político: el vocabulario de los republicanos. Hamburg: H. Buske Verlag. Fernández Lagunilla, Marina (1999). La lengua de la comunicación política. I: El discurso del poder. II: La palabra del poder. Madrid: Arco/Libros. Firth, John R. (1935). The Technique of Semantics. In Transactions of the Philological Society (pp. 1–32). García Santos, Juan F. (1980). Léxico y Política de la Segunda República. Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca. Kress, Gunther (1989). Linguistic Processes in Sociocultural Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rebollo Torío, Miguel A. (1975). El lenguaje de la derecha en la 2a República. Valencia: Fernando Torres. Rebollo Torío, Miguel A. (1978). Introducción al vocabulario político republicano y franquista, 1931–1971. Valencia: Fernando Torres.
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Roget’s Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases (1998). [Betty Kirkpatrick (Ed.)]. London: Longman. Seoane, María C. (1968). El primer lenguaje constitucional español (Las Cortes de Cádiz). Madrid: Moneda y Crédito. Seoane, María C. (1977). Oratoria y periodismo en la España del siglo XIX. Madrid: Fundación Juan March/Castalia. Simpson, John (Ed.). (1989). The Oxford English Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sinclair, John McH. (Ed.). (1998). Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary. London: Collins. Stubbs, Michael (1996). Text and Corpus: Computer-assisted Studies of Language and Culture. Oxford: Blackwell. Williams, Raymond (1983 [1976]). Keywords: a Vocabulary of Culture and Society. London: Fontana.
‘Truth, justice and the American way’ The appraisal system of judgement in the U. S. House debate on the impeachment of the President, 1998 Donna R. Miller
‘But now you know the truth. And the truth always comes out.’ ‘Dear Nordhoff, in this case I know only what you tell me is the truth. And you could be mistaken. As for the truth always coming out, why, I think it never does. But even if it did, who would know?’ (G. Vidal 1876)
.
Introduction
This paper seeks to investigate the linguistic construction of speaker orientation and subject-positioning in the exceptional US House of Representatives debate which took place on the 18th and 19th December of 1998 and which ended in the impeachment of the President, William Jefferson Clinton. The text is thus a sui generis instance of congressional discourse, as the House on this occasion was enacting not its typical powers of debating with a view to legislating, but rather its quite special constitutionally defined power of impeachment. Although such institutional specificity could probably be seen to determine a hybrid register, one that might tentatively be described as comprising features of both congressional and, more particularly, legal/juridical discourse, it is not the aim of this paper to address this aspect of the text. Rather the principal scope of this paper is to probe the text from the circumscribed point of view of its speakers’ evaluations of the President’s impeachable – or not – behaviour with respect to the standard of ‘truth’. It is generally agreed that one of the most basic ways in which we use language is to take an attitudinal stance both towards our interlocutors, real
Donna R. Miller
and potential, and towards the propositional content of our own and others’ texts. In rhetorically constructing such evaluative orientations, moreover, we position ourselves as meaning-makers having particular values, beliefs, and so social identities, or ‘voices’. The paper posits the perspective of language as a ‘social semiotic’ (Halliday 1978) and works within the descriptive and analytical framework of English known as systemic-functional linguistics (hereafter SFL; Halliday 1994), which it also cannot be the task of the paper to delineate. I will say, however, that the model posits grammar (meaning lexicogrammar) as no less than a theory of human experience, as well as a principle for social action (Halliday 1992: 65), and, more specifically, that it envisions ways of saying (lexicogrammar) as realising meanings (semantic metafunctions), which are determined by specific social situations (contexts), these levels combining to construe particular functional varieties of texts (registers), which also establish meaning relationships across a ‘set’ of texts to which they may be said to ‘belong’ (intertextuality: Lemke 1990, 1992, 1995). Methodologically, the study makes special use of the still ongoing modelling of systems for construing evaluation and intersubjectivity in terms of a more delicate semantics and grammatics (Halliday 1996) of evaluative lexis – what the systemicist at the helm of the project, Jim Martin, has dubbed appraisal systems1 (2000) – and, even more particularly, of the system of judgement. These will be sketched below. Moreover, the specific, if heterogeneous, context of culture of the USA will be presumed as the given higher-order semiotic within which this process of text creation takes place (e.g., Miller forthcoming a). An attempt at glossing select aspects of this cultural context will be made, if not systematically, then at least fittingly. The paper is structured as follows: firstly, what I will label ‘more preliminaries’ continue in Section 2, with the general aim of more adequately disambiguating my title. In so doing, I provide further background information on the text which is being examined, as well as make what are deemed needed considerations regarding the context, but also the intertext, which can be seen to be at work. In Section 3, I offer a brief overview of appraisal theory and the still ongoing modelling of the Systems within SFL, providing corpus examples.2 Section 4 then presents and comments the global patterns of the construal of the system of judgement in the debate and also takes a brief look at so-called ‘tokens’ of Judgement as construed in one text segment. Finally, Section 5 is dedicated to tentative parting thoughts on the competing discourses emerging from analysis. Before proceeding, I would say one last word here – on the no longer very fashionable activity of analysing single texts, which of course is what I am doing
‘Truth, justice and the American way’
in this paper and what, I believe, is still a valid thing to do. Apart from the fact that the text in this case is an exceptional one, I refer to a more general principle, as put forth in Martin (1999) according to which specific instances of text do matter, alongside our studies of corpora and of systems as a whole. Which of these objects of study we choose will depend on what we want to do. In this paper, I look at this one textual instance in a wider attempt at exploring the social significance of circumscribed interpersonal ways of meaning. That significance, however, may also be seen to have further reaching implications, or some kind of metonymic value, for the typical meaning-making practices of the House Debate as register, as well as for the US belief and value system, heavily influenced by what has been called “The American religion” (Bloom 1992), as a whole.
. More preliminaries . Truth, justice, and the case at hand In this mini electronic corpus of approximately 149,000 words then, attention will be focussed on tracing the system of judgement in the co-textual environment of the node words “truth” and “justice”. The length of the segments which have been analysed in detail varies, from four to six concordance lines of text on the average, due to the fairly constant need to ‘grow’ the chunks considerably in order to trace back to the ostensible start of the appraisal being constructed. What I will be illustrating in this paper, however, is mainly judgement evaluations vis-à-vis the notion of ‘truth’, as my interest in speaker stance on ‘justice’ is limited to its semantic interaction with the former. It should immediately be said that both these eminently culture-encoding words have a much higher frequency in this corpus than would typically be expected. As can be seen from Table 1 below, “truth”, with an absolute frequency of 256, is the 82nd most common word in the word list, while “justice”, with 218 occurrences, is the 98th. That makes their relative frequency, respectively, 0.17 and 0.15 per 100 words – which strikes one immediately as inordinately high. Comparative figures may help to see just how high. As can be also be seen in Table 1, on the BNC word list “truth” ranks 1,281st, with an absolute frequency of 7,902 (relative frequency 0.009), while “justice” occupies the 1,394th place and its absolute frequency is 7,193 (relative frequency 0.008). In addition, the relative frequencies of these two words in the impeachment debate, when confronted with those in a corpus of British Commons debates on European
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Table 1. Comparative frequencies of the two words SOURCE
TRUTH
JUSTICE
House impeachment debate (149,000 words):
82nd/ ab. freq. 256/ rel. freq. 0.17
98th/ ab. freq. 218/ rel. freq. 0.15
BNC word list (90,000,000 words):
1281st/ ab. freq. 7,902/ rel. freq. 0.009
1,394th/ ab. freq. 7,193/ rel. freq. 0.008
Hansard ‘EU’ corpus (851,992 words):
rel. freq. 0.016
rel. freq. 0.03
Table 2. Articles of Impeachment of the President of the United States, William Jefferson Clinton 1. perjury before a federal grand jury in the Lewinsky case 2. obstruction of justice in the same case 3. perjury in the Paula Jones case 4. abuse of power (re: Clinton’s ‘legalistic’ responses to the 81 questions of the House Judicial Committee)
‘nays’: 206; ‘yeas’: 228 ‘nays’: 212; ‘yeas’: 221 ‘nays’: 229; ‘yeas’: 205 ‘nays’: 285; ‘yeas’: 145
Union,3 still results significantly higher: 0.17 compared to 0.016 for “truth” and 0.15 vs. 0.03 for “justice”. These findings were, of course, highly predictable, and are, indeed, easily explained. After all, two of the four counts that the President was effectively impeached on were the first two Articles: “perjury” before a Federal Grand Jury and “obstruction of justice”, both in the Monica Lewinsky case, a minimum working background knowledge of which I will need to presume as shared.4 The four Articles and relative votes cast are listed in Table 2. . On context(s) As the article by van Dijk in this volume rightly stresses, in any activity of text analysis, the relevant contextual parameters are ignored only at great risk to the reliability of that analysis. Working within the SFL model, Tenor is the contextual component principally responsible for determining the grammar, or lexicogrammar, of speaker evaluation. However, in line with findings in other related work of mine on appraisal (Miller 2002a and b, forthcoming b and c), this study puts forth the hypothesis that, beyond the unquestionably vital role of Tenor, all three components of the context of situation would appear to be working cooperatively to motivate the choice of evaluative linguistic forms in the corpus (Thompson 1999), which is to say both that the grammar of
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interpersonal meanings exceeds its typically theorised limits and that the ‘explanation’ for such grammar would appear to reside in the features of Field and Mode as well as in Tenor considerations. Although the question of just how this appears to be so is not directly addressed, the discussion of appraisal ‘tokens’ in Section 4.2 below does, I believe, do much to clarify both the issue and the usefulness of appraisal theory in dealing with it. As van Dijk has also perceptively noted elsewhere (1997: 14), “[. . . ] there is of course no a priori limit to the scope and level of what counts as relevant context”. Still, it is my belief that the SFL categories of Field, Tenor and Mode remain nonetheless extremely useful analytical categories, ones which are already at least potentially inclusive of those features considered as relevant to parliamentary discourse in van Dijk (this volume). In addition, I believe that, as they are, they help us to focus upon and describe just what it is that appears to count as determining the grammar of a text, as well as to distinguish relevant aspects from, perhaps, less relevant ones. Indeed, for this analyst, one of the main ‘virtues’ of the SFL concept of ‘context of situation’ lies precisely in the privileged role which it grants to concrete grammatical evidence of such ‘relevancy’, as well as its underlying vision of language as a ‘social semiotic’ (Halliday 1978), rather than as individual cognitive activity. It is clearly beyond the scope of this paper to elaborate any further on this obviously debateable issue of context, nevertheless a cursory description of this, both in general, i.e., as far as the House debate as specialised functional variety of text is concerned, and more specifically, i.e., with reference to the quite particular impeachment debate under investigation, is in order. Following Hasan (1978), this will be labelled ‘The Contextual Configuration’ and glossed as follows: Field: regarding the nature of the ongoing social activity: elected Representatives of the single states deliberately debating, in a constitutionally legitimated if exceptional setting, i.e., not, in the extant case, as is usual, with a view to legislating, but acting within the special “sole Power of Impeachment” that Art. 1, Sec. 2 of the US Constitution awards the House; hence, the subject matter of specific corpus: the impeachment of the President, vis-à-vis his behaviour in the Lewinski case. Tenor: speakers: status: high; elected Representatives belonging in most cases either to the majority party or to the minority, but thoroughly legitimated either way; discourse role: to present arguments that presumably either: (i) represent those of the majority of the voters that elected them to the House, or (ii) correspond to those of the party in whose ranks they were elected. Both of these presumed dicta are influential in determining speaker positioning, and yet neither is invariably followed. Despite division along party lines, some Rep-
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resentatives see their role (discursive and non-) as being more independent of party and partisan positions; thus, a more personal Tenor (vs. the institutional) is almost always contemporaneously there, and tolerated.5 With reference to other Representatives: to express and ‘reason’ one’s opinions, often explicitly agreeing/disagreeing with previous speakers (intratext). Yet, within the House itself, alignment or alienation on debated issues appears to be generally preestablished, rather than being the expected or the effective outcome of the persuasive powers of Representatives. addressees: status: other Representatives and Senators; the President; the US public; the media at home and abroad, and thus public opinion world-wide as well – all of the above? From 0 to maximum social distance obtains between these and speakers. discourse role: other than that of the Representatives themselves, none. Mode: text: always-already-legitimated, ritualised, institutionalised ‘deliberate debate’ (Adams 1999); basically, if not totally, context-independent, or self-sufficient (i.e., mainly a constitutive language role); channel: phonic – but only a minimal sharing of the text-creation process is involved, interventions, especially in this case, being obviously as least semi-pre-scripted/rehearsed;6 medium: an interesting admixture of written-ness and spoken-ness (Halliday 1989 [1985]); global rhetorical aim(s): deliberative and argumentative. Within these, sub-types of exposition might be labelled: explanatory (of what, how, why); convincing/persuasive/‘seductive’ (Sornig 1989: 97), and thus, predictably, also evaluative. As has been said, however, what I am also and contemporaneously interested in examining in this exceptional debate is the relevancy of the higherorder semiotic plane of “context of culture” (Malinowski 1935: 18), i.e., the cultural history which serves as mainly unconscious ideological background both to the human participants and to the kinds of practices that they are engaging in, the discursive foremost among them, be these practical or ritual, or the peculiar conflation of the two that characterises the text type, but also the extant text under investigation. Another way of putting this would be to say that a parallel concern here is the linguistic construal of the Foucault-esque discourses (e.g., 1972, 1980) in and by the conflicting speaker positions adopted in ‘judging’ the President – ways of meaning that, I reckoned, had to be at least two, and alternative, given, among other things, the basic two-party system in the US and the split occurring more or less along partisan lines that was evident in the debate and in the succeeding ‘yeas’ and ‘nays’ cast. In any case, though it is hardly surprising, I reckoned rightly. But I will get to a closer consideration of these competing discourses only in closing.
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Before proceeding to an overview of appraisal, however, I would first recount a story, or rather a couple of stories, whose socio-cultural con- (and inter-) textual pertinence, both to the subject matter and to the ways of meaning of the text is, I think, essential. The first story is about George Washington, or ‘the Father of our country’, as Americans know him. The tale, or myth, goes like this: As a young boy (age never being precisely stipulated), George is confronted by his father with the fact that the family cherry tree has been chopped down. Daddy, naturally enough, is quite put out and wants to know what George knows about the incident. The response young George gives is quick and to the point: “Father”, he says, “I cannot tell a lie. I did it with my hatchet”. Now, we are not told if George’s punishment is lightened as a result of his frankness, but the moral of the story is clear: no matter how difficult it is to tell the truth, honesty is the best, indeed the only proper, policy. Interestingly, the myth is explicitly referred to by two Representatives in the debate – who quite seriously appropriate it in support of the fundamental importance of honesty, of truth, for the US dominant cultural paradigm, and in particular for the President, as heir to Washington’s legacy. The interventions are the following: (1) American school children have all learned the story of George Washington stating to his father that he could not tell a lie and admitting to cutting down the cherry tree. Which example will they now remember? Now that the vote is scheduled on Articles of impeachment against Bill Clinton for lying under oath before a federal grand jury of his peers [. . . ] (18.12.98) (2) Truth is something we have always honored in this country. We teach our children from an early age to be truthful. George Washington’s birthday is coming soon, and we have long told the story about his admitting to cutting down the cherry tree – “I cannot tell a lie”. When any President takes office there is an implicit promise that he or she will level with the people, that he or she will be honest with them [. . . ] (18.12.98)
The second, more recent, story, not unconnected intertextually to the first, would also disambiguate the first part of the title of this paper. Perhaps some will recognise it: those readers who are familiar with the original American television series of “Superman”, whose identity I will presume as shared knowledge. In the voice-over at the start of the program, the viewer is told about “mild-mannered Clark Kent”, alias Superman, who, both in his reporter’s job and in his heroic super-human activities, acts invariably and uncompromis-
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ingly (another key word, the latter) as the defender and protector of “truth, justice and the American way”. So, with these two staple US myths fixed firmly as valued cultural background to what follows, I can better proceed.
. appraisal systems Which brings me to the still ongoing re-modelling of SFL systems for construing subjectivity and intersubjectivity, appraisal systems (e.g., Martin 1995a, 2000 – cf. White, web site, 2002, 2003a and 2003b). The term appraisal is formally defined by Martin as: [. . . ] the semantic resources used to negotiate emotions, judgements and valuations, alongside resources for amplifying and engaging with these evaluations. (Martin 2000: 145)
while the goal of appraisal theory is to trace: [. . . ] a comprehensive map of appraisal resources that we could deploy systematically in discourse analysis, both with a view to understanding the rhetorical effect of evaluative lexis as texts unfold, and to better understanding the interplay of interpersonal meaning and social relations in the model of language and the social we were developing, especially in the area of solidarity (i.e. resources for empathy and affiliation). (Martin 2000: 148)
Thus appraisal theory is concerned with the linguistic resources that our culture makes available for expressing, negotiating and naturalising subjective and intersubjective speaker positions, which are seen as being ultimately ideological, in the broadest sense of the word. To put it another way, it has to do with the language of evaluation, seen as the realisation of speakers’ attitudinal orientations, and as a clue to the terms of their engagement with their utterances, to what is ‘at stake’ communicatively, from an interpersonal point of view. But now to take a closer look at what these resources are seen as comprising. The following schematic overview is meant, in addition to easing us into the valuative terms of the debate, to present a fairly reliable picture of the state of the modelling to date. Nevertheless, it is vital to stress once again the ongoing nature of the research into these systems and their modelling, as well to remark the existence of minor discrepancies among the category labels adopted by scholars working in the enterprise. It should also be noted that this outline makes no attempt to systematically confront the myriad theoretical and practical problems that are still to be solved or the semantic and lexicogrammatical
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issues still to be adequately addressed. In addition, as will no doubt become almost too clear in the course of this analysis, the extent to which appraisal interpretation, especially interpretation of what I explain below as ‘evoked’ appraisal, relies on the ideological positioning of the analyst him/herself is undeniable. Although the attempt is always to ‘read’ the meanings construed in terms of the ‘constrained’ meanings that, to use Eco’s terms (1979), a ‘model’ writer would have a ‘model’ reader understand, it is inevitable that any one reader’s responses will fail to some degree to capture these fully, despite attention to textual clues as to what is going on and the kinds of values being inscribed or evoked. Still, by spelling out what one’s assessment is, the analyst is at least making his/her reading position explicit. In any case, appraisal analysis confronts one, even painfully, with one’s own subjective/cultural positioning, which can be ‘overlooked’, or even ‘hidden’, in many kinds of text analysis. This, to my functionally-oriented mind, is a virtue, rather than the vice which a formalist, characteristically eschewing ‘fuzziness’, might choose to highlight instead. . The major attitude system: affect, judgement, appreciation Appraisal theory posits three basic systems, the major one being the attitude system itself, alongside two ‘attendant’ ones: those of engagement and graduation, as in Figure 1. ENGAGEMENT A P P R A I S A L
monogloss heterogloss ... AFFECT ...
ATTITUDE
JUDGEMENT ... APPRECIATION ...
FORCE
raise lower
GRADUATION FOCUS
sharpen soften
Figure 1. An overview of appraisal systems, adapted from Martin and Rose (2003: 54)
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As can be seen then, the attitude system is sub-divided into the separate systems of: (1) affect; (2) judgement – the one I am concentrating on in this paper – and (3) appreciation. In order to better understand judgement, however, I think it best to offer at least a brief explanation and illustration of all three. As previously stated, the examples all come from the corpus. Also to be remembered is that any word class can construe any of these systems, either positively or negatively, and the underlined words below are being signalled as doing just that. .. The first of these – affect – is a resource for construing emotional responses of human speech participants to phenomena (e.g., their misery or cheer, their disquiet or confidence, ennui or interest, displeasure or admiration, fear or desire, and so on). Of course, that emotion has an inevitable and more or less rightful place in argumentation was recognised as far back as in Aristotle and continues to receive critical attention (e.g. Walton 1992; Miller 1996). Affect, then, should be seen as an attempt at systematically categorizing this common argumentative strategy. A rich example of cumulative and culminating displeasure, and indeed misery, is: (3) Mr. Speaker, I am going to vote for articles of impeachment. Now, I do not like that. I am not happy about that. In fact, I am deeply saddened by that.
.. The second category – judgement – draws upon Halliday’s account of modality/modulation (1994 [1985]) and is deployed for enacting a speaker’s moral evaluations of human behaviour with respect to two basic categories. The first, and ‘weightier’, of these is (a) ‘Social Sanction’, including reference to, firstly, (i) ‘ethics’, or ‘propriety’, which is linked to obligation. One of the myriad examples which could be offered is: (4) [. . . ] the President’s actions were reprehensible and morally repugnant.
The second category hypothesised under ‘Social Sanction’ is (ii) ‘veracity’, linked to the modal category of probability. Again, the examples which could be given are numerous. To choose just two: (5) His attitude toward democratic political discourse has been not how he can address the issues honestly but how he can best dissemble, obfuscate, and lie [. . . ]
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and (6) [. . . ] even the President’s most ardent defenders acknowledge he lied under oath.
As is evident, however, the issue of ‘veracity’ in this particular corpus cannot easily escape being, also and contemporaneously, an issue of ‘ethics’. Thus the two sub-classes of ‘Social Sanction’ can be seen to be consistently conflated. The second sub-category of Judgement is labelled: (b) ‘Social Esteem’, which does not have the same legal, ethical or even religious implications of the former category. Values involve assessments by which the person appraised will be most likely lowered or raised in the esteem of the community and include evaluations of: (i) normality; (ii) capacity, and (iii) tenacity (psychological disposition, or inclination). The value of ‘normality’ is linked to the modal category of usuality. One rather complex example in which the message is apparently errare umanum est, perseverare diabolicum is: (7) [. . . ] Let us not fall victim to unrealistic expectations that do not forgive the common flaws of normal Americans.
The second sub-class, ‘capacity’, is linked to the category of ability. A highly negative appraisal of the President’s cognitive, but also at the same time clearly ethical, capacities is given us by: (8) [. . . ] his conscience is so diminished as to leave him unable to discern the truth from his lies.
The third sub-class, ‘tenacity’, is linked to modulation in terms of inclination. Tenacity as a value in our western capitalistic culture is, as we well know, more often appraised as a virtue than a vice, but in this particular context of moral misbehaviour, one finds even this value being judged negatively. Illustrating a negative appraisal of the President’s tenacity in lying is: (9) He has held throughout his testimony that if he convinces himself that he is telling the truth, it doesn’t matter if he lies.
Overlap, especially between the categories of affect and judgement, is not at all uncommon. To illustrate, let us look once again at the example of Judgement: Social Sanction: ethics offered above: “[. . . ] the President’s actions were reprehensible and morally repugnant.” I believe it is fairly clear how the speaker’s own intense distaste is being construed, at least implicitly, along with his or her judgement on the moral propriety of “the President’s actions”. The reason
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that this is so, however, also has to do with the co-existing attendant system of graduation which is in use here. The point is that rather than use the word ‘repugnant’ the speaker had at his or her disposal other lexical options which were less forcefully negative, e.g., ‘distasteful’, but which were eschewed. But I will come back to this below. .. The third sub-type of appraisal within the global attitude system is appreciation. This is seen as being an evaluation of objects and products (rather than human behaviour, as in the case of Judgement) by reference either to (i) aesthetic principles, such as the ‘balance’ and ‘complexity’ of composition, e.g., (10) This case clearly exhibits that [. . . ]
or to (ii) ‘reaction’, in terms of either ‘impact’ (notice-ability), e.g., (11) [. . . ] the issue becomes public and the consequences dramatic [. . . ]
or of ‘quality’ (un/like-ability), e.g., (12) [. . . ] the question of the President’s fitness to hold office remains a disturbing and viable one.
A third sub-category involves the assessment of (iii) ‘social significance’, e.g., (13) Mr. Speaker, impeachment is a profound and complex process [. . . ]
and (14) Oaths are critical to the system of liberty in place in the Constitution.
However, once again, the overlap between systems categories and sub-categories must be pointed out. In this case, the un-likeable quality of that disturbing “question of the President’s fitness to hold office” above is clearly a question of social significance as well. .. Now, affect is seen as being the core system, the idea being that judgement and appreciation are its institutionalised versions, having been, as it were, recontextualized – judgement, with a practical view to controlling what people do – an important point to remember as we proceed – and appreciation, for discursively valuing what they achieve. In parliamentary debate, however, even the latter activity, though usually distinctly recognisable, ultimately serves the
‘Truth, justice and the American way’ ethics/morality (rules & regulations) feeling institutionalised as proposals
JUDGEMENT
AFFECT
APPRECIATION
feeling institutionalised as propositions aesthetics/value (criteria & assessment)
Figure 2. From Martin (2000: 147)
former aim – i.e., practice (Miller 2002a). Figure 2 offers what Martin dubs a “crude” map of these re-contextualizations. . The two attendant systems: engagement and graduation The two minor attendant systems will also be glossed very briefly, since these regularly overlap and function together with the ‘basic’ systems: .. Firstly, there is the engagement system, which comprises semantic resources for positioning speaker voice, often quite subtly, in heteroglossic space (Bakhtin 1981, 1984), so to speak, by adjusting speaker commitment to what is being said in terms of what are labelled ‘perspective’, ‘attribution’ and ‘expectation’. Here too there is overlap with systems of modality, but the range of speaker strategies for construing Engagement is seen as being much wider. It includes devices which have been analysed in other perspectives under headings such as evidentiality, concession, attribution, meta-discursivity and so on. Perspective is construed through modality, and in particular, by means of probability options, with e.g. modal operators and modal and comment adjuncts: e.g.,
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(15) [. . . ] this reckless behavior surely could have exposed this President of the US to blackmail [. . . ]
but also with what the framework calls ‘reality-phase’, e.g., (16) It just seems too simplistic to condemn all lying [. . . ]
as well as with what are termed ‘proclamations’, such as the following ‘typical’ way of prefacing remarks, (17) And I must say [. . . ]
or (18) [. . . ] there is no doubt, however, that [. . . ]
Then, there is ‘attribution’, enacted by means of ‘hearsay’, e.g. (19) [. . . ] the facts alleged in this case [. . . ]
and projection, e.g., (20) The President has said publicly [. . . ]
Projected locutions and ideas, and in particular the formulating and reporting of the positions of others in supporting one’s own claims (Leudar & Antaki 2001), are important orientational devices in the debate. Indeed, many Representatives choose to quote letters they have ostensibly received from their constituents, pleading with them to vote one way or the other. Finally, there is ‘expectation’, an example of which is: (21) As Americans, we have every right to expect our President to be someone our children can look up to and someone who can be their role model.
Expectation, however, clearly overlaps with the category of Judgement on ‘normality’. By way of illustration, let it suffice to recall an example offered, in no. (7) above, under the latter category: “[. . . ] Let us not fall victim to unrealistic expectations that do not forgive the common flaws of normal Americans”. .. The second attendant system is graduation. This can usefully be thought of as a semantics of scaling which includes speaker resources for upgrading or downgrading the ‘force’ of their utterances by raising or lowering their ‘intensity’. Although such devices can give the impression of introducing some kind of ‘objective’ measurement of intensification into one’s discourse, it is impor-
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tant to keep in mind that most of the time we are dealing with merely subjective responses of speakers to the matter being spoken about. The dialogic principal is once again involved, in the sense that, by heightening or downplaying the degree to which they are moved, excited, impressed, troubled etc. by the events in question, speakers heighten or downplay their personal commitment as well, raising or lowering the stakes of any eventual challenge or objection which may be forthcoming. Graduation can be construed explicitly, as in (22) But I am absolutely unequivocally convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that this President lied under oath [. . . ]
which is also, of course, a ‘proclamation,’ as considered above within Engagement. But the scaling may also be implicit, as in the high degree selection horrified in: (23) We are horrified that sexual encounters, lying under oath and his consistent lying in general is tolerated [. . . ]
rather than, say, the choice of an option such as, e.g., ‘disturbed’, or ‘upset’. Graduation also includes non-gradable scaling called ‘focus’. In this case intensity is adjusted through narrowing or broadening, and/or sharpening or softening, the semantics of category membership. Examples at the ‘sharp’ end of the scale are many in the corpus – unsurprisingly, given the speech event: e.g., “dire warnings”; “major historical significance”; “key material facts”, etc. Examples at the ‘soft’ end, much fewer, include: (24) The facts in this case are not really in dispute.
But that will have to suffice as background to judgement analysis.
. Judging truth-telling in the House debate on the impeachment of the President, 1998 Having laid the groundwork, as it were, we can now look at the global patterns of speaker judgement of the President’s behaviour vis-à-vis “truth”, which I have compiled on the basis of detailed analysis of all corpus segments in which the word occurs. It cannot be too forcefully stressed that judgement, as a system of attitudinal positioning, is by definition shaped by the particular cultural paradigm in which it is operating, dominant, alternative or oppositional as it may be. People’s judgements will always be shaped by the beliefs, values, as-
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sumptions, expectations, etc, etc., that they are semiotically positioned to hold. Conflict, therefore, is as inevitable as the social fact of socio-semiotic diversity, the root of Bakhtinian heteroglossia. . Judgement, or, feelings institutionalised as ‘proposals’: Ethics/morality (rules and regulations) Table 3 presents an overview of the ways of saying in the debate that I have identified as construing this system. Some further observations concerning these are, however, required. To begin with, as a speaker resource for enacting moral evaluations of human behaviour with a practical view to controlling what people do in the debate, Judgement plays an essential role primarily in the meaning-making practices of the Representatives who favour impeachment. Indeed, the preponderance of selections construing Social Sanction in terms of ethics and veracity which have them as source may be offered as evidence – though for this my readers will just have to take my own judgement, based upon my subjective, intuitive, and thus quite inevitably biased, reading of these, which is itself, of course, open to debate. Secondly, most of the selections appearing in Table 3 occur more than once in the corpus, and do so in frankly disconcertingly identical or corepresentational agnate structures. Admittedly, in the course of the task of retrieving, labelling, summarizing and marshalling these, a certain amount of compression has occurred. As a result, the fine line that often obtains between Judgement of human behaviour and Appreciation of an object/entity which is the result of human behaviour has not always been drawn as precisely as it might and indeed should have been. This has occurred in borderline, fuzzy cases, but also in cases where the choice between construing evaluation as Judgement or Appreciation has real, if subtle, ‘objectifying’ communicative effects. With respect to such imprecision, I take comfort from the largely accepted guideline for appraisal analysis which insists on the importance of the actual co-text in which evaluation takes place. Indeed, the semantic location – i.e., where the appraisal occurs in the text, but also what appraisal has gone before, as well as what comes afterwards – is invariably considered to be a highly reliable clue to the kind of appraisal being construed in any one instance. Thus, for instance, though “truth” itself is, for all its indeterminacy, a Thing rather than a person, it is regularly seen as carrying a Judgement value on the grounds that the debate is overtly about telling the truth, or not. In short, most if not all utterances in which the word occurs can unproblematically be said to presume volitional action by some human agency. The same is true of “perjury”. In ad-
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dition, I have included, and in this case clearly signalled, select instances of speaker Appreciation regarding the social significance of certain ‘products’ of the President’s alleged crimes: the impeachment proceedings themselves, their subject matter, and the speaker positions adopted on this. Then, as has already emerged from our cursory survey of the systems, the word “truth” itself always already construes both ‘veracity’ as well as ‘ethics’. Grammatically its most common participant functions are: (1) in verbal Processes as Verbiage, i.e., as something that one “tells”; (2) in relational Processes as Carrier, where it is described as “essential”, as “mattering”, or as Identified, being defined as “the basis” or “the foundation” of US society; (3) as a Phenomenon participating in mental Processes such as “honor”, and (4) as the Goal (or Range) of grammatically metaphorical material Processes such as “reach” and “arrive at”. In line with this last function, we also find it within abstract circumstances of Location, situated at the end of the “path” or “road” which, in classical utopian style, leads to it, and which upright men and women must assiduously follow. Then, meta-textually, it appears explicitly in circumstances of Matter: as, i.e. what the debate is overtly said to be all “about”. In addition, and importantly I suggest, in 179 of its 256 instances it is preceded by the definite deictic “the”. The remaining occurrences are of Ø article, excepting one sole instance of the indefinite deictic, occurring, however, in a minor clause of condition-concession as one of a list of co-textually created quasisynonyms, the function of which, to my mind, does little to render its meaning less absolute: (25) Whether it is a promise or a truth or a vow or an oath, a person’s word is the firm footing our society stands on, and the average kid understands that.
Finally, following Martin (1995: 30), but also in tribute to the eminently moral subject matter of the debate and its essentially religious ways of saying, I have added the Catholic religion’s sin classification distinction between ‘mortal’ and ‘venial’ to the category headings. An additional but quite essential point is that no speaker denies that “truth” is an issue (although, as Table 3 shows under Social Esteem: normality (negative), one speaker belittles its importance by appraising the issue as “nonsensical”); nor is it denied by anyone that the President failed on more than one occasion to “tell” it (though that same speaker intimates that failing to do so under the specific, private and embarrassing circumstances is quite “normal”). Rather what is hotly debated is the ‘impeachable-ness’ of the offence, which means the extent to which the President’s having failed to tell the truth on even
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Table 3. judgement in the Impeachment debate Social Sanction: ‘mortal’
Positive (praise)
ethics/propriety (obligation)
Truth as perfect/ legitimate/ oath/ promise/ vow/ our right/ legacy/ guide/ role model (look up to)/ (something to which we are) entitled/ (requiring) allegiance/ (a) value/ duty/ standard/ principle/ requirement/ fundamental responsibility/ legal obligation/ (the) absolute/ universal/ paramount footing/ foundation/ basis (of) civil society/ freedom/ democracy/ (a question of) honor/ the rule of law/ the good of our nation/ the will of God/ Bible teaching, (i.e. a question of) the greatest commandments of religion/ moral righteousness/ decency/ conscience/ integrity/ faith/ bond of trust/ accountable(ness);
veracity (probability)
Negative (condemn)
Perjury as wrong/ shame/ trust betrayed/ miserable reality/ misdeed/ misconduct/ (a) reckless/ outrageous/ offensive/ indefensible/ demeaning behavior/ (a) serious/ impeachable offence/ (a) reprehensible and morally repugnant action (which) threatens grave harm (and has) fearful consequences/ (a) corrupt deployment of executive power/ felony/ crime against the state/ (something that) undermines/ is ruinous to/ subverts law/ Government/ (and needs a) harsh response/ fitting punishment (i.e. impeachment vs. mere ‘censure’); (mustn’t have anything to do with) self-interest/ political expedience/ popularity polls/ the relative/ relativism (lying should be followed by) also neg. appreciation (social repentance/ forgiveness/ healing (not, significance) of debate & proceedings however, to the exclusion of as unfair/ partisan/ an effort to impeachment!) discredit and smear/ entrapment/ a sham & a shambles/ mock[ing] fair play/ deny[ing] us the right to vote our conscience (i.e. to merely ‘censure’) Truth as truth-telling/ essence of Perjury as telling lies/ edges of truth/ truth/ light of truth/ a person’s word/ semantic contortions/ deception/ candor/ essential/ critical/ serious/ obfuscation/ false witness/ contempt, (something that) matters/ will disregard for/ bending/ breaking/ prevail/ (that one must) honor; violating/ tampering with (truth formulaic witness oath: “to tell the which is then) eroded; truth, the whole truth and nothing (means) to mislead/ prevaricate/ lie/ but the truth, so help you God” (14 conceal/ deny/ misrepresent/ times) undermine/ subvert/ assault (truth)/ (means) to level with/ be honest; (to be) false/ inconsistent/; (we need) the discovery, confession (leads to truth as) a ‘technicality’/ pall of/ (to) reach/ arrive at/ face up to of doubt (truth)/ Ø tolerance (re: lying) vs. “It’s too simplistic to condemn all lying”)
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Table 3. (continued) Social Esteem: ‘venial’
Positive (admire)
normality (usuality)
have always been (serious about truth); also pos. appreciation of pro-impeachment position as: rational (vs. extremist/ radical);
capacity (ability) tenacity (inclination)
Negative (criticise)
neg. appreciation of Pres.’s perjury as: a big deal (vs. a nonsensical issue (showing) absurdity/ irrationality i.e., lying about an “affair”/ “sex” – “you gotta be kidding!”/ “let’s be serious!” – within common flaws (of) normal Americans/ human(ity) A President’s fitness to hold office; incapacitated himself; (has a) leadership; need to command (trust); diminished conscience; (is) unable to discern the truth from his lies swear/ing, sworn (oath, before God wilfully, knowingly (lying); refused and Country); commitment (to (to admit the truth); calculated, truth); struggle (with truth) designed to thwart (truth & justice); determination (to do harm to others)
such private subjects is tantamount to his having committed “high crimes and misdemeanors” – those, that is, that the US Constitution foresees as being the only admissible grounds for impeachment, but which the House of Representatives has discretionary powers in defining. That is to say that, implicit, but also explicit, in the debate, there is a Foucault-esque discourse of relativity that speakers either distance themselves from, or align themselves with – a point I will come back to below. . Appraisal ‘tokens’ But first a few words about so-called ‘tokens’ of appraisal – these being the product of another essential point in appraisal theory, namely that judgement and appreciation, being institutionalised, and thus rendered ‘field-sensitive’, may also be only indirectly evoked, or implied, in the lexicogrammar of texts. The evoked forms do not need to use overtly evaluative lexis and are seen as being primarily ideational in meaning, but, as I have suggested elsewhere (Miller 2002a), the ‘meaning categories’ involved may need to be expanded to adequately accommodate all apparent resources for speaker evaluation as construed in the parliamentary/congressional debate, but also in the juridical decision, corpora I have been studying. I would also recall at this juncture that the following discussion should also shed light on the hypothesis, put forth above, that all three components of the context of situation would appear to be working cooperatively to motivate the choice of evaluative linguistic forms
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in the corpus. As will now hopefully become clearer, experiential and logical meanings, conventionally presumed to be activated by Field, and even textual ones, typically seen as determined by Mode, also have their parts to play in the intricate weaving of speaker stance. Now, I am offering a single segment only, but one which allows me to point out some of the main ‘token’ types functioning globally in this debate, but also, I propose, in parliamentary/congressional debate in general. Select attendant systems instantiations will be pointed out as well. The segment is the following: (26) Why is it essential for a President to recognize the truth? Consider this question and answer, also from recent months: “Did you authorize the transfer of missile technology to the Red Chinese Army in exchange for campaign contributions?” Answer: Once again, not yes or no, but “No one can prove there was a quid pro quo of missile technology for cash”. Why not a simple yes or no? Could it be for the same reasons as in the case before us today? How can we know? Is the President lying through semantic contortions again, with life and death consequences for millions of Americans, and perhaps even the continued survival of our Nation at stake? The truth is, we don’t know, and we can’t know, because there is no blue dress [. . . ] (my emphasis)
Let us begin with mood systems, i.e. those typical ways of realising interpersonal meanings, which, however, ‘technically’ lie outside of appraisal systems, which concentrate on attitudinal lexis and its link to modality/modulation. Still, having found their deployment vital to speaker stance construction in parliamentary/congressional debate, I would suggest they might be usefully brought back in as instances of Engagement: perspective, or some kind of appraisal ‘token’. Marked mood options in the corpus are indeed exploited, notably the imperative and the interrogative, the latter as instances of ‘rhetorical questions’, a type of interpersonal metaphor whose primary communicative function can often be seen to be, rather than a ‘demand for information’, an implicit giving of it, also often including, however, an implicit demand for ‘goods and services’ of a special, concurring, cognitive variety (Miller 1999, 2002a).7 In this segment, evoked appraisal, and of course an attempt at speaker-hearer alignment, relies heavily on the deployment of such options. The initial interrogative in itself appears to be setting up a reasoning structure (Hasan 1992; Miller 1997) which, besides addressing itself to the question of the “essential” importance of a President’s recognising truth, frames, I propose, the segment’s implied Judge-
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ment, in terms of negative propriety and veracity, on this President’s ability to do so. What follows is then a mental Process in the imperative coercive mood, similarly functioning to focus hearer attention on an analogous instance of this President’s blameworthy reluctance to answer questions plainly. As far as the attendant appraisal systems in play here go, firstly, there is that quoted question and Clinton’s answer that the hearer is required to consider, and which fall into the category of Engagement: attribution. Then, that “simple yes and no” which the speaker would prefer construes Graduation in terms, I believe, of sharpened focus, while, within the final proclamation, “The truth is [. . . ] we can’t know [. . . ]” – another example of Engagement, as negative Proclamation – we have the modal “can’t”, enacting additional speaker Judgement upon the Representatives’ (totally understandable) incapacity to distinguish the President’s truth from his lies. In addition – and here we move into the grammar of the ideational, and in particular of the experiential, meanings component, and thus into theoryapproved ‘tokens’ – this last major clause cited is a relational Process, defining “the truth”. Unsurprisingly, the corpus simply abounds with relational verbs functioning to link “truth” in some way to America: to its first President; its legal system; its philosophy; its ideals, and so on. Often explicitly, though for the most part implicitly, these can be seen to function as reasons/justifications for which evaluations are being made (cf. Miller forthcoming b). Some are also noteworthy for their tenacious tautologies, such as, (27) The truth is the truth, a lie is a lie [. . . ]
but also the relational Process above in segment (26) itself: “The truth is, we don’t know, and we can’t know [. . . ]”, where the implicit Phenomenon that is asserted to be both unknown and unknowable is, essentially, “the truth”! In any case, from one point of view such processes always signal speaker evaluation, because, as Taylor Torsello has noted, since it is invariably a speaker or writer who acts as relater, relational meaning always at least implicitly combines with interpersonal meaning (1996: 172/179). Another Judgement ‘token’ here is, I suggest, the hypotactic causal relation, construed with “because”, between this same major clause, “The truth is, we don’t know, and we can’t know [. . . ]”, and that of the missing blue dress. But this works not just within this clause complex, but across those of the segment as well, extending, that is, to the whole of the cumulatively constructed negative Judgement of the President’s less than total honesty. This discussion has taken me into the grammar of logical meanings, which, I would argue, must also be
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considered, if it is the global patterns of appraisal across texts that ultimately interest us – as it must be. Moreover, instantiations of what are conventionally classified as textual meanings can also be seen to contribute to the construal of speaker evaluation, as the full meaning of words in use relies to a great extent on the relations woven textually, but also intertextually, among them (Bayley 1997, 1999; Miller 2002a and b, forthcoming b and c). Thus, other instantiations of evaluative meanings in this segment can be said to include the lexical relation of quasiantonymy obtaining between “truth” and both “lying” and “semantic contortions”, this last also enacting a high force scaling according to the graduation system. In addition, I suggest that the several instances of grammatical parallelism (Jakobson 1960, 1966) in this segment alone are further illustrations of Graduation at work, grammatically functioning to intensify or amplify the speaker’s (at least ‘rhetorical’) commitment to his evaluations. Parallelism is evidenced here in the repetition of the key word “truth”, of Participants “President” and “we”, of mental Process “know”, Verbiage “yes or no”, and simply in the reiterated interrogative mood structures themselves. Working as textual ‘token’ of appraisal is also Thematic Progression, which, due to its vital role in enacting point of view, is also an important appraisal resource (Martin 1995b; Taylor Torsello 1992). Though other segments would perhaps be more illustrative of the phenomenon, even here we can see how the Topical themes of the marked mood options locally construct this speaker’s perhaps only pseudo-perplexed perspective – “Why”, “Consider”, “Did you”, “No one”, “Why not”, “Could it”, “How”, “Is the President” – finishing up on his main point: the truth, which is then, presumably with at least a touch of irony, linked to the (in)famous blue dress. Now, humour, irony, and sarcasm are also culture specific meanings which construe evaluation and, as Martin (2000: 164) points out, can be usefully explored as discordant couplings, either between appraisal systems themselves, or between appraisal selections and what is being appraised. In this case, I believe we have an example principally of the latter. There is, that is, a distinct semantic clash in segment (26) between the speaker’s [+ serious] appraisal of the impossibility of ‘our’ knowing “the truth” of the President’s assertions vis-à-vis “[. . . ] the transfer of missile technology to the Red Chinese Army in exchange for campaign contributions”, on one hand – and, on the other, the (rather pitiable and pitiful) object which is then offered as the logical-semantic cause for this ignorance, because unable to function as ‘proof ’ of lie-telling as it did in the Lewinski affair: the tell-tale dress.
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Of course, global meanings are just that, global, and in the circumscribed case I am analysing but one small chunk of text. I can claim, however, that all of the too few ways of saying and meaning I have cursorily indicated here do work together with others across the mini-corpus, helping to construct not only patterns of negative speaker appraisal, but also the discourse of the absolute (in conflict with the relative) nature of ‘truth’, which functions intra- , as well as inter-textually, and to which I now turn by way of closing.
. Truth, Justice, and competing discourses I will pass, however, by way of those dictionary and thesaurus meanings of truth, but also justice, which correspond to those principally enacted in the corpus. These are listed in Table 4 below. It is not my intention to comment all of these, but I would emphasise as especially relevant to the debate what the synonym section of Table 4 indicates, i.e., that “truth is a general term ranging in meaning from a transcendent idea to an indication of conformity with fact and of avoidance of error, misrepresentation and falsehood”. I would also stress the most interesting of the diverse classifications drawn by Roget’s Thesaurus, i.e. “truth” as probity, or virtue – not least because it is within this same class and section that various senses of ‘truth’ and ‘justice’, but also ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, ‘duty’ and ‘dueness’, and ‘legality’ and ‘illegality’, semantically come together. Moreover, the same class also plays host to ‘truth’ in the sense of ‘orthodoxy’, another major meaning unmistakably construed by means of Judgement selections, as we have seen. Then, the select meanings of “justice” that emerge should be noted as well. Although the specialised, legalistic sense is the principal one, even a quick glance reveals a certain degree of semantic overlap with “truth”, as indeed is found in the debate, in which the two words actually collocate 14 times. I will offer only the most remarkable instances, those that also function, clearly if implicitly, as ideational ‘tokens’ of [+ negative] speaker Judgement of the President’s behaviour. In the first occurrence, the abstract agency of “justice” is made to depend on the co-presence of “the truth”: (28) If the truth is absent, justice cannot prevail for any of us.
In the next two instances, the very existence of “justice” is made to depend on the co-existence of “truth”:
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Table 4. The semantics of truth (and justice) WEBSTER’S THIRD NEW INTERNATIONAL DICTIONARY truth 1 a archaic: the quality or state of being faithful: fidelity, constancy [. . . ] b: sincerity in character, action, and speech: genuineness in expressing feeling and belief: truthfulness, honesty [. . . ] 2: something that is true or held to be true: as a (1): the real state of affairs: something that is the case: fact [. . . ] (3) often cap: a fundamental or spiritual reality conceived of as being partly or wholly transcendent of perceived actuality and experience [. . . ] (4): the world of a particular person or in a particular manner [. . . ] b (1): a true relation or account [. . . ] (2): a judgement, proposition, statement or idea that accords with fact or reality, is logically or intuitively necessary, or follows by sound reasoning from established or necessary truths [. . . ] (3) truism, platitude [. . . ] (4): a notion having wide and uncritical acceptance among a group or in a field and liable to be proved false [. . . ] c: the body of true statements and propositions; also: the body of statement and propositions accepted, studied, or proved in a field [. . . ] syn veracity, verity, verisimilitude: truth is a general term ranging in meaning from a transcendent idea to an indication of conformity with fact and of avoidance of error, misrepresentation and falsehood [. . . ] (my emphasis) veracity commonly indicates rigid and unfailing adherence to, observance of, or respect for truth [. . . ] (my emphasis) verity usu. Designates the quality of a state or thing in being true or entirely in accordance with factual reality or with what should be so regarded; sometimes the word designates that which is marked by lasting, ultimate transcendent value [. . . ] (my emphasis) ROGET’S THESAURUS Truth as Veracity: Class IV, INTELLECT, division (ii): communication of ideas, Sec. II: Modes of Communication Truth as Probity, or virtue: Class VI, AFFECTIONS, Sec. IV: Moral, sub-sec. 3: conditions Truth as Orthodoxy: Class VI, AFFECTIONS, Sec. V: Religious, sub-sec. 2: doctrines. WEBSTER’S THIRD NEW INTERNATIONAL DICTIONARY justice 2 a (1): the quality or characteristic of being just, impartial, or fair: fairness, integrity, honesty [. . . ] b [. . . ] (2) in Aristotelianism : the practice of virtue towards others [. . . ] c (2): that quality of conforming to positive law and also to divine or natural law 3: conformity to truth, fact or reason: correctness, rightfulness [. . . ]
(29) Mr. Speaker, there can be no justice without the truth. (30) Without truth, there is no justice.
My point here being merely that the apparently constrained meaning of ‘truth’ in the debate does indeed range (and not always discretely) from: a [+ ambiguous] transcendent idea, to what would philosophically be an analytic truth, to
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(much more rarely however) what Toulmin (1958) calls a substantial, fieldspecific truth. As we have seen, pro-impeachment speakers tend to strongly classify and frame “truth” (also with the deictic of definiteness “the”, recall) as a necessary and/or metaphysical absolute. Indeed, the relativity of truth as being anathema to the US worldview is explicitly denounced in seven different interventions. As one speaker puts it, again by means of marked Mood options: (31) [. . . ] are we a Nation based on truth or a nation based on moral relativism? This, I think, is the nub of the question. Does the truth matter or is everything relative? [. . . ]
Unsurprisingly, anti-impeachment speakers (roughly equal to those who are pro-‘censure’) opt to loosen the boundaries and argue for distinctions, both in degree and kind, vis-à-vis “truth”, but also with reference to the “high crimes and misdemeanors” the President is charged with – since it is only if judged to be guilty of these that one may be impeached. Indeed, inherent in the Constitutional Classifier “high”, I suggest, there is a principle of relativity that, as is ‘natural’, those who judge the President as deserving impeachment would subvert, and those who prefer ‘censure’ to impeachment would enshrine. But even the Declaration of Independence, twice explicitly cited in the debate with reference to its well-known proclamation “We hold these truths to be selfevident”, appears to imply, simply by its use of the cataphoric demonstrative “these”, that some “truths” are not, or are less so. And if we just stop to recall – as one speaker explicitly does in a pitch for “one standard of justice that applies equally to all” – that the first of these so-called self-evident truths is “that all men are created equal”, and at the same time, however, recall that the Founding Fathers (also important grammatical participants in the debate) succeeded in maintaining the legality of the practice of slavery in the US Constitution by referring therein to slaves as “other persons”, then even this Locke-ian, intuitively-grasped ‘truth’ fast slips into the shades of indeterminacy and relativity as well. Which brings me back to where I started: the myths of George Washington and Superman, or “truth, justice and the American way”, and to rightly making the culture-specific, ideological nature of this speaker’s positioning explicit, if, that is, it is not already. Which in turn brings me to another story, set ‘way back’ in the microcosm of traditional small town America in the 60s, where my local jump (skipping) rope crowd was, albeit unconsciously, upsetting, or at least injecting a healthy dose of irony into, these myths by means of a transgressive
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little rhyme to which we jumped. It went like this: “Little George Washington never told a lie, so he ran around the corner – and he stole a cherry pie”.8
Notes . In line with SFL conventions, capital letters are used for linguistic systems. . Due to the relative newness of this work and therefore to its still being less than ‘common’ knowledge, the editor of this volume has requested the illustrated outline of the systems that this paper attempts to provide. I am of course fully aware that the fundamentals of such an overview can be had elsewhere, in particular in Martin (2000) and Peter White’s web site (see references). It should also be said that much more work has been done on the modelling of the systems, especially by White, on Engagement, both in the latest version of his site and in White (2003a and 2003b). No effort, however, has been made to re-write this paper with that new work in mind (but see, e.g., Miller forthcoming c). . The corpus is described in some detail in the paper by Bayley, Bevitori and Zoni in this same volume. . For those readers whose memories may need prodding: the case involved purportedly improper sexual conduct with Ms. Lewinski on the part of the President, but more relevantly, his alleged ‘cover up’ of the details of that behaviour. . For a discussion of the individual vs. institutional tenor of judicial discourse, see Maley (1989, 1994); Miller (1998a, 2002b), as well as Vasta, in Douthwaite and Vasta (2001). . Here I refer to the evidence of the visual semiotic which allowed us to witness, in most cases, speakers’ ‘reading’ of their texts, or at least their consultation of copious notes. A distinct minority did refer to previous speakers’ texts as well, but even such references were apparently the result of additions to these pre-scripted texts/notes. . White’s most recent work (2003a and b) does indeed include the rhetorical question as Engagement resource, as had been suggested in Miller (1999 and 2002a). . Following once again Martin (2000: 164), the irony of this ‘jingle’ consists in, I suggest, a clash between polarities in the appraisal systems at work here themselves: (1) implied positive Judgement within the category of Social Sanction: veracity in clause 1 (Little George Washington never told a lie) vs. (2) implied negative Judgement within Social Sanction: ethics/propriety in clause 3 (and he stole a cherry pie). Not insignificant is also that enhancing conjunction of consequence “so” – the irony (and cynicism?) it construes being not dissimilar I think to that of the opening clause-complex of D. H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover: “Ours is a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically”.
References Adams Karen L. (1999). Deliberate dispute and the construction of oppositional stance. Pragmatics, 9(2), 231–248.
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Antaki, Charles & Leudar, Ivan (2001). Recruiting the record: using the opponents’ exact words in Parliamentary argumentation. Text, 21(4), 467–484. Bakhtin, Michail M. (1981). Discourse in the Novel. In M. Holquist (Ed.), The Dialogic Imagination: four essays by M. M. Bakhtin (pp. 259–422). Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Bakhtin, Michail M. (1984). Discourse in Dostoevsky. In C. Emerson (Ed. and Trans.), Problems of Dostoevsky’s poetics (pp. 181–269). Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Bayley, Paul (1997). Language and the law: arguments about ethnicity. In G. E. Bussi, M. Bondi, & F. Gatta (Eds.), Understanding Argument: La logica informale del discorso (pp. 89–103). Bologna: CLUEB. Bayley, Paul (1999). Lexis in British parliamentary debate. In J. Verschueren (Ed.), Language and Ideology: Selected Papers from the 6th International Pragmatics Conference, Vol. I (pp. 43–55). Antwerp: International Pragmatics Association. Bloom, Harold (1992). The American Religion. New York: Simon and Schuster. Douthwaite, John & Vasta, Nicoletta (2001). Supreme revolutions: equity, symmetry and argument in End-of-Life Decisions. Textus, 14(2), 547–587. [G. Cortese & Dell Hymes (Eds.), ‘Languaging’ in and across Human Groups: Perspectives on difference and asymmetry.] Eco, Umberto (1979). The Role of the Reader. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Foucault, Michel (1972). The Archaeology of Knowledge. London: Tavistock. Foucault, Michel (1980). Power/Knowledge [C. Gordon (Ed.)]. London: Harvester. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1978). Language as Social Semiotic: the social interpretation of language and meaning. London: Edward Arnold. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1989 [1985]). Spoken Language and Written Language. Australia: Deakin University Press; Oxford: Oxford University Press. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1992). New ways of meaning: the challenge to applied linguistics. In M. Putz (Ed.), Thirty Years of Linguistic Evolution (pp. 59–95). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1994 [1985]). An Introduction to Functional Grammar. London: Edward Arnold. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1996). On grammar and grammatics. In R. Hasan, C. Cloran, & D. Butt (Eds.), Functional Descriptions: Theory and Practice (pp. 1–38). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Hasan, Ruqaiya (1978). Text in the systemic-functional model. In W. U. Dressler (Ed.), Current Trends in Text Linguistics (pp. 228–246). Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Hasan, Ruqaiya (1992). Rationality in everyday talk: from process to system. In J. Svartvik (Ed.), Directions in Corpus Linguistics: proceedings of the Nobel symposium 82, Stockholm 4–8 August 1991 (pp. 257–307). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Jakobson, Roman (1960). Closing statement: Linguistics and poetics. In T. A. Sebeok (Ed.), Style in Language (pp. 350–377). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Jakobson, Roman (1966). Grammatical parallelism and its Russian facet. Language, 42(2), 399–429.
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Lemke, Jay L. (1990). Technical discourse and technocratic ideology. In M. A. K. Halliday, J. Gibbons, & H. Nicholas (Eds.), Learning, Keeping and Using Language: selected papers from the 8th AILA world congress of applied linguistics, Vol. II (pp. 435–460). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Lemke, Jay L. (1992). Interpersonal meaning in discourse: value orientations. In M. Davies & L. Ravelli (Eds.), Advances in Systemic Linguistics (pp. 82–104). London and New York: Pinter. Lemke, Jay L. (1995). Intertextuality and text semantics. In P. Fries & M. Gregory (Eds.), Discourse in Society: systemic functional perspectives (pp. 85–114). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Maley, Yon (1989). Interpersonal meanings in judicial discourse. Occasional Papers in Systemic Linguistics, 3, 69–87. Maley, Yon (1994). The language of the law. In J. Gibbons (Ed.), Language and the Law (pp. 11–50). London, New York: Longman. Malinowski, Bronislaw (1935). An ethnographic theory of language. In Coral Gardens and their Magic, Vol. 2, Part 4. London: Allen and Unwin. Martin, James R. (1995a). Reading positions/positioning readers: judgement in English. Prospect: a journal of Australian TESOL, 10(2), 27–37. Martin, James R. (1995b). More than what the message is about: English Theme. In M. Ghadessy (Ed.), Thematic Development in English Texts (pp. 223–258). London and New York: Pinter. Martin, James R. (1999). Grace: The logogenesis of freedom. Discourse Studies, 1(1), 29–56. Martin, James R. (2000). Beyond exchange: appraisal systems in English. In S. Hunston & G. Thompson (Eds.), Evaluation in Text (pp. 142–175). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Martin, James R. & Rose, David (2003). Working with Discourse. London: Continuum. Miller, Donna R. (1996). Ratio vs. oratio, an excursion into the rhetoric of anti-rhetoric. In D. R. Miller & N. Vasta (Eds.), Il discorso persuasivo [Quaderni Linguistici del Dipartimento di Scienze Politiche dell’Università di Trieste, n. 1] (pp. 75–110). Padova: Cedam. Miller, Donna R. (1997). Reasoning Europe: alternative political reality construction, or the ‘stealing back and forth of symbols’, in British Commons Debates on Maastricht. In D. R. Miller & N. Vasta (Eds.), La costruzione linguistica della comunicazione politica [Quaderni Linguistici del Dipartimento di Scienze Politiche dell’Università di Trieste, n. 2] (pp. 93–135). Padova: Cedam. Miller, Donna R. (1998). Just how cruel is ‘cruel’? Notes on the Anglo-American history of an epithet. In C. Taylor Torsello, L. Haarman, & L. Gavioli (Eds.), British/American variation in language, theory and methodology: The Anglo-American Centaur (pp. 169– 185). Bologna: CLUEB. Miller, Donna R. (1999). Meaning up for grabs: value orientation patterns in British parliamentary debate on Europe. In J. Verschueren (Ed.), Language and Ideology: Selected Papers from the 6th International Pragmatics Conference, Vol. I (pp. 386–404). Antwerp: International Pragmatics Association.
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Miller, Donna R. (2002a). Ways of meaning ‘yea’ and ‘nay’ in parliamentary debate as register: a cost-benefit analysis. In M. Bignami, G. Iamartino, & C. Pagetti (Eds.), L’economia della letteratura, lingua e cultura nei paesi anglofoni (pp. 220–233). Milan: Unicopli. Miller, Donna R. (2002b). Multiple judicial opinions as specialized sites of engagement: conflicting paradigms of valuation and legitimation in Bush v. Gore 2000. In M. Gotti, D. Heller, & M. Dossena (Eds.), Conflict and Negotiation in Specialized Texts [Linguistic Insights Series 3] (pp. 119–141). Bern: Peter Lang. Miller, Donna R. (forthcoming a). Packaging the Presidency: electoral texts in the cultural context of the American dream. In N. Vasta (Ed.), Forms of Promotion: Texts, contexts and cultures. Bologna: Pàtron. Miller, Donna R. (forthcoming b). From concordance to text: appraising ‘giving’ in Alma Mater donation requests. In G. Thompson & S. Hunston (Eds.), System and Corpus: exploring connections. London: Equinox. Miller, Donna R. (forthcoming c). ‘. . . to meet our common challenge’: engagement strategies of alignment and alienation in current US international discourse. Textus, 18(1). [M. Gotti & C. Candlin (Eds.), Intercultural Discourse in Domain-specific English.] Roget’s Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases (1962). [R. A. Dutch (Ed.)]. New York: Dell Publishing Co., Inc. Sornig, Karl (1989). Some remarks on linguistic strategies of persuasion. In R. Wodak (Ed.), Language, Power and Ideology: Studies in Political Discourse (pp. 95–113). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Taylor Torsello, Carol (1992). How Woolf creates point of view in To the Lighthouse. Occasional Papers in Systemic Linguistics, 5, 159–174. Taylor Torsello, Carol (1996). On the logical metafunction. Functions of Language, 3(2), 151– 183. Thompson, Geoff (1999). Acting the part. Lexico-grammatical choices and contextual factors. In M. Ghadessy (Ed.), Text and Context in Functional Linguistics (pp. 101–124). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Toulmin, Stephen E. (1958). The Uses of Argument. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Van Dijk, Teun A. (1997). Discourse as interaction in society. In T. A. Van Dijk (Ed.), Discourse as Social Interaction. Discourse Studies: a multidisciplinary introduction, Vol. 2 (pp. 1–37). London: Sage. Walton, Douglas (1992). The Place of Emotion in Argument. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press. Webster’s Third New International Dictionary of the English Language [Vols. I–III] (1981). Philippines: Merriam-Webster Inc.; Chicago etc.: Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc. White, Peter R. R. (1999). Telling Media Tales: the News Story as Rhetoric. PhD Thesis, University of Sydney. White, Peter R. R. (2002 [1999]). Appraisal: the language of attitudinal evaluation and intersubjective stance. http://www.grammatics.com/appraisal
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White, P. R. R. (2003a). Beyond modality and hedging: a dialogic view of the language of intersubjective stance. Text, 23(2), 259–284. [M. Hacken-Horarik & J. R. Martin (Eds.), Negotiating Heteroglossia: social perspectives on evaluation.] White, P. R. R. (2003b). Appraisal. In J. Verschueren, J.-O. Östman, J. Blommaert, & C. Bulcaen (Eds.), The Handbook of Pragmatics Online. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong Mapping histories, contexts, conflicts Teresa Carbó
.
Introduction
The present state of the art in discourse analysis and neighbouring areas provides ground, I am convinced, for some hope regarding our (analysts’) capacity to understand what is going on in this neo-liberal world of ours (theirs, in fact), and, by the same principle, it feeds a reasonable expectation of us being able to produce some sound strategic interventions in certain social, political and economic domains and practices that need to be changed (or rather, demolished). Contemporary developments in discourse analysis, in a disciplinary horizon of increasing critical disposition, and the potentialities it has exhibited for (more) far-reaching descriptions and interpretations, can be usefully applied in the present global context that is fraught with situations of glaring injustice and an ever-increasing concentration of power and wealth in the hands of the mighty. Thus, it might not be irrelevant to argue that whatever amount of theoretical work is devoted to methods of analysis, it can be taken as a form of political struggle, of great import as an issue of research ethics and scientific commitment. Discourse analysis, as a social science that is based (primarily) on linguistic description, can be seen as well within a hermeneutic perspective, and sharing many of its forms of practice. If we adopt the methodological distinction that Habermas (1990: 41–42, n. 8) draws between sciences “that gain access to their object domain by understanding what is said to someone and those which do not”, discourse analysis is clearly a hermeneutic discipline. Other authors hold this view on the issue of method, and on the inevitable expansion of it over the direct territory of human action. Speaking about a research project
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of ethnographic orientation on the social organization of knowledge (news in a newspaper), Dorothy Smith (1993: 86; original emphasis) recounts: “In the course of our inquiry, the problematic of our research also became a problem for our research”. A similarly crucial question to approaches that hold an empirico-critical disposition towards documented social forms of language use was formulated by Michel Pecheux (Hak & Helsloot 1995: 241; original emphasis) in one of his last works (written in 1983). Recapitulating the cycle of (mostly) French discourse analysis along three stages, he closes the review asking: “On what conditions is it possible (or impossible) for an interpretation to make an intervention? Can we (re-)define a ‘politics’ of discourse analysis?” Disciplines such as discourse analysis, therefore, have to address, even if minimally, some such complicated theoretical issues as the process of datageneration and the part that the analyst’s perspective plays in it. Kenneth L. Pike (1977: 4–5; original distancing marks) puts the notion of perspective thus clearly: “The observer becomes an element of the theory; no fact is treated without reference to him. But since the observer can change his viewpoint, modifying the manner in which he looks at the data impinging on him, so also the theory itself must have multiple starting points once the observer is part of the ‘given’ ”. It is impossible to develop here all the theoretical implications that can be derived from such a precise and provocative formulation. In this case, and for discourse analysis, I only want to argue that there exists a trend of disciplinary reflexivity that pulls towards a systematic dénouement in method and analytic practices, to which I warmly subscribe (Carbó 1984, 1996, 2001). It is indeed necessary to work against what Blommaert (1997: 127), in a particularly insightful book, has detected as “the main objects of forgetting in discourse analysis; broadly speaking, all issues related to the history of the data”. In this respect, Habermas (1990: 41–42, n. 8) states the following: “[A]ll sciences have to address problems of interpretation at the metatheoretical level. Yet only those with a hermeneutic dimension of research face problems of interpretation at the level of data generation”, with the further precision: “generating data is a more theory-laden process than normal interpretation” (Idem: 39). And, I add, powerful indeed is the recognition effect that I experience when I listen to Dorothy Smith (1993: 91) say: “The issue is to [. . . ] discover how to take up methods of inquiry in which the method itself is explicated as an integral part of the inquiry”. Then, if it could be granted, at least for the time being, that analysis is practice and that method is crucial for politics (not only in the intangible realm of research), I would like to start right away with some questions that, pertain-
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ing to the linguistic tradition at large, can be read in terms of their social and political implications. How are linguistic approaches to give account of the cognitive and social dimensions which are assumed to be acting on discursive (verbal) processes at their constitutive level? And how can some sets (items/‘chunks’) of information from such sources be fed into the analytic dispositif, in a structured, not haphazard fashion? How do environments (in the extended sense of the word) act upon discursive processes, and how do these, in their turn, actively trans/form ‘given’ conditions? How are texts (as evidence of discursive processes) outlined, defined, established, modified, acted upon and related to contexts? How is the cumulative (and not linear) effect of time on it all (both small events and longterm historical cycles) to be integrated into the analysis, thus rendering it more fruitful for specific questions of description and interpretation? Since it is obvious that the following pages cannot possibly answer those questions, I’ll state my only aim here: to focus some issues and generate additional questions.
. Parliamentary discourse: Contradictions and struggle Parliamentary discourse, in particular, poses an interesting challenge for discourse analysis, both from the point of view of its conceptualization and of the production of accounts that manage to capture some of its characteristic complexity. As discursive institutions within given social and political regimes, parliaments (and in general, ideological and political practices and apparatuses) are sites (cross-roads) for specific interplays of historical determinations of a structural sort, thus providing ample occasion for the analysis of signifying processes as they express and constitute certain strategic spheres of social life. The complex character of parliamentary practice, its legal, juridical, and discursive nature, is sustained by the occurrence of extremely subtle, competent or even virtuoso discursive performances on the part of specific parliamentary actors (legislators) within the prevailing force-correlations in each occasion. As a genre, it is predominantly polemical and argumentative, and it attests the occurrence of both written, monologic, authored interventions, and oral, faceto-face, sequential, multiply-voiced interaction. It can also be seen as a territory that is explicitly and formally presided over by a set of values wherein faith in rational argumentation and counter-argumentation, order, clarity, justice and equality are assumed to prevail (along the lines of Habermas’ standards of rationality, taken to be “binding on all parties”, 1990: 31). Actual practice
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of parliamentary operations, as could be expected, shows varied degrees of compliance with such elevated principles. So, parliamentary discourse analysis sheds a particularly valuable light on the variety, extension and flexibility of the methodological resources that we must employ for the kind of semiotic work that we are interested in: at the interface of political, cognitive and linguistic processes. If we are to (attempt to) meet the inexhaustible complexity of our object of research, we need a sort of multipurpose semiotic ‘kit’, with various sets of analytic practices or problem-solving-devices for description, in hermeneutic territory, and also with interpretive capacity as to the social implications of human (verbal) actions that take place in discursive scenes, where meaning is actively negotiated along differentials of power among the participants. Besides, legislative practice is not only complex, but also regularly complicated as well. Conflict, in fact, is a common feature in parliamentary discourse, something that is attested by the other contributions in this same book, where confronting forces can be seen at work around contemporary ‘high-risk’ issues, such as the Kosovo war, the Gulf crisis, a presidential impeachment, work and unemployment, asylum seekers, insults, threats, fears and interruptions. My own experience of parliamentary discourse analysis in a long cycle of (very) successful domination regime (post-revolutionary Mexico in the XXth century), is one of a discursive practice which is literally plagued by anomalies, ‘exceptions’, minor (and not so minor) enigmas, apart from noise (in most senses of the term), contradictions and misunderstandings. Régine Robin (1984: 50) has insightfully remarked on the occurrence of interruptions, disturbances and incidents of various sorts, including gaffes and minor scandals that, she argues, “punctuate” the whole scenification in a parliamentary committee session. Also Michel Pecheux, when first introducing some basic concepts of Automatic Discourse Analysis in 1969, ponders on interruptions and their pragmatic status in connection to plain acts of violence. “What is significant”, he asks, “when, for instance, ‘anarquists’ hurl bombs into the parliament: is it a symbolic gesture signifying an extremely brutal intervention or an attempt at physical destruction directed against a political figure who was judged harmful to their cause?” (Hak & Helsloot 1995: 81; original emphasis). Within the parliamentary scene, he observes, a full system of non-linguistic signs is active, deploying “applause, laughter, uproar, booing and heckling, which allow the audience to make indirect interventions” (Idem). The whole mechanism of interruptions as-something-other-than-overlaps was already clearly assessed in this early work: “A deputy (. . . ) may be interrupted by an adversary who, because he occupies a different position (. . . ), may try to draw the orator on to
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his own ground, or may force him to answer a question on a subject he finds offensive” (Idem). At the time, H. Sacks, E. Schegloff and G. Jefferson had not yet published their text on conversational analysis. When they did, five years afterwards (1974), Michel Pecheux and the French group were already well advanced in their (supposedly only temporary) disinterest in oral, online discursive production. A true pity because also Sacks et al paid attention to debates, recognizing in them a well defined form of interaction. Structurally, debate occupies the opposite pole of conversation in the linear array of systems where only one party speaks at a time (Sacks, Schegloff, & Jefferson 1974: 729–731). Only a few, spare indications, and the full descriptive elements for debate as a speech-event of institutional nature are there. Thanks to that foundational piece of work (a virtuoso display of intelligence and order), the disciplinary scene was set in a way that I would also be able to do some research on interruptions (Carbó 1992), in Mexican parliamentary discourse from an interactional, conversational, point of view. I found interruptions to be, in the case of this political regime, both a cohesive resource for the production of an appropriate ritual scenification of debates as polemical and argumentative institutional speech-events, and also a useful strategy for a true application of the principle of “equalization of turns among potential speakers” (Sacks et al. 1974: 730) on the part of disfavoured speakers in the context of frictions and confrontations among groups within the Chamber. So, and since there exists an intense and not always predictable interaction between institutional forces that tend towards stability and economic, political and ideological domination, versus resistance, struggle, and ingenuity in the use of available resources for the deployment of opposition, it is clear, we can assume, that parliamentary discourse analysis has to be able to face in its object the occurrence of assiduous disturbances, divisions, (overt or covert) fissures and confrontations, that keep active most of the time. The study of parliamentary discourse has to be methodologically able to deal with all these. Therefore, it is advisable, I think, to reflect more on the importance of “disruptive events” within this sort of discursive realization of meaning/acting potentials. No matter how important or visible the regularities, we should not let ourselves be trapped or captivated by them. Such is the expectable work of the institutional genre, while generating the ongoing process of official manifestations of dominant ideology, whereas the impact of disruptions on structures, with institutions and their ‘normalcy’ being always at risk and under pressure, may be particularly illuminating if we conceive of parliamentary practice as a site for the emergence and processing of more-than-local instances of resistance and
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conflict (with varied outcomes). Even Habermas (1990: 41–42, n. 8; my emphasis) grants that what most “often triggers hermeneutic efforts in everyday life is the breakdown of routine communication”. Within the English-speaking tradition of critical discourse analysis, the presence of ‘difficulties’ can be well understood in the light of Hodge’s and Kress’ (1988: 3) concept of ideological complex: “a functionally related set of contradictory versions of the world, coercively imposed by one social group on behalf of its own distinctive interests, or subversively offered (sic) by another social group in attempts of resistance in its own interests”. “Since ideological complexes exploit contradictory semiotic forms as a means of resolving contradictions in attitudes and behaviours”, proceed the authors, “they cannot function successfully on their own”. A higher level system is required: that of logonomic rules, which “rest on a set of classifications of people, topics and circumstances which are the result of contestation over long periods, but which ultimately derive from the ruling ideas of the dominant group” (4). However, there exists the concrete possibility of resisting and subverting logonomic regimes, since these are also sites of struggle. It is a (postulated) fact that “domains of exception can be constructed where the structure and rules are weakened or inverted, to create antisocieties, antilanguages and antiworlds” (Hodge & Kress 1988: 267). The concept of ideological complex is theoretically plausible and descriptively productive. Its formulation gets close to some statements of the materialistic approach in social theory that was instrumental to the French project of discourse analysis in the late sixties. However, it is not set within a conceptual framework that aims to capture the structural nature of the divisions in contemporary capitalist societies (be they either labour and class or the simple +/– opposition between knowledge or technology and the lack of them, in countries as well as in aggregates of individuals), and the extremely powerful implications that such a divisory line entails for the whole historic fabric of social life. Nor does it situate the non-personal character of “contradictions in attitudes and behaviours”. Notwithstanding this, I would like to argue that, acutely aware as Hodge and Kress are of contradictions in real life, the authors do refer to the need of “active enforcers with means of communication and enforcement” (266); i.e., the backup of sheer force (the monopoly of violence) within self-defined legitimate political institutions and regimes. These authors are not alone in their critical disposition towards what used to be called ideological state apparatuses. In a 1981 text, Dorothy Smith (1993: 92), while she derives her method for sociological description from Marx, shows us, in a beautifully abstract mode, how to learn from his writings the implementation
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of methods that “serve to articulate the work we do at the micro-sociological level to the social relations of the larger social and economic organization of capitalism”. In the French tradition of Automatic Discourse Analysis, whose putative founding-father came to be, paradoxically, Zellig Harris (only for linguistic description, and then for a purely experimental formalization of text analysis), there had been some ground-breaking theoretical work done. When in 1969 Michel Pecheux discusses the implications of the Saussurean concept of institution (or rather, its radical exclusion), he produces some concepts that have proven foundational for the field of discourse studies, and which sustain my own approach to this analytic endeavour (Hak & Helsloot 1995: 78–82). Apart from the fact that doing research on signifying processes was for that group of militants a programmatic form of struggle against ideological domination, as it was verbally produced within prevalent discursive formations, an important portion of their specific merit lies in the clarity of it all. Discursive formations, interdiscours, conditions of production and the way in which these preside over non-biographical subjects of speech, their respective positions and reciprocal imaginary anticipations, within given situations, all this set of concepts is well worth (re) reading today. As to his aim, and the limits set to it from the start within a precise and vast conceptual framework, I would like to make the following, extended, quotation: It is not my intention to outline a sociology of the conditions of production of discourse, but to define theoretical elements which will allow us to conceptualize discursive processes in their generality. As a general proposition, we can say that linguistic phenomena of dimensions larger than the sentence can indeed be considered as a ‘functioning’, provided that we immediately add that their functioning is not entirely linguistic in the current sense of that term, and that it can only be defined if we refer to the mechanism which gives the protagonist and the object of discourse their respective positions. We have termed this mechanism the ‘conditions of production’ of discourse. (Hak & Helsloot 1995: 81–82; original emphasis)
Along similar lines, Smith (1993: 90) disclaims her work to be “aiming at the construction of a domain of social facts as the grounding of a generalizing social science, whether its aim is law or invariant features”. And others as well. In the revised version of Language as Ideology (1993: 209; my emphasis), Hodge and Kress offer the following recommendation and caution against (non-situated) rules: “[An] analysis that identifies a particular rule or regularity also needs always to specify who uses (or is used by) it and under what circumstances (context, position, genre)”. Therefore, it is all the better perhaps
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that we should be interested, instead, in a few perplexing instances of historical particularities concerning, for example, turn-allocation procedures in some obscure debate session in a not-yet-post-modern Latin-American country.
. Time, history, context Because the truly demanding side of discourse analysis, be it parliamentary or other, is that all the ‘mess’ occurs in time, or rather, unfolds (itself) along permanently shifting (and very delicately balancing) force-correlations between actors and parties, which are not necessarily only two in number. Time, the dynamic condition of it all, has to be ingrained in the analysis in adequate empirical terms or, at least, in the (attained) partial renderings of (some of) the picture. If processes are observed in closer detail, more expanded historical cycles and deliberately rotating angles of observation, it might be the case that there will not be phenomena such as ‘anomalies’ or ‘disturbances’, but rather the exercise of ultra-fine reciprocally coordinated reactions, or the application of the full (though implicit) set of rules of possible (i.e., in the end, admissible) ways of saying/doing things in that set of conditions of discursive production along a certain period. This same idea of various modes of observation can be understood in the light of what Jakobson (1981: 753) describes in 1935 (in a lecture on the Russian Formalist school) as the existence of a point of view which, “in contrast to one-sided monism or one-sided pluralism, combines an awareness of the multiple functions of a poetic work [or discursive realization], with a comprehension of its integrity”. Multiplicity and integrity together, in the method as such, constitute a big demand in terms of what I have called elsewhere “analytic delicacy” (Carbó 1996: 127), an operational ability to listen to, read and re-read, (try to) understand, apprehend, handle, from various perspectives and points of view, and with a delicate touch, the course of some intriguing discursive configurations (Carbó 2001: 68–69). A case in favour of heeding history (as extended cycles) comes to the point concerning the present state of Mexican politics in 2002: approaching the end of a wild (and immensely corrupt) implementation of what the World Bank calls structural economic reforms (i.e., the unfettered sale to the (?)best bidder of all state-owned and laboriously-erected complexes of national infrastructure, the bulk of non-renewable resources, basically oil, and the majority of urban services), in the name of globalization and (neo?)liberalism, completely forsaken the last remains of what used to define itself as a (post)revolutionary regime in structural alliance with peasants and industrial workers. All this
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happens today, with the federal government in the hands of an old-dated opposition from the right. Yes indeed: after nearly eighty years of monopoly of institutional and political power in the national and regional levels, a different party from the (over) institutionalized revolutionary one (the Spanish acronym is PRI, or the rather unbelievably named Party of the Institutional Revolution), obtained the Presidency of Mexico in the elections of July 2000. The immensely tall, boot-wearing former Coca-Cola EO, Vicente Fox, has managed to produce an upheaval in the long-established Mexican scene, thanks, at least in part, to his capacity to represent himself as the candidate for change. The event is not explicable without a long enough history of political activity and alertness, not personal, but on the part of the socioeconomic sector he claims to represent and for whose political support and party-structure he applied and prevailed, not being, as he was not, a long-time affiliate. This is the PAN (Partido de Acción Nacional “National Action Party”), founded in 1939. The original nucleus was made up of some early disaffected members of the ruling elite, prominent among them José Vasconcelos, who had been in the 1920s the first post-revolutionary Minister of Education, and the true founder of the country’s extensive public education system. The PAN also congregated traditional, catholic, conservative, social and political sectors, displeased by the regime’s radical rhetoric against religious education at elementary-school level, as well as incensed by the (scandalously) uneven distribution of post-war benefits. Afterwards, important organizations of businessmen of regressive inclinations in all realms of social life (except economics) joined the party and gave it much of its present momentum. And things do indeed connect, because this same party, the PAN, was already active in the national political scene on the occasion of a parliamentary debate, in 1948, when one of its (fairly) recent and (truly) few deputies in the Chamber behaved in the face of the issue under discussion in a way that might have been considered bizarre. For one, he voted in favour of the initiative, which is in fact what everybody else did, because his other PAN companion (Speaker 6) and a lone representative from the ‘left’ (Speaker 4, from the PPS – Partido Popular Socialista – the “Popular Socialist Party”) voted with him and with the majority party, all of them in unanimous agreement For the creation of the (still existent) National Indigenous Institute, or INI in Spanish. But, apart from that (or rather, before, along the debate session), Speaker 3 also spoke explicitly in favour of the issue under debate. Under the principles of rationality and the search for collective benefit and similar values assumed to prevail in this institutional encounter, such behaviour might not be so surprising: he could actually agree with the project in this case. However, the fact remains
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that Speaker 3’s support occurred in the form of a well known ‘Yes/But/No’ structure, and that in the second part, after the ‘But’, the speaker voiced his party’s real and strong disagreement with the core of the idea, with the very concept of the new institution for the attention of the indigenous groups. This Yes/No movement marks no doubt Speaker’s 3 performance; it shows him as a representative from an opposition that had been granted access to the parliamentary scene only two years before, thanks to a change in the electoral legislation which allowed a ‘token’ presence on stage of some very small political parties different from the PRI. The PAN is one of those, and one of its 2 deputies in the Chamber does his best to cooperate with the ritual scenification of a multiply-voiced parliamentary practice, while at the same time securing his party’s legitimate presence in the particular occasion and in the regime at large. ‘Winning time’, it could be said, or ‘face’, on behalf of a persistence that would yield its fruits only many decades later, after having followed what is recognizably a long road to power (Carbó 1996: 448, 463–469; full archive text: sub-sequence # 3, turn # 21, in 2nd volume: 154–162). And also the interventions that occur around the PAN speaker’s turn, by a dedicated official-party-member (Speaker 5), the cohesive sequentiality of it all, must be read in the light of an extended political genotext that has been active in Mexico since the 1940s (Carbó 1996: 155–236). Those behaviours arise from a longer, deeper and more complicated history than a mere local, however elaborate, exchange, and they may be regarded, at other levels of observation, as cooperative moves. The whole interactional episode could be seen as a sort of ‘return of the repressed’, symptomatic evidence of a long-standing political unconscious with whose content nowPresident Fox and the PAN managed to connect, and reformulated in the form of a modern publicity campaign. History matters, then; history as “ideological/politically inflected time, whether this be the micro-history of an interaction or the larger histories of various institutions” (Hodge & Kress 1993: 207). And contexts matter too; crucially so in semiotic programmes wherein it is fundamental to be able to describe, understand, and interpret the materializations of the ideological complexes that are active in the occasion. A minor event can, and should, be put into a significant relationship to time. The case above foreshadows how it is indispensable to understand context in a fittingly complex way along time, and it also might be taken as showing how analytic work on the present from the point of view of the past avoids the risk of assuming a flat context, since the past is always in a dialectical relationship with a multidimensional present. Dorothy Smith (1993: 90) again formulates the issues in luminous words: “[. . . ] we are
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concerned with a science locating our work and its object in a particular historical form [. . . ] If there is to be a science which goes beyond systematic description and analysis, it must lie in the dynamism of the historical development of these relations”. Also in parliamentary discourse analysis, there seems to be a minimal depth that is required to detect the different forces that support and criss-cross the scene at a given point in time, a perspective which can only be provided by history, but only insofar as those historical circumstances are ‘wired’ or ingrained into the (micro) analyses; i.e., if they are part of the gaze or ‘take’ (Becker 1988: 24) from which it all impinges on the observer (Pike 1977: 4– 5). An adequate empirical rendering, an acceptable account, of the legislative chamber, with its dynamic and complex pattern of actors’ positions and actions, demands the mapping of (some of) such multidimensionality along time, in ways that make visible the notion of context not as a simple landscape, but on the contrary: working against the illusion of a one-dimensional normality. Context, both as an heuristic notion and as an operational procedure, needs to be enriched so as to bring into light certain aspects of texts in their “intrinsic interwovenness” (Blommaert 1997: 131) with contexts. A historical and materialistic theory of society, provided with cognitive assumptions, and operating from an abstract functional framework of linguistic analysis, should very well be able to concern itself with the intricacies of discursive power struggles at ‘only’ the verbal level. The importance of the material base need not be renounced, and even if ideologies are very well rooted in material conditions and modes of conflicting interests, they still are structures of meaning, forms of thought and discourse; particular, specific (and coherent) ways of constructing a representation of the world. It could be taken that this is the territory of what Halliday (1978: 39; my emphasis) calls a “general semiotic level”: “[T]he semantic system, which is the meaning potential embodied in language, is itself the realization of a higher-level semiotic which we may define as a behavioural system or, more generally, as a social semiotic”. The assumed discontinuity between text/context would tend to vanish if we adopted the principle of linguistic (semiotic) action along successive systems of networks. Though context, of course, is a notoriously difficult issue. At its best, it is a complex concept, apart from it also being, in my notion, a characteristically plural principle: its very dynamicity excludes the idea of a distinctly defined (singular) morphology, with an indisputable centre. Contexts are polymorphous and flexible, as well as able to provide a certain depth and width of visibility for the observed phenomena.
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Recently, in the field of discourse analysis a lot of renewed attention has been paid to context, together with calls for its systematic theoretical treatment (Van Dijk 1999, 2001). Ten years ago Goodwin and Duranti (1992: 32) saw research on context as a full agenda “at the cutting edge of much contemporary research into the relationship between language, culture and social organization, as well as into the study of how language is structured in the way that it is”. Van Dijk (1999: 291) reminds us, reasonably, “that an adequate study of discourse in society presupposes an explicit theory of context”. He also sketches his own exploratory definition along the lines of subjectively variable mental models of communicative situations, together with socio-cultural common ground (292). Verschueren (1999: 69) sees the general concern for linguistic pragmatics as [the capacity] “to understand the meaning functioning of language as a dynamic process operating on context-structure relationships at various levels of salience”. Context is thus coextensive with language use along time. From this formulation, there emerges a useful concept of meaning as ruled by both situation and system, with the explicit possibility kept open for these processes being invested with various degrees of salience (or semiotic density). Such is the perspective of the entire book, where there is also a call “for a pragmatic return to meaning in its full complexity, allowing for interacting forces of language production and interpretation, and doing full justice to the central role of meaning in human reality, whether cognitive, social or cultural” (Verschueren 1999: 48).
. Contexts as analyses To a great extent, I think, context is a question of what it is that one attempts to describe, give account of, and understand (or interpret). And therefore of how it is that one sees, builds, follows or detects, this ‘something’ as an object of the above mentioned operations, which, I should remark, I conceive of as occurring both serially and simultaneously. Kenneth L. Pike (1977: 5; original emphasis) has written a beautiful formulation of the three (as he sees them) basic patterns of apprehension that are available for the observer of the world. The first one is static, made up of particles, elements, items. In some sense, it is treated as the basic or normal perspective. The dynamic perspective looks at series of events, in the form of a wave, and it multiplies the notion of dynamicity into the units, these having in their turn also “beginning (initial margin), middle (nucleus) and end (final margin)”. “In such a view”, Pike adds, “two adjacent units may merge or
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overlap, having indeterminate borders, such that the two units cannot be segmented without doing violence to the data”. In the third case, the relational or field, perspective, the observer focusses on the relationships between units, eliminating “from the center of his attention the form or content or extension of the units as such. The unit, in this case, contracts to a point in a network or field of relationships”. Halliday’s theory also provides foundations for specific forms of analytic work, which are at one time feasible and conceptually illuminating. In the case of parliamentary discursive processes as tightly woven series of historical semiotic movements along texts and performances, sustained by numerous speakers in not perfect harmony nor best reciprocal understanding, the concept of networks, of interrelated systems of networks of options, is particularly appropriate. “The network”, says Halliday, “consists very simply of a set of interrelated systems (in the Firthian sense, though slightly more abstract and making fuller use of his own ‘polysystemic’ principle) [. . . ]” (1978: 40). The entry condition to the environment he conceives as paradigmatic (“another choice”), which would not be the case in discursive situations where there are powerful structural and conjunctural determinations, which establish the scope and nature of the conditions of production of discourse. The qualification that Hodge and Kress (1993: 209; my emphasis) introduce in the definition of language as “a set of partial systems of choices and rules” probably points in this same direction. In my research experience, to operate with networks allows the regulated expansion of ‘contexts’ (other systems), “both upward and downward” (Halliday 1978: 42–43), and also, I would like to add, sideways or in oblique movements. It is possible, therefore, to conceive an approach in discourse analysis which, informed by the authors and concepts that we have been (re)reading, works as a function-oriented perspective, able to deal with linguistic and historical evidence, and where the interaction between systems (and participants as selectors of available options ‘online’) allows the inclusion of conflicts, struggle, blockades and negotiations of acts of meaning in an ever refracting interactional terrain. However, it must be borne in mind that “there is”, as Halliday warns (1977: 85), “no one-to-one correspondence [. . . ] there is what Lamb calls ‘interlocking diversification’ (many-to-many)”. Along this path one can elude, I think, the danger that Goodwin and Duranti (1992: 10) perceive in the standard disposition of focal event on center stage, with context constituting the stage itself, a configuration which, I agree, is not only static but also excessively ‘frontal’ in the analytic gaze, as well as too particle-oriented in Pike’s sense.
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In parliamentary practice, for instance, a deputy is either a member of a referring Committee (and thus, according to Mexican procedural rules, an ‘authorized speaker”) or not; he is a militant in the official, governing, party (PRI in my study) or not; either he supports, and therefore signs, a certain legislative proposal or not; he opposes it actively or not; in the end he votes either Pro or Con (or he abstains, which in the historical setting that I analyzed amounted to ‘No’). Since assessments of “participants’ attributes and patterns of social organization that are intrinsic to the activity of talk itself ” (Goodwin & Duranti 1992: 31) have to be precise, all these binary traits may be put together in specific cases of documented performances, with (to a certain extent) unpredictable results, since people are multidimensional even in the most severely determined circumstances of social action and speech. Proposing courses of analysis for adequate descriptions of the languages of this world, complex phenomena if there be any, Pike (1977: 4) suggests that for some purposes the analyst must “turn his focus away from specific unitsas-if-they-were-isolatable (or almost isolatable) and focus instead upon the units-as-necessarily-in-context, since no unit is findable or definable except as in relation to context”. In the French tradition, Émile Benveniste (1966: 122 and ff.; original emphasis) also established the concept of unit in relation to the meaningful, structural functioning of the system as a complex whole: “une unité linguistique ne sera reçue telle que si on peut l’identifier dans une unité plus haute”. His work with the concept of ‘level’ can also be read as dealing with contexts, or modes of observation: “On voit alors que le niveau n’est pas quelque chose d’extérieur à l’analyse; il est dans l’analyse; le niveau est un opérateur”. This same idea of operational activity in the territory of context as an observational endeavour is explicitly dealt with by Pike (1977: 4; my emphasis): “One can therefore consider that the treatment of context [here] is a reorganization of our perception of the parts of our task, rather than an addition of totally new parts”. It is clear that in the case of parliamentary discourse as oral, face-to-face, sequential, multiply-voiced confrontational interaction, the methodological demands that accompany a careful consideration (construction) of contexts are ponderous indeed, practically dizzying (Carbò 1996, Chapter 6). Goodwin and Duranti (1992; my emphasis) say the following: “[W]ithin social situations a key constituent of the environment that participants attend to is other human beings, who are active agents in their own right, with their own plans and agendas. As Ray McDermott has remarked, ‘people become environments for each other’. Such possibilities for dynamic interaction increase the complexity of the events being analyzed immeasurably”.
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong
The theoretical perception of the highly complex nature of the task is not an only recent realization. In 1983 Pecheux (Hak & Helsloot 1995: 241; original distancing marks) also asked: “How can we conceive of a discourse analytic process as a ‘spiral’ interaction which combines intersections, convergences and divergences between textual series (oral or written), constructions of networks of questions, structurations of memory-networks and productions of sense?” Perhaps the only ‘attunable’ reply to this specific question which, incidentally, has a strange resonance in the light of Pecheux’s shortly-following suicide, lies in a formulation by Roland Barthes on the problem of style, a notion always connected to actual productions of speech and discourse. There, in the guise of an earthly, edible, metaphor, Barthes produces a precise (abstract and vivid) morpho-topological re-presentation of the intricacies of verbal configuration. What he says is this: Le problème du style ne peut être traité que par rapport à ce que j’appellerai le feuilleté du discours (. . . ) si jusqu’au présent on a vu le texte sous les espèces d’un fruit à noyau (un abricot, par exemple), la pulpe étant la forme et l’amande étant le fond, il convient de le voir plutôt maintenant sous les espèces d’un oignon, agencement superposé de pelures (de niveaux, de systèmes), dont le volume ne comporte finalement aucun coeur, aucun noyau, aucun secret, aucun principe irréductible, sinon l’infini même de ses enveloppes -qui n’enveloppent rien d’autre que l’ensemble même de ses surfaces. (Barthes 1984 [1969]: 150; original emphasis)
To have an approximate feeling of contexts, as I am trying to sketch them here, potentially infinite networks of options that are realized by multiple human actors, not necessarily bound by solidarity, we need only to imagine the feuilleté still unachieved, not static but dynamic, as various, non-reciprocally cooperating, differently aimed, lines of energy (layers of pastry or tissues or surfaces) push and pull around, each and all of them at the same time, all the time, in the course of the larger unit (for instance, the discursive process) acquiring of a certain, specific configuration (or shape, or clusters of traits or intertwining of layers), the one that actually resulted and not any one of the others which might have occurred, given certain changes (however minimal) in the outcomes of previously adopted multiply-interlocked options. I propose that we conceive of contexts for discourse analysis as actually occurred (documented) strategic itineraries or trajectories (paths) along networks of available options, under a double dependency: the state of the system at that very time, and the scope allowed by the parameters that define the discursive institution as such, in ideological and political terms. In the Mexican
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Chamber of Deputies, for example, during the period of most solid hegemony of the PRI, all its legislators were bound by a silent, powerful, rule that dictated that whatever changes were introduced into the presidential initiatives had to be dealt with as “additions”, never corrections. Options had to occur within the rhetorical territory as was granted by a de facto and marked presidential preeminence in the political regime. Thus, parliamentary abilities were put to test, and along time, some participants did manage to produce some very fine examples of paraphrase, commentary and pareilles discursive operations (cf. the 165-entry repository of Mexican parliamentary discourse, 1920–1970, in Carbó 1996, 2nd vol.: 11–33). The movements along the paths, it is clear, are always interactive and perpetually at risk, fraught with conflict and competing claims (almost a literal instantiation of the concept of ‘adaptability’), as well as reciprocally adjusted, either cooperatively or not, in extremely delicate shifts. I personally figure them as infinite series of doors (in a several-storied mostly oblique and labyrinthic, not corridor-like, disposition) that open or close at unimaginable speed, according to what is happening in the rest of this immense territory, while actors (as option-makers or instances) move along and across and backwards and into and out of them all, producing ramifications of positions, actual or virtual, realized or potential. Because it is also the case that the possibilities actually adopted attract, at least in a virtual mode, all the discarded, not taken, paths, which thus are also active by way of their absence of realization. This last formulation, incidentally, can be taken as constituting only a very complicated paraphrase of what Eliseo Verón had stipulated many years ago: “When I say something, the way in which I say it, and what I do not say but might have said, are inseparable aspects of what I say” (1971: 145; original emphasis).
. The visual display of data-configurations Then, what is it that we, analysts, can do, in the face of such overwhelming complexity? In the first place, as I have been arguing, it has to be granted that discourse analysis is practice, practice as such: i.e., participation and intervention, together with point of view and desire, all of it deeply grounded on history and even biography (Carbó 2001: 64–67). Therefore, it necessarily implies actively outlining profiles of ‘things’ (sets of phenomena), and following, tracing, sketching, certain interpretive lines for them, while introducing oneself and one’s own perspective into whatever object or body of analysis it is that one
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong
deals with, or that one longs for, Michel Pecheux would have said years ago (he said in fact; see his discussion of the risks of the constitution of the corpus as an effect of the desire of the analyst in Hak & Helsloot 1995: 69–71). Within more recent discussions, such as Blommaert’s on workshopping (1997), to a great extent inspired by the truly inspiring concept of professional vision (Goodwin 1994), it is also clear that [r]esearch practice is in itself a case of framing and perspectivizing discourse [. . . ] [because] text-context relations are continuously shaped in the process of formulating research objects, materials, goals and procedures. (66)
This admitted, all one can do, in my experience (and putting it in particularly brief terms), is to ‘slice’ or cut, as in a laboratory procedure, certain areas and times in the materials, one at a time, as many as possible, and along specified lines of relevance, or levels, in the object and in the approach (Carbó 2001: 70–71). Then turn those ‘sections’ into “as empirical an object as possible in spite of the intangible nature of many of its constituent forces” (Verschueren 1999: 49), and afterwards and at the same time (try and) see how it all worked together, towards where and with what perceptible changes between ‘states’ or cuts (both thematic and chronological). What is involved here, no doubt, is the whole structural issue of boundary principles and parsing procedures, an immense and crucial, theory-laden methodological territory which is not represented in the above notion of ‘section’ or ‘cut’. This is part of the general topic of analytic units and their compositional capacity within larger ones, and it points towards the work that discourse analysis needs to do in this area, instead of resorting to unstructured uses of exemplary fragments. I will not delve into this topic now. Let me only state that whatever ‘cut’ I produced in the materials of the corpus, the data were never forced in the sense that Pike criticizes. What I did was systematic parsing, based on a form-function apprehension, or principle of relevance. Strictly bound by the principle of literality and integrity of data, together with the practice of reading-as-method (Carbó 1989, 2001), it is the same object of research which, in close dialogue with the analyst, allows her to project (detect, establish) specific boundary principles in the various levels of its complex configuration (cf. Carbó 1996: 131–44, 2001), along a process that could be taken as an emic construction of units (of varied sizes and characters). The main fact is that once there is flexibility (fluidness) enough in the conceptual, theoretical, framework for (ultra) complex systems such as discourse, the operationality of the analytic practices tends to flow in its turn.
Teresa Carbó
Let us now look at ways of displaying/showing/construing data and analyses, or for the case of the previous (long) discussion, of evincing their situated nature in some forms of ‘contexts’. This is clearly also a complex issue because the argumentative narrative along which a process of research is communicated, or the wider frame for the demonstration, is again an essential part of the picture. However, I’ll proceed: in my experience, the visual, graphic, mode is a privileged way to render apprehensible given sets of phenomena which are interconnected not only in vertical/horizontal patterns. Maps, diagrams, flow-charts, sketches with squares, circles and arrows, tables, columns, lists and the like are all well documented visual formats employed in the descriptive/interpretive rendering of clusters of data, and they are quite instrumental for the needs of an empirically appropriate (re)presentation of texts/contexts’ multifarious interwovenness. Several authors have resorted to this form of analytic display (obviously, in association with extended verbal accounts of both object and method). I particularly like all things visible, and I also find the titles under which various graphic representations are included in the respective authors’ overall arguments suggestive in themselves. Kenneth Pike, for instance, in the course of his long and devoted descriptive career in linguistics, designs, uses, and benefits from visual renderings which are simple and powerful: “Tree or network display”, “Matrix of sounds”, “Alternate presentation of matrices”, “Citation paradigm” (an interesting one for discourse analysis); or: “Chronological mapping as a useful tool in identifying semantic paragraph groupings in Berik”, “A network graphed from diverging and merging participations in purposive events in English”, “Margins to a simple sentence nucleus” and several others. Dorothy Smith, also in more recent times, devises ways for presenting (constructing) analytic angles, or lines of approach, such as “The enfolded temporal organization of the occasion” (1993: 67), or “An open-ended temporal ordering of the occasion” (68), as well as “Subject/mediation/object constructions” (1993: 73), or “Contradictory deictic instructions” (76), “The ‘now’ of the text”, “The ‘now’ of the activists” (1993: 78). In none of the cases is the specific configuration particularly sophisticated; lines, tables, arrows, columns or lists and little more can work wonders as to the visibility and comprehensibility of complex verbal products and processes. Halliday’s networks are of course widely known, like the “Semantic network for a greeting system in middle-class British English” (1977: 75); also other descriptive devices, like the “Functional components of semantic system, seen from different vantage points” (1978: 131), where no comment is needed on the explicit inclusion of point of view; nor in his deliberately “pictorial” rep-
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong
resentation of the interface between social and linguistic categories (1977: 93), or the “Analysis of clauses, showing simultaneous structures” (1977: 35). A classical beauty is Table 3 in the analysis of “The Inheritors”, with “Language A” and “Language C”, both of them starting at the level of the basic human condition of +/– power (1977: 135), or his “Determination of semantic features by elements of semiotic structure of situations” (1978: 11). I would also like to quote Verschueren’s abstract presentation of “Contextual correlates of adaptability” (1999: 76), and his “Pragmatic model for the description of linguistic action verbs” (1999: 211), or the minimalist and particularly to the point linear representation of the “Sequential organization of an exchange” (1999: 39), and the more figurative rendering of a restaurant scene (1999: 83). In fact, most of the authors that I have worked with in this text are prone to the visual exhibition of data: Verón did it with tables of comparative repertoires of actors and functions in the two political texts that he contrasted in the corpus (1971: 157, 161), as well as with axes of explanatory semanticization of actors in the two narratives (1971: 168) and, in general, grounding his very precise and nuanced analysis on several other graphics. Hodge and Kress include an extensive array of ‘maps’, a few of which even elaborate on other authors’ theoretical propositions, such as their charting of Bourdieu’s analysis of the typical Berber house (1988: 69). Noticeable are their markedly minimalist presentations of balanced and unbalanced triads (1988: 152), and of states of stability and instability, where only some dots and a few letters are able to compress dense and complex patterns and processes (1988: 153). A family photograph is transformed into a kinship diagram wherein patriarchal relationships are extracted from spatial positioning of family members (1988: 224, 221–229), and familial texts (also as kinship diagrams) are obtained for Sophocles’ Oedipus and Aeschylus’ Oresteia (1988: 214, 216). Beautiful to behold, apart from conceptually ‘reader-friendly’, is their diagramming of a semiotic hierarchy (1988: 84), along a series of angles that intersect with a fractured line. As circumstantial evidence that the ‘visualization’ tradition is active I may quote two very recent articles in Discourse and Society (12/6) which include a complex presentation of semantic fields about foreigners in a given text (Gotsbachner 2001: 739), and a flow-chart which depicts the “articulation of agents with distinct coding orientations and habituses (adapted from Bernstein 1990)” (Yagcioglu & Cem-Deger 2001: 830). I have also used this sort of descriptive/interpretive-problem-solvingdevices. In Carbó (1984: 111) I contrasted two texts (a legal initiative and the corresponding parliamentary committee report) along paragraphs, in columns, visually indicating the presence of expansions and paraphrases of the
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initiative in the report, and the symmetrical complete absence of deletions or changes on that unquestionable (presidential) word. I also produced (1984: 62, 63) a ‘backwards’ (and ‘forwards’) presentation of a text configuration, following its semantic-argumentative nodes and/or syntagmatic disposition, at complete-text level (a political letter), in a simple visual format of squares, circles and arrows. In Carbó (2001: 73) I presented, in a sequence of boxes, the pattern of first person (singular and plural) pronominal forms, along paragraphs (9 of them), attending to absence/presence and density of those forms, for the full text (there emerged a beautiful pattern in the pragmatic flow of the text’s author’s use of personal authority). At phrase-structure level, I have also diagrammed the contrastive shapes of syntactic hierarchy and location of modal adverbial clauses with gerunds in two written texts (which are coextensive with immensely long complex sentences), legal initiatives both of them (2001: 60, 61). In my 1996 book, wherefrom arise all the analytic instances that I will soon (at last) present here, I worked with a full series of visual displays of data-configurations. What is it, then, that this variety of authors (myself included), on so many research topics, do when rendering some analytic work in the form of what I have loosely called maps? What is it that this work-style attains, in terms of understanding and method? The answer, I am convinced, bears a structural relationship to the discussion of contexts that we have been developing, and with the quest for a fuller comprehension of objects of analysis that can be taken to inform the search for these objects’ intrinsic context-dependent character. The experience is productive indeed (apart from exhilarating) because as one tries to meet the inexhaustible complexity of the object of research, a wealth of new descriptive and interpretive ideas emerges, while the uncertain itineraries of the pencil explore (and discard) alternative designs. It is as if the material traces on the paper surface stimulated and enacted, in a particularly ‘bodily’ format, the exploration of a mobile, non-linear (relatively short) series of points of view. I would dare to propose that what these maps aim to capture and show is nothing else but complex patterns of interrelatedness among (certain) phenomena, be they units or sets, or sequences and flows, or networks that transit from one state to another, in wave-like motion or not, with ruptures or not. Therefore and by the same token, the mapping also pursues the dynamicity of such complexity at work; the variation introduced in the object along the development of the different sides of the question (or angles of vision in the questioner). The cognitive operations that are active in the course of this transformation of research issues into visual displays are numerous and different. As a whole they imply, I think, the double complementary processes of ab-
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong
straction, i.e., the reduction of those phenomena to their constituent elements and courses (at a certain level); and figuration, i.e., their depiction in a visual modality that is not pictorial or realistic but conceptual and systemic.
. Where do things go when they ‘go wrong’? This deliberate (mis)phrasing alludes to the fact (well established by now, I hope) that discursive processes are far removed from the notion of “things”, and that “going wrong” may be conceived as a matter of point of view from a given observational position. Just in case, let us remember what Gregory Bateson says in this respect: “The observer must be included within the focus of observation, and what can be studied is always a relationship or an infinite regress of relationships. Never a ‘thing’ ” (1972: 246; original distancing marks). So, in an elementary confrontation of two parties, a disruptive event according to the dominant group may be a welcome evidence of resistance from the side of the powerless. Parliamentary space is a good scenario wherein to explore a reformulation of the idea of disturbances, incidents or anomalies as we have mentioned them before. Those events, which are well documented in parliamentary practice in different countries, may perhaps be seen as actual instances of participants pursuing their respective agendas with opposing (or at least not coincidental) goals, along uneven temporalities (or temporal schemes), in deliberate, strategic, disregard for the prevailing set of explicit rules. If this were the case, it would then raise two additional issues which are worth mentioning. In the first place, the following two topics: one, the degree of flexibility of the system involved (in this case, the parliamentary scene); i.e., the margins of manoeuvre that it allows before actual collapse or breakdown occurs, which for this system would imply the recourse to physical violence, once the multiple modalities of verbal abuse which are granted as ‘parliamentary’ have been exhausted or simply dispreferred. (In Mexico, fire-arms were explicitly banned from legislative quarters in the official set of written Rules of Procedure which was first passed in 1934 and which remained valid until the ’90s; cf. Carbó 1987.) Two, the issue of the furthest functional limits of the system, which can be seen as a result of the dynamic interaction there always exists between participants and rules, considering that so called disruptions are not always perhaps, nor necessarily, negative or punishable. It may well be the case that along this ‘undisciplined’ path certain participants introduce some amount of new energy into the system, keeping it active and, in a sense, productive.
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Why would this be so? Because, in the second place, the possibility must not be dismissed of the system’s capacity to ensure other functionings, at higher-level (more abstract and powerful) bodies of rules. For instance, in the Mexican post-revolutionary cycle, this other functioning has been detected to lie in the Legislative Power’s contribution, among those of several other discursive institutions, to the formally legitimate reproduction of the political regime as a whole. Parliamentary discourse achieves this by means of a ritual (also plausible and well enacted) scenification of debate; i.e., of relations of ruling that are shown as based on civic, rational, terms and not in a warlike or bellicose disposition, as was afterwards the official version of the insurrectional component of the Mexican Revolution (cf. Carbó 1996: 79–99). So, flexibility is presumably a general trait of complex systems of human action or behaviour. And, the capacity that a social (semiotic) system has to produce effects on more encompassing territories than its own (whatever this may extend to), is probably history-specific (context-dependent): one realization of the complex interplay there exists between local, explicit, rules of “choreographed” (McDermott & Tylborg 1983: 281) social behaviour in faceto-face situations, and the silent discursive determinations that preside over this and other sorts of institutional encounters. Together, both dimensions have the effect of extending, or rather dissolving the boundaries and limits that tend to be set between, for instance, linguistic, discursive, semiotic and political systems, and which in practice are never clean-cut. On the contrary, they are normally fuzzy and dynamics-dependent. I shall now introduce (at long last) a small interactional episode at the level of the last sub-sequence, out of 7, in a debate session in Mexico in 1948; the same one we have already referred to, where the creation of the INI was unanimously passed. Concerning this parliamentary process, a debate session in the Mexican Chamber of Deputies, which unfolds along several units; in this virtual territory (or, is not this already the map?) (Bateson 1972: 455), I seem to observe that turns # 134 to 146 in Diagram 1 describe a certain trajectory which exhibits an interesting modulation. Why is it an episode? How has it been established? Who is involved? Why not take into account the whole diagram? What is it all about? I will argue the concept of episode (among others) further on, once I have commented the representation device with which the phenomenon is visually rendered. Along my research on parliamentary discourse, I have found this sort of flow-chart quite appropriate to present at the same time the following items of information concerning a debate and a set of participants: the sequence in which identified speakers produced their respective turns, the statutory condition of
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong
Turns
Speakers President
Secretary
Speaker 1
Speaker 3
Withdraws objection
3.136 Declares Art.8 reserved
4.137
Reads Arts. 9,10, 11,12
4.137
Objection to Art.12. Proposal for change
6.139 Accepts proposal in name of Comm.
7.140 8.141
Thanks them Expresses approval of new formulation
11.144 12.145
Thanks the Assembly Reads new formulation
13.146 13.146
Opens Votation
17.150
Applause
Asks the floor from Pres. for a clarification
Refers to Voltation stage Petitions again
19.152 20.153
Voices
Speaker 8
Reads Article 8
1.134
18.151
Speaker 5
Granted States his criticism against Speaker 11
21.154
Votation of all the reserved articles. Unanimity (79 votes)
Diagram 1. Creation of INI, subsequence 7/7
those turns (either legitimate or not, according to the explicit Rules of Procedure; pertaining to the Authorities or not; coming from the Audience or not), and also their pragmatic orientation and aim (cooperative or not). Action pro-
Teresa Carbó
ceeds from top left to bottom right. The numbering of Speakers is not specific to this sub-sequence, as can be surmised from the fact that some numbers (in a scale of 10 or so) are missing. Equally, the numbers that identify the turns are continuous from the beginning of the session, and the lapses that occur correspond to only-functional turns on the part of the Authorities that have been deleted, such as declaring: “Speaker 3 has the floor”. As for the visual shape of turns, the full code for their interactional reading is presented in Diagram 2. According to Diagram 1, parliamentary work seems to be quite normal: the Session Authorities read an article of the law under consideration (number 8); a Speaker 3 withdraws his objection; Authorities read subsequent articles; the same Speaker 3 produces another objection, this time to article 12, and offers a proposal for some change in it; Speaker 1, apparently an authorized one because he is a member of the referring committee, accepts, in the name of this body, the suggested change; Speaker 3 thanks them; then another Speaker, a number 5, assures everybody that he supports the final version of article 12; Speaker 3 again expresses his gratitude, in this case to the whole Assembly. The latter reciprocates with Applause. Not a single interruption, not a bad face. All seems to be really smooth: courteous and cooperative, as perhaps is proper of closing segments, after presumably heated discussions. But, in fact, it all sounds just a bit too smooth. Why would this Speaker 3 keep thanking everybody? And
Indicates a Reading turn
Indicates Authorities’ turn
Indicates Legitimate turn
Indicates Illegitimate turn (that asks for the floor)
Indicates Illegitimate turn
Diagram 2. Code for the interactional reading of the graphic representation of speechturns
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who is he, anyway? And who is Speaker 5, whose support, without being a member of the committee, produces such effusions on the part of Speaker 3? List 1 presents all the session speakers’ political affiliations. It has been obtained from secondary sources, such as history books and biographical dictionaries and, to a minimal extent, the publications of the legislature. So, it looks as if Speaker 3 is a member of the opposition, the PAN, while Speakers 1 and 5 belong to the official party, the unforgettable PRI; both of them, by the way, in the same sector, “Popular Organizations”, or middle-class groups. A certain pattern may be seen to emerge. It is plausible to suppose that opposition Speaker 3 has played a prominent part in the debate that is about to close, and we can also imagine that no suggestion or proposition of his has been until now accepted by the overwhelming official majority, an idea which would turn this interactional stretch into a unique occasion, an episode for certain actors within a certain narrative. Tree 1 shows the potential of the system for types of speakers, in the institutional framework of a markedly presidentialist political regime, which enjoyed decades (as is widely known) of the same party (formally) legitimately and List 1. Political affiliation of (complete) set of speakers. Party of the Institutional Revolution (PRI)
Speaker 1 Speaker 2 Speaker 5 Speaker 7 Speaker 9 Speaker 10
Popular Sector Luis Diaz Infante Bernardo Chávez Velázquez Ramón V. Santoyo Alejandro Gómez Maganda Jesús Anguirre Delgado Ignacio Gómez del Campo
Speaker 8 Speaker 11
Peasant Sector Luis Márquez Ricaño Nabor Ojeda Other affiliations
Speaker 3 Speaker 6 Speaker 4
Party of National Action, PAN Miguel Ramirez Munguía Aquiles Elorduy Popular Socialist Party, PPS Victoriano Anguiano
Teresa Carbó Types of speakers + Session authorities
– Non session authorities
+ Members of Consultant Committee
+ Official party FOR
– Non official party
AGAINST FOR
AGAINST FOR
– Non members of Consultant Committee
+ Official party
– Non official party
AGAINST FOR
AGAINST
Tree 1.
lawfully monopolizing full governmental apparatus and power. This appropriation was discursively grounded on the claim that the elite that held power was an heir to a revolutionary uprising of peasants in arms, starting in 1910: the Mexican Revolution, which founded the XXth century cycle for contemporary Mexico. For the Legislative space, this implied a prolonged almost unique official representation in both Chambers, a vast parliamentary majority that from 1946 onwards admitted (welcomed, rather) the continued presence of a minimal but presentable, legal, opposition (at least in the Chamber of Deputies, which is the one I worked with), positioned, as was said, at the right side of the political spectrum: the PAN. Concerning this, and some other very complicated facts at the level of political alliances, it has to be said that the longlong-standing PRI-phenomenon in Mexico amounts to a wondrous political machine whose expanded and extremely complex logic I can only mention here (cf. Carbó 1996: 85–115); a regime that, bound by deadly-blood alliances in the “Revolutionary Family”, managed to ensure more or less regulated management and rotation of power at the top (the very top), with overt violence excluded, at least until some few years ago (March 23, 1994), when the assassination of the PRI presidential candidate (Luis Donaldo Colosio) shook the political scene to its foundation (or almost), as is also widely known.
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong
According to Tree 1 and regardless of their political affiliation, in a mostly rationally-bound setting, speakers may belong to the sub-set of Authorities or not; they may be members of Reporting Committees or not; they can also no doubt produce votes For or Against the issue under discussion, in a way that all the paths in the tree get realized. However, the disposition in the political regime is of a predominantly binary, confrontational orientation (official party and everybody else, who were very few indeed). So, these are times of an overpowering majority, with ‘officialdom’, everywhere. To attain this true miracle in political dominance, and to preserve it over time to amazing extents, the revolutionary nobility, a structurally unstable alliance, was united in resorting, during the full cycle (and still today), to informed, selective, highly efficient and, when possible, secretive repression. This was combined with corruption and cooption on massive scales. Revolutionary, familial, discipline was essential to the project, and it was kept to monstruous extremes. ‘Given’ this, it might be the case that not all the way-outs in the tree come equally to the point, in certain moments or others. The year 1948 was not, by a long way, a particularly difficult time for president Miguel Alemán Valdés (1946– 1952), who was then leading the massive industrialization of the country, and the modernization of society at large. The post-war era and the EEUU market would need everything; there was increased national production of goods and services and some economic growth: the renowned “Mexican miracle” of the fifties. The indigenous populations, on whose behalf the INI was unanimously passed, were to be firmly led to this beneficial transformation, under the informed advice of anthropologists and other social science experts who thus entered the state apparatus through the main door, in the space of an undeniably multiethnic society. So, from a certain, historical, perspective on the highly complex Mexican Legislative Power scene, along the cycle of the triumphant and institutionalized revolution, it might be assumed that no speech-turns, or very few, were produced along the branch delineated by the following combination of traits: ‘Reporting-Committee-Member/Official-Party-Member/Against’. Nor, perhaps, though with a lesser degree of certainty, along the branch that reads ‘Reporting-Committee-Non-Member/Opposition-Member/For’. And we would be right, because it is only Speaker 3 from the PAN who produced such a turn, the one that we have mentioned before (supra: 309–310) (turn # 21, Carbó 1996, 2nd volume: 154–155). Though there is also another relatively unexpected combination of traits: ‘Official-Party-Member/Against’, in the performance of a Speaker 11, from the PRI.
Teresa Carbó
As could be expected, though it is worth mentioning, all this information is extracted from the same texts in the corpus, while this is actively read/analyzed several times, time and again. Once it is certain that some such speech-turns (not votes, since the result was unanimous) did occur, that same knowledge may be represented in this Venn-diagram format. The area of overlap in Diagram 3 indicates historically unexpected co-ocurrences of traits. Interactionally, the ‘marked’ set (of speakers and speech-acts) is coextensive, it may be presumed, with some stretches of high pragmatic density in the debate, where meaning and conflict are being more actively negotiated between participants. Thus, the diagram maps (projects) the areas within the debate where something, not necessarily overtly conflictual, but yet something, not entirely ordinary, is taking place. The results of this observation may also be combined with some other interesting data that can be seen in List 2. As a graphic device, this list conflates and tries to visually render, in an economic fashion, some items of information that are regarded as relevant for a historical specification of speakers. In the first place, the participants’ orientations in the event: either For or Against. Also, the indication of which of these valiant characters belonged to the Opposition, a trait of political affiliation that had already been established. [By the way, List 2 specifies only presence of what might be taken as marked traits: Against or Opposition, while absence indicates presence of opposite traits.] Included is also information concerning the political status and rank of participants: were they recognizable members of the top-most bureaucratic elite at national level? I got these data mainly from a reference-book by a political scientist (Camp 1976), who employs what I think are very strict and revealing indicators as
Speakers 1*, 2, 5* 7, 9, 10
Speakers 3* 11*
4,
6
Opposition Official party
* Indicates “major” discursive turn
Diagram 3.
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong
List 2. Historiographical and interactional identification of (complete) set of speakers Speaker 1 Speaker 2 Speaker 3 Speaker 4 Speaker 5 Speaker 6 Speaker 7 Speaker 8 Speaker 9 Speaker 10 Speaker 11
*= *= = * *= *= =
*=
Luis Diaz Infante Bernardo Chávez Velázquez MIGUEL RAMIREZ MUNGUÍA VICTORIANO ANGUIANO Ramón V. Santoyo AQUILES ELORDUY Alejandro Gómez Maganda Luis Márquez Ricaño Jesús Anguirre Delgado Ignacio Gómez del Campo NABOR OJEDA
In CAPITALS those who speak Against Underlined those who belong to the Opposition * those identified in Camp 1976 = those identified in other sources
entry-conditions of the set of top-level decision-makers in Mexico. This useful source was complemented with additional historiographical works, indexes and encyclopaedias. As is the case with the two other sub-corpora that I analyzed in the first half of the post-revolutionary cycle in Mexico (1920 and 1935), a good proportion of parliamentary speakers were members of the select (and greedy) club of this particular Latin-American dominant elite. In this way, it is now apparent that according to Diagram 3 and List 2 yet another relatively unexpected combination of traits (or branches) is documented in this 1948 session: that of an official party member, Speaker 11, who positions himself Against (Carbó 1992, 1996: 429–473; actual text in: 1996, 2nd volume: 188–196; 2001). His behaviour is rule-bound; the floor has been assigned to him by session authorities, and it might be argued that all he is doing is realizing an option in the system: a discursive turn Against the issue under discussion. Yet, it remains to be seen how he will fare. Tree 2 shows the potential of the system for sorts of speech-turns. It arises from a conflation of what is stipulated in the Rules of Procedure for the Federal Congress and the results of my own extensive reading of debate-sessions, as to the sorts of interventions that did actually take place along the discussions (Carbó 1987, 1996: 436–438). For instance, the Rules of Procedure do not admit the existence of illegitimate ‘turns’, and even less do they consider the possibility of non-verbal, obviously illegitimate, debate-turns such as
Teresa Carbó Types of Turns
Illegitimate
Non-verbal (Applause, Noise, Whistling) FOR
Legitimate (Verbal)
Verbal (Interruptions, Shouts)
AGAINST FOR
AGAINST
Functional Non-Functional (Authorities’) (Common Speakers) Argumentative or Polemical
FOR
Discursive
AGAINST FOR
AGAINST
Tree 2.
whistling, producing noise or applause, or a sort of buffalo-stampede-sound, originated in the Honourable Representatives’ stamping of their feet against the wooden-floor-planks. But, life being what it is, all these sorts of illegitimate interventions, and more, are amply documented along decades of parliamentary practice in Mexico. So, according to Tree 2, turns may be, in the very first place, either legitimate or not. Authorities’ turns are, by principle, legitimate, since Authorities can take the floor at any time all the time, even if not for ‘strictly’ functional purposes. This tree, by the way, maps phenomena which are not necessarily coextensive with the previous one: members of Referring Committees are, for the turn-allocation procedure that Authorities are expected to follow, common speakers, and their turns fall into the non-functional category. Interruptions belong to the illegitimate verbal branch of interventions, together with shouts; though not even in trees, or networks, are things ever really clear, or clean-cut. For instance, to which branch should one ascribe behaviours such as booing? In terms of method, or analytic itinerary, once all the speech-turns of the constituent sub-sequences of the debate session have been graphed in a flow-chart, along their sequence and in their corresponding pragmatic shapes (like in Diagram 1), the observation may undergo another shift: it is possible to revisit it all; to re-read it, to re-visualize, for instance, sudden agglomerations of illegitimate turns, or unruly interventions, or the flow of normalcy (‘flat-lands’). It is also possible to focus the analytic gaze on the interactional stretches where the overlapping areas originated, in those specific speech-turns. In sum, what I am arguing is that we have availed ourselves of a patterned,
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong
not accidental or impromptu access to the detection of episodes, also a notoriously difficult issue (Carbó 1993). An episode in discourse analysis has been plausibly defined as a semantic unit (Van Dijk 1982). It can also be thought of as a cluster of units with a certain, perceptible profile, or as an unexpected outcome of a network. Episodes are alI these, and more, in their character of non-clean-cut interactional, pragmatic units above the level of turn and below that of sequence or debate. An episode: a discursive area where some movements between actors and deeds produce a distinct however subtle pattern. It is not only an issue of speakers and texts but mainly of strategic positions and courses of action, as visualized like itineraries. From the Greek epeisodos, the notion of “entry” or “intervention” becomes our approach to episodes as higher-level wave-like interactional phenomena of particular interest (Carbó 1996: 403–405, 453). So, it is now clear that Speaker 3 enjoyed centre-stage in at least two episodes: this deeply-moving scene of civic harmony (cf. Diagram 1), and a previous one, already mentioned, when he produced a discursive speech-turn of explicit approval of the initiative under discussion. This behaviour inscribed him in the area of multidimensionality and dynamicity; in this case, together with another individual, Speaker 11, the official-party-member who speaks Against, and whom we have recently (supra: 329–330) introduced. For the case of Speaker 3, it is plausible to think that the closing episode represents an occasion for Official-Party-Members to offer him the reward that he had dutifully earned 4 sequences before. The fate of his room-mate in shaded-area, Speaker 11, seems to be somewhat different. Let us turn again to Diagram 1, turns # 146-154, the very end of it all. Incidentally, I would like to remark that this second part of the sequence is recognizable as such (as a unit of some sort at a certain level) because the same participants, in this case the Authorities, produce a functional boundary between first and second parts in this and all sub-sequences in the debate. They declare the discussion closed and announce the Votation stage open. From that moment on, the occurrence of common-speakers’ discursive or argumentative speech-turns must stop; only Authorities are allowed the floor. In this case, this statutory phase starts in the second part of turn # 146. However, it is a non-standard realization of Votation, as can be seen. What is happening here? Authorities read the final version of the article under discussion (the last one) and ritually declare the Votation stage open. This is a solemn and formal occasion: a strict speech-act of conventionalized content and form, and it must not undergo any sort of disturbance. And yet here comes an interruption (Speaker 8, turn # 150). The fact that only one (and not both) of the sides of the
Teresa Carbó
graphic representation of this turn (and of # 152) bears an angled shape (not round or smooth) is due to this speaker’s careful wording, which is extremely polite and deferring to the session Authorities. The latter, slightly amazed, remind him that Votation is on. Speaker 8 insists, with a very peculiar argument: namely, that his vote is For and that he needs to make a “small” point all the same, not seeing any reason why it should be denied to him. He is granted therefore the chance for an additional turn in the most unlikely (unlawful, unexpected) location, exactly when the set of potential successive speakers (Sacks et al. 1974: 711) is null. This event, however, is unprecedented, I must say. In fact, it is unique in the full extension of my study’s archive repository. In the midst of the Votation stage, under the claim of a necessary “clarification”, this speaker manages to obtain an additional speech-turn where he will declare (in very severe terms) his “energical” protest against the “demagogical concepts” of Speaker 11, while also demanding that the Journal of Debates attest this negatively-evaluative speech-act of his, which they obviously did (though, of course, he did not phrase it in discourse-analysis jargon). So, by way of Speaker 8’s persistence we encounter here Speaker 11’s echo (the reversed sign of his own contradictory presence) at the very heart (with Barthes’ license) of the closing scene: in absolute final location where he is a (prominent) guest, in the form of an object of refusal, reprobation, abhorrence. Such extremes of markedness are very illuminating. In the first place, we may now read as symptomatic indeed the combined presences (both actual and virtual) of Speaker 3 and Speaker 11 in this pragmatically important final location; one of them in triumph (the opposition) and in abjection the other (by now, presumably former-own-member who has committed treason). In this respect it must also be said that Speaker 8 has already been in association with Speaker 11, or that the ‘thing’ has a story in the full interactional scene. In Sub-sequence 6, the previous one, Speaker 8, a minor official-party-figure, has conscientiously added his forces in the vicious ‘full-squadron’ interactional attack that several members of Speaker 11’s same political party (the PRI) displayed against him, in ordered and relentless formation, in the occasion of his unexpectable behaviour (Carbó 1996: 466–468). Specifically, Speaker 8 attempted to get the floor from Speaker 11 with one trick or another; Speaker 11 refused it, and Speaker 8 then produced two additional ironical comments on Speaker 11’s courtesy, but he did not manage to get the floor. Two ideas come together: the outcome of this exchange itches still, and/or Speaker 11’s criticism of the official policy has amounted to a serious transgression, getting close to a ‘true’ disruptive event. None of these is literal, for sure, but it is obvious that the contrast between this last negative mention of Speaker
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong
11, and the immediately preceding solemn-happy farewell that is bestowed on Speaker 3 (as a member of an opposition which plays by the rules) could not have been starker. In the second place, I regard the full configuration of this 1948 debate and its complex pattern of alliances and oppositions between PRI and PAN as a ‘backwards reverberation’ of what is happening in Mexico today. The evidence of a pact between the two parties before the July 2000 elections is to me by now undeniable, and thanks to this muted agreement, it all looks as if the PRI will return to power next time. In the meantime, the final stages of the country’s neoliberalization will unfold, under the PAN’s responsibility. Two solitary icons of post-revolutionary times and the only barrier which preserves this country from a total surrender (and probable collapse, in Argentinian terms), have still not been completely sold out: the electrical industry and (some of) the technical operations of oil production, Mexico’s biggest asset. During the last two years, the governing party has drastically reoriented the country’s relatively progressive foreign-affairs policy (thanks to which I happen to live here), and has ostensibly left Cuba to her own solitary fate in Latin-America. At the same time the PAN is fully completing the cycle of political, social and cultural concessions to the Roman Catholic Church that then-president Carlos Salinas de Gortari started in 1992. It is now the case that the opening ceremony of an important retrospective exhibition of the work of a renowned Mexican architect, the late Luis Barragán (himself a Catholic), consists in a mass (March 2002, Mexico City). In relation to the postulated existence of a process called ‘backwards reverberation’, I feel sorry that I cannot expand on it (see Carbó 1984, 1996). Here, I would only want to argue that ex post effects do present themselves, like afterthoughts or what is known as hindsight. Also, that Serendipity’s initial mapless condition does not deprive this form of inquiry of any of its cognitive impetus, nor does it prevent that the path of ‘serendipitous’ finds may be afterwards reconstruable along minute ‘Hansel and Gretel’-previously-here indications; these, sure enough, are semiotically materialized (not in the form of bread-crumbs, for birds to produce disaster), both in the object and in the analytic trajectory. And, last but not least, it is the case that systems keep memories of processes. It is therefore perfectly possible, I am convinced, to establish an association between at least the following phenomena: One, the tight, cohesive, interactional fabric that PRI speakers and Speaker 3 cooperatively weave in this 1948 parliamentary session, a sample of which I have presented, in the guise of a courteous closing episode. Two, the propositional content of the second part
Teresa Carbó
of Speaker 3’s famous turn, in the occasion of his Pro intervention (the part after the “but”; text not reproduced here), when the main objection that the PAN representative produced against the official initiative for the creation of the INI was the fact that the project did not state clearly enough that the basic goal of the new institute was to be the (flat) incorporation of the indigenous peoples to a unified national society, preserving their specific cultural traits insofar as they were “morally” acceptable (Carbó 1996, 2nd volume: 155). So, along time, it is clear that the PAN’s presently-exhibited regressive ideological disposition was never a thing that remained to be seen; it was there and visible a long way back, in most of this party’s proposals, most of the time. Its representatives were admitted on stage in benefit of the plausibility of the scenification, together with the strength of the force-correlations. But the political, interactional, cooperative interweaving between PRI and PAN started then, and it might well be heeded now (or some years ago; cf. Carbó 1996). And, three, precisely, the present state of affairs, according to which it is plausible to wonder if the institutional fall-back on the right side of the political spectrum (such as the PRI recently effected in Mexico) is not an extended job, an alliance or pact that comes from years back, as a domination regime grows in sophistication. Returning to methodological issues, such as have been previously analyzed, I would like to underline that mapping contexts along the courses of semiotic action may prove useful not only for re-presentational needs but also from an heuristic point of view. One great merit lies in the way in which the use of these formally-visualizing-devices helps to make the information from the ‘context’ a part of the analyses of verbal production, even at its most formal, along systemic, patterned ways, and against the introduction of history as an afterthought (or ‘salt-peppering’ movement). Therefore, this sort of work may be conducive to a more actual apprehension of the intrinsic elasticity and multiplicity of what could be deemed as relevant, manageable, contexts in a discourse-analysis endeavour. The visual display allows for a (more) sensorial comprehension of relationships and their reciprocal interweaving, while it also promotes a reduction (abstraction) of complex issues to their basic constitutive items (units, relations, patterns). Things come from and go to where they have always been: multidimensional contexts which are socio-historically-specific. Parliamentary territory as one of these is open to many kinds of interventions, from bombs to microscopic discourse-analytic studies. To work on it, to turn parliamentary discourse into an object of scrutiny and research, amounts to an intervention in itself, one may think. It is a matter of turning the spotlight on to the parliamentary scene, its multiple connections and layered flexibility;
Parliamentary discourse when things go wrong
and to operate this light in a way that it creates a disturbance in the smooth operation of legitimating practices. What happens in the parliamentary scene is not incidental to the structural, macro, power operations, which rely on the invisibility of it all. Working towards and from the opposite direction, a semiotic process of analysis along the lines that have been schematically presented here, deems it a duty to exhibit the location from where it all starts, the slant or point of view; the way of looking at things that is involved in the research narrative. Thus, a methodological reconstruction may look like a path, and it may sound, in fact, like a narrative; that of an analytic itinerary within options along time. A testimony of ways to operate (describe, i.e., handle, parse, segment, re-construct, integrate) the discursive processes involved; to map them, in the most abstract sense of the term. And also an answer (however transient) to the need to describe, understand, interpret, and project or predict (when possible). Following the grain of the voice of discourses (actually occurred and systematically dealt with); detecting the shape of texts, sequences and processes, it should be possible to behold the course of some stories in history, the signifying shape of time as it is materialized and inscribed in discursive, semiotic practices. This is the level of a general social semiotics, as before indicated; of the particularized space and time in which discrete and continuous operations of power and domination are actually effected; of specified human actions at a given time on this earth; the same earth that (and this bears repeating) is not theirs, certainly not, and we are millions.
References Barthes, Roland (1984 [1969]). Le bruissement de la langue. Paris: Éditions du Seuil. Bateson, Gregory (1972). Steps to an ecology of mind. New York: Ballantine. Becker, Alton L. (1988). Language in particular: A Lecture. In D. Tannen (Ed.), Linguistics in Context: Connecting Observation and Understanding (pp. 17–35). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Benveniste, Emile (1966). Problèmes de linguistique générale I. Paris: Gallimard. Blommaert, Jan (1997). Workshopping (Notes on professional vision in discourse analysis). Antwerp University: Antwerp Papers in Linguistics 91. Camp, Roderic A. (1976). Mexican Political Biographies. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Carbó, Teresa (1984). Discurso político: Lectura y análisis. Cuadernos de la Casa Chata 105, CIESAS: México. Carbó, Teresa (1987). ¿Cómo habla el Poder Legislativo en México? Revista Mexicana de Sociología, 49(2), 165–180.
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Carbó, Teresa (1989). Acerca de la literalidad como fascinación. In M. Piccini (Ed.), La imagen del tejedor (Lenguajes y políticas de la comunicación) (pp. 99–124). Barcelona and México: Gustavo Gilli. Carbó, Teresa (1992). Towards an interpretation of interruptions in Mexican parliamentary discourse, 1920–1960. Discourse and Society, 3(1), 25–45. Carbó, Teresa (1993). Determinaciones discursivas sobre episodios interaccionales en situación de debate. Morphé, 8, 27–51. Carbó, Teresa (1996). El discurso parlamentario mexicano entre 1920 y 1950 (Un estudio de caso en metodología de análisis de discurso). Mexico: El Colegio de México and CIESAS [2 Vols.]. Carbó, Teresa (2001). Regarding reading: On a methodological approach. Discourse and Society, 12(1), 59–89. Goodwin, Charles & Duranti, Alessandro (1992). Rethinking Context: An Introduction. In A. Duranti & C. Goodwin (Eds.), Rethinking context (Language as an interactive phenomenon) (pp. 1–42). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goodwin, Charles (1994). Professional vision. American Anthropologist, 96(3), 606–633. Gotsbachner, Emo (2001). Xenophobic normality: the discriminatory impact of habitualized discourse dynamics. Discourse and Society, 12(6), 729–759. Habermas, Jürgen (1990 [1983]). Moral Consciousness and Communicative Action. Cambridge: Polity Press. Hak, Tony & Helsloot, Niels (Eds.). (1995). Michel Pecheux: Automatic Discourse Analysis. Amsterdam-Atlanta: Utrecht Studies in Language and Communication and Rodopi. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1973). Explorations in the functions of language. London: Edward Arnold. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1978). Language as Social Semiotics (The social interpretation of language and meaning). London: Edward Arnold. Hodge, Robert & Kress, Gunther (1988). Social Semiotics. Cambridge: Polity Press. Hodge, Robert & Kress, Gunther (1993). Language as ideology [2nd ed.]. London and New York: Routledge. Jakobson, Roman (1981). The dominant. In Selected Writings (Vol. III Poetry of Grammar and Grammar of Poetry), 751–756. The Hague: Mouton. McDermott, Ray & Tylborg, Henry (1983). On the necessity of collusion in conversation. Text, 3(3), 277–297. Pike, Kenneth L. & Pike, Evelyn G. (1977). Grammatical Analysis. Summer Institute of Linguistics and University of Texas at Arlington, Dallas. Robin, Régine (1984). La circulation de la parole publique et ses risques: Les débats en Commission parlementaire sur le projet de lois concernant ‘l’organisation des services de santé et des services sociaux’ en Québec en 1971. Le discours social et ses usages, Cahiers de recherche sociologique, 2(1), 45–98. Sacks, Harvey, Schegloff, Emanuel, & Jefferson, Gail (1974). A simplest systematics for the organization of turn-taking for conversation. Language, 50, 696–735. Smith, Dorothy E. (1993 [1990]). Texts, facts and feminity (Exploring the relations of ruling). London and New York: Routledge.
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Van Dijk, Teun A. (1982). Episodes as units of discourse analysis. In D. Tannen (Ed.), Analyzing discourse: Text and Talk (pp. 177–195). Washington: Georgetown University Press. Van Dijk, Teun A. (1999). On context [Editorial]. Discourse and Society, 10(3), 291–292. Van Dijk, Teun A. (2001). Algunos principios de la teoría del contexto. Revista ALED (Asociación Latinoamericana de Estudios del Discurso), 1(1), 69–81. Verón, Eliseo (1971). Ideología y comunicación de masas: La semantización de la violencia política. In E. Verón et al., Lenguaje y comunicación social (pp. 133–191). Buenos Aires: Ediciones Nueva Visión. Verschueren, Jef (1999). Understanding Pragmatics. London: Edward Arnold. Yagcioglu, Semiramis & Aysen Cem-Deger (2001). Logos or mythos: (de)legitimation strategies in confrontational discourses of sociocultural ethos. Discourse and Society, 12(6), 817–852.
Text and context of parliamentary debates Teun A. van Dijk
.
Introduction
It is customary to search for the defining properties of a genre in the structures of text or talk. The same is true for parliamentary debates. These do have some characteristic textual properties, such as some well-known politeness formulas used to address other members of parliament (MPs), specific forms of political or adversarial ‘impoliteness’ (Harris 2001; Ilie 2001), and some other typical dialogical features. However, I shall argue in this paper that much of the genre theory of parliamentary debates should be formulated in terms of properties of their context. In other words, rather than for instance by their topics, style or turn-taking, parliamentary debates are primarily (and rather trivially) defined by the fact that the people engaging in these debates are Members of Parliament (MPs), that the debates take place in the political institution of Parliament, and that the MPs are ‘doing politics’ or ‘doing legislation’ among other contextual features. The problem with this thesis is that there is a long tradition, going back to classical rhetoric, to describe the textual structures of political speeches, but that the theory of context in contemporary linguistics and discourse analysis is rather primitive, and barely allows for sophisticated analyses. The present paper therefore should be seen as merely a modest attempt to provide a ‘contextual’ approach to parliamentary discourse. I shall do that by first sketching in brief my current theory of context, and then apply it in a partial theory of parliamentary debates and in a description of some data from a debate held in the British House of Commons. For other properties of parliamentary debates, I must refer to other work in this book, other work by their authors, as well as to a previous paper of mine on parliamentary debates (Van Dijk 2000).
Teun A. van Dijk
. Earlier studies on context Linguists and discourse analysts often speak about context, but a more or less explicit theory of context remains on the agenda. As is the case in psychology, most sociolinguistic accounts tend to examine such relationships in terms of simple co-variation or probability, instead of analyzing the precise nature and strategies of contextualization. . Systemic Functional Linguistics Because Systemic-Functional Linguistics (SFL) is undoubtedly the approach in linguistics that most often invokes the notion of context, we shall begin by commenting on their proposals (we hope to do so in more detail in a future book on context). One may expect of a socially oriented, functional theory a particularly sophisticated theory of context, so our examination of the SFL concept of context will be particularly critical. Without an explicit theory of context, much of the basis of the SF approach to language would lack a firm foundation because the functions of language are precisely defined in terms of properties of such contexts. Influenced by British anthropology and linguistics (Malinowski, Firth), systemic-functional linguistics distinguishes between the context of situation and the broader context of culture, which is seen as being related, at a higher level, rather to the language system or to genres. In the further discussion of the SF-notion of context we shall however ignore the notion ‘context of culture’ because we are here focusing especially on the theoretical account of the more local, more direct situational environment of discourse (for detail, see e.g., Eggins 1994). It should be emphasized though that types of situation, as well as the system that governs these are of course related to fundamental cultural resources. The same is true for the relations between text and talk at the local level, and larger systems of intertextuality at the global level (see also Lemke 1995). The main focus of SFL is on the context of situation, which is analyzed in terms of three main categories or parameters, briefly defined as follows: a. field: ongoing activity, subject matter b. tenor: participant relations c. mode: medium, and the role discourse plays in the ongoing activity.
Text and context of parliamentary debates
For a more detailed discussion, see, e.g., Eggins (1994), Halliday (1978), LeckieTarry (1995), Martin (1992) and the contributions in Ghadessy (1999). Some aspects of these notions had already been formulated in the 1960s in applied linguistics and linguistic stylistics (see, e.g., Gregory 1967; Spencer & Gregory 1964). However, a further historical study of the origin and originality of these notions in SFL is beyond the scope of this paper. In the last decades the notions are so closely associated with SFL that they should bear the theoretical responsibility for them, so that the critique we formulate below is not primarily directed at the uses of these notions in work of the stylistics of the 1960s. Although the contents of the three categories of context of situation as formulated in SFL are slightly different for different authors, the notions have not changed much in the last 30 years. Theoretically the notions are rather vague and heterogeneous, and it is striking that for a functional theory of language that aims to provide a ‘social semiotic’, context structures have not been explored more systematically and more explicitly in all these years. Not only are the terms (field, tenor, mode) hardly transparent, as to their intended meanings, but also the usual – informal – descriptions of their meanings are barely enlightening. Also, several SF linguists are not always happy with them, although they usually maintain them; see also the discussion on these context categories in Martin (1985, 1992, 1999). Indeed, the brief critical discussion we provide here should not hide the fact that also within SFL there are many dissident voices about many aspects of classical SFL. That is, SFL does not offer a unitary, coherent theory but rather a collection of studies by scholars who originally have been inspired by the work of Halliday, and who still use some of the standard notions of SFL, but who otherwise have gone their own way, as is for example the case of such varied approaches as those of Jim Martin, Eija Ventola, Jay Lemke, Norman Fairclough and Theo van Leeuwen, among many others. But let me return to the standard characterizations (definitions would probably be too strong a term) of the three dimensions of context in SFL. ‘Field’ is the term for the contextual category of (say) ‘ongoing social activity’. This is a relatively clear description of an important aspect of the social situation that may be relevant for discourse. One may only wonder why the term ‘Field’ instead of simply ‘Social Interaction’ has been used for this contextual dimension. To complicate matters, however, Field is also used to refer to “subject matter”, a notion that has little to do with ongoing social activities, but rather should be defined in terms of global semantic meanings (or macrostructures) of texts – and hence not of contexts.
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‘Tenor’ is a similarly strange term, but its intended contextual contents are fairly clear: participants, their relations and their roles. Apart from the somewhat obscure terminology, the only problem with this category in SFL is that it is often only participant relations that are being mentioned in its characterization, and not the other relevant social properties of participants, such as their group membership, let alone the important cognitive properties of participants such as their knowledge – a problem I shall critically deal with in some more detail below. ‘Mode’ as a term is slightly more comprehensible, but again it is a heterogeneous collection of contextual categories. It is usually described as “the role language is playing in the ongoing activity.” For instance, language may be constitutive of such an activity or be only peripheral to it. But the notion is also routinely used to refer to the written or spoken ‘mode’ of discourse, or even to the distance (intimacy, etc.) of the speakers. Also rhetorical functions and purposes or even genres have been discussed in this category. In sum, Mode is a ragbag of heterogeneous notions, some of which do not belong in a theory of context at all (such as rhetorical properties of language), whereas others merely indicate the functional nature of language use or discourse, and should hence be explained by the joint categories of the context. If we merely look at these few notions and their definitions, and ignore the broad linguistic implications these have had in SFL, our conclusions about the theory of context in SFL would have to be quite critical: – – – –
The contextual categories are not original (they are largely due to variation stylistics); The notions are theoretically unproductive and inert (they have barely changed in many years); They are rather vague (even SF linguists have variable definitions of the categories); They are heterogeneous (theoretically very different notions are described by these categories).
At the same time, there is very little inspiration from the many other approaches to context in linguistics and especially in anthropology, sociology or social psychology (see below), at least in the analysis of the context. There are relations with sociolinguistics (especially Bernstein’s), sociology and critical discourse analysis, among other directions, but these do not primarily focus on the improvement of the theory of context. In light of for instance what has been done in the ethnography of speaking and in the social psychology of episodes (see below) it is striking that SF for
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so long has been content with a rather heterogeneous set of very general and vague notions, without doing systematic research on the properties of the social situation of communicative events. Although they are occasionally mentioned as part of one of the three categories, one wonders why there is no systematic analysis of, for instance, such categories as social domain, setting, time, place or direction, of the many institutional constraints on discourse. The same is a fortiori true for lack of attention to the many types of ‘mental’ aspects of the social situation that are relevant for text or talk, such as purposes or aims, and especially knowledge, a notion that is very seldom used in SF analyses of context, at least not as a cognitive notion or as knowledge of individual speakers (for SFL, undoubtedly, knowledge is a social notion, in the sense that knowledge is – somehow – “in” or “of ” society, and not in the minds of people). In other words, the SF concept of context is not only inadequate for the reasons mentioned above, but it is also basically incomplete: very important categories are missing. The same is true for reflections on the internal structures of contexts. And finally, despite the main claims of a functional theory of language, there is strictly speaking no explicit theoretical framework that describes and explains how social structures of contexts can affect language or discourse structures, and vice versa. The relationship is merely postulated, but there is no explicit interface that shows how language users actually are able to adapt their discourse to their social environment. Like in much of classical sociolinguistics, this relationship in SF is not an explanatory one, but a correlational, descriptive (probabilistic) one. This is not surprising, because SFL has always rejected a cognitive approach to language in which such an interface should be formulated. SFL developed in the tradition of British empiricism, and against a background of behaviorist assumptions about “observability” as a crucial condition of “objective” scholarship, as we can find in Malinowski and Firth (Firth 1968: 170), and later in Halliday’s work (Halliday 1978: 170). Such “mental” aspects as purposes or knowledge are therefore as alien in the SF-descriptions of context as meanings in the work of Bloomfield. And without these and related notions, many aspects of language use cannot properly be accounted for. This official position is again confirmed by Hasan (Hasan 1999: 220), claiming that “the impetus for speaking does not originate in the knowledge of language”, a claim that of course hinges upon the interpretation of the vague term “impetus”. Although the SF-theory of context is in my view quite disappointing, this does not mean that systemic linguistics has nothing to offer to a context-
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sensitive theory of discourse. That is, its main ‘functional’ contribution is not so much in the theory of social situations, but rather in the ways social situations impinge on language, that is at the level of what in SF-jargon is called ‘register,’ or rather in the way register is related to grammar and properties of discourse. That is, the notion of register itself is quite vague, and for some authors more or less the same as context (e.g., Martin 1992). The context categories of SF described above are often also called register categories, but it seems more sensible to clearly distinguish between the linguistically relevant aspects of social situations, that is contexts, on the one hand, and the totality of linguistic options or possible variations that are related to these context features, on the other hand, and reserve the term ‘register’ for the latter – thinking of the possible choices language users have in a given situation. In other words, ‘register’ (or ‘style’) is rather the discursive-structural result of the way language can vary as a function of context structures or even more succinctly it may be defined as the trace of the context in the text. Thus, although SF in general describes language structures in terms of their functions (often confusingly called ‘meanings’ in the SF tradition, already in Firth), and thus is able to relate linguistic structures in terms of their social uses, the lack of explicitness of the SF-notion of context also carries over to its mappings or traces in talk or text. Thus, the context category of field is usually associated with the ‘ideational’ (meta-) function of language, tenor with the ‘interpersonal’ function, and mode with the ‘textual’ function of language. These general (meta) functions, however, are as vague, puzzling and heterogeneous as their contextual counterpart categories. Thus, what people are talking about, and the current, ongoing activity, vaguely relate to the account of experiences that are typically being denoted by the ideational function, but only very vaguely. Indeed, a news article, as well as many other discourse genres, is usually about events that have little to do with the experiences of its participants, either of journalists or of newspaper readers or TV viewers. More straightforward is the relation between the context category of tenor (participant relations) with the interpersonal function. However, one would in that case expect at least the integration of a pragmatic theory of speech acts or a theory of conversational interaction, but as is the case for many other theories and approaches of discourse, these have not been integrated in the classical theory of SFL – although later authors have provided some elements of integration. Perhaps most confusing is how Mode categories are assumed to systematically link up with ‘textual’ functions – a strange notion at this level when
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the very notion of context precisely wants to account for the functions of ‘text’ in the social situation. Probably, this is a remnant of the typical sentence or clause-oriented basis of SFL in grammar, where words, clauses and sentences also had a “textual” function (for instance in relation to cohesion or coherence). In a theory of discourse this does of course hardly make sense, because it is the relations between context and whole texts – and their structures – that are at stake. In other words, the ‘textual’ function is a rather heterogeneous and inconsistent category in this line-up. Textual functions thus understood must be described in discourse theories, e.g. in semantics, and not in a ‘pragmatic’ theory of context. Not only are the language functions based on the three context categories thus getting infected by the same vagueness as their contextual counterparts, one may also, and again, wonder whether fundamental categories are not missing in this approach. Indeed, one may wonder whether there is no linguistic or discursive evidence for the following obvious (global) functions of language variously proposed and used by many other linguists and discourse analysts, in a tradition that has roots in Jakobson’s famous article (Jakobson 1960): a. b. c. d. e. f.
Intra-personal functions (personal identity, personal opinions, etc.) Emotional functions (expression of feelings, affect) Group functions (membership of a group, group identity) Intergroup functions (power, dominance and solidarity) Cultural functions (general common ground, consensus, norms, values, etc.) Esthetic functions (e.g., in literature).
These ‘meanings’ or functions are barely revolutionary, and appear in most work on the social or cultural functions of language. Of course, SF linguists also talk about them, maybe in other terms, but it is strange that the triple that organizes the SF concept of context also must be reproduced in the SF concept of register and language functions, thus leading to a strange, arbitrary reduction, and the neglect of important aspects of language use in the classical SF framework. Again, this does not mean that there are no SF linguists who use other communicative functions, but somehow these do not seem to be integrated in the old framework, which as we suggested above seems to be quite resistant to change and updating. We shall not further detail our critique of the SFL concept of context, but only conclude that compared to other approaches, for instance in ethnography and social psychology, the notion (developed by linguists) is theoretically ad hoc. Although on many topics there are significant variations among SFL
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scholars, for instance in the work of Martin (e.g., Martin 1985, 1992, 1999), Ventola (1995) and Lemke (e.g., Lemke 1995) when compared to the standard theory, there have as far as I know not been any serious alternative formulations for the theory of the structures of context (see Ghadessy 1999). As briefly suggested above, an important difference with my own approach is that dominant SFL is explicitly anti-mentalist, a stance it shares with much of sociolinguistics, conversation analysis and discursive psychology, but not with cognitive anthropology. On various occasions Halliday and others have emphasized that they do not need any ‘mental’ interface for the relations between social context and language use (see e.g., Firth 1968: 170; Halliday 1978: 39). This is also the reason they reject Hymes’ concept of communicative competence. Instead of participants’ knowledge of the language, SFL theorists prefer to talk about the ‘potential’ of the system. How language users are able to acquire, use and change that ‘potential’ is not further explained, at least not in cognitive terms. The nature or locus of that ‘potential’ and how they magically control text and talk are not specified, as is also the case for related notions such as ‘repertoire’ in discursive psychology. As we have seen, one of the other theoretical problems of the rejection of cognitive accounts is that there is no theoretical interface between the language system or social language use, on the one hand, and actual text and talk of individual language users, on the other hand. Note that accounting for the cognitive dimensions of language use does not imply a reduction to individualism, but only the possibility to also explain personal variations of language use. That is, we should not only account for the social dimensions of discourse, but also explain how and why all discourses are unique and individual, and that this ‘subjectivity’ must also be built into the context. Moreover, because meanings, knowledge or understandings may be socially shared, mental descriptions may be both personal and social. We here touch upon one of the most resistant and problematic misunderstandings of virtually all ‘social’ approaches to language and discourse, namely that cognitive accounts are necessarily individualist and hence also anti-social. Incidentally, SFL’s positivism and anti-mentalism is inconsistent with the proposals of one of its historical forerunners, defined as such by Malinowski, Firth and Halliday, namely German linguist Philip Wegener (1848–1916). This scholar is said to have provided the first formulation of a theory of situation, but it is interesting to note that, unlike in SF research, part of this situation is formulated by him in cognitive terms, such as the ‘situation of recall’, that is, what we recall now of what has been said before (which obviously is not
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the same as what actually has been said before, that is, the co-text as it is traditionally defined). Although Halliday and other leading SF theorists explicitly reject any mentalist or individualist descriptions or explanations, and prefer to focus on the social ‘reality’ of language use, some of their key notions, such as meaning and functions, hardly refer to ‘observable’ events either. That is, a strictly positivist or behaviorist observational approach is inconsistent with a functional approach to language using terms such as meanings or meta-functions. The same is true for the theory of context. Already Firth, and later Halliday and others, stressed that we are not dealing with real social situations, but with abstractions, for instance defined in terms of what is relevant for language users. Similarly, notions such as language system, potentialities, levels of grammatical description, cohesion and other aspects of discourse, are all non-observable, abstract, theoretical notions or rather the mental constructs of language users. What usually happens in anti-mentalist theories of language and discourse (such as conversation analysis, discursive psychology etc.) is that cognitive notions come in through the backdoor. Thus, in spite of their anti-mentalist (or perhaps rather non-mentalist) orientation, SFL theorists also speak of belief systems, value systems, appraisal systems and ideologies. They do so however in terms of their expression in language and discourse, rather than in more cognitive terms (see also Halliday & Matthiessen 1999). The rejection of fundamental cognitive notions, such as purposes or knowledge, among many others, is therefore in my view inconsistent with an empirically adequate theory of language, for which forms of thought are no less ‘real’ than forms of action. The crucial point is that social meaning is not just social, but also mental, and this is not only the case for cognitive analysts, but also for language users themselves, for whom meanings, knowledge beliefs, opinions, attitudes and any other aspect of language understanding are things of the mind. We shall argue below that the same is true for their interpretations of communicative events we call contexts. . Other approaches Following the early work of Dell Hymes and his SPEAKING model of context (Hymes 1962), ethnographic approaches have so far contributed much to our understanding of context (Auer & Di Luzio 1992; Duranti & Goodwin 1992; Gumperz 1982). The focus here is on the relevant structures of whole commu-
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nicative events, and not just on the structures of text or talk as part of such events, and such events also include a setting, participants, goals, etc. Probably the most systematic work on context has been carried out in the social psychology of language (Brown & Fraser 1979; Giles & Coupland 1991), following various approaches to the social psychology of situations (Argyle, Furnham, & Graham 1981; Furnham & Argyle 1981; Forgas 1979, 1985). Thus, Brown and Fraser (1979: 35) present a situation schema consisting of components such as Scene, consisting of Setting (Bystanders, Locale, Time) and Purpose (goals, tasks, topic) and Participants and their various properties and relationships. Wish and Kaplan (1977), using multidimensional scaling, identify five basic dimensions people use in the interpretation of social situations: cooperative-competitive, intense-superficial, formal-informal, dominant-equal, and task oriented-non task-oriented (see also Forgas 1985; Giles & Coupland 1991). Note though that such dimensions are rather properties of one aspect of the social situation, namely properties of, and relations between participants and their actions, and not a description of context structures as a whole. Unlike linguistic approaches however, these social psychological approaches do not usually match assumed context/situation parameters with language or discourse structures, and that is of course the very point of a theory of context. That is, a theory of context is not the same as a theory of social situation, but a special and important special case of such a theory. Also, although these proposals come from psychology, they are not always related to mental representations (like models) of social situations. That is, social situations by themselves can of course not directly influence language use or other social practices, but this is only possible through a cognitive interface, which spells out how the social situation is interpreted, or in fact constructed, by participants.
. Fragments of a theory of context A fully-fledged theory of context is a complex, multidisciplinary theory of the structure of social situations and communicative events and how their relevant properties are related to the structures and strategies of text and talk (for early – more formal, but rather reductive – formulations of this theory, see e.g., Van Dijk, 1972, 1977). I shall only highlight some of the dimensions of such a theory, and in this paper largely ignore the earlier research done on context in linguistics, anthropology, and social psychology as referred to above. Despite this earlier work, we still lack a more or less explicit theory of context. Indeed, until today, there is not a single monograph on context.
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. Contexts as mental models The main thesis of my theory of context is that contexts should not be defined in terms of some kind of social situation in which discourse takes place, but rather as a mental representation, or model, constructed by the speech participants of or about such a situation (for details, see Van Dijk 1999). Social situations as such, as well as their properties, cannot directly influence how people write, speak or understand talk or text. Gender, age, roles, group membership or power of participants, among many other traditional properties of the situation of communicative events, can be relevant for discourse only when participants attend to them, and construct them as such. This observation is consistent with an ethnomethodological and discursive psychological approach to context. However, my proposal suggests that such ‘constructs’ are not just abstract or vaguely “in between” participants, but defined in terms of mental models, and only thus able to function as the necessary link between social situations and discourse. According to contemporary psychology, mental models are representations of actions or events in Episodic Memory, which is part of Long Term Memory. In Episodic Memory (sometimes also called Autobiographical Memory), people represent and store their (interpreted) personal experiences, including the ways they interpret the events they read or hear about, witness or participate in themselves. Thus, MPs debating about a recent ethnic conflict do so on the basis of their personal interpretation of such a conflict, as represented in their mental model of that conflict. Each MP will have his or her own mental model (interpretation) of this conflict (for details of the notion of mental model, see, e.g., Johnson-Laird 1983; Van Dijk & Kintsch 1993; Van Oostendorp & Goldman 1999). Models are not only personal, but also have an important social dimension. What MPs construct also depends on their general, cultural knowledge about conflicts and ethnic groups, as well as on their socially shared attitudes and ideologies about such conflicts or ethnic groups. That is, mental models of different people may sometimes be very much alike. However, despite these social dimensions, each model as a whole is subjective and unique (for the current communicative situation) because it necessarily also features the personal experiences, opinions, or autobiographical associations of MPs about such a conflict. The same is true for mental models that participants construe of a very special class of events, namely the communicative event in which they are now taking part. These are also personal, and unique for each participant –
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if only because of their different autobiographical experiences as well as the different current perspective and interests – and at the same time have a social dimension. We may conceive of context models as explaining the crucial ‘pragmatic’ notion of relevance: They define what for the discourse participants is now relevant in the social situation (see also Sperber & Wilson 1986). Without a conception of the communicative event as represented by a context model, participants are unable to adequately contribute to ongoing discourse. They would be unable to produce and understand speech acts, would be unable to adapt topics, lexical items, style and rhetoric to the current social event, and they would not even be able to tell what the recipients already know, so that they do not even know what ‘content’ to express in the first place. Indeed, without context models, adequate, contextually sensitive discourse is impossible. In other words, contexts are not ‘out there’, but ‘in here’: They are mental constructs of participants; they are individually variable interpretations of the ongoing social situation. Thus, they may be biased, feature personal opinions, and for these reasons also embody the opinions of the participants as members of groups. Indeed, a feminist and male chauvinist in conversation are likely to have rather different context models, as do a liberal and a conservative, a professor and a student, and a doctor and a patient talking together. Indeed, biased or incomplete context models are the source of profound communicative and interactional conflicts. In other words, just like mental models of events talked about, also context models may be ideologically biased. Thus, MPs not only may express biased beliefs about immigrants, but may also exhibit such beliefs in their interaction and discourse with immigrants or with MPs of other political parties. It should be emphasized that context models are not static mental representations, but dynamic structures. They are ongoingly constructed, updated and reconstructed. They change with each change in (the interpretation) of the situation, if only because of the ongoing changes of discourse itself (one of the components of context). For instance, if nothing else, the discourse will dynamically change the knowledge the participants have about the knowledge of the other. But also the ongoing action, the participant roles, aims and other beliefs may change during interaction. That is, in all ongoing interaction and hence also in ongoing conversation, as well as during reading, language participants maintain a dynamically changing model that allows them to flexibly plan, understand, memorize and adapt their discourse to other participants and other aspects of the ongoing event.
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Structures of context As is the case for the cognitive theory of mental models of events, we can only guess what contexts (i.e. context models) look like. Like event models they represent events, so – in a structural account – they most likely feature a schema consisting such categories as Setting (Time, Location), Event/Action, Participants, and so on, as suggested above. In this case, the central event/action is discursive (and possibly concomitant with other actions), and the participants are participants of speech. But a more articulate theory of context features more than just these categories. Thus, at a macro level of situational understanding, we assume that people need to be aware of the global social domain in which they are speaking. Politicians in parliament know they are now ‘doing’ Politics, and teachers are aware they are involved in Education, as judges are aware they are in the area of Law. This general domain (as subjectively represented – and therefore sometimes misguided) will influence the contents of many of the lower level categories of the schema. Similarly, participants in such domains, when speaking, also engage in global actions, such as legislation, teaching or doing justice. Local actions realize these global actions (such as criticizing the government, asking students about what they have learned, etc.). We see that as is also the case for a theory of discourse structures, we need a global (macro) and local (micro) level account of context. Participants as we know may have (assume or construct) many different roles, and such roles may affect the production and comprehension of discourse. We assume that there are three basic types of role that are contextually relevant: communicative roles, interactional roles and social roles. Thus, participants obviously need to represent themselves and other participants as speakers/writers or recipients, as well as a complex range of other communicative roles, such as various production roles in institutional situations (for instance in the mass media: writers, editors, actual speakers, etc.) and recipient roles (reader, listener, overhearer, etc.). Interactional roles need to be represented in order to be able to account for various situational positions, such as friends and enemies, proponents and opponents – as is the case for speakers in parliament speaking in support of, or against government proposals. Social roles account for group membership, as defined for instance by ethnicity, gender, age, political affiliation or profession. Obviously these various role types may be combined: Someone taking part in a parliamentary debate may (right now) be speaker, take a stand as opponent of the government, be an MP, a woman, a conservative, and so on – each role differentially affecting discourse
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structures. The same is true for the social relations between participants as group members, for instance in conversations between women and men. Finally, contexts also have cognitive categories, such as the goals, knowledge and other beliefs of the participants. The goal-directedness of discourse is of course crucial to interpret the interactional functions of discourse, obviously at all levels. The knowledge component is the very basis of a host of semantic and pragmatic properties of discourse, such as implications and presuppositions: The speaker must know what the recipient already knows in order to be able to decide what propositions of a mental model or of the social representations are known to the recipients. And recipients need to know the same about the speaker or writer in order to establish what is actually intended in implicit, indirect, ironic or other non-explicit forms of talk. In other words, people have mutual ‘knowledge models’ of each other’s knowledge, and these models crucially control many of the discursive strategies of participants. So far, this is merely a tentative taxonomy of probably relevant categories of contexts. Note that not all categories are always relevant: Participants in principle only construct those that are situationally relevant. Moreover, personal variation of context modelling may be a function of earlier communicative experiences. Some speakers, in some situations, will construct a rather rich and extensive context model, whereas others may be rather sloppy or general in their interpretation of the context. Some will be socially more or less ‘intelligent’ than others in interpreting non-verbal signals such as facial expressions, gestures or body posture, for instance, as expressions of contextually relevant emotions, beliefs or goals. An empirical theory of context also needs to specify which of the categories are general and perhaps universal, and which ones are culturally variable. Thus, in many cultures gender and age will usually be relevant in the production and comprehension of several discourse forms, whereas the length or the colour of the hair of speakers is not usually a relevant category. Such a theory also needs to spell out the relations between the categories: Some may be more relevant than others, thus suggesting a hierarchical structure for context models. The theory should be explicit about the actual effects of context model categories and contents on the selection of model information for meaning representations: What propositions may or must (not) be included? And finally, it should carefully specify what discourse forms, such as those of style, rhetoric, etc., are influenced by context features.
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. Parliamentary contexts This brief account of what we understand by context should be able to help us formulate fragments of a theory of parliamentary contexts as they are routinely and ongoingly constructed by MPs (for other studies of parliamentary discourse and events, see, e.g., Bayley 1998, 1999; Carbó 1992, 1995; Ilie 1994, 1999, 2000, 2001; Miller 1997, 1998; Van Dijk 2000; Wodak & Van Dijk 2000). Although contexts are by definition personal and unique, we also have seen that they have important social (and political) dimensions: MPs share much of their knowledge and beliefs about the contexts they construct, and also know how other MPs define the current situation, for instance of a parliamentary debate, in terms of their own mental models. They know, for instance, that whatever the other politicians may say or claim, they represent themselves (and other MPs) as members of some political party, and hence as political friends or opponents. Such awareness, as represented in the mental model we call context, also may actually be ritually expressed or formulated, for instance when in the British House of Commons MPs may address other MPs of the same party as ‘my honourable Friend’ – even when in other social situations they may be sworn enemies. In other words, also due to the socially shared nature of our knowledge about language, discourse and communication, and because of the routine nature of everyday context building (a special case of making models of our daily experiences), MPs need not invent or build their context models from scratch. Despite the variations of the social/political situation, as well as the personally different experiences of MPs, much of their personal models should consist of a more or less fixed schema that can be applied now and again in the interpretation of each session of Parliament. This activation of a known schema is strategic, and similar to the activation of knowledge about discourse genres. However, such a ready-made schema can quickly be adapted to specific circumstances. In light of the general theoretical remarks made above about contexts defined as mental models of communicative situations and events, and some more informal remarks about parliamentary contexts, let us now try to become more systematic and deal in more detail with the hypothetical categories of the parliamentary context schema. To test such hypotheses directly, we would need cognitive methods to assess the structure of mental models, but since these models generally involve forms of discourse (induced in the laboratory), I shall assume that these context categories may also be exhibited in parliamentary talk. This is not merely a
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methodological decision, but a theoretical one: contexts are defined in terms of relevance, and hence we must assume that its categories are constructed in such a way that they monitor specific structures of discourse. This does not mean that context categories are always explicitly formulated and attended to (as is the case for goals or knowledge), but by definition they are needed to describe and explain at least some properties of discourse. One of the many assumptions of a theory of mental models is that such models are (hierarchically) organized: important categories on top, and secondary categories lower in the hierarchical schema. In our analysis, we shall first deal with the respective categories, and then make assumptions on their ordering and organization in the model schema.
Micro and macro categories Another form of organization pertains to the level of categorization. As we have seen, some categories may be called macro categories because they are defined in more global societal structures, whereas the more traditional situational categories of face-to-face interaction belong to the micro level of analysis and understanding. Note that it would be a fallacy to assume, as is often the case in contemporary SFL, microsociological or ethnomethodological approaches, that the micro level of situated action is more ‘concrete’ or more ‘observable’ than macro-structural categories. In our theory, as well as in everyday experience and understanding, both levels are constructs, and hence represented in mental models. Thus, in parliamentary debates, global (societal) categories such as politics, parliament, legislation or political parties are no less ‘real’, and no less attended to in conversation and interaction, than typical local level categories such as a parliamentary session, participants or their actions. The point is that the latter are always defined in terms of the former: a debate is a parliamentary debate precisely because it is carried out as taking place in the institution of parliament, as part of legislation and as ‘doing politics’. This understanding is not merely cognitive but is also multiply signaled in talk itself. . Parliamentary Context Categories .. Macro-level categories Domain. As we already suggested above, social situations are routinely understood and experienced as forming part of a larger social domain (see also the notion of ‘field’ in the work of Bourdieu; see e.g., Bourdieu 1985). The content of the macro level category of a domain may well be culturally variable, but
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in many contemporary (post) industrial societies, such a segmentation of the social realm may feature domains such as politics, business, education, health care, justice, and so on. Institutions, social roles, professions, power relations, as well as social interaction and discourse, and many other societal structures at the macro and micro level of social analysis, tend to be related to such domains. It is here assumed that social actors, when engaging in talk or text, implicitly or explicitly attend to (their conception of) such social domains. References to such domains may especially be expected when things go wrong, when activities or discourses are perceived to cross domain boundaries, when professional competence is at stake, or when domains need to be defended against members of other domains. Thus, I assume that Politics is one of such domains, and that the definition of Parliamentary Context categories involves such an overall category. Participants know and ongoingly show awareness of participating in the political domain, and of ‘doing politics’. Often, such participation in the domain is related to professional roles, such as those of politicians, but that is no condition. Students may be engaged in a political demonstration, and in that case are aware of ‘doing politics’ rather than of ‘doing learning’. In other words, the global domain category is one of the overall categories that contribute to the definition of the situation, and hence to the definition of the status of its discourses. The slogans shouted by students in a demonstration are thus political if the demonstration is defined as being engaged in within the political domain. For sessions and debates in Parliament, there is in general little doubt about the overall domain. MPs are in general professional politicians, and their work is generally defined as political and as belonging to the domain of Politics, rather than that of Education or Health Care. Of course, individually or variously so because of ideologically differences, MPs may have different conceptions of what exactly politics is or implies, but it is likely that they share the overall category of Politics as the social domain that defines sessions of parliament. MPs may talk about education, health case or business, but such talk would not be construed as being contextually constrained by the domains of Education, Health Care or Business. Indeed, when politicians make their decisions or organize their speeches in terms of personal business interests, they may be criticized or prosecuted for corruption – a typical example of (illegal) domain crossing. However, domains may sometimes be closely related or even overlap. Thus, MPs are not only elected representatives but also legislators, and as such part of their activities belong to the domain of Justice or Law.
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Global actions. Global domains are characterized by global actions. Thus, whatever MPs are actually doing in a parliamentary session, such as giving speeches, criticizing the government, or asking questions, all these actions are defined, for MPs themselves as well as for other people, as engaging in the global acts of legislation or governing the country. Indeed, MPs are legislators. The ultimate point of their speeches or questions, is making or amending laws (as in the U. S. system), or discussing, amending and usually ratifying Bills (as proposed by the government) as in the U. K. system. At this macro level of analysis (or of understanding and representing situations by participants), we might also postulate other global actions. MPs not only legislate, but also engage in several other global acts of the political domain: – – – – – –
Representing their constituents Governing the country Criticizing the government Engaging in opposition Implementing party programs Making policy
Of course, besides these typical political acts, they also engage in more general social acts of many kinds, such as: – – – –
Making decisions Promoting themselves Reproducing (anti)racism Making money
All these global acts may take place concurrently, and may be realized by a single discursive act at the local level. That is, ‘doing politics’ at the highest level of this domain representation may involve much more than just legislation, and self- and other designations of MPs as representatives, opposition, policy makers, etc. show that such global acts are part of their political identity. We shall assume that for each local discursive act, politicians are – or may be – aware, of the global (political) significance or functionality of such acts. Questions may be asked on behalf of constituents, and politicians can only do so when being aware of their role as representatives or as members of the Opposition. And since such awareness influences the properties of their speeches, we assume that these global acts should be part of the context model of MPs. They are not just analytical inventions of political scientists or discourse analysts, but ‘real’ global acts in which participants consciously engage in when talking in parlia-
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ment, and which guides their discourse, their understanding, their interaction, and also their mutual critique. Being a ‘good’ politician and professional may imply carrying out local actions as satisfactory manifestation of the global acts.
Institutional actors. If global domains are the scenes of global actions, the logic of action requires there to be also global actors. That is, we do not merely understand political debates as being defined in terms of MPs, but also as a confrontation between political parties, between government and opposition, and parliament as an institution that ‘does’ things also as an institution. We thus routinely hear that the Government has decided so and so, or that Parliament has blocked a government decision. MPs are continuously aware of their participation in global groups or institutions, rather than merely as unique individuals. Thus their discursive style may be unique, but despite such uniqueness, they always also act as representatives of the parties, opposition, and so on. .. Micro-level categories Setting. At the specific micro level of ongoing interaction, MPs construct their environment first of all in terms of the ubiquitous category of a temporal and spatial setting. Storytelling, news reports and many other aspects of language and discourse, routinely express such a setting by initial categories of time and space (“Yesterday, in the office. . . .”, “Paris, May 5, 2001”, etc.). Also in parliamentary debates MPs construct their context in terms of such a definitional environment. Indeed, parliamentary debates take place, also by law, in a well-defined space, Parliament, multiply indexed in their speeches as ‘here’ or ‘in this House’ – expressions that may be ambiguous between global institutional deixis (here in the institution of Parliament) or local spatial deixis (in this building of parliament). The temporal setting might be trivially defined as a specific date and day, routinely referred to by deictic expressions such as ‘today’, and made explicit as a date in the Acts or Proceedings of parliament. But further analysis may suggest that also temporal settings in parliamentary debates also have legal and political significance beyond a day or date. Indeed, parliamentary decisions or votes may be legally valid or invalid before or after a specific day and date. Even more influential in parliamentary encounters is clock time. Such time is allocated to speakers by the Chair or by leaders of a debate, and scrupulously measured and administrated. Continuous reference is made in parliamentary speeches to the minutes MPs dispose of, request, or allocate to each other. Time of talk is thus one of the most precious resources of MPs, and allocated under
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quite strict rules and strategies governed by power and other political criteria (like equal time allotted to government and opposition parties, etc.). Speakers are visibly and hearably aware of time constraints, and much of their talk is influenced by time limitations, such as enhanced speed of speaking, making summaries, or begging for some more time from the Chair. Transcripts of parliamentary debates routinely include regular references to the current time, as do Chairs when concluding a debate.
Local actions. The central defining act of a parliamentary session is undoubtedly the discursive act of a debate. Note though that a ‘debate’ itself is a higher level, complex discursive notion, which consists of a sequence of speeches of MPs, interventions by the chair, questions of MPs directed at cabinet ministers, interruptions, and so on. Such a debate may not only go on for hours, but sometimes stretch over various days, and various sessions. Formally opened and introduced by the Chair, the debate may be formally concluded by a vote, and a final word of closure by the Chair. This observation first of all shows that also in the definition and understanding of context, the notions of macro vs. micro, or global vs. local, are gradual. That is, at the most specific local level of action description, an MP may ask a question (below the level of actions, we might even go down to the level of locutionary acts of uttering words or clauses), which may be part of her or his speech, which in turn is part of the complex debate. That is, the notion of ‘ongoing’ action or interaction is vague in that it can be defined at various linguistic, discursive, interactional and political levels. This also means that the contextualization of each aspect of talk in parliament may be multiply related to these different levels, referring or presupposing ‘these words’, ‘this question’, ‘this speech’ or ‘this debate’, respectively. And since in one session of parliament various topics may be addressed, we may even assume a higher level unit consisting of several debates. Although we have suggested that in the analysis of parliamentary debates the main focus will undoubtedly be on the discursive interaction defining a debate, it should be borne in mind that the contextual definition of local action in general is not limited to discursive action. Indeed, MPs ‘do’ a lot of things when speaking in parliament, and most of these things require definition in political terms. Thus, we have seen above that at the global level of analysis and representation MPs are first of all engaged in legislation. And although the distance between a word, speech act or speech at the local level and legislation at the global level may be considerable, we must assume that at least occasionally
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MPs are aware and show awareness of the functionality of their speech at these more global levels. Also the formality of parliamentary debates reminds MPs constantly of their ‘lofty’ task of legislators and representatives of the people. This overall, global or macro, organization also acts as a control at the local level. Although local goals of action may vary, the overall goal needs to be consistent with the global acts engaged in. Thus, a local question may be asked as a strategic move to criticize the government, and thus to attack a Bill proposed by the government, and such a move may be an excellent way to engage in opposition, and such opposition may be necessary as a responsible way to represent voters whose interests may be curtailed by the law, and so on. In other words, by talking, engaging in speech acts or in other discursive acts, MPs are typically also engaged in a considerable number of political acts. It is also for this reason that we need a context theory of parliamentary debates. Asking a question about (say) immigration is, as such, not a political act: many people in society in their respective situations may ask such questions. It is however the political functions of these acts (as part of legislation, governing, engaging in opposition, representing the people, etc.) that define a question as constitutive of a parliamentary debate. Each of these local moves of global level political actions in parliament may be recognized and categorized as such by experts, that is, by MPs themselves. For instance, during question time in the British House of Commons, no speeches may be given and only questions may be asked. But through specific formulations (“Is the Minister aware that. . . ”, etc.) indirect assertions and hence indirect little speeches, including points of critique may be formulated.
Participants. One of the crucial categories of context models is of course Participants and their relevant properties. It is standard knowledge that many discourse structures vary as a function of the properties of the participants and their relations: pronouns, politeness phenomena, and so on. In order to make these insights more explicit, I first propose to further analyze this category in terms of different kind of roles: – – –
Communicative roles (various producer and recipient roles) Interaction roles (friend, enemy, opponent, etc.) Social roles (e.g., based on gender, class, ethnicity, profession, organization, etc.).
Thus, the traditional speaker/recipient role distinction obviously controls the system of turn taking in parliament. There are however other ‘speaking’ roles that overlap with membership and leadership in social groups or organizations.
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That is, a speaker in parliament may be defined as ‘speaker’ of her or his party on a certain topic or issue, and may even be expected in that case to speak for someone else, and barely expressing personal opinions. Similarly, MPs are by definition ‘representatives’ of their constituencies, and may be heard as ‘speaking’ for them. Similarly, the chair of parliament is called the Speaker of the House in the U. K. and USA. We also know that the person who is the speaker of a speech in parliament, need not necessarily be the one who has conceived the speech, as is the case for many institutional speakers. These different identities or types of Speaking roles, some of which are properly political, control for instance the selection of pronouns. Thus, it is well-known that we is one of the most political of all pronouns, and variously reflects the identification or representation of the speaker as speaking for her or his party, as an MP speaking for all MPs, as a member of a nation, and so on. Similar remarks hold for various Recipient categories. MPs first of all address other MPs, and such an identity in the Participant-Recipient subcategory controls many of the strategies of address, politeness and persuasion in parliamentary debates. But MPs know that they will also be (over)heard by journalists and (often through the media) by the voters and any group, organization or country for whom the speech is relevant. This means that the recipient design moves in parliamentary debates all need to take into account such address directed to voters and others outside of parliament. Indeed, there are rhetorical moves that allow you in such debate to refer to others than those directly addressed in a parliamentary debate, namely the MPs. Secondly, participant categories are also defined by the very actions they accomplish. That is, it is crucial for the adversarial structures of party-based democracy that MPs are also categorized as representing and defending the Government or the Opposition. In the British House of Commons, members of the same party are routinely addressed as “Friends”. We call these categories ‘interactional’ because they may, like communicative categories, be wholly defined by the verbal interaction: one is an Opponent only when actually engaging in ‘doing opposition’. Many of the properties of the debates, and not only speech acts and acts such as attacking and defending are controlled by these interactional roles. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, MPs may belong to, identify with, represent or defend the interests of many different social categories, groups, institutions, or other units. They will speak also as Dutch or English, as men or women, as white or black, old or young, and so on, and by definition as MPs. These social and political categories control such characteristics as pronouns (such as Us vs. Them), and in general the broad strategy of positive ingroup
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description and negative outgroup descriptions so typical of any ideological discourse. This overall strategy may in turn control a host of positive vs. negative local moves in the presentation of Us vs. Them, and in general the forms of identification with various social groups. Topic choice, at the global level, and actor descriptions, presuppositions, disclaimers, implications, level of description, at the local level, and many more semantic structures and moves are typical of this social identity assumed by or ascribed to MPs.
Cognition. Often neglected as a context category, because context has often been exclusively associated with the ‘social situation’, we finally must assume a major cognitive category. Indeed, the crucial notion of the Aims or Intentions of the speakers is of course a cognitive category, namely a mental model represented in episodic memory. Both in production as well as in comprehension, thus, the aim each participants has of the interaction is fundamental, giving rise to a broad system of functional choices. If the overall aim of an MP is to attack the Bill of the current government, then this Aim controls the way the MP describes the Bill and those who are responsible for it. Perhaps most basic of a theory of context, however, is the notion of knowledge. It is crucial that MPs know or believe what the current knowledge is of the other speakers, so that they are able to select from their mental event models precisely that information that would be most relevant for the recipients. This is however a very difficult procedure, because sometimes knowledge must be repeated, sometimes only part of the information is provided, for instance in presupposition. Sometimes speakers do not keep track of the knowledge set of their interlocutors, so that ‘gaps’ may come to exist between what each of them takes for granted. Hence we need a strong knowledge component in the complex theory of context, because so many structures of discourse depend on them, such as presupposition, completeness, etc. . Example As our example we shall analyze a few passages from a debate on Asylum Seekers held in the British House of Commons on March 5, 1997. Note that location and date are already various properties of the context category of Setting. As to the participants of the context, this debate is initiated by Mrs. Teresa Gorman, Conservative MP of Billericay, later seconded by several other MPs of her party, and responded to by Labour MP Jeremy Corbyn. I shall focus on those properties of discourse that are controlled by the hypothetical context models of the participants. A full analysis of the debate
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(which lasted about one hour and a half) would require hundreds of pages, so I can only analyze some small fragments by way of illustration of the theoretical framework presented above. Note that a full context analysis would need to spell out that because their parties are political opponents, also Ms. Gorman and Jeremy Corbyn are political opponents, that the first is a woman and the second a man, that the MPs are party members and speakers of their party, that the Labour party is usually a bit more lenient on immigration that the Conservative Party, and so on. Finally, the cognitive dimension of the context as constructed in the models of the participants involves the respective aims of the speakers (to persuade other MPs or the general public, etc.), as well as their knowledge, opinions and attitudes about immigration, immigrants, the U. K., and a host of other relevant issues discussed in this debate. In order to understand Mrs. Gorman’s intervention, we further need to know that the overall aim of this intervention is to defend tough immigration policies of the Conservative government, and to ward off an attempt by the Labour party to amend the current immigration law. These rather global context properties define the debate from the outset, and become activated as soon as they are needed at the local level of model execution. I shall print all theoretical categories in bold, also those that have not yet been introduced above and therefore should be added to the theoretical framework. Words as spoken by the speaker and quoted in running text are printed in italics, and with smaller type, when presented as separate indented passages. This is how Mrs. Gorman begins her speech as well as the whole debate: (1) Mrs. Teresa Gorman (Billericay): I want to bring to the attention of the House the particular difficulties faced by the London boroughs because of the problems of asylum seekers.
Domain. Presupposed in this debate, but duly represented in the context models of the MPs is the overall domain in which the current debate and session of parliament is to be situated, namely that of politics. This contextual assignment is relevant for the production and comprehension of the speeches to be given, for instance as a condition for the activation and application of the right sort of knowledge, namely about politics, as well as to control the professional rights and duties of MPs, and other contextual categories that locally control many aspects of the form, meanings and functions of the speeches. Indeed, as acting professionals all MPs are aware that what they are doing by participating in this debate is ‘doing politics’.
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Global action. Similarly, the context model needs to represent globally what kind of overall activity the current activity (speech, debate) is constituting, so that it has a broader aim and functionality, namely legislation. One of the specific aims of Mrs. Gorman is to defend government policy and a restrictive immigration law that is being criticized by Labour. Such defense of current legislation and critique of proposals to change the law is a routine component of the overall political action of legitimization. Contextual knowledge about ‘what we are doing here’ is thus crucial to make the current activities of the MPs meaningful and politically relevant. Moreover, legislation usually deals with current social problems, so that also semantically the reference of Mrs. Gorman to difficulties of boroughs and problems of (created by) asylum seekers can be understood, and as a legitimate concern of an MP, that is, as part of the overall parliamentary action of legislation. Setting: Location. Implicit is also the knowledge about the Setting of the current debate, namely the British House of Commons (as explicitly signaled by Mrs. Gorman – see below). This may be a routine content of the Location category of the context models of MPs, but we still need to make this explicit in order to account for explicit deictic referential expressions (the House, or here). In the British House of Commons, such contextual knowledge about the current location is interestingly also presupposed in such expressions as ‘the other place’, referring to the House of Lords. Setting: Time. Note also that Timing is important as a temporal aspect of Setting. The Hansard transcript explicitly signals starting time, and regularly does so for other moments. Speakers routinely refer to their lacking or running out of time, or argue that they have only a few minutes left, and that they therefore cannot ‘yield’ to the other speaker. Knowledge. As suggested above, another overall contextual constraint that needs to be highlighted from the start is the fundamental role of shared knowledge. Mrs. Gorman needs to have various types of knowledge, largely shared by the other MPs, and indeed, with many other people in the UK: general knowledge of the language and knowledge of asylum seekers and related topics of immigration, and more specific professional knowledge about how to proceed in such a debate, what her duties and rights are as an MP, and even more specifically the knowledge of Conservative MPs about the Labour Party and its attitudes about asylum seekers and immigration. Spelling out all this knowledge, just for this small fragment, let alone for all other fragments below, would require many pages, and is outside the aims of this paper. I shall further regard the relation between general or political knowledge shared by MPs as being a condition for the meaningfulness and interpretability of this text, and hence as
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a problem for a semantic, rather than of a contextual analysis. Strictly speaking though, knowledge of participants is of course a contextual category. In other words, discourse meaning is, at least also indirectly, a function of context. Relevant though is Mrs. Gorman’s knowledge about the current communicative situation as it is represented in her context model. Note also the use of the definite articles the, the House, the difficulties, the London boroughs, and the problems, which also presuppose (political) knowledge about the current political situation around immigration and asylum seekers and its financial consequences. However, it is worth noting that such knowledge presuppositions maybe ideologically manipulated: The difficulties of the London boroughs and the problems of asylum seekers may exist only in the mind (situation model) of Mrs. Gorman. Others, with a different mental model of the current situation around asylum seekers, might well deny that the London boroughs have any (particular) difficulties, or that the asylum seekers are (causing) a problem. Participant description/identification. In this (printed) Hansard version of the debate (which is not always identical with the spoken version), we first encounter an identification of the Speaker by her name, followed by the name of her constituency. That is, we here have (textual) expressions of Current Speaker, and of her Professional/Social Role as Member of Parliament and Representative. Note though that her role as MP need not be made explicit, because it is presupposed that all those present in parliament are MPs. In other words, there is much (social, political) knowledge shared by speaker and recipients that needs not be expressed, and that may be attended to only under specific conditions. Participants: Communicative role: Current speaker. Turning now to the analysis of her speech, we find that the Current Speaker category is routinely expressed by the personal pronoun I. Selection of the first person pronoun also politically signals that she is the person who takes the initiative of the debate. Although speaking as a Conservative MP, and as such also representing her party, she here also speaks for herself, and not necessarily voices the opinion of her party. Indeed, later in the debate some of her party members will subtly take distance from what she says about asylum seekers. Participants: Social role: MP. Apart from the description in the written Hansard version, and the usual introduction (or permission to speak) by the Speaker of Parliament, Mrs. Gorman’s social (professional) role as MP is presupposed as shared knowledge of the participants. This means that in the context model of all participants the Social Role category of the current situation is filled by the profession of MP, attributed to Mrs. Gorman, as well as to all others present. Although not made explicit, however, the current passage
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can only be understood when the relevant political knowledge is activated and applied to MPs, and hence also Mrs. Gorman. On that knowledge basis she feels not only entitled, but expected to speak about constituents or (other) citizens, as is the case here. That is, her expressed concern is a routine manifestation of her contextual role as MP. Action. Mrs. Gorman uses a performative verb (to bring to the attention of) to refer to her own ongoing communicative act, and thus makes part of the very context explicit. Note that usually speakers simply say what they have to say, without making their affirmative speech acts explicit. Combined with the self-descriptive volition verb to wish such a formulation expresses both a formal and a polite register, which is itself controlled by the Institution (part of the Setting category). Recipients. As subcategory of the Participant-Communicative Role subcategory, Recipients is filled by the expression the House, which is intended and understood (on the basis of shared political Knowledge, analyzed above) as metonymically standing for ‘the (British) House of Commons’ or parliament, and more specifically here (all) its present members, as (primary) Addressees. There is no textual trace here of possible other (secondary) addressees, such as her constituents, the media or the public at large. Note also that the definite article the presupposes shared knowledge of the recipients about which House is meant, trivially so as part of the contextual knowledge of the (one and only) ‘house’ they are members of. We see that the rather informal contextual analysis of even a small fragment already marshals a rather extensive theoretical framework, of which several elements (such as all relevant knowledge of the participants) is not yet fully specified in order to explain all discursive structures of this fragment (such as the plausibility of the expression caused by as linking difficulties of boroughs with problems of asylum seekers). The next passage of Mrs. Gorman’s speech runs as follows: (2) There are, of course, asylum seekers and asylum seekers. I entirely support the policy of the Government to help genuine asylum seekers, but to discourage the growing number of people from abroad who come to Britain on holiday, as students or in some other capacity and, when the time comes for them to leave, declare themselves to be in need of asylum.
Knowledge. With a well-known rhetorical trick of the apparent tautology (usually expressed with special intonation, not represented in the transcript), Mrs. Gorman right from the start begins the ideological categorization between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ asylum seekers, one of the implications of such a tautol-
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ogy. Much of such an analysis needs to be provided by a semantic description though. Contextually interesting however is the use of of course. This marker of obviousness signals not only presupposed knowledge, but also that such knowledge is or should be widely shared by everyone. Knowledge (or rather an opinion) about what is or should be known is typically contextual, and thus relevant here: it is Mrs. Gorman’s opinion. This evaluation of the obviousness of the categorization of asylum seekers as good and bad is driven by an underlying anti-immigration ideology which overall tends to assign negative properties to immigrants, as is indeed the case throughout Mrs. Gorman’s speech. Participants: Interaction role. Mrs. Gorman’s speech has many communicative, social, political and interactional functions, some of which explicitly formulated by the speaker herself. That Conservative MPs support the policies of a Conservative government is obvious, and as such is a belief that needs not to be formulated, because everyone (at least in the House of Commons) knows that. In this case, however, Mrs. Gorman does more than merely assert the obvious. By explicitly supporting Government policy she not only signals her role as MP (see above) and not only her role as MP who is member of a party in power, but also her interactional role in the current debate, namely as supporting the government. Since the policy of the government is formulated in positive terms (help genuine asylum seekers), her support is at the same time a form of praise for such government policy – and hence the expression of an (indirect) speech act. As member of the government party and as a supporter of such (good) immigration policy, she thereby also implicitly evaluates herself as positive, a well known conversational move. Action. Most of the rest of this passage is an expression of Mrs. Gorman’s (conservatively biased) mental model of the current situation of asylum seekers. Analysis of such a biased expression (such as the description of asylum seekers and their actions) is the task of a critical discourse semantics. But Mrs. Gorman is also politically doing something right now, and such actions are of course relevant in the interpretation of the current (political, social) situation, both by herself, as well as by the other MPs. Most explicit is the use of the performative verb to support, which enacts the political act of accepting and defending government policy. At the same time, she is starting to say negative things about asylum seekers, and this implies the enactment of various speech acts (such as accusation) and other social actions, such as spreading negative opinions about immigrants, a well-known type of elite discrimination and racism. Note that the euphemism used here (discourage) further contributes to the positive self-image of the speaker and the institution (government) she hereby identifies with. Policing and other actions against immigrants are usu-
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ally much harsher than merely a form of discouragement. In other words, this verb is an expression of the global strategy of positive self-presentation, whereas the earlier part is a contribution to negative other-presentation. Mrs. Gorman continues as follows: (3) The matter was adequately dealt with by the Social Security Committee report on benefit for asylum seekers, which was an all-party document that pointed out that it was costing about £200 million a year for those people, many of whom could reasonably be called economic migrants and some of whom are just benefit seekers on holiday, to remain in Britain. It is wrong that ratepayers in the London area should bear an undue proportion of the burden of expenditure that those people are causing. I understand that many people want to come to Britain to work, but there is a procedure whereby people can legitimately become part of our community. People who come as economic migrants are sidestepping that.
The third and final example from this speech, immediately following the previous ones, again largely expresses the biased mental situation model Mrs. Gorman has of current immigration of refugees. Note only the following features that are (also) under control of the context model of the speaker: a. the use of evaluative adequately, signaling an opinion of the speaker, and hence a property of the context; b. knowledge of and reference to the Social Security Committee as a participant in the situation, and more specifically as an authority; c. the reference to the all-party document of the SSC, signaling a political consensus on matters of immigration, a powerful move of persuasion; d. the use of the demonstrative those in those people is a well-known example of taking ethnic, racial or class distance, and to foster the polarization between Us and Them, which is also something relevant for the context, namely an expression of the ideology of the speaker. e. the expression may reasonably be called economic refugees not only has obvious semantic dimensions that need be cut, but also a pragmatic/contextual one: affirmation of the reasonable character of the speaker and her reference group (her part), which is part of the overall strategy of positive self presentation. This and the later reference to the ‘benefit seekers’ is also a contribution to the overall strategy of negative other-presentation. f. Mrs. Gorman not only attacks refugees and supports government policy, but she also engages in what she is elected for: representing the voters. Thus, in the brief passage It is wrong that British ratepayers. . . she presup-
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poses first that British ratepayers do indeed pay for refugees, negatively evaluates this as bad and a problem that needs to be addressed. In other words, in political terms, she is defending the interests of the British property owners. g. Finally, this passage exhibits a disclaimer, namely the disclaimer of Apparent Empathy (I understand. . . but. . . ), which appears to contribute to positive Self-presentation, but is a move that contributes to the negative presentation of Others. Apart from being part of a semantic strategy, this move apparently also has contextual dimensions, namely when implying (or suggesting with the audience) a positive opinion of the speaker. In these examples we see that the semantics and context description of discourse intermingle. Negative other-description in racist discourse like this is a common dimension of its meaning. However, such a strategy of negative otherpresentation is usually combined with a strategy of positive self-presentation, and such a positive opinion about Self or the own group, is of course an important part of the context model of most speakers. At the same time, in this case, the speaker signals her political allegiance, her party solidarity, and her social identity as a member of the dominant white majority in the U. K. We also see that in such an informal ‘contextual’ analysis, the description of contextualization cues involves many context categories, such as – – – – –
overall domain (we are dealing with politics here), Global action (we are engaged in legislation), Setting (we are here in Parliament, today), Current action (I am now giving a speech as part of a parliamentary debate), Participants – Communicative roles: Speakers, Recipients; – Interactional role: Supporter of Government; – Social/political role/identity: MP, Conservative, woman, white British, etc. – Positive self presentation
– –
Goals: defend government, attack Labour, discredit refugees Knowledge: general: on immigrants, financial issues; political: on legislation, policies, etc.
These categories are not neatly separated in their manifestation in the text. Often they remain implicit, and only indirectly control discursive properties (such
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as negative descriptions at the semantic level), or the vast amount of knowledge presupposed and shared by participants, especially also in institutional settings. In our theory of context this does not mean that such context categories are not relevant, and hence need not be part of the analysis. Participants need not always explicitly attend to, orient towards or express (contents of) contextual categories. Contextual relevance may also be implicit, for instance when it explains the choice of specific words, the absence of specific descriptions, the choice of topic, the selection of the information of mental models of events, the speech acts of the participants, and so on. An explicit theory of Context should make the details of these interactional and cognitive strategies more explicit.
Acknowledgements I am indebted to Paul Bayley, Donna Miller, Jay Lemke, Theo van Leeuwen and Paul Chilton, for their comments on an earlier version of the section on the SFL notion of context, and to Cornelia Ilie and Paul Bayley for other comments on the rest of the paper. This does not mean that they agree with everything in the final version of this paper.
References Argyle, Michael, Furnham, Adrian, & Graham, Jean A. (1981). Social situations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Auer, Peter & Di Luzio, Aldo (Eds.). (1992). The contextualization of language. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Bayley, Paul (1998). Argument about argument: The Discourse of Winning and Losing. In M. Bondi (Ed.), Forms of Argumentative Discourse. Per un’analisi linguistica dell’argomentare (pp. 157–174). Bologna: CLUEB. Bayley, Paul (1999). Lexis in British parliamentary debate: collocation patterns. In J. Verschueren (Ed.), Language and ideology. Selected papers from the 6th International Pragmatics Conference, Vol. 1 (pp. 42–55). Antwerp: International Pragmatics Association. Bourdieu, Pierre (1985). The genesis of the concepts of ‘Habitus’ and ‘Field’. Sociocriticism, 2(2), 11–24. Brown, Penelope & Fraser, Colin (1979). Speech as a marker of situation. In K. R. Scherer & H. Giles (Eds.), Social markers in speech (pp. 33–62). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Carbó, Teresa (1992). Towards an interpretation of interruptions in Mexican parliamentary discourse. Discourse and Society, 3(1), 25–45.
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Carbó, Teresa (1995). El discurso parlamentario mexicano entre 1920 y 1950. Un estudio de caso en metodología de análisis de discurso (Mexican parliamentary discourse between 1920 and 1950. A case study in the methodology of discourse analysis) [2 vols.]. Mexico: CIESAS and Colegio de Mexico. Duranti, Alessandro & Goodwin, Charles (Eds.). (1992). Rethinking Context: Language as an Interactive Phenomenon. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Eggins, Suzanne (1994). An introduction to systemic functional linguistics. London: Continuum. Firth, John R. (1968). Selected papers of J. R. Firth, 1952–59 [Edited by F. R. Palmer]. London: Longmans. Forgas, Joseph P. (1979). Social episodes: The study of interaction routines. London New York: Academic Press. Forgas, Joseph P. (Ed.). (1985). Language and social situations. New York, NY: Springer. Furnham, Adrian & Argyle, Michael (Eds.). (1981). The psychology of social situations. Oxford: Pergamon Press. Ghadessy, Mohsen (Ed.). (1999). Text and context in functional linguistics. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Giles, Howard & Coupland, Nikolas (1991). Language: Contexts and consequences. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Gumperz, John J. (1982). Discourse strategies. Cambridge, NY: Cambridge University Press. Gumperz, John J. (Ed.). (1982). Language and social identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Halliday, Michael A. K. (1978). Language as social semiotic – the social interpretation of language and meaning. London: Edward Arnold. Halliday, Michael A. K. & Matthiessen, Christian M. I. M. (1999). Construing experience through meaning: A language-based approach to cognition. London New York: Cassell. Harris, Sandra (2001). Being politically impolite: extending politeness theory to adversarial political discourse. Discourse and Society, 12(4), 451–472. Hasan, Ruqaiya (1999). Speaking with reference to context. In M. Ghadessy (Ed.), Text and context in functional linguistics (pp. 219–321). Amsterdam and Phialdelphia: John Benjamins. Hymes, Dell (1962). The ethnography of speaking. In T. Gladwin & W. C. Sturtevant (Eds.), Anthropology and human behavior (pp. 13–53). Washington, DC: Anthropological Society of Washington. Ilie, Cornelia (1994). What else can I tell you? A pragmatic study of English rhetorical questions as discursive and argumentative acts. Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell. Ilie, Cornelia (1999). Disagreement about agreement. Key word polarization in parliamentary debates. In P. Linell, L. Ahrenberg, & L. Jönsson (Eds.), Samtal och språkanvändning i professionerna (Conversation and language use in the professions). Rapport från ASLA’s höstsymposium. Linköping, 6–7 November 1997, 111–122. Uppsala: Uppsala University. Ilie, Cornelia (2000). Cliché-based metadiscursive argumentation in the Houses of Parliament. International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 10(1), 65–84.
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Ilie, Cornelia (2001). Unparliamentary language: Insults as cognitive forms of confrontation. In R. Dirven, R. Frank, & C. Ilie (Eds.), Language and ideology. Vol. 2. Descriptive cognitive approaches (pp. 235–263). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Jakobson, Roman (1960). Closing statement: Linguistics and poetics. In T. A. Sebeok (Ed.), Style in language (pp. 350–377). Cambridge, MA: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press. Johnson-Laird, Philip N. (1983). Mental models: Towards a cognitive science of language, inference and consciousness. Cambridge, NY: Cambridge University Press. Johnson-Laird, Philip N. (1983). Mental models. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leckie-Tarry, Helen (1995). Language and Context. A functional linguistic theory of register. [Edited by David Birch]. London: Pinter. Lemke, Jay L. (1995). Textual politics. Discourse and social dynamics. London: Taylor and Francis. Martin, James R. (1985). Process and text. In J. D. Benson & W. S. Greaves (Eds.), Systemic perspectives on discourse, Vol. 1 (pp. 248–274). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Martin, James R. (1992). English text. System and structure. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Martin, James R. (1999). Modelling context. A crooked path of progress in contextual linguistics. In M. Ghadessy (Ed.), Text and context in functional linguistics (pp. 25–61). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Miller, Donna R. (1997). Reasoning Europe: Alternative political reality construction, or the ‘stealing back and forth of symbols’, in British Commons debates on Maastricht. In D. R. Miller & N. Vasta (Eds.), La construzione linguística della comunicazione politica (pp. 93–135). Padua: Cedam. Miller, Donna R. (1999). Meaning up for grabs: Value-orientation patterns in British parliamentary debate on Europe. In J. Verschueren (Ed.), Language and ideology. Selected papers from the 6th International Pragmatics Conference, Vol. 1 (pp. 386–404). Antwerp: International Pragmatics Association. Sperber, Don & Wilson, Deidre (1986). Relevance: Communication and cognition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Spencer, John W. & Gregory, Michael J. (1964). An approach to the study of style. In J. W. Spencer, N. E. Enkvist, & M. J. Gregory, Linguistics and style (pp. 57–105). London: Oxford University Press. Van Dijk, Teun A. (1972). Some aspects of text grammars. The Hague: Mouton. Van Dijk, Teun A. (1977). Text and Context. London: Longman. Van Dijk, Teun A. (1993). Elite discourse and racism. Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Van Dijk, Teun A. (1999). Context models in discourse processing. In Herre van Oostendorp & Susan R. Goldman (Eds.), The construction of mental representations during reading (pp. 123–148). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Van Dijk, Teun A. (2000). Parliamentary Discourse. In R. Wodak & T. A. Van Dijk (Eds.), Racism at the Top. Parliamentary Discourses on Ethnic Issues in Six European States (pp. 45–78). Klagenfurt, Austria: Drava Verlag. Van Dijk, Teun A. & Kintsch, Walter (1983). Strategies of discourse comprehension. New York: Academic Press.
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Van Oostendorp, Herre & Goldman, Susan R. (Eds.). (1999). The construction of mental representations during reading. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Ventola, Eija (1995). Generic and register qualities of texts and their realization. In P. H. Fries & M. Gregory (Eds.), Discourse in society. Systemic functional perspectives: meaning and choice in language: studies for Michael Halliday (pp. 3–28). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Wish, Myron & Kaplan, Susan J. (1977). Toward an implicit theory of interpersonal communication. Sociometry, 40, 234–246. Wodak, Ruth & Van Dijk, Teun A. (Eds.). (2000). Racism at the Top. Parliamentary Discourses on Ethnic Issues in Six European States. Klagenfurt, Austria: Drava Verlag.
Author index
A Adams K. 276 Aijmer K. 112 Alternberg B. 33 Antaki C. 9, 25, 284 Arcaini E. 240, 246, 250, 267 Argyle M. 348 Aston G. 33, 230, 232 Atkinson J. M. 8, 173 Auer P. 347 B Bagehot W. 12 Baker M. 33 Bakhtin M. M. 112, 283 Barthes R. 315, 332 Bateson G. 321, 322 Battaner Arias M. P. 240 Bauhr M. 79 Bayley P. 8, 9, 10, 96, 98, 108, 233, 292, 353 Becker A. L. 311 Beetham D. 156 Bell A. 154, 233 Benveniste E. 314 Berry M. 33 Biber D. 33, 135, 151 Bitzer L. F. 66 Blommaert J. 8, 302, 311, 317 Bloom H. 273 Bolletieri Bosinelli R. M. 8 Bourdieu P. 319, 354 Brown G. 151, 348 Brown P. 51, 89, 97, 158, 165, 181 Brown R. 181 Bruegel I. 260
Bulcaen C.
8
C Caldas Coulthard C. R. 28 Cameron D. 126 Camp R. A. 328, 329 Capano G. 40 Carbó T. 6, 9, 29, 90, 108, 314 Chilton P. 8, 9, 369 Chomsky N. 32, 181, 182 Conrad S. 33 Coulthard M. 28 Coupland N. 348 Crystal D. 9 D Damgaard E. 49 Daun A. 54, 80 De Beaugrande R 29, 33 Devoto G. 192 Diamanti I. 187 Döring H. 49 Douthwaite J. 296 Douzinas C. 8 Duranti C. 312–314, 347 E Eco U. 279 Edelman M. 8 Eggins S. 88, 91, 96, 102, 340, 341 F Fairclough N. 341
8, 28, 31, 151, 181,
Author index
Fawcett R. 30 Fernández Lagunilla M. 240 Fina A. D. 108 Finegan E. 135 Firth J. R. 239, 340, 343, 344, 346, 347 Fisher L. 126, 131, 135 Forgas J. F. 348 Foucault M. 29, 31 Fowler R. 28, 31 Francis G. 33 Fraser C. 348 Frayn M. 233 Freedland J. 116 Furnham A. 348 G Galtung J. 232 García Santos J. F. 240 Geis M. L. 8 Gelb N. 135 Ghadessy M. 341, 346 Giles H. 93, 348 Gilman A. 181 Goffman E. 97 Gomard K. 79 Goodrich P. 8 Goodwin C. 312–314, 317, 347 Gotsbachner E. 319 Govier T. 46 Graham J. A. 348 Gregory M. J. 321, 341 Grice P. 165 Gruber H. 165 Gumperz J. F. 90, 347 H Habermas J. 301–303, 306 Hak T. 302, 304, 307, 315, 317 Halliday M. A. K. 29–31, 39, 88, 90, 113, 120, 121, 151, 158, 171, 181, 190, 194, 195, 233, 272, 275, 276, 280, 311, 313, 318, 341, 343, 346, 347
Hammer M. R. 55 Harré R. 51 Harris S. 9, 89, 90, 97, 98, 103, 106, 339 Harris Z. 307 Hasan R. 275, 290, 343 Haslam A. 123 Hegewisch A. 260 Helsloot N. 302, 304, 307, 315, 317 Heywood A. 3 Hobsbawm E. 11 Hodge R. 28, 134, 136, 151, 306, 307, 310, 313, 319 Hoey M. 33 Holmes J. 97 Hunston S. 33 Hymes D. 346, 347 I Ilie C. 9, 14, 24, 35, 45, 49, 50, 52, 56, 60, 71, 339, 353, 369 Ilyin M. V. 8 Irvine J. T. 48 J Jakobson R. 292, 308, 345 Jay T. 48, 341, 369 Jefferson G 271, 274, 305 Johnson M. 49 Johnson-Laird P. N. 349 K Kaplan S. J. 348 Kasper G. 51, 52 Kelley D. 78 Kienpointner M. 51 Kress G. 28, 30, 31, 134, 136, 151, 238, 306, 307, 310, 313, 319 Krogstad A. 79 L Lakoff G. 49, 113 Lakoff R. 89, 97 Leckie-Tarry H. 341
Author index
Leitner G. 33 Lemke J. 12, 112, 272, 340, 341, 346, 369 Leudar I. 9, 25, 284 Levinson S. C. 51, 89, 97, 158, 165, 181 Lockwood C. 114 Lyons J. 232
M Maley Y. 296 Malinowski B. 276, 340, 343, 346 Martin J. R. 29–31, 88, 90, 134, 154, 181, 272, 273, 278, 279, 283, 287, 292, 296, 341, 344, 346 McDermott R. 314, 322 McEnery T. 32, 33, 112 McVeigh S. 8 Merelman R. R. 8 Mey J. L. 8 Meyerhoff M. 97 Miller D. R. 6, 8, 9, 12, 29, 122, 134, 135, 272, 274, 280, 283, 289, 290, 292, 296, 353 Moosmüller S. 13
Q Quirk R. 181 R Rebollo Torío M. A. 240 Reppen R. 33 Robin R. 114, 116, 118, 122, 304 Rogan R. G. 55 Rojo L. M. 156, 181 Rossini Favretti R. 8, 240, 246, 250, 267 Ruge M. 232
O Oakes P. J. 123 Obeng S. G. 165, 181 Olbrechts-Tyteca L. 135 Oli G. C. 192
S Sacks H. 87, 94, 305, 332 Schauer F. F. 8 Schegloff E. 305 Schiffrin D. 96 Scott M. 107, 112, 186 Searing D. 49 Seoane M. C. 240 Seymour-Ure C. 11 Shapiro M. J. 8 Simpson J. 233 Sinclair J. McH. 33, 34, 181 Slade D. 88, 96, 102 Slembrouck S. 7, 9, 40, 106, 108 Smith D. E. 23, 25, 26, 94, 251, 302, 306, 307, 310, 318 Sornig K. 135, 181, 276 Spencer J. W. 341 Sperber D. 350 Stubbs M. 33, 112, 151, 158, 165, 174, 176, 195, 233, 238, 240 Svartvik J. 33 Sweetser E. 49
P Packenham R. 12 Partington A. 33 Penman R. 50 Perelman C. 121, 135 Pike E. G. Pike K. L. 302, 311–314, 317, 318
T Tajfel H. 61 Taylor Torsello C. 291, 292 Thompson G. 32, 274 Tognini Bonelli E. 33 Toulmin S. E. 295 Tsui A. 88
N Norton P.
2, 4, 10, 12, 49
Author index
Turner G. J. 233 Turner J. C. 61, 123, Tylborg H. 322
V Van Dijk T. A. 6, 9, 13, 14, 20, 28, 31, 151, 156, 165, 167, 168, 181, 312, 331, 339, 348, 349, 353 Van Eemeren F. H. 46 Van Leeuwen T. 157, 172, 181 Van Oostendorp H. 349 Vasta N. 8, 35, 36, 111, 122, 123, 265, 296 Ventola E. 341, 346 Verón E. 316, 319 Verschueren J. 312, 317, 319
W Walton D. 280 Warrington R. 8 Wegener P. 346 Wenger E. 97 White P. R. R. 278, 296 Widdowson H. G. 29 Williams R. 40, 239–241, 245, 246, 250, 253 Wilson J. 8, 9, 32, 33, 91, 94, 108, 112, 165, 181, 350 Wish M. 348 Wodak R. 8, 9, 28, 157, 181, 353 Y Yagcioglu S. 319 Yule G. 151
Subject index
A action global 351, 356, 357 local 351, 357, 358 actor see grammatical participants address 14–15, 40, 96, 104–106, 166, 168–169, 353, 360 address mode 105 address term 13, 15, 27, 40, 96, 104–107 addressees 70, 157, 276, 365 honorifics 15, 40, 105, 106, 108 adjacency pair 52, 69, 94 adversarial see parliamentary discourse affect see appraisal affective mental process see process types agency 158–161, 172–173 see also ergative verbs analytic delicacy 39, 308 appraisal 134, 193, 206, 233, 255, 261, 271–275, 277–279, 281, 282, 286, 289–293, 296, 347 affect 113, 134, 279–280, 282–283 appreciation 113, 125, 134, 279–280, 282 attitude system 279–283 engagement system 283–284 graduation system 279, 284–285 judgement 113, 279, 282–283 appreciation see appraisal argument 23–25, 46, 69–70, 73–80, 92–93, 96–97, 121–134, 161, 173–175, 197, 275, 280, 303, 332 see also rhetoric ad absurdum 161
ad hominem 46, 73, 74, 78, 123, 136 ad ignorantiam 73, 74 ad verecundiam 73, 74 oppositional 96 attitude system see appraisal attribution 283–284, 291 attribution transfer 56, 59–61, 63, 77, 82, 83 automatic discourse analysis 304, 307
C circumstance see also transitivity of manner 120, 128 of contingency 113, 120, 121, 128 cognitive linguistics 47, 343, 346–347 see also mental models cognitive mental process see process types cognitive schemata 28, 49 cohesion 31, 80, 96, 118, 203, 209, 257, 345, 347 colligation 32, 216 collocate 243, 244, 251, 253, 254, 259, 261, 264, 293 collocation 32, 123, 127–129, 175–177, 196–200, 202–208, 214–219, 224–226, 239, 240–265 see also concordance, co-occurrence patterns patterns 121, 191, 198, 204, 216, 218, 219, 228, 233, 239, 240, 244, 246, 254, 266 communicative roles 351, 359, 368
Subject index
community of practice 97 concordance 89, 112, 120, 123–125, 127–130, 132, 196–200, 203–215, 217–220, 223–228, 230, 241–257 see also collocation contempt vs. respect 56, 82 context 30, 31, 274–276, 311–314, 334, 339–359, 361–365, 367–369 field of discourse 30, 31, 275, 290, 340, 341, 344, 354 mode of discourse 31, 32, 275–276, 290, 340–342, 344 tenor of discourse 30, 32, 39, 274–276, 296, 340–342, 344 theory of 339, 340, 342, 345, 347–349, 351, 352, 361, 369 context of culture 31, 272, 276, 340 context of situation 30–31, 34, 274, 275, 289, 340, 341 contextual configuration 31, 275 contingency see circumstance contratextuality 112 conversation analysis 31, 94, 346, 347 conversational interaction 344 co-occurrence patterns 192, 196 see also collocation corpora 32–35, 56, 82, 115, 158, 162, 173, 175, 186, 189, 191, 195, 200, 212, 222, 224, 226, 229–231, 234, 239, 240, 244, 266, 267, 273, 289 corpora, reference Bank of English 32, 34, 186, 230 British National Corpus 32, 34, 186, 188, 189, 230, 239, 267 Brown corpus 32 CORIS/CODIS 32, 186, 188, 189 COSMAS 32, 186, 189, 192, 205 Lancaster-Oslo/Bergen corpus 32 London-Lund corpus 32 corpus driven linguistics (CDL) see corpus linguistics corpus linguistics 28, 29, 32–34, 36, 112, 151, 232 corpus driven linguistics (CDL) 33
small-corpus linguistics 37, 232 corpus, representativity 33 critical discourse analysis (CDA) 28–29, 306, 342 critical linguistics 28, 31 current speaker 26, 92, 94, 96–99, 102–104, 364 D decision-making 4 10, 12, 53, 81, 88, 153, 154 deixis 158, 163, 168, 181, 201, 242, 287, 295, 318, 357, 363 dialogic 25, 26, 92, 111, 285 discourse see also parliamentary discourse communities 1, 237 patterns 14, 237, 247 practices 7, 12, 28, 38, 107, 112 role 113, 275, 276 informative 36, 151, 152, 155, 156, 171, 179 legitimising 119, 125, 133, 151–153, 155–157, 172, 179 orders of 28 discourse analysis 27–29, 31, 33, 36, 47, 87, 88, 106, 112, 151, 164, 165, 278, 301–308, 311–313, 315–318, 331, 339, 342 discursive formations 28, 307 discursive processes 303, 307, 313, 321, 335 domain 343, 351, 354–356, 362, 368 see also context E emotion 46, 48–50, 52, 54, 56, 61–62, 65, 78–81, 113, 122, 280, 345 engagement system see appraisal episode 310, 322, 325, 331, 333 episodic Memory 349, 361 ergative verbs 160, 190, 194, 206, 233 see also agency ethos see rhetoric
Subject index
ethos-oriented 56, 79, 80, 82 euphemism 173–175 evaluative orientations 272 see also appraisal exclamatives see mood existent see grammatical participants existential process see process types explicitness 154, 164–167, 179, 180, 344 F face 50–51, 89, 97–99, 103, 107,118, 165, 310 dual-face strategies 50 enhancing 99, 103 aggravation 51 threatening 97, 118, 165 face-redressive action 98 facework strategy 50 other-face saving acts 56, 57, 82 other-facework 51 self-face saving acts 57, 82 self-facework 51 face-to-face interaction 88, 354 fallacy 59, 60, 73, 78, 82 field of discourse see context Frågestunden 48, 72 see also question time functional linguistics 27–29 functional varieties of language 13 see also register G generalisation 170–172 goal see grammatical participants graduation system see appraisal grammatical metaphor 116 ideational metaphor 190, 192 interpersonal metaphor 290 metaphor of modality 194 grammatical participants 113, 120, 121, 295 see also transitivity actor 31, 158–160, 193, 233 existent 215, 309
goal 193, 207, 233 phenomenon 121, 194, 203, 212, 213, 215, 216, 219, 220, 225, 226, 228, 232 sayer 121 senser 194, 195, 203, 214, 216, 217, 219, 223, 225, 227 target 193, 195–198, 200, 201, 206 threatener 193, 195–198, 200–203, 205, 207, 211 verbiage 287, 292 H heteroglossia 111, 122, 283, 286 hyperbole see rhetoric honorifics see address I ideational function see metafuctions ideational metaphor see grammatical metaphor ideological complex 134, 136, 306 imperative see mood impersonal constructions 158–161 see also agency impoliteness 89, 97, 339 see also rudeness indeterminacy 29, 172, 241, 286, 295 indirect questions see mood indirectness 53, 155, 164–166, 170, 172, 179 information systems 31, 32 informative discourse see parliamentary discourse insult 45–53, 56–58, 62–74, 76–83 see also rudeness, unparliamentary language counter-insult 62, 64 double insult 63 insult initiator 48, 50, 51, 67, 68 insult response frames 45 insult target 50, 51, 68 insulting strategies 47, 49, 62, 79 uptake of 65
Subject index
interactional norms see address interactional roles 351, 360 interpersonal function see metafunctions interpersonal metaphor see grammatical metaphor interrogative see mood interruption 87–107, 329–330 interrupter 91–99, 104, 105 intersubjectivity 272, 278 intertextuality 24–25, 31, 34, 112, 272, 340 irony ironic rudeness see rudeness ironising responses 66, 68, 72, 83 issues considered Amsterdam Treaty 198, 218, 239, 249 asylum seekers 361–367 European integration 185–232 Employment Chapter 239, 253, 255 Gulf Crisis (1988) 111–134 Impeachment 271–296 Kosovo Crisis 151–181 Maastricht Treaty 95, 96, 108, 196, 209, 232, 239, 243 Operation Desert Fox 111, 117, 118, 173 Social Chapter 198, 211, 213, 214, 239, 245, 247, 248 J judgement see appraisal juridical discourse 271 see also law and language K keywords 111, 175, 176, 239 knowledge 342, 343, 346, 347, 349, 350, 352–354, 359, 361–369 L law and language 7–8 see also juridical discourse
legitimising discourse see parliamentary discourse lexeme 232 see also words analysed lexical frequency absolute frequency 182, 246, 273 aggregate frequency 189 relative frequency 186–190, 273 lexicogrammar 30, 88, 272, 274, 289 linguistic practices 7, 8, 155 litotes see rhetoric logos see rhetoric long term memory 349 M material process see process types maxims of cooperation 39, 165 mental models 312, 349–351, 353, 354, 369 mental process see process types mentalist 347 meta-argumentative lexis 24, 96 metafunctions see also semantics ideational function 30, 31, 111, 113, 190, 192, 289, 291, 293, 344 interpersonal function 30, 111, 113, 275, 278, 290–291, 344 textual function 30, 199, 201, 279, 292–293, 344–345 metaphor 25, 92, 102, 103, 108, 113, 116, 124, 128, 134, 135, 181, 190, 192, 194, 290, 315 metaphor of modality see grammatical metaphor misapprehension sequence 99 mitigating 113, 156, 167 mitigation strategies 56–61, 82, 175 modality 91, 92, 94, 96, 169, 212, 213, 233, 280, 283, 290 see also modulation deontic 169 epistemic 13, 96, 192–195, 202 subjective vs. objective 195 quasi-modal 190, 191, 193
Subject index
mode of discourse see context modulation 280, 281, 290 see also modality monologic 25, 247, 303 mood 90–94, 96, 98, 102–103, 290–292 elliptical question 99 imperative 90, 93, 98, 103, 106, 290–291 exclamatives 36, 102 indirect questions 16, 121 interrogative 89–91, 94, 290, 292 negative polarity 92, 198 polar questions 35, 90, 91, 96, 102 wh-questions 96 why-questions 59 moral evaluations 111, 113, 280, 286 see also appraisal moralising responses 68, 70, 72, 83 motivated rudeness see rudeness movere see rhetoric N negotiation 90, 93, 128–129 node 38, 186, 197, 239, 253, 273 see also concordance nominalisation 31, 116, 160, 161, 171, 195, 214, 229, 233 nominalised metaphor 116 P parliament and constitutional frameworks 2–6, 15 and mass media 11, 163–164, 210–212, 226–290 confidence in 10 elections 4, 5 functions of 12 importance of 10–12 representativity 4–5 role of 4 systems 2–6 sovereignty 3, 7, 23, 40, 202, 219, 225, 232, 267
typical 2 parliaments Bundestag 205–209, 220–226 Cámara de Diputados 321–324 Camera dei Deputati 14–27, 100–104, 106, 113–117, 127–131, 143–149, 153–164, 166–181, 195–199, 215–220 Congreso 257–265 House of Commons 14–27, 53–78, 91–99, 105–106, 113–116, 119–127, 139–142, 153–164, 166–181, 199–204, 212–215, 241–257, 361–368 House of Representatives 280–285 Riksdag 53–78 Senato della Repubblica 113–115, 127–131, 143–149, 195–199, 215–220 parliamentary contexts see parliamentary discourse parliamentary discourse see also discourse adversarial 2, 5, 21, 50, 51, 56, 59, 74, 81, 82, 88, 89, 97, 339, 360 and analytical approaches 28–35, 303–321 and collocation patterns 119–152, 195–232, 241–264 and contexts 274–276, 353–369 and cultural variables 13–27 and evaluative language 119–134, 273–295 and impoliteness 45–84 and interruptions 87–107 consociationalist 5, 21 legitimising vs. informative 155–181 on asylum seekers 361–369 on European integration 185–232 on war and military action 111–135, 151–181 on work 236–267 parliamentary discourse analysis 304, 305, 311
Subject index
parliamentary insults see insults parliamentary politeness 45 see also insults, politeness passive constructions 158–159 pathos see rhetoric performative verbs 365, 366 personal constructions vs impersonal constructions 157 phenomenon see grammatical participants pivotal words 239 points of information 91 points of order 91 polarity 90, 92, 194, 198 polysemy 233, 239, 240, 257, 262, 265 politeness 45, 46, 51, 89, 91, 94, 97, 158, 165 political culture 2, 5, 6, 21 political language 8, 9, 14, 35, 91, 187, 240, 265 political parties Conservative party 26, 60, 62, 63, 71, 362 Green party 64, 75, 209 Labour party 5, 60, 62, 70, 114, 249, 362, 363 Liberal party 63 Partido de Acción Nacional (PAN) 309, 310, 325–327, 333, 334 Partido Popular 239, 309 Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI) 4, 309, 310, 314, 316, 325–327, 332–334 Partido Socialista Obrero Español (PSOE) 240 Social Democratic party 59 political rhetoric 46, 123, 163, 173 pragmatics 29, 31, 312 presupposition 96–97, 352, 361, 363–364 private verb 195 process types see also transitivity affective mental process 194, 214, 227
cognitive mental process 121, 125, 194, 214, 220, 221 existential process 190, 192, 215, 223 material process 119, 120, 127, 171, 190, 191, 193, 196, 200, 287 mental process 121, 190, 194, 203, 214, 220, 221, 227, 287, 291, 292 relational process 121, 190, 192, 193, 287, 291 verbal process 121, 135, 171, 190, 191, 193, 200, 205, 287 projected locution 121, 284 pronoun see reference proposal vs. proposition 94–95 Q quasi-modal see modality question time 16, 48, 73, 97, 151, 234, 359 questioning repeat 99 R reference 104–107, 166, 357, 363 anaphoric 213, 217, 222 cataphoric 207, 217, 295 pronoun 14–15, 104–16, 159, 168–169, 178, 242, 320, 360, 364 reference corpus 186, 188–190, 205, 206, 208, 231 see also corpora register 13, 27, 271, 273, 344–345 relational process see process types relevance 350, 354, 369 request-procedure 94 respondent 91, 92, 97–99 rhetoric see also argument delectare 52, 69, 71 docere 52, 76 ethos 46, 52, 55, 56, 72, 79 litotes 67, 73, 83 logos 46, 52, 56, 79, 80, 82 movere 52, 76
Subject index
pathos 46, 52, 56, 72, 79, 80 pathos-oriented 56, 79, 80, 82 hyperboles 67, 73, 83, 173 rhetorical aim 156, 276 rhetorical function 46, 52, 69, 71, 76 deliberative 46 epideictic 46 forensic 46 rhetorical question 55, 62, 77, 121, 296 see also mood hyperbolic 55 rudeness see also impoliteness competitive 51 ironic 52 motivated 51 unmotivated 51 rules and regulations 5, 14, 16, 75, 134, 286 S sayer see grammatical participants scenification 304, 305, 310, 322, 334 schema 348, 351, 353, 354 schemata 20, 28, 49, 78 semantic prosody 33 semantics 29, 190, 233, 272, 284, 285, 294, 345, 366, 368 see also metafunctions senser see grammatical participants setting 343, 348, 351, 357–38, 361, 363, 365, 368 syntax 28, 29, 157, 229 systemic functional linguistics (SFL) 29–33, 38, 39, 88, 233, 272, 274, 275, 278, 296, 340–347, 354, 369 small-corpus linguistics see corpus linguistics social psychology of language 348 social roles 351, 355, 359 social semiotic 31, 272, 275, 311, 322, 341 SPEAKING 347 speech acts 181, 344, 350, 359, 360, 365, 366, 369
speech-turns see turn-taking status 15, 275–276 subjective modality see modality subjectivity 165, 213, 278, 346 T target see grammatical participants tautology 365 tenacity 281, 289 tenor of discourse see context textual function see metafunctions threatener see grammatical participants transitivity 30–32, 113, 119, 171, 190, 198 see also circumstance, grammatical participants, process types turn-taking 13, 87, 107, 339 allocation 87 length 87 speech-turns 327–331 order 87 procedures 13, 87 U unmotivated rudeness see rudeness unparliamentary language 47–53, 56, 61, 66, 72, 73, 79–83, 180 V verbal process see process types verbiage see grammatical partiicpants 287, 292 W why-questions see mood wh-questions see mood words, analysed in concordances angst 223–224, 226, 230 avere paura 217 avere timore 217 bedrohen 205, 212 bedrohung 205, 207, 212 credibile/credibilità 130
Subject index
credibility/credible 132 drohen 206–207 drohung 207, 212 empleo 262–265 employment 253–255 fear 212–215, 227 force 120 forza 127 furcht 223–224, 226, 230 gefahr 208, 212 gefährden 205, 206, 211, 212 in pericolo 203 job 246–250 justice 293–295 labour 251–252 means 125 mezzo minaccia 200–204, 211 ocupación 240, 262, 264, 266
paura 217–218, 228 pericolo/pericoloso 203–204 preocccupare 219 preoccupazione 220, 227, 228 reasonable 123 responsabile/irresponsabile 129, 130 sorge 223–226, 230 strumento 128 temere 217 threat/threaten 196–198, 210 timore 217–218, 228 trabajador 259–261 trabajo 257–259 truth 274, 288–289 unemployment 26–257 work 242–243 worker 245
In the series DISCOURSE APPROACHES TO POLITICS, SOCIETY AND CULTURE (DAPSAC) the following titles have been published thus far or are scheduled for publication: 1. GELBER, Katharine: Speaking Back: The free speech versus hate speech debate. 2002. 2. LITOSSELITI, Lia and Jane SUNDERLAND (eds.): Gender Identity and Discourse Analysis. 2002. 3. CHNG, Huang Hoon: Separate and Unequal. Judicial rhetoric and women’s rights. 2002. 4. CHILTON, Paul and Christina SCHÄFFNER (eds.): Politics as Text and Talk: Analytic approaches to political discourse. 2002. 5. THIESMEYER, Lynn (ed.): Discourse and Silencing. Representation and the language of displacement. 2003. 6. DUNNE, Michele Durocher: Democracy in Contemporary Egyptian Political Discourse. 2003. 7. ENSINK, Titus and Christoph SAUER (eds.): The Art of Commemoration. Fifty years after the Warsaw Uprising. 2003. 8. MARTIN, J.R. and Ruth WODAK (eds.): Re/reading the past. Critical and functional perspectives on time and value. 2003. 9. RICHARDSON, John E.: (Mis)Representing Islam. The racism and rhetoric of British broadsheet newspapers.2004. 10. BAYLEY, Paul (ed.): Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Parliamentary Discourse. 2004.
