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Trinidad Express
Political pragmatics
January 23, 2002
By Denis Solomon
The definition of a system is that each part of it supports the others. Tampering with one component disturbs the others and puts the whole structure at risk.
In abstract structures, such as language, often the only way to define a component in the first place is in terms of the others: in a grammatical system composed of elements A, B and C, A is defined as whatever is not B or C, B as whatever is not A or C, and C as whatever is not A or B.
For example, contrary to what generations of teachers have taught and generations of pupils "learnt", English doesn't have a present tense. If you define present tense as a form that invariably designates the moment of speaking, you realise that a form such as "goes" can't be present tense as soon as you encounter the sentence "He goes to Barbados tomorrow". So the real tense opposition in English is between "past" and "non-past".
In the use of the language (as opposed to the structure) the non-past form is manipulated in various ways (by time adverbs like "tomorrow", or modal auxiliaries like "will") to refer to moments other than the present, either directly or by inference from such ideas as intention or desire.
Systems are made up of sub-systems. In the operation of the system, the sub-systems interact with each other, and with elements external to the language (the context), thus defining the rules of use. Context includes not only situation but such concepts as the mutual expectations of the interlocutors, and even such considerations as what the speaker might have said but didn't. An entire branch of linguistics, called pragmatics, is devoted to the study of the effect of context on the occurrence of language forms in speech and writing.
That is why no bald "grammatical" statement, such as half-educated prescriptive "grammarians" delight to make, is ever correct. That is also why it is well-nigh impossible for an adult to acquire native command of a foreign language.
The simpler a sub-system is in its form, the more complicated are the rules of use of its components. In English, the system of identification has only three elements, "a", "the" and zero; but their use is a constant mystification to foreigners. Only pragmatics can tell us why we say "Lincoln Centre" but "the Lincoln Tunnel". And how many foreigners always choose correctly between the simple non-past form ("I eat") and the progressive form "I'm eating"?
When adults acquire a foreign language they usually don't fully master its rules of use, but in most cases they still have their own language. And even if they lose that over generations, the foreign language adapts itself to the needs of the society and becomes its native language. Spanish and French are said to be "descended" from Latin. But they are not descendants in the genetic sense. They are Latin, modified over the centuries by communities that have gradually ceased to transmit any other language to their children. But in certain circumstances, the acquisition of the foreign language by successive generations is incomplete. In these circumstances the results are pidgins and/or Creoles.
There is controversy over the origins of pidgins and Creoles, and even over the relationship of one to the other. I won't go into that here. But the fact is, they exist, and they are characterised by simplicity of structure in comparison with other languages, and, in my opinion at least, a concomitant simplicity of rules of use.
I have often thought that the same principles of operation of the abstract system that is language might be applied to another abstract social phenomenon: politics, and more specifically, constitutions and their application. A few years ago, I wrote a column entitled "Pidgin Parliament", in which I maintained that the rigidity of our Parliament, resulting from our colonial political attitudes, made it a blunt legislative instrument incapable of subtlety in response to the needs of society.
Now it seems to me the 18-18 impasse has thrown into relief the crudity of our Constitution (not only the written document but our use of it) and has created a context to which we have to react creatively or remain forever politically creolised. Our Constitution is a creole constitution, the result of mimicry of the Westminster model in restrictive circumstances, unconducive to political evolution: namely, colonialism.
A further analogy between our linguistic and our political systems is the vast majority of responses, and all the most self-assured ones, to the present situation have come from the political equivalent of prescriptive grammarians. For instance, the opinion that Section 76 (b) of the Constitution justifies the President's appointment of a government without a majority is pure prescriptivism.
It totally neglects the relationship between political sub-systems, in this case parliamentary alignments as emblematic of the popular will, and the role of the President as authenticator of them. It disregards the relationship of the President's powers to their situational context, which is that the pre-conditions for choice stated in Section 76 (b) do not exist in reality. It takes no account of the third, unstated option the President had: not to make the choice at all: the equivalent, in language, of keeping one's mouth shut, which pragmatically often conveys a clearer message than any words. Approval of the President's decision is the political equivalent of insisting on "it's I" when everybody says "it's me": context-free prescriptive grammar at its worst.
Or take the question of the oaths. Two weeks ago, I said Manning's ministers were occupying their offices illegally, and shouldn't be paid. In this claim, I relied only on the concept of the priority of Parliament over government. Then the Solicitor General took the same position, but on the grounds that the Ministers had not taken the oath of allegiance as MPs. She recanted when the Attorney General said the ministerial oath administered by the President was sufficient for both purposes. I disagreed, and immediately received a call from former Independent Senator John Spence telling me that I was wrong, because once you have received the instruments of appointment from the President you are a Member of Parliament and can be made a minister.
What then is the purpose of the oath? Perhaps Prof Spence would say that without it you can be an MP but not function as one. Prescriptive grammar again! Of course, if Parliament is convened, the oath will be administered. But that begs the question. Does the Constitution contemplate Ministers functioning as such without being able to function, for whatever reason, as MPs? Hardly. One test, in politics as in linguistics, is to see what happens when the context is changed. Suppose an MP refuses to take the oath? If it is unnecessary, and he can be a minister without it, surely he can't be prevented from functioning in Parliament. Which, as the mathematicians say, is absurd.
What happens in Westminster in such a case? Well, no prescriptive grammar can deny the facts there. Gerry Adams, the Sinn Fein leader, and some of his colleagues were elected to the British Parliament, and refused to take the oath. They were not only banned from Parliament, but they were also not paid.
Copyright © Denis Solomon