"SEX" IS NOT A BAD WORD ; CENSORSHIP IS

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

Jeremih’s single “Birthday Sex” should have been just another R&B song about a young man’s assumed romantic prowess. When Def Jam released the single in April, audiences responded with enthusiasm: It went to #1 on the R&B charts and #4 on the pop charts. It fit the “urban love anthem” mold: A man does not buy gifts for his girlfriend on her birthday, so he gives her “birthday sex” as a replacement. And true to the smug, sexually conceited male caricature that so often appears in the R&B canon, Jeremih assures his listener that his sex is better than any material gift.

This is not an uplifting message. In fact, it is laughable. But I am not writing today to mock “Birthday Sex.” I am writing today because mainstream radio stations bleep out the word “sex” when they play the song.

Since when did “sex” become a word “bad” enough to warrant censorship? We all know that the Federal government has power to prevent us from hearing a few “really bad” words during mainstream broadcasts. See, e.g, F.C.C. v. Pacifica Foundation, 438 U.S. 726 (1978). But those “really bad words” are familiar vulgarities, colorful English phrases that go straight to the unrefined truth about sex and the body. We know we are not allowed to hear the words “fuck,” “shit,” “asshole” and “cock” on everyday broadcasts because those words cut to the linguistic quick about sex, excrement and “private parts.” Popular morality teaches us to revile these things, so law provides society a way to protect our ears from them. For better or worse, these traditionally “bad words” have real rhetorical punch. Their strength lies in their unabashed directness. Their strength lies in their pure Germanic derivation. No doctor or scientist mulled a Latin equivalent for these words. They are brutally honest, English core words. And to some extent, that is one reason why popular morality reviles them: Our society has an uneasy relationship with sex and the body, so it recoils from overly honest expressions about them.

But the traditional reasons for banning “bad words” do not apply to the word “sex.” “Sex,” unlike “fuck” or “shit,” is a Latin-based medical coinage, not a vulgarity. When people honestly talk about sexual conduct, they generally do not use medical terms. They use tried-and-true Germanic vulgarities. They do not say: “May we now engage in sexual activity?” In much the same way, they do not use medical coinages when referring to basic bodily functions. People do not say: “I must defecate now.” Latin does not tell the same story as German. Every English speaker knows that “shit” is a more honest word than “defecate.” Yet it ruffles feathers precisely because it so honestly describes “a coarse bodily function.” “Defecate” distances the listener from the body. That is why it is permissible to broadcast “defecate” during a daytime radio show, but not “shit.” The same reasoning should apply to “sex;” it is a medical coinage that distances the listener from the honest truth about sexual contact between human beings. In this case, however, the usual reasoning does not apply.

Why the inconsistency here? You would think that using the word “sex” instead of its coarse Germanic cousins would satisfy the decency police. After all, it purifies the language from uncomfortable honesty. “Sex” inevitably will offend fewer prudes than “fuck,” even though both words refer to precisely the same activity. But in this case, the censors bleeped out “sex,” too. In a way, I pity Jeremih. He tried his best to write a sensual song without using “traditional vulgarities” because he knew those words would be censored. Yet despite his efforts to use satisfactory words, the censors muffled him anyway.

I can only explain this new hostility toward the word “sex” by positing that popular morality does not like sexual conduct in the abstract. Although doctors created the word “sex” to make it easier to discuss sexual conduct without using uncomfortable Germanic vulgarities, apparently the subterfuge isn’t working anymore. The subject matter is apparently so uncomfortable that even Latin circumlocution can no longer suppress the shame. What can explain this if not a profound discomfort with anything concerning sexual contact between human beings? The word “sex” was supposed to disguise the raw, bodily truth about sexual conduct. It is deliberately uncolorful, undescriptive and unmemorable. But now, it is just as bad as the subject matter it was intended to conceal.

This is not just censorship. It is sloppy, incompetent censorship. A good censor has consistent reasons for suppressing certain words. For thirty years, censors at the F.C.C. consistently applied the “traditional vulgarity” test to determine whether a word “could be heard” on the airwaves. That test protected young ears from “overly honest descriptions” about sex and bodily function while preserving some “decorum” during daytime broadcasts. The test was exquisitely formal and categorical: Either the word was on the “dirty words” list or it was not. But now, the F.C.C. has scrapped the categorical approach. “Sex” was never on a “dirty words” list; it is a euphemism calculated to avoid using a word on that list. Yet now it is just as bad as the words it was intended to circumvent.

This is censorship by moral fiat, not reasoned analysis. I argue that such an approach disparages government’s obligation under the First Amendment to “make no law…abridging the freedom of speech.” The Supreme Court has steadily eroded our right to speak as we please under the Constitution. But it has nonetheless always reminded government that it cannot drive certain words from discourse without compelling justifications based in reason. See, e.g, Cohen v. California, 403 U.S. 15 (1971). The Court said that driving “traditionally vulgar words” from discourse could be justified because it was important to “protect children” and “unwilling listeners” from coarse language. F.C.C. v. Pacifica, 438 U.S. 726, 748-750 (1978). But it never said anything about words that are not “traditionally vulgar,” “shocking” or “coarse.” Viewed linguistically, the word “sex” is neither vulgar nor coarse. It is not “shocking,” either. In fact, it is supposed to take the “shock” out of traditionally “vulgar” expressions. Its capacity to give offense lies solely in the subject matter to which it refers, not the honest tone in which it describes the subject matter. By any test ever used to judge “decency” under the First Amendment, “sex” clearly passes. It is therefore shocking that the F.C.C. now decides to rewrite the law to censor a word that violates no legal standard.

If we allow the F.C.C. to drive the word “sex” from discourse, how are we supposed to “properly” talk about sex? What about shows like “Sex in the City” or songs like “Sexual Healing?” Those titles contain the word “sex.” What about a broadcast discussing “sexually transmitted diseases” or “sex therapy?” What about the countless advertisements for products addressing “sexual dysfunction” and “normal sex lives?”

In short, the word “sex” has evolved into an “acceptably neutral” means to express human sexuality without offending the decency police. We rely on it to discuss a profoundly important aspect of our lives. If it suddenly becomes as “bad” as the other “dirty words,” how are we supposed to discuss it? This may sound extreme, but we are on that path. The F.C.C. censored the word “sex” in Jeremih’s song. For all concerns and purposes, government decided that we should not hear the word because it was somehow “bad” or “offensive.” Yet “sex” is not a “bad word.” It was invented in order not to give offense. It is ironic that authorities now seek to suppress a euphemism.

I strongly resent any government attempt to control language. Our Constitution grants American citizens a broad right to speak freely. We should only tolerate restrictions on our language for the most compelling reasons. Moral awkwardness about sex does not even remotely rise to that level. Yet if we do not express our disapproval about censorship when it happens, we tacitly certify government’s power to regulate our language. That is why it is important to oppose censorship whenever it appears. “Birthday Sex” may be stupid, juvenile and absurd. But if we don’t say something to oppose government’s attempt to outlaw a perfectly legitimate word in our language, we empower government to take even more steps to muzzle us. In this case, government has applied its own moral queasiness to suppress a neutral word we all have a right to use. Moral queasiness is no justification for ignoring the First Amendment, no matter how many supersensitive mothers call to complain.

America has deep and fundamental social problems with sex. But those problems should not be allowed to impact our rights under the First Amendment. Censorship should worry us all, no matter where it appears. Our language existed before the Constitution and before the government. It is ours. As long as we do not use it to injure others or foment violence, government has no right to trespass against it. When government targets our language, we all lose expressive possibilities. Without expressive possibilities, we do not truly enjoy our rights as individuals. That is why I detest ungrounded censorship. It is not just an attack on the speaker’s expressive powers. It is an attack on us all.

CORNERSTONES OF OUR LANGUAGE : ENGLISH PREPOSITIONS

AN ESSAY

Englishmen in America echo George Bernard Shaw's quip that the United States and Great Britain are “two Nations separated by a common language.” I could write at length about the myriad subtle differences between British and American English. But I won’t. Others have written superbly on that subject and there is not much I can add to it. Suffice it to say, Americans speak a wholly different language than the average Briton. Europeans who learn English unanimously confirm this to me. They say that it’s much harder to understand an American than an Englishman, primarily because Americans phonetically alter sounds that appear different in writing. For example, the word “getting” looks like it should contain a “t” sound. Yet when an average American says it, there is no “t” to be heard. At most, you will hear a “d” to replace the “t” (ie, “gedding”). At the least, you will hear a strange, swallowed “-nnh” sound to replace “-tting” altogether (ie, “getting” degenerates into a half-swallowed “ge-nnh”). For a foreigner who learns to pronounce every sound he reads, these American dialectic differences cause immense confusion. By contrast, a Briton does pronounce a “t” in “getting." They do not swallow or alter sounds, allowing the foreigner to more easily hear what he remembers seeing in writing.

Having said all this, I love English. I do not speak British English. Despite some claims to the contrary, Americans really do not like British English; they never have. Since the Revolution, they have done all they possibly could have done to make their English different than their former masters’ language. In fact, to widen the divide between England and America, popular myth has it that Congress even debated switching the national language to German in the 1790s. This would have been an appealing decision for several reasons. First, many European immigrants in America at the time spoke German. Second, among major European languages, German is the closest relative to English. Today, however, German seems a strange choice. After all, many Americans think that German sounds utterly foreign. But this is only because English—both British and American—has changed dramatically since the 18th Century. In 1787, English looked and sounded far more like German than it does today. German and English derive from common Germanic roots. Although English increasingly absorbed French and Latin “frills” after the 13th Century, it has never truly abandoned its “Germanic core.” In 1787, the “core” was far closer to German. That is why it would not have been a dramatic leap to change America’s “official language” from English to German, even for people who grew up speaking only English.

I love English precisely because it has a profound identity crisis. It is a Germanic language that likes to masquerade in Latin finery, but without Latin charm or grace. English is not romantic; it is schizophrenic and crass. Because English draws on so many linguistic traditions, it can express the same thought in two, three or even four ways. For example, to express the idea “a door leading out,” we can say “Exit,” from the Latin “ex” (“out”) and “it” (“he goes”), or we can opt for the good old German “Way Out,” from “weg” (“way”) “aus” (“out”). “Exit” sounds more official and more serious than “way out.” “Way out” is prosaic. It sounds too obvious. For better or worse, English has confused itself into thinking that Latin words are somehow more “urbane” than German ones, even though our German words are much more basic and convey meaning much more readily than Latin imitations. As a writer who uses English, I face a challenge every time I sit down to think about what I want to say: “Do I choose a Latin word, or do I go for the throat with German?” No other European language offers so many potential word choices. English is awash with words. We have at least two ways of saying almost every thought we have. That is why it is so fun and fascinating. There is constant variety.

But what is the “English core?” There are certain “core” words in any language that give it a basic identity. Without these words, there is no way to effectively learn the others. In my view, the most “basic words” in any language are prepositions. Without prepositions, we cannot express the locations of objects or actions. We cannot precisely describe things we see or hear. In short, prepositions allow us to linguistically depict our experiences to others. And what is the point of language if you cannot readily conjure an accurate image in another person’s mind? For instance, suppose you see a sea gull flying over a lake. Without prepositions, you could only say: “Sea gull flying lake.” What does that mean? Flying over a lake? Near a lake? Next to a lake? Beside a lake? Toward a lake? Away from a lake? Off a lake? Prepositions define action with relation to an object. Without them, we cannot communicate.

Prepositions are “core English words:” On, over, below, around, about, with, to, of, without, through, near, beside, under, from, by, off, after, before… the list goes on. How could we live without these words? They allow us to precisely identify how and where actions happen. Not surprisingly, they all come from German. Latin did not influence English prepositions because they are too basic to be replaced. Yet these basic words represent the most vital communicative element in our language. In German, “on” is “an.” “Over” is “über.” “Before” is “bevor.” Here we see the great similarities between English and German. Proceeding from these most basic words, we can see how our language developed into the strange hodgepodge it is today. We all too easily forget that prepositions define our language. In German, like English, prepositions are essential. And in an even more basic way, German combines prepositions with verbs and nouns to create completely new ideas. English used to do this all the time. More often now, however, it merely imports a French, Latin or Greek word to express what could be expressed by combining an English word with an English preposition. For example, to express the idea “more of something than is necessary in the circumstances,” English imported the word “superfluous,” from the Latin preposition “super” (“over”) and “fluere” (“to flow”). German, by contrast, stuck with its own adjectives and prepositions. It expresses the same idea as “überflüssig,” combining the preposition “über” (“over”) with “flüssig” (“flowing, in liquid form”). German did not import any foreign words here; it merely combined a German preposition with a German adjective to create a new idea. English could have done the same. But our word “overflowing” has a different meaning than “superfluous.” This is what happens when you allow too many linguistic traditions in the same language.

Yet English does not completely turn away from German-style preposition use. In fact, English combines prepositions with nouns, adjectives and verbs just the way German does. And in my view, we see English in its purest from when it does this. Consider first how rich our prepositions can be. Let us take a simple one: “On.” Who can mistake such a simple word? “On.” We all know what “on” means, don’t we? Well, it depends. There is the “spatial meaning,” as in: “Where is the sugar?” “It is on the table.” In this sense, “on” refers to the location of an object upon a relative flat surface, whether a table, a floor, a chair or even water. Then there is the “attachment meaning,” as in: “Where is that paper?” “It’s on the wall.” Again, “on” refers to an object’s location, but this time it defies gravity. Here, “on” implies that an object has somehow attached to something else. If we combine this meaning with a verb, we create some truly interesting English, as in: “Stop flicking that glue on your brother,” or “Hold on tight.” In this sense, we use the preposition to describe the end result of an action. We “flick” something and it winds up “attaching” to an object, namely, “our brother.” Or we attach ourselves onto something to keep our footing. And it does not end here. “On” can also imply “continuing action,” as in “Carry on!” “Work on!” “Preach on!” or “Walk on!” It can also imply action “approaching” an object, as in: “Come on now!” “Bring it on!” “This case comes on to be heard on the 24th of April 1987.” These are classic, pure English expressions. They do not depend on Latin for their expressive power. You do not truly speak English unless you intuitively—and reflexively—understand them.

History reveals that English used these “prepositional expressions” even more often than it does now. Still, even today, there are English idioms that use prepositions to express something beyond their literal meanings. Consider idiomatic uses involving “on”: “He is really laying it on thick.” This might refer to flattery, sarcasm, charm or even brutality. It makes no sense without context, and even then, “lay on” literally means something different than the idiomatic meaning. Historically, “lay on” could mean even more. In the 17th Century, “lay on” could also mean “attack” or “strike.” Cf. Shakespeare, Macbeth, “Lay on, Macduff, / And damn’d be him that first cries, ‘Hold, enough.’” Act V, sc. viii. These varied meanings all derive from the time-tested Germanic “prepositional” tradition. By combining a simple verb such as “lay” and the basic preposition “on,” English creates delicate, idiomatic subtleties. And this is just one preposition. When we combine “lay” with other prepositions, such as “off,” “over,” “by,” “to” or “in,” we create even more subtle, idiomatic meanings. In this sense, we do not need Latin to formulate uniquely English expressions.

We can thank our Germanic tradition for this. When I finally understood prepositions, I learned how to decipher German. When I speak to my German friends, I tell them I speak German by translating my thoughts into “Older English,” then translating those “Older English” words into German. After all, “Older English” is virtually identical to modern German syntax and usage. In any event, when confronted with a German “prepositional word,” it makes no sense to forage for a Latin embellishment. I simply break it down into its component parts, which look like “Older English.” Today, we see traces of “Older English” in words such as “hereby,” “insofar” and “be it known.” German continues to use such “old-sounding” expressions: “hiermit;” “insoweit;” and “sei es bekannt.” Thus, when I speak German, I imagine I am simply speaking English from an earlier age. German prepositions combine to form the same idiomatic subtleties that arise when we use English prepositions. Yet in many cases, they follow similar patterns. Germans express the verb “attack,” for example, in much the same way Older English combined “lay” and “on.” The Germans say “angreifen,” which combines the preposition “an” (“on”) and “greifen” (“to grasp” or “to grip”). “Attack,” then, “ means to “grab hold of something” or “lay onto it with force.” Linguistically, both “lay on” and “angreifen” follow the same logic and linguistic patterns. And they convey the same meaning in both languages. “Angreifen” may appear obscure to a modern English speaker who simply knows the word “attack.” But a mere glance into our English history reveals our common Germanic roots. Once we clear away the Latin underbrush, we immediately see the Germanic soil. In that light, "angreifen" appears a close linguistic relative, not a bizarre foreign mystery.

Prepositions make this analysis possible. It is easy to get lost in the Latin and Greek maze into which English has crept over the last 400 years. Yet when we take a step back and study our “core words,” we get back to first, Germanic principles. I have been studying and speaking German now for almost 13 years. During that time, I have improved my English because I finally uncovered the ancestral roots from which my native language derived. Learning German made me master “basic English.” It made me respect our great English prepositions. I have grown to trust basic English, not the foreign clutter that confuses it. I like hard-hitting English words. Although I don’t mind employing French, Latin and Greek-based words when I must, I prefer German variants when I have the chance to use them. “Way Out” is better than “Exit.” It may be less profound, but it is more true to our linguistic history. It just sounds more natural. When push comes to shove, English is German. Just look at our four-letter words. In our honest, vulgar moments, we resort to German. Damn, hell, shit, fuck and ass are not Latin or French. They are not delicate. Yet they express our thoughts precisely when we use them, and no one mistakes us. Furthermore, when we modify our vulgar words with prepositions, we do not use Latin, either. “Fuck off,” “Fuck up,” “Fuck over” and “Fuck around” all use old-time German-based prepositions to supply unique, genuine English meanings. We do not need Latin condescension or finery; English gets the job done.

How can you not love English? The variety is endless. With at least two ways to say every word, you can be serious, satirical, ironic, explanatory and ambiguous all in the same stroke. But when it comes to true, honest and natural expression, our basic German roots—along with our prepositions—convey us best. You can count on that.