In New Zealand at the moment there is a big ecological push
to flush out and exterminate the country’s “predators”. I put the word in
quotes because, by dictionary definition, a predator is “an animal that hunts,
kills, and eats other animals.” Animals like lions, tigers, wolves, hawks, and
owls might spring to mind. Implied in the word is a connotation of “dangerous”
and “bad”.
Brushtail Possum, photo from Wikipedia |
In New Zealand, however, the word “predator” is coming to
mean any animal not native to New Zealand, regardless of its diet, which is
assumed to be harmful to New Zealand’s indigenous flora and fauna. This, oddly
enough (if you honour the traditional definition) includes brushtail possums,
rats, deer, feral pigs, and magpies, as well as stoats and feral cats (which are “true”
predators), but NOT native hawks or owls or tuatara or insect-eating fantails and weta
(large indigenous insects themselves) which are also “true”
predators.
It bothers me when a word is hijacked by politicians or marketers
and given a new meaning that is simply accepted by the public, usually opening
up opportunities for somebody to make a whole bunch of money. In this case, it’s the chemical
poison industry, who get to drop tonnes of 1080 baits over New Zealand’s
forests every year, and manufacture and lay brodificoum and cyanide ground
poisons. That’s great for not only production but also employment—people’s jobs
are on the line. The latest political splash, which has gained some notoriety around
the world, is a plan to make New Zealand “predator-free” by 2050—and they’re
not talking about lions and tigers. Or tuatara or wetas or native hawks.
I have some pretty strong thoughts on the roles of various
animals in natural ecosystems, but this post is about language use, so I’ll
leave that issue for another piece of writing. Instead, I’d like to bring up
another personal language “peeve”.
Photo from CBS article linked in text. |
The word “antidepressant” first appeared in 1959 in the New York Times to describe two new
drugs, imipramine and ipronazid, which appeared to ‘reverse psychic states’.
This appealing word took the world by storm, and was soon on the lips—and in
the advertising--of every pharmaceutical marketer wanting to market new drugs.
Clinical trials, almost all run by the drug companies who make the drugs, all
showed limited benefit over placebo (a fake “med”) of their “antidepressants” and
often a bevy of side effects to boot, but when a drug was marketed as an “antidepressant”,
both patients and doctors were eager to buy and try. After all, nobody wants to be
depressed, right? Today we know that antidepressant drugs can make depression worse in the long term, and can even cause suicidality, but the power of the
word, and the idea that something can easily fix depression is so powerful that
few people can even grasp the idea that an “antidepressant” may not be—in dictionary
terms—an anti-depressant at all.
These examples aside, I accept and appreciate that our
language is an evolving entity, and that dictionary definitions are not created
by word police but by us, ourselves, with our language usage. I’m not bothered
by new words that creep into everyday conversations and, eventually, make it
into dictionaries like lol, app, and google as a verb. Nor am I usually
bothered by words whose meanings change, often dramatically; think gay, ace, cool, and hot for starters, though I still snag sometimes at mother.
On this theme of our changing language, and to end this post
on a positive and more generic note, this link goes to an interesting list of 20 common words (i.e., nice,
awful, fizzle, wench) whose meanings have significantly changed over time, and an excellent
TED talk on language change from Ann Curzan.