MINDing Our Words

Arguably, over the last ten years or so, western society has placed increasingly hyper importance on communication, no doubt because of the influence and permeation of social media. Politically correct speech has further transformed into the Woke Movement, with Cancel Culture being a modus operandi of some of its adherents. Regardless of your opinion on the subject, at its very core, is the recognition that language (of the past and present) has been and is being used negatively and positively to impact marginalized communities. Navigating this new literary turn can be a daunting proposition for principled educators. It involves negotiating the limited nature of the English language and avoiding the pitfalls of relativism, presentism, and historicism; while wishing to uphold morality and seeking to fight injustice.

As I reflected on this emerging and volatile dynamic, a remembrance from my independent school days came to mind. During a Grade 3 Language Arts class, a spelling/vocabulary word of little note appeared on the dictation and usage list. The word was mental. It was defined as having to do with the mind—a mental activity was not a physical one, and chess was given as a real-life example. I would have thought this dictation exercise to be rather trivial, and, at best, a fleeting moment in the day’s affairs. As is often the case, what was deemed to be insignificant by an adult was not always so in the mind of a third-grade student who had other ideas. Quite innocently, one of my students raised his hand and stated, “Mr. V., there is a boy at my swimming class who’s mental.” Not to be outdone, another student chimed in and announced that, “There’s this man where I go shopping who is quite mental and yells things.”

Full stop. An important teachable moment had arrived. I immediately halted the dictation and explained that the boy at the swimming class was probably mentally challenged—meaning having an intellectual and developmental disability—and the man at the shopping center was, unfortunately, mentally ill.

A pause shrouded the room, but my explanation had switched on the levers of the eager young minds before me; I could tell because half of them looked into the air, and everyone’s eyes, including mine, were shifting back and forth. The pensive silence was broken by another student, who, having heard all the semantics, came to this conclusion: “Sir, I am not great in Math; I think I am mentally challenged.” Oh boy!

I often think that one of the reasons I enjoy teaching with some measure of success is derived from a Germanic cultural attribute of being clear in one’s tone and intent, and not couching language in ambiguous niceties. Naturally, one needs to weave in a measure of Canadian diplomacy and sensitivity, especially in an elementary school setting. However, the level of these ambiguous niceties has morphed into language that is perplexing and defeatist to whom it is supposedly helping or defining without insult. In our efforts to pursue a just society, has our manipulation of language watered down its descriptive intent? To borrow from a true observer of Western cultural discourse, comedian George Carlin (1937 – 2008) lamented the issue of mental illness regarding soldiers:

In the first World War, that condition was called ‘Shell Shock.’ Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables. Shell Shock. Almost sounds like the guns themselves. Then a whole generation went by, and the Second World War came along. The very same combat condition was called ‘Battle Fatigue.’ Four syllables now. Takes a little longer to say, doesn’t seem to hurt as much. ‘Fatigue’ is a nicer word than ‘shock.’ Then we had the war in Korea in 1950. The very same combat condition was called ‘Operational Exhaustion.’ The humanity had been completely squeezed out of the phrase, it’s totally sterile now. Operational Exhaustion sounds like something that might happen to your car! Then, of course, came the war in Vietnam, the very same condition was called ‘Post-traumatic Stress Disorder.’ Still eight syllables, but we’ve added a hyphen! The pain is completely buried under the jargon. ‘Post-traumatic Stress Disorder.’ I’ ll bet you if we’ d have still been calling it Shell Shock, some of those Vietnam veterans might have gotten the attention they needed at the time. I’ll bet you that. – George Carlin

Back to Grade 3. Innocence and curiosity demanded an answer. Unlike Carlin’s observation of “shell shock,” the language surrounding those whom we now refer to as “mentally challenged” has had a rather unfortunate and disingenuous past. Early 20th Century labels (moron, imbecile, and idiot) for those with an Intelligent Quotient (I.Q.) under 70 have devolved into modern insults. They were replaced with the term “mental retardation.” The American Association of Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities posits, “The term Intellectual Disability covers the same population of individuals who were diagnosed previously with Mental Retardation.” Depending on where one resides in the English-speaking world, the two terms—mentally challenged or intellectual disability—hold sway in polite language. The inherent difficulty, as seen in Grade 3, is that the term is ambiguous and can devolve into less than appropriate language. While “mental” doesn’t quite have the same sting as those early 20th Century designations, the short form of the 1970s identification of mental retardation (retard), surely does. The unfortunate paradox is that its replacement terms in polite language often fail to make the correct connection to this disability. So, what does a teacher do with this controversial issue in language? Address it. Depending on the maturity of the class or individual, the following can be done: