“The future mobility Honda dreams of will create a joy and freedom of mobility that enables people to transcend the constraints of time and place, and augment their every possibility. Dreams that will move even more people, until there is an endless expanse of new dreams…that is how we will move society forward.”
The preceding statement, found on Honda’s corporate website, verifies that the consumption of edibles within the corporate communications office is rampant. It also recalled examples cited by George Orwell in his seminal 1949 essay Politics and the English Language. In the essay, which over the ensuing decades has gained an ever greater relevance, Orwell takes aim at language that obfuscates rather than communicates.
Orwell gives an example of this degradation. First, he quotes Ecclesiastes:
“I returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.”
And then Orwell re-writes it in what he derisively called “modern” language:
“Objective considerations of contemporary phenomena compel the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must invariably be taken into account.”
Orwell argued that the degradation of our language isn’t a benign matter, but rather that continued reliance on cliched phrases eliminates the possibility of expressing original thought. If we communicate by stringing together pre-fabricated phrases, argued Orwell, it means our thoughts are bound by what’s already been expressed. But there’s more than the death of originality at stake.
If we can’t express our ideas with clarity, we’re exponentially more susceptible to being unable to delineate between truth and fiction spoken by others. Our intellect is a muscle that requires flexing to maintain its effectiveness. Creative non-fiction is, of course, a cornerstone of politics. Bad actors are forever at-the-ready to push an agenda of what’s euphemistically called misinformation or disinformation. Both terms soft-pedal what should be expressed in a far simpler term—as a lie. Is it any wonder that what began as a quickly debunked Facebook post about cats slipping into sandwiches in Ohio became gospel to a legion of followers incapable of recognizing absurdity?
Rivalling “military intelligence” and “industrial park” in their inherent contradiction is “corporate communications.” Attempting to appeal to all while sidestepping the quicksand of controversy ties its authors into knots. Yamaha’s website has these gems: “For a society where anyone can move freely, our journey forward is with you.” Really, Yamaha? At any one time a good number of the world’s citizens live under the thumb of authoritarian regimes that take a dim view of “moving freely.” And Yamaha kept on digging. “For a society where anyone can go at any moment. Our journey is with you.” That a motorcycle brand is willing to accompany me to the grave appears an overreach. Can we compromise? If I choose to die by my lonesome can I swap Yamaha’s participation for a dozen cases of Yamalube and six tubes of Yamabond?
In my 20s I worked as a commercial photographer and endured enough meetings with corporate clients to understand the bizarre disconnect between corporate communications—which includes advertising—and the world beyond. I photographed a birth control pill campaign where the photographs showed young women extricating themselves from situations before the pill could be put to good use. One woman was leaving a pool party on her own. Another left a concert alone. A third split by herself in a cab after a night of disco bowling. (Bowling as an ironic pastime—as opposed to un-ironic league bowlers—was very much in vogue at the time.) “Isn’t the point of the pill,” I asked in the agency boardroom, “to get laid?” The room fell silent. It would have been less awkward had I vomited on the platter of stinky cheeses. I’d shot a dose of reality into an exercise of willful abstraction. We’re societally uncomfortable with the notion of female sexual pleasure, so the ad adopted a falsified narrative that also served the parallel purpose of soothing fretful fathers.
Deep in Harley-Davidson’s website, beyond “about us” and past “sustainability,” on a page with the text “Harley-Davidson Foundation,” you’ll come across an article entitled “An Inclusive Stakeholder Approach.” “We take an inclusive stakeholder approach,” it reads, “to ensuring profitable growth and sustainable, long-term value for our stakeholders—our planet, people, and communities. Beyond Sustainability and ESG (Environmental, Social, and Governance) we seek to drive desirable, positive impact for all our stakeholders based on this simple premise: we all do better when all are included! Our focus areas—Inclusion & Belonging, Driving Positive Impact in Our Communities, and Creating a Path to Net Zero—recognize the interdependence between healthy societies, a healthy planet, and prospering, inclusive economies.”
Below the text and next to an orange box with the words “LEARN MORE” is written “See how our social impact initiatives drive positive change in our home community of Milwaukee and beyond.” I clicked “LEARN MORE” and the following notification appeared: “We’re Sorry. We can’t allow you to go down this road ever again.” I had to admire Harley’s communications department for a spectacularly flamboyant about-face.
Too much time talking to people within your company creates a feedback loop impervious to outside views. I was cornered by a senior Kawasaki staffer who told me every component on the H2R, the 300-horsepower supercharged track-only motorcycle, had a direct link to Kawasaki’s illustrious past. I asked him to name another Kawasaki with a trellis frame and a single-sided swingarm? He stared at my chest. I went to get us drinks. I returned in time to watch his head bob out the door.
Perhaps the most delusional of all motorcycle brands was (the late) Victory. They would tell you, irony-free so far as I could tell, that a 300-section rear tire—that’s a foot wide, folks—had no ill-effect on motorcycle handing. They also claimed the Vision—motorcycling’s answer to a question that was never asked—would become one of motorcycling’s icons, right up there with a Black Shadow and a Gold Star and a 916. Which tells me the weed in Minnesota is capable of producing severe hallucinations. Me, I’m off to the dispensary. A touch of Lava Cake sprinkled on organic granola should allow me to “transcend the constraints of time and place.” Honda, set me a place next to the fire. I’m ready to blow this joint.
