Conspiracy

The misuse of the word "conspiracy" has become one of my pet peeves. In this essay (which is otherwise quite eloquent), Sacha Baron Cohen writes: 

A year ago, I spoke out publicly for the first time in my own voice because I feared that our pluralistic democracies were at risk of being destroyed by a flood of hate, lies and conspiracies spewed by demagogues and spread by social media. Since then, this toxic brew has exploded into the open and—with just weeks until the election—these conspiracies threaten to kill democracy as we know it.

I'm pretty sure that he meant to say: "...these conspiracy THEORIES threaten..."

 

If you use the word "conspiracy" without the T-word, you are talking about something universally acknowledged to be real and provable. We can state flatly that the Watergate burglary was a conspiracy, because nobody denies that a group of people schemed to commit a political crime. Nixon's plan to protect the Watergate burglars was definitely conspiratorial, because we have audio proof of the plot. 

 

Ladled over this scandal are various conspiracy theories. The claim that Nixon had advanced knowledge of the burglary is a theory. The claim that Nixon discussed the JFK assassination during the famed 18-minute gap is a theory. The claim that "the whole Bay of Pigs thing" was a coded reference to the JFK assassination is a theory. The claim that burglar James McCord deliberately blew the operation is a theory. The claim that John Dean masterminded the affair to protect his wife is a theory.

I happen to take one or two of those theories quite seriously. (Not the Dean thing; that was disproven in Anthony Summers' Nixon bio.) But even when I favor a theory, fairness compels me to label it as such. 

When Baron Cohen says "these conspiracies threaten to kill democracy," he is being imprecise. I suspect that the message he delivered differs from the message he intended. The words within the quotation marks assert that there are various real, provable plots by malefic actors against democracy itself. When he made this statement, Baron Cohen announced: "I am a conspiracy theorist." 

 

As it happens, I find this particular conspiracy theory to be credible. 

 

But I also believe that Baron Cohen meant to say something rather different. I think he meant to say "Conspiracy theories threaten to kill democracy." To put it another way: "Paranoia is destroying us." If this interpretation is correct, Baron Cohen intended to tell the world: "I am not a conspiracy theorist. In fact, I don't like conspiracy theorists at all."

 

Again: I think he meant to convey that idea. I can't be certain, due to his sloppy word choice. 

 

In order to eradicate obscurity, careful writers and speakers should always distinguish conspiracy from conspiracy theory.

 

I've made my own stance quite clear over the years: Although many conspiracy theories are toxic, some conspiracy theories have a basis in fact -- and the theorists often turn out to be the conspirators. 

 

Numerous examples from history prove this point. Recently, in a classic "false flag" operation, the Boogaloo Bois pretended to be supporters of Black Lives Matter as they attacked a police station in Minneapolis. The Boogalooers are classic conspiracy theorists, yet they are also the perpetrators of a provable, honest-to-God plot against this country. This episode proves that one can be both theorist and practitioner.  

 

Here's a related pet peeve: Many people (particularly on YouTube) have fallen into the habit of using the term "conspiracy" to describe anything strange or unusual. A Bigfoot sighting is not a conspiracy, even though I have run into ill-educated people who habitually use the C-word in that fashion. 

 

On the other hand, some people claim that "the gummint" is -- for God-knows-what reason -- covering up the existence of Bigfoot. That idea counts as a conspiracy theory. 

 

A really, really stupid theory.   

Definition of the word "conspiracy": A plan by two or more people to commit a crime or an immoral act. 

 

You are not a conspiracy theorist if you argue that Edward de Vere wrote Hamlet, because writing a great play is not a crime and individual action is not conspiratorial. (You are, however, wrong.)

 

Here's an unrelated pet peeve: I absolutely cannot stand it when dullards refer to a symphony or a concerto or some other purely orchestral piece as a "song." No, Thus Spake Zarathustra is not the "song" heard during the opening credits of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Danny Elfman's Batman theme is not a song. It's a theme.

 

Do you hear a singer? No singer = no song.

 

Mahler's Symphony #7 is not a song. It's a symphony. Yes, I know that this work bears the title "Song of the Night," but the word "song" is, in this instance, poetic. You are not supposed to take it literally. Similarly, Whitman's poem "Song of Myself" is not actually a song; it's a poem.   

If the composer labels his or her work a symphony, a concerto, a quartet or whatever, follow his or her lead. If you don't know the correct label, you may refer to any example of orchestral music as a work, a piece, a piece of music, or a composition. You may use the word track when referring to a composition written as part of a film score, although I wish that someone would come up with a better term.

This absurd mania for referring to any musical work as a "song" took hold only recently. A mere twenty-five years ago, people knew better. Even kids knew better.

 

Check out the 1959 western Rio Bravo. In one scene, a small-town deputy hears a distant trumpet playing a vaguely-familiar melody. The deputy asks: "What's that piece of music?" If he had asked "What's that song?" the audience would have presumed him to be not just uneducated but a complete imbecile.