A Historian Watches Netflix's "History of Swear Words"

     Having spent many years researching and writing a book about the historical criminalization of speech, I was quite chuffed to learn of a Netflix series titled, "History of Swear Words" (HSW). Each episode of this six-part "documentary" explores the history and significance of a different swear word, and is decidedly NSFW--unless you are in the happy situation of working with swear words.

    Swearing experts featured in HSW include Melissa Mohr (historian and author of Holy Sh*t! A Brief History of Swearing); Kory Stamper, lexicographer; and Benjamin Bergen, cognitive scientist. Clips of these academics earnestly explaining the etymology of the f-word, or how a man's name also became a term of abuse, or why swearing increases one's pain tolerance, are chased with reaction footage from comedians such as DeRay Davis, London Hughes, and Sarah Silverman.

    The comedians and actors offer more than comic relief, however. As professional practitioners of swearing, they provide the praxis to our professors' theorizing. Some have become so proficient that they've become associated with one swear word in particular. Samuel L. Jackson comes to mind (you know the word); Isaiah Whitlock, Jr. demonstrates why he's known for another (and the principle that the meaning often depends upon the delivery). One is reminded of the narrator's observation about his father in "A Christmas Story": "He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium; a master."

    The meaning of swear words also often depends upon the power relations in which they're uttered, as we are reminded by film critic Elvis Mitchell and professor of feminist studies Mireille Miller-Davis. Mitchell makes an especially poignant argument about the difference between the way in which many people heard N.W.A.'s "F--- the Police" and what the group was actually expressing. And Miller-Davis observes that some targets of the b-word slur have been reclaiming the word by using it themselves, about themselves.

    It's not all semiotics and the philosophy of AAVE, however. There's a fun diversion into "half-swearing"--examples given include "darn" and "geez," but one can't help but think of "Let's Go Brandon." The "Dick" episode goes a little off-track when it forgets it's supposed to be about the word, and not, well. To illustrate the sheer malleability of the f-word, we get the F*** Family Tree, which includes numerous permutations, but alas, not my personal favorite.

    Tying it all together in inimitable fashion is the series host, Nicolas Cage. He greets the viewer in an impeccably tailored suit, lolling in an overstuffed armchair or sauntering to a decanter of Scotch in a Masterpiece Theater-style set. Cage clearly relishes the journey from the ridiculous (spinning out extended double-entendres) to the sublime (roaring the supreme swear word). That very same word, the series has told us, is cathartic, is pain-relieving, and is "a good protest word." For these reasons, perhaps it should be in everyone's vocabulary.

--Kristin A. Olbertson

Weekend Roundup

• Congratulations to Samantha Barbas, University at Buffalo Law, on her receipt of an NEH grant for a "sociolegal history of New York Times Co. v. Sullivan."  More.  

• New and ungated in Studies in American Political Development: “No Bodies to Kick or Souls to Damn”: The Political Origins of Corporate Criminal Liability, by Anthony Grasso, Rutgers University.

• As a faculty member at Georgetown University faculty, this one shouldn't have surprised me, but it did.  @dbqur

• In Nursing Clio's The Deathbed series: Julie Hardwick on abortion and infanticide in 17th-18th-c. France. 

• The CFP for the next conference of the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations, to be held in a hybrid format in Arlington, VA, June 17-20, 2021, is here.

• Constitution Day is around the corner.  (We never thought we'd say this, but, "Robert Byrd, would that you were with us in this hour!")  Boston College’s Clough Center for the Study of Constitutional Democracy is observing the date with The Equal Rights Amendment: A Constitution Day Conversation, with Julie Chi-hye Suk and Katharine Young.
  

•  The United States Capitol Historical Society announced that its 2020 National Heritage Lecture, delivered virtually on September 14, 2020, will be a discussion of “one of the most far-reaching accomplishments of mid-20th century American government: The comprehensive and strategic investment in our transportation infrastructure.”   The Supreme Court Historical Society and the White House Historical Association are also sponsors of the event.  More.
  

• ICYMI: A review of James Whitman’s Hitler’s American Model (Concord Monitor).  Danielle Allen on The Flawed Genius of the Constitution (Atlantic)
  

Weekend Roundup is a weekly feature compiled by all the Legal History bloggers.

The Strange Symbiosis of Libel and the Popular Press

My thanks once more for the opportunity to be your guest blogger this month. This will be my final post.

The Strange Symbiosis of Libel and the Popular Press

In late 1920, London daily newspapers had a field day recounting the scene before the King’s Bench and a special jury. A slander case pitted writer Marguerite Radclyffe-Hall against St. George Lane Fox-Pitt, son of famed archeologist Augustus Pitt-Rivers. Fox-Pitt had recently learned from Admiral Troubridge that Radclyffe-Hall had taken up with the Admiral’s estranged wife. Fox-Pitt used this information to discredit Radclyffe-Hall at the Society of Psychical Research, purportedly calling her a “grossly immoral woman.” In court, Fox-Pitt denied that he had ever called the plaintiff “immoral.” Or, he equivocated, if he had done so, he had not meant it maliciously. Indeed, if he meant it at all, the claim pertained to her work, not to Radclyffe-Hall herself. According to the Daily Mirror, the courtroom burst into laughter as Fox-Pitt attempted to describe the immorality implicit in Radclyffe-Hall’s psychic account of a “spook horse” bathing in heaven. Not even the judge seemed able to move past the strangeness of spiritualist study to follow Fox-Pitt’s point [1]. Radclyffe-Hall won her slander suit, receiving £500 damages, a decision upheld on appeal in 1921 [2]. She won thanks to the little-known 1891 Slander of Women Act that allowed women (and only women) in England and Wales to sue for sexual slander without having to prove damages. The law would remain on the books until 2013.

I have been thinking quite a bit about this Act since starting research on reputation. It gets mentioned regularly in legal primers as one of the few caveats in British defamation law. Whereas the law generally requires proof of financial damages in cases of oral slander, the 1891 Act exempted women, since the quintessential middle-class Victorian woman presumably had no market income to lose. There are only a few hits when one searches for cases in the law reports, not leaving the historian much to draw from. If one shifts one’s view from law reports to the newspapers, however, one finds several dozen cases over the law’s 122-year life, the bulk of them taking place between its 1891 passage and 1940. With each expansion of the online British Newspaper Archive, I find more. Some of the stories are set up as general-interest stories, while other slander of women cases were less visible. Editors clearly deemed Radclyffe-Hall’s trial to be good entertainment for readers, and covered it on the first or second pages of their papers.   

As a historical repository of courtroom drama, newspapers are unparalleled sources. But they are far from being neutral parties, of course. It is perhaps hard to find an area of research in which this is more the case than in questions surrounding defamation. Members of the press were outspoken in their critique of libel law at every stage. Nevertheless, journalist critics of libel laws rarely advocated the outright abolition of defamation law. Radclyffe-Hall’s case and Kelly v. Sherlock (see my previous post) offer useful ways of thinking about newspapers’ relationship with defamation cases and how historians might take the relationship into account.

Radclyffe-Hall’s case was a society case. It was entertaining, and it would sell well. Thanks to amendments to the libel laws in the 1880s, news outlets could report on court proceedings so long as the reporting was done accurately and without malice. Targeting an ever-wider readership, especially among women, mass newspapers could bank on the appeal of a social celebrity like Radclyffe-Hall. The seeming ridiculousness of the whole affair likely made the courtroom drama all the more appealing. The laughter in the courtroom stood in for newspaper editorializing, which would have been off limits—or, rather, open to libel charges in turn. Indeed, the entire scene underscores an implicit agreement about the bounds of civility in the period. It was permissible to laugh at Fox-Pitt for his unchivalrous and inept condemnation of Radclyffe-Hall. His inhibitions about addressing her sexuality in the courtroom can be attributed to the Slander of Women Act’s blanket prohibition on criticism of a woman’s virtue. But the courtroom and wider public also seemed remarkably at ease with Radclyffe-Hall’s well-known lesbianism a decade before she published her seminal (and censored) Well of Loneliness. It helped, of course, that the case involved a psychical society, not politics; the stakes were lower. This could not be said about Kelly v. Sherlock. 

Sherlock got into trouble not because he published about Kelly but because of the manner in which he discussed Kelly. Kelly was indeed fair game. He’d made himself a target of public interest, as Baron Bramwell ruled in the trial at the Manchester assizes in August 1865. While there might be a privilege in sermonizing to one’s flock (Bramwell was doubtful, but upheld it), there was no pastoral privilege to criticize civil officials. By so doing, Bramwell held, Kelly opened himself to public rebuke [3]. Sherlock’s infraction, then, was not criticizing Kelly, but doing so in an overly vitriolic manner. It was a contemptuous attack on his professional persona. Newspapers that reported on Kelly and Sherlock could do so without feeling that they were betraying their profession or inviting trouble themselves because, to them, the case helped clarify the boundaries of legitimate journalistic practice. Journalists were not unqualified defenders of journalistic latitude, and saw no reason to be so. They were comfortable with a legally-enforced code of journalistic civility.

It is significant when even those with an interest in criticizing a norm assent to it in principle, since this reflects the power of a social norm. On my bus ride home today, I was reading the 1967 Report of the Joint Committee on Censorship of the Theatre. In his testimony to the committee, Kenneth Tynan, then fighting to have Hochhuth’s Soldiers staged, demanded the end of censorship. His phrasing early in his testimony is of note: “there should be no restriction short of libel on the presentation of historical characters living or dead” [4]. 

[1] Daily Express, November 19, 1920, p. 1; Daily Mirror, November 19, 1920, p. 2. 

[2] "Court of Appeal." Times, March 16, 1921, p. 5.

[3] 686 Kelly v Sherlock, Queen's Bench Division, 13 June 1866, (1865-66) L.R. 1 Q.B. 686, 689.

[4] Testimony of Kenneth Tynan January 24, 1967, as found in the Minutes of Evidence appended to the Joint Committee on Censorship of the Theatre, p. 80.

--Caroline Shaw

Choosing Representative Cases from Many; Or, Privilege & Prejudice in 1865 Liverpool.

Choosing Representative Cases from Many; Or, Privilege & Prejudice in 1865 Liverpool.

The Reverend James Kelly of Liverpool was not well liked. His spat with the church’s organist was bad enough, but Kelly’s diatribes against city officials drew public attention to this pugnacious – and litigious – clergyman. Seemingly anxious over the fate of Anglicanism, Kelly – who preached about the Protestant martyrs of Bloody Mary’s reign to a new generation – balked at the appointment of a Roman Catholic priest as chaplain in one of the city’s jails and railed against voters who had returned Liverpool’s first Jewish mayor that same fall. Not content to issue commentary from the pulpit, Kelly broadcast his opinions in the local newspapers.

While a number of local papers followed Kelly’s squabbles with local notables, Randall Sherlock’s Liverpool Mail did so with particular glee. Under the heading “Irish Scandal at St. George’s Church,” the weekly newspaper detailed the “wolfish”-ness of Irish clergy. It began with a diatribe against the Irish clergy in general and then proceeded to describe the barbarity of Kelly using the church for “potato-boiling” and his penchant for brawling (typical of Irish stereotypes as well) [1].

This fusillade of ethnic stereotypes did not even attempt a pretext of defending Catholics from Kelly. The attack on Kelly ran next to a column decrying fanatical Roman Catholic priests “running mad” overseas. Sherlock tried to apologize later. Kelly was unsatisfied, however, and sued. He won, but the jury awarded him a symbolically negligible single farthing. Kelly appealed for a new trial, believing himself entitled to higher damages. The justices of the Queen’s Bench disagreed.

I love the point in research where one gets to immerse oneself in a single case for some time. While this can happen regularly with high profile cases, it is rarer in the cases of ordinary men and women. Indeed, piecing together the ins and outs of a defamation case is not easy at all. Those which appear in law reports can contain more about precedent than on the case itself. Newspaper coverage can be as terse as a few lines, or can stretch out over multiple articles for months – even years – on end. Reconstructing a case can entail a great deal of additional research, and this is simply not feasible to do for over 600 cases. It’s as I concentrate on a cluster of cases that seem to illustrate a broader phenomenon that I really get to plunge into the weeds. I zeroed in on Kelly for an upcoming conference paper initially for pragmatic reasons; I knew that, in addition to the law report which I had in my electronic file, there were a further 80+ articles about the Rev. Kelly in the British Library Newspaper Database. There’s often quite a bit to be unpacked even from a few lines about a trial. There is all the more to be uncovered when one has not only 80 articles, but seemingly verbatim coverage of the trials among them.

If I were telling a history of case law, I would address the two legal issues at issue in Kelly v. Sherlock. First, the Queen’s Bench found that they had no standing to allow for a new trial solely on the basis of insufficient damages. That would illegitimately circumvent the jury’s role. Second, the judge at the assize level provides a particularly eloquent defense of a clergyman’s privilege of preaching to his flock as he sees fit. His phrasing would be republished in legal text books for years [2]. I suppose these points will make their way into my account, but I, like many of you, am more interested in the case’s implications for society at the time. I am want to explore through newspaper and legal reports how a community works out norms of proper authority and the acceptable limits on stereotyping. Here, as in quite a few cases involving the clergy, the question centered on the authority of the pulpit and the privilege (even the duty) of the clergyman (as opposed to the newspaper) to criticize different social groups as a whole. Was Kelly’s behavior a proper subject of public interest (as Sherlock claimed)? Even if it were, what were the boundaries between proper discussion and malice or ridicule?

During this period, standards for legal judgment of such cases were beginning to crystalize. That is important. More interesting still, are the disagreements, however, as one finds in the columns of the newspaper, among judges and juries, and between trials. It is in these moments that one finds critical tensions over who gets to constitute community, its boundaries, and the language that helps to keep it in balance. Perhaps not surprisingly, more elite commentators seemed embarrassed by both Kelly and Sherlock—though Kelly especially. His brand of evangelicalism did not sit well with those who prized cosmopolitan rationality and were more accepting of religious heterodoxy in civil society [3]. Elite commentators themselves were not entirely enlightened, however: keen to distance themselves from Kelly’s bigotry, these commentators attributed it to the “hot-blooded” Irish. Sherlock lost his case because his diatribe against Kelly the individual descended to ridicule; but more genteel anti-Irish stereotyping, which suffused a good portion of those 80+ articles, remained within the bounds of community acceptability [4].

[1] “Irish Scandals at St George’s Church”, Liverpool Mail, February 6, 1864, p. 5. The newspaper continued the diatribe a week later: “Irish Scandals at St George’s Church, No. II”, Liverpool Mail, February 13, 1864, p. 5.

[2] 686 Kelly v Sherlock, Queen's Bench Division, 13 June 1866, (1865-66) L.R. 1 Q.B. 686. See, for example, John Townsend, A Treatise on the Wrongs Called Slander and Libel and on the Remedy by Civil Action for those Wrongs, (London: Steven & Haynes, 1868), p. 354-355.

[3] See, for example: “The Finance Committee,” Liverpool Mail, April 9, 1864, p. 4; and “When a man embarks on a sea of controversy…,” The Englishman, November 5, 1864, p. 5.

[4] “The Rev. James Kelly,” Pall Mall Gazette, August 16, 1865, p. 1.  

--Caroline Shaw