The power of language: Toni Morrison’s Nobel prize acceptance speech



“If thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought,” George Orwell wrote in Power of the English Language. Much has been written on the power of language, which can be appear through political rhetoric and bedazzlement, as seduction through words, as “persuasion” – in order to change the way we perceive the world. This power can be used to coral, dictate to and control entire swathes of the population; by the media, through dictators and elected politicians alike; through to influencing the minutiae of everyday life; the arts of seduction of advertising, the sales tricks of telephone marketing, or the menacing undertones we may encounter in the workplace or our personal relationships.

Yet language is also the hallmark of our species. Our ability to communicate with one another through words, through grammar and syntax, either written down or spoken aloud, is perhaps the defining feature of what we may term ‘civilisation’. Language has the power to corrupt – and to be corrupted – yet it also has the power to convey meaning across generations, it has the ability to record histories and ideas that lead to advancements in our society once thought impossible.

When it comes to the great power of language and the responsibility we have when using it, we may turn to the Nobel Prize acceptance speech of one of the greatest writers of the 20th century, Tony Morrison.

Morrison received the Nobel Prize in literature for being a writer “who in novels characterized by visionary force and poetic import, gives life to an essential aspect of American reality.” On taking to the podium to accept the award in December 1993, she provided us with a spectacular speech on the power of language to oppress and to liberate, to scar and to sanctify, to plunder and to redeem.

Morrison opines:

““Once upon a time there was an old woman. Blind but wise.” Or was it an old man? A guru, perhaps. Or a griot soothing restless children. I have heard this story, or one exactly like it, in the lore of several cultures.

“Once upon a time there was an old woman. Blind. Wise.”

In the version I know the woman is the daughter of slaves, black, American, and lives alone in a small house outside of town. Her reputation for wisdom is without peer and without question. Among her people she is both the law and its transgression. The honor she is paid and the awe in which she is held reach beyond her neighborhood to places far away; to the city where the intelligence of rural prophets is the source of much amusement.

One day the woman is visited by some young people who seem to be bent on disproving her clairvoyance and showing her up for the fraud they believe she is. Their plan is simple: they enter her house and ask the one question the answer to which rides solely on her difference from them, a difference they regard as a profound disability: her blindness. They stand before her, and one of them says, “Old woman, I hold in my hand a bird. Tell me whether it is living or dead.”

She does not answer, and the question is repeated. “Is the bird I am holding living or dead?”

Still she doesn’t answer. She is blind and cannot see her visitors, let alone what is in their hands. She does not know their color, gender or homeland. She only knows their motive.

The old woman’s silence is so long, the young people have trouble holding their laughter.

Finally she speaks and her voice is soft but stern. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know whether the bird you are holding is dead or alive, but what I do know is that it is in your hands. It is in your hands.”

Her answer can be taken to mean: if it is dead, you have either found it that way or you have killed it. If it is alive, you can still kill it. Whether it is to stay alive, it is your decision. Whatever the case, it is your responsibility.

For parading their power and her helplessness, the young visitors are reprimanded, told they are responsible not only for the act of mockery but also for the small bundle of life sacrificed to achieve its aims. The blind woman shifts attention away from assertions of power to the instrument through which that power is exercised.

Speculation on what (other than its own frail body) that bird-in-the-hand might signify has always been attractive to me, but especially so now thinking, as I have been, about the work I do that has brought me to this company. So I choose to read the bird as language and the woman as a practiced writer. She is worried about how the language she dreams in, given to her at birth, is handled, put into service, even withheld from her for certain nefarious purposes. Being a writer she thinks of language partly as a system, partly as a living thing over which one has control, but mostly as agency — as an act with consequences. So the question the children put to her: “Is it living or dead?” is not unreal because she thinks of language as susceptible to death, erasure; certainly imperiled and salvageable only by an effort of the will. She believes that if the bird in the hands of her visitors is dead the custodians are responsible for the corpse. For her a dead language is not only one no longer spoken or written, it is unyielding language content to admire its own paralysis. Like statist language, censored and censoring. Ruthless in its policing duties, it has no desire or purpose other than maintaining the free range of its own narcotic narcissism, its own exclusivity and dominance. However moribund, it is not without effect for it actively thwarts the intellect, stalls conscience, suppresses human potential.

The vitality of language lies in its ability to limn the actual, imagined and possible lives of its speakers, readers, writers. Although its poise is sometimes in displacing experience it is not a substitute for it. It arcs toward the place where meaning may lie. When a President of the United States thought about the graveyard his country had become, and said, “The world will little note nor long remember what we say here. But it will never forget what they did here,” his simple words are exhilarating in their life-sustaining properties because they refused to encapsulate the reality of 600, 000 dead men in a cataclysmic race war. Refusing to monumentalize, disdaining the “final word,” the precise “summing up,” acknowledging their “poor power to add or detract,” his words signal deference to the uncapturability of the life it mourns. It is the deference that moves her, that recognition that language can never live up to life once and for all. Nor should it. Language can never “pin down” slavery, genocide, war. Nor should it yearn for the arrogance to be able to do so. Its force, its felicity is in its reach toward the ineffable.

Be it grand or slender, burrowing, blasting, or refusing to sanctify; whether it laughs out loud or is a cry without an alphabet, the choice word, the chosen silence, unmolested language surges toward knowledge, not its destruction.

Word-work is sublime … because it is generative; it makes meaning that secures our difference, our human difference — the way in which we are like no other life.

We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.”

Listen to Toni Morrison’s dazzling speech here below


Well blow little ducks: 12 bizarre idioms, what they mean and where they come from

Ducks and little ducks

Photography by Petr Kratochvil, via public domain pictures.

Well the carrots are cooked! We hope you’re ready to start swallowing grass snakes, because we’ve got some of the most bizarre idioms – along with some information about their origins and meanings – for you to get excited about. It’s time to pay the duck (unless an elephant has stomped on your ear, of course!).

Enjoy, amigos:


  1. To slide in on a shrimp sandwich

Language of origin: Swedish.

Meaning: It refers to somebody who didn’t have to work to get where they are.

Used in a sentence: “Wow, the CEO’s son really slid in on a shrimp sandwich.”

  1. To blow little ducks

Language of origin: Latvian

Meaning: To talk nonsense or to lie.

Used in a sentence: “Stop blowing little ducks, Monique! I know you stole all the shrimp sandwiches.”

  1. Enough to cobble dogs with

Language of origin: English (UK)

Meaning: Refers to a surplus of something. For instance, if a cobbler has enough leather to cobble an animal that has four feet, then that cobbler definitely has a surplus.

Used in a sentence: “There are enough idioms here to cobble dogs with.”

  1. The carrots are cooked!

Language of origin: French

Meaning: The situation can’t be changed

Used in a sentence: “It’s a shame Jeremiah has sold his cobbling business, but the carrots are cooked!”

  1. It jumped the shark

Language of origin: English (US)

Meaning: The moment a television show or other cultural phenomenon stops being relevant and starts being ridiculous.

Used in a sentence: “The latest episode of Hippos vs octopuses really jumped the shark this week.”

  1. You have tomatoes on your eyes

Language of origin: German

Meaning: When you can’t see what everyone else can (but refers to physical, real objects, rather than abstract meanings).

Used in a sentence: “Oh Eunice, you must have tomatoes on your eyes if you can’t see the large cat on my head.”

  1. To swallow grass snakes

Language of origin: French

Meaning: to be so insulted by something, you are unable to think of a reply or find the right words to say

Used in a sentence: “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing, Candice. I must have swallowed grass snakes!”

  1. The thief has a burning hat

Language of origin: Russian

Meaning: When someone has uneasy conscious that betrays itself.

Used in a sentence: “How did I know it was Mervyn’s fault? Let’s just say the thief has a burning hat.”

  1. Pay the duck

Language of origin: Portuguese

Meaning: To take the blame for something you did not do.

Used in a sentence: “I’ll pay the duck, even if it was actually Prunella who put the cat on Gwenda’s head.”

  1. Did an elephant stomp on your ear?

Language of origin: Polish

Meaning: To have no ear for music

Used in a sentence: “Crikey, Dermot, did an elephant stomp on your ear? That wasn’t music; it was the sound of dog being cobbled in a back alley.”

  1. The pussy cat will come to the tiny door

Language of origin: Croatian

Meaning: What goes around, comes around

Used in a sentence: “At first, it was hard for me to accept being left at the alter by Stefan for his super-secret agent ex-boyfriend, but then I realised: it’s just a matter of time before the pussy cat comes to the tiny door.”

12. There’s nothing in the rulebook that says a giraffe can’t play football! 

Language of origin: English

Meaning: There’s nothing to stop you: do anything and everything that you can imagine

Used in a sentence: “You should totally set up a collective of creatives, where people can share awesome tips on writing, art, photography and everything else, and maybe even put together a list of a dozen crazy idioms that folk might enjoy. After all, there’s nothing in the rulebook that says a giraffe can’t play football!”