It’s time to fess up. I’ve written Mekon for money and I’m deeply, deeply ashamed.
And it’s no use you acting all innocent either. How many of you corporate wunderkinder can say you’re completely untainted by leaden dirges such as:
Our Consumer Exploitation Division experienced high demand in the first quarter. However, margins were significantly eroded by continuing rises in materials and transport costs. We expect this trend to continue well into the next period with new compliance legislation exerting further blah blah. Please continue for another 40 pages or until you lose the will to live.
So what’s my excuse? Well, I still write Mekon on occasion because it’s just not worth the intense psychological pain of trying to change corporate mindsets, and even copywriters need to eat. I also kid myself that at least I’ll be able to take the edge off it by sneaking in a human touch or two.
But, aside from upsetting the delicate sensibilities of word pushers like me, does it really matter in the great scheme of things that organisations choose to communicate using industrial quantities of turgid gobbledegook? I can think of three reasons why the answer is an unreserved yes…
First, fewer people actually read the stuff because by the end of the third sentence they’re catatonic – this excludes them from the communication process. Second, Mekon (like its merciless alien progenitor), is purpose designed for obfuscation and deception. In the wrong hands it can mean just about anything, which is why politicians love it to bits.
The third and probably most disturbing reason is that Mekon is usually anonymous. As those moodily-lit CSI people would say, the evidence contains no identifiable human DNA. The trouble with anonymity is that nobody takes responsibility – and organisations which encourage that kind of culture are heading for some nasty surprises.