Godwin's Law

New Year’s Day 2035, in Charleston, South Carolina, Paul Tithers stood motionless on his electric scooter and was at a loss for words—or more accurately, at a loss for one word.

With a hangover, still reeling from the loss of a real estate listings the week before, and having fallen over repeatedly on the new scooter his wife bought him for Christmas, he was in a foul mood.

In front of him, a security guard stood blocking his way. “Electric scooters are not allowed in Ashley Park. I need to ask you to get off the scooter and exit the park,” the guard stated firmly.

In the empty park, with no one else in sight, Paul felt his face grow hot being told this stupid rule by this stupid security guard. “The people in the city council who told you to tell me that we aren’t allowed to ride electric scooters in an empty park are–”

“Don’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“The word that stereotypes people from Germany.”

“People who tell me how to talk are literally—”

“Don’t!” the security guard said, interrupting him again. “Don’t use the G word.”

“But the word begins with N.”

“You know why they had to give it another name.” The security guard was African-American and about twice Paul’s size.

Paul stood, seething with anger, when suddenly he felt a heavy thud on the top of his head. The world spun. Dazed, he searched for the source of the blow.

The security guard pointed at the ground beneath Paul’s feet. A fallen apple was on the ground.

“Mother f*ing…apple tree,” Paul uttered.

“Mother f*ing apple tree,” the guard said and chuckled in amusement.

Paul grinned in commiseration until he remembered how angry he was, and then walked away, pushing his scooter.

At home, his wife Ann knew she had to walk on eggshells seeing how angry Paul was when he walked in the door. Soon, he explained the unfairness of not being able to ride a scooter in an empty park.

“You’re following in your father’s footsteps,” Ann remarked.

Paul looked like he was about to shout back until his face mellowed. “He was an angry Nazi, wasn’t he?” 

“He was. You should find a better way to manage your stress than him.”

“Like riding a scooter in the park?” he said ironically. “I wonder what people used to call each other in arguments before 1941?”

“I don’t know, but you can say Nazi as much as you want, at home.”

**

The US Executive Order of Disparagement, also known as “Godwin’s Law”, was put into place in 2032. The new law turned the meaning of the old law on its head. From then on, every argument would not end with the word Nazi.

The Executive Order was a result of an act of Congress. Those 535 elected representatives mostly raised money, shook hands, had three-hour lunches, and did TV interviews. They actually didn't do any “governing” at all. But they did control one thing: signing the check for the national budget to pay for everyone else to do the real work.

Yet, in 2032, Congress saw a 57-day shutdown as the people of the country’s highest electoral body did nothing but call each other names.

After two months of the nation shutting down, in this national emergency, the US president signed an order to ban two words from ever being spoken again in order to save the country.

****

1935. On a park bench next to a newly planted apple tree in Ashley Park, Charleston, Henry Tithers and George Summers were having an argument about President Roosevelt’s New Deal. Neither of them were involved in politics, but the Great Depression was on, and life was a bit boring in the quiet city of Charlestown.

Without those two words existing in the English language lexicon, arguments proceeded very differently. And this being the midst of the great depression there were many arguments about the right course of action.

Henry said, “The New Deal is giving a lifeline to the working class! It’s about time the government took action to provide jobs.”

Thomas retorted, “A lifeline? More like gross government interference. The New Deal is nothing but a power grab by Roosevelt. It’s eroding our freedoms and burying us with unnecessary regulations.”

The debate escalated as they went back and forth into the intricacies of economic policy. Each was convinced of the righteousness of their cause.

Henry screamed, “You’re blind to the suffering of the people! This is the best hope for recovery.”

“Hope for recovery? More like a recipe for disaster! You’re deluded if you think government handouts will solve anything.”

“You’re nothing but a fool who can’t see reason!” Henry shouted.

“And you’re a naive idealist who doesn’t understand the consequences!” Thomas retorted.

“You, sir, are a literal scoundrel.”

“You would turn America into a country of ruffians.”

“That’s the worst insult you can think of, knave?”

“You are as bad as Hitler!”

“That rascal hasn’t even done anything, but shout loudly in German!”

“You’re as evil as Napoleon!”

Henry was so angry that he said the word that no one should ever utter unless you might never want to speak to the other person again.

“You are as hot-tempered as a Catholic!” 

George’s face turned bright red.

“You’re as cold-hearted as a Protestant!”

“That’s exactly what a Catholic says in every argument.”

“I'm not even Catholic, why are you calling me a Catholic?”

“Because you certainly act like one!”

“How about this, then?” George took a roundhouse swing at Henry, hitting him in the jaw and throwing him to the ground so hard he blacked out.

When Henry returned home, his wife Ann knew she needed to tread carefully, seeing Henry had been in a brawl.

She dabbed the blood off his forehead. “A bleeding cut is dangerous. You could get an infection!”

“Don’t worry about it. It just needs some….” He tried to think of the thing that could prevent an infection, but the word hadn’t been invented yet.

Seeing him lost for words, Ann said, “You need to control your nervous tension, Henry.”

“I wonder what people used to call each other before all the Catholic Protestant conflicts came up?”

“I don’t know, Henry,” she said, and added, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Your grandfather used to call anyone who disagreed with him a Benedict Arnold, and collect bruises just like you do. It was the worst insult you could give people at the time.”

**

If a modern day observer looks carefully, one can see a skilled artist such as an Edward Hopper or an Andrew Wyeth doesn’t use all the colors of nature in their art, but only a limited number, a "limited palette". 

In political rhetoric, we saw President Trump used this art skillfully in debating his opponents, using only one or two words each. “What do you think about Rubio’s proposals for an economic revitalization plan?” “Rubio? He has small hands.“

“Mini Mike” “Sleepy Biden” “Birdbrain” — all presenting the audience a more powerful image than the long words of French origin that newspaper editors like to use. It’s why newspaper editors are not leading the country, but teleprompt readers with limited vocabularies are.

In 2032, the 256-year journey of American independence hit a summit with the use of a limited palette of vocabulary in the hall of the US Senate for all the world to watch:

“Senator Reynolds is a Communist!” Senator Hayes bellowed.

“Senator Hayes is a Nazi!” Senator Reynolds groaned.

“How can you trust what a Communist says?!”

“I know I’ll never listen to a Nazi!”

“Communist!”

“Nazi!”

“Communist!”

“Nazi!”

“Communist!”

“Nazi!”

A steady supply of energy drinks and toilet breaks kept them going for 57 days.

It didn’t matter that in 2032, China was full of selfishly consuming billionaires, and Nazi soldiers hadn't goosestepped in Berlin in a very long time. In fact, no one has been a Nazi or a Communist since the end of World War 2 and the fall of the Berlin Wall and the economic opening of China in the 1980s, but that didn’t slow anyone down.

57 days later, when Godwin’s Law was put into place, the senators had by then lost much of the rest of their vocabulary, and were ushered out of the building to be taken to the newly established Godwin’s Rehab Center, located just a short drive from DC, and the country soon returned to normal, if there ever was such a thing.