Jeremy Corbyn’s August 2015 election as leader of the UK Labour Party has certainly gained a lot of attention. With an impressive mandate from party members and supporters, high attendance at speaking engagements, and very vocal supporters on social media, it seems a lot of people want to talk about Jeremy Corbyn. But, alongside this, with vilification in both broadsheet and tabloid newspapers, criticism by party members and politicians, and very vocal detractors on social media, it seems a lot of people want to talk about Jeremy Corbyn. And the divisive nature of many of these conversations means, inevitably, that the two sides will want to talk about each other and will need terms in which to do so. This is a little blog post about one of those terms.

This isn’t really a post about politics, by the way, but about a suffix and how it is used in conversations about politics. Sometimes I like writing about suffixes.

When Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership campaign began to gain real momentum (pun intended) during the summer of 2015 and a vocal group of supporters began to emerge, I believe the most common term employed to designate these supporters was ‘Corbynite’. You’ll have to forgive the nature of my evidence here: I’m using my own experience of IRL and social media conversations, as I haven’t had time to do a more thorough survey. A cursory Google search gave me an article from 22nd July 2015 as an early example of this neologism, which makes sense as it was Corbyn’s defying the party whip on the Welfare Bill on 20th July that set the tone for his leadership campaign.

As the article linked to above shows, the word ‘Corbynite’ evokes other political uses of the –ite suffix in English (namely Bennite and Thatcherite). The Oxford English Dictionary explains that the –ite suffix, corresponding to the French –ite and Latin –īta and deriving from the Greek –ίτης, is used to form nouns and adjectives with the sense ‘(one) connected with or belonging to’. In Ancient Greek, the suffix was commonly used to form ‘ethnic and local designations’ (e.g. Stagirite and Sybarite) and to render Hebrew names (e.g. Israelite and Ishmaelite). Modern English still employs the –ite suffix in this way, to describe inhabitants of particular places (e.g. Manhattanite) but the OED notes that this is ‘rare, and mostly somewhat contemptuous’.

It is in the later Christian use of the suffix that we can see the origins of its contemporary use in political conversations: it was used to denote ‘the names of sects, styled either after their locality, their founder, or some tenet, rite, or other characteristic’, and words formed in this way were adopted into Latin and retained in medieval English and French (e.g. Jacobite and eremite [hermit]). The –ite suffix continued to be used in this way in English neologisms, with the sense of ‘a disciple, follower, or adherent of a person or doctrine’ (e.g. Puseyite and Luddite, but also Pre-Raphaelite). Contemptuous and (self-)mocking words can undoubtedly be formed in this way – for instance, ‘socialite’ is frequently used with (often gendered) derision, and fans of Cary Elwes’ character in the Saw franchise refer to themselves as ‘Gordonites’ (myself included) which lends a perhaps unwarranted gravitas to the fandom.

Nevertheless, while it is possible to form ‘joke’ words in this way, the comedy comes more from the disjunction between the weighty –ite suffix and the flippancy of the noun to which it is added: ‘social’ (i.e. engagement in frivolous social activities) and ‘Dr Gordon’ are not sufficiently serious to deserve ‘disciples, followers or adherents’, and thus the adjectives are comical or contemptuous. This is different to words like ‘Luddite’ or ‘Wycliffite’, which can be used in both a celebratory or a condemnatory way (depending on your feelings towards the movements and the activities of their adherents), but which carry no inherent value judgments in themselves.

In terms of political conversation in English, it is interesting to think about which groups are given –ite words and which –ist words. Why is it ‘Luddite’, but ‘Marxist’? And why, of all UK politicians, is it Tony Benn, Tony Blair and Margaret Thatcher who most commonly have –ite appended to their names?

I’m not sure if there have been any academic arguments around this, but my own feeling is that supporters of particular politicians acquire the –ite suffix under a set of specific circumstances: (1) the politician is sufficiently charismatic and individual to attract vocal supporters; (2) the politician espouses values that are a coherent ‘set’ of values, and are recognizable as the values of that individual; (3) the values espoused by the politician differ from (or at odds with) the mainstream values of the party they represent (or, in some cases, the dominant ideology of the time). However, if a thinker or politician espouses beliefs or a school of thought that can be used to underpin various sets of values, the –ist suffix is more likely to be used.

As a side note, we do have a case in the UK where another suffix is used – to denote values that it is believed (often wrongly) are roughly in line with the values of a charismatic politician (or in line with what he ‘would have thought’ had he been transplanted in time) – and that is the –ian suffix, which is most usually found in ‘Churchillian’. This adjective is more commonly used to describe the values themselves, rather than their adherents.

Interestingly, the –ite suffix has another layer to its history and usage, which suggests a further aspect to its appearance in words such as ‘Blairite’ and ‘Luddite’. As well as its use to mean ‘connected with or belonging to’, the OED notes that:

‘Another frequent use of the termination was to form names of minerals and gems […] These have been handed down and increased by medieval and early modern Latin writers de proprietatibus rerum, and have given origin to the modern use of -ite in names of fossils and minerals.’

The –ite suffix appears in words for real minerals, such as ‘anthracite’ and ‘haematite’, and also in one of the most famous fictional minerals, ‘Kryptonite’. This association with rocks and stone undoubtedly inflects the use of the suffix in other nouns: it carries a hint of permanence and implacability. A Bennite is firm in their convictions and rock-solid in their loyalty. A Gordonite is unshakeable in their love of Dr Gordon from Saw.

So, the word ‘Corbynite’ (coined to refer to supporters of Jeremy Corbyn but expanded to refer to people who adhere to a set of values attributed to Corbyn) carries no inherent value judgement. Although it can be used to celebrate, condemn or describe, the word itself is neutral. Any negative connotations come, rather, from the context and tone in which it is used.

There is, however, an alternative word to describe Corbyn’s supporters: ‘Corbynista’. This word is definitely not neutral.

As far as I can tell, one of the earliest appearances of ‘Corbynista’ came on 3rd August 2015, in an article by Nick Small on Labour Uncut. It’s not clear whether Small is quoting the word from another source, or whether he is coining a new term. The suffix –ista in English isn’t common and has a very different history to that of –ite, and its use here is interesting.

Apart from in words directly borrowed from other languages (like ‘barista’), the –ista suffix doesn’t appear a lot in English. The Spanish –ista (meaning someone who is associated with, or employed in, a particular role) is roughly cognate with the English –ist, and the latter is the more prevalent form. So why the Spanish suffix on ‘Corbynista’? And why is it specifically used to denote ‘people who follow Corbyn’, as opposed to ‘people who are associated with Corbyn’?

In 1993, Stephen Fried coined the term ‘fashionista’ in his biography of supermodel Gia Carangi. ‘Fashionista’ remains the most common –ista word in English, and is also (aside from loan words) the first noun of its type to really take off. Fried came up with the word (which is now listed in the OED) to describe the ‘small army’ of people attending a supermodel’s photoshoot, or the ‘famous non-famous people’ as they have been described elsewhere.

While these people are all, in some ways, ‘practitioners of fashion’ and, therefore, it’d be broadly correct to call them ‘fashionists’, Fried felt that a more evocative title was needed. As he says:

‘Since I was re-reading a lot of the newspapers and magazines from the period of Gia’s supernova career in the late ’70s and early ’80s, and remembering a lot of coverage of Sandinistas (and a lot of “-ista” jokes among my mag writer friends), I just decided to try it.’

‘Fashionista’, then, is a bit of a joke. The –ista suffix comes directly from ‘Sandinistas’ – members of Nicaragua’s Sandinista National Liberation Front, which was named after Augusto César Sandino, the leader of Nicaragua’s rebellion against US occupation. As Fried notes, the Sandinistas were brought to wider attention in the 70s, and found support from many people in the US and the UK – people like Jeremy Corbyn, for instance (here’s an Early Day Motion from 1990, signed by Corbyn, in support of the achievements of the Sandinistas). The US, under Ronald Reagan, opposed the Sandinista government that ruled Nicaragua after the deposition of Anastasio Somoza Debayle in 1979. When Margaret Thatcher (who was definitely not an ally of the Sandinista government) allegedly argued that the very word should be banned, The Clash responded by naming an album Sandinista! In 1993, news coverage of the conflict in Nicaragua was still fresh enough in Stephen Fried’s mind (and, presumably, in the minds of his readers) for his ‘fashionista’ to evoke the image of a ‘small army’ of people fiercely devoted to a cause.

However, as Fried hints in the quote above, there was something rather trendy about supporting the Sandinistas. Their left-wing democratic socialism appealed, not only to punk bands and rebellious MPs, but also to left-of-centre middle class activists and writers (like Fried’s ‘mag writer friends’). This became something of a joke – one that still surfaces occasionally. Consider, for instance, Barney Stinson in the US sitcom How I Met Your Mother – in the 2006 episode ‘Game Night’, a flashback shows Barney as a sort of hippy dreamer who intends to join the peace corps and travel to Nicaragua (pronounced with a cringey faux-Central American intonation). This is played for laughs, with the audience understanding that this is a complete cliché.

So, in coining the term ‘fashionista’, Fried tied together several things. (1) The word is roughly correct, as the –ista suffix connotes association or practice. (2) The linguistic evocation of the Sandinistas associates the people described with a guerrilla movement, and thus implies ferocity and intensity. (3) The evocation of the Sandinistas also implies single-minded devotion to a cause. (4) For readers in the US and UK, this evocation also hints at middle class support of a ‘trendy’ cause. (5) With ‘fashion’ as the root, and a supermodel’s photoshoot as its subject, the word utterly undermines the political ideology of its inspiration – likening devotees of the capitalist fashion industry to socialist freedom fighters can only ever be taken as a joke.

I don’t know for sure whether the word ‘Corbynista’ is formed directly from ‘Sandinista’, but I suspect it actually comes to us via ‘fashionista’ (and see below for a third possibility). Either way, it isn’t a neutral term. If it’s the former, then the word carries all the connotations of Fried’s neologism. If (as I believe) it’s the latter, then there is an added layer of negativity. Not only does the word ‘Corbynista’ imply a middle class devotion to ‘flavour of the month’ rebellion, but its echo of ‘fashionista’ conjures up the vacuity and superficiality of the fashion industry. This is underpinned by a mocking association with a military coup to depose a dictatorship – the implication being, in both cases, that neither the fashionistas nor the Corbynistas are anything like the Sandinistas, despite their pretensions.

For me, there’s something rather pernicious about the word ‘Corbynista’. There’s certainly something contemtuous about the tone – something that mocks interest in left-wing causes (as though everyone who supported the Sandinistas was either one of Fried’s jokey writer friends or hippy-Barney in HIMYM). Or – worse – it mocks the very genuine support of Nicaragua’s Sandinista government by socialists such as Jeremy Corbyn. The word, in its derivation, also implies that Corbyn’s ‘followers’ are, to a large extent, middle class (the dreaded champagne socialists). This is an argument that is ongoing, and I don’t want to be drawn into it here, because this blog post is about words, not politics. There is a good summary in this article by Abi Wilkinson.

But there’s another reason why I don’t like the word ‘Corbynista’ – its popularity (such as it is) smacks of rather petty sour grapes. There is another –ista word used in certain circles that conjures up a very similar image: ‘Guardianista’. Wiktionary defines this word (noted as being derogatory):

‘A reader of the Guardian newspaper, regarded as middle-class, excessively liberal and politically correct, etc.’

And the Urban Dictionary currently has this definition:

‘an insult used by right wing commentators to describe middle class left/liberals and there perceived liberal agenda.

Seen as living in places like islington, stereotypically wear sandals, eat muesli, and have beards.’

It’s quite possible, then, that ‘Corbynista’ comes to us via ‘Guardianista’, which is formed from an association with ‘fashionista’ and ‘Sandinista’. However, it’s clear that The Guardian wants the C-word to displace the G-word as the go-to derogatory term for a sandal-wearing, beard-sporting middle class liberal – the newspaper has become the undeniable champion of the ‘Corbynista’ slur, if not in their articles then in the commentary by their readers. A search of The Guardian’s website returns over 1000 results for the term ‘Corbynista’ (most, admittedly, in the profiles and comments of readers, but with a high number of results in headlines). Contrast this to the 45 results returned for The Telegraph, and the 12 results returned for the Daily Mail. That there is an overlap between ‘Corbynista’ and ‘Guardianista’ in some people’s minds can be seen in an article by Neil Lyndon in The Telegraph (26 October 2015), where the author suggests that ‘the massed ranks of Corbynistas’ might ‘commandeer the pages of The Guardian’ to rage over some issue Lyndon has decided is ridiculous.

Ultimately, The Guardian’s near-obsession with the word ‘Corbynista’ (‘Corbynite’, by contrast, only returns 600 results, at least one of which is a review of Downton Abbey) feels very much like an attempt to say ‘Look! They’re the clueless champagne socialists, not us! Mock them! Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia!’ (Okay, I went too far there, but you get the picture.) It’s worth noting that a search of The Telegraph returns 40 results for ‘Guardianista’ (just 5 fewer than for ‘Corbynista’), and a search of the Daily Mail returns 51 (over 4 times the number of ‘Corbynista’ hits), all of which use the term in a derogatory way.

As I said at the beginning, this isn’t a post about politics. But political discourse and journalism frequently become mired in the lazy use of epithets and adjectives, and I think this is a good example of such a case. Sometimes it’s good to know the background of the insults you’re using.