Once, my Dad sponsored me £20 not to talk about Eddie Izzard for three days.

We were going on a short holiday to the Cotswolds and my challenge was not to mention Eddie’s name, or quote his stand-up, for the entirety of our time there. I’d love to say that this happened when I was a child but I was in my twenties at the time. It was a period in my life when I was both confounded by the notion that anyone wouldn’t want to talk about Eddie Izzard all day, every day, and really needed 20 quid.

I completed the challenge. During the three days, I regularly found myself falling into the habit of almost beginning sentences with “that reminds me of something Eddie Izzard says…” and stopping myself. Instead, I talked about all the other things in life that aren’t Eddie Izzard. I surprised myself by remembering that I do, in fact, have quite a number of interests and opinions that fall outside the lexicon of Eddie Izzard. My view of the world rewidened. I noticed things on holiday that I wouldn’t have done otherwise, because I would have been too busy reciting sections of Eddie Izzard performances by rote.

I had a lovely time on that holiday and, crucially, so did everyone else. Unbelievable as this might seem, not everyone in the world wants to hear about Eddie Izzard constantly. My Dad is a very clever man.

When we challenge others not to use common words or phrases, the subsequent debate is often framed in terms of a “ban”. It’s the ”Insert thinker here says we should ban insert seemingly inoffensive word or action here because it’s damaging to society/children” chestnut. Cue inevitable, tedious outrage.

But what if, instead, we changed the focus to “freedom of thought” as opposed to so-called “freedom of speech”? What if we considered that, often, challenging people to do things differently isn’t about restricting them, but about liberating them?

Anyone who followed the gigantic and (now, with hindsight) slightly laughable hoo-ha that took place last week when I suggested not referring to groups of students as “girls” or “boys” in a school environment will know what I’m getting at here. By not assuming we know how everyone identifies, or that they have positive associations with both their gender and the current social stereotypes associated with it, we have an opportunity to expand our vocabulary and, therefore, our minds.

I’m old enough to remember the outrage over guidelines that asked those working in the profession not to say “postman”, “policeman”, “fireman” or assume that all the people in the armed services were men. “PC gone mad!” was, back then, the rallying cry, the rationale being that most of the people who worked in those professions were men so we were “pandering” to an “offended” majority.

The power of gender-neutral language

Yet, here’s the thing. All of the people working in those professions were people. It’s accurate to call a man who works in the police service a police officer. You’re not misgendering him, you’re just not gendering him at all. I can’t imagine any male officer feeling distressed about his entire profession no longer being referred to as “policemen”.

And imagine the good that has done. Now, a whole generation of female children have grown up in an environment where they know not all people who work in certain professions are men. They now know it is a possibility for them, if they choose.

The sentiments above are now widely accepted by all but the most Luddite of bigots, but it wasn’t always so. Progress.

The second objection to these types of arguments is that “you’re not allowed to say insert seemingly inoffensive term any more”. Even that dissolves under scrutiny. You’re welcome to call any person a “man”, if that’s what he is and what he likes. You’re welcome to refer to groups of people as “men” if you are assured that’s what they, uniformally, are.

The anger, I think, comes from the assumption that what is being said is that parents or teachers have been deliberately damaging children by using constrictive rhetoric. Again, this isn’t the case. I know for a fact I’ve used terms that didn’t acknowledge everyone in the room and perhaps even offended some in the past, because I didn’t know any better. I probably still do. I will, however, try to change my behaviour if, through the process of learning, I assess the net result to be that of being kinder or fairer or more inclusive.

Language is all about context. That’s why the N-word is acceptable in a rap song but not in an office. That’s why I affectionately call my friends “daft t*ts” but I probably wouldn’t greet the prime minister in this way. That’s why it’s perfectly fine for women to refer to themselves as a “girly girl” but you wouldn’t walk into a single-sex year group assembly and say “hello girly girls!”. This doesn’t curtail the people who fit the girly archetype. It simply acknowledges that we aren’t all like that.

In most instances, changing the way we speak is about inclusion, acceptance and broadening our understanding. It doesn’t threaten anyone’s rights.

(After all, I still love Eddie Izzard and speak about him often).

Natasha Devon MBE is the former government mental health champion. She is a writer and campaigner and visits an average of three schools per week all over the UK. She tweets @_natashadevon. Find out more about her work here

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