“Turn a blind eye” is one of those expressions that slips easily into everyday speech, a shorthand way of describing the act of deliberately ignoring something. We might say a teacher turned a blind eye to students whispering in class (never a good idea, by the way), or that a government turned a blind eye to corruption (even worse). Many people use the phrase without a second thought about its origins, but like many idioms, it comes with a story. In recent years, some people have questioned the phrase, arguing that it may be offensive or insensitive. Well, speaking as someone who actually is blind in one eye, I am here to defend it: so, brace yourselves.
The most commonly cited origin story for “turn a blind eye” dates back to the Napoleonic Wars and everyone’s favourite British naval hero, Admiral Horatio Nelson. Nelson had lost the sight in one eye earlier in his naval career, when flying debris from a shot impacted a sandbag and struck his face, causing severe damage to his retina. He is often portrayed as wearing an eye patch, but there appears to be no evidence that he did so: historic accounts seem to indicate that his eye remained intact, he simply couldn’t see out of it any more.
During the Battle of Copenhagen in 1801, Vice-Admiral Sir Hyde Parker, the commander-in-chief of the British fleet, ordered the signal for Nelson to cease fighting and withdraw. Signals were transmitted from ship to ship via the medium of flags, so the order was necessarily a visual one. Nelson was alerted to the signal to disengage, but was eager to press ahead with the attack. According to the story, he raised his telescope to his blind eye and claimed to see no signal. Having feigned ignorance of the order, he continued the battle and secured a crucial tactical victory. The rest, as they say, is history, and presumably explains why Nelson still has his statue on the top of a column in central London and Hyde Parker doesn’t.
The anecdote of Nelson’s act of defiance was popularised in later retellings and became associated with the idea of deliberately ignoring unwelcome information or instructions. Nelson’s choice to quite literally turn his blind eye to an order he did not want to follow captured perfectly the notion of wilful ignorance or selective attention. Over time, the phrase entered the broader English language as an idiom, detached from its naval origins. Speakers used it to describe actions or policies where someone in authority chose not to recognise or address a problem.
Historians, always here to spoil the fun, are not 100% certain that the phrase originated with the story of Nelson: some debate the precise accuracy of the apocryphal story and there is evidence that similar expressions already existed before the Battle of Copenhagen and that the phrase may have been popularised through literary or journalistic embellishments of naval history rather than by Nelson’s own words and actions. Whatever the truth, the phrase stuck, and for generations it has been taught in history classes and quoted in newspapers, novels and speeches around the English-speaking world. Hurrah for insurrection.
As with many idioms rooted in physical descriptions of the body, “turn a blind eye” uses a physical metaphor to express the complexities of the human psyche, indeed sight and blindness have long served as powerful symbols of human understanding and perception. To “see” something often stands for awareness or understanding, while to be “blind” to something suggests ignorance, either accidental or wilful. The metaphor is played out to its full in the story of Oedipus Rex, who is metaphorically blind to the truth of his own story, and blinds himself in reality when he discovers it. Teiresias the prophet is physically blind but is the only one that can see the truth as the story unfolds. Shakespeare likewise exploited the theme to equal horror in King Lear, in which the theme of blindness resonates throughout the play, at times to quite toe-curling effect.
Now, to the modern world. Despite the phrase’s deep history, widespread use and highly effective meaning, it has not been free from criticism in recent years. Some people today argue that “turn a blind eye” may be offensive or insensitive because it invokes blindness — a physical disability — in a potentially negative way. The concern, so far as I can gather, is that by equating blindness with wilful ignorance, the phrase serves to reinforce negative stereotypes about people who are visually impaired. This criticism is, of course, part of a broader trend in which people are told to pay closer attention to the ways language can unintentionally marginalise or demean particular groups of people.
As someone who actually is blind in one eye, I am going out to bat for the phrase (although, being blind in one eye, it is true that my batting can be somewhat haphazard). My blindness on one side (the right, as it happens) has cost me a lot, and I’m not about to let it cost me my language as well. It was a significant factor in my deciding not to drive and has affected my life in numerous ways. I now struggle significantly with eye strain and have to be careful with articifical light and screen time in order to avoid migraines, as my one good eye (not actually that good, as it happens!) is doing all the work. I am terrible at judging depth and distance, so professional tennis playing was out as a potential career; you also don’t want me to pour you a glass of red wine at an angle, trust me on that one.
I chose to tell my classes in school about it, as it was important to make clear to students that if they were waving their hand in the air on my right side I simply wouldn’t see them: I would much rather own up to a physical disablity than have children believe that I was ignoring them. Despite this, I know that my reputation as somewhat standoffish also stems from my disablity: colleagues, acquaintances and even close friends have often believed that I am deliberately ignoring them because they do not appreciate the limits of my vision. It is the problem with having what the right-on brigade call an “invisible disablity” — it is not obvious that I am blind on one side, nor is it apparent that my sight in general is pretty terrible, so as a result nobody makes any allowances for me when it comes to that. The received narrative is that Emma is rude and standoffish. Oh well. Sometimes it’s a useful reputation to have, to be honest.
Anyway, back to the phrase. The controversy around it reflects how social attitudes and awareness changes over time. Idioms such as “turn a blind eye” become ingrained in everyday speech, then one day somebody decides to unpick the meaning of the phrase and take offence. But the metaphorical connection between blindness and ignorance has been used for millenia, and is not a comment on those of us who are visually impaired. (Remember Teiresias? He was a blind man credited with insight beyond that of all others, perhaps reflecting the fact that even in the ancient world, people understood that those who are completely blind develop excellent perception beyond physical sight).
I have been lectured by keyboard warriors on the internet for using the phrase “turn a blind eye” and I shall confess that I have taken great pleasure in telling them that I am — as it happens — blind in one eye. To date, every single one of them has climbed down off their high horse and started self-flagillating, telling me that they are “still learning” and begging for my forgiveness. Dear Lord, how did we get here? I am honestly not sure when the tipping point was, when we reached the point that people feel they have to police every word they say. If I had to guess, I’d say that the turning point was about 1999.
I suspect that those who claim to find the phrase problematic have absolutely zero experience of what it is like to be blind in any sense. Were they in touch with the experience, they would understand why the metaphor works so well. Believe me, if you’re trying to get my attention beyond a certain angle to the right, you can forget it: it’s not going to happen. Even more crucially, were these people properly aware of the purported origins of the phrae, then surely they would also have to acknowledge that the phrase is clearly associated with wilful ignorance and avoidance, not merely physical disablity. According to the story, apocryphal or otherwise, Nelson didn’t accidentally hold up the telescope to his blind eye in a state of haplnessness or vulnerability: he deliberately used the telescope in this way, in order to disobey an order. That is the point! It is a story about disobedience and coolness under pressure, not about impairment. Somewhat less gloriously, I sometimes lie on my left to take advantage of my blindness and blot out the world: disabilities have their advantages, you know!
As society ties itself up in knots over what it believes is diversity and inclusion, people have begun to question whether expressions such as “turn a blind eye” carry unexamined assumptions that might be exclusionary or hurtful. I am here to tell you, people: for heaven’s sake, stop panicking and get on with your life. I don’t feel in the least bit excluded by the phrase, it is by a country mile the best, most expressive and most useful manner in which to describe what you’re trying to say. (Are we allowed to say country mile any more? Does that imply that people in the country don’t understand measures and distances? I’ll have to check).
This debate around “turn a blind eye” is just one part of a broader conversation about how language intersects with identity, power and social values. Similar discussions have arisen around other idioms and expressions that draw on physical traits or historical stereotypes. For example, phrases like “lame” to describe something unimpressive or “crazy” to describe something irrational have been questioned for their potential to offend or marginalise groups of people. In each case, speakers and writers are encouraged to consider whether there are better, more inclusive ways to express themselves. Personally, I am beginning to find it all more than a little bit exhausting. Sanitising language to the point where communication becomes awkward or laden with fear of making mistakes is crippling us all (there I go again — sorry). Learning about the historical origins of a phrase can enrich our appreciation of language rather than diminish it, and personally I’d rather enjoy the full richness of English expression than have my language policed by the terminally well-meaning.
