In recent times, across social networks and chats, a curious pseudo-Latin abbreviation has appeared: “etm”, used in contexts where one would normally find “etc.”.
According to some, it stands for “et merda”, that is, “and shit”, placed at the end of a list to give the same flavour as the more straightforward English “and shit”, which functions as a scatological “et cetera”.
In short: the equivalent of “etcetera”, but with a dash of contempt.
A sort of “etcetera, plus further rubbish”.
For the sake of philological honesty: “merda” is indeed attested in classical Latin with the meaning we all imagine; no objection there.
The problem is that “et merda” is not a Latin expression historically used: it is merely a literal calque from English, created by some wit convinced that Latin ennobles absolutely anything. Especially the scatological.
In reality, the Latin language possesses perfectly respectable expressions for the concept that “etm” seeks to evoke. “Ad nauseam” (, for example: an ancient, academic, elegant phrase that indicates a series or a discourse that continues beyond what is bearable.
“Ad nauseam” translates literally as “to nausea”; it means “to the point of causing disgust or exhaustion,” often rendered as “to an excessive or wearisome degree” or “repeated over and over again until it becomes tiresome.”
In short: if one wishes to sound educated, “ad nauseam” is preferable to “et merda”.
That applies to philology, but also to personal reputation.
The mechanism behind the creation of abbreviations such as “etm” is ancient:
“Quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.”
Whatever is said in Latin seems profound.
It is no coincidence that, for centuries, Latin has been used to lend gravitas (latin for weight!) even to that which possesses none by itself. The trick also works with Greek, Sanskrit, or the first Confucian text printed on a souvenir mug.
“Que sera sera” sounds more sophisticated than “oh well, we shall see”.
Quoting the Bhagavad Gita or Lao Tzu adds mystery even to the most banal statement.
It is a rhetorical device that crosses centuries, languages and continents.
The same logic applies to technical jargon and acronyms.
Saying “I am waiting for the RFI on the RWC of the SCADA module before closing the FAT” communicates that one belongs to a sort of initiatory brotherhood.
Wizards, engineers and naval officers often operate in this way: sometimes for precision, sometimes for the pure pleasure of exclusivity.
Hence, putting “etm” at the end of a list may appear clever to the uninitiated: it sounds Latin, it is brief, and it creates the impression of having studied.
Those who understand the joke will smile: it is fake Latin meaning “and other stuff, unworthy of mention”.
The point, in the end, is simple. Ostentatious erudition is charming as long as it remains a game; when the time comes to do something, the patina of wisdom matters little.
As modern managers would say: rhetoric does not repair turbines, does not close accounts, and does not persuade investors.
In other words, Latin is refined, but reality demands concreteness.
If one truly insists on a Latin closing remark, one might propose
“tempus impetrat res factas”,
which sounds more elegant than
“it is time to get work done”.
Unfortunately (or fortunately), a more colourful variant also circulates in ironically pragmatic environments:
“Tempus impetro stercore factum”.
Rendered without embellishment, it corresponds roughly to:
“It is time to make sure the shit gets done”.
Not exactly Cicero, but in a certain sense perfectly faithful to the spirit of barracks-Latin: few frills, little philosophy, many results. Proof that, when one wishes to appear learned, even coarse language dons the toga, but the work must be done in any case. Toga or no toga.
Incidentally, this expressive concept is not new at all: since time immemorial Sicilians have cut short inconclusive discussions with a terse “Picca babbio!”, which means “Enough joking around!”.
In real Sicilian usage the tone is sharper and more operational, closer to:
“Enough talk, get on with it!”, or “No more fooling around, time to act!”
A concept far less Latin, but decidedly more operational.