In “Professors,
We Need You!”, an essay that came out in the Sunday Review of the February
15, 2014 issue of The New York Times,
op-columnist Nicholas Kristof set off a rancorous debate in the U.S. mass media
when he argued that academics are beholden to a publish-or-perish tenure
process and a culture that “glorifies arcane unintelligibility while disdaining
impact and audience.”
Kristof observed that academics seeking tenure have a
pronounced tendency to encode their insights into turgid prose. “As a double
protection against public consumption,” he said, “this gobbledygook is then
sometimes hidden in obscure journals — or published by university presses whose
reputations for soporifics keep readers at a distance.” He then quoted a
Harvard University historian, Jill Lepore, who said that the result of all this
is “a great, heaping mountain of exquisite knowledge surrounded by a vast moat
of dreadful prose.”
As might be expected, Kristof’s views triggered an avalanche
of denunciations and rebuttals from the academic community both in the U.S. and
abroad. Before providing links to a sampler of them, however, I’m taking the
occasion to present first my own take on the “publish or perish” syndrome, Philippine
style, as articulated in “When Educators Befuddle,” an essay that I wrote for
my English-usage column in The Manila
Times sometime in 2003. I think that reading that essay beforehand will put
the debate on the issue in much clearer perspective particularly on how the
usual run of academic English reads and sounds like.
I’m now posting that essay here as my own position regarding the English that a good number of Filipino
academics use to formally present their ideas—a position that, sad to say, I’ve
found no reason yet to change in substantial measure over the 12 years that
I’ve been advocating plain and simple English. (March 2, 2014)
When educators befuddle
When educators befuddle
My son Eduardo, who
was then in third year high, got befuddled one day by a source material he
wanted to use for his school report on Philippine culture. He had chanced upon
it on the op-ed page of one of the leading newspapers.
“Dad, I found a very
impressive report on the effect of culture on globalization,” he said. “The
only problem is that I can’t seem to understand what it’s saying. Can you help
me? Listen:
Basically, globalization indicates a qualitative deepening of the internationalization process, strengthening the functional and weakening the territorial dimension of development.
You always told me
that I’m good in English, but I just can’t seem to understand this one!”
“Let me take a look,”
I said, getting the paper and quickly running through the passage. “Oh, no
wonder! It’s those educators speaking again, with their imprecise and obtuse
English. Well, son, what they probably meant was this: ‘Globalization is a
deeper form of internationalization, one where a nation’s drive for development
becomes more important than its territorial size.’ In even simpler English, a
nation can be small but it can become a major world economic power.”
“That certainly
makes sense,” he said, “but why do these educators say it the way they do? They
are writing not only for English experts but also for people like me, aren’t
they? Why then use such fuzzy words as ‘qualitative deepening’ and ‘territorial
dimension of development’? Why even use them in a newspaper like this?”
“Son, this article
was not written for you. It was probably done with the best intentions for
their fellow educators and higher-ups, but somehow it landed on this newspaper
without being adapted for readers like us. In any case, don’t ever think that
anyone should use an ‘English for experts’ only. Linguists perhaps, but these
educators, no. They should have used English that newspaper readers like us can
understand.”
“So why publish at
all if they couldn’t be understood anyway?”
“Well, son, in
academic circles there’s a jaded saying: ‘Publish or perish!’ You must publish
your work no matter how trivial or badly written, or you don’t count for
anything. You are dead fish. So in some countries—ours included— there has
evolved something called vanity publishing. It’s a growing industry that aims
to meet this need—and also to massage some big people’s egos. Every now and
then, of course, some good ideas with social value get across somehow through
this mode, but more often they don’t, as in this case.”
“I see. But, Dad,
here’s a great passage that seems to be clear enough for my school report.
Listen:
The Philippine national culture is rooted in the people, their land, and their experience. From these develop their way of seeing and living, their systems of thought and values, their customs and traditions, their crafts and arts, their problems and their triumphs, that which they dream of and aspire for, and ultimately the national culture that they recognize in consensus and commitment.
Impressive! Do you think I can use it?”
“I’m not too sure,
son. That sounds suspiciously trivial, more like a piled up definition of culture
in general, but the authors just seem to have made it look like it was unique
to Philippine culture in particular. You can apply the same thing to Kenya and
Tobago and Palau and it will still be correct. In their own circles it’s called
‘rank tautology,’ a needless repetition of an idea in different words. In fact,
they could have reduced all of those 62 words into the words ‘Philippine
culture’ and nothing would have been lost.”
“Tough luck then!
Now I’ll have to look for some other source material for my report,” he said,
almost wailing. “But wait, Dad, here’s something that I’m sure will impress my
teacher. Listen:
The third posits that education paves the way towards the designated type of society—which, to our belief, is a modern and humane society characterized by a comfortable quality of life in a peaceful, global and multicultural connection demonstrating adaptability and flexibility of a people without necessarily vitiating the core values that they hold or which define their culture.
Isn’t it great
English? I’ll probably get a 95 for my paper if I used it!”
“Hold it, son, hold
it! That sentence may sound nice but it actually says almost nothing. No new
insight whatsoever. Notice how all of the 59 words are straining and groaning
to define what needs no definition, because everybody already knows it deeply
in his heart: that society needs good education to prosper. Don’t tell me that
you still don’t know that!”
“You’re right, dad,”
he said dolefully, “of course I already know that. But aargh! I guess I’ll just
have to look elsewhere for something more substantial and readable for my
school report.”
----------
This essay originally appeared in the
author’s “English Plain and Simple” column in The Manila Times and subsequently became Chapter 142 of his book Give Your English
the Winning Edge. Manila Times Publishing
©1969 by Jose A. Carillo. All rights reserved.
READINGS ON THE CURRENT U.S. FUROR OVER
ACADEMIC WRITING:
Below are just a few of the responses pro and con to Nicolas
Kristof’s op-ed essay, “Professors, We Need You!”:
George Shen’s “We need to hear more, not less, from ourintellectuals” in the South China MorningPost
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