The danger when most everybody must speak with a forked tongue

Once in every little while in our national life, but much more frequently in the past four years I must say, the public sphere gets subjected to a torrent of suasive language—whether in English or Tagalog or in both—that mercilessly and methodically subverts the truth. One such time is now. After the Philippine Supreme Court declared the Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) and then parts of the Disbursement Acceleration Program (DAP) as unconstitutional, we get the sense that most everybody still passionately defending the latter is speaking with a forked tongue, and that those steadfastly opposed to it are going for the overkill by demanding nothing less than the severed head of its proponents and implementors. Surely the opposing forces here could find a more honorable and less gruesome approach to this impasse, so perhaps they should tone down their rhetoric and be at least a little more truth-seeking, get together as honorable men and women, and work out a mutually acceptable resolution to the festering political crisis.

To help clear the air for such a meeting of the minds, I thought of posting in the Forum an old essay of mine, “Using Grammar as a Tool for Persuasion,” that discusses the mechanisms of suasive diction in subverting the truth to promote one’s personal agenda. It’s a long shot for sure, perhaps a quixotic effort even, but reading that essay just might help moderate the mindset of headstrong or highly partisan individuals who have begun to believe their own propaganda at the expense of the truth and the national well-being. (July 27, 2014)

Using Grammar as a Tool for Persuasion

Most of us will be in familiar territory when we talk about using vocabulary as a tool for persuasion. To begin with, hardly ever are we neutral in our choice of words. Parents slant their words in particular ways to reinforce their parenting. Children do the same things to get what they want or get away with things. Our enemies do it to denigrate us in the eyes of others. Religious fanatics do it to make the faithful suspend their disbelief despite overwhelming evidence that they shouldn’t. Advertisers do it to make us part with our money gladly or without guilt. Ideologues and seekers of public office do it to prime us up for their political agenda. With no exception, all of us subtly stamp our words with a personal bias to persuade others to believe what we believe and to do what we want them to do.

First on our language agenda is, of course, to label people, places and things. Depending on our intent, biases, or predispositions, for instance, a medical doctor becomes a “health professional,” a “physician,” a “cutup artist,” or a “quack,” and a public relations man becomes a “corporate communicator,” a “spin master,” a “hack writer,” or a “flack.” We do this not to denigrate people per se, but only to quickly indicate our attitude and feelings toward the subject. Without labeling our subjects, it would take us an unduly long time to put them in context for our audiences. Rightly or wrongly then, the idea behind labeling in suasive diction is simply to achieve economy in language. We label things simply because time is short and we don’t have all the time in the world to explain ourselves.

Using labels is only the beginning of how we slant our language. Even without meaning to or often without knowing it, we take recourse to idiomatic expressions, clichés, slogans and metaphors to drive home our point more efficiently. Most of us know, for instance, that “it’s water under the bridge” and “as sure as the sun sets in the west” are horribly timeworn clichés, but we still compulsively use them to emphasize our point. We have no qualms of running clichés to exhaustion, unless we happen to be professional speakers or writers who must come up with new ways of saying things as a matter of honor. In fact, the only time we are more circumspect about using them is when we write something for the public record or for publication under our names. Like most everybody else, we don’t want to have any evidence of lack of originality or of shameless copycatting to be taken against us.

There are, however, two major disciplines that methodically and ruthlessly use clichés, slogans, and metaphors for mind-bending purposes: advertising and politics. Here, we enter that region of language where hardly anything said is exactly what it means literally. We come face-to-face with “double-speak” or rhetoric exploited to the hilt, language that often teeters at the very outer edges of the truth and carried out by incessant repetition. It is suasive diction that, for good or ill, seeks to build niches in our minds for all sorts of marketing or political agenda. We can see, of course, that the mass media is chockfull of advertising that uses this kind of slanted language; as to particular specimens of the political propaganda, we need not dwell on them here since we are in the midst of a viciously fought national election season. It is enough that we are forewarned against taking them at their face value, and that we forearm ourselves by learning how to appreciate their messages critically and intelligently. As they say in Latin, caveat emptor, a warning that what we are dealing with here is language that’s barbed all over inside.

These thoughts about advertising and politics bring us to the use of grammatical ambiguity as a tool for suasive diction. Remember our lessons for using “it”-cleft sentences to achieve emphasis? By definition, we defined the cleft as one that “cleaves” or splits a single-clause sentence into two clauses for semantic emphasis, and the “it-cleft” is that variety that uses the function word “it” to highlight an object of special focus or theme, as in this statement: “It appears that our candidate will score a landslide victory.” In advertising and political propaganda, this sentence construction is often designed to artfully hide the source of the statement of the “experiencer” to make it appear as a fact rather than a conjecture. That sleight of language gives the semblance of certainty—a deliberate distortion of language to create what we all know as the “bandwagon” effect.

In suasive diction, therefore, it behooves us not only to watch our own language, but also the language of those who would deliberately subvert it to promote their agenda at our expense. (March 18, 2004)
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This essay originally appeared in the author’s weekly column “English Plain and Simple” in The Manila Times, March 18, 2004 issue, © 2004 by Manila Times Publishing.

Modality is an entirely different attribute from conditionality

Question from justine aragones, Forum member (May 15, 2014):

Could the grammar of doubt and uncertainty explain sentences that begin in “Had” as in “Had it not been...” and the sentence below that starts with “Had” and not with the conditional word “If”?

“Had Jon joined in an hour after Jess started working, the job would have been finished in 7 hours.”

My reply to justine aragones:

When we talk about the grammar of doubt and uncertainty, we are talking about the use of the so-called modals, or the auxiliary verbs that indicate conjecture, supposition, or belief rather than established facts or absolute certainty. These auxiliary verbs are, of course, “can,” “could,” “must,” “might,” “may,” “should,” “shall,” “ought to,” “will,” and “would.” When we say “Gina might dance,” for instance, we are conveying the idea that Gina knows how to dance but we are not sure that she will do so under the circumstance that we have in mind. However, we see no need to state a condition for what she might decide to do.

On the other hand, when we talk about the grammar of conditionality, we are talking about how to convey the idea that a particular action can take place only if a certain condition or set of conditions is fulfilled. For instance, when we say “If Gina likes the music, she would likely dance,” we are indicating that it’s likely for Gina to dance if the music suits her fancy. There’s a condition for what she would likely do, unlike in the case of the modal sentence “Gina might dance,” which is simply a supposition or belief.

Based on this distinction between modal statements and conditional statements, we definitely can conclude that modality isn’t the same as conditionality. They are different modes of expression altogether. It would therefore be a stretch if not altogether ill-advised to attempt to make the grammar of modals explain why the conditional sentence below starts with “had” and not with “if” as expected of a conditional sentence:

“Had Jon joined in an hour after Jess started working, the job would have been finished in 7 hours.”

The sentence above that you presented is actually just an alternative construction—a more elegant one, I must say—of the so-called third conditional or no possibility sentence, which denotes a past condition that didn’t happen, thus making it impossible for a wished-for result to have happened. This type of sentence has the following structure: the “if” clause states the impossible past condition using the past perfect tense “had + past participle of the verb,” is followed by a comma, then is followed by the impossible past result in the form “would have + past participle of the verb.”

Thus, the more common construction of the sentence that you presented is as follows:

“If Jon had joined in an hour after Jess started working, the job would have been finished in 7 hours.”*

Note that in third-conditional constructions where “had” introduces the condition, the conditional clause drops the “if” altogether. But whether the condition is introduced by “if” or “had” in a third-conditional sentence, the sense remains the same. In both constructions of the sentence that you presented, in particular, the speaker is talking of an impossible outcome because Jon didn’t join in an hour after Jess started working and the job wasn’t finished in 7 hours.

Such use of “had” instead of “if” for the conditional clause is also an option for the so-called second conditional or unreal possibility sentence, which denotes a possible but very unlikely result that the stated future condition will be fulfilled; in short, the stated outcome is an unreal possibility. This type of conditional has the following sentence structure: the “if” clause states the future condition in the simple past tense, is followed by a comma, then followed by the future result clause in the form “would + base form of the verb,” as in this example:

“If I finished my medical studies, I would be a surgeon now.”

That second conditional sentence will mean exactly the same—and sound more elegant at that—if we use “had” instead of “if” to introduce the condition:

“Had I finished my medical studies, I would be a surgeon now.”

RELATED READINGS IN JOSE CARILLO'S ENGLISH FORUM: 
Modals are not meant for absolute certainties
“Should,” “would,” and the other modals
Do better than a calculated guess in handling conditional sentences
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*Take note that in the result clause “the job would have been finished in 7 hours,” the verb is in the passive voice, so it's in the form “would have + been + past participle of the verb” instead of the active-voice form “would have + past participle of the verb.”

Dealing with the age-old controversy over the usage of “fewer” and “less”

Question by jhinx22, Forum member (May 2, 2014):

People often don’t know when to use “fewer” and when to use “less” in a sentence. “Fewer” is used when referring to people or things in plural as in this sentence: “Fewer students are opting to study science-related subjects. “Less,” on the other hand, is used when referring to something that can’t be counted, as in this example: “People want to spend less time in traffic jams.”

I was confused when I came across this example in your forum: “‘Why are there less women CEOs?’ asks the professor.”

Shouldn’t it be “fewer” instead?

My reply to jhinx22:

You hit the nail right on the head, so to speak, when you say that people often don’t know when to use “fewer” and when to use “less.” The fact is that the choice between these two comparatives has been steeped in controversy for over two centuries now, and it’s a controversy that shows no sign of abating. The general rule is, of course, to use “less” if we are talking comparatively about an amount of something that can’t be counted, as the noun “time” in the example you gave, “People want to spend less time in traffic jams”; and to use “fewer” if we are talking comparatively about a number of people or things that are countable, as the noun “students” in your other example, “Fewer students are opting to study science-related subjects.”

In actual usage, though, we soon discover that this general rule doesn’t always work—or at least not work very nicely—for quite a few things. While “money” is obviously countable, for instance, we don’t say “I have fewer than five-hundred pesos in my savings account” but say “I have less than than five-hundred pesos in my savings account” instead. And while the noun “minute” is evidently countable as a unit of time, I’d say “Less than half of the 180 minutes of that atrocious stage play was worth watching” and definitely not “Fewer than half of the 180 minutes of that atrocious stage play was worth watching.”

There are obviously other grammatical or semantic forces at work when we make the choice between “fewer” and “less” in our written or spoken English. It is therefore perfectly understandable that you got confused when you came across this construction in the Forum: “‘Why are there less women CEOs?’ asks the professor.” Shouldn’t it be “fewer” instead?

That questionable “less”-using sentence was actually a news headline on the web that was brought to my attention by a Forum member, journalism student Jhumur Dasgupta, way back in December 2011. He found that headline odd from a structural standpoint, not because it used “less” instead of “fewer,” and he asked me if there was a better way to construct that headline (“The proper way to construct a question in a news headline”). I suggested some structural variations, but that headline’s usage of “less” not having been questioned, I took its wording at face value when I analyzed it for Jhumur.

Now that you’ve brought up that sentence for discussion, though, I think it’s time to seize the bull by its horns and answer your question: Shouldn’t it use “fewer” instead of “less”? Shouldn’t it be corrected to read as follows?

“‘Why are there fewer women CEOs?’ asks the professor.”

For sure the sentence above is more grammatically airtight than “‘Why are there less women CEOs?’ asks the professor,” but I think only in the context of a comparison against a well-known, numerically established number of women CEOs in, say, a specific industry within a certain geographic location. For instance, assuming that it has been definitely established that there are 8,000 male CEOs in Metro Manila’s telecommunications industry against only 500 women CEOs in that local universe of CEOs, then given that level of certainty, the use of the comparative “fewer” would be unquestionable and that statement should definitely read as follows: “‘Why are there fewer women CEOs?’ asks the professor.”

I would think though that when comparing unknown, not well-established, or merely assumed or conjectural quantities, “less” might just be preferable to “fewer” and better-sounding at that. Take this hypothetical example: “In that progressive island-nation in which you imagine that female executives outnumber male executives by a ratio of 100:15, why would there be less women CEOs?” (I know that grammar prescriptivists would accept that construction only if the phrase “than male CEOs” is added to the tail end of that sentence, but no matter.) I’m not saying, though, that “fewer” is wrong in that sentence, only that “less” becomes an irresistible if not an unquestionably viable usage as well. Indeed, the shade of difference between “fewer” and “less” becomes marginal in such situations, and I personally don’t think I’d be so embarrassed as to lose sleep if somebody caught me instinctively using “less” for that comparative.

MORE READINGS IN THE FORUM ABOUT “FEWER” VS. “LESS”:
Trouble in using “less” or “fewer”
“Ten items or less”

ELSEWHERE ON THE WEB:
OxfordWords Blog on “Less” and “Fewer”
New York Times ”After Deadline” Blog on “Less” and “Fewer”

How conditional indicative sentences differ from subjunctive sentences

Question e-mailed by Edsel Ocson, who describes himself as an interested reader (April 12, 2014):

In your recent article about media people and the subjunctive mode (“Some recurrent misuses of the English subjunctive”), I found the following sentence: “It would really be a shame if an otherwise well-written reportage or well-argued commentary is needlessly undermined by faulty subjunctive construction.”

Don’t you think the word “is” in the above sentence should be changed to “were”?

My reply to Edsel Ocson:

No, the “is” in that sentence of mine shouldn’t be changed to “were” because it’s not a subjunctive sentence but a conditional sentence in the indicative mood. A conditional sentence is the type of sentence that conveys the idea that the action in the main clause can take place only if the condition in the subordinate clause—the “if”-clause—is fulfilled; its mood is indicative because it denotes acts and states in real-world situations, as in that sentence of mine that you are asking about. On the other hand, a subjunctive sentence is one that denotes acts or states that are contingent on possible outcomes of the speaker’s wish, desire, or doubt; it is in subjunctive sentences using an “if”-clause that the verb “be” exhibits maverick behavior, sticking to the past-tense subjunctive form “were” all throughout, regardless of the person and number of its subject.

This sentence of mine is in the indicative mood because, as I indicated earlier, it denotes an act and a state in a real-world situation: “It would really be a shame if an otherwise well-written reportage or well-argued commentary is needlessly undermined by faulty subjunctive construction.” It belongs to the type of conditional sentence called the zero conditional (certainty), which denotes a condition whose result is always true and always the same. In such conditional sentences, the “if” clause states the condition in the simple present tense, is followed by a comma, then is followed by the result clause also in the simple present tense, as in this basic example: “People get dehydrated if they don’t drink water” or, in the inverted form, “If people don’t drink water, they get dehydrated.” The sentence of mine that’s in question here has precisely the same conditional form: “It would really be a shame if an otherwise well-written reportage or well-argued commentary is needlessly undermined by faulty subjunctive construction” or, in the inverted form, “If an otherwise well-written reportage or well-argued commentary is needlessly undermined by faulty subjunctive construction, it would really be a shame.” (Here, as a nuance, I used “would” as a weaker form of the present-tense indicative “will.”)

Now I will explain why the word “is” in that sentence of mine can’t be changed to “were,” a change that conceivably would make it a subjunctive sentence. It’s because that sentence describes the outcome of an act or state in a real-world situation, making it indicative in the conditional sense. If we revise that sentence to describe the outcome of an unreal situation or idea contrary to fact, then it would become a subjunctive sentence that uses the subjunctive “were” instead of the indicative “is.” A usual way to do that is to express the condition as a wish: “Deeply embarrassed, the reporter wished that his otherwise well-written reportage or well-argued commentary were not needlessly undermined by faulty subjunctive construction.”

That sentence describing an outcome of an unreal situation or idea contrary to fact is just one of the many kinds of subjunctive sentences in which the verb “is” exhibits deviant behavior, consistently taking either the form of “were” or “be” regardless of the person and number of its subject. It will take so long to discuss all those types of sentences now but I’ll be taking them up in detail in the subsequent installments of my column in today’s issue of The Manila Times, “Some recurrent misuses of the English subjunctive.” Of course, you have the option of going to Jose Carillo’s English Forum now to check out my previous postings on conditional sentences (start with “Do better than a calculated guess in handling conditional sentences”) and subjunctive sentences (start with “When are subjunctive sentences called for and how are they constructed?”). Doing that now will definitely give you a head start and an edge in attaining mastery of these rather confusing and tricky aspects of English grammar.

Using euphemism to cushion the blow of request rejections

It’s tempting to say that plain, simple, and forthright English is the best way to phrase a response, but there are highly sensitive situations when it could be such a terrible aggravation. For such situations, we need to take recourse instead to euphemism—an indirect, gentler phrasing of our message so it won’t cause offense or arouse hostility. This is the kind of English that I would advise when, say, rejecting applications for a requested service like a credit card, a postpaid smart phone facility, or perhaps a car or housing loan.

Let’s hear from DMP, a customer service representative who asked me for advice recently on how to deal with such tough on-the-job communication situations:

I recently started working as a customer service representative, and part of my job is to inform customers about the results of their service applications.
 Most of the time, I do not need to provide specific information on why their applications are being approved or rejected. However, there are instances when a customer demands an explanation, and we are then required to elaborate. This often makes me very uncomfortable, especially when the reasons are sensitive in nature.
 For example, when the rejection is due to their bankruptcy status, or because their company is winding up, or that a family member has called in and told the company that the applicant is mentally unsound.
 Would you have any suggestions on how to gently phrase those three situations to customers? I would really appreciate your help.

My reply to DMP:

When turning down somebody’s service application for reasons that are sensitive in nature, you will need to say it in something other than plain, simple, and forthright English. You have to take recourse to euphemistic language, or an agreeable or inoffensive statement that won’t suggest something unpleasant. This, of course, is nothing less than applied diplomacy—the skill of handling affairs without arousing hostility. It’s an art form that needs to be learned and practiced purposively and rigorously both in words and in action.

Let’s see how you might euphemistically phrase your responses to the three situations you presented:

1. Rejection due to bankruptcy status: “We regret that we will be unable to approve your service application at this time due an unfavorable report we have obtained about (your, your company’s) current credit status.”

2. Rejection due to impending company closure: “We regret that we will be unable to approve your service application at this time due to advice we received that your company will be ceasing operations in the immediate future.”

3. Rejection due to negative feedback from the applicant’s family: “We regret that we will be unable to approve your service application at this time due to unfavorable advice we received from your family regarding the need for the service.”

General statements like these are usually designed to redirect the onus of the rejection from the entity making the rejection to an agency other than the applicant himself or herself. The statement need to be phrased in a way that doesn’t pointedly pass judgment on the applicant but encourages a quiet, nondefensive self-reappraisal of why he or she can’t be given what is being requested or asked for.

I trust that these thoughts will be of help to you in fashioning your service rejection letters. (March 30, 2014)

Why are legal papers and contracts written in gobbledygooky English?

Frankly, I tried to provide a balanced, dispassionate answer to the provocative question below by BonRuiz, a member of Jose Carillo’s English Forum, about the English of lawyers. But I’m afraid that my bias for plain and simple English still showed through when I attempted to justify legalese, the jargon that lawyers use to communicate with their fellow lawyers and other legal practitioners. It just seems to me that the profound tendency of legalese towards complexity and obfuscation doesn’t have a proper place anymore in modern-day society.

Question by BonRuiz, Forum member (March 5, 2014):

Sir, I hope you can enlighten me on why legal documents and contracts use too many unnecessary words that are not direct to the point and hard to understand? Is this a lawyer’s standard procedure so he can be the only one who can interpret and make money out of it?

Most legal contracts and documents are too wordy, not direct to the point and confusing (terrible grammar). Is this standard practice in law? Why can’t they make it simple and precise?

My reply to BonRuiz:

Your first question is why legal documents and contracts use too many unnecessary words, words that you say are not direct to the point and are hard to understand.

The answer is that these legal documents and contracts use a language that’s called legalese—the jargon or specialized language that lawyers use to communicate with fellow lawyers and other members of the legal community, particularly justices, judges, and paralegals. This language presumes that the target audience—whether readers or listeners—is adequately knowledgeable with legal concepts and the legal system. This is why to laypersons not equipped with or are not privy to this knowledge, legalese would read and sound much too wordy for comfort and, very often, beyond understanding and comprehension.

Your next question is whether the use of legalese is a standard procedure of lawyers so that only they can interpret the document or contract and thus be able to make money from those who need or have use for those documents and contracts.

I think that this is a very harsh assessment of the motivation of lawyers in writing or speaking in legalese. Here, from a lawyer who writes under the username WiseGeek, is I think a fair, levelheaded justification for legalese:

In law, words have very specific and clearly defined meanings, and lawyers are careful when drafting legal documents to say precisely what they mean, even if the meaning is only apparent to other lawyers. Some of the word use may appear unusual to people who aren’t familiar with the law, as ordinary words can have a different meaning in a legal context. For example, seemingly redundant phrasing actually isn’t, when the legal meanings of the phrase are considered.

In contrast, here’s a more candid justification for the complexity of legalese from a lawyer who blogs under the username SoMeLaw Thoughts:

Here’s one deep, dark secret about lawyers—we see risk everywhere. I can look at a picture of a man on a sidewalk and come up with a dozen potential lawsuits without batting an eye. And that’s before this hypothetical man crosses the hypothetical street. We lawyers spend years reading the most ludicrous cases you can imagine that involve chain reactions of people jumping onto moving trains, dropping bundles of fireworks that explode, and a concussive wave that tips over a large scale injuring a woman nearby (actual, famous case). It’s our job to see the worst potential outcome and help our clients avoid it.
 So when a client comes to an attorney and says “Hey, can you draft up some terms for my business so that we’re protected from lawsuits?” then the lawyer’s mind starts spinning like a rickety travelling carnival ride that was installed without inspection, has no safety restraints in the cars, and is operating at twice the recommended speed. Our minds are now racing to give our clients the best possible defense to a future lawsuit.
 That’s an important distinction—giving a defense to a lawsuit rather than preventing a lawsuit. Lawyers know that anyone can be sued by anyone else for anything. The question is whether the lawsuit has merit and will stick. Good terms and conditions will give you plenty of ways to dismiss the lawsuit with as little effort as possible, but you’ll still have to deal with the lawsuit. So that’s why these terms and conditions can run so long—they are trying to arm the company for a war that might come from the land, sea, air, space, other dimension, and in the case of some special litigants, parallel universes where your company is secretly in league with paranormal forces and therefore should pay the plaintiff one billion dollars. Drafting these terms are like packing for a trip when you have no idea if you’re going to Hawaii or Antarctica and you don’t know how long you’ll be gone…

Now, your third question is whether it’s standard practice in law to make most contracts and documents too wordy, not direct to the point, confusing—and also to have terrible grammar.

I doubt if it’s standard practice in law to deliberately and viciously make contracts and documents very wordy, not direct to the point, confusing—and also to make their grammar terrible. Legalese is, I think, simply the present-day outcome of centuries of overcareful, overzealous, overprecise, overwrought, and overbearing formulation, implementation, interpretation, and application of the law in evolving societies. It’s an arcane, stultifying language that generations of lawyers and other legal practitioners have not seen fit or bothered to simplify for clarity of expression and for easier understanding by laypeople. Indeed, for no better reason than convenience, modern-day legal practitioners still resort to and freely use many of the English-language legal templates and language quirks that date back to Victorian England and even earlier. They do so as if totally oblivious of the evolution of the English language in our Telecommunication Age towards accuracy, brevity, and clarity. I also think this is precisely why you’ve gotten the wrong impression that most contracts have terrible English grammar. Actually, on close examination, their English grammar would most often be aboveboard, except that their syntax and construction are those of a long bygone era, when those documents were still laboriously composed by longhand using quill and ink. In a very real sense, then, most contracts and legal documents today are composed by lawyers as if they are living in a time warp, making them—both the documents and the lawyers—sound terribly outdated, even archaic.

Your last question is whether it’s possible to make contracts and legal documents simple and precise. My personal answer is that, particularly in a democratic country like ours, it’s not only possible but highly desirable. In recent years, in fact, there has been a growing movement in North America and in the United Kingdom to use plain and simple English not only in contracts and legal documents but also in court litigation and in legislation, the better for laypeople to understand, appreciate, and follow the law as well as to assert their rights and fulfill their responsibilities as members of society. Read, for instance, “Lawyers Should Use Plain Language,” an article by Carol M. Bast in the Florida Bar Journal for a comprehensive discussion of the plain language trend and legislation in the United States.

Let’s just hope that the plain language movement and legislation will soon catch on in the Philippines as well.

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For a much richer appreciation of how legalese differs from plain and simple English, read:

“A Visit from St. Nicholas” (’Twas the Night Before Christmas), a poem by Clement Clarke Moore

then compare to:

“The Night Before Christmas, Legally Speaking” (Parody)

Why do many academics tend to encode their insights into turgid English?

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

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.”

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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:

Nicholas Kristof’s “Professors,We Need You!” in The New York Times

Below are just a few of the responses pro and con to Nicolas Kristof’s op-ed essay, “Professors, We Need You!”:

Joshua Rothman’s “Why is academic writing so academic?” in NewYorker.com

Rev. Adam J. Copeland’s “Why Nicholas Kristof’s LatestColumn Stings So Much and Why He’s Right” in HuffingtonPost.com

Erik Voeten’s “Dear Nicholas Kristof: We are right here!” inWashingtonPost.com

George Shen’s “We need to hear more, not less, from ourintellectuals” in the South China MorningPost

Kwok Pui-lan’s “Feminist Professors Are Not Secluded Monks”in FeminismandReligion.com