Professional Documents
Culture Documents
I’m introducing myself this evening because Joan Bechofer, who was to have introduced
me, claims she has another, unshirkable, obligation. My own suspicion is that she may have
decided to follow the advice of the popular song, “If you can’t say anything real nice, it’s better
not to talk at all, that’s my advice.” For those of you who don’t know, that comes from “Please
Don’t Talk About Me when I’m Gone.” The rest of the introduction I think will come from
what is, in any event, a dismayingly egocentric talk. So I’m just going to plunge into the subject
matter.
that was 21 years ago—I sent a memorandum to all the members of my staff on the subject
of the style of Board Orders and Chairman’s Letters. I’m going to take the liberty of reading
just parts of it: “One of my peculiarities, which I must beg of you to indulge if I am to retain
known as ‘bureaucratese’ or gobbledygook. May I ask you please, therefore [I’m skipping]
to try very hard to write Board Orders and, even more so, drafts of letters for my signature,
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I suggested a test. “Try reading some of the language you write aloud, and ask yourself
how your friends would be likely to react. And then decide, on the basis of their reaction,
that you still want them as friends.” And then I offered a number of examples, and I’ll give
you only a few: “Every time you—.” You understand, I was reading drafts of Orders by
lawyers, and while I must protest that some of my best friends are lawyers, some of the worst
perpetrators of gobbledygook are, of course lawyers. “Every time you’re tempted to use ‘herein’
the corresponding variants, try ‘here’ or ‘there’ or ‘above’ or ‘below,’ and see if it doesn’t make
just as much sense.” One of my lawyers approached me the next day and said, “You didn’t say
anything about ‘supra’ and ‘infra.’ I responded, “Rome was not destroyed in a day.”
“The passive voice is wildly overused in government writing. Typically its purpose is to
conceal information. One is less likely to be jailed if one says, ‘He was hit by a stone,’ than if he
says, ‘I hit him with a stone.’ The active voice is far more forthright, direct, humane.”
“This one I recognize is a matter of taste. Some people believe in maintaining standards
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in language, and others do not. But unless you feel strongly, would you please try to remember
that ‘data’ has for more than two thousand years been plural, and is still regarded by most literate
people as plural. . . . And that—this one goes back even longer—the singular is ‘criterion’
and the plural is ‘criteria.’ Also that, for at least from the seventeenth through most of the
twentieth century, ‘presently’ meant ‘soon’ or ‘immediately,’ not ‘now.’ The use of ‘presently’
to mean ‘now’ is another pomposity. If you mean ‘now,’ why don’t you say ‘now’? Or, if
necessary, ‘currently’?”
Next one. “Could you try to make the introduction of your letters somewhat
less pompous? Like, ‘This is in reference to you letter dated May 24th 1993 regarding’
or ‘concerning’ or ‘in regard to’ or ‘with reference to.’ It doesn’t sound as though it’s coming
from a human being. Why not, for example, ‘The practice of which you complain in your letter
of May 12th is one that’s troubled me for a long time.’ Or, even better, ‘I’ve looked into the
question you raised in your letter of May 12th, and I’m happy to be able to report—.’”
“Why use ‘regarding’ or ‘concerning’ or ‘with regard to’ when the simple word ‘about’
would do just as well? Unless you’re trying to impress somebody. But are you sure you want
pompous tendency”—which, by the way, is running riot these days—“to use ‘prior to’ when
you mean ‘before.’” Nobody ever says “before” anymore. It’s got to be “prior to” because that
sounds so much more impressive. There are times when “prior to” makes sense, “when what
Now, “I know ‘requesting’ is considered more genteel than ‘asking.’ But ‘asking’ is
“One of my pet peeves is the rampant misuse of ‘hopefully.’ The word is an adverb, and
makes sense only as it modifies a verb. It means ‘with hope.’ It’s possible to walk hopefully
into a room, if you’re going into the room with the hope of finding something, or not finding
something there. It is not intelligent to say, ‘Hopefully, the criminal will make his identity
known.’ Because he’s not going to make it known ‘hopefully.’ He won’t do it with hope in his
“My last imposition on you today is the excessive use of ‘appropriate’ or ‘inappropriate,’
when what you really mean is ‘legal’ or ‘illegal,’ or ‘proper’ or ‘improper,’ or ‘desirable’
or ‘undesirable,’ or ‘fitting’ or ‘not fitting,’ or, simply, ‘this is what I want (or do not want) to
do.’ Before I came to the Civil Aeronautics Board I was Chairman of the New York Public
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Service Commission, and one of the very sincere, valued members of the staff that had the job of
writing our draft opinions, which I had always to rewrite, wrote that the Commission didn’t want
to do something because ‘we do not deem it appropriate.’ At the risk of embarrassing him—but
very kindly—I said, ‘Do you have a child?’ “Yes.” “Why don’t you call your kid into the room
some day and say, “I don’t want you to do something because I don’t deem it appropriate. If that
kid doesn’t laugh you out of the room—who wants kids like that?” He never did it again.
The memo had an electric effect. The Washington Post published it in full, “as a public
That’s when there was a lot of talk about The Sayings of Chairman Mao. Third, I got a public
proposal of marriage from a columnist in the Boston Globe. She said, “Alfred Kahn, I love
you. I know you’re in your late fifties and are married, but let’s run away together.” I was
nominated for the Presidency by a newspaper in Kansas and for the Nobel Prize by a newspaper
in Singapore. I was appointed shortly after to the Usage Panel of The American Heritage
Dictionary, a position that I have continued to hold ever since. My war on bureaucratese was
was informed, the demand for copies was greater than for any previous program—featuring
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especially my admonition to the CAB staff: “If you can’t explain what you’re doing in plain
Finally, I received a communication from a man—a real hero, named Jim Boren. He
was either the brother or the cousin of David Boren, at the time a senator from Oklahoma. He’s
Bureaucrats. Their motto is, “When in doubt, mumble.” They hand out pencils with erasers at
both ends. In his letter, he said he wanted to come to my office and present me, in the presence
of reporters, with a Rejection Scroll, a copy of which I have, which begins: “Whereas, the
Honorable Alfred E. Kahn, Chairman of the CAB, has persistently insisted that the lawyers of
the CAB write in simple language, and whereas it is universally noted that all lawyers write
with non-directive fuzziness, but lawyers who double as bureaucrats write with the clarity of
Chaucer, the profundity of the Federal Register, and the gravity of the Congressional Record,
therefore, in sad recognition of Chairman Kahn’s subversive campaign against the protective
and proclaims him ineligible to receive the Order of the Bird and other INATPROBU awards
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which are presented only to those steadfastly applying the principles of dynamic inactivism,
subject, however, to adjustive reconsideration, on the basis of future performance in the spirit of
constructive apathy and/or cordial arrogance. Given under the seal this tenth day of February
One other occasion on which it was easy for me to talk about this hobby of mine was
when I was invited to give the Keynote speech at a conference sponsored by a very lively
organization, Women Communicators in Government. The topic of their session was Public
a matter of principle with me, I said, never to “communicate” with people. So how could I
in principle talk about people communicating with other people? If you don’t do it yourself,
Communicating, I explained, is only one degree better than “interfacing” with people. And
giving or accepting “inputs” from them—let alone give them an opportunity to input. [That
talk earned me an editorial in the Washington Star on the occasion of my leaving the White
House, “Farewell to a Jargon Hunter.” I’m so proud of it, I attach a copy to this transcript of my
talk.]
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Shortly before that I gave a speech on environmental policy in Washington, and at the
end somebody asked me, “How does your position differ from that of Secretary Schlesinger?”
(Jim Schlesinger, a friend of mine—to whom we had offered a position in the Cornell Economics
Department, when I was Chairman—who was then Secretary of Energy). And I said, “Well,
the main difference is that Secretary Schlesinger uses ‘input’ as a verb.” Whenever I hear
people talk about input, it conjures up the image of a German golfer standing on the green
engage in “outreach.” I had though of putting a motto put up on the wall of my office at the
CAB (but never did—along with one I claimed publicly to have had to look at when I had to
fulfill some ridiculous regulatory responsibility: “Is This What My Mother Brought me up to
Do?”): “Outreach makes me upchuck.” Sometimes the demands of pomposity and dynamism
converge—as in using “input” as a verb, “specifics” for “details” and constantly “implementing”
or a commission. Oh no. It has to be a “task force.” Which conjures up the image of Admiral
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Nimitz sailing into Midway with his task force ready to destroy the enemy. Time and again I’ve
received the advice, “Why don’t you organize a task force?” I’ve responded, “Only over your
dead body.”
A couple of years ago I received a postcard: “I would like more information on how the
Executive Air Guide case impactfully helps to reach the corporate decision maker.” That’s really
dynamite.
Although my original memo to the CAB staff began as what I thought was simply an
aesthetic reaction or revulsion to what I was being forced to read or what was pretending to go
out in my name, it soon became clear to me that it sprang also from a conception of the proper
to people—to real people—rather than condescend to them, or inflate one’s own stature or
importance. In short, the one thing a government employee should avoid is being or looking
like a pompous ass. One of the nicest things that happened to me occurred only two weeks ago:
somebody came up to me on an airplane and said, “You’re Alfred Kahn, aren’t you? I followed
The subject matter of my original memo at the CAB grew into a kind of avocation.
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While still at the Board I began more or less systematically to compile and to try to analyze
the different kinds of derelictions, the various sources or explanations of this tendency to
reverse peristalsis. I soon realized that the phenomenon was much more complicated than
mere bureaucratese. I ended up with a forty-page closely typed set of examples, organized by
categories. Upon my return to Ithaca, I continued to supplement the list, beginning by reading,
or reading, or rereading, the classic book by the two Cornell people, Strunk and E.B. White, The
Elements of Style—from whom I get some of the best examples that would belong in the first
Language and grammar can be beautiful if used with precision. Language can make fine
distinctions. It can convey complex ideas. It can describe subtle relationships. But if abused,
it can do just the opposite. Let me first give you a couple of examples of the first category of
these lapses in grammar and logic—which are the same thing—dangling phrases and clauses,
and drifting adjectives. Here are three examples from Strunk and White: “Being in a dilapidated
condition, I was able to sell the house very easily.” “Wondering irresolutely what to do next, the
clock struck twelve.” “As a mother of five, with another on the way, my ironing board is always
up.” And this one I got from a birdwatcher, who happens to be a relative: “Using binoculars, the
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birds fill the viewing area and their heads and mouths are right before my eyes.” The image of
these birds using binoculars is an intriguing one. “Based on” is frequently similarly misplaced
or abused, hung out there somewhere in limbo. It’s a favorite usage of lawyers and technical
witnesses: “Based on this background, we had decided—.” I like the image of “we” based on
a background—whatever that means. “Based on the foregoing, action will be deferred.” Use
of the passive voice makes that one even more constipated. How about: “On the basis of these
Another rampant abuse of logic that you can find everyday if only you’re sensitive to it is
the misplacing of “only.” Decades ago there was a movie with Silvia Sydney and John Garfield,
called “You Only Live Once.” Surely it’s not only living that one does once. You have your
first romance only once. Try to put the “only” next to the word to which it applies. You live
only once. That makes sense. Here’s one from a Board draft, which of course did not get out
to the public because I saw it first: “The Board [that’s the CAB] can only amend a certificate
after a hearing.” They were clearly not saying what they meant. And, indeed, what they said
was wrong. The Board can do a lot of things to a certificate, after a hearing. It isn’t that it
can only amend it. It can grant it. It can rescind it. It can burn it. What they clearly meant
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was, “The Board can amend a certificate only after a hearing.” One of my successors as Dean
of the College of Arts and Sciences, who shall be nameless, was quoted (misquoted, I am sure)
as having spoken deprecatingly about Cornell graduates who have “only studied accounting.”
Well, what would he have them do with accounting besides study it, while in school? Consume
it? Play frisbee with it? Obviously what he meant, and deprecated, was that they were studying
only accounting. Here’s one from a TV news report: “The plot was only discovered when
police stopped a suspicious-looking driver.” It wasn’t only discovered; it was presumably also
frustrated. Obviously what they meant was that the plot was discovered only when the police—.
My lawyers loved to use “nor” when they meant “or,” so that they were constantly
committing double negatives: “The application doesn’t disclose X, nor Y.” There was a
cartoon in the New Yorker, of a woman with a coat and her bags packed, walking out of a
room. She turns to her husband and says, “I’m leaving you.” He says, “I could care less.” She
says, “Exactly. That’s why I’m leaving you. Your slovenly rhetoric.” Obviously what he meant
Then there are malapropisms. Some of our lawyers insisted on using “mitigate” when
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they meant “militate.” When something militates against something else, it tends to operate
against it or to counteract it. When it mitigates something else, it makes it less severe or harsh.
a very useful word. Today, or for the last thirty years, it has been used as synonymous
with “enunciation.” But if “diction” is the same as “enunciation,” who needs diction? And what
are we going to use for the word “diction,” which means “choice of words”? Example: In The
Pirates of Penzance, the Major General says, “I’m telling a terrible story/But it doesn’t diminish
my glory/For they would have taken my daughters/Over the billowy waters/If I hadn’t in elegant
terrible story.” I recall happily a radio announcer, David Ross, who did indeed enunciate
elegantly, receiving an award for “diction”: the conferrers of the award should have received the
People use “fortuitously” when they mean “fortunately.” But we have the
word “fortunately,” so why waste “fortuitously” on that? And besides, what are we going to
use then when we mean “fortuitously”? You could say “serendipitously,” but “serendipitously”
often includes the idea of being not only fortuitous (notice my elegant locating of “only”)
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but also desirable or fortunate. So, the use of “fortuitous” to convey its intended and unique
meaning has now been destroyed; whom can I sue for that loss?
One that you surely have been irritated by is “disinterested.” A marvelous word.
It means “impartial because of having no stake in the outcome.” Surely nine out of ten
got “uninterested”; why substitute “disinterested,” and then what are we going to use
all intended to inflate the importance, the up-to-datedness and the dynamism of the speaker. If I
never see the word “implement” again I will die happy. I’ve seen it used in contexts when you
would have instead said to your wife, or your spouse equivalent, or child—unless you have some
kind of relationship with them that I don’t even want to hear about—“begin.” The Board was
going to “implement air service,” by which the scribe evidently meant “initiate” or “authorize”
it. “The Mexicans should be permitted to implement air service.” How about “offer”?
or “provide”? “The Mexican government should have an opportunity for implementation of the
rights it obtained in our treaty.” How about “make use of”? or “take advantage of”?
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Another word that I hope I never see again—almost never—is “address.” Some
of you would apparently have all the people in the world do nothing but “address”
on,” “solve,” “dispel” or merely “respond to”? “He did not address our concerns.” (Wait. I’ll
get to “concerns” in just a minute.) The ex-deputy administrator of EPA’s superfund once said
that the superfund, “addresses the cutting edge of the toxics program.” Boy, that really conjures
up an image—which could also, of course, go under the heading of “mixed metaphor.” How do
you address a cutting edge? It sounds as though it might be painful. I myself have vowed that
“Finalize.” I hate the practice of converting adjectives or nouns into verbs, but I’m
gradually surrendering, as I am also on “contact,” because I really can’t think of another single
word as apt; or “prioritize,” which is even more pompous. But I do draw the line at “impact,”
which is usually used incorrectly even as a noun, because it clearly implies or should imply a
percussive or dynamic effect, a forceful contact. Back to “finalize.” How about “make final,”
or simply “adopt,” or “confirm”? It’ll make you think you sound less important, but people will
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like you better. How many times have I seen “pursuant to” when you could just say “under”?
Or “subsequent to” when you mean “after”? Or “prior to” when you mean “before”?
There are other such pomposities, such as adding a syllable to give additional weight
or importance. Nobody talks uses “methods” anymore, it’s always “methodology.” Come to
think of it, nobody who is anybody or wants to be anybody “uses” anything; it’s always “utilize.”
One of the all-time greatest perpetrators of most of these sinful practices was
Alexander Haig, former Secretary of State in the Reagan administration. Jim Boren, head
his publication, Mumbletypeg, the Voice of the Bureaucrat, with the headline “To Haigify:
To Formulate and/or Explain Foreign Policy in Terms that No One Can Understand.”
“Haigification,” he says, “is similar to fuzzification and profundification. But its distinction as a
new Washington verb form lies in its specific application to the discussion of foreign policy. The
first major contribution to the language of the Potomac by the Reagan administration.” Here
are a few Haigifications: “Now, as you parcel it out in the context of individuals or separatist
the restraints, and the ability to apply retaliatory action, is sometimes not only constrained but
uncertain, and so I caveat it this way.” Would you like me to read that again? On your own
time. “But be that as it may, they today are involved in conscious policy, in programs, if you
will, which foster, support and expand this activity, which is hemorrhaging in many respects
throughout the world today. Finally, when I said, I think, to somebody last night, that was
consciously ambiguous, that statement, consciously ambiguous in the sense that any terrorist
government or terrorist movement that is contemplating such action I think knows clearly what
we are speaking of.” And here’s a Haigification that I collected myself: He once called for
I had a memorandum from a member of my staff in the White House, “Note to Fred from
Ron. Subject: Something I’ll bet you didn’t know. ‘Nutshell’ is a verb. I’d just come out of a
meeting at which a White House staffer asked me, ‘How do we “nutshell” this substance-wise?’”
As these examples demonstrate, often the motive is not so much to inflate the importance
of the speaker, but it’s just to be dynamic—as in using “impact” even as a noun, let alone as a
verb. Or merely fashionable. We have a new word: “proactive,” instead of “active.” Perhaps
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as distinguished from “anti-active” or “pro-passive”? And also, now, I keep coming across
people using “incent” as a verb: “We want to incent them to do something.” I wouldn’t be
caught dead using “incent” in any context! Verb, noun, preposition, anything else. “Let’s
a verb. Well, what ever happened to the distinction between “conversation” or “discussion,”
and formal, typically written, “dialogue,” as in a drama? Or even “debate”? The trouble with
getting into debate is that then we get into the ubiquitous use of “issue.” You can’t get through
a day without something being called—everything’s an “issue”! A week or two ago I heard on
the radio, “We need a party that will fight for issues like affordable health care.” I’m willing to
one side of the mirror would be what I call “over-specification”: in flat violation of the
general rule that it’s rude to point, lawyers tend to point all the time. And even pointing and
emphasizing their pointing when it’s entirely unnecessary. They use “that” when “the” would
be sufficient. Or “those” or “such” “where no such forceful indication is required. “That part
of the legislative history that looks toward the future.” How about “The part of legislative
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history that looks toward the future”? “The second category covers those situations in which—.”
Try deleting “those”—“The second category covers situations in which”—and ask whether
the reader won’t fully understand what you’re talking about. “By our designation”—this is a
quote—“of certain city pairs as co-terminals, we intend to permit the carriage of local traffic
between those city pairs.” Just substitute “them” for “those city pairs.” “A distinction might
situations in which [something else].” Just leave out “those.” That practice is very closely
related to a disease of lawyers, “pronounophobia.” Lawyers cannot bear to use a pronoun, even
when the antecedent is absolutely clear. I will have orders given to me that list “TWA” at the
beginning of every paragraph—seven, eight, nine times—rather than “the airline” or “the carrier”
or “it” or “they.” “It is ordered (1) that a certificate be issued. (2) Said certificate shall be—.”
“The certificate shall be” is perfectly sufficient. Here’s one: “The parties are entitled to know
the Board’s decision on said motion.” My comment: aw, come off it! That’s, as I say, related to
The other side of that mirror, the crime of excessive specification, excessive pointing,
is what I call “false gentility.” Having just given you some examples of violations of the rule
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that it’s rude to point, I want now to give you some examples of cases in which people go to
great lengths to avoid pointing, when pointing is exactly what’s called for. The most rampant
example is the constant use of the verb “indicate.” Nobody ever says anything anymore; they
merely “indicate.” Obliquely. Presumably with their eyes averted. Every time you’re tempted
to use the word “indicate,” except in cases in which the mere oblique indication or suggestion
is what you want to describe, try “say,” or “state,” or “assert,” or “claim,” or “aver,” or
even “asseverate.” And take some satisfaction in being bold and direct. It reminds me of Ring
Lardner’s classic statement, “‘Shut up!’ he explained.” The modern equivalent would be, “‘Shut
up!’ he indicated.”
Other examples of false gentility: “We would also stress.” Why not just, “We also
stress”? Be bold. (I was going to say, “Be a man!” but consider the obliquy to which that would
subject me!) Others are “request” when you mean “ask.” Or “utilize” when you mean “use.” Or
“thank you for your correspondence,” when you mean, “thank you for your letter.” And how
many times do people say, “I share your concern,” (even when obviously they do not!): it makes
That brings me back to the passive voice, which people often use in an attempt to be
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genteel: where it seems impolite just to say something straight, it’s better to say it backwards.
Of course, as I have already pointed out, the other reason is to avoid responsibility or to conceal
information. The use of the passive is for this reason ideally suited to a faceless bureaucrat
who wants to remain faceless: “it was decided,” avoids saying “I decided—and what are you
going to do about it?” “Appropriate” and “inappropriate” serve the same purpose: As purported
explanations, they avoid adding any information to the mere fact of the decision that they purport
to explain, as well as sounding more genteel. Consider the less genteel but more informative
alternatives: “We rejected your application because we didn’t like it,” or “because we think it’s
lewd,” or “illegal,” or because “we don’t like it—or you.” Or “we decided it was inappropriate”
Here’s one last one that I took from an Order of the Board: “The cost of a separate
certificate proceeding at this time prior to the result of this experiment would be premature
and delay the implementation of services which are in the public interest. In this regard, the
overall costs to Pam American from such a proceeding could turn out to be disproportionate
to the profits the carrier will actually achieve through the provision of this service. Therefore,
to require the carrier to undergo a certification proceeding in order to perform the services
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contemplated would be an undue burden on the carrier since such action would have the practical
effect of precluding the proposed operation.” Here’s what I suggested: “Try ‘before’ instead
of ‘prior to,’ ‘introduction’ instead of ‘implementation,’ substitute ‘that’ for ‘which,’ delete ‘in
this regard’ and ‘overall,’ change ‘from’ to ‘of,’ change ‘the first carrier’ to ‘it,’ change ‘achieve’
to ‘earn,’ change ‘through the provision of this service’ to ‘by providing this service,’ change the
second ‘the carrier’ to ‘it,’ delete ‘contemplated,’ change the next ‘the carrier’ to ‘Pan American’
Concluded my long memo: “I would be distressed if you took these remarks personally.
Please instead realize that the game of expressing yourself clearly and straightforwardly, and
even more, of identifying pomposities and irrationalities in others, can be a great deal of fun.
If you can’t explain what you’re doing in plain English, you’re probably doing something
wrong. [Forgive that repetition.] And accept my assurances finally that it will pay dividends.
People who read what you write will quickly observe if they’re hearing from a stuffed shirt or
a breathing human, and will respond with open delight if it’s the latter, and that is intensely