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Bureaucratic Writing
“Writing like a bureaucrat takes study,
practice”
“Public servants deserve our respect, not our
ridicule”
“Columnist uses secret weapon on bureaucrats”
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Writing like a bureaucrat takes
study, practice
By Stephen Wilbers
Author of 1,000 columns
published in the
Minneapolis Star Tribune & elsewhere
The following
column elicited a mixed response from readers.
Some readers, like readability consultant Mark, found it helpful; others, like
Katherine of Fort Worth, found it offensive, an affront to public servants. Tom,
Deputy Commissioner of the Minnesota Department of Human Services, objected
because he thought it reinforced negative stereotypes of government workers. He
also found it ill timed, given Commissioner Michael O’Keefe’s leadership in
improving the quality and style of the department’s correspondence with the
public.
My intent in writing the column was not to attack writers in any particular
sector, public or private, but to take a satiric look at a type of writer who
offends the reader by writing in a style that is commonly referred to as
“bureaucratic.”
What’s your take? Did I miss the mark? What do you think of my follow-up
columns, which appear below. If you care to register your opinion, please send
me a
message.
Of all the on-the-job writers, the
bureaucrat is perhaps the most misunderstood and maligned. Although many people
assume that anyone can write like a bureaucrat, truly accomplished bureaucratic
writers have devoted many long hours of study and practice to learn their craft.
To write like a bureaucrat, you must learn to think like a bureaucrat. You must
cultivate a healthy disdain for others based on the belief that human beings are
a despicable lot, a species worthy of your contempt, and that somehow you stand
apart from the mob.
The best way to declare your separateness from others is to demonstrate, both in
your writing and in your manner, that you are devoid of all human feelings and
emotions. The more emotional the situation is for others, the colder, more
detached, more distant you show yourself to be.
Once your mind is right, you’re ready to start learning the techniques of
bureaucratic writing. Here they are:
■Never
say please or thank you. Politeness undermines your position of superiority. As
the person with power, you have
no need for social graces. Rather than “Thank you for your letter of October 1,
2000,” write “Your letter of October 1, 2000, is acknowledged.” Rather than
“Please return the enclosed form by October 15,” write “Return the enclosed form
by October 15.”
■Say
no abruptly. Don’t beat around the bush. Your reader might mistake indirection
for diplomacy. Bad news delivered
without preamble will make your reader feel discounted and unimportant. Rather
than “Thank you for your letter requesting an exception to our policy,” write
“Your request for an exception to our policy is denied.” Can you hear the
difference?
■Quote
policy rather than provide rationale. The best no is an arbitrary no. If you
must offer a reason for your decision,
quote policy rather than explain your decision. An effective technique here is
to quote long policy statements and to present them in single-spaced text,
indented from the left margin. If possible, find some rule or regulation that,
on closer examination, doesn’t apply to the situation at hand.
Note that policy manuals, often drafted by committees, are a wonderful source of
bureaucratic language. Accomplished
bureaucrats have memorized any number of useful passages that they can slip
seamlessly into their own writing as the occasion demands.
■Don’t
explain a deadline. Never offer an explanation for something you are requiring
of your reader. Remember,
explanations are a sign of weakness.
■Use
nouns rather than verbs. Avoid action verbs. They convey movement, and movement
is antithetical to the
bureaucratic mind. Think of yourself as a boulder standing in the way of your
reader’s goal, not as a swinging door through which any dolt can pass.
Rather than “You must meet these requirements before we can approve your request
and issue a permit,” write “Satisfaction of these requirements must occur prior
to approval of any such request and issuance of any such permit.”
■Avoid
using personal pronouns. You’ll find it easier to avoid action verbs, as well as
to remain aloof and distant, if you
avoid using personal pronouns, especially I, we, and you. Note the effect of
removing you, we, and your in the revised version of the preceding example.
■Use
language that directs your reader’s attention elsewhere. Especially useful is
language that points, such as
above-referenced, below-listed, herein, therein, heretofore, and undersigned.
Language that directs the reader’s attention away from the writer supports the
illusion that as a bureaucrat you do not exist in time and space. It’s as if you
are saying, “Look somewhere else, not here, not now. I have no physical
embodiment, no face, no voice, no mind.”
The bureaucratic mindset is a wondrous thing. Arrogance mixed with insecurity –
what a powerful combination.
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Public servants deserve our
respect, not our ridicule
By Stephen Wilbers
Author of 1,000 columns
published in the Minneapolis Star Tribune & elsewhere
Well, the verdict is in.
According to readers in Minnesota, Texas, and California, I missed the
mark in my satiric column on how to write like a bureaucrat.
I heard both from readers who appreciated my column and from readers who
were offended by it.
Mark, a nationally known readability consultant, thought the seven points
I raised would make a helpful checklist for “bureaucratic language vs.
plain language,” and he told me he had received “very positive comments”
from an online literacy discussion group.
But a larger number of readers reacted negatively. Tom, Deputy
Commissioner of the Minnesota Department of Human Services, called to tell
me many of the “bureaucrats” in his department had been hurt by the
column. Katherine Houk, a public servant in the Fort Worth, Texas, area,
wrote: “Now who is being condescending? For such a cheap shot, you have
lost my respect and readership.”
Bret, Public Information Manager of the City of Anaheim, wrote: “I plan on
getting out of government soon in favor of life in the private sector, and
[the attitude expressed in your column] is just another reminder of why.
The satisfaction I get from helping those who need it is no longer worth
the misguided grief I have to put up with while trying to make my
community a better place.”
In the column in question, I used satire to expose the assumptions that,
in my opinion, lead certain people to write in a
bureaucratic style – arrogance linked to insecurity, abuse of power linked
to disregard for others – and I offered tongue-in-cheek advice on how to
avoid such a style: Never say please or thank you; say no abruptly, quote
policy rather than provide rationale; don’t explain a deadline; use nouns
rather than verbs; avoid personal pronouns such as I, we, and you; and use
language that directs the reader’s attention away from the writer.
As an illustration of the problem I was trying to address, consider the
following two letters:
“Your letter of October 26, 2000, is acknowledged. Pursuant to city
ordinance 114b, said request is hereby denied. Any and all appeals
regarding aforesaid decision must be submitted in writing to the
undersigned by November 15, 2000. There are no exceptions to the
aforementioned procedure.”
“Thank you for your letter of October 26. We have carefully reviewed your
reasoning for why you think you should be exempt from city ordinance 114b
requiring sprinkler systems in multi-unit, high-rise dwellings. As a
matter of public safety, however, we must deny your request. You may
appeal this decision by sending a letter to I. B. Fare of the zoning
commission. So that Mr. Fare can rule on your appeal without delaying your
building permit, your letter must be received by November 15. We
appreciate your cooperation.”
Unfortunately, nearly all of us have received letters written in the
bureaucratic style of the first example. To be addressed in such a manner
is belittling and disrespectful. It makes us feel angry and resentful. To
those who take perverse pleasure in writing in that style, I stand by my
words.
But to those who have devoted their careers to public service, to those
who try to convey a human voice in their writing
whenever it is appropriate to do so, to those who are tired of being
called bureaucrats whenever they tell someone no or enforce an unpopular
policy, I apologize.
Without rules, civilized society could not exist. Fair-minded and
reasonable enforcers of those rules deserve our respect and gratitude –
not our ridicule – for doing what is often a thankless job. |
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Columnist uses secret weapon on
bureaucrats
By Stephen Wilbers
Author of 1,000 columns
published in the Minneapolis Star Tribune & elsewhere
It was one
of those cool, gray, November days in Minnesota, the kind of
between-seasons day that comes after the trees have dropped their leaves
and before the first snow has fallen, the kind of day that sometimes makes
me feel glum.
To cheer myself up, I went downstairs, got out my collection of missing
commas, and began sorting those tiny little punctuation marks into neat
little piles around me.
I made piles of missing commas after titles (as in Thomas Carter, account
executive_has provided exemplary leadership),
missing commas in addresses (as in Minneapolis, Minnesota_is a nice place
to live), missing commas after the year in dates (as in On August 24,
2000_I set off on my 23rd annual canoe trip with my 75-year-old father),
and missing commas after modifying words or phrases (as in Her boss, a
superb writer_is a meticulous editor).
I was just beginning to feel a little better when I heard pounding at my
front door. It was my neighbor.
“The bureaucrats are coming! The bureaucrats are coming!” he shouted.
“What? Where?”
“I saw them on my way home from work – thousands of them!” he said. “And
they’re headed this way!”
“But what do they want with me?”
“I dunno. Must be that column you wrote making fun of people who write
like bureaucrats!”
“Are they government workers?”
“Some are, I guess, but they seem to be coming from all areas:
corporations, small businesses, nonprofit organizations, even daycare
centers. You better run for it!”
“Gadzooks!” I cried. “I think it’s time to go for a little cruise in my
CommaMobile!”
Without pausing to don protective clothing, I called my trusty sidekick
Robinowitzenschnauser and dashed for the garage,
where I fired up my sleek black charger with its sweeping tail fins and
its turbo-charged dual cam jet engines, and tore down the alley just ahead
of the raging mob.
I was beginning to think we might escape unharmed when a single bureaucrat
appeared at the end of the alley, his face devoid of features, his arms
jerking up and down like a mechanical doll. Above the squeal of my brakes
I could hear an expressionless voice intoning, “The aforementioned column
has been deemed insulting and unacceptable, and for said affront a price
must be paid.”
I hit my ejector button, and in the blink of an eye Robinowitzenschnauser
and I were standing on the pavement, about to make a break for it on foot,
when the horde of enraged bureaucrats closed in around us.
“It is imperative that his voice be removed,” said one bureaucrat,
reaching for my throat.
“A determination has been made that his verbs undergo a change to nouns,”
said another.
“Hereinafter said writer shall forego use of any and all personal
pronouns, thereby effecting an elimination of I, we, and you, specifically
in reference to said writer and said writer’s readers.”
Fearless in the face of their onslaught, I held my ground, confident that
they would fail in their efforts to vanquish the human spirit, joyous in
my knowledge that they could never halt the heartbeat of humanity, secure
in my belief that they were powerless to defend themselves from my secret
weapon: humor.
At a nod from me, my trusty sidekick stepped forward, laid an
olfactory-assault, traction-reduction device on the pavement before us,
and let out a triumphant yelp. Instantly the menacing mob was gagging,
slipping, sliding, and scattering in all directions.
“Let’s go home, partner,” I said, giving Robinowitzenschnauser a pat on
the head. “I think we’ve had enough adventure for one day.” |
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