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Not only does the definition of good writing vary among American university faculty, but also among cultures. Robert Kaplan first explored the patterns of rhetoric that vary among cultures. Although he at first implied that these patterns of rhetoric represent thought patterns and was criticized for this idea, it is clear that these patterns are not innate but culturally and socially determined. Leki explains, "Since even different discourse communities within a single culture have different expectations of writing (for example, preferred length of sentences, choice of vocabulary, acceptability of using first person, extent of using voice, degree to which writers are permitted to interpret, amount of metaphorical language accepted), it makes sense that different cultures would have different expectations of writing, and that students, who have lived in their own cultures, gone to school, and read books, would have built up structural schemata reflecting those expectations, that is, would have internalized patterns of discourse prevalent in their cultures" (92). This anecdote about President George Bush on a visit to Japan dramatizes the issue: An example of the cultural and linguistic conflict can be seen in former President George Bush's visit to Japan several years ago when he appeared before Japanese legislators and told them to buy American cars. Japanese newspapers, television, and people on the street remarked at the rudeness of the American president who was telling them what to do. Yet, if the President told us Americans that we should "buy American" we would most likely not think him rude; we might not like what he says, and we might disagree, but we would not attribute his remarks to rudeness. Bliss, who offers this anecdote, analyzes its significance: After reports of the Japanese opinion reached American newspapers, commentators remarked that the Japanese did not understand Bush's intent, that he did not intend to be rude The perception of rudeness, and the American response, can, I believe, be at least partly attributed to underlying linguistic differences in the cultures and to the logical structures of Japanese and English. Although it is easy to give an order in Japanese, if one wants to persuade someone to do something, the speaker rarely tells the person what to do. Instead, the typical persuasive structure might mention discreet points favoring the proposition, and, after listening to these points, the listener will agree or disagree with the proposition-even though it has never been stated directly. (qtd. in Bliss 17- 18) Like the Japanese misinterpretation of Bush, American university faculty sometimes misinterpret their students' rhetoric as "bad writing" or "incorrect writing," rather than different writing: "The writing strategies ESL students use in response to culturally patterned rhetorical constraints may seem illogical, digressive, or circuitous to an English-speaking reader" (Leki 26 ). In her interviews with international students, Fox listens again and again to students' frustrations with American academic rhetoric. Their dilemma is reflected in this exchange between a Japanese student and her professor: I still remember the day I walked into his office and started explaining about my papers, my ideas, what I would like to do, and he just cut me off. "Stop beating around the bush! This is America! I have five minutes for you!" I was behaving out of politeness, not to get to the issue right away, giving him background first. (qtd. in Fox 19 ) Another Japanese student points to her frustration with the writer-responsible prose style of the West versus a reader responsible prose style she was taught: Another thing that made me crazy was that I had to write everything down so that readers could understand the point. In Japanese writing we do not write everything we want to say. Writers can give readers some ideas or hints but not clear answers. (qtd. in Fox 116). And another Japanese student writes about the subtlety expected of Japanese writers: Japanese is more vague than English It's supposed to be that way. You don't say what you mean right away. You don't criticize directly. (qtd. in Fox 8) A student from Singapore expresses his frustration with the conventions of academic argument in American rhetoric: But that was intentional. I don't want to take a position! In Singapore you would never state your opinion on such a topic; you might get arrested. (qtd. in Fox 24) A student from Chile finds American academic conventions simplistic: When I read something by an American it sounds so childish It's because we don't see with these connections. It's just like: 'This is a watch, the watch is brown, da-da, da-da.' For us, that's funny. I think that for Americans, it must be funny, the way I describe things. (qtd. in Fox 21) In many cultures, digression is considered valuable in essays, as in Latin American cultures. In other words, an off-the-point style can be culturally based: It's impossible to say everything you have to say all at once. You have to keep coming back to it. All ideas are connected. It's true, Latin American writers do tend to digresss. Well, may be that is what I am doing in my introduction here. (qtd. in Fox 8) Other researchers have studied the varied rhetorics among cultures. A student from Cote d'Ivoire explains to Leki his frustration with the ideas of hitting the reader over the head with a main point right from the start: If you want to talk to me about something and you already said it, why should I listen further? "I'm going!" he said, getting up abruptly and walking to the door to emphasize his point. "You try to make a sort of suspense," he added, "and as we say: It brings appetite to conversations you know? The person is thinking, 'What is he going to tell me?' And you really pull him to listen to you, you see? And finally you say it. And by the time you say it, you are also at the end of what you were going to say." (qtd. in Leki 18) Arab rhetoric can be misread as well, and sometimes diminished by its readers, as Yorkey's research shows: Arabic rhetoric encourages the ability to find another way to say the same thing, and the Arabic language is rich enough to permit a skillful user to succeed in constructing complex parallels of ideas. Unfortunately, an English-speaking reader may take this planned coordination as simple repetition. The Arabic word for "and" is "wa" and it is said that English teachers at the University of Beirut, when Beirut was still a city, jokingly referred to the wa-wa method of organizing writing. (Leki 100) This cultural disjuncture is one which Native American students experience as well. Bliss uses the Lakota rhetoric as an example, described to her in a letter from a friend, to show how digressive storytelling might dominate an effort to persuade, but which academic readers would find confusing: Lakota persuasion can, like English or Japanese, be blunt when presented
as an order. But, in a more involved attempt at explanation or persuasion,
the Lakota speaker will tell stories, often four or more, that are somehow
related to the topic at hand. The speaker confirms his or her proposition
through the stories, which, though they may not even mention the speaker's
major claim, are intended to help the listener understand the situation
and come to the same conclusion as the speaker. (qtd. in Bliss 19)
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