The problem of "I"

By Randy Koch

Vultures have no voice, not because of censors or gerrymandering but simply because they lack a vocal organ, which in birds is called a syrinx. They are, as a result, mute, and I imagine that they communicate through body language, semaphores, and the occasional meaningful look. They soar through the sky watching for the dead and dying and then glide silently down to earth to feast off a warm carcass. Students, too, must sometimes feel like vultures when told how to write an academic paper: search for sources containing ideas and information (often the antiquated ruminations of dead writers or those defunct, regurgitated quotes used time after time by others writing on the same subject) and never, ever use the word "I" (or, by implication, any other personal references). It's the latter that bothers me most and results in writing in which students, too, seem to have no voice.
About a month ago, a young man came to my office with a problem:
"I have to write a letter of application for a job," he groaned.
"Okay," I said, "that doesn't sound so bad."
From his backpack he pulled a blue spiral notebook, a folder, and a Bic pen with teeth marks on one end. He laid the notebook and folder on the desk and pushed the pen against his lip. "But," he sighed, "the professor says we can't use 'I.'"
"This is a letter in which you're applying for a job, right?"
He nodded.
"In which you're trying to sell yourself to a prospective employer?"
"Yeah."
"But you can't use the word 'I.'"
"Nope."
"Did your professor explain why?"
He shook his head.
"Did the professor give you a sample to show you how to do it?"
Again he shook his head. "That's why I'm here," he explained.
I don't know if the student misunderstood the instructions for the assignment or if the professor actually expected the student to write an application letter without using "I," but either way something is amiss. If the student misunderstood, it's probably because he's heard these same strict, arbitrary instructions so many times before that leaving out "I" has become a reflex. If the student got the instructions right, the professor apparently thinks that any formal composition written for someone the writer is trying to impress must stick to that rigid, old convention -- leave out the writer in order to give the appearance of objectivity. This principle is what often makes academic writing dull, impersonal, and flat-out boring, and the perception that "formal" means "formulaic" is one contributor to the absence of voice in the writing of so many Laredo students.
Granted, occasionally there are good reasons for avoiding the use of "I" or direct references to the writer. It prevents inexperienced writers from unnecessarily qualifying their opinions. There's no difference between saying, "The west end of Calton needs to be resurfaced," and "I think the west end of Calton needs to be resurfaced." Qualifying the statement with "I think" or "I believe" or I realize" doesn't change the opinion; it simply draws attention to the degree to which the writer is unsure about whether or not the reader agrees with him or her. Similarly, the writer need not point out that he or she researched a topic by explaining that "I went to the library and found in the New York Review of Books an excellent article by Richard Lewontin which examines the late Carl Sagan's work." Instead, the writer can simply say, "An excellent article by Richard Lewontin in the New York Review of Books examines the late Carl Sagan's work." The personal information contributes little to the subject of the essay and usually is included only because the student is trying to reach a specified number of words for the assignment. Finally, some types of writing insist on and are enhanced by the absence of the writer. A scientific report, for example, in order to be trustworthy and to convey the objectivity required of the scientific method, should make no reference to the experimenter or the writer. The scientific method demands accurate, objective observation and careful, consistent recording of that information. Since a report is a record of facts, any inclusion of the writer brings the objectivity and reliability of that report and the relevance of all the content into question.
However, when students are given a blanket order not to refer to themselves, as in the case of the young man trying to write the application letter, they often resort to grammatical gymnastics and some derring-do of diction to say what needs to be said. Simply put, they cease to sound like themselves. One way they avoid the first-person pronoun is by using the anonymous and ambiguous passive voice. In a letter to a prospective employer, the applicant might be inclined to write, "For six years I sold shoes at Just for Feet," but to avoid "I" the writer might resort to the passive instead: "For six years, shoes were sold at Just for Feet." Of course, this suggests that seven years ago Just for Feet either wasn't in business or was selling something other than shoes. However, if the writer wants to meet the letter of the professor's law and clarify the sentence, he or she could identify the doer of the action by adding "by me." This way the writer hasn't used the forbidden "I" but has found a way to give him- or herself credit. Either option is obviously less accurate or more awkward than the original, which uses "I."
Another dangerous outgrowth of trying to avoid "I" is the dreaded dangling participle. Like the passive voice, the participle (often an -ing word describing a noun or pronoun) brings some action to the sentence, but the participle needs the doer. For example, the student may want to write, "Selling shoes for six years, I enjoyed working at Just for Feet." This is a perfectly good sentence since the participle ("Selling shoes for six years") describes "I," who "enjoyed working at Just for Feet." However, because the student is trying to avoid "I," he's likely to revise it like this: "Selling shoes for six years, Just for Feet is a good place to work." This is now a dangling participle because "I" is nowhere to be found; instead, the sentence says that Just for Feet has been "selling shoes for six years." While this may be accurate, it's not what the writer meant to say and serves little purpose in a letter of application.
The writer can also get around the first-person pronoun "I" by changing to a different pronoun. In a literary analysis paper about Ernest Hemingway, a student may want to write, "After analyzing the sentence structure and diction of several of his short stories, I discovered that the complexity of his work is not in his style but in his content." Tsk, tsk, tsk. There's that pesky "I" again. But any student worth his grammatical salt knows that "I" isn't the only pronoun that can work here. Why not divert attention from the writer and substitute the second-person pronoun? Then, we'll have this: "After analyzing the sentence structure and diction of several of his short stories, you discover that . . ." However, "you" is too informal and makes assumptions about what the reader -- "you" -- thinks or has done. Instead, let's try something more formal, more academic, more "sophisticated" -- the impersonal pronoun: "After analyzing the sentence structure and diction of several of his short stories, one discovers that . . ." This is better than "you," but it's stuffy and the reader can tell that the writer is putting on airs. "One" is simply a fancy way of saying "I," and everyone knows it.
These stylistic or syntactic effects are not the most serious problem resulting from the commandment "Thou shalt not use 'I.'" Even more troubling and dangerous is how instructing students in this rule about academic point of view makes them think, feel, and act and how it affects their voice in a piece of writing. Over time they begin to believe that their own experiences, memories, and ideas are inappropriate, irrelevant, and meaningless. Thoreau's record of his two years at Walden Pond is literature, but Raul's childhood in south Laredo doesn't warrant even a paragraph. Annie Dillard realized that trying to see the details of Tinker Creek was connected to the challenges of blind people who surgically were given sight, but Lisa isn't likely to be allowed to connect the fanfare of her Mexican wedding dance to the aerial pirouettes of two courting scissor-tailed flycatchers near Popeye's. Lewis Thomas points out that he chooses to "trust" mitochondria, the "stable and responsible lodgers" in his body, but Luis is discouraged from describing his wariness of the tap water in his own Laredo kitchen. Because they are told not to use "I," they leave themselves out, gag themselves, look down from a distance at all of this "dead" material and silently circle because, as far as they're concerned, they have no connection to the subjects of their education or should not talk about whatever connections they might perceive.
I recently tried to go for an entire day without saying "I," and I suspect I appeared humble and more interested in my fellow man and woman (appearances, of course, can be deceiving). However, it was often difficult to carry on a conversation with the cashier at HEB or answer a telemarketer's questions or let my daughter know where I was going or when I'd be home. Yes, I could still speak, and I still had a voice, but when we impose this rule on writers, things are different. Insisting that we ban "I" from academic writing is just one more way to make education less relevant to our students' real world and to make writing just another experience where they're excluded and devalued.

(Randy Koch teaches English and directs the Writing Center at Texas A&M International University.)