Freshman Comp and the Failure of Modern Journalism

Cathy Birkenstein and Gerald Graff (promotional photo)

Back in 2005, University of Illinois literature professors Gerald Graff and Cathy Birkenstein published the first edition of their composition textbook They Say/I Say: the Moves That Matter in Academic Writing. The textbook’s core premise is simple, that in college-level writing, the most important rhetorical maneuver is to define the consensus on some topic, then counter with your own words. This may mean disagreeing, clarifying, expanding, or refuting altogether.

In my teaching days, I adopted Graff and Birkenstein’s model early: I photocopied their published templates, even before their textbook shipped. I made the first edition required reading for my freshman comp students. But soon I noticed problems. Though their model remains solid, Graff and Birkenstein omit one important fact: your words must be supported with evidence. My students pitched straw-man opponents, then baldly asserted their unsubstantiated opinions.

This week, conservative Catholic journalist Matthew Walther published an op-ed on The Atlantic’s website: Where I Live, No One Cares About COVID. The article is paywalled, so I’ll synopsize: we good Christians in rural Michigan have never cared particularly about COVID-19 or the regulated steps recommended to prevent transmission. Every time journalists and media pundits expound on taking steps against COVID, Walther says, they prove themselves out-of-touch with America’s heartland.

Even beyond the undeniable fact that Walther’s opinion is counterfactual and doesn’t deserve a national platform, this op-ed is sloppily written. Walther provides only anecdotal evidence, sneers at anyone who cites science, and claims his ways are simply authentic because yours aren’t. Matthew Walther formerly wrote for prestigious publications like The Week and the New York Times, but this editorial reads like something a freshman tore off quickly on deadline.

Matthew Walther, who publishes so many
photos of himself smoking that he clearly
thinks cigarettes are very grown-up.

Walther states his thesis early: “I don’t know how to put this in a way that will not make me sound flippant: No one cares.” He admits that’s hasty generalization, but turns around and says that nobody in rural America particularly cares. He supports this position with copious “I” statements:

• “In 2020, I took part in two weddings, traveled extensively, took family vacations with my children, spent hundreds of hours in bars and restaurants, all without wearing a mask.”
• “The CDC recommends that all adults get a booster shot; I do not know a single person who has received one.”
• “Until I found myself in Washington, D.C., on a work trip in March, I had never seen anyone wearing a mask outside.”

I live in one of America's most convervative congressional districts, and okay, Walther isn’t entirely wrong. I’ve seen exactly what he’s talking about in every grocery store. Even I, the first person on my jobsite to start masking up, eventually wearied of fighting the tide and stopped wearing one. And then I got COVID. In my company, entire jobsites were shuttered in November 2020 because actual numerical majorities of workers caught the plague.

Essentially, Walther claims his rural neighbors have never cared or taken routine precautions, and their indifference should be treated seriously. He never considers, even momentarily, that such widespread indifference might be why we need continued precautions against a mostly avoidable contagion. Walther presents unconcerned and disengaged Americans as a base that deserves catered to. He never acknowledges they’re maybe plague rats who keep everyone else from getting better.

The fact that Matthew Walther, individually, doesn’t know anybody who wears masks or gets their shots, means nothing. I know nobody who listens to The Weeknd or eats home-cooked insects, but my unfamiliarity doesn’t matter. Globally, these activities are common and influential. If my freshmen provided such anecdotal evidence to support their vague assertions, I’d have returned their papers marked “Cite your sources.” Indeed I did, so often that I changed my textbooks.

Equally important, I wouldn’t give such baseless assertions a global platform. The Atlantic, sadly, has a history of publishing foolish, unsupported opinions by cartoonish people. We shouldn’t amplify antivaxxers, global warming denialists, or Nazis, because they’re wrong. Perhaps someday, if they provide substantiated evidence to support their positions, we might reconsider this position. But currently, baseless straw-man editorials, like Walther’s, don’t deserve space in respected periodicals.

Graff and Birkenstein aren’t wrong; voicing positions and counterpositions is a tool of serious writing. But I discovered that this triangulation means nothing until student writers know how to back their positions with evidence. If writers and audiences don’t have sufficient tools to evaluate evidence, they wind up thinking their adolescent opinions are equal to scientific arguments. And gullible magazines can be tricked into sending these bullshit opinions out worldwide.