Some Pessimistic Thoughts On “Plagiarism”

Last summer, when historian Kevin M. Kruse was accused of plagiarism—a serious accusation in academia, and one that submarines careers—I wrote a lengthy examination of the concept. My views on plagiarism have shifted substantially since my “zero tolerance” teaching days, when we were institutionally encouraged to distrust any writing that was too well-written. I’ve come to accept that the workload schools impose on students is simply too exorbitant to permit serious original writing.

So I congratulated myself for my Gandhi-like enlightenment and walked away from the discussion. Dr. Kruse was eventually cleared by a council of like-minded nabobs, and the issue retreated from public consciousness. Then yesterday, I received a Facebook message from a stranger identified as Emmett Cullinan, admitting he’d repurposed one of my reviews for a classroom assignment. He wasn’t even circumspect about it. He acknowledged he hadn’t read the book, simply repurposed my written review.

Suddenly I found myself back in “teacher” headspace, cueing up platitudes about the evils of slapping your name on somebody else’s words. Though I doubt an online scolding will discourage any undergraduate brazen enough to actually tell a writer after lifting another’s words, I at least went to Cullinan’s Facebook page to find his school. Turns out, Cullinan has set his Facebook profile to private, making him inaccessible to anybody he doesn’t already know. Crafty.

Cullinan’s message initially looked smug, boasting in performing an act of intellectual dishonesty. But the longer I live with it, the more I suspect there’s something more going on. Yes, this kid (I’m assuming youth and inexperience drive this cocky impudence) acknowledges slapping his name on my words. Considered in a vacuum, these words imply a galling level of self-importance, since he not only performed the plagiarism, but wanted me to know he’d performed it.

But he says this pilfering “really saved my life” and “legitimately saved my grade.” These aren’t the words of somebody rubbing my nose in his dishonesty; they’re the words of somebody scared of falling behind and losing out. Indeed, his use of the word “legitimately” suggests that although he knows his actions are illegitimate, he feels his necessity is more than legitimate, or at least legitimate enough to justify his actions, taken out of desperation.

In other words, the longer I live with Cullinan’s message, the more I realize they’re written from a place of inner fear. He writes with an exterior mask of audacity and entitlement, perhaps because he believes his position as a student is precarious enough that he can’t admit terror. Students frequently learn early that professors, whose own position is frequently shaky, can smell fear. Therefore, with professors and with me, Cullinan masks fear behind arrogance.

College degrees, once a signifier of aristocratic erudition, have become job credentials for most Americans. The time spent getting a degree has become a mandatory buy-in for a middle-class life. Many jobs that, in the past, simply required an apprenticeship or on-the-job training, like office managers, industrial technicians, and law enforcement, now actually do require higher education. Sometimes the requirement is unofficial and simply customary; but some employers or jurisdictions have made this requirement official.

This means that an upwardly mobile life increasingly requires not only college, but frequently a graduate degree, to stand out and move ahead. This means a commitment of years, effort, and debt. Undergraduates and grad students are nominally adults, but see the period of juvenile dependency dragged out for years, sometimes until they’re pushing thirty. It’s even worse for anybody hoping to change careers in adulthood, which can mean more years studying for more credentials.

Emmett Cullinan’s message sounds ballsy, at first. But it reflects childhood fears dragged out onto an adult, a grown-ass man who is considered culpable as a grown-up if he mishandles a car or a beer, but who isn’t allowed to take responsibility for his working life yet. Like kids throughout history, he acts brazen because, perhaps, it’s the only power he has. Far from the unashamed plagiarist I first assumed, I think he’s just scared.

Of course that doesn’t stop me from using his real name, or screenshotting his message. I’m no longer angry enough to pursue consequences, but I’m passive-aggressive enough that, if consequences find him, I won’t cry. Because that, too, is part of higher education. Students learn to have opinions about books they haven’t read, or experiences they haven’t experienced, but they also learn to get called out when they fib. Learn to live with it.