Borkowski, David. "Language: The War of the Word." Rhetoric Review 21.4 (2002): 357-383. Print.
Borkowski’s article focuses on William Cobbet’s 1818 text, A Grammar of the English Language, positioning it as a subversive work intended to disrupt England’s social hierarchy, both by its own existence and by the results of its teachings. As Borkowski writes, Cobbet’s book was written at a time in which the principle style and language guides reflected the upper-class view that “lower-class language [was] inherently inferior” (358). Borkowski states that the upper classes “believed that it was their responsibility to repel the vulgar who polluted language, in all of its facets, with coarse usage” (366), and supported this goal not only through grammar and style guides, but by implementing curricula in the schools that reinforced the current socioeconomic hierarchies—for example, by standardizing pronunciation to match that of London’s upper class.
In contrast, Cobbett’s book differed in presentation and purpose from the prevailing pro-hegemonic texts. Borkowski writes that “Cobbett objected to these texts for presenting language as intricate and mysterious, the product of a hostile governing class that deliberately used discourse as a gatekeeping device” (372). Cobbett alleged that the rules and definitions in the prevailing grammar and style texts were purposely constructed to be convoluted so as to exclude the working classes from civil discourse. As Borkowski relates, one of Cobbett’s central goals was to present guidelines for grammar and style that were easy to understand and clearly written, stating that the “best words are those, which are familiar to the ears of the greatest number of persons” (quoted in Borkowski 358). In fact, Cobbett believed that the simpler linguistic constructions of the working class were often superior to the more obtuse writings of the upper class, and he reinforced this view by including writing from upper-class writers as examples of poor composition.
Borkowski compares Cobbett’s goals to those of Paulo Freire, terming Cobbett’s book as a sort of “pedagogy for the oppressed” that he hoped would enable his readers to “someday even manage to topple their oppressors” (375). In addition to Freire, Borkowski sees Cobbett as laying the groundwork for a number of current scholars who concern themselves with language and power, writers such as Ira Shor, Victor Villanueva, Geneva Smitherman, Bruce Horner, Brian Street, and many others. Borkowski ends his piece with the suggestion that “as more and more compositionists call for advancing social literacy […] the past work of William Cobbett could help guide us into the future” (381).
I found this article to be engaging, and I would recommend it to a peer—especially if that peer were interested in demonstrating that liberatory pedagogy has a history that extends beyond Freire. I found the descriptions of the educational and political systems and their connections to language especially intriguing, even though I came out of them a bit disheartened. Borkowski does a good job showing how the climate of England in the late 1700s-early 1800s resembled today’s America, at least in the limited respects of language, class, and power. In fact, seeing the parallels so strongly established was a bit of a downer—how, then, are we to change things?
Here are the British: highly aware of class, highly aware of language, highly aware of how language serves as a key class marker. And here WE are, in our supposedly classless society, grappling with the same issues. Here are our students, whom we hope to empower in the same ways Cobbett hoped to empower his readers, and here’s the rest of world, which doesn’t care. (And here’s me, putting “whom” in that last sentence, ‘cause I’m an empowered member of that upper class and I want to be sure everyone knows it. J )
