DON'T SAY "NEXUS;" SAY "CONNECTION" : WHY I DON'T LIKE PRETENTIOUS LANGUAGE

AN ESSAY

During my first year in law school, I had to take a "legal writing course." It was pure misery. The "professor" was really no professor at all, but rather a disgruntled low-level staffer from the Attorney General's office who worked part-time scolding terrified first-semester students for putting one space before a period rather than two. She never praised anyone. And she consciously tried to drain all individuality from everyone's writing. She said: "This is legal writing. It's time to un-learn everything you've ever learned about writing. Right now."

In her defense, legal writing is certainly different from expository writing. It follows distinct conventions and customs that differ from the classic liberal arts essay. It proceeds along identifiable logical pathways and channels arguments to lead ineffably to a conclusion. It is not subtle. Legal writing does not hide anything from the reader. It tells him exactly what he is reading and repeats it about fifty times before it is over. In our legal writing class, we learned how to manufacture these technical baubles. And we got lots of bad grades along the way to remind us that we missed some essential detail or other.

I became a pretty decent legal writer. After all, it isn't difficult. It's just a skill, like baking. There is no artistry to it. You just take a position, organize some arguments to support it and start declaring why you're right. You avoid the passive voice, follow a set sentence structure and repeat your argument over and over again. You make all your sentences declarative and begin each closing line in a paragraph with "thus." Clarity is important. Subtlety is not. And why should it be? After all, if you're writing to a court to win a case, you don't want to leave your fate to interpretation, do you? Hell no. You want to scream why you're right; and you'll be damned if you hesitate in your demand for victory.

But there is irony in all this. Legal writing--like the law in general--leads lawyers to believe that they possess magical powers. After all, lawyers feel exulted because they know that they can influence the machinery of the State to deprive others of property, liberty and even their lives. They influence that machinery through advocacy, including writing. For that reason, lawyers believe that their "legal writing" opens the doorway to power over others.

Yet there is nothing magical about the law or legal writing. In fact, I came to understand that legal writing actually wields very little influence, despite the mythology to the contrary. When I practiced law, my superiors praised my writing. I thought it led courts to make better decisions in particular cases. But time after time, I saw that judges probably had not even read what I had written. Rather, they knew beforehand how they would rule in a case and carried that prejudice with them through the proceeding. No matter how grand my rhetoric or airtight my logic, my writing would never dislodge an entrenched conviction. Just because I nailed all the technical criteria required for "good legal writing" did not mean I would magically win the case.

All this sobered me about the "power of the law." I learned that there was a vast propaganda machine at work perpetuating the idea that "judges were impartial" and that "good arguments always persuade." The cruel fact is that judges and lawyers are just as shortsighted and prejudiced as the next man. They make decisions based upon their cultural intuition, social values and emotional reactions. They can skillfully cite the law to provide a seemingly "neutral" justifications for their decisions. But in the end, "good legal writing"--and even "good arguments"--will almost never change minds.

Nor should it. Legal writing is agonizingly formulaic. I even wonder how judges can even keep their eyes open when they read it. And who really needs to know what one side in a case says? You can pretty much figure out what each side wants in the case simply by looking at the facts. If a person gets injured, he's going to say the other guy is at fault and should pay him money. The other guy will say he's not at fault and shouldn't have to pay. Or maybe he'll say the injured guy caused his own injury, so he's excused. Our legal system is adversarial. That means that you can figure out exactly what each side wants beforehand: Team A wants to make money; Team B wants to save money. Each accuses the other of bad faith and shouts to the court why he should win.

It's not complicated. It's just a game: One team wants to beat the other. You don't need masterful writing to understand how most cases go. Our adversary system explains it all. And chances are a judge will form an intuitive opinion about the dispute long before he reads what either team has to say about it. So nothing either team says will change the result.

Yet lawyers love their writing, even if it does not ultimately influence anyone. Worse, they scold lower-level employees who do not use the right words in court papers. This may seem meaningless--after all, why insist on particular words if the writing does not affect the outcome in the end?--but it happens. It is as if lawyers understand that their writing will change no one's mind, yet they adhere to rigorous standards merely to show that they can. This is sheer pretentiousness, and I don't like it. Moreover, it is pretentiousness without reason; for even when lawyers use all the right formats, phrases and page headings, their writing will not influence the judge. He has already taken an intuitive notion about the case.

Take this example: In legal writing class, we learned that you must always recite a legal rule exactly as it appears in a case. Over the centuries, pretentious judges have written pretentiously (and sometimes very poorly) about the law. When they lay down a legal rule in a particular case, they enshrine bad writing for generations to come. But in legal writing class, you must cite the rule exactly as it appeared. I recall an example about some lawyer being disciplined for neglecting his client. Once upon a time, a court said there had to be a "nexus" between the lawyer's conduct and resulting harm in order to determine whether an attorney should be disciplined for client neglect.

What the hell is a "nexus?" In law school, I remember thinking: "What a pretentious, unnecessary word. You can just use the word 'relationship,' or even 'connection' to express the same idea without sounding like a complete SAT-word-dropping douchebag.'" So in my brief, I cited the rule without using "nexus." I changed it to "connection." I thought it sounded more accessible. It sounded less arcane. I did not want to sound like a spell-casting sorcerer when I wrote. I wanted my reader to understand immediately what the law said.

But I got a bad grade on that paper because I did not literally use the word "nexus" in reciting the legal rule. It did not matter that my formulation expressed the rule better than the judge's legalese. No, details are important in legal writing, even really bad details that do nothing to improve communication or style.

Still, at the time I had not yet recognized that the law cared nothing for style. I had always prided myself on making my writing as clear and as accessible as possible. It was difficult for me to comprehend that clarity and style did not matter in this new discipline. I resented the formality and structure in legal writing. Ultimately, I learned to do it with the best of them. But it was just imitation. I never believed that legal writing possessed any intrinsic merit over my traditional, expository style.

Recently, I have begun to see legal writing in a larger context. Now, its rigidity and pretentiousness make sense: They reflect the law's effort to construct a fanciful aura of authority and inaccessibility.

Courts and judges--as well as the governments that institute them--benefit from a population that fears the law. People fear things they do not understand. They cower before institutions that speak in a hard-to-understand way. It makes them obedient and respectful. That is why courts want words like "nexus" instead of "connection." If they used words like "connection," people might understand what they were saying. If that happened, more people might see through the law's charades and disrespect it. They might not even need lawyers to translate all the legal rubbish.

In this light, pretentiousness in legal writing makes some sense. It is a smoke-and-mirror routine. It is Wizard of Oz stuff. It looks impressive. But in the end it's all nonsense. Men behind velvet curtains are still men, even if they use befuddling synonyms for common words.

And the ultimate irony is that even the best legal writing will not impress the men behind the velvet curtain. They already know what they plan to do each day. Lawyers can talk and write until they are blue in the face. It won't change anything.

LIFE IS NOT RATED PG-13

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

Movie ratings amuse me. Whenever I see a movie poster, I always look at the rating box. In the old days, the rating box was simple: It just listed the rating (G, PG, PG-13, R or X), plus the general description for the rating. For G, it said "General Audiences." For R, it said "Restricted Audiences."

Now the rating box is a little more complicated. It still gives the rating and the general description. But it also gives "reasons" why the movie earned its rating. For example, it might say the movie is rated "R" because it contains "Nudity, Some Sexual Content and Drug Use." Or it may say the movie is rated "PG-13" for "Some Language, Adult Situations and Scary Images."

I know why there is a rating system. The Motion Picture Association of America started the system in order to help parents decide whether they should take their children to the movies. If a parent sees "R" at the bottom of a movie poster, then he or she would know not to take 6-year-old Johnny to see it.

But the rating system does more than "protect children from unsuitable content." I have written that it can also perform a political function by limiting access to a film if the "raters" do not like its message. An "R" rating, for instance, substantially reduces a film's potential audience by reducing the number of theaters that will show it. That, in turn, makes it more difficult for a film to reach a broad audience. In sum, raters can influence an artwork's communicative outreach by tacking on harsher ratings, even when they are not really warranted.

And who are these raters? What criteria move them? Put simply, they are private Americans with relatively little tolerance for "unconventional" ideas, language, themes, images or messages. They also have a very squeamish moral sense. Sex and nudity put them off more than violence. Breasts are more threatening than explosions and killing. If a movie even remotely strays into "controversial" ground, they will rate it "R." A straight make-out scene might only generate "PG-13." But a gay one would definitely yield an "R;" or maybe even "NC-17" if it is graphic enough. And if you dare to use the word "fuck" once in your movie: Forget it; that's an "R" for you. Hey, you could always opt for "fudge" to save your
box office.

What explains this hypersensitivity? Is it really all about the children? Why should movies that deal with "real-life things" earn harsher ratings than meaningless fluff?

Consider this: I recently saw a movie poster with a "PG-13" rating because it contained "Some Smoking." Say what? Smoking? Since when did smoking become a taboo subject? Do we really believe that our children will turn into criminals because they see someone smoking a cigarette onscreen?

I mention this for three reasons. First, I do not like the moral hypersensitivity in the movie rating system. Second, it is just not possible to shield children from every single allegedly "bad" thing in life. Third, there is little correspondence between what happens in movies and what happens in actual human experience.

Children see smoking all the time. They do not need to be 13 to know that people smoke. In fact, if their parents smoke, they probably have known about smoking since the moment they could form memories. Even if their parents don't smoke, it does not take long to see someone else smoking outside. Smoking is everywhere. Sure, it's not good for your health. But it's part of life. There's no sense morally rebuking a movie simply because it shows something that millions of people do every single day. And there's even less sense in attempting to prevent children from learning about it: Chances are they already know.

There is so much about movies that is totally unrealistic, even in movies that claim to portray reality. Movies are a fascinating medium because they lead viewers into a dimension that closely resembles reality. Yet on reflection, it is clear that they are not real--not even close. Life does not have snappy dialogue, segue cutscenes or a melodramatic soundtrack. It does not have a set run-time, either. Put simply, there is a wide range of human experience that will never appear on a movie screen. And even the most banal things--like going to the bathroom or sexuality--often earn harsh scolding from the raters.

We do and say things every day in our lives that would lead to an "R" rating or worse. Just getting undressed to get in the shower pushes us into "NC-17" territory. The human body, in other words, is a taboo subject. And movies are supposed to represent reality? How could they when they don't even show the most basic things that people do and say every day?

Movies are artificial. They do not represent reality. In that light, it is foolish to rely on them to form impressions about life because there is so much about life that they never portray.

Movie ratings are artificial, too. If anything, they simply measure the moral qualms of a few squeamish Americans. It is too bad that the raters have such a strong influence on what millions of people see on movie screens.

All I know is that my own life is not even close to PG-13. It's been NC-17 since before I could even talk. If you've ever been naked in your life, you're rated "R" at least.

Movies might spare the faint of heart. But life doesn't. This shit is rough.

CAR INSURANCE IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN LIFE

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

No, I'm not kidding. This is no satire. If there is any correlation between broadcast airtime and importance in life, then car insurance must be the most important thing in life.

Watch network television for an hour. I guarantee that you will see at least four commercials for car insurance. During the same hour, you might only see one or two advertisements for erectile dysfunction or prostate pills. There might be an appeal to send money to children in Africa, or the odd statement from a tax accountant or a lawyer--who usually wants you to join a class-action lawsuit involving prescription medication or car insurance fraud. Mixed messages?

But I digress. Let's get back to the real question: What's so important about car insurance? Why are companies spending so much money--and wasting so much of my time--simply to say that they are selling indemnity contracts for my car? I don't even have a car; why the hell would I want car insurance? They talk about low prices (Allstate), discounts (Progressive) and savings (GEICO). Some take a "trust me" approach (Allstate); others try to throw in humor (GEICO and Progressive). Some provide more specific information, like the fact that they also sell boating insurance, garage insurance, homeowner's insurance, life insurance, renter's insurance and lawn insurance. Other provide no information at all, just a slogan and a phone number.

Animated geckos with cockney accents do not provide commercially relevant information necessary to make a reasonable free market decision, no matter what GEICO's Board says. On the other hand, advertisers don't care about providing information relevant to a reasonable free market decision. They just want you to remember them and buy. It doesn't matter if it's the "most reasonable choice" you've ever made. Advertisers target the visual sense: "See this? Now buy this." That's how it works.

This simple strategy explains why car insurance commercials dominate the airwaves. If a company has enough money to advertise, it will advertise as much as it can. After all, an idiot is more likely to remember something he sees ten times in two hours than something he saw only once during the same two hours. Advertisers like GEICO, Allstate and Progressive know that, so they deluge viewers' senses over and over again. Even if people don't think about car insurance every single day in their lives, advertisers make sure that when they finally do think about car insurance, they also think of their company. By bombarding the senses, advertisers create a mental connection. When the mind strays onto the topic "car insurance," it triggers the connection: "Must buy GEICO." When that happens, advertising has done its work. Advertisers don't want reflection. They want reflex.

Broadcast airtime is a precious commodity. It is very expensive. It can reach millions of people in an instant. It has the potential to spread knowledge, understanding and enrichment. If something appears in a broadcast medium, it carries weight: Someone had to pay a huge sum to air it. To convey a message in such a costly medium, the message must be "important." In that light, does it not reveal something about our society that commercials are the only messages that regularly appear in this medium? The broadcast medium could be used to enrich the population with meaningful messages. But in the end, it merely barrages them with animated geckos, cavemen, obnoxious women chirping about discounts and various entreaties to buy boating insurance. After all, car insurance is important: It's on TV all the time.

Some will inevitably say that commercial messages are the only way that networks can finance their non-commercial messages. But most non-commercial material on most television channels is utterly unenlightening. In many cases, it even bows to commercial pressures. Networks will not broadcast material that alienates their commercial sponsors. In a strange way, then, commercial messages dictate which non-commercial messages ultimately appear on television. Advertisers will not advertise on programs that do not draw people likely to buy their products. This limits the kinds of messages that people hear on television because everything comes back to commerce: The programmer must placate the advertiser first. Only then can he exercise some expressive freedom. Without the advertiser, he can broadcast nothing. Who's more important then: The car insurance company or the viewer who wants to see a show about medieval England?

In my view, this is all very pathetic. In the end, car insurance gets more play than momentous world issues in the United States. It may seem absurd to suggest that car insurance is the most important thing in life. Yet I promise you that you will see more GEICO commercials on television than programs about Darfur, the health care bill or the War in Iraq. Those things may be more "objectively" important, but they do not pay the network's expenses. Insurance companies do. So we hear their messages more than any other messages.

That's why it's perhaps not so absurd to say that car insurance is the most important thing in life. Our country dedicates more airtime to it than virtually any other single subject. If airtime is as precious as we hear, doesn't that mean that car insurance is important? It's getting all the airtime, so it must be important. Very important, even.

MUST WE ALWAYS BE LINKED IN?

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

I don't like telephones. If I'm not expecting a call, I can't stand it when the phone rings. Basically, I don't like interruptions. I like focusing on things. I like dedicating my energy fully to a project and getting it done as well as I can. When some fool calls me about new cable service or a municipal election, it breaks my concentration. I don't like small talk, either. I don't like reporting what "I've been doing lately," "how things are going with me," "what I'm doing this weekend" or "how the job search is turning out." I would just rather read and write in peace.

Telephones used to terrorize me in law practice. My bosses expected me to be on the phone all the time: Call the client; call opposing counsel; call me; call your colleague; call the court; call the expert; call the printing service. All meaningless, vacuous, unstimulating calls. Either that or confrontations over the phone: "Give us the documents...no. Get this done now...no. I'm going to sanction you for this...go ahead; see if I care." Nasty, nasty shit.

Telephones allow people to attend to business without "actually being there." In many ways, this is advantageous. But when people try to do too much every day, they abuse the telephone. It gets ridiculous when you make and take 1000 calls a day trying to get everything accomplished from afar. I mean, how much can you really do over a phone line? Good old-fashioned face-to-face contact is a gravely underestimated commodity these days. I think excessive telephone use cheapens human exchange. And telephones cause unreal stress when abused. You can run away from a person. But you can't run from a person with a phone. In a word, telephones can take away your peace if you let them.

And I'm just talking about regular land lines. Cell phones made matters worse. As hard as it is to field phone calls from behind a desk, in the old days at least you could go home and escape the dreaded rings. Once you left the office, the phone could ring all it wanted; you couldn't hear it. As recently as the early 1990s, people had more peace in their lives because they didn't carry their phones with them everywhere they went. Now, everyone and their brother has a cell phone. You can't escape your phone now, even if you want to. Even you leave your house for a moment to buy a gallon of milk, someone can ring your cell phone. You are always on call. You must answer. How can you experience peace if you're worried about who might call you every minute?

American society is obsessed with contact. People don't want to be isolated from others even for an instant. They need to know what others are doing all the time. They need to reach them at any moment. While this might yield some "real-time" benefits, I argue that our society's obsession with constant communicative contact makes it more difficult to find peace than it was only 20 years ago. Some call me an "old soul" because I shut myself in a room for several hours every morning and pull the phone line out of the wall. But I just want some peace. I like the idea that I have time to myself each day when no one can reach me, even in an emergency. If something horrible happens, I'll find out about it when I'm ready. Yet in most cases, if someone calls me, it won't be an emergency. It will be a sales call or a pollster. Screw them. I don't want to hear it. Thank God for caller ID.

I understand that I am a mighty rare bird. I have always relished outdated communicative means. I write handwritten notes. I like meeting people in person. I like face-to-face conversations. I embrace technology to the extent that it makes my daily routine easier. But I do not dive headlong into real-time contact with everyone all the time. I joined Facebook mainly as a free forum for my writing and to learn about old friends. I've had a cell phone since 2000 because sometimes I need to let people know where I am. But I don't update my status every 20 seconds, nor do I make random calls to everyone in my contacts folder. No, I want peace.

I just can't understand why so many people want to know "what's going on with everyone" all the time. For example, I cannot ride the elevator in my apartment building without seeing some well-dressed woman on a mobile device furiously typing something. Strangely, it's always a woman, and always white. I see them on the weekends, early in the morning, at night, in the evening, you name it. What are they writing about? Why? To whom? It can't just be about work: You don't write work emails at 11 PM on Saturday, do you? I can't figure it out, but that's because I'm Balthazar Oesterhoudt, an antiquated man who likes reading, peace and quiet. Can someone tell me what these women are scribbling? What the hell is so important? Can't it wait until they get where they're going? Why couldn't they write the message before leaving the apartment? Why try to do four things at once? These questions perplex me; and they make me question my place in this linked-in society: Do I even belong in this century?

Friedrich Nietzsche wrote a polemic called "Uncontemporary Observations." He dared to criticize beliefs and trends that most people in his day simply assumed to be valid. I continue that tradition. I do not like this linked-in society and I find it quite disturbing. I like privacy. More and more, our society willingly cedes its privacy in order to "let everyone else know what's going on with us all the time." Sadly, even professional success now depends on "how many people you know" and "how well you communicate with lots people in your 'network.'" That, in turn, engendered an entirely new--and distinctly American--concept in the English language: "NETWORKING."

I don't "network." I maintain human relationships with as many people as I can. I do not cultivate relationships that I know won't go anywhere. And I certainly do not calculate relationships in order to win petty career advancement. I don't like using people for selfish ends. Yet this is precisely what "networking" demands. I am not "successful" in the linked-in world because I do not like exploiting others for my own gain. I actually take pride in that. If I fail because I do not properly "network," I consider that a compliment.

But again, I am a mighty rare bird. I take my time when I speak, read and write. I don't stop reading something because it's over a sentence long. I relish life as it comes; I don't try to manipulate it according to a plan or expectation.

People who "network" don't have time for that. Every conversation must yield a tangible benefit; every contact must have a "purpose" that leads closer to a "goal." If you write something, it had better be short because these folks are in a hurry. There is never enough time for them. And that's why there is no peace in the linked-in society. You have peace when you have enough time each day to meaningfully pursue your own heart. If finding peace means turning off your cell phone for a few hours, I say do it.

Speak when you want to, not because you must. That will bring you some peace. Unplug yourself for a while. It is quite rewarding. Who knows: You might actually feel human again.

COMMUNICATE CLEARLY IN A LANGUAGE EVERYONE SPEAKS

CONSIDERED OPINION

By : Mr. D. Irwin Wudditworth, M.B.A., Senior Manager, Pryor Cox Wealth Management Associates LLC (A Professional Financial Group Specializing in Estates, Trusts, Investment Instruments, Funds and Precious Metal Acquisitions for Both Banks and Individuals); Lecturer on Communication Issues in the Financial Community; Boat Enthusiast; World Traveler and Linguist.

Language is important. Without language, it would be impossible to effectively communicate with other people. Language enables us to precisely transfer information, thoughts, beliefs and emotions from our own minds to others. True, we do not always communicate with language. Sometimes, we convey our thoughts, beliefs and emotions with our bodies. But body language does not suffice for significant financial transactions. I could not, for example, use body language to say: “I offer to sell these low-bearing investment trust certificates at 5 points over prime on or before the close of business this Friday, May 24, 2010.” Only language can transfer all the information relevant to that transaction. Facial expressions, gestures, grunts, winnies, guffaws, clicks, gesticulations, guttural noises, squeaks, hand waving or even muscular spasms could never exactly inform the listener about the transaction I contemplated. Put simply, we need language to provide and receive the information necessary to do business.

But this creates new problems. Although language enables a speaker and a listener to pass information necessary to consummate mutually profitable deals with one another, the world is large. Not everyone speaks the same national tongue. For example, I cannot call a Chinese manufacturer on the telephone and say in English: “Listen up, Chu, I want 45,000 bales of unprocessed indigo sent FOB to my pier in Los Angeles by 6 PM on Monday the 14th. I’ll take care of the insurance. What’s the market price today?” If I said these words, they would sound like pure gibberish to Mr. Chu. Yet both Mr. Chu and I have the capacity to use language; we both want to profit from one another. Still, we do not speak the same language. The language barrier makes it impossible for us to consummate a financial transaction. That is a problem. Thus, it is not enough to speak just any language. To successfully engage in commerce, both the buyer and seller must speak the same language. What good is a well-written contract if no one understands what it says?

How can conscientious businessmen overcome these linguistic difficulties? True success requires clear communication and a solid financial vision. And the only way to clearly communicate is to speak in the listener’s language. Many companies try to teach people how to speak foreign languages. They say that “anyone can learn a new language” if they try hard enough. But learning foreign languages is burdensome. It takes forever to learn countless new words and idioms. Even after learning all the words, native speakers correct you and make you feel like a fool for making grammatical errors. Although it can be intellectually satisfying to learn a foreign language, it takes far too much time. It can take decades to truly learn another language. In the wealth management business, we don’t have decades to do deals; we need to do deals every month. If we wasted our time learning foreign languages, we would go out of business. Additionally, “intellectual satisfaction” is a paltry reward for the immense effort needed to learn the language. Worse, even after investing countless, unpaid hours into learning the new language, in the end you’ve only learned one language. There are hundreds of languages left on earth, each of which is a potential market. It does no good to spend a lifetime learning Italian when you need to make money in Russia. In this light, learning foreign languages—while essential to doing business abroad—is not financially practicable. Basically, it takes too long and brings in comparatively little for the effort. No matter how you slice it, language learning is a bad business proposition.

I am not ashamed to admit that I do not speak Dutch. I don’t speak Portuguese, Hindi or Chinese, either. In fact, I only speak English. This limits my linguistic ability to consummate profitable transactions with foreign speakers. But there are other ways to communicate with others beyond national language. I speak a much more universal language, a language that everyone on earth understands: Money. Everyone knows what cash is. Everyone likes bank checks and deposit certificates. Everyone likes high-yield promissory notes and bearer bonds. Money talks. And it talks very clearly. No one misunderstands money. It can negotiate better than any urbane linguist, no matter how many degrees he has on his wall. When it comes to convincing people, I don’t need to waste 20 years learning French. I don’t need to understand poetry or opera. I just need to put up some numbers.

In the Old Testament, it says that God deliberately scattered human beings by splitting them into different linguistic groups. The Bible says: “Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand each other’s speech.” Genesis 11:7. I hate to disagree with God, but I do not believe that language separates us. Quite the contrary, people are more similar to each other than different. Money speaks to all people; it does not “confound” anyone. Everyone understands “wire transfer, “ “cash payment,” “draft charge” and “gold.” God may have tried to separate human beings by splitting their languages, but money has reunited us. We do not need to master grammatical subtleties to “understand” a Japanese person. We just need to know how much he wants for the goods he’s selling. I want the goods; he wants the money. He doesn’t speak English; I don’t speak Japanese. But we both understand each other. Despite God’s best efforts here, money transcends all linguistic quandaries. Put simply, money is a universal communicator. It obliterates divisions and changes minds. It convinces better than any high-flown rhetoric. It is even better than logic: People would much rather have dollars than “sense.”

I believe that everyone on earth can clearly communicate with one another. We all speak money. We all understand money. We all want money. If we all want the same thing, why should we squabble and misunderstand each other? In my experience as a wealth manager, money answers every question. Whether I’m dealing with a Belgian industrialist or an Indian baker, the question is always the same: “How much do I get?” And my question is always the same: “What’s the fee?” No matter how divergent our cultures or how varied our languages, money unifies us. There is no reason for us to fight. We both just want money. Culture, religion, national traditions and social customs do not really matter in the end. Without money to pay bills, buy food and maintain homes, there would be no culture or national tradition. People know that. That is why they all speak money. Everything else is secondary. I believe that our world can be a better place if we all just focus on the thing that unites us all: Money.

In this light, I am proud to work at a firm that promotes international understanding. In my business, I see people from all over the world smiling, laughing and singing. Why? Because they are making money. My firm does not speak their national language. It does not even really care about their traditions or their national folk heroes. It simply allows them to conclude profitable international business transactions at reasonable rates. We do not condescend to our clients. We merely show them numbers and profits. We do not need to master their languages or cultures. We talk money. And they understand us perfectly. Even the most recalcitrant Islamist smiles when we show him a productive portfolio, even if the money comes from Christian-owned enterprises. In this way, money does not transcend national and linguistic lines; it even crosses deeply-rooted religious hatreds. Money makes everyone smile, even Jihadists and African dictators. It defuses tensions. That is a beautiful thing.

God may have separated human beings by “confounding” their languages. He may have tried to breed discord and confusion among nations by interfering with our ability to communicate with one another. But God underestimated modern commerce. Today, people all over the world no longer need to understand every word they hear. They just need to know dollar amounts. Understanding is simple. It is all about cash, dividends, returns, puts, calls and sales. I am proud to work for a firm that promotes international understanding and clear communication. I speak money. No one misunderstands me. I do not offend anyone. I do not make linguistic faux pas or accidentally insult anyone. No, I just show my listeners how much cash they are making. That’s enough to transcend any language barrier. And best of all, I never had to waste any time mastering bewildering new vocabulary or grammar rules. Who has time for that when you can just talk money and everyone understands you every time?

We live in a hopeful time. We can make the world a better place if we all work together and speak money together. We all want the same things in life. At Pryor Cox Wealth Management Associates LLC, we understand what’s important. We make people happy because we communicate clearly. Language is an artificial barrier. We believe that everyone on earth can communicate with one another in peace, as long as they just talk about money. What else really matters, anyway?

Life is too short for confusion. Don’t be misunderstood. Get to the point. Talk money.