Big Words, Jargon, and Audience Understanding
Is jargon a good thing? How much should we expect our audiences to understand? Should we "dumb it down"? Can we trust our audiences to be smart enough to figure out technical terms and big words? Won't they just look up (on their ever-present smart phones) what they don't know? Or will they ignore us and move on to something easier?
"Trusting the audience" isn't as much about using complex language as it is about communicating clearly and efficiently in  ways the audience will enjoy. This isn't "dumbing down"; it's using language appropriately to tell stories (including complex stories) that connect with our readers.
The issue isn't jargon and whether or not we should use the "big words." Name-dropping doesn't do any good if our audience doesn't understand what we're saying. And you can end up with poor (or brilliant) writing whether it's stuffed with jargon or written for beginning readers.
Accessible writing requires appropriate terminology in the context of the story. Tossing fancy words out there doesn't automatically lead to understanding and enlightenment. We must incorporate the right words, regardless of their size or complexity, such that our visitors, readers, and audience members actually understand what we're talking about and don't feel stupid or ashamed or overwhelmed.
One of the things I watch for is writing (or a verbal presentation, for that matter) that sounds patronizing, either because it's simplified beyond belief (the underlying message is, "Gentle Reader, you'll never have what it takes to understand this, but here are a few drops of dilute content, so you can pretend") or because the language is so dense with jargon, passive voice, and poorly structured sentences that even the most dedicated enthusiasts zone out in under thirty seconds--and if they don't zone out, they end up feeling embarrassed and stupid. Their reasoning (even if it's not conscious) is that, "Everybody else is staring at the guide or feature or sign, and they aren't drooling or asking questions that indicate confusion--so I must be an idiot."
This is NOT the emotional state we want our visitors to have! We want to engage them in ways that make them want to participate, to ask questions, to learn and explore and discover.
This is true for all of the stories we create, and it's especially true for the "hard" stories--stories that are complex or politically charged (climate change, evolution, and neurology, for example), stories about the terrible things people do to each other (the Holocaust of World War II, for example), or stories that make people prickly for a myriad of other reasons.
At first blush, this might seem like a trivial problem. Just use simple language, or big words in the right way, and all will be well. Of course, it isn't that straightforward.
As an example, let's look at these two drafts* for an exhibit label.
Draft A (39 words)
More than 500 million years ago during the Cambrian period, much of the Southwest was covered by a large, shallow sea. There was little terrestrial life at the time, but corals, shellfish, and algae thrived in warm ocean waters.
Draft B (32 words)
More than 500 million years ago, much of the Southwest was covered by a large, shallow sea. Life on land was scarce, but corals, shellfish, and algae thrived in warm ocean waters.
Since we're focusing on big words and jargon, let's begin with the word, "terrestrial," in the second sentence of draft A. Draft B uses "land" instead.
The problem with using "terrestrial" isn't that it's bigger than "land" or more "technical"; the problem is that it's the wrong word. "Terrestrial" means "of, on, or relating to the earth" or "being an inhabitant of the earth"--it refers to the whole planet, not just land masses. In other words, "land" and "terrestrial" aren't actually synonyms. Linguists think that although there are words that have close or similar meanings, there aren't actually any words that mean exactly the same thing--each and every word has its own particular flavor or shade of meaning.**
This brings up the larger issue of striving to use exactly the right word--looking at the precise, specific meaning of the word and making sure that it really is exactly the one best suited to the meaning you want to convey. In this case, using "land" instead of "terrestrial" is actually more accurate: there was a lot of life on the planet, and most of it was in the water.
In this particular example, the choice of terrestrial versus land is also a great example of using language for emphasis or to reinforce meaning. "Land" is a straightforward opposite to "sea" and "waters," so it is immediately clear to the reader or listener that we're talking about not much life on land in this area (as opposed to all land, or all areas of the planet itself, regardless of liquid/solid/gaseous state), which contrasts with lots of action in the water.
Notice, too, that the two versions of the sentence have slightly different structures: "Life on land was" versus "There was little terrestrial life at the time." "Life" is more important and more specific than "There"; draft B's version communicates the sentence's meaning faster and more directly than draft A. And we don't need draft A's "at the time"--we've already specified that we're talking about a particular era.
Alliteration strengthens both sentences (terrestrial and time in draft A, life and land in draft B), but to my ear, the rhythm of the alliteration/near-alliteration (corals, shellfish, algae plus life and land) of draft B works better.
The other big word, "Cambrian," in the first sentence of draft A, is a little trickier than terrestrial. Is it appropriate? Is it necessary? Should we use it?
To decide, the first thing we need to ask is whether one of the goals of this text is to introduce or reinforce this word to the reader. If so, then yes, definitely incorporate it.
The second thing to ask is, who is our audience? Sometimes we think, "Oh, that word's too big, too hard," when it fact, it's a lot of fun (especially for kids) to learn words that are outrageous mouthfuls. That delight actually reinforces the overall message. For many readers and visitors, having a technical term in context that allows them to understand what it means and why it's significant is an important and enjoyable part of the experience. All of this has to do with understanding the reason you're using the technical term or name; without knowing goals and audience, we can't know whether it's appropriate to use "Cambrian."
There's another challenge with both versions: "500 million years ago" is completely abstract. Even though the individual words in this phrase are "small," the number itself is too big to have any meaning; it translates to "long, long, I mean really long-long-long, ago"--which may or may not matter, again depending on what story you're telling and what else you're saying, either in this same chunk of text, the next paragraph, or adjoining or nearby signs.
That, in turn, brings up another question: if it isn't important for the visitor to know or understand "500 million," then why  specify the number at all? And if it is important, then we need to find a way to help the reader understand this vast long-ago. How we do that might be through language--comparison or metaphor, for example--or visually, perhaps a timeline or other graphical cue, or some element of the artifact or landscape being interpreted. The formal name "Cambrian" might (or might not) be part of that solution.
There's another obstacle to accessibility in the first sentence, too, in both drafts: passive voice. Flipping the sentence around to active voice shortens and brightens the copy:
More than 500 million years ago, a large, shallow sea covered much of the Southwest.
Active voice is easier to read and understand; it also shortens the word count. I'd push for a stronger or more unusual verb to replace "covered," too--finding a verb that is exactly, precisely the right verb, one that's a little surprising, which in turn will help our reader understand and remember. Which verb is best--lapped, flowed, sheltered, spread across, topped, veiled, masked, engulfed, something else--depends on what image we want to build, which in turn depends on where the story goes after these opening sentences.
With these changes in place, our next draft might be:
Draft C (30 words)
More than 500 million years ago, a large, shallow sea veiled much of the Southwest. Life on land was scarce, but corals, shellfish, and algae thrived in warm ocean waters.
or
Draft D (34 words)
More than 500 million years ago, in the Cambrian period, a large, shallow sea engulfed much of the Southwest. Life on land was scarce, but corals, shellfish, and algae thrived in warm ocean waters.
These won't be our final drafts, but they're on their way to being accessible, enjoyable, and memorable.
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*Thanks to Cindi Souza for the sample drafts.
**This linguistic theory may not apply equally to all languages. As interpretive designer Dan DiVittorio recently pointed out to me, Italian has identical words that mean many different things--hence the need for the added context provided by Italian speakers' famous gestures and intonation.
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