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The Comfort of Context: A Critical Self-Reflection on Academic Writing’s Addiction to Background

As I sit here, staring at yet another introduction that begins with “Scholars have long debated…”, I find myself confronting again something uncomfortable about academic writing—our peculiar addiction to creating stability through excessive background and definitions, a practice that actually undermines the very purpose of scholarly discourse. This compulsive need to establish firm ground before making any claims reveals something essential about our relationship with academic writing and perhaps our own insecurities as scholars: We build elaborate foundations of context not because our readers need them, but because we need them, like a security blanket that shields us from the vulnerability of making bold claims in an intellectual landscape where critique is currency.

The ritualism of the academic introduction has become so deeply ingrained in our scholarly consciousness that we barely question its necessity anymore—especially when teaching academic writing to graduates. We meticulously lay out historical trajectories, carefully define every term as if our readers were novices in their own field, and construct elaborate methodological fortresses—all before daring to merely whisper what we actually want to say. This performance of erudition, while comforting to write, creates a peculiar form of what I would call intellectual procrastination. Instead of engaging directly with the tensions and problems that make our research vital, we spend precious pages establishing our membership in the academic club through citation parades and definitional displays. It’s as if we believe our readers won’t trust us to challenge existing knowledge until we’ve proven we can recite it verbatim.

Perhaps most telling is our collective resistance to abandoning these practices even when we intellectually understand their limitations. We know our readers—they are often accomplished scholars in their fields unless we cater our texts explicitly to other audiences—don’t need a Wikipedia-style overview of basic concepts. We recognize that starting with “Since ancient times…” rarely serves any purpose beyond demonstrating our ability to use JSTOR. Yet time and again, we find ourselves falling back into these patterns, like comfort food for the academic soul. This behavior suggests something more than mere habit; it reveals our deep-seated anxiety about academic authority and our place within scholarly discourse. Each carefully constructed paragraph of background becomes a talisman against potential criticism, a way of saying “Look how thoroughly I’ve done my homework!” before daring to contribute an original thought—if at all.

The irony, of course, is that this obsession with stability and stasis often achieves the opposite of its intended effect. Rather than strengthening our arguments, these lengthy preambles dilute them. Rather than engaging our readers, they exhaust them. Rather than demonstrating our mastery of the field, they suggest we’re not confident enough in our contributions to let them stand on their own merits. The real intellectual courage lies perhaps not in proving we know everything that’s come before, but in daring to challenge it directly, to create productive instability that advances our understanding. When we finally do allow ourselves to write introductions that foreground problems rather than background, that challenge assumptions rather than recite them, we often find our writing becoming not just more engaging but more honest about what we’re actually trying to accomplish in our research.

Breaking free from this addiction to context requires more than just technical writing advice—it demands a shift in how we conceive of our relationship with our readers and our role in academic discourse. Instead of viewing our introductions as credentialing exercises, we might reimagine them as invitations to productive discomfort, to the kind of intellectual instability that generates new insights. This means trusting our readers enough to skip the historical tours and definitional parades, and trusting ourselves enough to make bold claims without first constructing elaborate defensive fortifications. Only then might we transform our academic writing from exercises in stability-building to genuine contributions to knowledge that challenge, provoke, and advance our understanding.

Writing, Beyond Background

A Self-Learning Session on Breaking Academic Writing Habits (60 minutes)

STEP 1: Examining Our Academic Security Blankets (15 minutes)

READ these common introduction patterns, reflecting on how often you’ve used them:

Pattern 1: The Historical Journey “Since ancient times, humans have…” “Scholars have long debated…” “The history of [field] shows…”

Pattern 2: The Definition Cascade “Before proceeding, we must define…” “X can be understood as…” “This paper uses Y to mean…”

Pattern 3: The Method Shield “Using qualitative methods…” “Through a mixed-methods approach…” “By applying framework Z…”

Pattern 4: The Citation Club “Smith (2010) argues that…” “Building on Jones’ (2015) framework…” “As numerous scholars have shown (Wilson 2018; Brown 2020)…”

TASK 1: Personal Inventory Write down:

  • Which patterns do you most frequently use in your writing?
  • What makes these patterns feel safe or necessary?
  • When you read others’ work, how do you react to these patterns?
  • What are you trying to prove by using these structures?

STEP 2: Understanding the Psychology of Stability (15 minutes)

READ this reflection: “We construct elaborate backgrounds not because our readers need them, but because we need them. Every definition becomes a shield, every citation a membership card to the academic club. But what if our desire for stability is precisely what prevents us from making meaningful contributions?”

TASK 2: Analyze Your Own Writing

Take a recent introduction you’ve written and:

  1. Highlight every sentence that:
    • Provides historical context
    • Defines terms
    • Reviews literature
    • Describes methods
  2. For each highlighted section, ask:
    • Does this advance my argument?
    • Does this create value for my readers?
    • Could I remove this without losing anything essential?
    • What am I afraid would happen if I cut this?

STEP 3: From Stability to Productive Discomfort (15 minutes)

TASK 3: Transform These Stable Introductions into Problem-Centered Ones

Example: STABLE: “Migration studies has long examined cultural integration in urban spaces. Scholars have defined integration through various lenses, from economic to social factors. This paper uses ethnographic methods to study Berlin’s Turkish Market…”

UNSTABLE: “The celebrated ‘success story’ of Berlin’s Turkish Market masks a troubling paradox: while we praise its cultural authenticity, we simultaneously expect it to adapt to German urban norms. This tension reveals how current frameworks for understanding cultural integration fundamentally misread the dynamic nature of immigrant spaces…”

Now try these:

  1. Transform a historical opening into a current problem
  2. Replace a definition cascade with a conceptual challenge
  3. Convert a methodology shield into a problem-solving approach

STEP 4: Testing Your Transformations (15 minutes)

For each rewritten introduction, ask:

  • Does it create immediate tension?
  • Would readers in your field care about this problem?
  • Does it challenge existing understanding?
  • Does it promise valuable insights?

Final Reflection: Consider how different your writing feels when you:

  • Start with instability rather than stability
  • Challenge rather than reinforce existing knowledge
  • Focus on problems rather than background
  • Trust your readers’ expertise

Homework: Take the introduction of your current project and:

  1. Identify all stability-creating elements
  2. Remove or transform each one
  3. Foreground the key problem or tension
  4. Test whether each sentence creates value for your readers

Remember: Your goal isn’t to prove you’ve done your homework – it’s to show readers why they should care about your work right now.

The Art of Unsettling Minds: An Exploration of Challenging Assumptions in Academic Writing

writing seminar, commentary on session #5: challenging assumptions


I. Introduction: Setting the Table for Thought

Welcome, dear reader, to our table of inquiry. Here, we don’t just sip on our coffees; we also drink from the fountain of questioning. Our topic today is as stimulating as a double espresso – challenging assumptions in academic writing. Why, you ask? Because, as we’ve all experienced, a text that merely skates on the surface of established ideas is as engaging as a bland diet of unsalted crackers.

II. The Essence of Academic Inquiry: Why We Challenge Assumptions

In the realm of academic writing, challenging assumptions is not just a fancy exercise. It’s a vital heartbeat. Imagine a world where Galileo never questioned the geocentric model, or if Rosalind Franklin accepted DNA as a simple, straightforward molecule. Boring, right? Academic writing thrives on destabilizing the status quo, akin to adding a twist to a well-known tale, making it intriguing and worth exploring.

III. The Problem with Problems: Beyond the Gap Theory

Traditionally, academic texts focus on filling ‘gaps’. But let’s be honest, not every gap needs filling. Some are as inconsequential as a missing sock. Instead, we should focus on ‘instabilities’ – those tantalizing spots where something is amiss, incomplete, or just plain odd. These are not just gaps; they are the seeds of intellectual curiosity.

IV. The Dance of Destabilization: Techniques in Disguise

How do we introduce these instabilities? It’s a delicate dance. One method is by presenting counterintuitive data – imagine revealing that the villain in a story is actually the hero, jolting the reader’s preconceived notions. Or, by contrasting established views with emerging perspectives, akin to showing that the quiet character in the corner has the most profound insights. And let’s not forget the power of questioning norms, the equivalent of asking why the emperor is, indeed, not wearing any clothes.

V. The Balance of Respectful Challenge

Now, challenging assumptions is not about steamrolling over established beliefs with the arrogance of a know-it-all. It’s about inviting the reader on an enlightening journey. It’s the difference between a teacher who throws facts in your face and one who guides you to the discovery. The key? Back your challenges with evidence, acknowledge different perspectives, and aim to enlighten, not belittle.

VI. Engaging the Reader: The Art of Intellectual Seduction

The ultimate goal is to engage the reader. You don’t want your reader nodding off; you want them on the edge of their seat, eagerly turning the page. This requires a mix of clarity, metaphoric creativity, and an invitation to self-reflection. It’s like being a magician who doesn’t just perform tricks but encourages the audience to ponder the mysteries of the universe.

VII. Conclusion: The Joy of Intellectual Unrest

In conclusion, challenging assumptions in academic writing is not just about being contrarian. It’s about sparking curiosity, pushing boundaries, and engaging in a deeper exploration of ideas. It’s a celebration of intellectual unrest, a testament to the human spirit’s unending quest for understanding. So, as you return to your writing, remember: the best academic texts don’t just inform; they provoke thought, inspire change, and, above all, awaken the mind.


This essay is an ode to the art of challenging assumptions. It’s an invitation to join the ranks of thinkers who aren’t afraid to ask, “What if?” and “Why not?” Let’s continue to unsettle minds, including our own, for it is in this intellectual upheaval that true learning and understanding are born.

writing seminar, commentary on session #4: constructing the problem

Academic discourse often touts “objectivity” yet reproduces stale narratives that bolster status quos and power. But when dealing with topics like the Middle East, we must move beyond “generic truisms” that reinforce simplistic binaries and static notions about the region, and shake up entrenched assumptions that flatten complex realities into simplistic binaries: West/East, colonizer/colonized, modern/traditional.

Rather than filling “gaps”, we could ask “what if?” questions that jolt static mindsets. What if we viewed women’s rights through diverse local lenses rather than monolithic religious ones? How might our conceptions of “civil society” change if we trace the term’s contextual origins?

We can present contradictory evidence that adds nuance to notions of fixed identity. While Islam is incredibly diverse, it is often portrayed as a singular culture. And seemingly “static” villages contain internal debates on social change.

Dominant narratives rarely emerge from those marginalized. We need situated perspectives: platforming Middle Eastern women’s scholarship to counter Western paternalism. And applying a power analysis to knowledge production itself—how funding and institutions perpetuate status quos.

This work of unsettling stable truths swims against academic conventions. But carving out unstable spaces where new modes of thought take root is vital for grappling with multifaceted realities. Although unsettling, the cracks where light seeps in reveal possibilities for connection across difference.