June 20, 2025
The ongoing discussions surrounding artificial intelligence and punctuation reveal much about the current state of academia, as noted by Joseph Mellors.
In recent times, a peculiar obsession has surfaced within academic circles: the em dash. More specifically, there is a growing concern regarding its spacing. A dash that lacks spaces on either side? That’s a clear indicator of AI-generated text, or so the narrative goes.
What may appear to be a trivial stylistic choice has, in some instances, evolved into a benchmark for determining authenticity. But authenticity in what context—and for whom? The reality is that there is no universally accepted guideline dictating how em dashes ought to be formatted. For example, various publications, including newspapers and magazines, often place spaces around the em dash, while most books and scholarly journals do not. Yet, a certain type of academic will spot a closely spaced dash and proclaim: “AI.”
This phenomenon speaks less to the intricacies of punctuation and more to the broader anxieties present in academic knowledge creation—concerning writing, authority, and who is permitted to articulate ideas within the academic framework.
Historically, academic writing has been a domain of exclusion. Mastering its conventions—structures, tones, and unspoken rules—often holds as much weight as the content itself. These conventions are not impartial; they favor those who are adept in a specific form of English and a particular intellectual performance. While these standards have occasionally served a purpose—such as ensuring precision and nuance—they have also acted as barriers, obscuring access and signaling membership to a select group of insiders.
In this context, the advent of generative AI signifies a substantial shift. It does not replace critical thinking—clearly, it does not—but it reduces the hurdles to articulating ideas in an appropriate manner. It simplifies the writing process for brilliant thinkers who may struggle with academic language. It opens doors for scholars who are writing in their second or third languages, for early-career researchers who have yet to grasp the unspoken codes, and for anyone who simply wishes to communicate more effectively. This is not a trivial change; it represents a move towards democratizing academic expression.
However, this shift brings both opportunities and anxieties.
Recently, I have encountered academic works that likely utilized AI writing tools—whether to organize thoughts, enhance clarity, or refine arguments. Some of these pieces have been genuinely outstanding: clear, incisive, and original. The ideas are coherent and well-articulated. The writing prioritizes clarity over complexity, inviting a broader audience to engage.
In contrast, a significant portion of traditionally polished academic writing still seems encumbered by its own formality—long-winded sentences and convoluted prose that meanders and loops back on itself. Complexity should not be shunned, but it should not be mistaken for value. The most effective writing does not seek to impress; it seeks to illuminate.
It goes without saying that I will refrain from citing specific examples—whether of the work I suspect was AI-assisted or the work that could have benefited from some assistance.
So, why do so many in academic circles fixate on supposed indicators of AI usage—like em dashes—rather than focusing on the substance of the ideas themselves?
Part of the answer lies in the ongoing ethical discourse surrounding AI. There are legitimate concerns regarding transparency, authorship, citation, and the necessity of human oversight. Guidance from various organizations and emerging policies from academic journals reflect the need for thoughtful governance. These discussions are crucial. However, they should not devolve into suspicion for suspicion’s sake. The academic landscape has never been entirely equitable. Those with access to time, mentorship, editorial support, and prestigious institutions have long enjoyed invisible advantages.
AI tools, in many respects, broaden that access.
Of course, there are potential pitfalls. Overreliance on AI can lead to formulaic writing or a homogenization of style. Yet, these issues are not new—they predate AI and are often embedded within the structures of academic publishing itself. The greater risk now is a form of reactionary gatekeeping: dismissing writing not based on its content, but rather on its appearance, conflating typography with intellectual integrity.
What is needed instead is a mature, open dialogue about how AI integrates into the evolving landscape of scholarly work. We require clear, consistent guidelines that acknowledge both the advantages and limitations of these tools. Recent statements from major institutions have begun to address this, but more are necessary. We need transparency regarding how AI is utilized—without attaching stigma to its use. Most importantly, we must refocus on what truly matters: the quality of thought, the strength of contributions, and the clarity with which ideas are conveyed.
The em dash is not the issue. Neither is AI. The real challenge lies in a scholarly culture that remains too often fixated on performance over substance—where form is used to obscure or elevate rather than to express.
If we genuinely aim to make knowledge more inclusive, global, and equitable, we should embrace tools that enable more individuals to participate in its creation. Not uncritically, but with openness. Not in secrecy, but with responsibility.
What we should be asking is not “Was this produced with AI?” but rather, “Is this work rigorous? Is it generous? Does it encourage us to think differently?”
That is the kind of scholarship that deserves our attention—em dash or not.