Of course, the problem is a bit more complex than a simple “which group is better”; certain subgroups of humanities majors, most notably those in the “Ideological Studies” ghetto, are taught to write such convoluted, cumbersome gibberish that after graduation most of them can’t stop doing it even when explicitly told not to. I was once in a working group trying to draft a press release; despite everyone being told we wanted to keep the language concise, simple, and straightforward for the general public, the draft modifications one group came up with were absolutely larded with academic and identity-politics jargon. We had to ignore nearly all their contributions in the final draft because the additions, prevarications, disclaimers, lists, and semantically-empty garbage they wanted to insert would’ve tripled the length while crippling the meaning. It’s important to recognize that this was not truly their fault; for their entire academic careers these participants were repeatedly rewarded for crafting ugly, clunky, unreadable rubbish interchangeable with every other statement of its type, the literary equivalent of an East German institutional building. Writing ability develops with practice; unfortunately, many students of the past several decades have been taught practices that make their writing worse instead of better. So, I guess the best summary of the situation is: Most students start as bad writers. STEM students tend not to improve. Humanities majors in traditional fields usually improve at least some. And “ideological studies” majors improve at writing committee-approved ideological garbage. People learn what they’re taught. If they’re taught to write properly, they’ll learn that. If they’re taught to write improperly, they’ll learn that instead. And if they aren’t taught to write at all, they will learn whatever they are taught.