For a while, some of the right-wing folks had me intrigued.
The talk of Hillary Clinton suddenly taking on a Southern accent during her speech last week at Selma was on the lips of conservative talking heads across the country—just one more example, they suggested, of her cold and calculated political maneuvering.
And if Clinton had done that, it would be fascinating (although the fact that she lived for years and years in Arkansas would make it a bit less dramatic than it seems at first glance).
But then I saw excerpts of her speech, and from what I could tell, the only part when she dipped into anything like a Southern dialect was when she was quoting from an African American spiritual that contained some idiomatic Black English. The only thing that would make Hillary sound even dopier than suddenly taking on a Southern twang would be to recite Black dialect in her typical upper Midwest accent. That she tried to give the lines a more appropriate reading speaks to her rhetorical common sense, not her calculating manner.
But while conservative commentators predictably let their anxieties and antipathy get in the way of thoughtful critique, there is something interesting to be said about the Clinton/Obama dueling speeches in Selma.
I suspect that no matter what happens in 2008, these speeches will be the subject of many a rhetorical critique exercise in political science and communication courses. What makes them fascinating is that the situations were so parallel that you have almost a pure comparison of rhetorical styles. Clinton and Obama spoke on the same day, in African American churches only blocks apart, on the same general topic (the anniversary of the 1965 civil rights march at Selma). Their audiences were largely similar, and their purposes also paralleled each other: both were speaking in the context of running for their party’s presidential nomination, and both wanted make the case that they had connections to the soul of the African American community. To do this, both had to overcome a sense that they were separated from that community by a wide gulf of social class, geography, and (even in Obama’s case) race.
Clinton had to overcome the perception that, unlike her husband, she was a typical limousine liberal without a genuine attachment to the concerns of Southern African Americans. Obama had to overcome the notion that he was somehow not “Black enough,” and perhaps not African American at all, in the usual sense, since he is not the descendent of slaves.
There’s a lot that can and will be said about how each candidate handled their parallel challenges. To get the ball rolling, I’d like to invoke the name of Kenneth Burke, perhaps the most famous American rhetorical scholar.
You might have run into Burke’s ideas if you’ve taken a college-level composition class in the last 20-30 years or so. Many freshman writing texts mention Burke’s “Pentad” in terms of finding ideas or angles on a subject you want to write about.
Burke’s pentad is a grouping of five (obviously) terms: act, agent, agency, scene, and purpose. They basically boil down to asking questions about an event: What is happening? Who is doing the action? How are they doing the action? Where/when is the action taking place? What is the action intended to accomplish?
In some ways, these parallel the typical “reporters questions:” who, what, when, where, why, and how. The main difference is that reporters ask their questions about the events themselves. Burke’s Pentad primarily targets what people say about the events.
One of Burke’s suggestions is that in any piece of rhetoric, there are usually two terms of the five that emerge as the central tension. And these two terms exist in a “ratio” that privileges one over the other. Which of the two terms is privileged changes the character of the rhetoric (e.g., a speech that privileges act over agency will be different than one that privileges agency over act).
In the case of the Clinton and Obama speeches, it’s obvious that scene plays a major role in both speeches. They are giving speeches in Selma about an event that happened there. Their audience includes people who actually participated in this event. They speak in African American churches that evoke the genesis of the Civil Rights movement. When speakers are commemorating an event at or near the site of that event, it’s a safe bet that “scene” is going to be one of the central terms.
So, the next question is what is the other half of this central ratio of terms in each speech?
I suggest that Clinton and Obama’s speeches pair “scene” up with two different terms, and for understandable reasons. These choices shape the very different speeches they give.
In Clinton’s case, her speech centers on the purpose/scene ratio (with “purpose” being the dominant term). Obama’s speech centers on the act/scene ratio (with “act” being the dominant term).
Why is this?
To quote a fairly widely used introductory text on rhetorical criticism (Modern Rhetorical Criticism by Hart and Daughton), speeches in which “purpose” dominates “scene” (such as Clinton’s) tend to focus on the general feelings and intentions of the people who participated in the event rather than the specific situation of the community these people came from. Such a speech “argues that one’s feelings and thoughts are of such importance that they override social and other consequences.”
And that’s exactly what we see in Clinton’s speech. She often abstracts the specific motivations of the marchers to talk about their general commitment to social justice, and how the march, while ostensibly about civil rights for African Americans in the 1960s, was really a fight for equality in general. Clinton goes so far as to say that she might not have been able to run for president had it not been for the blow for equality the 1965 marchers struck.
Speeches in which “act” dominates “scene” (such as Obama’s) focus on the “freely chosen activities” of the people who participated in the event. Such a speech “describes a person or group’s behavior as being of such heroic proportions that the actions of others pale in comparison.”
And that’s what we see in Obama’s speech. He praises those who marched and bemoans the fact that “we might have lost something” since then, that the current generation might not have the same fortitude and commitment as the 1965 marchers. He, too, links himself to the marchers, but takes this link to a much more concrete level than does Clinton. Rather than simply aligning his own general political values with those of the marchers, he says he might not even exist, literally, if it hadn’t been for that march.
What this reveals is that despite the almost identical situations Clinton and Obama faced, as well as the shared obstacle of creating a sense of identity between themselves and a community they didn’t obviously belong to, the rhetorical options open to Obama were wider than those for Clinton. In the end, Obama, while perhaps not “Black enough” for some, *is* identified as Black. If we grant that race is a social construct, Obama fits into that construct, at least for most. Clinton, of course, does not (despite the fact that some have argued that her husband, despite his pigmentation, did fall into that social construct in important ways).
This cannot he more clear than in the section of Obama’s speech in which, after noting that the current generation might not be adequately filling the shoes of the ’65 marchers, he chides today’s generation (and, implicitly, today’s generation of African Americans) for a lack of motivation. This is a move Clinton could never make.
This culminates in the following excerpt from Obama’s speech:
The talk of Hillary Clinton suddenly taking on a Southern accent during her speech last week at Selma was on the lips of conservative talking heads across the country—just one more example, they suggested, of her cold and calculated political maneuvering.
And if Clinton had done that, it would be fascinating (although the fact that she lived for years and years in Arkansas would make it a bit less dramatic than it seems at first glance).
But then I saw excerpts of her speech, and from what I could tell, the only part when she dipped into anything like a Southern dialect was when she was quoting from an African American spiritual that contained some idiomatic Black English. The only thing that would make Hillary sound even dopier than suddenly taking on a Southern twang would be to recite Black dialect in her typical upper Midwest accent. That she tried to give the lines a more appropriate reading speaks to her rhetorical common sense, not her calculating manner.
But while conservative commentators predictably let their anxieties and antipathy get in the way of thoughtful critique, there is something interesting to be said about the Clinton/Obama dueling speeches in Selma.
I suspect that no matter what happens in 2008, these speeches will be the subject of many a rhetorical critique exercise in political science and communication courses. What makes them fascinating is that the situations were so parallel that you have almost a pure comparison of rhetorical styles. Clinton and Obama spoke on the same day, in African American churches only blocks apart, on the same general topic (the anniversary of the 1965 civil rights march at Selma). Their audiences were largely similar, and their purposes also paralleled each other: both were speaking in the context of running for their party’s presidential nomination, and both wanted make the case that they had connections to the soul of the African American community. To do this, both had to overcome a sense that they were separated from that community by a wide gulf of social class, geography, and (even in Obama’s case) race.
Clinton had to overcome the perception that, unlike her husband, she was a typical limousine liberal without a genuine attachment to the concerns of Southern African Americans. Obama had to overcome the notion that he was somehow not “Black enough,” and perhaps not African American at all, in the usual sense, since he is not the descendent of slaves.
There’s a lot that can and will be said about how each candidate handled their parallel challenges. To get the ball rolling, I’d like to invoke the name of Kenneth Burke, perhaps the most famous American rhetorical scholar.
You might have run into Burke’s ideas if you’ve taken a college-level composition class in the last 20-30 years or so. Many freshman writing texts mention Burke’s “Pentad” in terms of finding ideas or angles on a subject you want to write about.
Burke’s pentad is a grouping of five (obviously) terms: act, agent, agency, scene, and purpose. They basically boil down to asking questions about an event: What is happening? Who is doing the action? How are they doing the action? Where/when is the action taking place? What is the action intended to accomplish?
In some ways, these parallel the typical “reporters questions:” who, what, when, where, why, and how. The main difference is that reporters ask their questions about the events themselves. Burke’s Pentad primarily targets what people say about the events.
One of Burke’s suggestions is that in any piece of rhetoric, there are usually two terms of the five that emerge as the central tension. And these two terms exist in a “ratio” that privileges one over the other. Which of the two terms is privileged changes the character of the rhetoric (e.g., a speech that privileges act over agency will be different than one that privileges agency over act).
In the case of the Clinton and Obama speeches, it’s obvious that scene plays a major role in both speeches. They are giving speeches in Selma about an event that happened there. Their audience includes people who actually participated in this event. They speak in African American churches that evoke the genesis of the Civil Rights movement. When speakers are commemorating an event at or near the site of that event, it’s a safe bet that “scene” is going to be one of the central terms.
So, the next question is what is the other half of this central ratio of terms in each speech?
I suggest that Clinton and Obama’s speeches pair “scene” up with two different terms, and for understandable reasons. These choices shape the very different speeches they give.
In Clinton’s case, her speech centers on the purpose/scene ratio (with “purpose” being the dominant term). Obama’s speech centers on the act/scene ratio (with “act” being the dominant term).
Why is this?
To quote a fairly widely used introductory text on rhetorical criticism (Modern Rhetorical Criticism by Hart and Daughton), speeches in which “purpose” dominates “scene” (such as Clinton’s) tend to focus on the general feelings and intentions of the people who participated in the event rather than the specific situation of the community these people came from. Such a speech “argues that one’s feelings and thoughts are of such importance that they override social and other consequences.”
And that’s exactly what we see in Clinton’s speech. She often abstracts the specific motivations of the marchers to talk about their general commitment to social justice, and how the march, while ostensibly about civil rights for African Americans in the 1960s, was really a fight for equality in general. Clinton goes so far as to say that she might not have been able to run for president had it not been for the blow for equality the 1965 marchers struck.
Speeches in which “act” dominates “scene” (such as Obama’s) focus on the “freely chosen activities” of the people who participated in the event. Such a speech “describes a person or group’s behavior as being of such heroic proportions that the actions of others pale in comparison.”
And that’s what we see in Obama’s speech. He praises those who marched and bemoans the fact that “we might have lost something” since then, that the current generation might not have the same fortitude and commitment as the 1965 marchers. He, too, links himself to the marchers, but takes this link to a much more concrete level than does Clinton. Rather than simply aligning his own general political values with those of the marchers, he says he might not even exist, literally, if it hadn’t been for that march.
What this reveals is that despite the almost identical situations Clinton and Obama faced, as well as the shared obstacle of creating a sense of identity between themselves and a community they didn’t obviously belong to, the rhetorical options open to Obama were wider than those for Clinton. In the end, Obama, while perhaps not “Black enough” for some, *is* identified as Black. If we grant that race is a social construct, Obama fits into that construct, at least for most. Clinton, of course, does not (despite the fact that some have argued that her husband, despite his pigmentation, did fall into that social construct in important ways).
This cannot he more clear than in the section of Obama’s speech in which, after noting that the current generation might not be adequately filling the shoes of the ’65 marchers, he chides today’s generation (and, implicitly, today’s generation of African Americans) for a lack of motivation. This is a move Clinton could never make.
This culminates in the following excerpt from Obama’s speech:
We got power in our hands. Folks are complaining about the quality of our
government, I understand there's something to be complaining about. I'm in
Washington. I see what's going on. I see those powers and principalities have
snuck back in there, that they're writing the energy bills and the drug laws.
We understand that, but I'll tell you what. I also know that, if cousin
Pookie would vote, get off the couch and register some folks and go to the
polls, we might have a different kind of politics . . . We have too many
children in poverty in this country and everybody should be ashamed, but don't
tell me it doesn't have a little to do with the fact that we got too many
daddies not acting like daddies. Don’t think that fatherhood ends at conception.
I know something about that because my father wasn't around when I was young and I struggled.
If you think Clinton got raked over the coals for using a bit of Black dialect, what do you think would’ve happened had she invoked “cousin Pookie?”
Throughout the speech, Obama identifies himself with his audience, using “we” again and again. (Obama’s speech uses some version of the first person more than 50% more frequently than does Clinton’s). He breaks down the supposed barriers between his own past and the past of his mostly African American audience by talking about his own fatherless childhood, as well as the fact that his father faced discrimination in Africa similar to that faced by African Americans in the U.S.
While both Clinton and Obama attempt to forge an identity with their audience and with the people and events of 1965 (including, in both cases, dipping into the rhetorical style of African American sermons), they ultimately do it in different ways because of the essential difference in their separation from that community. Obama’s autobiography allows him to more clearly tie himself to the marchers and to his audience, hence the more specific focus on those who marched and our indebtedness to them. For Clinton, the color of her skin is an obstacle that can’t be ignored or talked away. She must settle for a broader, gauzier, sense of identity that focuses on shared abstract principles.
Not only does this affect the way Obama and Clinton create a sense of shared identity with their audience, but also what they can do with it. As we’ve seen, Obama can offer critique from an insider’s point of view; he can chide and goad his audience in a way that would be unthinkable for Clinton. He can do this because of his insider status.
If nothing else, this tells us a lot about the power of race in American political discourse. As much as we might like to think such boundaries have faded, they still offer insurmountable obstacles that must be negotiated carefully by rhetors.
Despite the length of this post, there’s tons more that could be said about these speeches, even just from the standpoint of the pentad-based analysis I’ve sketched out here. A close reading of the speeches reveals a great deal more. And any number of other approaches would likely reveal lots of good insights as well. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the speeches.
Some questions to ponder and comment on, if you feel like it:
Do you have a sense that either/both Clinton and Obama were being “inauthentic” in their speeches?
Would Bill Clinton have more rhetorical room to maneuver if he had been in his wife’s position? Why?
What other terms of the Pentad do you feel are in play in either/both speeches?
Do you think there would be a significant difference in the level of African American involvement and support for the Democratic ticket in 2008 if the nominee were Obama rather than Clinton?
Did Hillary Clinton have any more “baggage” to overcome in forging a sense of identity with her audience than other white politicians (e.g., John Edwards)? Less?
Generally, how did you personally respond to the speeches? There different situations aside, did you feel one clearly delivered the superior speech?
1 comment:
Do you have a sense that either/both Clinton and Obama were being “inauthentic” in their speeches?
I am more down on Clinton than Obama, which surprised me that I thought Clinton's speech was good. It was far better than I thought it would be. I understood what she was doing with the 'down home' reference, and took no offense to it. I know someone who was completely irked by what they believed was Clinton beng condescending, and I told this person that I thought they shouldn't be offended, because I didn't feel it was a Black audience specific - I just think she's condescending naturally, which is why I tuned it out.
Obama made me laugh a bit at the trying to be Southern, but that's ok. The most high-falutin' of us tries to be ' down home' the moment they step inside of a Black church.
Would Bill Clinton have more rhetorical room to maneuver if he had been in his wife’s position? Why?
Yes, because Bill's a Southerner. I think we would have given any 'sincere' Southerner (Clinton, Jimmy Carter, even John Edwards) lattitude that a White, Northern politician will never get.
Do you think there would be a significant difference in the level of African American involvement and support for the Democratic ticket in 2008 if the nominee were Obama rather than Clinton?
I think it would probably be the highest percentage turnout since the first election after the Voting Rights Act passed.
Did Hillary Clinton have any more “baggage” to overcome in forging a sense of identity with her audience than other white politicians (e.g., John Edwards)? Less?
Yes, she does, and I don't know how she will overcome it, because it's just a part of who she is.
Generally, how did you personally respond to the speeches? There different situations aside, did you feel one clearly delivered the superior speech?
I believe Obama delivered the superior speech, because he attempted to address all of the attacks and questions that had been swirling around him since he formally announced.
- no, I might not have been descendant of slaves, but I am a descendant of slave owners, which I know many Black folk in America can relate to.
-no, I might not have been descendant of slaves, but my African family in Kenya under colonial rule was no walk in the park.
- the grandfather referred to as a ' houseboy'
-the folks in Selma, et al, showing America's hypocrisy to the world, and them going to get others, to show that they're not bad folks, thus his father being able to come to America
- the not so small secret that Black folks in the South WERE the inspiration to oppressed peoples AROUND THE WORLD
- him reminding the audience in the church, and viewing audience, that he understands what it means to be a fatherless Black boy, no matter how much love the rest of the family stepped up to give.
- then handling the ' he's not ready' charge by bringing it back to the Bible - Moses and Joshua
I think it was an excellent speech for Obama.
Good post, and I liked your blog.
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