The Palin Rhetoric

So, I admit it: I've been a lazy blogger of late, more often cribbing discussions I've been having on Facebook than posting original content. But hey--I'm claiming intercontextuality and continuing with the trend (truly, though, I just happen to think some discussions are worth of wider circulation).

The most recent lazy blog, then, comes from a story posted by my friend, Bradley, who readers may notice makes a frequent cameo on this blog. Anywho . . .

Today Bradley posted a link to Dahlia Lithwick's piece for Slate, "Lost in Translation: Why Sarah Palin really quit us." Thought provoking and accurate, the piece got me thinking, so here are my 2-cents:

I couldn't agree more with Lithwick--but I think it goes even a little deeper than a lack of rhetorical finesse. I think Palin is trying to invoke a particular vernacular that signals that she is a "real deal, everyday American gal." I have always argued that Bush-43 utilized a very carefully crafted ethos through his bumbling, good ol' boy vernacular--and say what you will, it worked for a long, long while. His manner mitigated the ivy league/working class tensions that exist in the minds of many, and it prompted his opponents to "misunderestimate" him. Ultimately, that ethos failed and came back to bite him, but I have little doubt that it contributed to his initial, broad appeal. Still, when necessary, Bush could deliver a clear message and even a powerful, effective speech (think his 9/11 speech, which is, rhetorically speaking, quite well crafted and effective).

Now, for Palin (and thanks to Bush-43) that card had been played, and it is now a tired routine. That was strike 1. Strike 2: Palin never played that card half as well as former President Bush.

Strike 3, I think, came in the form of her bull-headed unwillingness to think about her audience and unique rhetorical situation. I've known plenty of people with good ideas who simply cannot communicate them; I've known wonderful communicators who were, after the lovely rhetoric, devoid of good ideas. Palin, I think is a unique case. She seems uninterested in communicating, and so we are left wondering IF she has good ideas. It seems that Palin speaks for an audience of ONE (that one, of course, being herself--and therefore, her discourse is deeply encoded, perforated as if awaiting Gestalt intervention). In studying interaction, once can really only observe and assess what the participants treat as real; in Palin's case, even that is unclear.

Ultimately, she reminds me of the student--and anyone who teaches writing and rhetoric at an intermediate or advanced level knows this student-- who writes in a jumbled, garbled, rambling, ‘noisy’ style completely devoid of internal logic and who seems insulted, affronted that you, as the instructor, don’t ‘get’ his or her genius. It is a challenge to explain just where the writing goes wrong, and a greater challenge to convince the student that there is a problem, one that he or she can overcome.

Ultimately, both parties can end up repeating themselves with growing frustration as they ride this rhetorical Ferris wheel, an unsalvageable situation until at least one party is willing and able to shift into critical engagement mode and slow the ride. In the case of Sarah Palin, neither party seems willing—and she seems particularly resistant, electing instead to yell “faster, faster!”

I think her resignation is a direct result of this crazy ride. Her motivation may truly be noble, but who could tell? And that, I think, is truly unfortunate.

Big Does Not Equal Ubiquitous

Just this morning, a friend drew my attention to yesterday's New York Times Op/Ed by Paul Krugman, "The Big Hate," and it got me thinking . . .

While Krugman's point is well taken, I still think it is a dire mistake to conflate the positions of the loudest, most violent and even sociopathic members of our society with a broader ideology and political organization. The logic doesn't hold: these token 'members' of a group are outliers, and they do not necessarily represent the views or actions of the wider, inherently diverse constituency to which they claim membership . . . and that holds true for any extreme and misguided manifestation (or bastardization) of a political, social, or philosophical position.

With the increasingly violent and tragic events of the past month--slain doctors and Army recruiters, shrill 'celebrity' commentators, horrifying and ugly physical reminders of diseased, seething, and still-extant hatred played out in the halls of a national memorial and monument--attention must be paid to the relationship between language, thought, and action (a matter explicitly rhetorical).

That said, to my mind one of the biggest threats to civic discourse is the all-too-common practice of fallacy that leads even the most well-intentioned among us to permit a small yet terrible number of self-sponsored individuals to represent the attitudes and behaviors of a larger cohort. Seductive though it may be to hold these specimens up as examples of the thoughts and behaviors one, personally, finds objectionable or even reprehensible as a means to oppose and critique, the practice compromises temperance and undermines reason, progress, and responsible engagement.

(Re)Imagining a Common Ground

I have a very difficult time even talking about what has become such a divisive, sedimented 'abortion trope' in our civic discourse, and I have grown weary of the equally emotional, vehement opposition (to put it politely) and even disdain that I encounter--have come to expect-- when I express my opposition to elective abortion. I have in recent years, therefore, opted not to engage the discourse.

That said, Ross Douthat's 8 June 2009 New York Times column, "Not All Abortions are Equal," struck me as worthy of consideration, especially this passage:

"But the law is a not a philosophy seminar. It’s the place where morality meets custom, and compromise, and common sense. And it can take account of tragic situations without universalizing their lessons.

Indeed, the argument that some abortions take place in particularly awful, particularly understandable circumstances is not a case against regulating abortion. It’s the beginning of precisely the kind of reasonable distinction-making that would produce a saner, stricter legal regime."

Perhaps, by re-imagining the common ground, the ability to engage thoughtful, respectful, worthwhile discussion about abortion is actually possible. With any luck, deliberative and responsible discussion will mitigate the violence--both in the language and in the unthinkable acts of physical violence we've seen in recent weeks.

It weighs heavy . . .

"So Right It's Wrong"
The ten conservative women Cimbalo, ostensibly speaking for men-in-the-collective, would like to "hate-fuck."

Excuse me?

I don't know how to approach this subject, as sickened as I am about it. Nothing I could say, really, negates the brutality and depravity of Guy Cimbalo's recent piece for Playboy. Fortunately, others--whose words do not stick in their throats in a sickening, suffocating mass as they negotiate such blatant flagitiousness--have said what I cannot.

Megan at Jezabel writes,

it's not as if Cimbalo does anything in his piece but slag on these women for having the audacity to be attractive, conservative, opinionated and loud about those opinions.

Chip Hanlon writes for The Huffington Post (via AlterNet),

We all know that many good people on both sides of the aisle never consider entering the political arena because the brutal, personal nature of political attacks makes them think to themselves, 'why bother?' Well, it's not hard to imagine an article like this possibly having a chilling affect on some woman out there who might be thinking of running for office herself.

[. . .] condemn this grotesque Playboy article on the basis that it might have just such an impact on a woman who could make a difference.

There are, in fact, many such discussions circulating about Cimbalo's piece and the decision by Playboy to not only post, but promote, this vile rhetoric that I really need not say much; however, I'm not so sure I applaud Playboy's decision to remove the piece from its site, and here's why:

Cimbalo's piece represents an insidious and terrifying reality that must be called out. Language is bound to thought and to action. Forcing such horrifying inclinations and deeply embedded assumptions into hiding does little to address the real problems: first, that these unspeakable perceptions exist at all and, second, they pose a legitimate threat that compromises the integrity of a moral society.

The Quandry

aka "The Baby and the Bathwater"

Q: Is it possible to legitimately separate an argument, a thread or a particular claim, from its philosophical and ideological moorings? To appropriate and apply the premise but reject the foundation from which that premise has emerged? What are the consequences? And am I brave enough—or smart enough—to attempt it? To pull it off successfully?

This is a problem I have been grappling with for quite some time, and it is causing both disquiet and stagnation as I attempt to negotiate the problem, as it is always flowing like an underground river through my dissertation.

Specifically, I find objectionable the implicit violence I read in Critical Literacy texts that call for toppling ‘dominant discourses’ and prescribe an activist political stance toward pedagogy. But while I reject the activist forces that drive the movement, I cannot dismiss the value and importance of the conclusions and arguments advanced by Freire and Giroux, among others. I have written about this tension before, going as far to include in a prelims essay the following:

[. . .] critical literacy holds important implications for understanding the complexity of ethos and for theorizing, practicing, and designing pedagogies that operate on the principle of ethical beneficence and its corollary, Primum non nocere.

However . . .

[Critical Literacy] seems, to me, to assume that power is a zero-sum game and that, in its most extreme interpretation, in order for oppressed or marginalized literate traditions to fully participate or access a given discourse, the existing powers must be countered, resisted, or deposed—almost violently. Its calls, either implicitly or explicitly, for radical pedagogical activism, seem to risk overturning existing hegemonies only to replace them with others [. . .]

and . . .

Insofar as I agree with the many of the claims of Critical Literacy, I can’t help but feel somewhat vilified by them. I am torn between my heritage, the values that inform the culture I live, and the desire to ensure that others have equal and just protections extended to them. And I am unsure how to resolve the problem.

I wrote those passages back in the spring and summer of 2007; a year-and-a-half later, I am no closer to reconciliation. Perhaps I’m too close to it, the old “can’t see the forest for the trees” situation. So I’m asking folks who are smarter than I—what say you? Can I legitimately concede, even embrace, the point while rejecting the call to action--or, at least, the recommended course of action?

Is this something you have encountered? A problem with which you have been able to contend?

Carrying the Standard?

An article from today's Politico titled "Out of Alaska, Palin's Star Shines" caught my attention for many reasons, not the least of which is because I am curious about Palin's role in the future of the GOP. Folks often ask my what I thought of Palin's candidacy, and I always offer the same response: I think the selection of Palin to run on the GOP ticket was an impatient choice. In rhetoric, we call this kairos, the opportune or most appropriate moment to advance an argument (in this case, the argument was that the McCain/Palin team held the most promise for leading the country). But my response is mostly influenced by something I've taken from Sun Tzu: that no individual should assume a position of leadership and power before his or her 'time.' And I don't think Palin was ready--she was, and is, politically immature. That is in no way an indictment of her character, intelligence, or ability.

I am sorry to admit that, for quite a while now, I have been saddened by the lack of leadership, service, clear philosophy, and sense of purpose from the party I still consider my own. The members of the party I most respect have said 'no thank you' to the mantle of leadership. And it troubles me, because I do believe in the value of classical liberalism--the very impetus for the party's inception in 1854 and source of inspiration for the nation's founders--and its enduring cogency. I also recognize the importance of understanding the dynamics of a republic and how a democratic republic such as ours provides its own inherent structures of balance. Ours is a graceful and powerful paradigm for governance, and the party system helps to support that paradigm.

But perhaps I digress . . .

In reading Andy Barr's Politico piece, I was most struck by the following:

The Alaska governor received a warm reception from Republican National Committee Chairman Michael Steele, also in attendance, at a news conference ahead of the dinner.

“I think she is a standard-bearer right now,” Steele said. “She and Mitt Romney and Gov. Pawlenty, Gov. Sanford, Rudy Giuliani, Eric Cantor, Mike Pence. We have a significant number of men and women in our party who are in a very good position right now to carry forward the standard of the GOP.”

Mr. Steele, I ask you without a trace of irony, what is this standard you speak of?

As a member of the party and one who routinely defends the GOP, I find I can only defend what the party should stand for, what it has--historically--stood for, but I am still trying to articulate--and even understand--the kind of contemporary standard of which Michael Steele speaks. And without it, it is incredibly difficult to argue the party's purpose, its relevance in the contemporary public forum.

Gen Y and the Promise of a New Polis

I came across this piece this morning as I browsed the news over my morning coffee and shared it with my students over at Engaging the Polis. Given the context of the course, the nature of their research projects, and the fact that my students are perfectly the demographic in question, I thought they would find Jim Burkee's commentary interesting (and yes, I hope it will spark an interesting and meaningful class discussion tomorrow since we have been talking about their roles as members of a polis).

That said, I find Burkee's observations worthy of consideration beyond the classroom, especially when he writes

[ . . .] the political loyalties of that coveted demographic are not yet decided. While they seem to lean to the left, they're actually more libertarian than liberal, a fact that will reshape the way we think about liberalism and conservatism in decades to come. [more]

As one who is slightly 'generationless' or 'on the cusp'--too old for Gen Y, a tad too young for Gen X by the strict sociological classifications--I am excited to think of the ways in which the old political alignments may give way to the new . . . and I wonder at the implications this shift has for the future of our Nation. One thing is certain (at least to my mind): it has been a long time coming.