campaign candy

Elections are like candy stores for rhetorical critics — or anyone paying attention. From lawn signs to public endorsements, talk shows to chalk art, campaign ads to Facebook rallies… it’s all just so damn tasty.

So, as the polls close, let’s take a moment to think back on all the good times. I think I have to stick with the RNC’s Palin bio as my favorite treat. C’mon — you know the alliterative glory of “Mother, Moosehunter, Maverick” gave you chills (you may have mistaken them for a shudder).

What’s yours? To refresh your memory:

Get the latest news satire and funny videos at 236.com.

I’ve got mail…

…from David Byrne!

Last month, I downloaded a free song from his new album with Brian Eno, and since then we’ve had some great communication. They suggest I visit their site to hear free samples, download the album, buy concert tickets, etc. And I do, of course. I wouldn’t want to let Dave down.

I’ve never understood before why people would bother to sign up for text messages from political candidates or wake-up calls from actors… I mean, it’s not real, people!

But that is a real smile that comes to my face whenever I see that name in my inbox. Now that’s a rhetorical appeal.

rhetoric and remembrance

Yesterday, as we all well know, was September 11, the 7th anniversary of what has become the touchstone moment of contemporary American (and, to a large degree, international) politics. I didn’t watch the coverage. This is a hard day for my family and me every year, and I have learned that the rhetoric surrounding–overwhelming, really–this date tends to infuriate and sadden me. My usual critical glee at fascinating ploys and manipulative wordplay can’t withstand the very real pain and anger that surround September 11.

So I managed to avoid most of it, until we turned on BBC America news (incidentally, the only news I can generally stomach) where they showed a clip of Obama and McCain at the WTC site (now “ground zero,” a phrase that I think it criminally overused and under-examined). I was fascinated to discover that on this day, and apparently only this day, “All of us came together on 9/11 — not as Democrats or Republicans — but as Americans.” This statement, released jointly by the competing presidential campaigns, brings up an interesting question:

Um, aren’t Democrats and Republics every day? Shouldn’t that identity, that community, trump party allegiance EVERY FREAKING DAY?

How is it that candidates for president of the United States are allowed to pat themselves on the back for acting, for one day only, as if they are more than just candidates for president of Democrats or Republicans?!

I will now refrain from further ranting about the callous and offensive use of September 11 in political stumping. But you should feel free… every freaking day.

holy hyperbole!

I just walked in on the RNC coverage in time to catch the bio of/commercial for Sarah Palin, the story of her life constructed to formally introduce her to the voters. It’s a fairly predictable glossy version of an all-American life: the high school basketball championship, making parents proud, marrying high school sweetheart, defeating the incumbent major, bucking the system in Alaskan politics. It ends: “When Alaska’s maverick joined America’s maverick, the world shook; the world trembled. And the world will soon be a better place.”

That’s awesome. That’s all I have to say about it, really. Those writers no doubt realized that this is just about the only rhetorical situation in which they could get away with it. Kudos.

What would Bakhtin do?

I’m reading Bakhtin’s Discourse in the Novel on a sunny Labor Day afternoon (ah, the odd joys of studying for comps), and just ran into this:

Opposed to the language of priests and monks, kings and seigneurs, knights and wealthy urban types, scholars and jurists–to the languages of all who hold power and who are well set up in life–there is the language of the merry rogue, wherever necessary parodically re-processing any pathos but always in such a way as to rob it of its power to harm, “distance it from the mouth” as it were, by means of a smile or deception, mock its falsity and thus turn what was a lie into gay deception. Falsehood is illuminated by ironic consciousness and in the mouth of the happy rogue parodies itself. (401-2)

As we’ve been preparing for Harlot‘s October launch (woo hoo), there’s this natural impulse to reflect on the project, its ideals and actuality, its goals and challenges. And so reading Bakhtin’s admiring description of the “merry rogue” immediately challenged me to consider how–and how well– Harlot will live up to the rogue part of its persona.

The rogue speaks ironic, parodic truth to, and more importantly about, power. The rogue is a member of the folk culture, a person of the masses, one who stands on the edge of dominant culture, points its finger, and dares to laugh. And in that laughter there is a shifting of power and authority.

So I wonder: How can Harlot perform the role of the rogue, to not just analyze but critique, to playfully (as Kaitlin says) kick the stuffyness out of intellectualism? To participate in what Bakhtin calls “the common people’s creative culture of laughter”?

Or more to the point, how can Harlot encourage YOU to perform that role?

Are you paying attention?

Speaking of coffeeshops….

While sitting in one the other day, I observed a group of people obviously involved in some kind of meeting, surrounded by computers and tensely discussing what seemed like matters of some import. Every so often, I noticed that one person (I should mention, the only man in the group) seemed to be spending significantly more time e-mailing, texting, and even taking a phone call in the middle of the conversation. I could practically see the steam come out of the others’ ears

Now, I don’t want to make any tired generalizations about modern culture, manners, or the ills of technology. But this experience returned to mind while I was reading something about audience responsibility and rhetorical response… and for the first time I really thought about the expression “to pay attention.” So of course, I went to the OED and found the following definitions of the verb “to pay”:

  • to appease, pacify, satisfy
  • to give or transfer goods/money in return for goods or services, or in discharge of an obligation
  • to give what is due or deserved

And for attention:

  • earnest direction of the mind, consideration, or regard
  • practical consideration, observant care, notice

This common phrase, then, has some interesting underlying assumptions — that careful notice is what is due to a communicator, what is deserved by the one (or many) who puts forth a message. That service, in effect, demands recompense in the form of that seemingly simple but rare “earnest direction” of attention. If the attention owed is not paid, the transaction simply cannot go through. And the debt multiplies exponentially.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the role of audience responses lately — especially as we audiences are awash in political rhetoric that can all too often leave us feeling passive — and this phrase brings to mind yet again Krista Ratcliffe’s concept of rhetorical listening, “a stance of openness that a person may choose to assume in relation to any person, text, or culture; its purpose is to cultivate conscious identification in ways that promote productive conversation, especially but not solely cross-culturally” (Rhetorical Listening 25). This is more than mere granting of attention; it is an active participation in the work of communication, which can only occur under conditions of equal exchange.

So that guy playing on the iPhone wasn’t just rude — he was a thief of sorts, or perhaps just a cheat. By refusing to grant his attention, he  failed to hold up his side of the communicative bargain. His attention was being paid out everywhere but to his immediate colleagues — who couldn’t help but recognize the lack of value he placed on their conversation.

As far as I can tell, the only ways to repay such inattention are to refuse to listen in turn or to refuse to speak. Either way, there’s a breakdown in collaborative conversation, a rejection of the shared responsibility of rhetoric — and that’s a pretty high price to pay for a text message.

I can only hope he at least picked up the tab…

Cast your vote for Harlot’s “Featured Text”

In the spirit of collaborative criticism, one of the key elements of Harlot’s pilot (see harlotofthearts.org/pilot/) is the “Featured Text”: a rhetorical artifact that begs to be analyzed, preferably by lots of smart people. For that exercise, Kay Halasek provided prompts and a launching point for discussion of Hillary Clinton’s infamous Sopranos spoof  campaign ad.

Now that we’re approaching our official launch in the fall (woo hoo!), my question is: what do we want to talk about? What would you like to analyze in Harlot? What’s going to get the conversation going? The Olympic opening ceremony?

Mudslinging campaign ads? The New Yorker cover debacle? David Byrne’s “Playing the Building” exhibit (see my post on May 18)? Those “We” global climate change commercials? Your favorite text of the moment?

Just let us know.

Speaking of interdisciplinarity…

I wanted to place a plug for the upcoming “Expanding Literacy Studies” conference, the first international, interdisciplinary conference on literacy studies organized and hosted by graduate students. It will be held at The Ohio State University on April 3-5, 2009.

Expanding Literacy Studies logo

This conference is dedicated to exploring the broad range of literacies–alphabetic reading and writing, visual, digitial, rhetorical, critical… and so on. If you compose or decode a text, that’s a literate act. And this conference offers an opportunity to contribute to a conversation that transcends the usual disciplinary borders… while chatting with a group of smart, fun people. Tell ’em Harlot sent you.

See http://literacystudies.osu.edu/conference for more info.

cards on the table

I am so tried of hearing the phrase “playing the race card.” First of all, exactly what game (not to mention teams, rules, and trophies) are we talking about? As far as I can tell, the “race card” is generally treated like an underhanded and potentially unethical strategy (not simply an acknowledgement of identity politics) that someone who is “raced” (Obama) can turn to in a pinch — but not what someone who is white, which apparently translates to “non-raced” (McCain), can ever be accused of.

The problem with that, of course, is that it perpetuates the invisibility of whiteness, the privelege and power that come not just with being “dominant” or in the “majority” but with the refusal to acknowledge the artifical nature of this position. Because if white people are not raced (what does that make them?), then race is not really their concern — it can remain always the concern of the other, a special interest issue rather than a complex web of historical, social, and cultural constructions that impacts all of us.

This simplisitic version of reality is what Steven Colbert satirizes with his insistence that he is “color blind” — as if white men/white media can “solve” the racial tensions in the U.S. and beyond by simply refusing to see them. Willful blindness at the expense of critical consciousness is the name of that game.

And this is exactly what McCain’s team is banking on — that American audiences are too blind to see the white power he exploits and exemplifies. Now, I’m not calling McCain a white supremacist. But I am pointing out that his own race card has already been and will continue to be played — by cynical, opportunistic campaign managers, racist voters, fearful Christians, and everyday, well-meaning citizens who unconsciously support what they are familiar with… and/or who rely (blindly) on counterproductive binaries perpetuated by the bear-baiting circus we call “the news.”

Thoughts?