Admittedly, until a few months ago, I had no idea who Justin Bieber was and because I don’t watch the Disney Channel or listen to much Top 40 radio, I had to look him up on youtube and listen to a song in order to research for this very post. I had never heard anything before this, so my annoyance with the kid is miniscule, but that doesn’t stop me from showing you this Firefox plugin that blocks any mention of the tiny-tot singer.
Below is the video which displays the application in action, but the song that plays probably is not suitable for work. I’m embedding it because I want you to see it in action and not just to make fun of the kid. Just keep that in mind.
Isn’t this fascinating!? That someone would spend the time, money, etc., just to eliminate an annoyance from their web experience? I can see how it may diminish that particular aggravation for a user, but at the same time, it reminds me of an ostrich sticking its head in the sand. While the focus of this tool is to block one seemingly insignificant pop culture reference, what if one were to use the tool to block any mentions of, say, the Gulf Coast oil spill. Would that be merely believing in the “ignorance is bliss” mantra? It’s a thought.
Another: in a world where information is so easily accessible, how do we stop a stream of unwanted information–stuff that we consider purely a nuisance? Like this? With plugins, applications, and utilities? Is this just us adapting to the changes that this information age has inflicted?
Hey, I haven’t had much contact with the Bieber, so I don’t have much use for this tool, but if I could get rid of any mention of Farmville, I just might.
Right now there are a gaggle of imaginative and intelligent students at Ohio State working on Critical Rhetoric Videos, an assignment that takes Raymie McKerrow’s concept of “Critical Rhetoric,” but uses digital video instead of print to perform the critique.
(go to www.elementsof276.blogspot.com to learn more about this assignment)
In attempting to better identify which rhetorical appeals will work best for their target demographic (mostly those between the ages of 19 and 26), we consistently come back to humor. This has me contemplating the potential value of a “precursor project”–more specifically, a parodic precursor–that would focus on the strategic use of humor before moving on to a project like the Critical Rhetoric Video.
So I thought I would share with you some great examples of parody, a term the Greeks used to describe works that imitated the epics in humorous fashion, poking fun at the style of master narratives. (Just consider the etymology: para (along side of) + ode (as in “lyrical ballad”).)
These examples are astounding for their efficiency in revealing the rhetorical structures of the genre they’re poking fun at, while engaging the audience with their own set of smooth rhetorical maneuvers:
(thanks to Alex Speck, who tipped me off to this bit-o-genius)
I remember when British Petroleum changed their name to “Beyond Petroleum” in 2000. When pressed about it, I bet most could, which means that their $200 million advertising campaign worked. (Ogilvy & Mather won the 2001 PRWeek award for “campaign of the year,” if you need additional support for its effectiveness.)
One of the most successful greenwashes of all time, the rebranding of BP has led them to be viewed as one of the most “environmentally aware” oil companies. The oil leak in the Gulf of Mexico is putting pressure on this perspective, of course, but there’s good reason to believe that BP’s image will recover. They’re veterans, don’t forget: of oil clean-ups, congressional “interrogations” of weak safety measures and poor environmental records, and–most importantly–PR disaster management.
(Eric Dezenhall recently wrote about when a “late public-relations honcho for a big petrochemical company” once told him “that he knew it was time to retire when, after a spill, the CEO’s first call was to him: ‘Get up here, Harry, we’ve got a PR problem.”)
PR disaster management is where rhetorician mercenaries spring to action; these are the Navy SEALS of rhetorical situations where making the weaker argument appear stronger seems nearly impossible. The documentary Our Brand is Crisisreveals some of this rhetorical mercenary work:
So after having spent enough time vacillating between rage and despair while reading accounts of the (continuing) oil leak in the Gulf, I thought it best to go to Derrick Jensen for some words of wisdom. In Endgame (Volume 1) Jensen discusses BP’s name change, which they framed as a “statement of priorities.”
This particular type of smokescreen has been most fully developed by a public relations consultant with the appropriately named Peter Sandman. He has been nicknamed the High Priest of Outrage because corporations hire him to dissipate public anger, to put people back to sleep. Sandman has explicitly stated his self-perceived role: “I get hired to help a company to ‘explain to these confused people that the refinery isn’t going to blow up, so they will leave us alone.’”
He developed a five point program for corporations to disable public rage.
First, convince the public that they are participating in the destructive processes themselves, that the risks are not externally imposed. You asked for it by wearing those clothes, says the rapist. You drive a car, too, says the PR guru.
Second, convince them that the benefits of the processes outweigh the harm. You could never support yourself without me, says the abuser. How would you survive without fossil fuels?” repeats the PR guru.
Third, undercut fear by making the risk feel familiar. Explain your response and people will relax (whether or not your response is meaningful or effective). Don’t you worry about it, I’ll take care of everything. Things will change, you’ll see, says the abuser. We are moving beyond petroleum and toward sustainability, says the PR guru.
Fourth, emphasize again that the public has control over the risk (whether or not they do). You could leave anytime you want, but I know you won’t, says the abuser. If we all just pull together, we’ll find our way through, says the PR guru.
Fifth, acknowledge your mistakes, and say (even if untrue) that you are trying to do better. I promise I will never hit you again, the abuser repeats. It is time to stop living in the past, and move together into the future, drones the PR guru.
Speaking to a group of mining executives, Sandman, who also consults for BP, stated, “There is a growing sense that you screw up a lot, and as a net result it becomes harder to get permission to mine.” His solution is not actually change how the industry works, of course, but instead to find an appropriate “persona” for the industry. “Reformed sinner,” he says, “works quite well if you can sell it…’Reformed sinner,’ by the way, is what John Brown of BP has successfully done for his organization. It is arguably what Shell has done with respect to Brent Spar. Those are two huge oil companies that have done a very good job of saying to themselves, ‘Everyone thinks we are bad guys…We can’t just start out announcing we are good guys, so what we have to announce is we have finally realized we were bad guys and we are going to do better.’ … It makes it much easier for critics and the public to buy into the image of the industry as good guys after you have spent awhile in purgatory.”
Here’s some “reformed sinner” performance, punctuated with blame-framing and blame-shifting. It’s rather remarkable that right after Senator Wyden says, “And the company always says the same thing after one of these accidents: ‘We’re gonna toughen up our standards; we’re going to improve management; we’re going to deal with risks,’ and then another such accident takes place,” BP executive Lamar McKay responds with the exact same formula just outlined: “We are changing this company. We’ve put in management systems that are covering the world in a consistent and rigorous way.”
But why depart from the template that has worked so well and so consistently for so long?
If you find such behavior and responses (both by oil executives and the “legal personhood” of a corporation) to be best described as pathological behavior, then you might find useful the documentary The Corporation, which uses some of the key symptoms of psychopathy as outlined by the DSM-IV as an analytical lens for understanding corporate behavior:
callous disregard for the feelings of other people
the incapacity to maintain human relationships
reckless disregard for the safety of others
deceitfulness (continual lying to deceive for profit)
the incapacity to experience guilt
failure to conform to social norms and respect for the law
Oil has brought us some nice things and (to borrow another phrase from Derrick Jensen) all other things being equal, I’d like to have some of the things that are the result of oil.
“But all other things aren’t equal, and I’d rather have a living planet.”
Has anyone written about Facebook working as modern day commonplaces?
I mean, wikipedia suggests that “[s]ome modern writers see blogs as an analogy to commonplace books,” but I see Facebook posts has a much more similar connection. Considering that blogs are there to produce content more than just post it, then I’d say that blogs are closer journaling and facebook, which many of us use to post various articles, music, pictures, etc, could tie in with commonplacing.
I’m just wondering if anyone else has had any insights into this?
I was lucky enough to spend yesterday afternoon at the MoMA experiencing the Marina Abramovic performance art retrospective. Abramovic tests the boundaries of the body and the mind in her pieces and disrupts the traditional relationship between performer and audience. For Abramovic, the body is a medium for argument.
In one of her early performances, she sat herself in public beside a table containing things such as knives, a gun, and a bullet. A note on the table invited passers-by to do to her what they wanted. For six hours, she endured people cutting her and sucking her blood, undressing her, carrying her, and putting the loaded gun to her head. In another piece, she and her performance collaborator stood naked in the entryway of an art museum. They positioned their naked bodies so anyone wanting to enter or exit the museum had to pass through their naked bodies and had to choose whether to face the naked man or the naked woman as they slipped through them sideways. This performance piece is being recreated for this retrospective, so a contemporary audience can experience it for themselves.
In addition to videos and live recreations of her performances over the past four decades, the exhibit includes Abramovic herself performing her longest-running solo piece “The Artist Is Present.” For this piece, she is sitting in a chair facing whoever sits in the chair opposite her. Visitors to the museum take turns sitting in the chair opposite her and are invited to stare into her eyes for as long as they wish.
Abramovic’s pieces are moving, engaging, and sometimes disturbing. Not surprisingly, they are effective as a medium for political, social, and cultural arguments.
When you lay on a couch and listen to Chopin, you’re bound to notice something very specific. One of the things that makes a Chopin piano piece is the lingering resonance and/or the quick succession of certain notes or phrases. There’s a technical term for that. It’s called “tempo rubato.” (If you’re burning to hear an example, try Martha Argerich’s performance of Nocturne No. 16 in E Flat, Op 55, No. 2.)
I would suggest (and I do) that tempo rubato is a rhetorical technique within the form of musical performance. It is a style meant to express improvisation and feeling. . . pathos. By speeding up, we are hurried through the piece and by slowing down we are forced to contemplate that musical phrase. Like any good romantic period piece, it emotes and manipulates. Tempo rubato manipulates its audiences into feeling differently than if the piece were kept in strict time.
I know, I know–you may be asking yourself why this is important. Why does it matter what it’s called as long as it’s effective, right? Well, I guess I’m kind of a music geek (I did minor in it), but the effect that music has on our current society is undeniable. Don’t you think?
(Which, I am a fan of Spread Your Love by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. It’s definitely a driving-in-your-car-feeling-bad-ass song.)
Music is used to add to other persuasive forms/arguments/compositions, yes. It’s used in movies, tv, commercials, grocery stores, department stores, etc., etc., but music also has its own persuasive techniques within itself. I once learned in some music class which I can’t pin down that what most people were drawn to most of the time was the use contrast and repetition. That’s why songs on the Top 40 lists follow the same basic format: Verse, Chorus, Verse, Chorus, Bridge, Chorus.
This is where tempo rubato comes in. This technique is used to offer that contrast which maintains a person’s interest while repeating a phrase that we’ve already heard. It draws us in because there is familiarity and keeps us there because there are slight changes. It persuades us to keep listening.
Here’s a bite-sized bit of visual rhetoric for your daily blog-scrape. One of my weekend rituals, in fact a way of willfully embracing my impending old age, is watching CBS Sunday Morning while enjoying my morning coffee. While typically fare for the geriatric set or the hoighty toighty, I’ve noticed that the magazine show is increasingly leaning in the direction of the Internet Age with its programming. Case in point: today’s episode had a fascinating segment on the history of Google’s “doodles,” those augmented logotypes that pop up on days such as the anniversary of the barcode, DaVinci’s birthday, Halloween, or the fall of the Berlin Wall. What started out as a modest task bestowed upon an artistically inclined intern has now evolved into an integral part of the “Google experience” and now involves a small army of graphic designers and artists who meet regularly to discuss which upcoming anniversaries are appropriately “googly.” Over the years, the tendency to augment, obscure, and even obliterate the logo (as in the one for Jackson Pollock’s birthday) has become increasingly commonplace.
Brand identity is much more than just a logo, a point that Google gets. Most companies see their logo as a sacrosanct space, inviolate and untouchable, but Google ignores this brick-and-mortar corporate truism. In fact, early on in the company’s history, Google saw its logo as a space for play, for ethos building. The fact that they often opt to commemorate events that lean more towards the science/technology/art end of the cultural spectrum and less towards the political/divisive end attests to the kind of image they want to convey: perhaps a touch more of “Don’t be controversial” rather than “Don’t be evil.”
Our choice of words helps facilitate certain thoughts and empowers particular logics, while disciplining others. This is a foundational principle of rhetorical studies and probably nothing new to many of this blog’s readers.
Every once and awhile, though, I realize just how high the stakes really are.
The video below was found at WikiLeaks, “a website that publishes anonymous submissions and leaks of sensitive governmental, corporate, organizational, or religious documents, while attempting to preserve the anonymity and untraceability of its contributors. Within one year of its December 2006 launch, its database had grown to more than 1.2 million documents” (wikipedia entry). It is a classified US military video that shows the shooting of a dozen people in a suburb of Baghdad. Among the victims were two Reuters news staff. Two children are also involved.
Please take caution: this is raw footage, complete with the Army’s audio, of people being shot.
I deliberated on alternatives for “being shot” for quite some time. Perhaps–”this is raw footage of people being murdered.” Or “slayed.” Or “wrongly identified and accidentally fired upon.”
In the video you hear the military personnel saying, “We just engaged all eight individuals.”
It’s important to note that the video’s opening frame is a quote by Orwell’s 1946 essay, “Politics and the English Language”:
[Political language is] designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.
Elsewhere in that essay Orwell writes, “political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible.” I think the assumed interpretation of this is meant to indicate the government’s defense to the public. This language is then, of course, picked up by the body politic, replicated by supporters to other members of the public. This language becomes the banal standard, the terms we use–whether we’re for, against, or indifferent–to communicate.
But I wonder if we might think about how we use smokescreen language like this on ourselves, to psychologically shield ourselves from what we know is “indefensible,” which could be translated here as “unconscionable.”
So when the soldier in this video says, “I’m just trying to find targets again,” we could say it’s because it’s what allows him “to do his job” (another phrase of justification, used to pass accountability to another realm). Can you imagine it rephrased?
“I’m just trying to find a breathing body that has hopes and dreams like you and I to send a piece of metal through so that his blood will mix with the sand.”
This isn’t a piece about placing praise or blame on soldiers. This isn’t the forum for such a critique; and having known several veterans of Iraq, I would never hastily condemn the individual without knowing more. (For instance, what if the person doing the shooting ultimately found such an act reprehensible and leaked the video himself in a courageous attempt to right a wrong?)
This is a forum about language and its consequences.
Military speak is an extreme example of language that shields its users from discussing the indefensible. It’s easy for us to assume that we are separate from those who must use linguistic mirrors to either do what they’re told or justify daily action. But if you find this use of language chilling in its brutal efficacy, perhaps you’re willing to try something…
Let’s search for all those terms that displace our own accountability. Let’s identify them, interrogate them, and reframe them for the better. And let’s do it in a public forum.
Habitat lossandendangered species perform the same function that collateral damage and enhanced interrogation techniques do. They are terms that permit–indeed facilitate–thinking that directs us away from a frame of accountability.
And so I’m calling on all rhetoricians, language-lovers, and wordsmiths to raise the stakes a bit, and using the emotion generated by the video below, to take ownership of language in such a way that it becomes infused with accountability and agency.
Rhetorica shared this very cool video from The Economist about the iPad, which I absolutely had to pass along. The central question here? How will an instrument made specifically to consume media do in a society that is used to interacting with media. Check it out. . .
Okay, so my research has, for a long time, focused on issues of intellectualism and anti-intellectualism in American culture. And yes, that has resulted in a quick eye for all things anti-intellectual in my surroundings. Still, I can’t be the only one stunned (and frustrated) by the new Diesel ad campaign: “Be Stupid.” I noticed it first a few weeks back when getting off the D train at West 4th Street in Manhattan. The long tunnel I had to walk through to surface just a few blocks from the campus of NYU was lined with Diesel’s new “Be Stupid” ads. Here’s a taste of what I encountered…
Um, moving past the blatant anti-intellectual message that to be cool we should “be stupid,” there’s a whole lot here that’s problematic. Women as sex objects perhaps? The preference for balls over brains? The image of “stupid” (i.e. cool) as a white middle-class youth we may presume has had the privilege of a good education? Oh, and I just love that these ads (though I’m sure they appear elsewhere) line the subway tunnel right by NYU–one of the most prestigious universities in the country.
Call me “smart,” but I don’ think this ad campaign is as “stupid” (i.e. cool) as it thinks itself to be.
