All posts by Gary C. Woodward

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Grace Under Pressure

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Most people accustomed to the public arena have learned to not take audience opposition personally. In return, members opposed to a persuader can show unexpected forbearance. 

Kennedy and Falwell Source: Liberty Unversity
                         Kennedy and Falwell  at Liberty University 

Several decades ago I wrote a book describing a number of public figures who willingly appeared in front of “hostile audiences.” An audience is “hostile” if its known to oppose who you are or what you intend to say. Even so, these were individuals who were mostly fearless in facing their critics. I think only my mother actually read Persuasive Encounters when it was published in 1990.  Yet, a least for me,  the idea remains intriguing.

The book included transcripts and analyses of specific public comments made by a range of people, including Phil Donahue, Edward R. Murrow, John Lennon, Ed Koch, Ted Kennedy and psychiatrist Thomas Szasz.  Szasz was an interesting case. In a number of books and addresses he went out of his way to warn his medical colleagues that they were crippling their patients by renaming their bad choices as mental health “conditions.” So much for his chances to be a future President of the American Psychiatric Association.

Senator Ted Kennedy was also a useful example. By mistake he was sent an invitation to join the “Moral Majority,” Reverend Jerry Falwell’s crusade to purge secular liberalism and governmental activism from the American political landscape. At what was then Falwell’s somewhat constricted version of higher education known as Liberty Baptist College–they still had curfews, as well as prohibitions against women going on dates–Kennedy was Exhibit “A” for why the nation had strayed from its ostensible Christian roots.

But never a person to miss the humor in our foibles, Kennedy wrote back, telling Falwell he welcomed the invitation. After long distance pleasantries to smooth over the awkward snafu, Falwell made an offer to have Kennedy address his students at Liberty. And so the Massachusetts senator went to Lynchburg in 1983, offering a general plea arguing that we should oppose “religious tests” for public office-holders. That idea remains a cornerstone of evangelicals interested in politics.

The clean-cut audience couldn’t have been more courteous.  And Kennedy gave as much as he got. The speech included a generous acknowledgement of Falwell, acceptance of the value of religious belief, and a straightforward argument for tolerance of all or no faith traditions.

In my study, only New York Mayor Ed Koch responded as a rhetorical athlete, matching his audiences shout for shout. He returned a disgruntled resident’s sneer at twice its original speed and with far more topspin. At a particular public meeting held in one of the city’s districts sustained volleys between vocal citizens and the Mayor wore down even  hardened veterans of municipal feuds.

Persuaders in front of hostile audiences are interesting not because they may produce charges and countercharges, but mostly because of the reverse:  there is usually surprising and sudden elasticity of viewpoint in many who are involved. People accustomed to the public arena have mostly learned to not take audience opposition personally. In return, members opposed to a persuader can show unexpected forbearance.

And so a whole series of questions seem interesting. In terms of communication skills, how resourceful can a respondent be to complaints that they are “out of touch,” or are “dishonoring” the public office they hold?  How focused can they remain in the face of criticism and overt disbelief?  And what ideas or values can a persuader dramatize which—to quote a common phrase—affirms the idea that ‘our areas of agreement are much greater than our differences?’

Versions of this line have been delivered many times by Barack Obama and less frequently by Donald Trump. In rhetorical terms, it has been a common trope (a recurring pattern in discourse) for public figures to explicitly celebrate a common culture and shared history of beliefs.  And so it reenacts what is perhaps the most universal of all communication impulses: the reaffirmation of the other’s legitimacy in the culture.  Our opponents may annoy us. They might seek ways to limit our reach or effectiveness. But the basic courtesies we expect even from those with seemingly alien views are an anchor against currents that can sweep away a tenuous civility.

Comments: Woodward@tcnj.edu

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Meaning is Less Transferable Than We Think

Problem Practices, Rhetorical Mastery, , , , , , ,
Lexington Books
Source: Lexington Books

We speak. We write.  We create works of art. All the while, we try to have confidence that the effects we intended will register with audiences.  If it were only so.

In theory, communication looks so straightforward.  When we address others we pass on what we assume are clear ideas with unambiguous meanings.  We want to have confidence that the effects we intended will actually register.

Its not so easy.  Shared meaning as a requisite of clear understanding is harder to achieve than we imagine.  It turns out that we aren’t very good at transferring even simple information or individual preferences to others.  Consider a simple case.  A Huffington Post reporter noted that a Spanish language version of the President’s recent State of the Union Address missed a lot.  In one case, where Obama used the phrase “I couldn’t be prouder of them,” the Spanish translation was, more or less, “I couldn’t feel masses proud of it.”  It was a simple mistake, but anyone converting one language to another knows that perfect equivalency is illusive.  All communication is translation.  Even when the language remains the same, there is always an interpretive function which requires that the words pass through the filter of our experiences.

This doesn’t mean that we are always in a solipsistic fog.  Some statements are relatively obvious and can produce a quick consensus.  “Turn right” is not a vague command, but it can be ambiguous if the sender and receiver are facing each other.  Similarly, statements like “He failed algebra in high school” or “She dislikes liver and onions” are mostly concrete and stipulative: two features shared with most kinds of mathematical statements. In math, common agreement about basic terms leaves little room for confusion. Yet, even moving to the slightly more complex task of naming simple objects can be problematic, especially if it’s the case that my idea of a “camera” is one that uses film and yours is the digital device in your phone.

These simple challenges with individual words are heightened when we scale up to the meanings of cultural products like a speeches, songs or movies.  At this level the hope for uniformity of meaning pretty much goes out the window.  For example, ask someone what songs on their music player, and you will get a list of favorites that are likely to be more personal than communal. What means so much to one enthusiast is often unlistenable to another.  Young adults are especially tuned to hit the scorn button when they hear the favorites of older family members. I can still see my parents brace themselves for the inevitable taunt if I passed nearby when they were listening to completely uncool music.  Similarly, in the presence of my favorites our children return the favor with polite silence.  (Who could not love jazz played on steel drums?)

Finding widespread agreement on the significance of films is even harder.  Many of us  find it difficult to predict what a friend or family member will like. What seems so insightful to us can make no sense to others. Seeing someone’s growing puzzlement as you rhapsodize about a terrific performance can make the idea of “shared meaning” seem like an oxymoron.

The villain here is not just the tricky business of producing concurrent meaning. There is also an additional problem in the specific word that we often use when someone surprises us by their unexpected reaction to an apparently clear message.  We often say that they didn’t get it: that they “misunderstood.”  But notice what “misunderstood” implies about perspective.  It suggests that the initial communicator gets to be the arbiter in deciding the authentic translation of an idea or thought.  That sometimes makes sense.  After all, it usually is their thought.  But as an idea with a pretense to truth-testing, the judgment embedded in the word converts what is often a simple difference into an error.  “Misunderstood” gives one side a free pass by putting the burden of a “mistake” on  the other.

All of this should serve as simple reminder that meaning is naturally variable.  Thankfully, dictionaries usually don’t get to have the last word.  We are entitled to apply our experience to what we know and like. That we can’t predict with certainty how a person will receive our rhetoric is evidence that we have sensibilities which are  different, but not necessarily deficient.

Comments: woodward@tcnj.edu