Nearly every kind of organization—from art museums to local school boards—must face stakeholders who are too easily baited into the rhetoric of political outrage. This rhetorical bomb-throwing has taken some of the fun out of studying these cases.
As a young scholar I wrote a book with the subtitle, Case Studies in Constructive Confrontation. It included a series of vignettes in which a righteous advocate pitted him or herself against someone equally righteous in their enthusiasm to rebuff the attempt. It well may be that only my mother ended up reading Persuasive Encounters (Praeger, 1990), but it was a good exercise in testing the proposition that we are—at some levels—changeable. My cases in this 1990 study ranged from John Lennon to former New York Mayor Ed Koch, from Phil Donahue to psychiatrist Thomas Szasz. Even abolitionist Wendell Phillips shows up to take on the defenders of slavery. In every instance I focused on an advocate in a specific moment facing a mostly “hostile” audience: perhaps the ultimate trial-by-fire for any public person. With all of these cases and more, no one can say I didn’t cast my net widely.
In every instance I was doing what trained rhetoricians are prone to do: looking for how advocates uses the resources of language to clear a pathway to the common ground of audience beliefs, values and familiar idioms. The payoff was to see if any could achieve the rhetorical equivalent of a bases-loaded home run.
This professional fantasy easily comes to students of persuasion: can an advocate win over a skeptical audience? It sometimes happens in the movies and our dreams; why not in real life? As a faithful adherent to the idea that we respond to reason, I felt that there are instances when a very compelling advocate could turn the room around. After all, Mary Richards sometimes succeeded in softening up Lou Grant. And who can forget Henry Fonda silencing the suspicions of eleven other jurors in the classic Twelve Angry Men (1957)?
My book examples came with a standard set-up: describing the context of a person’s appearance to a group, including some samples of their appeals, then looking for evidence of how an audience reacted. Could we see persuasion magic in a meeting between Mayor Ed Koch and a vocal group of citizens in a public meeting of District 6, in a meeting room near the East River (1988)? Could he convince them that he was working on the prevention of crime, do better on garbage collection, and spare the neighborhood of development that would partly cut off access to the waterfront? He was fun to watch because he was the rare politician who was comfortable telling a room full of constituents that they were wrong. Once, when enemies followed him around town with bullhorns shouting their abuse, he easily rose to the challenge by shouting back with his own bullhorn—and in one case—delivering insults to the ears of protesters standing in front of Bloomingdales. Only in New York can you move from an elegant fragrance department in a department store to rhetorical slugfests just a few steps away. “I never feared speaking to any group,” Koch once noted. “I love the combat of the street in politics.”
If I once looked forward to finding encounters that would pit an advocate against a hostile audience, the fun has faded. It seems like too many of our leaders and their stakeholders have too often gone from being “outspoken” to blatantly toxic. Nearly every kind of organization—from world-class art museums to local school boards—must be prepared to face true believers who now routinely overuse the bloated rhetoric of outrage and vituperation. This crudeness has even crept into the pathetic public rhetoric or our former president. Before Donald Trump, presidential rhetoric used to be routinely understood as a tool of verbal unification rather than division. But if everyone is shouting insults, very few are interested in finding agreement.
We are perfectly content to be consistently wrong.
Additional encounters I looked included Phil Donahue in a Moscow studio trying to get Soviet youths to admit to the authoritarian nature of their government; Senator Ted Kennedy facing a mob of Bostonians who were furious at his support of school busing; and the legendary Edward R. Murrow (recreated below by actor David Strathairn) confronting television news directors about their “insulation from the real world.”
I have gotten a little smarter since the book. A theoretical problem with examining change as a result of public rhetoric is that rapid attitude shifts rarely happen. In The process of persuasion is better understood as incremental: usually occurring over an extended period of time and made easier if one’s initial stance has not been witnessed by many others. So, it follows that I did not find much evidence of immediate attitude shifts within the audiences to these exchanges. As current levels of contemporary political discourse remind us, we are amazingly content to be consistently wrong.
The one clear exception was the artificial one of Brian Clark’s play, Whose Life is It Anyway?(1981). On film, it’s a tour de force performance by actor Richard Dreyfuss, who plays the role of a paralyzed accident victim demanding that the plug be pulled on his life support. His doctors resist even when they are taken to court. In this case, he does eventually get his way by persuading a sympathetic judge. Theater can make clear what real life obscures. But the point stands: persuasion happens over time, and attitude shifts are not easily observed. As with Mr. Clark, perhaps only in our heads or in fictional narratives are we are allowed to imagine how dramatic confrontations might yield a stunning result.
Many of us may thoughtlessly intrude in the sonic space of another, using all kinds of sonic disrupters. Others could write extended catalogues of sounds that need to be avoided.
For most of us, sound is redemptive. As with music or a child’s laugh, it often purifies the air of our cluttered world. But when a particular sound triggers instant and disproportionate aggravation in a person, a strong negative reaction may result. The condition is little more than a nuisance for most of us, but the psychological discomfort of what is sometimes labeled misophonia can be very real. In theory, almost any sound can be a trigger. One auditory assault for many were the shrieking strings composer Bernard Hermann built into Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960). We can argue about whether it is actually music. But if it was meant to repel, it usually does its job except for the few that have it as a cell phone ring. Play it and cringe.
Acquiring Sound Sensitivity
Those directly affected by offensive sounds may go to great lengths to avoid them in the future. I suspect this is especially true for sound centric individuals who thrive on auditory content such as music or other aural stimulation. As organized sound, music is especially sabotaged by the unorganized dross coming from the spaces and streets of some human habitats. To many of us may thoughtlessly intrude in the sonic space of another for little benefit, using devices that test our patience. As this is written, I’m sheltering from an onslaught of professional lawn mowers who will cut the grass this week so they can do it again to what hasn’t burned out next week.
Misophonia is perhaps best understood as less of a diagnostic category for serious mental illness than a handy label for any noise sensitivity that is seriously disruptive. Industrial engines and lawn mowers, leaf blowers, cement and metal saws, are among the common tools that may send others fleeing an area. But sometimes we are the transmitters of audible noise that, while not so loud, others still find obnoxious. They include obnoxious vocalisms we dread to hear yet again from others. Loud chewing, endless pen-clicking, throat-clearing, or vocal tics can function like aural red flags.
It works out that, in everyday life, the person with certain aural sensitivities is frequently–if accidentally–matched up with a manic producer of them. It can be a signature of a long and ongoing and sometimes testy relationship.
Part of the fun of Neil Simon’s classic play, The Odd Couple (filmed in 1968), is how Felix’s oral tics begin to grate on the laid-back Oscar. Neither of the divorced men sharing an apartment has made a match that is any better than in their failed marriages. And Oscar’s endless throat-clearing provides a ready example. He had an obsessive-compulsive thing going with his sinuses: the kind of annoyance easily recognized by any couple living under the same roof.
We usually don’t set out to annoy another with the aural refuse we spread so freely. Until we do. The intention to annoy is a break from our best selves, usually in the form of passive-aggressive behavior that provokes but can also be denied. Such sonic mischief may involve letting a barking dog loose as “payback” to a complaining neighbor, or perhaps playing a music system extra loud to answer the circus of noise that never ceases next door.
Audio engineer Brett Houston “solved” the problem of lead feet incessantly moving around in the apartment upstairs by putting loudspeakers in the ceiling cavities that he had inadvertently broken through by pounding on the ceiling once too often. In the hole Houston placed a large speaker between the joists and directly under the neighbor’s floor. He then put microphones at different points along the underside of the same floor, routing the sound through an amplifier with a short delay. So there was karma in every instance of aggravating foot noise that came back amplified and delayed. The neighbors eventually moved.
If there are lessons here, one is simple. When purchasing any device that creates a noise, seek information on the decibel level it produces when on. OSHA considers noise pollution a significant health risk, and the primary cause of why most teens have the diminished hearing acuity of their grandparents. If the manufacturer is ashamed of the racket or excluded from having to disclose the decibel level, they will omit the measurement. One example; Honda makes some home generators that are quiet and a bit more expensive. Most other manufacturers of home units have lower prices but higher sound levels.
In every instance I was doing what trained rhetoricians are prone to do: looking for how advocates uses the resources of language to clear a pathway to the common ground of audience beliefs, values and familiar idioms. The payoff was to see if any could achieve the rhetorical equivalent of a bases-loaded home run.
