By Mark Katz
"Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears…."
About to embark upon "the speech of his life," Julius Caesar (by way of the speechwriter otherwise known as Shakespeare) asked each audience member for both of their ears. Because he knew that in the mayhem of the public square, most people listen to a speech with one ear at most. This is the same challenge many speakers will face this week in Denver. So when my colleague Dan Gerstein asked me to provide some advice to those who will stand at the podium this week, I chose to address those non-keynoters who will have to earn the full attention of an audience otherwise engaged in gossip, chit-chat and power-schmoozing. Here are a few thoughts on how to deliver a speech that does not just become background noise.
1. Here's the challenge I often present to my clients: imagine someone has just heard your speech. What message would you like that person to repeat back to you – and then work backwards from there. In reality, this question replaces a “word count” with an idea count. And of course, that is the beauty of an actual idea -- it can be explored and expressed in any number of ways. This is where real ideas get separated from mere talking points. My advice: dig deeper into a fewer number of ideas. For my money, the most memorable speeches and presentations are those that pick a single compelling idea and execute the hell out of it.
2. This is a partisan event for a self-proclaimed post-partisan candidate. What better way to tow the party line than to say “no!” to the easy, familiar rhetoric of partisan politics? Instead, challenge the audience. Say things that will stop chatterers in mid-sentence to ask one another, "Did he just say what I thought he said?" Question an orthodoxy, concede something obvious, give the Republicans credit for an accomplishment or at least an honorable intention – all in the service of validating a larger point within a fuller context. When delivered in speech after speech, fierce partisanship is mind numbing. Gain the attention of the true believers by saying something that sends oxygen to the brain. More specifically....
3. What would Jon Stewart do? In an age where more and more people come home and watch The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, there is a growing understanding that humor is a form of communication that shapes debates in strategic arena. And what is the Pepsi Center this week if not a strategic arena? Almost any message can be translated into a humorous expression – and the best ones become sound bite that both make a point and makes the rounds. Twenty years ago, the late Ann Richards delivered some one-liners that many of us can still repeat today. Yes, they were highly partisan, but they only intended to insult an opponent, not the audience. Also, they were undeniably funny, making it easier to say things that would otherwise sound strident. Whether directed at yourself or others, humor is the best way to say the things that speak the subtext. Of course: all humor comes with this caveat: the right joke will get reprinted in the next issue of Newsweek, the wrong joke will get reprinted in your obituary. (Come to think of it, also try not to think about how things ultimately turned out for Julius Caesar.)
4. Without glancing above, please repeat these three ideas back to me.
Katz, who worked with President Clinton to produce his annual series of humor speeches to the Washington press corps, runs The Soundbite Institute in New York.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Unconventional Wisdom V: How Should Mac Attack?
By Robin Masters
There are certain elements common to every convention speech. There’s the inspirational element: rally the troops, rally the nation. There’s the presidential element: look and act like someone who could actually inhabit the Oval Office. Then there’s the attack element: go after the other side.
It’s that third part that presents a problem for Senator John McCain. Everyone does it, and if they do it well, the attacks work without ever being characterized or remembered as attacks. We’ve all heard that JFK directed his speechwriters not to attack the Eisenhower administration in his inaugural address. But he had no such compunctions six months earlier at the Democratic Convention, when he called his opponent Richard Nixon “a man who has spoken or voted on every known side of every known issue,” referred to the Eisenhower administration as “eight years of drugged and fitful sleep,” and claimed that “our task is not merely one of itemizing Republican failures” before going on to do precisely that.
Ronald Reagan, a man remembered by most for his positive vision of "morning in America," did not hesitate at the 1980 convention to blame Democrats for the “unprecedented calamity which has befallen us,” accusing the Carter administration of “make-believe, self-deceit and—above all—transparent hypocrisy.”
These were not light jabs: they were full-throated offensives, launched in front of national television audiences. But no one remembers Presidents Kennedy and Reagan as, in today’s parlance, "negative" campaigners. They got away with it. The question is, can John McCain?
It will not be easy. McCain has much working against him. He is behind in the polls. His party is out of favor with the public. And he’s up against an opponent who is a genuine political phenomenon. It’s one thing when the Straight Talk Express is taking on Washington corruption, which everyone is against (or, at least, which everyone says they’re against). It’s another when he goes after a young, vigorous opponent who, like Kennedy and Reagan, somehow always manages to couch his own attacks in such a way that no one thinks they’re actually attacks.
So what must he do? He could try to emulate Kennedy, Reagan, and yes, Obama. He could try to hide his attacks in soaring rhetoric. He could try to make it seem like they’re not attacks at all.
He could, and he might. But he shouldn’t, for two reasons. First, it simply is not who John McCain is, and if he tries it, he risks losing the position in our political discourse that has thus far sustained his career on the national stage: that of the blunt truth-teller.
Second, this campaign is not and will not be about John McCain. It’s about Barack Obama. If Obama can convince the American people that he is ready for the White House, he will win. If his storyline is the one that succeeds, McCain cannot compete. The American people already know John McCain, and they like him well enough. There is no point in him trying to make them like him more. Rather, he needs to make sure they like Barack Obama less.
Can he do it? Can he—or anyone—attack Obama without being punished for it by the voters? McCain has on occasion displayed a dry sense of humor that can offer a perfect counterpoint to Obama’s high-flying oratory. He has shown a down-to-earth earnestness that is entirely different from Obama’s occasionally inflated sense of purpose. He may in fact be able to prick Obama’s balloon enough to bring him down to earth. It will not be easy. But it is crucial to his hopes for victory.
Masters is a former Bush Administration speechwriter
There are certain elements common to every convention speech. There’s the inspirational element: rally the troops, rally the nation. There’s the presidential element: look and act like someone who could actually inhabit the Oval Office. Then there’s the attack element: go after the other side.
It’s that third part that presents a problem for Senator John McCain. Everyone does it, and if they do it well, the attacks work without ever being characterized or remembered as attacks. We’ve all heard that JFK directed his speechwriters not to attack the Eisenhower administration in his inaugural address. But he had no such compunctions six months earlier at the Democratic Convention, when he called his opponent Richard Nixon “a man who has spoken or voted on every known side of every known issue,” referred to the Eisenhower administration as “eight years of drugged and fitful sleep,” and claimed that “our task is not merely one of itemizing Republican failures” before going on to do precisely that.
Ronald Reagan, a man remembered by most for his positive vision of "morning in America," did not hesitate at the 1980 convention to blame Democrats for the “unprecedented calamity which has befallen us,” accusing the Carter administration of “make-believe, self-deceit and—above all—transparent hypocrisy.”
These were not light jabs: they were full-throated offensives, launched in front of national television audiences. But no one remembers Presidents Kennedy and Reagan as, in today’s parlance, "negative" campaigners. They got away with it. The question is, can John McCain?
It will not be easy. McCain has much working against him. He is behind in the polls. His party is out of favor with the public. And he’s up against an opponent who is a genuine political phenomenon. It’s one thing when the Straight Talk Express is taking on Washington corruption, which everyone is against (or, at least, which everyone says they’re against). It’s another when he goes after a young, vigorous opponent who, like Kennedy and Reagan, somehow always manages to couch his own attacks in such a way that no one thinks they’re actually attacks.
So what must he do? He could try to emulate Kennedy, Reagan, and yes, Obama. He could try to hide his attacks in soaring rhetoric. He could try to make it seem like they’re not attacks at all.
He could, and he might. But he shouldn’t, for two reasons. First, it simply is not who John McCain is, and if he tries it, he risks losing the position in our political discourse that has thus far sustained his career on the national stage: that of the blunt truth-teller.
Second, this campaign is not and will not be about John McCain. It’s about Barack Obama. If Obama can convince the American people that he is ready for the White House, he will win. If his storyline is the one that succeeds, McCain cannot compete. The American people already know John McCain, and they like him well enough. There is no point in him trying to make them like him more. Rather, he needs to make sure they like Barack Obama less.
Can he do it? Can he—or anyone—attack Obama without being punished for it by the voters? McCain has on occasion displayed a dry sense of humor that can offer a perfect counterpoint to Obama’s high-flying oratory. He has shown a down-to-earth earnestness that is entirely different from Obama’s occasionally inflated sense of purpose. He may in fact be able to prick Obama’s balloon enough to bring him down to earth. It will not be easy. But it is crucial to his hopes for victory.
Masters is a former Bush Administration speechwriter
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Unconventional Wisdom IV: Obama's Rally Risk
By Robin Masters
The news that Senator Barack Obama would be accepting the Democratic nomination for president not in Denver’s Pepsi Center, where the rest of the convention will be held, but instead at 76,000-seat Invesco Field, provoked relatively little comment in the political world. Obama is a talented, perhaps even gifted, public speaker, and he has had enormous success delivering inspiring stemwinders to huge, adoring crowds, including 200,000 in Berlin last month. Why not continue what his campaign can only see as a positive trend (while, the cynics point out, neatly sidestepping the possibility of booing or other such unpleasantness from disaffected Hillary supporters in the smaller auditorium)?
It could be a stroke of genius. But like many strokes of genius, it could also be very risky.
Too often lost in the hustle and bustle of the speechwriting process is the most important question every speechwriter must ask himself and his principal, more important than “how long should it be?”; more important than “who’s going to be there?”: even more important than “you want a draft by when?” The most important question is “what are we trying to accomplish with this speech?”
Sometimes the answer is obvious: “we need to ramp up grassroots enthusiasm in county x”, or “we need to help candidate y raise $100,000 by Friday.” Sometimes it is not. It is often far too easy to go with the flow, accept an invitation, make travel arrangements, and start writing a speech without ever really answering the fundamental question of why you’re doing it.
For Senator Obama’s team, it may have been very easy to decide to move his acceptance speech to a large outdoor stadium. He has depended on precisely these types of venues throughout his campaign, and it’s hard to deny that they’ve worked. His first national ads were built largely from footage taken at speaking events. His public persona—a successful persona thus far in the campaign—is based on his ability to inspire when speaking to mostly large audiences. So it seems natural, even a stroke of genius, to move his convention speech to such a venue. But in doing so, did he and his staff ask the fundamental question of what they want to accomplish, or did they simply act swiftly on what seems on the surface to be an undeniably clever idea?
A convention acceptance speech is traditionally something of a mash-up, a combination of many things to many people. It is supposed to rally the true believers, motivating them to continue their work for the candidate. But it also, usually for the first time, must present to the entire nation not just a candidate, but a credible Commander In Chief and Head of State—a President. In many ways, the convention speech is a candidate’s first presidential speech. It is his first speech to a national audience that goes far beyond ideological supporters.
Obama’s audience in Denver will be far larger than the 76,000 carefully selected fans cheering him in person. The eyes of the country—and the world—will be on him, many for the very first time … and they will not all belong to supporters.
Many of those people—most, according to the polls—want to give Obama a chance. They want to like him. They are disaffected with Republicans and the buzz surrounding Obama has reached them even if they have paid little or no attention to political news thus far this year. But they are not sure. He is young. He is inexperienced. They want to be convinced that he is, in fact, presidential. Simply appearing in the traditional convention hall environment—the environment from which we are used to seeing presidential campaigns launched—would have helped. Appearing in a rally atmosphere does not necessarily do so.
So is it a mistake? Not necessarily. It’s a risk, and like all risks it may pay off. Their calculated gamble may in fact be built on a simple calculus: inspirational, if not policy-heavy, speeches to large, cheering crowds have gotten us this far, so why fix it if it isn’t broken?
But it could also be a failure to recognize what he still has to accomplish: reach out beyond his already enthusiastic supporters and convince the country that he is not just an attractive candidate, but a President.
The question is, did the Obama team carefully consider what it is they want to accomplish with this speech when they made the decision to move it, and are they doing so today as the drafting process begins? If so, they have an excellent chance of success; their track record so far is stellar. But if not, if they are simply doing what they do because it is what they’ve always done before, then they may fall short. We don’t know yet what the result will be … but we will soon enough.
Masters is a former Bush Administration speechwriter
The news that Senator Barack Obama would be accepting the Democratic nomination for president not in Denver’s Pepsi Center, where the rest of the convention will be held, but instead at 76,000-seat Invesco Field, provoked relatively little comment in the political world. Obama is a talented, perhaps even gifted, public speaker, and he has had enormous success delivering inspiring stemwinders to huge, adoring crowds, including 200,000 in Berlin last month. Why not continue what his campaign can only see as a positive trend (while, the cynics point out, neatly sidestepping the possibility of booing or other such unpleasantness from disaffected Hillary supporters in the smaller auditorium)?
It could be a stroke of genius. But like many strokes of genius, it could also be very risky.
Too often lost in the hustle and bustle of the speechwriting process is the most important question every speechwriter must ask himself and his principal, more important than “how long should it be?”; more important than “who’s going to be there?”: even more important than “you want a draft by when?” The most important question is “what are we trying to accomplish with this speech?”
Sometimes the answer is obvious: “we need to ramp up grassroots enthusiasm in county x”, or “we need to help candidate y raise $100,000 by Friday.” Sometimes it is not. It is often far too easy to go with the flow, accept an invitation, make travel arrangements, and start writing a speech without ever really answering the fundamental question of why you’re doing it.
For Senator Obama’s team, it may have been very easy to decide to move his acceptance speech to a large outdoor stadium. He has depended on precisely these types of venues throughout his campaign, and it’s hard to deny that they’ve worked. His first national ads were built largely from footage taken at speaking events. His public persona—a successful persona thus far in the campaign—is based on his ability to inspire when speaking to mostly large audiences. So it seems natural, even a stroke of genius, to move his convention speech to such a venue. But in doing so, did he and his staff ask the fundamental question of what they want to accomplish, or did they simply act swiftly on what seems on the surface to be an undeniably clever idea?
A convention acceptance speech is traditionally something of a mash-up, a combination of many things to many people. It is supposed to rally the true believers, motivating them to continue their work for the candidate. But it also, usually for the first time, must present to the entire nation not just a candidate, but a credible Commander In Chief and Head of State—a President. In many ways, the convention speech is a candidate’s first presidential speech. It is his first speech to a national audience that goes far beyond ideological supporters.
Obama’s audience in Denver will be far larger than the 76,000 carefully selected fans cheering him in person. The eyes of the country—and the world—will be on him, many for the very first time … and they will not all belong to supporters.
Many of those people—most, according to the polls—want to give Obama a chance. They want to like him. They are disaffected with Republicans and the buzz surrounding Obama has reached them even if they have paid little or no attention to political news thus far this year. But they are not sure. He is young. He is inexperienced. They want to be convinced that he is, in fact, presidential. Simply appearing in the traditional convention hall environment—the environment from which we are used to seeing presidential campaigns launched—would have helped. Appearing in a rally atmosphere does not necessarily do so.
So is it a mistake? Not necessarily. It’s a risk, and like all risks it may pay off. Their calculated gamble may in fact be built on a simple calculus: inspirational, if not policy-heavy, speeches to large, cheering crowds have gotten us this far, so why fix it if it isn’t broken?
But it could also be a failure to recognize what he still has to accomplish: reach out beyond his already enthusiastic supporters and convince the country that he is not just an attractive candidate, but a President.
The question is, did the Obama team carefully consider what it is they want to accomplish with this speech when they made the decision to move it, and are they doing so today as the drafting process begins? If so, they have an excellent chance of success; their track record so far is stellar. But if not, if they are simply doing what they do because it is what they’ve always done before, then they may fall short. We don’t know yet what the result will be … but we will soon enough.
Masters is a former Bush Administration speechwriter
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Unconventional Wisdom III: Requesting An Obama Re-Launch
By Mark Penn Name
More than the race speech, more than "dumb war," more than the 2004 convention breakout, this is the speech that Obama needs to be great. Expectations are mile high. He can meet them if he treats Denver not as a nomination or culmination, not as a moment in history that will live forever (though it will), but as a political re-launch. Be pragmatic and precise. Yes, lace the words with eloquence. Yes, stick to your winning themes. But up the ante, and avoid pitfalls.
More than the race speech, more than "dumb war," more than the 2004 convention breakout, this is the speech that Obama needs to be great. Expectations are mile high. He can meet them if he treats Denver not as a nomination or culmination, not as a moment in history that will live forever (though it will), but as a political re-launch. Be pragmatic and precise. Yes, lace the words with eloquence. Yes, stick to your winning themes. But up the ante, and avoid pitfalls.
- Choose your targets carefully. Since this might be the only speech of yours that some Americans see from start to finish, there will be intense pressure from your staff to check every last policy box. Resist it. Talk about three or four—maximum five—meat and potato policies. Iraq and the war on terrorism; energy and the economy; and health care. This will show that you have priorities in order and aren't bent on spending billions on everything under the sun.
- Wedge in just one big issue (national service?) that can communicate a larger point about the kind of cultural shift you want to bring about. Bush said, ad nauseum, he'd change the tone in Washington. Make clear that you can really make it happen.
- Nobody said a convention has to be devoid of fresh policy prescriptions. Surprise us with a new idea—preferably one that doesn't cost billions of dollars. If your remarks are 99% grandiloquent rhetoric about bringing American together and moving America forward, you'll miss an opportunity.
- Try to find a name for your governing philosophy. "Compassionate conservatism," however ultimately misleading, gave shape to Bush's ideology in 2000. Clinton, everyone knew, was a New Democrat. Reagan was a movement conservative. Where does liberalism end and post-partisan pragmatism begin? To prevent others from putting you in a box--which is easy to do given the thinness of your record--you need to take the opportunity to frame your ideology more precisely and proactively. "Change" isn't enough anymore. Claim a brand.
- Beware of King-sized overreach. Of course you'll reference "I Have a Dream." Of course you'll talk about how far we've come as a country, how far we have yet to go. But any parallels between your speech, which is essentially political, and the 1963 speech that catalyzed and encapsulated the most important social movement of the second half of the 20th century, should be delicately and humbly drawn. Yes, yours is a historically momentous achievement—but leave that to others to say. We've heard enough about race for a while. And as Hillary might remind you, you're trying to become JFK or LBJ—not MLK.
- Go easy on Bush. I know, this seems ridiculous. How can you pass up a 70 mph pitch down the middle of the plate? But you're a leader now. Leaders define themselves and their missions on their own terms, not in constant opposition to bogeymen. (Somebody needs to tell this to McCain.)
- Be aggressive in whacking McCain—especially on the economy. This should be your sharpest point of contrast. At the same time, cite a couple of places where you agree with the man. Lots of Americans are disappointed that the high-tone, new-look campaign we were promised has been replaced by round after round of petty, partisan wrangling. From the start, your "turn the page" appeal came across as a genuine commitment to transcend some of that crap. Prove that you're not just paying it lip service.
- Hillary Clinton is an impressive and effective politician, not an American hero. Be kind to her—but don't lay it on too thick. You're doing pretty well among white women already.
- Make clear that you're a pragmatist. Bush was dogged by dogma. McCain is, too; prove that you're nimble enough to care more about results than rigid ideology. America's ready for that kind of leader.
- Instead of simply retelling your thumbnail biography (which of course you'll have to do, in part), pull out a particularly telling moment. Too much of your personal history is told in broad brush. You're a storyteller. Get textured, specific and authentic.
- Be as plain spoken as possible. At times, be conversational. And watch the preacher-like rhythms, which have always sounded a little false (to me, anyway). This will be a real challenge in a football stadium. You will be tempted to speak up and out to the crowd. But if the presentation is too big, it won't play well on camera—and risks reinforcing the single most effective character knock they make on you, that you're more style than substance. Some very simple sentences will go a very long way.
- Take on the experience question directly. When John Kerry saluted and reported for duty it fell flat. It was an awkwardly staged photo-op transparently designed to cover over a perceived weakness. Don't pretend you are as experienced as McCain, don't pretend it doesn't matter. Tell Americans you understand their concerns and take them seriously. Then, explain why your life and work has prepared you for the challenge of leading the country through these times.
- Make a joke or two. When you get up on stage, with the crowd practically worshipping at your feet, you need to remind them you're human—and simply repeating that you're human isn't good enough. Humor does it best.
- Remember Kennedy. The American people may be down on their luck, but they don't want someone who'll tell them government can solve every problem. Call on all Americans to be part of something bigger, and don't gloss over sacrifice. You've become increasingly good at this over the course of your campaign. Drive it home.
- Rephrase some of your old standbys. I know you're convinced that lots of people will be meeting you for the first time. Maybe so. But this campaign has been going on so long, and the candidates have been so exhaustively covered, that to a critical mass of people, "Yes We Can" and other mantras are, well, mantras. Boilerplate now feels like boilerplate, both to you and to the voters.
- Don't go too long. If you pause for every applause break, say two words when one is all you need, waste 20 minutes patting backs and paying tribute to King—and if your intro and conclusions are nearly as long as your substance. Before you know it, you might wind up on stage for an hour and the story becomes: self-indulgent speechifier yearns to make history.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Unconventional Wisdom II: First Step, Aim Low
By Robin Masters
Go to any speechwriter’s office and look at the bookshelf. What will you see? Possibly a copy of Strunk & White. Almost certainly Bartlett’s Popular Quotations. And, more likely than not, volumes full of collected speeches, with names like History’s Greatest Oratory and Words We Remember.
Speechwriters turn to those cherished tools often, whether for that elusive spark of inspiration, or—more likely—in moments of sheer desperation. They see them as representing the pinnacle of their craft, speeches that roll off the tongue, remain in the memory, and—in some cases—change the world.
They’re informative, reassuring, even fun to read. They’re also dangerous.
Right now the speechwriters for Senators John McCain and Barack Obama are working away at their convention speeches. They are writing for the biggest stages of their lives. If they’re like most speechwriters, they are being tempted by hundreds of pages of collected rhetoric sitting at their fingertips, waiting to be plumbed. But it’s a temptation they should avoid.
In fact, if they open those books, the first thing they might notice is that very few convention acceptance speeches are to be found. Maybe John. F Kennedy in 1960 laying out his vision of a New Frontier that “sums up not what I intend of offer the American people, but what I intend to ask of them.” Possibly Barry Goldwater in 1964 asserting that “extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice.” Perhaps George H.W. Bush asking us in 1988 to read his lips: “No new taxes.”
But as a rule, acceptance speeches are relatively unlikely to enter the annals of oratorical immortality. Of course, in some ways it is an unfair exercise. The convention acceptance speech is a relatively recent innovation. Abraham Lincoln, our nation’s greatest speaker—and speechwriter—lived at a time when it was considered untoward for a nominee to accept his party’s nomination in person. Had he done so, it is hard to believe that his words would not have been memorable. As it was, it was not until 1932 that Franklin Roosevelt broke from what he called the “absurd traditions” of the past and spoke in his own favor, changing—as he did in so many other ways—the American political landscape forever.
So the universe of acceptance speeches is relatively small. Nevertheless, it is difficult to deny that the last 76 years of American political history—the years since that first 1932 acceptance speech—have offered up more than their share of moments of tremendous rhetorical power. We know them well. FDR exhorting us that the “only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” JFK inspiring us to “ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” Ronald Reagan mourning with us for seven astronauts who “slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God.” Three of a multitude of powerful moments … but none from a convention speech.
Is there a lesson to be learned here for the McCain and Obama writing teams? Only that they need to consider exactly what an acceptance speech is supposed to be, and what it should accomplish. They may be tempted to shoot for the moon, but sometimes the moon just isn’t the right target. History-making oratory rarely makes an appearance in acceptance speeches, and success for Obama and McCain—and their writers—will not be defined as being listed in some future collection of great speeches.
So does that mean that these speeches—speeches that will no doubt be promoted and analyzed to within an inch of their lives—don’t in fact matter at all? Can the speechwriters for the McCain and Obama campaigns throw together a few canned clichés and knock off for a late-August vacation?
Unfortunately for them, they cannot. Acceptance speeches may not tend to offer history-defining moments, but they occupy a unique and important place in the modern American political tradition ... and they are not easy to write. They must be campaign speeches designed to invigorate like-minded supporters and introductions that must appeal to the wider electorate. They must encompass both political attacks and positive images of the future. They must be about policy and about votes. They are mishmashes and tightropes, and the pitfalls are as real as the opportunities.
In fact, by comparison, a high-minded speech—like an inaugural address—is a far easier one to write. A new president striding forward amid celebration, pomp, and circumstance and speaking for the first time to a nation that is usually willing, at least for a little while, to set aside its differences, is a speechwriter’s dream. Inaugurals are tailor-made for the soaring rhetoric that every writer puts to page with a smile on his face and the anticipation of reading fawning reviews in the days to follow.
But to get there, that speechwriter needs the convention speech first. And ultimately, he will not know if he was successful until Election Day. The analysts will have their say. The polls will move up and down. But the acceptance speech does not exist in isolation. It is like a late-season baseball game against a division rival. It alone cannot guarantee a championship weeks or months down the road. But a victory can add to or change a team’s momentum, give a pitcher or a batter crucial confidence, or even provide that one extra win that makes the difference in a tight race to make the postseason.
That is the approach the McCain and Obama speechwriters should be taking. They need momentum and confidence and a little extra edge. They need an enthusiastic base and a willing-to-listen middle. They need clear lines of attack against their opponents and policy pronouncements that sound like promises but aren’t. Most of all, they need to set aside the greatest speech compilations. The time for poetry is January 20. The time for a careful, grind-it-out, measure-every-word juggling act is now.
Masters is a former Bush Administration speechwriter
Go to any speechwriter’s office and look at the bookshelf. What will you see? Possibly a copy of Strunk & White. Almost certainly Bartlett’s Popular Quotations. And, more likely than not, volumes full of collected speeches, with names like History’s Greatest Oratory and Words We Remember.
Speechwriters turn to those cherished tools often, whether for that elusive spark of inspiration, or—more likely—in moments of sheer desperation. They see them as representing the pinnacle of their craft, speeches that roll off the tongue, remain in the memory, and—in some cases—change the world.
They’re informative, reassuring, even fun to read. They’re also dangerous.
Right now the speechwriters for Senators John McCain and Barack Obama are working away at their convention speeches. They are writing for the biggest stages of their lives. If they’re like most speechwriters, they are being tempted by hundreds of pages of collected rhetoric sitting at their fingertips, waiting to be plumbed. But it’s a temptation they should avoid.
In fact, if they open those books, the first thing they might notice is that very few convention acceptance speeches are to be found. Maybe John. F Kennedy in 1960 laying out his vision of a New Frontier that “sums up not what I intend of offer the American people, but what I intend to ask of them.” Possibly Barry Goldwater in 1964 asserting that “extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice.” Perhaps George H.W. Bush asking us in 1988 to read his lips: “No new taxes.”
But as a rule, acceptance speeches are relatively unlikely to enter the annals of oratorical immortality. Of course, in some ways it is an unfair exercise. The convention acceptance speech is a relatively recent innovation. Abraham Lincoln, our nation’s greatest speaker—and speechwriter—lived at a time when it was considered untoward for a nominee to accept his party’s nomination in person. Had he done so, it is hard to believe that his words would not have been memorable. As it was, it was not until 1932 that Franklin Roosevelt broke from what he called the “absurd traditions” of the past and spoke in his own favor, changing—as he did in so many other ways—the American political landscape forever.
So the universe of acceptance speeches is relatively small. Nevertheless, it is difficult to deny that the last 76 years of American political history—the years since that first 1932 acceptance speech—have offered up more than their share of moments of tremendous rhetorical power. We know them well. FDR exhorting us that the “only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” JFK inspiring us to “ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” Ronald Reagan mourning with us for seven astronauts who “slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God.” Three of a multitude of powerful moments … but none from a convention speech.
Is there a lesson to be learned here for the McCain and Obama writing teams? Only that they need to consider exactly what an acceptance speech is supposed to be, and what it should accomplish. They may be tempted to shoot for the moon, but sometimes the moon just isn’t the right target. History-making oratory rarely makes an appearance in acceptance speeches, and success for Obama and McCain—and their writers—will not be defined as being listed in some future collection of great speeches.
So does that mean that these speeches—speeches that will no doubt be promoted and analyzed to within an inch of their lives—don’t in fact matter at all? Can the speechwriters for the McCain and Obama campaigns throw together a few canned clichés and knock off for a late-August vacation?
Unfortunately for them, they cannot. Acceptance speeches may not tend to offer history-defining moments, but they occupy a unique and important place in the modern American political tradition ... and they are not easy to write. They must be campaign speeches designed to invigorate like-minded supporters and introductions that must appeal to the wider electorate. They must encompass both political attacks and positive images of the future. They must be about policy and about votes. They are mishmashes and tightropes, and the pitfalls are as real as the opportunities.
In fact, by comparison, a high-minded speech—like an inaugural address—is a far easier one to write. A new president striding forward amid celebration, pomp, and circumstance and speaking for the first time to a nation that is usually willing, at least for a little while, to set aside its differences, is a speechwriter’s dream. Inaugurals are tailor-made for the soaring rhetoric that every writer puts to page with a smile on his face and the anticipation of reading fawning reviews in the days to follow.
But to get there, that speechwriter needs the convention speech first. And ultimately, he will not know if he was successful until Election Day. The analysts will have their say. The polls will move up and down. But the acceptance speech does not exist in isolation. It is like a late-season baseball game against a division rival. It alone cannot guarantee a championship weeks or months down the road. But a victory can add to or change a team’s momentum, give a pitcher or a batter crucial confidence, or even provide that one extra win that makes the difference in a tight race to make the postseason.
That is the approach the McCain and Obama speechwriters should be taking. They need momentum and confidence and a little extra edge. They need an enthusiastic base and a willing-to-listen middle. They need clear lines of attack against their opponents and policy pronouncements that sound like promises but aren’t. Most of all, they need to set aside the greatest speech compilations. The time for poetry is January 20. The time for a careful, grind-it-out, measure-every-word juggling act is now.
Masters is a former Bush Administration speechwriter
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Gotham BloGG Launches Series Previewing Presidential Convention Speeches With Top Political Speechwriters
“Unconventional Wisdom” kicks off with advice for Obama from author and former Clinton Administration scribe Michael Cohen
With the Democratic and Republican party conventions right around the corner, we are launching a new series on the Gotham BloGG today called “Unconventional Wisdom,” which will provide rare inside insights from seasoned speechwriters from both sides of the aisle into what the candidates should and will say in their high-stakes acceptance speeches.
The series kicks off with a preview of Democratic nominee Barack Obama’s historic address in Denver in two weeks from Gotham team member Michael Cohen. A former Clinton Administration scribe, Cohen is the author of Live From the Campaign Trail: The Greatest Presidential Campaign Speeches of the Twentieth Century and How They Shaped Modern America, which was released in July.
Gotham President Dan Gerstein, a veteran political speechwriter and commentator, said the inspiration for the blog series came in part from Obama’s ongoing call for change.
“Much as we do every four years, we will soon be treated to growing piles of punditry about what the two presidential candidates need to say and accomplish with their acceptance speeches. And as usual, almost all of this authoritative-sounding analysis will likely come from commentators and strategists who have never written a political speech,” Gerstein explained.
“We thought it might be refreshing to hear from a group of highly articulate people who have some meaningful experience and expertise in this area — and who are thus uniquely positioned to inform the public debate and enlighten viewers about the defining speeches Barack Obama and John McCain will be delivering in a few weeks.”
With that in mind, Gerstein said, the Gotham BloGG will temporarily be turned into a platform for top Democratic and Republic speechwriters to preview and predict what’s to come in the big addresses in Denver and the Twin Cities.
The Unconventional Wisdom series will include bylined commentaries from Gotham team members and other political speechwriters, as well a few unsigned posts from scribes who wish to remain anonymous for professional reasons, and run through the end of the Republican convention on September 4th.
“We hope that people who are interested in the campaign and the conventions can benefit a little from our accumulated knowledge and experience,” Gerstein said. “And who knows, maybe a few pundits will see the writing on our wall and be the wiser for it.”
Gotham Ghostwriters is New York City's only world-class, full-service writing firm. We specialize in the cultivation and amplification of thought leadership for clients who aspire to stand out and spur change.
With the Democratic and Republican party conventions right around the corner, we are launching a new series on the Gotham BloGG today called “Unconventional Wisdom,” which will provide rare inside insights from seasoned speechwriters from both sides of the aisle into what the candidates should and will say in their high-stakes acceptance speeches.
The series kicks off with a preview of Democratic nominee Barack Obama’s historic address in Denver in two weeks from Gotham team member Michael Cohen. A former Clinton Administration scribe, Cohen is the author of Live From the Campaign Trail: The Greatest Presidential Campaign Speeches of the Twentieth Century and How They Shaped Modern America, which was released in July.
Gotham President Dan Gerstein, a veteran political speechwriter and commentator, said the inspiration for the blog series came in part from Obama’s ongoing call for change.
“Much as we do every four years, we will soon be treated to growing piles of punditry about what the two presidential candidates need to say and accomplish with their acceptance speeches. And as usual, almost all of this authoritative-sounding analysis will likely come from commentators and strategists who have never written a political speech,” Gerstein explained.
“We thought it might be refreshing to hear from a group of highly articulate people who have some meaningful experience and expertise in this area — and who are thus uniquely positioned to inform the public debate and enlighten viewers about the defining speeches Barack Obama and John McCain will be delivering in a few weeks.”
With that in mind, Gerstein said, the Gotham BloGG will temporarily be turned into a platform for top Democratic and Republic speechwriters to preview and predict what’s to come in the big addresses in Denver and the Twin Cities.
The Unconventional Wisdom series will include bylined commentaries from Gotham team members and other political speechwriters, as well a few unsigned posts from scribes who wish to remain anonymous for professional reasons, and run through the end of the Republican convention on September 4th.
“We hope that people who are interested in the campaign and the conventions can benefit a little from our accumulated knowledge and experience,” Gerstein said. “And who knows, maybe a few pundits will see the writing on our wall and be the wiser for it.”
Gotham Ghostwriters is New York City's only world-class, full-service writing firm. We specialize in the cultivation and amplification of thought leadership for clients who aspire to stand out and spur change.
Unconventional Wisdom I: For Obama, it’s about change you are comfortable with
By Michael Cohen
In his rather short political career Barack Obama has given a career’s worth of high pressure speeches; the keynote address at the 2004 Democratic Convention, the Jefferson-Jackson dinner in Des Moines, Iowa, his “race speech” in Philadelphia. But those were relative child’s play compared to the address Obama will be delivering two weeks from today at Invesco Field in Denver.
Since Franklin Roosevelt became the first presidential candidate to accept his party’s nomination in person at a national convention, acceptance speeches have taken on extraordinary significance in presidential campaigns. They have become the single most effective tool for candidates to get their key campaign themes across to the American people and provide a positive personal image for the electorate. At the very least, it is the most viewed, read and heard campaign speech of an entire modern presidential campaign.
But for Obama the stakes for his speech may be higher than any convention address since Bill Clinton accepted the Democratic nomination in 1992 or when Ronald Reagan accepted his party’s nod in 1980.
As many commentators have noted, the 2008 race for the White House is increasingly shaping up to be an election about Barack Obama. This is not to suggest that John McCain is a sideshow; but in a year when Democrats have huge structural advantages, when the desire for change among the American people is overwhelming and yet the party’s standard bearer remains relatively unknown to a large segment of the population, Obama’s ability to convince skeptical Americans that he can be trusted with the nation’s highest job will be critical. For Obama’s campaign, it’s as much as about change you are comfortable with as it is change you can believe in.
Of course, based on his rhetorical reputation, the pressure and the expectations could not be higher for Obama – many voters who have never seen him speak will be expecting Martin Luther King, Jr., Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy all rolled into one oratorical rock star. Throw in the fact that Obama will be speaking before 70,000 partisans in an outdoor football stadium on the 45th anniversary of MLK’s “I Have a Dream” speech . . . well let’s just say, I don’t envy Obama’s speechwriter.
So what should Obama do in his acceptance speech? Well, as the old saying goes, “you gotta dance with the girl who brung you.” Obama should stick with many of the same campaign themes that won him the Democratic primary over Hillary Clinton. He needs to stay away from the minutiae of ten-point policy plans and stick, instead to his vision for America; providing the American people with a clear sense of what an Obama presidency will entail.
But above all, Obama needs to inspire and energize voters, in much the same way he did back in Iowa, New Hampshire, and other primary and caucus states. Obama’s rise to power did not come from the fact that the opposed the Iraq War or he had a better health care plan than his Democratic opponents; it came from his call for political change and the aspirational nature of his candidacy.
Just as JFK did nearly 50 years ago with his New Frontier, Obama must cast the 2008 election as one between the forces of change and those that represent the status quo. With 80 percent of the country believing America is on the wrong track, this should be the easiest part of Obama’s speech.
But beyond change, a key element of Obama’s appeal is hope; and the sense that his election represents not only a new style of politics, but also a return to treasured American values after the wayward drift of the Bush years. This is a theme that needs to front and center and Obama would be wise look back not to a past Democratic candidate for inspiration, but instead a past Republican President: Ronald Reagan and his call in 1980 to “renew the American spirit and sense of purpose.”
That was the message that Barack Obama was getting at in January after he won the Iowa Democratic caucus as he sought to his cast victory in seminal terms:
It’s a tall order for any speech, but considering Obama’s rhetorical efforts to date, we know that he certainly has it in him. His success at meeting this challenge in Denver will go a long way toward determining whether he will be America’s 44th President.
Cohen, a former Clinton Administration speechwriter, is the author of Live From the Campaign Trail: The Greatest Presidential Campaign Speeches of the Twentieth Century and How They Shaped Modern America
In his rather short political career Barack Obama has given a career’s worth of high pressure speeches; the keynote address at the 2004 Democratic Convention, the Jefferson-Jackson dinner in Des Moines, Iowa, his “race speech” in Philadelphia. But those were relative child’s play compared to the address Obama will be delivering two weeks from today at Invesco Field in Denver.
Since Franklin Roosevelt became the first presidential candidate to accept his party’s nomination in person at a national convention, acceptance speeches have taken on extraordinary significance in presidential campaigns. They have become the single most effective tool for candidates to get their key campaign themes across to the American people and provide a positive personal image for the electorate. At the very least, it is the most viewed, read and heard campaign speech of an entire modern presidential campaign.
But for Obama the stakes for his speech may be higher than any convention address since Bill Clinton accepted the Democratic nomination in 1992 or when Ronald Reagan accepted his party’s nod in 1980.
As many commentators have noted, the 2008 race for the White House is increasingly shaping up to be an election about Barack Obama. This is not to suggest that John McCain is a sideshow; but in a year when Democrats have huge structural advantages, when the desire for change among the American people is overwhelming and yet the party’s standard bearer remains relatively unknown to a large segment of the population, Obama’s ability to convince skeptical Americans that he can be trusted with the nation’s highest job will be critical. For Obama’s campaign, it’s as much as about change you are comfortable with as it is change you can believe in.
Of course, based on his rhetorical reputation, the pressure and the expectations could not be higher for Obama – many voters who have never seen him speak will be expecting Martin Luther King, Jr., Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy all rolled into one oratorical rock star. Throw in the fact that Obama will be speaking before 70,000 partisans in an outdoor football stadium on the 45th anniversary of MLK’s “I Have a Dream” speech . . . well let’s just say, I don’t envy Obama’s speechwriter.
So what should Obama do in his acceptance speech? Well, as the old saying goes, “you gotta dance with the girl who brung you.” Obama should stick with many of the same campaign themes that won him the Democratic primary over Hillary Clinton. He needs to stay away from the minutiae of ten-point policy plans and stick, instead to his vision for America; providing the American people with a clear sense of what an Obama presidency will entail.
But above all, Obama needs to inspire and energize voters, in much the same way he did back in Iowa, New Hampshire, and other primary and caucus states. Obama’s rise to power did not come from the fact that the opposed the Iraq War or he had a better health care plan than his Democratic opponents; it came from his call for political change and the aspirational nature of his candidacy.
Just as JFK did nearly 50 years ago with his New Frontier, Obama must cast the 2008 election as one between the forces of change and those that represent the status quo. With 80 percent of the country believing America is on the wrong track, this should be the easiest part of Obama’s speech.
But beyond change, a key element of Obama’s appeal is hope; and the sense that his election represents not only a new style of politics, but also a return to treasured American values after the wayward drift of the Bush years. This is a theme that needs to front and center and Obama would be wise look back not to a past Democratic candidate for inspiration, but instead a past Republican President: Ronald Reagan and his call in 1980 to “renew the American spirit and sense of purpose.”
That was the message that Barack Obama was getting at in January after he won the Iowa Democratic caucus as he sought to his cast victory in seminal terms:
Years from now, you'll look back and you'll say that this was the moment, this was the place where America remembered what it means to hope.Just as Ronald Reagan in 1980 called for a national crusade that would “make America great again,” Obama must sound a clarion call for “America to believe again;” belief in the potential of America to again do great things, whether it’s ending the war in Iraq, fixing the economy or dealing with the challenge of climate change. Obama would be wise to wrap his political agenda in this sort of affirmative vision of change. While some might consider such themes Pollyannaish, it is indeed this sort of rhetorical approach that has come to define the most memorable and effective campaign addresses.
. . . Hope is that thing inside us that insists, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that something better awaits us if we have the courage to reach for it and to work for it and to fight for it.
Hope is what led a band of colonists to rise up against an empire. What led the greatest of generations to free a continent and heal a nation. What led young women and young men to sit at lunch counters and brave fire hoses and march through Selma and Montgomery for freedom's cause.
Hope is the bedrock of this nation. The belief that our destiny will not be written for us, but by us, by all those men and women who are not content to settle for the world as it is, who have the courage to remake the world as it should be.
. . . We are not a collection of red states and blue states. We are the United States of America. And in this moment, in this election, we are ready to believe again.
It’s a tall order for any speech, but considering Obama’s rhetorical efforts to date, we know that he certainly has it in him. His success at meeting this challenge in Denver will go a long way toward determining whether he will be America’s 44th President.
Cohen, a former Clinton Administration speechwriter, is the author of Live From the Campaign Trail: The Greatest Presidential Campaign Speeches of the Twentieth Century and How They Shaped Modern America
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