Read this Op/Ed from the New York Times about
the point where rhetoric trumps substance.
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The Candidates, Seen From the Classroom
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September 24, 2004
 By STANLEY FISH 

CHICAGO - In an unofficial but very formal poll taken in my
freshman writing class the other day, George Bush beat John
Kerry by a vote of 13 to 2 (14 to 2, if you count me). My
students were not voting on the candidates' ideas. They
were voting on the skill (or lack of skill) displayed in
the presentation of those ideas. 

The basis for their judgments was a side-by-side display in
this newspaper on Sept. 8 of excerpts from speeches each
man gave the previous day. Put aside whatever preferences
you might have for either candidate's positions, I
instructed; just tell me who does a better job of
articulating his positions, and why. 

The analysis was devastating. President Bush, the students
pointed out, begins with a perfect topic sentence - "Our
strategy is succeeding"- that nicely sets up a first
paragraph describing how conditions in Afghanistan, Iraq,
Libya, Pakistan and Saudi Arabia four years ago aided
terrorists. This is followed by a paragraph explaining how
the administration's policies have produced a turnaround in
each country "because we acted." The paragraph's conclusion
is concise, brisk and earned: "We have led, many have
joined, and America and the world are safer." 



It doesn't hurt that the names of the countries he lists
all have the letter "a," as do the words "America" and
"safer." He and his speechwriters deserve credit for using
the accident of euphony to give the argument cohesiveness
and force. There is of course no logical relationship
between the repetition of a sound and the soundness of an
argument, but if it is skillfully employed repetition can
enhance a logical point or even give the illusion of one
when none is present. 

The students also found repetition in the Kerry speech,
about the outsourcing of jobs, but, as many pointed out,
when Mr. Kerry repeats the phrase "your tax dollars" it is
because he has become lost in his own sentence and has to
begin again. 

When he finally extracts himself from that sentence, he
makes two big mistakes in the next one: "That's bad enough,
but you know there's something worse, don't you?" No,
Senator Kerry, we don't know - because you haven't told us.
He is asking people to respond to a point he hasn't yet
made and, even worse, by saying "don't you?" he is implying
they should know what this point is before he makes it. As
a result, the audience is made to feel stupid. 



And if that wasn't "bad enough,'' consider his next two
sentences. Up until now Mr. Kerry's point (insofar as you
could discern one) had been that current tax policies
reward companies for moving their operations overseas. But
he goes on to add, "it gets worse than that in terms of
choices." The audience barely has time to wonder what and
whose choices he's talking about before it is entirely
disoriented by the declaration that "today the tax code
actually does something that's right." Excuse us, but how
can getting something "right" be "worse"? It turns out that
there is an answer to that question later in the speech -
Mr. Kerry says that while the tax code now rewards
companies that export American products, Mr. Bush wants to
eliminate that good incentive - but it comes far too late
for an audience discombobulated by the sudden and
unannounced change in the argument's direction. 

Senator Kerry, my students observed with a mix of solemnity
and glee, has violated two cardinal rules of exposition:
don't presume your audience has information you haven't
provided, and always pay attention to the expectations of
your listeners. They also felt that when he concludes by
declaring that "when I'm president of the United States,
it'll take me about a nanosecond to ask the Congress to
close that stupid loophole," he undercuts the dignity both
of his message and of the office he aspires to by calling
the loophole "stupid" (instead of "unconscionable" or
"unprincipled" or even "criminal"). "Stupid," one student
said, is not a "presidential kind of word." 

So what? What does it matter if Mr. Kerry's words stumble
and halt, while Mr. Bush's flow easily from sentence to
sentence and paragraph to paragraph? Well, listen to the
composite judgments my students made on the Democratic
challenger: "confused," "difficult to understand," "can't
seem to make his point clearly," "I'm not sure what he's
saying," and my favorite, "he's kind of 'skippy,' all over
the place." 

Now of course it could be the case that every student who
voted against Mr. Kerry's speech in my little poll will
vote for him in the general election. After all, what we're
talking about here is merely a matter of style, not
substance, right? And - this is a common refrain among
Kerry supporters - doesn't Mr. Bush's directness and
simplicity of presentation reflect a simplicity of mind and
an incapacity for nuance, while Mr. Kerry's ideas are just
too complicated for the rhythms of publicly accessible
prose? 

Sorry, but that's dead wrong. If you can't explain an idea
or a policy plainly in one or two sentences, it's not
yours; and if it's not yours, no one you speak to will be
persuaded of it, or even know what it is, or (and this is
the real point) know what you are. Words are not just the
cosmetic clothing of some underlying integrity; they are
the operational vehicles of that integrity, the visible
manifestation of the character to which others respond. And
if the words you use fall apart, ring hollow, trail off and
sound as if they came from nowhere or anywhere (these are
the same thing), the suspicion will grow that what they
lack is what you lack, and no one will follow you. 

Nervous Democrats who see their candidate slipping in the
polls console themselves by saying, "Just wait, the debates
are coming.'' As someone who will vote for John Kerry even
though I voted against him in my class, that's just what
I'm worried about. 

Stanley Fish is dean emeritus at the University of Illinois
at Chicago.