Evaluating Obama

Interesting piece here from the Stanley Fish Blog in the New York Times:

June 7, 2009, 10:00 pm
Yes I Can

Last week I was driving home listening to President Obama’s speech on the General Motors bankruptcy, and I heard the full emergence of a note that had been sounded only occasionally in the two-plus years since the announcement of his candidacy. It was the note of imperial possession, the accents and cadences of a man supremely aware of his authority and more than comfortable with its exercise.
Video: Speeches Mentioned in This Article

* Presidential Announcement Feb. 10, 2007 (Youtube)
* Iowa Caucus Victory Speech Jan. 3, 2008 (Youtube.com)
* Speech on Race March 18, 2008
* Election Night Victory Speech Nov. 4, 2008
* Inaugural Address Jan. 20, 2009
* Speech to Congress Feb. 24, 2009
* President Discusses G.M. Bankruptcy June 2, 2009

I was reminded of the last scene of “Godfather I,” when Michael Corleone, who begins the film as a young idealistic patriot, ends it by striking the pose of a Roman emperor as subordinates kiss his ring. Obama is still idealistic and a patriot, but he is now also an emperor and his speech shows it. “Language,” Ben Jonson says in Discoveries, “shows a man; speak that I may see thee.”

What Obama’s language showed when he began his campaign in February 2007 was a commitment to a project larger than his personal ambitions: ”It’s humbling to see a crowd like this, but in my heart I know you didn’t come here just for me.” He acknowledges that “there is a certain presumptuousness” to his candidacy and in the body of the speech he begins sentence after sentence (the rhetorical figure is “anaphora”) with this inclusive construction “Let us be the generation”: “Let us be the generation that reshapes our economy”; “Let us be the generation that ends poverty.” Later, he insists that “this campaign can’t only be about me; it must be about us.”

When he does use the first personal pronoun, its self assertion is immediately muted. “I want to win that next battle — for justice and opportunity. I want to win that next battle — for better schools, and better jobs, and health care for all.” Both syntactically and substantively, the “I” is subordinated to the projects to which it is dedicated.

When he wins the Iowa caucus on Jan. 3, 2008, the rhetoric alters as he imagines himself (perhaps for the first time) performing in the office he aspires to. “Let us” is replaced by “I’ll”: “I’ll be a president who harnesses the ingenuity of farmers.” “I’ll be a president who finally makes health care affordable.” “I’ll be a president who ends this war in Iraq.”

A little more than two months later (March 18), in the great speech on race, the “I” is once again firmly in check. He announces a resolve — “I have asserted a firm conviction” — but it is a conviction that acknowledges and embraces others: “…that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds.” After saying that, the “we” takes over: “We can come together.” “We want to talk about the crumbling schools. “We want to reject cynicism.” “We want to talk about the shuttered mills.” “We want to talk about how to bring them home from war.” And he concludes with a call to collaborative arms: This “is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger.”

If there is an occasion on which self-promotion would be understandable, even reasonable, it is on the night one accepts the nomination for president. But Obama signals from the beginning that he’s not going to go there: “With profound gratitude and great humility, I accept your nomination.” That’s the last “I” we see for a long time. It’s “we democrats who have a very different measure”; “We measure progress by how many people can find a job”; “We measure the strength of our economy not by the number of billionaires”; “Ours is a promise that says…”

When he comes to rehearse the changes he hopes to bring about, the use of “I” is unavoidable — “I will tap our natural gas reserves,” “I’ll help our auto-companies retool,” “I will never hesitate to defend this nation” — but these promises are obligatory and generic and so escape the taint of boasting. As the speech climaxes America, not Obama, is the exhorted agent of change: ”America, this is one of those moments.” “America, we cannot turn back.”

This restraint and modesty also mark the victory speech delivered in Grant Park, Chicago, on Nov. 4. The key note is struck early: “This is your victory.” When he promises, the promise is made not to the people, but on their behalf: “I promise you, we as a people will get there.” It is a short sentence, but by the end of it the self assertion of the “I” has been entirely dissipated. Repeatedly, agency and power are transferred to the audience. Change “cannot happen without you, without a new spirit of service, a new spirit of sacrifice.” And, of course, the repeated refrain, “Yes we can.”

Everything alters in the inaugural address (Jan. 20, 2009). The promises are now made to an America that is asked only to stand by while they are fulfilled. “Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. “But know America” — or, in other words, “hear me” — “…they will be met.” And later, when he says, “We will build the roads and bridges… We will restore science to its rightful place… We will harness the sun and winds,” the “we” is now the royal we: just you watch, “All this we will do.”

By the time of the address to the Congress on Feb. 24, the royal we has flowered into the naked “I”: “As soon as I took office, I asked this Congress.” “I called for action.” “I pushed for quick action.” “I have told each of my cabinet.” “I’ve appointed a proven and aggressive inspector general.” “I refuse to let that happen.” “I will not spend a single penny.” “I reject the view that says our problems will simply take care of themselves.” “I held a fiscal summit where I pledged to cut the deficit in half by the end of my first term.” That last is particularly telling: it says, there’s going to be a second term, I’m already moving fast, and if you don’t want to be left in the dust, you’d better fall in line.

There’s no mistaking what’s going on in the speech delivered last week. No preliminary niceties; just a rehearsal of Obama’s actions and expectations. Eight “I”’s right off the bat: “Just over two months ago I spoke with you… and I laid out what needed to be done.” “From the beginning I made it clear that I would not put any more tax dollars on the line.” “I refused to let those companies become permanent wards of the state.” “I refused to kick the can down the road. But I also recognized the importance of a viable auto industry.” “I decided then…” (He is really the decider.)

Accompanying the “I”’s are a bevy of “my”’s, which reach out to embrace the universe. The third time he says “my auto task force,” it sounds as if he were referring to a lap dog. Ditto the mention of Karen Mills, “my Small Business Administration” chief. When he thanks Canada and Germany for doing their part, it is as if those sovereign nations were doing him a personal favor to which he was entitled. When he invokes “my administration” you might think he was talking about some prized possession. (My daughter…my ducats.) It is always “I couldn’t in good conscience,” “I became convinced,” “I wanted to ensure,” “I instructed,” “I recognized,” “I want” (three times), “I’m calling on Congress.” At least he doesn’t say “my Congress,” although that is certainly implied.

No doubt this pattern of pronouns reflects a reality. By all the evidence we have, the guy’s completely in charge, making decisions, giving instructions, deploying resources, assigning tasks — a combination point guard, quarterback and clean-up hitter. And if he gets results, as he seems to be doing, that’s O.K.

But it may not be O.K., as a matter of rhetoric and politics, to advertise it. An occasional passive construction to soften the claim of agency would be a good idea (even though the grammar books warn against it). It’s one thing to be calling the tune; it’s another to proclaim it in every sentence. Someone is going to say, “Am I the only one who thinks that Obama likes the sound of his own voice?” (Sea Urchin, here).

Of course we all like the sound of our own voices. The trick , which Obama will probably learn down the road, is to avoid making it too obvious.