Jason Jewell

27 November 1995

Humanities 447 -- Taylor

I had the opportunity this fall to listen and learn from a menagerie of political personalities: Mike Murphy, political strategist and current manager of Lamar Alexander's presidential campaign; Mike McCurry, Bill Clinton's White House Press Secretary; James Carville, Clinton's 1992 campaign manager; and Steve Forbes, a 1996 Republican presidential candidate. As each of these men stood before me, they were cursed with the task of overcoming my inherent cynicism towards American politics .

Fortunately, these men not only achieved but surpassed my latent desire for them to be "cool". Although some of my post-modern generation X cynicism still lingers, I have come away from this semester with a certain degree of respect for the thought, energy, and personality that goes into the art of political persuasion.

By listening to and studying these political maestros, it became clear that a significant portion of success -- there are varying degrees of a politician’s ability to persuade -- is awarded to those who master certain tested political fundamentals. The other ingredient (optional to the extent that not everyone possesses it) is the ability to apply one's distinct personality and style to these basics in order to give presentations originality and zeal.

James Carville was the most appealing politician of the bunch. His deep Louisiana accent, huge dopey grin, modest background and demeanor, deep emotionalism, and funny wit are all part and parcel of his formidable communication skills. After Carville captured the audience's attention with a plethora of jokes and anecdotes, he proceeded to introduce the substance of his speech in an emotionally inspiring and forthright manner. After class, the extent of Carville's success was obvious as my fellow students waddled after him to his next lecture like a gaggle of goslings imprinting their mother goose.

James Carville is one of those rare politicians who can forgo political etiquette and still manage to win the hearts and minds of the audience. Carville does not subscribe to the conservative principled negotiation tactic "that falls between hard and soft negotiation and attempts a trade-off between getting what you want and getting along with people" (Fisher and Ury, Getting to Yes: Negotiating Agreement Without Giving In, xviii).

His stubbornness would normally work against a politician because it creates enemies and does not allow for cohesive policy resolutions. Yet, Carville is able to maneuver around these negativity’s by commanding respect from the audience (i.e. a man who stands by his word is seen as one who has stamina, integrity, and the ability to lead). On CNN’s Meet The Press, for example, Carville argued for ten minutes with a Republican strategist over whether or not Newt Gingrich said that Medicare would "whither on the vine." Carville was able to play the infamously stubborn game of "No, he didn't; Yes, he did" with the strategist because he does not have to play the alternatively stifling game of Congressional compromise.

Similarly, Carville’s political genius enables him to make shrewd jokes. For example, he opened up his Princeton speech with a masturbation joke. To my amazement, he turned this potentially offensive joke into a neutral joke by turning it on himself. Thus, while Carville understands the fundamentals of politics (i.e. playing to the crowd, understanding issues), he also understands how to manipulate verbiage in such a way as to permeate a distinct style and flair.

Carville and Murphy proved that levity and brevity are two of the most important qualities in any speech, regardless of the socio-economic or intellectual make-up of the audience. To be sure, the intellectual community of Princeton University overwhelmingly preferred Carville’s candor and humor to Forbes’s one dimensional intellectual approach. Although speeches do not necessarily demand these qualities, their usage does often establish the originality and zeal that separates the upper crust of political communicators from the mundane, albeit qualified, middle group.

For all his intellect and bright ideas, Steve Forbes is a prisoner of this upper middle class of politicians. Moreover, he is probably the best example of a man who is not fit for the presidency, let alone speech-making. His speech was not funny; it was not engaging -- he may have persuaded people that his ideas were good, but he did not persuade them that he was the right executive to administer the policies; and his speech did not use his Princeton alumnus status to create a common bond with the audience (as Mike McCurry did). He is a man who is better suited to a high ranking policy position, whether in the Executive Office of the President or as a cabinet secretary. As Steve Forbes gains credibility and percentage points amongst the Republican field of candidates, one can not help but wonder if the rest of the pool suffers from similar inadequacies. Indeed, Larry Sabato’s Feeding Frenzy may not be far from the truth in declaring that the presidential election system prevents the most qualified candidates from running. There is a provocative question that arises out of this analysis that critics may wish to ponder: How would make a better president, a James Carville or a Steve Forbes?

It is not surprising that the American public is ambivalent about politics. After all, who would guess that an intelligent Ivy Leaguer would be outspoken by a former drunken, masturbating, LSU drop-out? Yet, it seems inevitable that impressions would change if they were exposed to politicians in action, as I recently was. Indeed, politics has been dubbed an art form for a reason -- like art, the closer you get to politicians and the longer you observe them, the better you understand them for their pros and cons. Similarly, if viewed from afar (i.e. through the media) impressions become tarnished by sensationalism.

Although I learned valuable lessons about the intricacies of political communication, there is one revelation in particular that will stay with me for the rest of my life: the striking disparity between the politician as created by the American pop culture monolith and the politician as he creates himself through his own political communication. This distinction was striking because I was well aware of the argument prior to my experience, but only a believer of the argument after my experience. I encourage all Americans to experience this epiphany if given the opportunity.