Nib #61 Trump’s Secret Speechwriting Weapon

Honest Abe was a great writer -- especially the one time he wasn't.

Not today, Satan.

The official Democratic response to President Donald Trump’s big speech before Congress last week offered the country not only a contrast of political visions, but of rhetorical strategies. Trump’s address was defined by — and indeed, succeeded on — the strength of its concrete details: specific programs cut, specific heroes lauded, specific private-sector investments announced (See Nib #61 ). Democratic Senator Elissa Slotkin’s nationally televised speech immediately following Trump was, too. But not obviously. Most of the specific details of the speech were biographical, in the first 100 words. After that, Slotkin glazed over issues with airbrushed generalities: “We need to bring down the price of things we spend the most money on…” “… change doesn’t need to be chaotic or make us less safe…” “Today’s world is deeply interconnected…” “We are a nation of strivers.” The climax of Slotkin’s speech was almost a parody of homogenized political banalities. The two things we need to overcome today’s challenges, according to Slotkin and her speechwriters: “Engaged citizens and principled leaders.” Woof. On the other hand, Democrats know this poll-tested pap won’t move the needle. So what’s really going on here? The most likely answer is what boxers call the “rope-a-dope.” That is, Slotkin’s — and by extension her party’s — plan here is to put up perfunctory, superficial resistance to bait Trump into overreaching or punching himself out. This is what Muhammed Ali famously did to George Foreman in 1974.

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This is of the harshest but most essential lessons young writers must learn to become better, more persuasive and creative writers: No one cares what you think. Learning this lesson in school is almost impossible. For our first 15 years as writers, our audiences — our teachers — are literally paid to closely read everything we write. So we grow up intuiting that our authorship as such makes something worth reading. This is not the case after graduation. No one outside your closest circle of friends and family will ever read your stuff just ‘cuz. They will only read what is worth their time to read. People read for themselves, not for authors’ sakes. (Don’t believe me? Think for a moment how you ruthlessly delete 98% of your emails mere seconds after receiving them.)  Good writers, then, strive to make their compositions good to read: informative, interesting, entertaining, and always clear. Once a writer overcomes this psychological hurdle — no one cares what I think — the actual work of writing comes into much sharper focus. You’ll start to see your writing through the eyes of your audience. All of a sudden, evidence is not there simply to support your argument, but to convince your reader. Word choice and phrasing and cadence don’t just express your inner thoughts; they capture your audience. Paragraphing becomes less about textual organization and more about reader momentum. Things like the passive voice, overwriting, and overlong sentences become easier to spot and correct. You become better at identifying and avoiding digressions. You stop showing off. You quit trying to write and start trying to connect and inform and frame and persuade — which is what we really mean by good writing in the first place. Authorial humility is a paradoxical superpower. The sooner you accept your readers’ indifference to your opinions, the better you’ll be at convincing them your opinions are right. Until next week… keep writing!

In political debate, paraphrasing Carl Sandburg: “When public opinion is against you, argue the policy. If the policy is against you, argue public opinion. If public opinion and policy are against you, pound the table and yell like hell.” But what if public opinion and the policy merits are with you? How should you argue then? Humbly . That is the lesson writers should take from President Donald Trump’s second inaugural address. Trump, famous for his swaggering, insult-comic oratorical style just gave an object lesson in the power of rhetorical humility. The heart of the speech was litany of executive orders Trump promised would launch “a revolution of common sense” and “a thrilling new era of national success.” Policy specificity is an odd choice for an inaugural address, especially for a president not known for wonkery. So why make the choice? Because Trump’s agenda is the most popular, unifying thing about his second presidency. Look closely at Trump’s litany. The executive orders cover the border, inflation and the economy, free speech and the rule of law, and global peacemaking. Those are the issues that won him the election. However polarizing Trump’s brash personality can be, the agenda he laid out in his inaugural address is utterly uncontroversial. Which was the point. For this president, in this moment, announcing popular, unifying policy details in his inaugural address was a double-edged sword. First, it allowed Trump to rally the large, multi-racial, middle-class coalition he leads and through which he hopes to govern. And second, it trapped congressional Democrats on the horns of a dilemma. By offering a radically reasonable agenda as the answer to the country’s problems, Trump is forcing Democrats to choose between their partisan comfort-zone and their political self-interest. This term, Trump is saying, being “Never Trump” will mean “resisting” mainstream reforms that Democrats’ own voters support. (So far, the strategy is working. Dozens of congressional Democrats already bucked their leaders to help Republicans pass a popular, illegal-immigrant crime bill. Now they are reportedly divided over a House bill condemning anti-Semitism at the International Criminal Court.) Trump could have used his inaugural address to spike the football and rub his comeback in his critics’ faces. But that would have given the Left something other than policy to oppose. With the politics and the policy merits already on his side, Trump banging on the table would only have helped Democrats. Instead, Trump and his speechwriters argued humbly for popular ideas — keeping his agenda front and center — and were rewarded with the best week of his political career. The lesson? When you have the high ground, humility is aggression. Until next week… keep writing!