First Draft #13: a newsletter on public language
UK Party Conference Special
From gods to men: conference speeches through the ages
The art of persuasion is ancient. Rhetorical tricks of the trade - metaphors, jokes, stories - work as well for Barack Obama and Steve Jobs as they did for Aristotle and Cicero. But society changes. And party conference speeches, dating back to the 19th century, offer a window into the oratorical fashions of the day – what’s hot and what’s not in the world of speechwriting.
The Victorians were fond of bible references. Who better to establish your political authority than the highest authority of all? As church-going declined in the 20th century, however, so too did appeals to scripture. A notable exception was Margaret Thatcher, who, in her 1977 conference speech, invoked the gospel of Matthew as the test of her political opponents: “by their fruits shall ye know them”.
Other leaders appeal to their Party’s intellectual tradition. Burke and Disraeli are invoked on the right, Beveridge and Bevan on the left, and Keynes enjoys universal acclaim (even at successive conferences, cited by both Harold Wilson in ‘74 and Thatcher in ‘75). If only declaration made it so. All sides quote the literary greats; Shakespeare, Keats, and Milton make frequent appearances. But the master of literary metaphor was Neil Kinnock. His 1989 speech as Labour leader is characteristic, referencing the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley: “a brighter dawn awaits the human day… let us seek power, let us earn power, let us be elected to power… and we shall greet the brighter dawn of that day”.
In recent years, the most common source of authority is the ‘everyman’. Think Jeremy Corbyn in 2018: “a woman named Angela wrote to me recently, and she said…”. Or David Cameron, in 2015: “Bernard Harris from Leicester wrote to me before polling day and said…” These stories litter modern rhetoric, yet it’s no accident that they coincide with our age of anti-establishment politics. Speeches change with the times, but their central purpose remains the same. As Kinnock put it in his infamous 1985 conference address: “we have got to persuade people: that is their due”. @_alice_elliott
Story of a joke
I have Les Dawson to thank for one of my best conference jokes. In 2006 Gordon Brown’s speech had been overshadowed by reports of a rude remark about him by Cherie Blair. It was big news and needed to be acknowledged. The best way, I thought, was with a joke. Alone in my hotel, clock running down, I had to become funny. I realised it had all the ingredients of music hall. A rival man who lived next door and the too-honest wife who embarrassed her put-upon husband. I found this, from Dawson: “My wife’s run off with the guy next door. And, do you know what, I’m really going to miss him.” Blair was unsure but went for it: “At least I don't have to worry about her running off with the bloke next door.” The room erupted. Which was a surprise, because it isn’t that funny. @PhilipJCollins1
Making yourself memorable
For the ancient orators, memory was crucial to rhetoric. It was the “treasure-house” of the mind and “custodian” of all parts of rhetoric, equal to the argument itself. This was the case for centuries until technology like writing paper, the printing press, and finally Google caused the art of memory to fall into disuse. In 2005, though, the modern party conference became the unlikely scene of its return when David Cameron, then Shadow Education Secretary, delivered a speech free from notes. It won him the Tory leadership.
The high-wire act captured his central message: he was fresh-faced and dynamic, while his party and rivals were tired and staid by contrast. It distinguished him from the Labour government too, who, supposedly obsessed with soundbites, had abandoned that elusive political virtue: “authenticity”. The same high-wire act almost worked for Ed Miliband at the Labour conference in 2014. But when journalists noticed he’d forgotten a section on the deficit, it looked less a show of courage than an act of hubris. Few have dared risk it since.
That’s not to say speaking with an autocue is risk-free. Just ask Jeremy “strong message here” Corbyn. Cameron himself, reverting to an autocue in 2014, told conference delegates that poor children were who we “resent” (not represent). And last year, at the Tories’ virtual conference, a misplaced autocue forced Rishi Sunak’s eyes to dart back and forth nervously. Political advisors take note. No conference speech is without risk. But pulling off the memory act is a sure way for an ambitious politician to make themselves memorable. @zachdhardman
The writing’s on the wall
“The government’s chickens are coming home to roost” declared Ed Davey at this month’s Lib Dem party conference - “or they would do if they could only get the visas!”
This joke, delivered to a near silent conference hall, perfectly captures one of the greatest crimes in speechwriting: the incoherent metaphor. Davey leaves you thinking – do chickens need visas? Is there, somewhere out there, a queue of chickens outside a British embassy, demanding their travel paperwork? The absurdity of the proposition sinks the punchline.
But the confusion doesn’t end there. The speech then turns to the Lib Dem victory in the Chesham and Amersham by-election earlier this year. Davey contends: “we won by throwing the kitchen sink at it… so conference, before the next election we’re stocking up on kitchen sinks!” Wait, what? Isn’t the point of this metaphor that the “kitchen sink” represents everything you have? How, then, can you magically multiply your sinks – conjuring endless resources, not to mention party funding, from nothing? The internal logic of the image becomes self-defeating.
Davey has the same problem with his central metaphor, and the one on which his entire speech hinges: the “blue wall”. Walls can be a powerful political image. Reagan’s 1987 plea to the Soviet leadership (“Mr Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”) is one of the most famous and consequential lines in the history of rhetoric. The 2019 UK general election was defined by the fall of Labour’s “red wall” to the Conservatives. But a good metaphor must be proportionate to its subject. Davey’s “blue wall” of Conservative MPs extends many hundreds of miles - as he puts it - “from Cheadle to Cheltenham… from Hitchin to Harrogate”. This riff continues for at least six lines, and merely serves to reinforce just how insurmountable the wall is. Meanwhile all the Lib Dems can offer – their only political victory in years – is a single constituency: “one blue brick”. @_alice_elliott
LANGUAGE AND BEYOND
Peter Sellers’ Party Political Speech from 1958 remains the best satire of a conference-style political address.
“The most unforgiving scrutiny,” a vintage column from Phil on the importance of conference speeches.
Tom Tugenhat’s speech on Afghanistan was a masterpiece of classical rhetoric, argues Sam Leith.
“How odd to refer again and again to joy, but not to instil any.” Andrew O’Hagan’s amusing takedown of Meghan Markle’s children’s book, The Bench.
An academic study found people with higher verbal ability had more politically polarised responses to Covid-19.
Is the whole internet fake? Fascinating piece on a bizarre conspiracy.
Recently many Cannes Lions awards have gone to adverts that present brands as agents of positive social change. A new study finds exuberant corporate piety leaves most unmoved, as this interesting column from Ian Burrell explains.
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Josh on Zuckerberg and creative destruction
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