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September 05, 2008
McCain's Missed Opportunity
I’m hardly a neutral observer, but McCain’s acceptance speech last night was a sad thing to watch. It’s not that the policies were stale Republican boilerplate (go with what you got, I guess), nor is it that he’s simply a weak public performer (speaking ability is neither the only nor the best judge of leadership). And, though they were amusing to watch, the surprisingly amateurish stagecraft (green screen; Walter Reed Middle School?) shouldn’t count against him personally. Moreover, the protestors who interrupted him gave me no pleasure—in fact, I might be willing to give him a couple of sympathy points: on this occasion (if few others) he deserves an unfettered chance to make his case. Or, perhaps more precisely, we deserve to hear whatever case he has to make. No, the real problem here was the speech itself. It was an absolute mess.
The speech’s centerpiece, of course, was his POW story. It is in all candor an extremely powerful story, one that I find very moving. It is an exquisite illustration of personal strength and both moral and physical courage. And it testifies (albeit incompletely) to the man’s depth of character and patriotism—things that are wholly appropriate to consider in weighing someone’s fitness for office. But—and here’s the point—personal fitness for office cannot be the only argument one makes for their candidacy. The people should (and generally do) cast their vote based on policy or political ideology. To be relevant, meaningful, and, indeed, effective, personal stories must also connect organically to a candidate’s public vision. McCain’s story didn’t. And the fact that it didn’t is either a rhetorical or a political problem—or both.
Here's the key section of the speech:
When they brought me back to my cell, I was hurt and ashamed, and I didn't know how I could face my fellow prisoners. The good man in the cell next door, my friend, Bob Craner, saved me. Through taps on a wall he told me I had fought as hard as I could. No man can always stand alone. And then he told me to get back up and fight again for our country and for the men I had the honor to serve with. Because every day they fought for me.
Now, this is the perfect pivot point. He could either have turned the story outward, making it about more than himself, making it about politics and policy. Or he could have turned it back inward, making it about himself. To make it about politics and policy, he might have said something like:
Now, my fellow Americans, those brave men who held me up did not do so because they were commanded to by military edict. They didn’t save my life because there was some tax advantage in it. And they didn’t do it because we all worked for the same American government. They did, pure and simple, because they were Americans and that’s what Americans do. An enemy government may have bound us, but it was our love of country, of freedom, of each other that brought us together. I learned that day that no government can blah blah blah. And that real Americans who love their country and each other can blah blah blah. Today, I’m calling for a new spirit of Volunteerism blah blah blah).
Well, he could have said that. But he actually said:
I fell in love with my country when I was a prisoner in someone else's. I loved it not just for the many comforts of life here. I loved it for its decency; for its faith in the wisdom, justice and goodness of its people. I loved it because it was not just a place, but an idea, a cause worth fighting for. I was never the same again. I wasn't my own man anymore. I was my country's.
That is, it's all about me.
Posted by stevemack at September 5, 2008 01:06 PM
