Last week, President Obama's foreign policy scribe Ben Rhodes sat with reporters and previewed the big Middle East speech the day before its delivery.
To many speechwriters, this was a new low on a steady fall away from the traditional speechwriter's creed of anonymity.
Their perspective is well-represented by longtime freelance speechwriter Erick Dittus, who wrote in response to my query in last week's Executive Communication Report over whether the practice was a good idea:
Someone from the State Department, yes; or maybe the Press Secretary, but not the speechwriter. This is a bad trend that seems to be getting worse. Peggy Noonan was the first Presidential speechwriter of note to raise her hand and say, "I wrote that great line," simultaneous to when it was being given, and then George Stephanopolous and a few others followed with President Clinton.
Before President-elect Obama even gives the inaugural address we learn about the lifestyles (Red Bull or Mountain Dew, Video games or Film, etc.) And then a discussion of sources (who they talked to or their assistants talked to put it all together)… and then the post mortem raising of the hand.
Fortunately, the ethics of the Obama people are light years ahead of Noonan. They at least seem to understand that the President just might be a step ahead of them, and that they are the sometime vehicle, not the driver of the speech.
Yet regardless of whether it's post, or pre-delivery each time we raise our hand (and yes I know the press is prodding for information) we undermine the brand (our speaker).
If you talk to Clark Judge—who wrote a bunch of Reagan and Bush-I speeches—you won't learn of a word that he wrote. Same went for James Fallows when he wrote for Carter, and to the best of my knowledge William Safire and company didn't claim credit (where it may have been due) for Richard Nixon's utterances.
Do I read with great interest what White House speechwriter are talking about their before a particular speech is presented? Yes. As a ghost who's written for 61 CEO's, and several elected officials I read most anything I can about craft [and the burdens] of fellow wordsmiths.
Yet, regardless of this natural curiosity, I would rather not have access to these ideas until well after a particular speech is written.
Why? Again, I believe it undermines our goal of promoting the speaker's [and I presume our] agenda.
While the outing of the speechwriter may meet the feint curiosity needs of the unsavvy citizen who knows little about the craft and the partnerships most good speeches entail, it decreases the dynamic energy of the message and the messenger. And that's not what we're supposed to be doing.
So… let the speechwriters write memoirs about their contributions and do the talk show circuit AFTER they leave the White House, not before the speech is given. We're collaborative ghosts not pure authors. If we want to see our name in print write a book or quit the relatively high paying job of ghosting speeches and become a journalist.
Over the years as editor of Speechwriter's Newsletter and now ECR, I've been forced to take a stand on this issue, and I've chosen Dittus's stand. Witness my stern lecture to the White House's chief speechwriter only last fall, when I predicted that his attention-seeking would get him bounced out of the job within a year.
But I've never felt quite as strongly about it as I've tried to sound.
And you know what? I think I'm coming around to another point of view—the one that says:
Fuck it: If speeches don't hold up to transparency—if we can't be moved despite a general understanding of how they're made, then maybe we should question how they're made, rather than scream for more secrecy.
I've been around this business a long time, and I know how speeches are made and I don't think my ear is any more jaundiced. A good speech well delivered is a good speech well delivered. The very best speeches—Obama's Philadelphia speech on race a year ago comes to mind—are always deeply rooted in the soul of the speaker, whether a speechwriter helped craft them or not. That's a law of spiritual physics.
It's the only law, as far as I'm concerned, and one that can't be broken even if we try. If you heard that Philadelphia speech, and a speechwriter came out and said she wrote it from whole cloth and handed it to Obama 30 seconds before he went on … you simply wouldn't believe it.
Because human beings know authenticity when we hear it (or we ought to), and we can measure it in a hundred increments by a thousand different means. Whether or not we know the name of a speaker's literary collaborator ahead of time or afterward is a very small factor in our consideration.
If I had a speechwriting client who told me she wanted me to be a ghost, I'd be a ghost. And if a speechwriting client didn't specify how I ought to behave, I also think I'd err on the side of the ghostly. But like President Bush before him, President Obama doesn't mind having his speechwriters talk about the speeches they write, and so to go to battle on this issue as if it's some kind of moral code—well, I respect speechwriters who do, but I ain't gonna do it anymore.
Readers, what do you say? Is ghostliness next to godliness, or ixnay on the nonimityay?
Erick digs in his heels a bit too firmly here. I don’t think there is any hard-and-fast rule that applies, save one: A speechwriter’s authority is defined by his/her client. If the President thinks it’s better for his speechwriter to explain his views to the media, then it is. No further explanation needed.
Maybe this willingness or eagerness to allow the speechcrafter so much visibility is a protection for the speechgiver. A head to roll should there be inaccuracies in the information presented, for example. Finding a speechwriter whose ego likes being out front may just be a sly political tactic to enable some means of wriggling free of a speech gone wrong.
“a sly political tactic to enable some means of wriggling free of a speech gone wrong”
Nah, come on, Joan. Imagine Obama (or, for balance, Bush) saying, “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said those things about Israel. I told my speechwriter it was probably over the top, but he didn’t listen. ….”
The speaker who speaks the words owns them, whether or not we know who the writer was.
That’s my point.
There’s a single, simple clear line from you, that – for me – says it all David:
“The speaker who speaks the words owns them, whether or not we know who the writer was.”
That is THE point, and it’s perfectly clear and perfectly right in my opinion . . . even if you did write them, I’m going to be using them. Hope you don’t mind.
Veteran freelance speechwriter Rich Greb has facilitated many conversations about this as longtime organizer of the Chicago Speechwriters Forum, and he weighs in:
“While I agree with you that ‘A good speech well delivered is a good speech well delivered’ and that ‘The very best speeches are always deeply rooted in the soul of the speaker,’ I’m afraid I’m too cynical to agree that all ‘human beings know authenticity when we hear it.’ Indeed, we ought to, but between people’s ignorance of the process and their political biases, particularly in the presidential arena, I don’t believe this is so. Knowledge that a separate writer is (or writers are) involved can cast doubt on the perception of authenticity and on the speaker’s brand; even well educated observers will look for excuses to bolster their positions. There’s a reason we judge criminal cases in terms of reasonable doubt and that office holders are re minded to avoid the appearance of impropriety.
“I remember years ago being told that if a person was taught unequivocally that a philosophy, say Communism, is bad and then discovered some positive aspect of it, this discovery would shake the entire negative structure and even the person’s faith in everything the teacher taught.
“All of this leaves me siding firmly with Judge, Fallows, Safire et.al. and wagging my finger at Noonan and company. Certainly, the case in question is between Obama and Rhodes, but I think it’s a mistake to show most people how the sausage is made.”
MURRAY’S RESPONSE:
Rich, you’re contending with “people’s ignorance of the process and their political biases” by recommending more secrecy about the process? This is straining my cognition a bit.
Are you advocating a world in which speakers, speechwriters and a few other insiders produce rhetoric to move an ignorant majority politically hither and emotionally yon?
And I’m purposely breaking down another of your sentences to only the Nixonian elements: “knowledge .. can cast doubt on the perception of authenticity ….”
As distrusting as you are of the ability of the masses to ascertain authenticity, you sure are super-trusting of the political class to manage our perceptions responsibly!
My main objection to too much yakking about “the process” is that it’s boring and, once people understand the basic fact that speechwriters are involved in getting speeches made, the details about who wrote what are barely relevant.
I’ve been closely acquainted with this speechwriting game for 17 years, and what do I ask my wife when missed a speech. Not, “What did Favreau write?” Instead, “What did Obama say?”
What makes me so terribly different from the “most people” you refer to, who can’t be trusted to know “how the sausage is made”?
Actually, this could start an entire trend. A fire warden with Fish and Wildlife could offer context before the next Department of the Interior update on global warming. (“Ice caps are kind of a nuisance anyway.”) A CBO analyst could give a preview of the federal budget. (“We’re hoping that we can hold onto Social Security, some people seem attached to it.”) An aide for the Defense Secretary could do a curtain-raiser on the next war.
(“We’ll try to do better than our last one…we’re thinking more like the Grenada thingie.”) With all due respect to President Obama’s wunderkinder speechwriters, could he send someone out there with a little more subject matter expertise for the previews? An expert in American-Arab relations, for example, hard as that might be for the State Dept. to dig up?
Just gilding the lily at this point: If the speechwriter steps into the open and becomes a kind of spokesperson as well, there’s a high probability that the speechwriter becomes a story in himself (or herself) — i.e., who he or she is, how he got the gig, what’s his background, etc. — and ends up stealing limelight from the client. Stealing limelight from one’s client is, generally speaking, probably not the world’s greatest career move, Peggy Noonan notwithstanding.
Agreed, though, this comment applies mostly in the political sphere. In corporate communications (where I spend most of my time), little of this matters, because the media understand what’s what and don’t really care who the ink-stained wretch is. To the extent it does matter, it’s mostly between the principle and the scribe, but one can’t be too careful. Bill Lane, in the memoir of his 20 years writing for Jack Welch, (“Jacked Up,” a rollicking read, by the way) tells how the inimitable Welch looked up from the 33rd review draft of his annual report letter and asked Lane what those initials in the header, “WKL”, stood for. Lane explained, and Welch then asked, Shouldn’t those initials be “JFW”?
Well, John, yes, I guess an expert in American-Arab relations would be another good person to preview the president’s speech, though for this particular purpose the speechwriter is probably better.
Bill, let’s leave Peggy “Some Things In Life Need to be Mysterious” Noonan out of this discussion, because she is a lightning rod, the bane of speechwriters and people with intellectual integrity everywhere.
By his account, Bill Lane was making SEVEN figures working for Welch. Yes, if Welch wanted the credit, Lane gave him the credit. (Until he retired, of course!)
“Ok boys, come into the tent. Squeeze in, squeeze in. Hi folks, I’m John Nicolay, the president’s private secretary, and I’m here to give you a preview of the big speech tomorrow at Gettysburg. The president and I have been working like dogs on this one, and I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that this baby will break new ground, no pun intended, for cemetery dedications. He’ll hit the usual…the human equality stuff and all that…but he’ll go a step further and call for a dramatic rebirth of the nation. Stand close, it’ll be worth it. Any questions?”
“John, is it true he wrote his speech for tomorrow on the train coming up here?”
“That’s so wrong. He and I have been noodling on this one for a while. He’s giving me his thoughts, and I’m wielding the pen. We’re a great team.”
“John, will he reference the Almighty?”
“Not if I have anything to do with it. My latest draft has no reference at all to any beings other than human.”
“John, does he plan to cover the suspension of habeas corpus?”
“No, we’re not going to get down in the deep weeds here. It’s high level, very aspirational. Last question, please.”
“John, how long will his speech be?”
“I don’t want to give away the surprise, but if we can keep that blowhard Edward Everett to 45 minutes or so, we’ll be out of there in an hour. Just keep the horses watered, guys. And keep an ear out for the slam-bang ending!”
John, that’s very funny, and it points to what I believe is the most egregious crime of yappy speechwriters: not the vanity, but the banality.