As we write this, California is being ravaged by the second worst wildfire in its history (Dixie) and our fellow Utahns have experienced some of the world's worst air quality due, in part, to the smoke traveling east from the Dixie and other fires in the west. These consequences are just a few of the many ways in which the ongoing climate crisis is a threat multiplier: worsening extreme weather, droughts, wildfires, and, most significantly, the disproportionate inequities historically marginalized peoples experience as a result of the chaos resulting from human-caused climate change. The climate crisis is here; actions to justly and equitably transition away from fossil fuels are crucial. Although the climate crisis acts as only one backdrop to Energy Islands: Metaphors of Power, Extractivism, and Justice in Puerto Rico, Catalina de Onís's book turns our attention to the significant but often less visible role of energy systems not only in the climate crisis but also in what she terms energy coloniality, or systems of power that maintain energy privilege for some and perpetuate energy injustices for many.Energy Islands enacts a decolonial approach to offer a deep and rich analysis of dominant and resistive discourse about energy politics in Puerto Rico. De Onís highlights the importance of a just transition away from fossil-fuel based energy toward centering decarbonization, decentralization, democratization, and decolonization. She argues that energy actors can create decolonial energy futures that support the intertwined wellbeing of people and the planet. De Onís's book “documents, assembles, and evaluates various discourses, narratives, naming practices, and metaphors” to research “the rhetorical efforts of energy actors [in Puerto Rico], particularly by drawing critical inspiration from individuals and groups communicating more sustainable existences.”1 In a rhetorical version of an energy ethnography, the book documents the metaphors that circulate in the discourse of both privileged and marginalized energy stakeholders.Energy Islands is a brilliant example of community-engaged rhetorical fieldwork that makes a difference in scholarly conversations and in ongoing energy transition. In addition to being theoretically keen and methodologically innovative, the book highlights the stories of successful energy justice practitioners in Puerto Rico and documents de Onís's extensive contributions as a scholar-activist to energy politics in Puerto Rico. The book makes significant contributions to conversations in rhetorical methods, decolonial rhetorics, environmental and energy communication, and Latinx rhetorics. It also makes important contributions to interdisciplinary energy studies, energy humanities, environmental justice, and Puerto Rican studies, demonstrating the importance of rhetorical energies in any analysis of Puerto Rico's energy past, present, and future.The introduction outlines the book's theoretical, methodological, and political commitments. Specifically, de Onís theorizes archipelagoes of power “as a network of entities/islands at various levels and hierarchical and horizontal nodes across and within structures and institutions that enable and constrain agency for diverse actors.”2 The archipelagos of power heuristic developed in the book robustly theorizes power vis-á-vis the various rhetorical energies and metaphors that animate resistance to colonial formations. In doing so, de Onís challenges normative definitions of energy as technology and contributes to ongoing theorization of rhetoric as energy. She writes: “this book seeks to convey capacious understandings of energy beyond a narrow focus on powering individual dwellings and workplaces, by addressing and amplifying the human energies required to create and challenge energy infrastructures and technologies.”3 Subsequent chapters focus on particular metaphors in this archipelago of power that enable and constrain energy justice.The main chapters of the book are interspersed with “Routes/Roots/Raíces,” interludes that focus on positionality, methodology, and narratives. The first interlude tells the story of de Onís's familial connections to islands and Puerto Rico and seeks to break down binaries between conquest and resistance and colonizer and colonized.In chapter one, de Onís lays out four key concepts in Puerto Rico's archipelago of power: energy coloniality, energy privilege, energy justice, and energy actors. These constitute a rhetorical matrix “that provides a vocabulary for studying and communicating different energy controversies in Puerto Rico and Beyond.”4 Energy coloniality is a major theoretical contribution; though related to forms of resource colonialism, it hones in on the importance of energy technologies to relations of power within colonial systems. Another valuable contribution is the introduction of energy actors—a term used by one of her colaboradores—as a frame for understanding Puerto Ricans’ agency in energy politics.In the second interlude, de Onís narrates her encounter with the Commonwealth Oil Refining Company (CORCO) on Puerto Rico's southern coastline (between Ponce and Mayagüez) as an early example of energy coloniality. She links the closure of the refinery and its lingering economic and environmental impacts with an art installation created out of the abandoned remnants.Chapter two traces colonial relations between the U.S. and Puerto Rico by focusing on metaphors of experimentation—“discourses of defense, disease, development, and disaster”—grounded in, and reinforcing, a view of expendability.5 The legacy of, and ongoing struggles under, experimentation are linked to embodied experiences, emplaced politics, and exigencies for resistance. De Onís concludes the chapter by documenting historical resistance to experimentation discourses while also highlighting how contemporary organizations like Casa Pueblo and Coqui Solar appropriate experimentation metaphors to refuse domination and enact transformations towards more just and equitable futures.Chapter three focuses on spatial metaphors related to methane gas (counter-)advocacy. De Onís focuses on the Via Verde Gasoducto Project and Aguirre Offshore Gas Port, both of which have since been defeated by energy actors. These resistances occurred prior to and during de Onís's fieldwork and are introduced into her fieldwork via colaboradores’ reflections and de Onís's emplacement. While proponents framed the projects as ostensibly cleaner fossil fuels serving as supposed bridges towards technological change, resistive energy actors used “tropes of way, path, expansion, and hub [to offer] an alternative focus.”6 The chapter highlights how energy actors can successfully resist energy coloniality and energy privilege, including by appropriating metaphors to open new ways of thinking.In the third interlude, de Onís shares how she grappled with writing about Puerto Rico as a member of the diaspora living at a distance. She argues that critical reflexivity about power relations, engaging collaboratively, admitting mistakes, and making amends are necessary to avoid replicating oppressive dynamics while performing much needed critical research.Chapter four offers a significant methodological intervention. De Onís conceptualizes the need to (re)wire one's alliances, preconceptions, and dispositions in the context of a place experiencing “extreme shocks [e.g., Hurricanes Maria and Irma] with already ongoing everyday stressors.”7 This (re)wiring is vital for successful coalitions among diverse actors to constitute a decolonial archipelago of power that can span across geographic locations and cultures. De Onís extends co-presence8 to “offer e-advocacy as both a concept and a practice for working coalitionally in electronic spaces.”9 The family of islands trope, she argues, holds promise in conceptualizing coalitions that span across geopolitical bodies.The final interlude articulates the interlinkages between mangrove habitats, historic Afro-Caribbean resistance, and ongoing community organizing based on convivencia. This interlude illustrates the value of archipelagos of power as an analytic to cut across time, species, art, and activism to compose a nuanced understanding of resistance in Puerto Rico.Building from energy coloniality, energy privilege, energy justice, energy actors, archipelagos of power, rhetorical energies, and the metaphors developed across the chapters, de Onís uses the conclusion to discuss the “four d's of energy justice.”10 Decarbonizing, decentralizing, democratizing, and decolonizing, she argues, are key components of delinking from energy coloniality and enabling energy justice.Energy Islands’ foremost contribution is archipelagos of power, a theoretically rich heuristic that can energize and empower future analyses of energy politics, energy coloniality, and energy justice. The heuristic accounts for the uniqueness of Puerto Rico as an island and archipelagic formation in the Antilles but also exceeds a potentially limiting focus on Puerto Rico. Building from Tiara Na'puti's foundational work on archipelagic rhetoric,11 de Onís's archipelagoes of power can be used to analyze relational/technological energies across a variety of sites of energy struggle. This heuristic enhances the field of rhetoric's ability to engage with and sustain research that begins with the affordances of thinking archipelagically.Energy Islands is an exemplar of rhetorical fieldwork. De Onís seamlessly integrates textual analysis, interviews, ethnographic participation, e-advocacy, and critical self-reflexivity into a masterful documentation and amplification of energy actors, including herself, making meaningful change in Puerto Rico. The most explicit contribution to rhetorical fieldwork is the development of e-advocacy as a mode of sustaining ethical and political commitments and contributions when one cannot remain perpetually emplaced in the field. In a pivotal moment, de Onís narrates her hesitancy about writing this book due to concerns about speaking for colaboradores from the perspective of a diasporic Puerto Rican living in the U.S. and her ethical commitment to supporting Puerto Rican people in telling their own stories. This and other moments exemplify how de Onís models an ethical, participatory, and community-based methodology that puts care for the community first and challenges extractive models of research. Rhetorical scholars, even those who do not use fieldwork, would benefit from the methodological approach modelled in this book, as it can urge the field rethink dominant norms about the goals of publication, research, and advocacy.Energy Islands is provocative, suggesting future possibilities for research at the intersections of energy, race, and technology. It offers a substantial contribution by presenting a heterogeneous, complex, and nuanced picture of power relations in Puerto Rico. The book challenges homogenous generalizations about Puerto Rico by tracing how colonizer/colonized, north/south, privileged/underprivileged, and mainland/island relations work within Puerto Rico, not just between Puerto Rico and the U.S.; de Onís's analysis engages inequities within Puerto Rico based on, for example, class, location, race, and access to governmental power. Scholars seeking to expand on de Onís's research might consider, for example, how Blackness, stemming from Afro-Caribbean roots, relates to resistive energies in the archipelago; how inter-Island and inter-archipelago race relations relate to energy coloniality and energy justice; and how racial formations intersect with colonial formations. Furthermore, tracing the material forces that energy technologies themselves have in Puerto Rican energy politics would expand de Onís's focus on the rhetorical energies of decolonial energy actors.Energy Islands is a significant offering to rhetoric and public address scholars. It demonstrates how energy (in)justice is rhetorically constituted through the rhetorical energies of many actors and positions analysis of discourses of just transition, climate justice, and energy colonialism as central to rhetorical studies. In a world that is already suffering from the inequitable impacts of climate change, this book highlights the ongoing relevance of rhetorical scholarship to meaningfully addressing the climate crisis amid intersecting political instabilities, economic pressures, and coloniality. Energy Islands is essential reading for scholars across the broad field of rhetorical studies not only because of what it contributes to our understanding of rhetorical energy but also for how it demonstrates that rhetorical scholarship matters in creating a more just and equitable world.

Abstract Donald Trump's tweets on writing, whether his own or the print media's, typically employ an extreme form of rhetoric involving the manipulation of meaning and construction of self-serving arguments. The practice of close reading suggests that these tweets often display several types of rhetorical operation, which distort the message through the amalgamation, expansion, contraction, and reversal of meaning to create expressions like “the Fake News.” These polysemous expressions are then combined to form word groups, all centered on the self but each designed to meet a particular narcissistic need, from self-promotion and self-proclaimed victory to self-defense and self-casting as the Messiah. Trump's tweets often take the form of a triangular configuration, composed of the writer to proclaim, an adversary to be conquered, and a witness to validate the victory. By putting at least two of the three actors into play within its reduced space, the tweet becomes a miniature psychodrama—scripted, cast, and staged by the narcissist for an audience of kindred spirit.

Abstract When side-by-side photographs of the 2009 and 2017 U.S. presidential inauguration crowds circulated after President Trump's inauguration, few doubted what they saw: the crowd in 2017 was significantly smaller than it had been eight years earlier. Whereas popular discourse around the photo obsessed over size of the crowds, I argue that differences in contrast, color, and clarity suggest a different narrative than the logic of quantity: Trump will return an orderly, white national body, cleansed of Obama's unruly, sepia swarm. This essay re-reads a key moment of recent U.S. visual politics, turning what came to be read as either a joke or a preview of the “death of facts” as something more sinister: a visual harbinger of Trump's white supremacist program.

With precise phrasing and dramatic flourish, Laura Mielke's Provocative Eloquence1 invites us into the performance cultures of the late antebellum era, showcasing the interplay between theater and oratory, politics and entertainment, ethical imperative and prevailing opinion. Violence suffused culture, language, and everyday experience in a time that found melodrama, minstrelsy, and spectacle in the ascendant, racial hierarchies and American slavery at the epicenter of political debates and popular culture, and a troubled white masculinity asserting its heroism. Mielke's book documents anti-Black oppressions of the antebellum stage and oratorical platform, and it also takes a fresh perspective: Mielke argues persuasively that theatrical forms offered strategic resources for abolitionist argument, that oratorical provocations permeated the stage, and that the theater and the rostrum provided sites for antebellum Americans to think together about the power of words and the justifications for force in the cause of freedom.This nuanced argument challenges assumptions that form is conjoined to stable ideologies and instead highlights creative adaptation, recitation, revision, and “political portability.”2 Drawing evidence from a wide variety of source material, Mielke develops compelling, intricate case studies of print and performance that instruct and surprise. Before turning primary attention to the late 1850s, she sets the stage two decades earlier with Edwin Forrest, entertainingly described as a “theatrical star and noted egomaniac”3 best known for “yoking articulacy to brawn.”4 A deft, deeply contextualized analysis of Forrest's calm, reasoned 1838 Fourth of July address at New York's Broadway Tabernacle shows the intertextual and interperformative dimensions of Forrest's Democratic partisanship, available for audience interpretation in light of his heroic, explosive roles like Spartacus, Metamora, and Macbeth. The orator recommended deliberation and gradualism; the actor regularly linked speech to revolt. Forrest's varied performances probed free expression, white working-class populism, and militancy in word and deed, while they resonated with staged rebellions, Romantic poetry, and defiance of all sorts. Mielke asks of the “stubbornly elusive”5 Forrest and of U.S. performance cultures more broadly: “Does one who speaks of liberty for all necessarily attack slavery, even if inadvertently?”6With the stage thus set—with an analytic focus on paradox and opposition and an analytic method characterized by deep historicization and sophisticated, imaginative readings across genres—Mielke moves on to the 1850s. The dramatic readings of Mary Webb and William Wells Brown highlight the suasory potentials of African American performance in what Mielke elucidates as the “rhetorically strategic recasting of the antislavery lecture into the drama.”7 In an increasingly menacing political climate, performers like Webb and Wells Brown began to signal the potential for physical resistance to slavery. As they vocalized a range of tragic or comedic characters—enslaved captives, cruel slaveholders, or overwrought white abolitionists—these artists adapted popular caricature and imitative form to their own ends while exemplifying control, decorum, and performative skill. Mielke compellingly shows how the form of the dramatic reading created conditions for the presentation of highly incendiary words while deflecting physical threat.The viciousness of proslavery political argument crystallized in 1856 when Preston Brooks took a cane to Charles Sumner on the floor of the U.S. Senate the day after Sumner's “Crime against Kansas” speech had maligned proslavery argument and proslavery senator Andrew Butler, Brooks's cousin. The famous lithograph of this scene by John Magee, which Mielke aptly identifies as a theatrical tableau, efficiently encapsulates a drama of violent villainy and oratorical martyrdom. Building from this scene—reproduced on the book's cover—Mielke analyzes the political oratory of Sumner and Butler before turning attention to Harriet Beecher Stowe's novel Dred and its stage adaptations. Whereas the senators drew analogies and interpretative frameworks from dramatic literature, Stowe's novel incorporates a significant amount of public speaking, “from school recitation and revival preaching to courtroom address and lynch mob inducement,”8 in service of a wide array of perspectives on slavery and violence. The stagings of Dred, whether they reinforce calls to action or suppress radical potential, whether they play for laughs or highlight prophetic voice, embody the oxymoron of a slaveholding democracy.John Brown's 1859 raid on Harpers Ferry grounds Mielke's investigation of legal discourse as the nation pressed ever forward toward war. Dexterously combining Portia's ironic eloquence in Merchant of Venice with abolitionist argument and nineteenth-century racial melodramas like Neighbor Jackwood and The Octoroon, Mielke shows how Portia's “redirection of legal violence and challenge to the contractual claim on another's flesh”9 were adapted in the late antebellum period to interpret physical violence, from armed revolt to capital punishment. Readily available in educational texts of the time, Merchant's trial scene offered the possibility that eloquence in the courtroom might conquer opponents without bloodshed. This theatrical form, whether explicitly cited or only presented in “family resemblance,”10 offered scripts for thinking through speech and violence even as battle beckoned.Mielke's concluding chapter is less a conventional summation than a final act, rehearsing key questions and arguments presented throughout the book and then comparing instances of theater and oratory that responded to Brown's raid, trial, and execution, climactic scenes in the drama of word and violence of the 1850s. Developing an interpretive framework through analysis of statements of Brown's detractors and defenders, Mielke explores themes of oath-taking, vengeance, aggression, and martyrdom in Kate Edwards Swayze's play Ossawattomie Brown and Henry David Thoreau's speech “A Plea for Captain John Brown.” Here, again, forms like the theatrical tableau and the speech of moral principle occur in multiple genres, and when they recur, revised and recited, they help to constitute a performance culture and a basis for belief and action.Mielke's Provocative Eloquence will be of abiding interest to scholars of rhetoric and performance as it offers compelling insights into the ways that cultures are created, maintained, and changed in and through performance practices and as it centers the fraught histories of eloquence and violence in the deeply racialized context of U.S. history. Mielke's analytic perspective offers instruction for scholars and students since her book enacts an adroit blending of history, theory, and practice as simultaneously text and context. The comparative analysis of Forrest's theatrical and oratorical productions, the thoughtfully imagined presentation of Mary Webb's polyvocal dramatic readings, and the demonstration that Portia's irony haunts so much nineteenth-century public commentary on the law—these were favorite sections of mine, although I learned much from every chapter. Mielke's book, engagingly written and filled with dramatic historical nuggets, provides foundational arguments and analytic methods, and it prompts further reflection on topics like the scope of an identifiable theatrical (or rhetorical) form and on the range of spectatorial response. Reading this book will also inspire questions about continuity and change in the enactments of eloquence and violence up to our own time, in the persistent struggles to realize the hope of Black freedom and democratic equality. Mielke asks, “Can a true distinction be maintained between rhetoric and force? Can words alone provoke or justify violence, and under what conditions and for whom?”11 Such questions, pertinent to the 1850s, reverberate today.

Abstract This essay analyzes arguments regarding race and U.S. felon disenfranchisement laws. In response to the denial of the vote to 6.1 million Americans in 2016, voting rights advocacy has helped spur a range of liberalizing reforms in states across the country. The essay attributes such policy victories to activists’ success in redefining felon disenfranchisement as a racial justice rather than criminal justice issue. It argues, however, that U.S. public discourse still does not reflect a clear or coherent understanding of how and why race matters in the context of felon disenfranchisement. Through a rhetorical frame analysis of media coverage in four newspapers over a twenty-year period, the essay identifies and evaluates the three most common racial frames, arguing that each adheres to prevailing logics of racial liberalism. While this adherence lends the frames some degree of persuasive power, this essay argues that it also causes dominant publics to misunderstand the racial character of felon disenfranchisement. The essay concludes that more substantial reform hinges on the ability of activists to transform public meanings to reflect their preferred understanding of the causes and consequences of racial inequality.

Abstract Russian disinformation activities imitate divisive U.S. political discourse within a polarized social media ecosystem. As part of a multipronged response, U.S. citizens have been urged to increase their personal vigilance and to identify inauthentic messages, hence flagging foreign-made disinformation by studying its content. However, by applying Taylor's concept of “imitation (in)security” to a set of Kremlin-linked Internet Research Agency (IRA) Facebook and Instagram advertisements, this article explains why content-centered approaches to combatting disinformation need to be reimagined. Building upon imitation (in)security, we propose that the strength of the IRA disinformation campaign was not its ability to foist falsehoods upon unsuspecting Americans, but, rather, its uncanny imitation of prevalent themes, images, and arguments within American civic life. Our analysis of IRA-generated advertisements targeting U.S. military veterans demonstrates how IRA “trolls” were imitating American communication patterns to amplify existing positions within a deluge of messages marked by polysemy. Our analysis suggests readers should be less concerned by such Russian-made imitations than was suggested in much of the breathless 2016 post-election coverage, for the traction of such disinformation hinges on domestic crises and injustices that long predate Russian interference. Pointing to foreign-made social media content stokes a sense of threat and crisis—the essence of national insecurity and a main objective of the IRA's efforts—yet our actual security weaknesses are homemade.

CONTENT WARNING: This article contains discussion of sexual misconduct and quotations from individuals minimizing sexual misconduct.

Lamentations surrounding the “loss” of 1960s activism leads some to ask: What happened to the social movements of the 1960s? Kristen Hoerl's answer might be that we (the public) are what happened. In other words, Hoerl's project reveals our collective participation in the ongoing processes of “selective amnesia.” Hoerl's book focuses on the ways in which movements are remembered (and forgotten), some forms these memory practices assume in cultural texts, and functions that continue to unfold. Hoerl's focus is on rhetorical texts about protest movements versus focusing on the discourse of these movements.Hoerl's introduction, “Selective Amnesia in Hollywood's Imagined Sixties,” alludes to both her intent and theoretical contribution. Hoerl's primary intent is to reveal how a series of Hollywood texts have coalesced in the public's imaginary. Coalescing occurs through a repeated process of remembering and forgetting. Hollywood represents (and directs) an important layer in such processes. This process of selecting (and deflecting) memories of the turbulent 1960s is a process of framing Hollywood narratives that she calls “selective amnesia.” Hoerl's introduction works to examine and explicate some of the layers contributing to our collective memory of the 1960s as a “bad” decade. The layers that constitute the 1960s come from many cultural corners (film, television, public address, etc.). In order to uncover the rhetorical form(s) that selective amnesia assumes the book offers case studies in each of its subsequent chapters.In the first chapter, Hoerl provides an overview of selective amnesia, contextualizing protests of the 1960s in its various guises. Hoerl provides brief snapshots of Black Power, Third World activism, the New Left, the antiwar movement, counterculture, women's liberation, and GLBTQ+ radicalism. In the second half of the chapter, Hoerl contrasts these snapshots of radicalism with the entertainment industry's depictions of dissent. As an industry, Hollywood has sought to profit through commercialized images of countercultural activities. Hoerl reveals that the form of these commercialized images reflects the “spectacle of dissent” while neglecting the politics informing dissenting groups. Taken together, Hoerl reads such portrayals as Hollywood's invitation to see any social movement as attempting to merely reform the status quo versus protestors desires to change the system. Hoerl traces these inflections and deflections diachronically through the 1980s and 1990s, finding recurring and reinforcing patterns that leave audiences with the “common sense that radical dissent is a phenomenon that belongs in the past” (53). Such sense-making has consequences because popular culture is an important arena that responds to and participates in the political struggles justifying the contemporary era (10).Chapter 2 explains “how the generational conflicts of several fictional families give meaning to the late sixties for eighties-era television and film audiences” (62). Hoerl's explanation of this process of meaning making is accomplished through her analysis of three serial situation comedies (sitcoms): Family Ties, Wonder Years, and thirtysomething. Hoerl joins scholars who argue that situation comedy remains the preferred modality for addressing and understanding the American family since the 1950s. Taken together, Hoerl's analysis of 1980s-era sitcoms reveals these shows “ultimately establish neoliberalism as a common-sense inevitability” (62). Common sense making then is a kind of cultural collusion imbricating Hollywood producers, politicians, and their vast public audiences in “halting nostalgia” for virtues of the pre-1960s past. This concept of halting nostalgia is not fully developed but hints at some political functions of cultural texts like sitcoms.Chapter 3 is where Hoerl outlines the qualities of the archetypal characters (ambivalent activist, macho militants, and good citizen) that can be found in an array of pop-culture texts. In particular, she finds these archetypes in the quintessential nostalgia film Forrest Gump and the NBC miniseries The ‘60s. To accomplish this outlining, she begins by contextualizing the culture wars of the 1990s, a time when religious conservatives blamed the 1960s for the fragmentation of the nuclear family. Within this culture war context, Forrest Gump won an Oscar for Best Picture in 1994. Conservatives, Hoerl observes, weaponized the film by framing fictional 1960s characters as ambivalent, macho, or good. Such frames reflected neoliberalism of the 1990s while simultaneously deflecting (and thus “forgetting”) the motivations of many 1960s protestors.Hoerl contrasts disparate textual visions of Black Power in chapter 4 through an analysis of a variety of cultural texts with a focus on Hollywood films. Film, she argues, “may offer resources for envisioning empowered collective resistance to ongoing instances of police violence” (124). The first half of the chapter explores how Spike Lee's Malcolm X and Mario Van Peeble's Panther offer alternative models for black political agency” (127), whereas the second half of the chapter critically reviews a variety of negative depictions of the Black Panther Party. Although Hoerl focuses on Malcolm X and Panther, she engages a series of other cultural texts. The chapter opens reflecting on Beyoncé’s 2016 Super Bowl halftime performance, through which the singer provoked memories of Black Power. It proceeds to consider sitcoms such as The Cosby Show. Through her close reading of these pop-cultural texts Hoerl suggests that both positive and negative portrayals of Black Power collude to reveal Hollywood's “ambivalent relationship with U.S. race relations” (125).If Hollywood texts regarding the Black Power movement advanced contrasting visions, chapter 5 explores a consistent and interlocking structured message system in Hollywood's police procedurals connected to and reinforced by mainstream news. Here, Hoerl examines frames through which late 1960s militancy of a variety of movements effectively criminalized the decade. Narrative patterns in police procedurals such as Law and Order repeatedly framed all dissent as dangerous. For example, in news accounts of the 1960s she finds that “the selective amnesia constructed by the news accounts . . . invariably exaggerated the criminal behavior of the actual activists who inspired the episodes” (164). The exaggeration of criminality is particularly pronounced in media coverage of women radicals (165).In her conclusion, Hoerl reviews contestations surrounding 1960s memories and some implications. She concludes that Hollywood has, by and large, taught viewers to see the 1960s as “bad” by framing its fictional subjects as immature, ambivalent, or dangerous to the body politic. At the same time, such media depictions largely left protestors’ rationale undeveloped or unexplained. Taken together, the “recurring character portrayals and narrative developments highlight the broader processes by which Hollywood has structured selective amnesia of radical 1960s-era dissent” (188). Hollywood's selective structuring continues into the 2000s, working to ossify public memory by returning to patterned responses. Beyond a critical review, the conclusion suggests that the implications of Hollywood's selective amnesia are numerous. Candidates in the 2016 presidential cycle resurrected symbols of both the “good” 1960s (Bernie Sanders) and the “bad” 1960s (Donald Trump). In addition, contemporary protest groups (including Occupy Wall Street and the Black Lives Matter movements) continue to experience negative framing muting their potential. Although independent films (such as Chicago 10) offer nuanced portrayals of the “radical” 1960s, such countermemory texts lack the widespread distribution and often celebrate a “decidedly white and masculine image of radical dissent” (197). The book's final page conveys a cautious optimism that countermemories “highlight the emancipatory potential of memory” (198).If Hoerl's conclusion is correct and Hollywood's selective amnesia of 1960s dissent is repeatedly framed in the negative, her project demonstrates that such framing is never complete. The book enters the process of public memory, reframing public memory of the 1960s through its deconstruction of prominent frames. As such, the book is a significant counterbalance to prevailing mediated memories and will be of interest to scholars working in public memory, cultural studies, media studies, and rhetoric.

As the bicentennial of the momentous 1824 election approaches, Andrew Jackson is as relevant as ever. Jackson's shadow looms large over contemporary discussions regarding populism, democracy, and America's history of racism and colonization. Moreover, interest in Jackson has grown thanks to President Trump's efforts to frame Jackson as a precursor to his own brand of nationalist populism. A variety of analysts, from historian Mark Cheathem in The Coming of Democracy: Presidential Campaigning in the Age of Jackson to Fox News personality Brian Kilmeade in Andrew Jackson and the Miracle of New Orleans, have recently revisited the Jacksonian period both to enrich our understanding of that unique historical moment and to offer insights about present day affairs. Amos Kiewe's Andrew Jackson: A Rhetorical Portrayal of Presidential Leadership is a welcome addition to the conversation that provides valuable perspective about Jackson's presidency and the rhetorical nature of presidential authority in general.Andrew Jackson: A Rhetorical Portrayal aims to “give voice to the seventh president” by creating “an account of major addresses’ development, the reasoning and constraints behind them, and ultimately, their impact on the polity” (1–2). The book represents the most comprehensive rhetorical examination of Jackson's public remarks to date. Kiewe not only provides a window into the inner machinations of Jackson's administration and the painstaking process of crafting a public address; he challenges existing understandings of the presidency as an institution. Although Jeffrey Tulis, in The Rhetorical Presidency, argued that the presidency became a seat of popular (rather than constitutional) leadership in the twentieth century, Kiewe persuasively demonstrates that Jackson may have in fact been “the first rhetorical president,” arguing that Jackson's public addresses changed the trajectory of his administration and fundamentally altered the presidency itself (243).Kiewe accomplishes this through in-depth rhetorical histories of Jackson's public addresses. In chapter 1, Kiewe argues that Jackson's 1824 campaign was innovative; Jackson debuted a novel campaign strategy of “writing letters to private individuals for public distribution” (16) and inaugurated a “new era” of party politics featuring populist appeals (36). In chapters 2 through 9, Kiewe conducts case studies of Jackson's inaugural addresses, his first annual message to Congress, his rhetoric regarding the Nullification Crisis and Indian removal policies, and his rhetoric supporting his veto of the rechartering of the Bank of the United States. Kiewe also devotes attention to addresses of seemingly “minor importance,” such as the Maysville road bill veto, which involved a proposal to improve a sixty-mile stretch of road in Kentucky and foreshadowed the pro-Union rhetoric that would define Jackson's response to the Nullification Crisis (77).Chapter 10 takes a step back from Jackson's rhetoric to analyze public images of Jackson. Kiewe, using a visual rhetoric approach, argues that Jackson's popular leadership was reinforced by his supporters’ construction of Jackson as a military hero and populist icon through political cartoons and other portraits. This chapter is a detour from the book's main line of argument, but a welcome one that provides enlightening context about how audiences of the time understood Jackson's leadership. In chapter 11, Kiewe analyzes Jackson's farewell address and credits him with further developing the farewell address as a unique genre of presidential rhetoric.Through these case studies, Kiewe develops several insights about Jackson and his rhetoric. First, Kiewe challenges portrayals of Jackson as “brute, rough, savage, and backward” by documenting his rhetorical skill, strategic acumen, and principled devotion to the Union (4). Second, Kiewe sheds light on the “cumulative effort” that underpinned Jackson's rhetorical presidency (68). Jackson's most famous addresses often underwent several stages of drafting. Jackson would create a first draft that would undergo subsequent vetting and revision from his inner circle, such as Andrew Jackson Donelson, Amos Kendall, Martin Van Buren, John Eaton, James Hamilton, Roger Taney, and others. Kiewe describes Jackson's initial drafts as containing partisan and “forceful language” (75), whereas the revised final forms are “moderate relative to his initial points” (90, 248). These detailed accounts of the administration's speechwriting colorfully illustrate Jackson's behind-the-scenes struggle to balance popular leadership with adherence to the norms of his office. Third, Jackson is revealed to be a rhetorical president cognizant of the extra-constitutional powers of his office, who frequently “appealed directly” to the public and “used his rhetoric as a political tool . . . for governing purposes” (243).Andrew Jackson: A Rhetorical Portrayal provides a granular look at a crucial chapter of American history, using a rhetorical perspective that highlights how presidential authority is in part constructed through discourse. Given the book's nineteenth-century subject matter, Kiewe's meticulous account of Jackson's governance and speechwriting process is impressive. Nonetheless, Kiewe's characterizations of Jackson are occasionally questionable. At several points, he describes Jackson as a “progressive” (164, 178), an interpretation that is hard to sustain in light of Jackson's vigorous opposition to policies that would utilize government on behalf of national development and his plainly regressive attitudes and actions towards Indigenous peoples and the abolitionist cause. Kiewe's choice to analyze Jackson in the context of his times bolsters the book's primary strength; it allows for a thorough account of the dynamics and constraints of the era and how Jackson responded to them. However, some readers may be frustrated by Kiewe's hesitance to more forthrightly acknowledge Jackson's complicity with genocide and chattel slavery or to criticize the exclusionary definition of “the people” imagined by Jackson's populist rhetoric. For instance, Kiewe's recognition of Jackson's condescending, paternalistic attitude towards Indigenous peoples in chapter 6 may have been strengthened by conversing more extensively with texts such as Michael Rogin's Fathers and Children that explain the colonialist attitudes that underpinned Jackson's paternalism.As a book that sits “at the intersection of history, politics, and rhetoric,” Kiewe's Andrew Jackson: A Rhetorical Portrayal will prove useful to a variety of readers (1). Historians and scholars interested in the nineteenth-century United States may find this rhetorical study of Jackson a complement to other accounts of the era, as the book's special attention to the development of Jackson's addresses and their impact on the public is relatively unique. Scholars of the presidency may appreciate the book's intervention into the debate about the extent to which the rhetorical presidency is a twentieth-century affair or a phenomenon that can be traced back into the nineteenth century. Rhetorical scholars should appreciate the central place that Kiewe assigns rhetoric in the process of governance, even in an era where communication mediums were considerably more limited in reach and scope than today. Andrew Jackson: A Rhetorical Portrayal suggests that scholars should pay attention to how rhetoric can strengthen or weaken institutions such as the presidency, and how presidents influence and are influenced by evolving modes of mass communication. Above all, Kiewe's book highlights the need for scholars to conduct rigorous rhetorical analyses of other nineteenth-century rhetorical presidents, to enrich understanding of the era and to illustrate how rhetorical choices made centuries ago exert influence on the present-day institution of the presidency.

John Oddo's book argues that propaganda should be defined as an intertextual process. According to this perspective, a message succeeds as propaganda when people recontextualize it over and over, keeping that message alive across many texts. Of course, some messages achieve greater success as propaganda than others, and Oddo is interested in the linguistic and contextual factors that make certain messages “comparatively more worthy of recontextualization” (25). His focus is American propaganda justifying the Persian Gulf War and the War on Terror. In fact, Oddo's case studies explore a wide range of wartime materials, including print and television news, presidential speeches and political advertisements, and tweets by ordinary people. As such, his book will interest scholars studying war rhetoric as well as those interested in mediated discourse, multimodal analysis, political discourse, and circulation. In addition, this book illustrates how the inclusion of discourse analytic methods can work productively for rhetoricians interested in public address.In the introduction, Oddo states four goals. He seeks, first, to build upon insights of critical discourse analysis to develop an explicit definition of propaganda; second, to suggest a set of intertextual methods for studying propaganda; third, to draw attention to both contextual and sociolinguistic factors that give rise to propaganda; and finally, to challenge readers to consider the consequences of propaganda in a democratic society. Oddo argues that “one essential characteristic of successful propaganda is that it propagates” (3). In fact, his book's premise is that those who study propaganda should examine not only the content of messages but also the “rhetorical and sociolinguistic details” that reveal “how those messages spread, how they become mobile, durable, and repeatable” with the help of an institutional and ideological infrastructure (6, 3).Part 1 defines propaganda as an “intertextual process” in which manipulative and antidemocratic discourse is “recontextualized on a mass scale” (37). First, Oddo argues that an intertextual perspective can better account for both deliberate top–down propaganda and unwitting propaganda among ordinary people, preserving the notion that propaganda is harmful without presupposing that every propagandist seeks a selfish advantage. Building on theories of intertextuality, this section calls attention to the following question: “how do propagandists create discourse, whether strategically or unintentionally, that is likely to be recontextualized?” (22). Next, Oddo suggests that another key feature of propaganda is manipulation, which often involves positive self-representation and negative other-representation, emotional coercion, misleading representations and arguments, and manipulation of dialogic space (27–31). Finally, Oddo argues that propaganda should be defined by its antidemocratic societal consequences rather than intentions of the communicator. In other words, “it is propaganda if it consolidates the power of one group while harming the interests of subordinate groups” (34).Part 2 presents the first case study as it discusses how political propagandists create messages that are likely to be recontextualized by reporters. Oddo studies the iterations of the “incubator story,” a fabricated story in 1990 that accused Iraqi forces of removing Kuwaiti infants from their incubators and leaving them to die. He shows how the incubator story was staged as a credible narrative of personal experience. Moreover, Oddo shows that the narrative “could only succeed with the aid of journalists,” whose subsequent recontextualizations of the incubator story rendered it dominant and influential (71). Through a close analysis of linguistic discourse, multimodal semiotics, and intertextual relations between a public event and subsequent news reports, part 2 elucidates how powerful elites can induce a favorable uptake of their messages, inducing others to circulate them.Part 3 presents Oddo's second case study, which examines how TV news analysts before the 2003 Iraq War were presented as neutral experts, even though they held vested interests. Oddo argues that because news analysts are simultaneously journalists and political insiders, they, on the one hand, provide viewers with rare perspectives and penetrating insights, but, on the other, may circulate propaganda they hear from political sources (106). Oddo suggests that political propagandists exploit the dual identity of news analysts, offering them symbolic or material rewards and effectively compensating those who repeat their desired meanings (103). Meanwhile, news networks render the analysts credible and disinterested, highlighting their authority through advertising, on-screen titles, spoken introductions, background scenery, and communicative roles. Part 3 shows how this constructed authority together with incentivization from deliberate propagandists constitutes a form of manipulation, one that ultimately suppresses alternative views and enables mass recontextualization of propaganda.Part 4 presents Oddo's third case study and examines widespread publicity of the slogan “Support Our Troops.” Oddo argues that “Support Our Troops” has gained momentum for two reasons. First, it has “formal properties that make it more amenable to repetition—and, thus, more capable of traveling” (156). Second, it is surrounded by historical and cultural significance, reflecting larger wartime narratives in which the reasons for war are averted and dissent against war is demonized (156). Regarding the slogan's formal properties, Oddo shows how phonological, lexico-grammatical, and semantic factors contribute to the slogan's memorability, repeatability, and positive identification with a candidate, policy, or brand (156). Regarding cultural factors, Oddo examines the slogan as having ideographical functions by tracing its history in the Vietnam era and its continued use in both vertical campaigns (i.e., from the leaders at the top to the masses) and horizontal ones (i.e., spread among ordinary people on the same level). Oddo's discussion of the slogan sheds light on our understanding of similar slogans by encouraging attention to “the artful design of the slogan itself” and “the web of cultural meaning that shapes how people use and understand it” (175). Part 4 might interest scholars studying ideographs because it illustrates how a micro-analysis can facilitate analyses of phrases with ideological functions.Overall, the book has valuable pedagogical and theoretical implications. It provides an up-to-date discussion of propaganda studies. Its case studies are relatively independent and can be assigned separately. The author does not assume prior knowledge in his subject matter or methodology, which contributes to its accessibility. For these reasons, it can be used in graduate seminars and advanced undergraduate classrooms concerning rhetorical analysis of political discourse or the combination of rhetorical and critical discourse analysis methods. For rhetoric scholars, this book contributes an intertextual perspective to their tool kit. This perspective can be applied beyond the specific cases of this book, calling attention to the transfer and transformation of messages across texts both in domestic contexts and international ones where power dynamics may have different manifestations. Overall, this book exemplifies and furthers Oddo's endeavors to show how rhetorical scholars can draw on sociolinguistics, multimodality, and micro-intertextual comparison to conduct granular analyses of political discourse that are critical of the political status quo and grounded in textual evidence.

Abstract This essay performs a critical rhetorical analysis of out-of-court texts pertaining to Naruto v. Slater, colloquially known as the “Monkey Selfie Lawsuit.” By veering from a legal positivist perspective on law and turning toward theories of the public screen, it argues that while People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) formally lost its case on appeal, it successfully litigated their case in the court of public opinion. It further offers the concept of the “litigious event”—a staged lawsuit designed for mass media dissemination—to explain my perspective. By latching onto the already-viral monkey selfies at the center of the copyright dispute, PETA took advantage of the public screen by bringing a private, logocentric civil suit into a public, image-based digital sphere. Increased coverage of the case allowed PETA's legal team to harness the power of digital media to disseminate important arguments about legal rights for animals. Naruto v. Slater functioned as a trial for media, as a strategic lawsuit for public participation—in other words, as a strategically sound and rhetorically powerful litigious event.

The impact of Cicero's writings on Western political philosophy, political communication, political ethics, and civic action is incalculable. His authority in rhetoric and philosophy was nearly unquestioned in the Middle Ages, but Petrarch's discovery of his letters revealed an apparent disconnect between the lofty sentiments expressed in his writings and his own political actions. The Renaissance preference for things Greek and for theory over practice did not replace Cicero but favored Plato and Aristotle. Political philosophers tied to powerful princes preferred the political expediency of Tacitus. Cicero's rhetorical advice remained foundational, but his political ethics and theory seemed muddled and naïve.Gary Remer's Ethics and the Orator joins an ongoing reassessment of Cicero's contributions to the traditions of politics, rhetoric, and ethics from antiquity to the present. It impressively links these three areas more tightly than before with a new and well-argued understanding of Ciceronian rhetoric and politics. Key to this understanding is Remer's appreciation for the situational nature—through decorum and prudentia—of Ciceronian ethics and politics. He then sheds new light on the political theories of Niccolò Machiavelli and Justus Lipsius. Finally, Remer extends Cicero's notions of advocacy and conversation to modern ideas about representative and deliberative democracy.Through a close reading of De Oratore, Remer shows a new understanding of Ciceronian political theory that deserves consideration by classicists as well as political theorists. Most important, he treats seriously Antonius's arguments for feeling the emotions one desires to persuade an audience to feel (2.189–90). Contrary to the dismissive attitude, in both ancient and modern times, that this makes the orator akin to an actor because he simulates “true” feelings, Remer demonstrates Cicero's consistent emphasis on the audience's expectation of this quality in an orator. The good politician is ethically compelled to observe the sensus communis in action and argument.Remer makes another excellent contribution in his reading of an important passage in De Officiis on the four personae. Cicero and other theorists understood that tension between moral and utilitarian ends might arise in the politician's obligations to argue and act. Remer sees this tension less in Cicero because Cicero understands moral actions as contingent on the specific role (persona) a political actor plays in a particular situation. He emphasizes Cicero's analysis of morality according to four personae a person assumes in any situation. These are: “(1) the role common to all humans as rational beings, (2) the persona nature assigns to persons individually, (3) the role dictated by chance or circumstance, and (4) the persona we choose for ourselves in deciding “who and what we wish to be, and what kind of life we want” (67).Apparent moral conflicts are resolved for politicians by the rhetorical notion of decorum, where social consensus and “the common good” govern political action. Remer focuses on situations that pose an “existential threat” to the state (Cicero in the Catilinarian crisis; Lincoln in the Civil War), where the analogy holds well. In such cases the politician's highly visible obligations must be grounded in decorum, prudentia, and the responsibility to act according to social expectations.In the middle section of the book, Remer applies his insight on Ciceronian decorum and prudentia to recent debates about Ciceronian influence on Machiavelli and Lipsius. Machiavelli famously rejects Cicero's claim that what is good (honestum) must also be useful (utile), and vice versa, declaring that they are often irreconcilable and the prince must choose the useful over the good. Recent studies of Machiavelli have declared his position more “intellectually honest” and “practical” than Cicero's. Remer carefully dissects the texts to show again that Cicero's notion of the honestum and utile are governed by his rhetorical commitment to decorum. Although Cicero maintains the utmost commitment to morality and claims that morality itself is universal, the same morality does not exist for all people and in all places. Machiavelli's inflexible Christian morality is a universal morality, yet Machiavelli abandons it. Cicero's understanding of the tensions between honestum and utile is no less intellectually coherent than Machiavelli's, and his commitment to moral goodness makes him more useful as a model for modern politicians.Remer then addresses Lipsius's adoption of a “mixed prudence” that allows a ruler to practice deceit to achieve a necessary end. This is considered a rejection of Ciceronian prudence for Tacitus's political realism, as part of a general trend away from Ciceronian and toward Tacitean political models. Remer, however, through close attention to Lipsius's comments on Cicero's Letters, contends that Lipsius remains a Ciceronian but adapts Cicero's theory to his own changed political and religious conditions. Although Lipsius prizes the honestum over the utile, unlike Machiavelli, he follows Tacitus in seeing that they can be flexible. Remer links this significant move to Lipsius's condition of living under and supporting monarchal rule. Another change is that the political morality Lipsius advocates is expected of a ruler, not of a politician or a statesman. This last change is important, for the Roman statesman is merely an advocate for the common good and does not have an official position to maintain. Lipsius's good ruler, on the other hand, directly governs all subjects and is also responsible for maintaining his rule, even in difficult situations that may call for expediency over moral correctness. Remer makes an important argument for considering Lipsius's changes as appropriate adaptations of Ciceronian theory according Cicero's own notion of decorum. Remer also reconciles the “Ciceronian” versus “Tacitean” readings of the early and later works of Lipsius, showing him to be more consistently Ciceronian than previously thought.Remer's third section addresses the potential for Ciceronian decorum and prudentia to relate to modern ideas of political representation and deliberative democracy. Although modern ideas of representation and representative government appear to have no clear analog to classical political theory, Remer finds a possible link in Cicero's claim that the politician is a procurator rei publicae. Under Roman law, a procurator represented in court a client who was unable to argue his or her case due to age, gender, ability, or status. Because it is understood that the procurator represents the client's interests, Remer equates his responsibility to that of a modern “trustee-delegate,” with the attendant expectations of accountability, fiduciary responsibility, and moral responsibility to the client's interests. Unfortunately, the idea of the procurator under Roman law does not easily yield these modern notions. The orator's aim of “the common good,” which obligates him to consider the benefits to all—especially his client—when arguing his position, still does not make him “representative” of those people in political decision making. The history of the Roman Republic demonstrates this well. Without this connection, the links to to Burke, Mill, and the authors of The Federalist that Remer argues for are weak, as Remer himself admits. Although modern notions of political representation may not have their true roots in ancient theory, Remer shows there may be an opportunity for discovering important similarities as well as differences.In the final chapter, Remer seeks to connect Ciceronian sermo (“conversation”) with the ideal political discussion needed for deliberative democracy. He also examines the different ideas of and emphasis on “deliberative” found in Cicero and in current political thought. He asks an important question: “Why did Cicero view deliberative oratory, and not conversation, as the main genre for politics?” (182). As in the previous chapter, Remer's close reading of the Ciceronian texts causes him to miss the forest for the trees. Specific passages defining sermo and the genus deliberativum yield convenient academic definitions, but they obscure Cicero's practice and real contribution. In Remer's defense, this is a shortcoming of Ciceronian scholarship in general. Cicero's practice in his dialogues is to use sermo, the conversational style of discussion, as a model for negotiating important political issues of the day. In the turbulent decade of the 50s, De Oratore instantiates a model of reasoned political deliberation by respected leaders who were willing to die soon for their political beliefs. Such deliberation about the proper role of the statesman was the essence of Ciceronian conversation.Ethics and the Orator is an important reassessment of Ciceronian thought and a significant contribution to understanding Cicero's impact on the development of Western political theory. It deserves serious attention by all interested in the intersection of ethics, rhetoric, and politics from antiquity to the present. Gary Remer's careful reading of major political theorists in their historical contexts restores to view the ethical foundations of the Ciceronian tradition and suggests how continued engagement with Cicero's texts might offer new models of political leadership.

In 2013, a fellow classmate, my professor, and I visited the National Mall. Taking a brief respite from the National Communication Association's annual conference, we traveled extensively through its miles of sidewalks and paths to enjoy the sights and learn more about national history. We walked up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and gazed at the Washington Monument at the other side of the Reflecting Pool. We noticed the grandeur of the World War II Memorial and, in contrast, the obligatory somberness of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The National Mall's narrative compels its visitors, like us, to privilege these particular commemorations over others. However, as is usually the case, the most popular, aggrandized, or extravagant snippets of memory found in these locations did not tell us the whole story.Most narratives conjured by the National Mall and its sites of memory conform to a unitary retelling of the nation's storied past. As Roger C. Aden explains in Rhetorics Haunting the National Mall, despite its relatively young age—having “only taken shape in the last 100 years or so”—the Mall's “classical architecture and historical subject matter” insinuates “a timeless landscape” with a stable central narrative about who, and what, the nation is (3–4). Monuments, like those on the Mall, highlight core national values by memorializing the revolutionary legacies of presidents championing liberal democracy, egalitarianism, and valor, as well as the sacrifice of untold numbers of servicemembers who fought to uphold those ideals. As Aden also notes, through its focus on the enum (the “stories of a collective people” that are brought together “to unify a nation”), the National Mall is designed to be read in a particular way (7). The Mall's importance as a seemingly immutable repository of national memory cannot be understated: its commemorative beauty attracts millions of visitors each year.Nevertheless, there exist other, ephemeral narratives haunting the National Mall not noticeable in the course of a casual walk. This text's important contribution comes from uncovering hidden memories present in the National Mall to explain how they reshape a reading of its narrative. Aden describes these pervasive, hidden memories that function within the Mall as “individual experiences of those affected” by events within or around the Mall (or “the pluribus”). Individual memories, Aden continues, “work to make tangible that which is seemingly absent yet still present” (7). When considering when and how individuals create memory, the Mall loses some of its narrative stability; it becomes less a site of unification and more one of “protestation and consternation” (35). Aden uncovers those hidden, ephemeral memories that produce discontinuous, disorderly, or disconcerting stories about the nation's past in order to explain how they reshape a reading of the National Mall's narrative. Thus, Aden's edited volume focuses on memories that “haunt” the National Mall (7).The book is divided into four sections. The first section, by Aden, sets the stage for investigating the various “hauntings” present on the National Mall. The second describes an “affective” and persistent memory inhabiting “in individuals, discourses, or movements” (8). Containing chapters 2, 3, 4, and 5, this section explores the Mall's use as a site of countering dominant commemorations. In chapter 2, Aaron Hess, Carlos Flores, and A. Charee Carlson undertake a “rhetorical séance, a gathering of memories present as they call upon memories past” (17). In so doing, they examine their corresponding experiences with the Mall during three important movements: the AIDS Quilt in 1996, the Rally to Restore Sanity in 2010, and the Women's March in 2017. Chapter 3, by Sean Luechtefeld, investigates the Mall as a site of remonstration in 1894 and argues that memories associated with protest were not merely forgotten but “obliterate[d]” (36). Kenneth Foote and Aden then enlighten the reader about the Bonus Expeditionary Force's use of the Mall in 1932 as a site for protest in chapter 4. However, visitors will find “no evidence of these sites of violence and tragedy” because they too have been “largely obliterated” from the Mall's commemorative topography (54). In chapter 5, Ethan Bottone, Derek Alderman, and Joshua Inwood observe how another group, Resurrection City, used the Mall as a protest encampment. They argue that Resurrection City became “a site of radical place-making,” which demonstrates how “memory politics” privilege certain narratives over others (72).The third section considers displacement, or how the “ghosts of memory haunt us through faint traces of their presence deflected away from the prominent places of public memory installed throughout the Mall” (8). Containing chapters 6–11, this section explains how memories that do not fit within the central narrative of the Mall still affect any reading of it. In chapter 6, Michael Vicaro explains how placement can (de)emphasize aspects of memory using a plaque on the Lincoln Memorial commemorating Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech. Elizabethada Wright, in chapter 7, describes how “slave-pens’ histories were framed to be forgotten” while also illustrating the inadequacy of these frames to actually accomplish this task. The slave-pens still “haunted the other memorial rhetorical places of the Mall and continue to do so despite recent efforts at remembering” (116). Chapter 8, by Teresa Bergman, considers how the Portrait Monument provoked a logic of dissensus “within the women's movement and within the Congress” (136). Marouf Hasian, Jr. and Stephanie Marek Muller show, in chapter 9, how the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum uses “master-narratives” to include some voices while precluding others (157). In chapter 10, Theodore Sheckels examines the numerous sites commemorating James Garfield to uncover narratives of “communal shame and guilt” that explain his peculiar popularity in the nation's capital (176). Carl T. Hyden, in chapter 11, argues that the National Gallery of Art “‘contains’ histories and ideas as well as collections of art” that show discontinuous narratives about the nation and its “less-than-ideal practices” (194). In chapter 12, as part of the final section, Aden succinctly provides a number of important implications for uncovering these discontinuous narratives.Overall, this edited volume makes a welcome and robust addition to memory studies literature. Much in the same way as Kirk Savage's Monument Wars and Dell Upton's What Can and Cannot be Said, the studies in this text richly describe the commemorative landscape created through monuments. In so doing, this text highlights histories that may be hidden to control the narrative of who or what the nation may be. Furthermore, when read in tandem with Aden's other edited volume, U.S. Public Memory, Rhetoric, and the National Mall, the reader will enjoy a comprehensive retelling of national memories from mainstream and moral to ephemeral and forgotten (or “obliterated”) perspectives. Due to its substantial contributions to the literature, I welcome this text.

AbstractThis essay investigates how Allied postwar planners sought to overcome a set of legal, political, and pragmatic problems in the punishment of Nazi perpetrators by turning to conspiracy law. In doing so, they sought to glean the rhetorical benefits of conspiracy discourse and argument but were largely thwarted due to the specialized burdens of proof required by law. Here, I suggest that while everyday uses of conspiracy discourse can overcome the problem of assigning individual guilt in the midst of dispersed and collective criminality due to its low burdens of proof, the heart of the Western legal tradition—the fault principle—stymies the effectiveness of conspiracy law as a charge. Despite its relative inefficacy, conspiracy law has had a significant legacy in shaping postwar understandings of World War II and in providing a precedent to hold perpetrators accountable in recent postconflict trials. The continued usage of conspiracy law, despite its shortcomings, points to the limits of legal solutions in the wake of mass atrocities and the need for creative mechanisms for dealing with perceptions of individual and collective guilt.

AbstractThis essay examines Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s campaign for President John F. Kennedy to issue a second emancipation proclamation, which involved a series of public speeches delivered across the nation from 1961 through 1963 as well as a 60-page Appeal memorandum composed for Kennedy by Southern Christian Leadership Conference lawyers. King challenged Kennedy’s conservative, accommodating understanding of prudence by harnessing the inventional resources of Civil War centennial commemoration, folding together the past and present to offer a vision of audacious presidential leadership. Examination of this historical moment provides insight into how commemoration creates kairotic opportunities for advocates of social change to renegotiate prudence and call forth new, bolder forms of political action.

AbstractIn 2009, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights ruled in González et al. (“Cotton Field”) v. Mexico that Mexico and the state of Chihuahua were responsible for cultivating conditions of feminicidio and pervasive structural violence against women. Drawing on theories of justice, agency, and responsibility, this essay examines the court’s legal decision to understand the power of rhetoric in creating the conditions for justice in the face of state-complicit structural violence. The court crafted a series of definitional, commemorative, and deliberative stipulations that Mexico had to recognize and implement to do justice to past and future victims of feminicidio. The Inter-American Court does important definitional work toward naming gender violence as structural violence, yet the court limits possibilities for justice in two important ways. The court figures Mexico as responsible and uses that frame to suggest that the state is the primary agent responsible for ensuring justice. While this is a common equation of agency and responsibility in legal cases, in matter of state-complicit structural violence, such configurations end up foreclosing the possibility of justice and augmenting the powers of the state.

AbstractTo commemorate its declaration of a global khilafah in 2014, the Islamic State (IS) began publishing an online magazine, Dabiq, which became one of its primary recruiting tools during its rise to infamy. By using rhetoric that recalls U.S. presidential war rhetoric, specifically, tropes of “justice” and “time,” the English-language version of Dabiq fulfilled both subversive and hegemonic functions. It disrupted the reductive discourse that equates Islamic terrorists only with barbaric aggression and rendered IS as a rational global actor. Through this subversive move, IS aligned its anti-imperial interests with potential recruits in English-speaking Western countries with similar proclivities. At the same time, through its use of dominant Western war tropes, IS made a hegemonic attempt to facilitate recruits’ cultural identification so they assume a congruence of interests with IS, leading to an alignment of motives. Dabiq thus fulfilled an imperial trajectory through (neo)imperial rhetorics of identification and control. IS’s strategic use of (neo)imperial tropes in English—language of the empire—in Dabiq hence complicates monolithic (and Oriental) perceptions of the relationship between empire, imperialism, and Islamic terrorism in contemporary global political discourse. In addition, the significance of (neo) imperial tropes expands the heuristic scope of the rhetoric of terrorism by highlighting the implications of imperial ambitions and use of (neo)imperial rhetoric for the rise of global Islamic terrorism.

Abstract Public address scholars trained in U.S. communication departments have tended not to study rhetoric created by people with disabilities as much as they do other social movements. Here I attribute this relative lack to two ableist assumptions associated with communication’s emphasis on winning arguments: the presumed disqualification of people with disabilities from public argument itself and the normalization of this disqualification based on biases related to rhetorical performance and capability. Overall, I argue this disqualification is the product of how communication scholars have understood and reconstructed the role of the ideal arguer in public affairs and call for more expansive views.

AbstractIn 1925, Herbert Wichelns published The Literary Criticism of Oratory. By many accounts, the essay would become the founding document of the academic study of rhetoric and public address. However, in that same year, historian Carter G. Woodson published Negro Orators and Their Orations, which focused on the study of the African American oratorical tradition. In this essay, by way of speculative history and using my sanctified imagination, I wonder what an alternative or speculative history would look like if we can conceive Woodson as challenging the dominant (exclusively white) notions of public address and rhetorical praxis. By paying particular attention to Woodson’s introduction in Negro Orators and Their Orations, I submit that not only would we have been introduced to the richness and power of the African American public address tradition earlier but, more importantly, who we start to see as scholars and what we call scholarship would be different as well.I examine this by first, offering an examination of Woodson’s text, paying close attention to the introduction, where Woodson develops his theory of oratory. Second, I examine the African American rhetoric and public address scholarship between 1925 and 1960. Finally, I offer a speculative history of what could have been and what we can still do if we would include some of these voices and their scholarship in the public address canon.

AbstractTransnational rhetorical scholarship has yet to enact meaningful solidarity with the subaltern. “Inclusionary” efforts have actively excluded what I term the “radical subject,” the subject revolting against repressive hegemonic forces to achieve liberatory change in society. Without privileging the radical subject and a critique of freedom over a critique of domination, hegemonic narratives continue uninterrupted. This paper turns toward the Syrian revolution to illustrate how critical rhetoric does not stretch far enough for the radical subject. I propose a radical rhetorical paradigm that centers the radical subject’s lived knowledge as determining meaning. This approach realizes the wisdom in relinquishing skepticism during the critical reasoning process by placing the radical subject as the starting point in inquiry in contested spaces where negotiation over meaning is ongoing. It acknowledges the radical subject’s testimony as born of the epistemic relevance of social location and the boundedness of knowledge. The radical rhetorical approach consecrates the epistemologies of the radical subject as inculcating the imperative for action on behalf of the oppressed.

Abstract We discuss the role of critics in rhetorical studies. Working from different, yet often synchronous, perspectives, we try to thrash out the relationships of critics to texts, the responsibilities of critics in their current context, the ways that critics craft authority, and more.

AbstractAuthors define their approach to academic labor scholarship and activism. They note challenges to engaging with labor in scholarship and practice and call for normalizing discourse about class and labor in relation to the university. The authors suggest directions for future scholarship and activism in local institutions and professional associations.

AbstractDrs. Ersula J. Ore and Bernadette Marie Calafell were invited to discuss their experiences with activism in the academy. They discuss what’s at stake and the costs (both emotional and financial) as well as issues of trauma and burnout.

AbstractWe argue that decolonization must be a future direction for the study of rhetoric and public address. Settler rhetoricians must not only recognize that the field is founded on settler colonialism but also commit to an ongoing process of unsettling the field and making both mundane and extraordinary tangible engagements with decolonization. What the field needs is to begin charting a path for all rhetoricians to participate with decolonization struggles, particularly settler scholars. Drawing from research from Indigenous scholars and Native American and Indigenous studies, we focus on tactics for settler scholars to engage with this important research trajectory. This essay teases out the distinctions between theories of postcoloniality, decoloniality, and decolonization; highlights the active role rhetoric plays in settler colonialism; and lays out tactics for settler rhetorical scholars to enact forms of accountability and responsibility in their research, at their universities, and in the field of rhetoric.

AbstractRhetorical studies as a discipline relies on a set of theories and a geography of case studies that circularly reinforce one another to authorize white-Euro-American traditions of knowledge beholden to colonial ways of knowing the world. Calls to “internationalize” the cases and topics of rhetorical studies are easily subsumed by the self-authorizing racist epistemology of the discipline, since additive models of “diverse” cases repurpose diversity to reinforce the authority of the discipline as it already exists. How should the globalization of rhetorical studies address the disciplinary logic of white, colonial, U.S. normativity? Studying non-U.S., non-Western rhetorical practice must be an anticolonial political intervention to fundamentally reimagine the discipline or it will risk reproducing a racist disciplinary structure.This essay maps three ways that scholars studying “international” cases have led a restructuring of the discipline by challenging the presumptions of universality that creep into scholarship. Anticolonial rhetorical scholars challenge processes of universalization as method, as rhetorical practice, and as ontology. When these processes of universalization become the object of study for rhetorical scholars, there is a possibility that rhetorical studies can develop the reflexivity to challenge its own circularly reinforcing, exclusionary disciplinary logic of white-U.S. normativity.

Abstract In this conversation series, we discuss some of the enduring and evolving interests that the subfield of visual rhetoric provokes for us. We begin with how we found visual rhetoric; questions of disciplinarity and methodology; issues of archive and field; concerns about the objects and scenes for visual rhetoric; and conclude with a focus on the future, core and evolving concepts, and pedagogy.

Abstract We have been asked to engage in a conversation about the current role of ideology—as critique, as rhetoric, as a framework within which academics operate. Our approach will not seek to write the history of rhetorical critique from an ideological perspective, nor work from extant literature as one might in a traditional research essay. Still, we reference ideas emanating from that literature; instead of the normal “source citation in text,” we will list references at the end. Our ideas do not exist in a vacuum—they are stimulated by our own reading/writing in the area of ideology critique— from the original “ideological turn” to the present day. Hence it seems appropriate to acknowledge where ideas, especially about missing elements or future trajectories in research, come from. This conversation touches on the Cold War afterlife of the public as an ideological force, whiteness’s role in gatekeeping the field, and how political liberalism and those interpellated by it constrain the field’s future(s).

Abstract We argue that part of Rhetoric & Public Affairs’ future should center public-facing scholarship in rhetorical studies. We begin by chronicling some of the work colleagues are doing to bridge expert and lay publics: podcasts, popular and trade press interviews, social media content development and management, and activist engagements. Centering public-facing scholarship creates several notable shifts: (1) it changes the “so what?” for traditional scholarship by inviting scholars to think about audiences outside of journal readership; (2) it opens space for different stylistic conventions in scholarly writing; and (3) it indicates that nonexpert audiences are valuable as readers. We note the considerable barriers to entry to public scholarship including gatekeeping, framing public scholarship for tenure, and training. We contend that Rhetoric & Public Affairs could lead other journals through an updated definition of impact that takes into account contemporary modes of circulation and sharing, should accept pieces written for nonexpert readers in rhetoric, and should consider, if possible, making available for public reading one scholarly article every month or every quarter.

AbstractUsing the murder of Magdiel Sanchez as a case study, we argue that rhetoric’s future must embrace practices of situated listening. While much of the field’s work has focused on speakers and practices of invention, we argue that a more just study of public deliberation must position this approach in conversation with an acknowledgment of situated reception. We follow scholars of color, feminist theorists, and disability advocates who have long argued for the practices of ethical listening, adding that the imperative to listen extends beyond the listening ear, accounting for the totality of the body and its environmental and contextual positions. By reaching beyond the demands of race to consider the intersecting axis of (dis)ability, we push the fields of rhetoric, sound studies, and critical/cultural communication studies to consider embodiment as a whole condition of rhetorical reception.

AbstractWhile many have critiqued the racist, sexist, and otherwise prejudiced nature of comedic rhetorics, few have considered how identity-based comedy, particularly racial comedy, functions productively, rather than merely oppressively. Studies of comedic rhetorics have primarily focused on Black and white comedians, but the increasing number and variety of popular comedians of color demands investigation into how comedians from different racial backgrounds use humor to rhetorically articulate the boundaries of their racial(ized) identities. This essay theorizes comedic rhetoric, particularly stereotypes in comedy, as a constitutive form of rhetoric that can articulate generative racial identities as they exist within the ambivalent spaces of in-group stereotypes. By pairing polysemy, Mikhail Bakhtin’s theory of polyphony, and Tina Chen’s theory of impersonation to analyze the standup performances of Asian American comedian Ali Wong, this essay ultimately represents a necessary intervention into understanding racial comedy and stereotypes as potentially productive sites for examining racial identity.

AbstractAs Kirt Wilson recently noted, contemporary memory and commemorative scholarship can sometimes be too narrowly focused on the centrality of material visual display to a historical narrative’s persuasive power or institutional ideological structures, a tendency that ultimately valorizes and reinforces dominant narratives. In the face of that practice, I ask: How can we understand the extent to which institutionalized histories reinforce and stabilize hegemonic ideals of systems and structures while (dis)placing others? There are several potential answers to this question; the one I want to focus on here has to do with methodological choices. More specifically, I argue for an expansion of the focus of memory and commemorative scholarship to incorporate nondominant historical narratives. This can be achieved by using a methodological approach rooted in circulation theory as a corrective to a long-term focus on dominant (hegemonic) texts. Such an approach allows for memory and commemorative scholarship to employ multiple discourses and practices embedded in commemoration by critically engaging the ways in which hegemonic narratives and identities emerge and are enacted beyond what are traditionally understood to be the “material” structures of public memory.

Abstract The case of Southern regionalism shows both the problems with current treatments of regionalism—illustrative of the problem of colonialist perspectives more generally—and the path forward. That path forward involves rethinking whose ancestors count as members of a place, the issue of whose voices are centered, memory and trauma, and counterpublics. The authors advise (1) embracing the field’s interest in local identities and identity movements—therefore, interrogating rhetoric as symbol systems carried in intergenerational, relational identity; (2) pushing further against colonialism, as the world is more layered by global systems of trauma and memory; and (3) admitting that nation-building rhetoric is an imperfect paradigm compared to resistive counterpublic discourse.

Abstract This introduction provides a brief context for the rebooting of the journal, including a history of the journal and the controversy that led to its reimagining, and offers brief synopses of the individual essays included within.

AbstractDecolonial smuggling is a practice that falls at the intersections of fugitivity (Moten) and delinking (Mignolo, Wanzer-Serrano). It is geared toward disrupting rhetorical studies’ zero-point epistemology to open space to marshal alternative epistemologies—of Black being, Indigeneities, and their relational formations—against the canon to enable more radical, decolonial disciplinary futures. Building on the work of Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) scholars, this essay details the forms of whiteness and knowledge production that reproduce epistemic violence, performs metaphoric (meta)criticism across various strands of race scholarship, and comments on white scholars’ role in these conversations. This essay seeks to add clarity to what decolonization looks like for rhetoricians with respect to the epistemologies and ontologies embedded within the metaphors that, for many, are matters of life and death.

Abstract What obligations do scholars of rhetoric and public address have to understand, address, and sustain the conditions of earthly coexistence? Only if the field of rhetoric embraces a genuinely ecological notion of rhetoric, the author argues, and only if we collectively commit to addressing the ecological dimensions of our various objects of study, can we truly give back to the earth in ways that honor all that it has given, and continues to give, to us. Toward that end, this essay outlines several dimensions of an “ecocentric rhetoric.“

Abstract Annie Hill and Carol A. Stabile discuss U.S. cultural and political shifts in relation to sexual violence and what that means for rhetoric, public affairs, and the academic landscape.

AbstractThe pandemic and economic catastrophes of 2020 and the forms of resistance that surged against racist systemic and physical violence indicate, we contend, that studying public address in the present moment requires attention to the mutual contingency of rhetoric and digitality. Relying on interdisciplinary literatures and a global perspective, we direct such attention along three vectors: platforms, commons, and methods. We indicate how theorizing rhetoric and digitality transforms critical and historical traditions. In expanding the purview of the public address tradition while retaining the tradition’s hermeneutic potential, we emphasize the need to challenge disciplinary terms and the desirability of expanded analytical methods. We submit that by not attending sufficiently to the advent and diffusion of digital media technologies, public address scholarship misses opportunities to shape ongoing conversations about how rhetoric mediates public affairs; and that insofar as struggles for racial justice are bound up with, not just mediated by, digitality, the prospects of diversifying rhetoric’s professoriate increase when research on this topic is central rather than peripheral.

Abstract In this article, the authors draw on their personal experiences as mid-career administrators and scholars of color to consider both the structures that limit, and opportunities for equity and social justice in, academic institutions. Although the primary logics that shape academic institutions serve to marginalize certain types of scholars and scholarship, they argue that institutions also contain gaps and contradictions where resistance is possible and from which alternative structures can be built. They identify and define three critical practices—storytelling, structural transformation, and allyship—that administrators can use to create a more equitable academy. The authors discuss why they believe it is important to invest in administrative and professional association service, where they have witnessed the gaps that make transformation possible, and how they have implemented critical administrative praxes.

AbstractAs a subfield of rhetorical studies, public address has been conservative and defensive from the start in its method, theory, politics, and even subject. Even as there has been an expansion of the subject (i.e., the “text” to be studied), the field has, on the whole, remained skeptical of new methods, all critical theories, and alternative political motives. Because of this, the subfield of public address has remained incredibly white and largely male. If the subfield is to continue to exist and, perhaps, thrive, it is time for a clear change in tack. Public address must open its gates widely to the critical methods and theories that can allow for more diverse knowledge production and reorient the field’s political goals. And in a reversal, public address should define itself solely around the study of speeches directed at publics.