Nib #16: Invest in Grace
Congress’s debate last week about a $96 billion foreign aid bill was an orgy of rhetorical outrage porn — “Traitor!” “Warmongers!” “Putin Caucus!” “Wrong side of history!”
Maybe the most important lesson young writers can take from it is that, just a few days later, it’s already hard to remember who hurled which epithets at whom? The unsatisfying (but very Christian) truth is that invective, however fun to write, is unpersuasive. Insults are not like bricks, but feathers: harmless, except to the reputation of anyone foolish enough to throw them at an enemy.
It’s not a coincidence that the two best floor speeches of the week — from Republicans on either side of the party’s internal populist-internationalist divide — contained no insults at all.
The first was retiring Congressman Mike Gallagher’s (R-Wis.) farewell to the U.S. House of Representatives. The hawkish Gallagher was a proud supporter of the aid bill, and a prime mover behind its TikTok divestment piece.
“This is how I always wanted to go out,” Gallagher said.
His speech commends embattled Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.) for bringing the aid bills to the floor and stiff-arms any fellow Republicans plotting against Johnson. But notice how Gallagher does it, without attacking anyone:
“I firmly believe the Speaker has emerged on the other side of this stronger and a statesman. Any Motion to Vacate will fail, the Republican majority will grow as three special election seats get filled in the coming weeks…”
This is a more powerful blow against Johnson’s critics than the personal slurs =GOP elites too often hurl at them. It scores the “Vacate the Chair” caucus not for their supposed sins, but simply because the strategy won’t work. As Establishment attacks against Donald Trump have shown for years, haughty, finger-wagging insults only energize opponents. On the other hand, straightforward descriptions of political reality can discourage radicalization, without anyone losing face.
Meanwhile, the best speech against the aid bills came from Congressman Chip Roy (R-Texas). Roy opened his remarks with a gracious apology to his Republican Rules Committee chairman for having to oppose him in his first week on the job. He then unloads on Democrats (smart, given his Republican target audience) and the bill’s shortcomings before closing with:
“Speaker Johnson said in January: ‘If President Biden wants a supplemental spending bill focused on national security, it better begin with defending America’s national security. We want to get the border closed and secured first.’ To that I say, amen, and I would say where is that Speaker Johnson?”
This is how you hammer someone in a debate. Not with schoolyard insults, but with his or her own words.
Young writers need not agree on the virtues of either Gallagher or Roy’s position in this debate to see that their speeches succeeded because they were rhetorically virtuous. Note well: neither speech pulled punches — neither shied from the fray. Both were charged with political aggression. But both were also written with grace.
In debate - as in other aspects of life — grace is an investment. It cleanses, strengthens, and clarifies even caustic arguments, making debaters more persuasive in the moment and more respected over time. Gracious political rhetoric is not about offering undue respect to one’s opponents, but due respect for one’s audience. That’s why grace’s returns, like those of other virtues like honesty or prudence -- compound. It makes one's arguments more persuasive to more people over time.
There is a reason Gallagher is generally held in higher esteem by anti-establishment conservatives — and Roy seen as more formidable by GOP elites — than most of their factional allies.
Even in the most contentious debates, they both invest in grace and reap its returns. So should all writers.
Until next week … keep writing!
