Democracy's Rhetoric of Defeat
By Paul Corcoran
American political scientist Paul Corcoran is an associate professor at the University of Adelaide in Australia. His particular interests are political communication, including rhetorical strategies and media framing; political philosophy; and politics and art.
Concession speeches after hard-fought elections are more than empty rituals. They help establish the legitimacy of the results, reinforce national unity, and pave the way for peaceful and effective transitions of power.
With the votes still being counted on November 4, 2008, the two leading candidates for the U.S. presidency played their roles in the concluding act of an established political drama. The first to speak was the defeated candidate, John McCain. His concession speech followed a time-honored rhetorical formula:
My friends, we have come to the end of a long journey. The American people have spoken, and they have spoken clearly. A little while ago, I had the honor of calling Senator Barack Obama to congratulate him ... on being elected the next president of the country that we both love. In a contest as long and difficult as this campaign has been, his success alone commands my respect for his ability and perseverance. But that he managed to do so by inspiring the hopes of so many millions of Americans who had once wrongly believed that they had little at stake or little influence in the election of an American president is something I deeply admire and commend him for achieving.
In his victory speech, Barack Obama responded, emphasizing "that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red [predominantly Republican] states and blue [predominantly Democratic] states. We are, and always will be, the United States of America." The president-elect's next words offered a tribute to his rival:
A little bit earlier this evening, I received an extraordinarily gracious call from Senator McCain. Senator McCain fought long and hard in this campaign. And he's fought even longer and harder for the country that he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine. We are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader.
Versions of this drama are performed in every healthy democracy. Ségolène Royal wished Nicolas Sarkozy "the best in accomplishing his mission in the service of all the French people." Defeated Japanese Prime Minister Taro Aso announced, "I believe that this is the judgment of the public and we will have to reflect on that sincerely." Similarly cordial exchanges signal the end of democratic political campaigns throughout the world. One might dismiss these remarks as mere formalities: insincere, gratuitous, at best old-fashioned gallantry. But they play a crucial role: in the concession speech the defeated candidate accepts the legitimacy of the election results. The victor's response signals that supporters of all candidates remain a valued part of the national polity. Each election, no matter how bitterly contested, thus ends with an expression of national unity.
A FORMAL RITE OF TRANSITION
Surprisingly, the losing candidate has the greater rhetorical opportunity and significance in the election night drama and in the democratic process. The victor inevitably returns to campaign promises. By acknowledging his opponent's graciousness, he easily appears chivalrous, even as his praise for a formidable opponent magnifies his own achievement.
The rhetoric of defeat has a more important task to perform in the formal rite of political transition in a democracy. Delivered with a minimum of reparation by a strong personality in a time of great emotional stress, a concession speech personifies the requisite civilities for social stability and legitimate political authority. It ceremonially resolves the symbolic crisis (the election) that democracies regularly and purposefully experience, and thus visibly reinforces popular sovereignty and constitutional order. For the vanquished, the rhetorical drama translates electoral defeat into a narrative of triumph: The defeated party renews its commitment toward future victory. The language of combat, partisan loyalty, and opposing principles is rendered into metaphors of ancient virtue, chivalry, and sport - that is, onto a plane where playing the game is fundamental and the rules of the game are more important than winning or losing a particular contest.
Some dramatize a U.S. presidential election as a campaign of organized combat between enemies. Like warfare, it is noisy and passionate. The media tend to reinforce this military theme by emphasizing division and conflict, with winners and losers pronounced in weekly opinion polls. Candidates cast doubt on their rivals' competence, character, and leadership qualities. The record of incumbent candidates is sharply questioned. Candidates are probed for signs of weakness. Candidates who already hold office enter "election mode," devoting great effort to running for office.
Modern presidential campaign organizations work to divide the electorate into segments and then ideologically consolidate the majority of these voting blocs. This strategy fragments the nation by party, state, region, and more. Each successive presidential election is proclaimed the most divisive, hard-fisted, negative campaign ever. The nation, many commentators conclude, ends up polarized as never before.
The stress on democratic norms is real. Old loyalties, grievances, and prejudices re-emerge. Passions run high. Finally, all but one of the candidates and nearly half of the electorate will be disappointed, their hopes dashed, illusions crumbled.
This happens when things are working well.
The rhetorical task of the concession speech is to begin healing the wounds and salving the bruises inflicted and suffered by both parties. Only the defeated candidate can acknowledge loss, declare the victor's triumph, issue a call for national unity, and urge patriotic support for the candidate he campaigned against for months. This sacrifice of personal hope and ambition is justified by a call for national unity, renewed party loyalty, and a reassurance that the prospect is bright for future victory. Thus in 2004 the vanquished John Kerry spoke to his loyal supporters about "the danger of division in our country and the need - the desperate need - for unity, for finding the common ground, coming together. Today, I hope that we can begin the healing ... We are required now to work together for the good of our country. In the days ahead we must find common cause. We must join in a common effort, without remorse or recrimination, without anger or rancor. America is in need of unity and longing for a larger measure of compassion."
Four years later, John McCain evoked the identical theme: "Senator Obama and I have had and argued our differences, and he has prevailed. ... I urge all Americans who supported me to join me in not just congratulating him, but offering our next president our good will and earnest effort to find ways to come together, to find the necessary compromises, to bridge our differences, and help restore our prosperity, defend our security in a dangerous world, and leave our children and grandchildren a stronger, better country than we inherited. Whatever our differences, we are fellow Americans."
ORDERLY TRANSITION: A GLOBAL CHALLENGE
This ritual of gracious acceptance of defeat with a plea for unity and cooperation is well-established in the United States, with its long tradition of competitive electioneering. However, a similar ritual has developed to greater or lesser degrees in other democratic nations. Its features were partly visible in the 2005 British parliamentary elections. The BBC reported that Michael Howard, leader of the Conservative Party, "conceded defeat" in these peremptory terms: "It looks as if Mr Blair is going to win a third term for Labour, and I congratulate him on that victory. I believe that the time has now come for him to deliver on the things that really matter to the people of our country ... when he does then he will have my support."
The democratic themes of Ségolène Royal's concession were clearer in the 2007 French presidential election: "Friends, compatriots ... universal suffrage has spoken, and I hope that the new president of the republic will be able to accomplish his mission, and I thank the 17 million from the bottom of my heart. ... I gave my utmost, and I will carry on ... I would like to thank all the people who fought, and let's keep intact the energy and the joy ... the election has renewed democracy ... what we have begun together we will carry on together."
Postelection concession speeches occur in South America, Africa, Asia, Europe, and Australia, but only rarely do they follow the formal courtesies and media-driven framing devices of American presidential elections. This is especially true in nations with numerous parties or a parliamentary system where a coalition of parties often forms a governing majority.
The orderly transition of office and power from one political party to another cannot be taken for granted. It requires a framework of law and widespread confidence based on practical experience that elections are fair. In new or evolving democracies, especially those beset by deep cultural divisions, the lack of experience or trust in the electoral process is inevitably a challenge. Regimes established by coup d'état, peaceful or otherwise, may seek democratic legitimacy in an election, only to defy electoral defeat by force of arms. In such cases, rather than concede defeat, party leaders may denounce the result, claiming fraudulent ballots, censorship, and violent intimidation. They may urge their supporters to resist, fight, and die. For a nation attempting to build and consolidate democratic institutions, the challenge facing rival leaders is to accept defeat as a bridge beyond personal ambition and party interest.
The ritual of concession and victory does more than heal. The formal exchange of tributes may seem like nostalgic gestures from a more genteel, less cynical era, but the participants re-enact a classical political dramaturgy. In the aftermath of a hard-fought battle, the speeches are a ritual display of very abstract concepts: "democracy at work" and "voice of the people." Fierce opponents are restored as a citizen body, reunified and renewed in commitment to values that transcend rivalry.
Communicated by pervasive mass media, the ritual of conceding defeat and declaring victory becomes the election's cathartic dénouement. As officials count the vote, journalists furiously analyze their computer projections and impatiently speculate: When will the apparent loser "concede"? Will the candidate deny the winner a triumphant election-night celebration? And will the defeated candidate yield to bitterness and emotional breakdown or appear "gracious" at a moment of ultimate disappointment and despair? This ceremony of defeat is a symbolic transfer of power. When viewed over time and in the context of the increasingly powerful mass media, these speeches have become an established democratic practice that broadens our understanding of how national sovereignty is institutionalized and symbolically reinforced.
The opinions expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect the views or policies of the U.S. government.
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