Some Tentative Guidelines for Going Meta in Political Confrontations

Judge Thomas' undoing of the Democratic majority at the hearing by way of biting commentaries on his situation provides vivid illustration of the power of going meta. In keeping with Bateson's "levels" metaphor, these are a way of going "one up" in the situation by arrogating to oneself the role of interpreter. But, as suggested earlier, going meta requires a rhetorical balancing act, pivoting on the high wire of perceived legitimacy. There were reasons, after all, that Anita Hill did not go meta. Her almost exclusive reliance on direct exchange promoted an image of demure self-confidence; of politeness and a sense of propriety; of consideration for her interlocutors' interests and not just her own; of someone who had nothing to hide. Thus, meta-goers must skillfully balance the potential gains of enhancing their reputations, shaping agendas, influencing judgments against the dangers of appearing unjustifiably intrusive, disruptive, contentious, or evasive. Meta-goers in confrontative situations must also weigh into the balance their relative legitimacy as against that of their opponents.

The first rule for going meta in political confrontations is to attempt to seize the high ground in any such conflict. In political situations, rhetors are surely likely to want to exploit potential power advantages in going meta, and to take smug satisfaction when they succeed, but they are institutionally constrained from appearing blatantly self-aggrandizing. George Bush did well in his confrontation with Dan Rather, but he was unwise to boast immediately afterwards (and while still on live mike) that "that bastard [Dan Rather] didn't lay a glove on me" (Hackett & Abbott, 1988). In so far as political confrontations are staged for display to audiences (Heritage, 1985), they must appeal to public conceptions of fairness and of the common interest. Moreover, political discourse is institutionally impelled and constrained (Heritage, 1985). In a campaign debate, maintain Edelsky and Adams (1990), the candidates are expected to adhere to the pre-specified rules for the debate, and, together, they are expected to educate the voters -- enhancing the citizenry's capacity to make informed electoral decisions. Ross Perot in 1992 was wise to cast the third debate as a problem-solving discussion and to include himself implicitly in asserting that "everybody's nibbling around the edges." It was time, said Perot, to go "for the center of the bull's eye." And, of course, Perot would show them how.

A second rule for going meta in political confrontations is that one should play the injured party and cast one's opponent as the victimizer. This rule is not always applicable, but we have seen it work often enough (Thomas v. Hill, Bush v. Rather, Clinton on Donahue) that we are willing to propose it as a general guideline. Colonel Oliver North, with the help of his attorney, Brendan Sullivan, did a masterful job of playing the aggrieved party in the very first moments of North's public appearance at the Iran/Contra Hearings. After a series of curt denials by Committee Co-Chairman Daniel Inouye of procedural motions by Sullivan, the stage was set for North to upstage the House/Senate Committee. In response to sharp questioning by Committee Counsel John Nields, Jr., North portrayed himself as a soldier/patriot, merely doing his duty to God and country. Then Nields referred to a document, presumably drafted by North, which was to provide evidence of North's culpability. Sullivan broke in at this point to insist that the document be identified and made available to Colonel North. After all, he suggested, this was the only fair thing to do. When Nields identified the document by volume and number, Sullivan made a great show of confusion as to where the document might possibly be in the piles of books of documents that, he said, had only been placed in the possession of Colonel North and his attorneys moments before North was to testify. Nields was forced to postpone his questioning until such time as a copy of the document could be located amid the myriad other documents on North's table. By that time the situation had been completely reframed.

A third rule for going meta in political confrontations is to capitalize on your opponent's resistance. In sharp contrast to Nields at the Iran-Contra hearings, Senate Chief Counsel Arthur Liman used his first minute with North to engage in some very gentle questioning. "Is it fair to say," he asked initially, "that November 25, 1986 [the day North was officially dismissed by President Reagan for his role in Iran/Contra] was one of the worst days in your life?" When North paused before answering the question to consult with his attorney, Liman broke the silence by joking: "I wasn't asking whether it was one of the worst days in Mr. Sullivan's life." Liman then proceeded to review with North the basic history of the case. By focusing on agreed-upon facts, and then asking per each item reviewed whether his version was "correct," North was given little choice but to grant assent to the substance of Liman's accountings. Yet he did so reluctantly and often obliquely, insisting at one point, for example, that he'd been officially "dismissed" and not "fired." When North paused and fiddled before answering whether Admiral Poindexter had personally authorized North's diversion of funds to the Contras (an admitted fact), Liman used the opportunity for another meta-move: "You seem to be hesitating. Is there any doubt in your mind?" At this point there was precious little that North or Sullivan could do. Sullivan interrupted to say that his client, having gone over this ground many times before in his testimony, was anticipating a trick. But in the absence of evidence that Liman was being the least bit tricky, Sullivan's rationale seemed rather hollow. Here, in sharp contrast to the North/Nields exchange, Liman was turning North's resistance to his own advantage.(14)

A fourth rule for the meta-goer in political contests is to maintain a consistent persona. Here, by way of illustration, we return to the Clinton-Donahue exchange. Once that conversation got beyond the first questions about Clinton's alleged adultery, it became strikingly similar in form to the Bush-Rather interview. That is, Clinton took sharp exception to Donahue harping on the "character" issue while Donahue, undaunted, continued to pursue it, insisting that Clinton had been warned in advance that he'd be asked these questions. Midway through the interview, Clinton threatened Donahue with a refusal to answer any additional questions about adultery, marijuana smoking, and the like, suggesting, to the audience's applause, that Donahue had overstepped his bounds. Donahue persisted, however, maintaining that he had an obligation to the American people to do so, and that Clinton had a parallel obligation to be forthcoming. Here, then, was another competition involving rival sources of legitimacy, but played out this time before a live studio audience. With the audience sympathetic to Clinton's cries of "foul," Donahue was clearly taking a risk in pushing forward. But Clinton was also placed in a king-sized dilemma, now that Donahue had refused to buckle under to his threat. Remaining silent, as he had promised he would do, would have escalated the contest further, and with a popular television interviewer. But failing to go through with his threat would compromise his initial stance. Clinton did eventually respond to Donahue's additional "character" questions, and Donahue eventually switched topics, but it was Donahue, in our judgment, who emerged as the more statesmanlike of the two -- less the crowd-pleasing politician and more the seeker of truth. Clinton's initial mistake was in threatening silence, for he could not maintain a consistent persona.

A fifth rule for going meta in political confrontations is to turn your opponents' criticisms of you against them. As part of "a 100 percent negative air-and-ground war aimed at reframing Clinton as a taxer, a spender, a liberal, a liar, a coward, and, at its shabbiest moments, a possible Soviet sympathizer" (Newsweek, 1992:83), George Bush created a storm of controversy a week before the first debate in 1992 when he linked Clinton's antiwar activities in England to a trip Clinton had taken to Moscow. Bush's intimations prompted countercharges of McCarthyism from Clinton's supporters, providing an immediate backdrop for the first debate. Significantly, Bush had been chipping away at Clinton's favorable ratings by references to the protests at Oxford "against his own country" and by contrasts between the President's military service and Clinton's waffling on why he never served. But, for three days, the issue of McCarthyism threatened to eclipse Bush's attacks. Realizing that, Bush's team of advisors urged him to back off from the Moscow connection and to focus instead on the immorality of Clinton's demonstrating abroad. This he did in the first debate, saying at one point, "And I'm sorry, but demonstrating -- it's not a question of character and judgment." Thus did Bush seek to alter a frame he himself had put forward a week earlier. But Clinton would not let him off the hook. "You have questioned my patriotism," he said. "You even brought some rightwing Congressman into the White House to plot how to attack me for going to Russia in 1969-70 when over 50,000 other Americans did." Now Clinton takes matters to a higher level, suggesting that Bush himself may have been doing a disservice to his country by even bringing up the issue, and, what's more, that he should have known better, given his own father's shining example:

But when Joe McCarthy was around attacking people's patriotism, he was wrong. He was wrong. And a Senator from Connecticut stood up to him named Prescott Bush. Your father was right to stand up to Joe McCarthy. You were wrong to attack my patriotism. I was opposed to the war but I love my country, and we need a President who will bring this country together, not divide it. We've got enough division. I want to lead a unified country.

To this response, Bush was effectively silenced, and it had the effect of blunting the President's attacks on other aspects of Clinton's character and judgment.