Gov. Mitt Romney of Massachusetts was introduced at a luncheon in Washington last week as the governor of a state run by “the KKK – the Kerry-Kennedy Klan.”
Gov. Romney made no comment at the time, claiming he was busy with his notes and wasn’t paying attention to the introduction. But he has since called the remarks “ill-advised” and “inappropriate.” A bit late and a bit unconvincing, since he was seen to laugh at the joke and then to thank the lawyer introducing him for the “very generous introduction.’
The luncheon was sponsored by the Federalist Society, an organization of conservative lawyers to which I happen to belong. When I lived in the Washington area, I used to attend these luncheons fairly regularly, and I don’t recall that type of humor ever being used before.
The jokes at these luncheons often had a partisan or ideological bent, but they were always harmless fun. For example, when former White House aide Ed Meese spoke some years ago, he was presented (as is customary on such occasions) with a copy of The Federalist Papers as a token of appreciation. The presenter quipped, “We wanted to present you with a real antique, Mr. Meese, but we couldn’t decide which one of Justice William Brennan’s opinions would be appropriate.”
That kind of banter – which is no worse than what the other side says about us at their luncheons – is acceptable. A joke about the KKK is, at best, in questionable taste, and if a remark intended to be made in public is even remotely questionable, it’s best not to make it.
Usually, alliteration helps a speech, but not always. It can make the speaker look silly (Remember Spiro Agnew’s attacks on the “nattering nabobs of negativism”?), or it can put the speaker beyond the pale.
The recent incident with Gov. Romney recalls the most famous instance in American political history where alliteration backfired. In fact, it probably changed the outcome of a presidential election.
The election in question was the bitterly-contested battle of 1884. Democrat Grover Cleveland, Governor of New York, was running against Sen. James G. Blaine of Maine, the Republican candidate.
Mudslinging was common to both camps. The Republicans made hay out of the fact that Cleveland had dodged the draft during the Civil War and fathered a child out of wedlock. The Democrats countered that Blaine was a liar and a crook.
The Republicans might have prevailed but for an unfortunate use of alliteration. Just days before the election, Blaine spoke at a meeting in New York City. Another speaker at the same event, a prominent Presbyterian minister named Burchard, called the Democrats the party of “Rum, Romanism and Rebellion.”
“Rum” referred to the fact that most Democrats opposed Prohibition. “Rebellion” referred to the late Civil War, in which most Confederates had been Democrats, and many Democrats in the North – the so-called “Copperheads” -- had sympathized with the Confederacy.
But “Romanism” was fatal. It was an attack on Catholic immigrants – particularly the Irish – who had been flooding into New York for decades and voting solidly Democrat.
Had Blaine rebuked the minister immediately, he might have contained the damage. Instead, concerned lest he offend his Protestant base, he vacillated for two days before repudiating the statement. By then, it was too late. Not even the well-publicized fact that Blaine had a Catholic mother could outweigh the indignation caused by “Rum, Romanism and Rebellion.”
Cleveland carried New York by a bare thousand votes, and became President.
Republicans had better luck in the Nixon-McGovern campaign of 1972, when they branded the Democrats the party of “Acid, Amnesty and Abortion.” Nixon was re-elected – but the GOP’s triumph was short-lived.
Note to speechwriters: Be careful with alliteration – it may carry a curse.
