I got some interesting feedback on my last posting, so I’m going to say a bit more about Article 6 of the U.S. Constitution.

Article 6 declares that state and federal officeholders shall be bound by oath or affirmation to support the Constitution, but that no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification for public office.

The Framers of the Constitution were well aware that Britain, our mother country, not only had a national church, but also had a law called the Test Act, which required office holders to receive the sacrament of the Anglican Church before assuming their positions. This requirement, originally aimed at excluding Catholics, also effectively excluded non-Anglican Protestants and Jews.

The Framers were also well aware that many of America’s early settlers came here to escape religious persecution at home. Very likely, the provision of Article 6 that allowed office holders to “affirm” their loyalty to the Constitution, was a nod to the Quakers, who had religious scruples against the swearing of oaths. (The Framers were, after all, meeting in Philadelphia, the capital of a state that had been founded by Quakers.)

It is interesting to compare Article 6 with the subsequent expansion of religious liberty in England. The Test Act was repealed by Parliament in 1829. New members of Parliament still had to swear an oath before taking their seats, but by 1866, the language of the oath had been modified so that it could be taken in good conscience by Catholics, Jews and non-Anglican Protestants. There was even special legislation that allowed Quakers to “affirm.”

But atheists were another matter. In 1880, the radical Charles Bradlaugh, a well-known atheist and freethinker, was elected to Parliament. Initially, the House of Commons refused to let him take the necessary oath by affirmation, because he was very clearly not a Quaker.

Bradlaugh countered by asserting that under a law passed in 1869, witnesses in court who objected to being sworn could make a “promise or declaration” to give truthful evidence. Accordingly, he insisted that he belonged to a class of persons who, under the law, were permitted to affirm.

In a very unusual proceeding, Bradlaugh was allowed to address the House of Commons, without being sworn as a member. He spoke for half an hour.

“There is,” he declared, “no precedent – I respectfully submit there is no right – on the part of this House to stand between me and the oath which the law provides for me to take, which the statute under a penalty compels that I shall take.”

“I beg you gentlemen,” he concluded, “to pause before a step is taken in which we may both lose our dignity; mine is not much, but yours is that of the Commons of England.”

Unfortunately for Bradlaugh, the MPs were less careful of their dignity than he had hoped. They still refused to let him take the oath. And, when Bradlaugh, in turn, refused in protest to leave the chamber voluntarily, he was forcibly removed and briefly confined by the sergeant-at-arms.

Public opinion was aroused by this high-handed move, and the House of Commons was forced to back down. A week later, the members passed a resolution that allowed duly elected MPs to take the oath of office by affirmation.

When we reflect that this blot on the history of the Mother of Parliaments took place nearly a century after the ratification of our own Constitution, with its prohibition of religious tests, we have to renew our admiration the wisdom and foresight of our Founding Fathers.

Speaking in Weimar in November of 1938, Adolf Hitler paused in mid-harrangue to make a personal attack.

"I can assure this man," he declared, "who seems to live on the moon, that there are no forces in Germany opposed to the [Nazi] regime -- only the force of the National Socialist movement, its leaders and its followers in arms."

"This man," was Winston Churchill. And who was Winston Churchill in November of 1938? He was an ordinary member of Parliament -- distrusted by many members of his own party, excluded from office and, at the age of 64, widely regarded as finished.

But he retained a rhetorical power that even Hitler was forced to acknowledge.

Just weeks weeks earlier, Churchill had risen before a hostile Parliament to denounce the betrayal of Czechoslovakia to the Third Reich by Britain and France. In the infamous Munich agreement, the democracies had attempted to buy peace through appeasement. At the time, it looked like a good bargain.

But Churchill insisted that the British people should be told the truth, however unpalatable it was. "They should know," he thundered, "that there has been a gross neglect and deficiency in our defenses; they should know that we have sustained a defeat without a war ... they should know that we have passed an awful milestone in our history, when the whole equilibrium of Europe has been deranged, and that the terrible words have been for the time being pronounced against the Western democracies: 'Thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting.'"

Small wonder that the appeasers and the Nazis alike were desperate to shut him up.

But Churchill knew his own strength. In 1897, as a young cavalry officer stationed in India, we wrote an essay -- never published in his lifetime -- called "The Scaffolding of Rhetoric." In this essay, Churchill argued that whoever possesses the gift of oratory "Wields a power more durable than that of a great king. He is an independent force in the world. Abandoned by his party, betrayed by his friends, stripped of his offices, whoever can command this power is still formidable."

Over forty years later, Churchill was formidable indeed. In the end, the power of his oratory overcame both the faint hearts in his own country and the armed panoply of the Third Reich.

This past Wednesday, I gave a talk on speechwriting to a class of students at Texas A&M University. Among other things, I told them about Aristotle's Rhetoric, and why Aristotle believed that rhetoric mattered. In essence, Artistotle maintained that if bad people studied rhetoric and good people didn't, then the bad people would win all the court cases and all the debates on public issues, and society would be in terrible shape.

When time came for questions, one student -- as students will often do -- turned my argument around. She asked me about my ethics as a speechwriter. Having spent years honing my rhetorical skills, did I care in whose service I utilized them? Or was I simply a pen for hire -- like a gunslinger or a lawyer?

I thought that was a very good question. I replied that in the course of my career, I had always written for clients whom I respected, and with whose opinions I was in at least broad general agreement. I said that I didn't think I could write for someone I didn't respect, or who took positions totally opposed to mine on key issues.

That set me to wondering: Are there any speechwriters out there who have been forced by economic necessity to write against their consciences? If so, I would like to know how they coped with such a terrible burden.

President Bush and key members of his administration have spent the days leading up to the fifth anniversary of the 9/11 terror bombings making the case to the American people that we are winning the war on terror.

According to today's Wall Street Journal, the administration's speech offensive has produced mixed results. A Wall Street Journal/NBC News Poll reports that a 42% plurality describes the country as safer than before 9/11, up from 31% a year ago and 38% in September 2002; another 32% calls the U.S. “about as safe” as before.

The same poll says that fewer than one in four describes the U.S. as “less safe.” Further, nearly eight in 10 Americans say the Bush administration deserves at least some of the credit for the absence of another strike within U.S. borders.

Yet the public is less approving of the administration's handling of the war in Iraq. Some 58% of Americans say that war has succeeded “just some”, “very little” or “not at all.” A 41% minority describes the war as having succeeded “a great deal” or “quite a bit.”

To me, one of the most telling criticisms of the administration comes from a retired New York City police sergeant named Wilton Sekzer. Mr. Sekzer volunteered for service in Vietnam when he was 21, because he grew up believing, "If the bugle calls, you go." Years later, he lost a son in the bombing of the World Trade Center. Obsessed with striking back against his son's murderers, Mr. Sekzer persuaded a Marine air division to inscribe "In loving memory of Jason Sekzer" on a 2,000-pound bomb that was dropped on the Republican Guard during the Iraq War. The Marines duly reported to Mr. Sekzer that the bomb "met with 100 percent success."

Mr. Sekzer enjoyed the moment, but later had second thoughts. In an article published in yesterday's Parade magazine, he shared those thoughts with the nation, He said:

"Months later, I was watching TV when President Bush came on and said he didn't know why people connected Iraq to 9/11. He said, 'We've had no evidence that Saddam Hussein was involved with the September 11th [attacks].' I said, 'What did he just say? I mean, I almost jumped out of my chair. I said, 'What is he talking about? What the hell did we go in there for? If Saddam didn't have anything to do with 9/11, then why did we go in there?'"

"I'm from the old school. Certain people walk on water. The President of the United States is one of them. It's a terrible thing if someone like me can't trust his President. I began to wonder what the hell's with the whole system. There's something wrong with the entire system."

If "old school" patriots like Mr. Sekzer are beginning to feel that something is wrong with the entire system, the Republicans are in bigger trouble than they realize -- and it's going to take more than a barrage of speeches to get them out of it.

After my last posting, one of my readers asked an intriguing question: If President Bush was a better speaker, would there be more public support for the war in Iraq?

The President’s speech Monday night should provide an effective answer to that question. It was a great speech. I don’t know how the case for the war in Iraq could have been argued with more logic, eloquence or passion.

The United States – and, indeed, the entire democratic world – is threatened by an extremist element in Islam that is opposed to the very idea of basic human rights and modern liberal democracy. This is a threat that we cannot avoid merely by disengaging ourselves from the Middle East. The President was right when he said that if we withdraw from Iraq before it has a stable, democratic government, that oil-rich country will become a haven and a cashbox for Islamic terrorists.

So far, so good. But 45 minutes later, I was hungry. The speech scanned well, but didn’t stand up to closer examination.

The President said that 9/11 forced the U.S. to abandon a 60-year policy of favoring stability in the Middle East (even if that meant aligning ourselves with repressive regimes) and to adopt a policy of actively promoting freedom and democracy in the region. That’s true in Iraq, of course, but what are we doing to promote democracy in Saudi Arabia or other authoritarian countries in that part of the world?

The President commended the heroism and sacrifice of our armed forces. But he made no call for the folks at home to make sacrifices of their own – specifically, that we alter our driving habits so we consume less gas and reduce our dependence on oil from the Middle East. We can’t tell the oil potentates to liberalize their regimes when they have us over a barrel.

Finally, the President said that one of the strongest weapons in our arsenal is freedom. If it is, why aren’t we making better use of it? President Bush has presided over an administration that has condoned torture, detained terror suspects without trial, increased government surveillance indiscriminately over all Americans, made it more difficult for young people from foreign countries to come here to study -- and impugned the patriotism of those who have dared to question the wisdom and efficacy of these measures.

Here, some may insist that we have to expect certain curtailments of our freedom in wartime, even when they amount to putting the Bill of Rights on hold for the duration. After all, President Lincoln suspended the writ of habeas corpus during the Civil War without constitutional authority, and President Franklin Roosevelt approved the internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II.

Some may even argue that President Bush was obliged to give an upbeat, flag-waving speech on Monday night – that it was his duty as President to sustain national morale in a time of war.

But what kind of a war is the war on terrorism?

Is this war wreaking as much havoc on American soil as did the Civil War? Is Osama bin Ladan as grave a threat to the U.S. as say, Hitler? Is al Qaeda a more powerful foe than was the Soviet Union?

If the answer to these questions is no, then I think we have to ask if this administration can afford the luxury of a little self-criticism – even in wartime. We have to ask if it can own up to its mistakes. We have to ask if the profound religious, ethnic and political complexities of the Middle East can or should be reduced to stark, black-and-white choices between freedom and civilization on the one hand and tyranny and terror on the other.

If President Bush won’t address these concerns, he may be sure that others will. Let’s see what kinds of speeches the Democrats make as the political season heats up.

A friend of mine recently called my attention to a web site that is of particular interest to speechwriters. It’s called “American Rhetoric: Top 100 Speeches” and it can be accessed at

http://www.americanrhetoric.com/top100speechesall.html

The site not only has the texts of all 100 speeches, it also has the original audio versions of the great majority of them, which can be downloaded to your iPod, for listening on the go.

Because the list favors speeches that have been recorded, it draws exclusively on speeches that have been given over the last 100 years. So you won’t find Washington’s Farewell Address or Lincoln’s “appropriate remarks” at Gettysburg. But the selection is rich and varied, and it’s a great resource nonetheless.

I was intrigued that the list included not one but two speeches by Huey “Kingfish” Long (1893-1935) – “Every Man a King” from 1934, and “Share Our Wealth” from 1935.

I mention Long, because this coming Friday will see the opening of a new film version of Robert Penn Warren’s novel, All the King’s Men, which was inspired, at least in part, by the career of the infamous Louisiana pol.

Huey Long was governor of Louisiana during the Depression, and was later a U.S. Senator. He was a radical populist and a fiery, rabble-rousing orator. During the mid-1930s, he built a national political movement whose goal was to redistribute the national wealth.

This was during the darkest days of the Depression. Millions of people had lost their jobs. Or had lost their savings when the local bank failed. Or were being evicted from their homes or family farms. They were desperate.
So Long attracted a real following.

As a matter of fact, President Franklin Roosevelt was terrified that Long would run as an independent in the presidential election of 1936. If he had, he could have split the Democratic vote and return the Republicans to power.

But Long was cut down by an assassin’s bullet in 1935. He was just 42 years old.

If you study these speeches, even in cold type, you can easily imagine the sinister appeal that Long exuded. Then you can see the film and decide if Sean Penn's performance measures up to the demagogue you’ve imagined.

President Hugo Chavez of Venezuela blew into New York this week to deliver a windy diatribe to the U.N. General Assembly in which he compared President Bush to the Devil. Then he told reporters that the American people should be reading Noam Chomsky’s writings on foreign policy instead of watching Superman movies.

Mr. Chavez’ goodwill visit to this country wound up with an appearance in Harlem where he called President Bush an alcoholic and a “sick man with a lot of hang-ups.”

Chavez so far transgressed against the rules of ordinary politeness that some of President Bush’s fiercest Democratic critics – Representatives Charles Rangel and Nancy Pelosi – felt obliged to defend him from the Venezuelan’s rhetorical thuggery.

One may well ask how the head of a civilized nation could make such a complete fool of himself in public.

My guess is that it’s because he’s had a lot of practice.

Reading the accounts of Hurricane Hugo reminded me of an occasion a few years ago when I was a speechwriter for ConocoPhillips. The company had just completed a joint venture with Venezuela’s state-owned oil company to build a major project in that country. It was a plant to convert tar-like heavy crude, which Venezuela possesses in abundance, into a synthetic light crude that can be used to produce petroleum products.

President Chavez attended the opening of the new plant, and beamed like a little boy when his American partners from Houston presented him with a cowboy hat.

Unfortunately, the experience went to his head. Shortly thereafter, he went on Venezuelan television to deliver one of his notorious harangues (he is known to speak for hours at a time) on the importance of the new venture to his country.

Playing Mr. Wizard with a Spanish accent, he took out a chemistry set and proceeded to demonstrate in miniature how the refining process worked. He then went on to lecture the country’s media for not devoting more coverage to this latest triumph of his administration. As I recall, he was particularly displeased that they had not shown more pictures of him wearing his cowboy hat.

So I was not surprised by Mr. Chavez’s boorish behavior in New York this week. He was not going out of his way to be offensive – he was just being himself.

There is a story of how Count Galeazzo Ciano, Italy’s foreign minister and Mussolini’s son-in-law, was made a captive audience to one of Adolf Hitler’s interminable monologues. As best I can remember, Ciano later said of the experience, “The Germans, poor people, have to put up with this every day. I am sure there isn’t a phrase, gesture or pause that they don’t know by heart.”

So harsh were the reviews of the new film version of All the King’s Men, that I was pleasantly surprised to find that I enjoyed the picture when I saw it Friday night.

I wonder what the critics expected. Robert Penn Warren’s vast, sprawling novel, with its intricate subplots, lush descriptive passages and heavy threads of sin, guilt and redemption can never be fully realized in any film. The classic 1949 version, with Broderick Crawford, garnered seven Academy Award nominations and won three, but it barely scratched the surface of the book.

The latest version by Steven Zaillian, starring Sean Penn, sticks reasonably close to the novel, and is both well-acted and hauntingly photographed. Maybe I’m too easily pleased, but for me, that was enough. I don’t expect miracles from Hollywood.

What did irritate me about the film was its tortured effort to be both faithful to the novel and politically correct at the same time.

The novel was inspired by the twisted career of Huey “Kingfish” Long, the ruthless and flamboyant Louisiana politician who was assassinated in 1935. To what extent the novel is a fictionalized biography of Long is a matter of debate.

Author Robert Penn Warren taught English at Louisiana State University during Long’s governorship. But he insisted vehemently that he did not write a roman a clef. In particular, he pointed out that he did not begin writing the play that ultimately became the novel until 1939 -- by which time he was on sabbatical in Rome, living under Mussolini’s fascists while reading Machiavelli and Dante. Enough raw material there, surely, for Warren to write a novel about a power-mad politician, even if he had never set foot in Louisiana.

The movie is similarly muddled on the question of whether Willie Stark is Huey Long. Sean Penn said that he studied old newsreels of Long’s speeches to create the character of Willie Stark. The homework shows in his performance. Anyone who has seen those newsreels will immediately recognize Long’s flailing arms and other mannerisms.

There is also a scene in the film that shows Penn recording the song, “Every Man a King” – which Long co-wrote with the band director of Louisiana State University and personally recorded. And there are scenes of Penn haranguing the crowds from the steps of Louisiana’s art deco state capitol, which was built by Long.

But to judge from the style of the autos and the other period details, the action of the film appears to take place in 1940s, instead of a decade earlier. A newspaper headline flashed on the screen at the end of the picture has Governor Stark assassinated in 1954, not 1935.

Is Willie Stark not Huey Long after all, or is there some other reason for setting the film in the 1940s – after the country had pulled itself out of the Depression that did so much to propel Long to power?

My guess is that the later time period was selected in order to show African-American faces in the crowd scenes. The same bow to political correctness might also account for Governor Stark being assassinated the same year that the Supreme Court ended the segregation of public schools.

But Huey Long was scarcely harbinger of the civil rights movement. He willingly pandered to the racism of his redneck constituency. At a time of rigid racial segregation, he was not above smearing a political opponent by insinuating that his family had Negro blood. As a U.S. senator, he voted against a federal anti-lynching law.

Political consultant James Carville was the film’s executive producer. Perhaps the man who helped elect Bill Clinton could explain these contradictions.

Huey Long, the colorful and crafty Louisiana politician, probably never read Aristotle’s guide to rhetoric, but he understood “ethos” – the technique of creating a bond between the speaker and an audience.

During one of his early electoral campaigns, a local political boss warned him, “Huey, you ought to remember one thing in your speeches today. You’re from north Louisiana, but now you’re in south Louisiana. And we got a lot of Catholic voters down here.”

“I know,” Huey replied, and for the rest of the day he began his speeches by saying, “When I was a boy I would get up at six o’clock in the morning on Sunday and I would hitch our old horse to the buggy and I would take my Catholic grandparents to mass. I would bring them home, and at ten o’clock I would hitch the old horse up again, and I would take my Baptist grandparents to church.”

Later, the boss complimented Huey on the way he had neatly bridged the Catholic/Protestant divide in Louisiana politics. “Why Huey,” he chided, “you’ve been holding out on us. I didn’t know you had any Catholic grandparents.”

“Don’t be a damned fool,” retorted Long. “We didn’t even have a horse.”