With the fall semester starting so enters a new crop of students eager to learn and grow at the hands of our high school and university teachers. Whether stepping foot in high school or university, the students are ready to learn, some ready to lead, and others are ready to shake loose the shackles of whatever they feel has been holding them back from becoming who they really want to be. In four years they will have completed a right of passage and come Spring a few standout graduates will have the opportunity to give a speech in front of their peers, family, and teachers.
These valedictorians – a Latin inspired word meaning “one who says farewell”—take part in a ceremony where they have a unique opportunity. It’s an opportunity, in their own lives – as individuals – to say something, to share their voice, to change minds and lead thought. They have the chance to facilitate productive conflict – an active inquiry into the shape of a conflict for positive outcomes.
I’m currently transitioning to life in Philadelphia, PA from Pittsburgh, PA, where I completed my Ph.D. at Carnegie Mellon. I am fortunate that I was able to spend part of that transition living with my in-laws in Voorhees, New Jersey – a fairly liberal town with more “science matters” than “build the wall” signs dotting the lawns and pasted across bumper stickers on the seemingly always washed cars of Route 73.
It was to my surprise, then, that within this blue leaning community, a High School principal took the mic from, and crumpled the speech of, a local valedictorian at Eastern Regional High School. The speaker, Bryce Dershem, was sharing his story of finding pride in his queer identity and in his battle to overcome anorexia.
The video, which can be seen here, documents the moment when Bryce Dershem’s speech gets cut, the speech is taken away, and then in a moment of pure chutzpah – Bryce continues with his speech, as best he can, from memory, to end with a rousing applause from the audience. In follow up interviews, Bryce explained how his High School Principal, Mr. Tull, effectively silenced his voice by demanding revisions that straight-washed any reference to Dershem’s queer experience. “They told me to take out all of the references of me being queer, they told me to take out all of the personal details of me going to treatment, because a graduation speech was not supposed to be a therapy session,” Bryce explained.
What Bryce understood, and Principal Tull did not, is that having “productive” conflict requires that people engage with the moments where conflict seems most visible in the discourse. And when discursive conflict is not visible, it must be sought out.
As Principal Tull rightly noted, graduation speeches are, indeed, not therapy sessions – they are celebrations of the accomplishments of our nation’s newest crop of leaders, as represented by the highest performing student among that year’s academic harvest.
One way we can understand these speeches is to do what rhetoricians (people like myself who study rhetoric) do and typify speeches down by function. Speeches can be classically grouped into those that establish:
what happened (forensic),
what is happening (epideictic), and
what should happen (deliberative).
A graduation speech falls under the typology of epideictic because it is ceremonial and thus functions to “mark” the occasion by focusing on what is present at hand—the opportunity to say goodbye to the class as they embark on what’s next. So, yes, we must acknowledge Principal Tull’s astute application of Aristotle’s rhetorical typologies to correctly identify the graduation speech as distinctly not a therapy session.
However, what Principal Tull seems blind to is the powerful role rhetoric can have in shaping an audiences’ lives when an epideictic speech marks a ceremony by highlighting for the audience what makes that present moment so deserving of its grandeur.
Bryce Dershem brought grandeur to his High School graduation when he demonstrated courage multiple times in the rhetorical moments of his graduation speech. He showed courage when he made his first draft, when he revised his second and third draft, and when he continued his speech—from memory—after the Principal took his mic and physically crumpled his speech.
Bryce took steps with his speech to foster productive conflict.
He decided that despite the nearly certain conflict that would occur if he gave his unapproved speech, it would be worth it. He obviously felt that what was productive in his message outweighed the risk. Bryce chose to pursue the potentially positive outcome offered by sharing his story of coming to terms with his sexuality and battling an eating disorder. He marked the occasion by drawing the audience into conflict with their own histories, biases, and ignorance. He provoked conflict to make a space, albeit a temporarily uncomfortable one, that would persist over time as one that was ultimately memorable and inspirational. Bryce decided that this was his moment to “just say it,” and he did not waste the opportunity.
Bryce’s speech, in rhetorical terms, marked the occasion of young people heading off into the world to shape that world. He used his own story to show his peers that even when you find yourself silenced or when your words are crumpled and thrown aside—you are not alone in your conflict. This Fall, as we welcome new students in our classrooms again, we should consider that as part of our teaching and encouragement that when you find something you can actually believe in, that can be your calling to pick up the gauntlet, face the crowd, and just say it. You are capable of delivering a powerful message with your words and bringing positive change to the world in which you live.
Next week: Judo and the Art of Learning How to Fall…