Sarah Palin has been sharply criticised in recent days for her insensitivity, even as she tries to look presidential. Peter Stanford, writing in the Belfast Telegraph, highlights how Palin placed a rifle target over Arizona during the 2010 election to designate that Gabrielle Giffords was a politician she wanted out of the way, leading to accusations that she is personally responsible for Gifford’s shooting last week by Jared Loughner. Whilst we all wonder what the outcome will be for Gifford and for others who were wounded, six people have already died.
Stanford’s article highlights the power of words, focussing in particular on Palin’s use of the phrase “blood libel” which he examines in depth, laying out the history of its use and its association with acts of terrible violence perpetrated on Jewish people throughout the ages. Sarah Palin is playing with fire, he says. She has been one of the most effective practitioners of the use of words-as-weapons, damning Barack Obama’s healthcare reforms, for instance, as “death laws”. But just as such poisonous oratory can get the crowds cheering, it can also lay you low. Perhaps the real choice that faces Palin now is whether she wants to join the ranks of politicians whose gaffes and casual ignorance of history make them a joke, or step up into the responsible mainstream.
Obama, without question an orator of great skill, eschews tit-for-tat in favour of a different kind of discourse. Speaking at a memorial service for the victims of the shooting in Tucson, Arizona, Obama seems to be addressing politicians of all persuasions when he says, But at a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized – at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those who think differently than we do – it’s important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each other in a way that heals, not a way that wounds.
Saying yes to examining the reasons for the shooting so that steps can be taken to reduce the likelihood of similar events in future, Obama nonetheless cautions, But what we can’t do is use this tragedy as one more occasion to turn on one another. As we discuss these issues, let each of us do so with a good dose of humility. Rather than pointing fingers or assigning blame, let us use this occasion to expand our moral imaginations, to listen to each other more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy, and remind ourselves of all the ways our hopes and dreams are bound together.
The openly Christian rhetoric of American politicians sits uncomfortably at times amongst the British, so that some may choose to ignore his words (which you can read in full by following this link). Yet more people may wonder what this has to do with us. I see in Obama’s speech an act of leadership of the highest order, for he addresses not only the sense of grief and loss experienced by those affected by this tragedy, not only the political issues of the day, but also the manner in which we choose to live our lives. His is a rare and welcome choice: to rise above the opportunity to gain political capital in order to invite men and women on every side of the debate to act in ways which honour the dead and give hope for the future.
As I close, I feel a deep sense of gratitude for a man who is consistent in choosing the language of empathy and compassion over the language of conflict and discord. For his choice reminds us that we, too, get to choose. We may not get to choose the events of our lives or the behaviours of those we deal with and still, we get to choose whether to speak to the best of who we are or to the worst. I thank Obama for choosing words that heal.