The Art of the Applause Line

Next week will see the enactment of one of the most solemn and silly rituals in American life: the president’s annual state of the Union message.

Rarely if ever has one of these messages contained anything interesting, let alone memorable. Oh, in 1862 Abraham Lincoln asked for a constitutional amendment to facilitate sending “free colored persons” to live outside the United States. That was surely one of the most original ideas a president has ever set forth; but it didn’t fly even then, and it isn’t something worshippers of the Great Emancipator care to dwell on, so it has gone down the Memory Hole.

It has become the custom, especially in the media age, for the president to deliver his message personally, in a televised speech. In earlier times a written message sufficed. Now both houses of Congress attend, the band plays “Hail to the Chief,” and celebrities sit with the First Lady. An atmosphere of pomp prevails.

On these occasions it’s important for the president to appear, well, presidential. After all, everyone is watching. This would be the worst possible moment for a national leader to mess up. He has to be poised, dignified, inspiring, hopeful, and if possible sober.

The speech itself need not be intelligent or substantive. It need only consist of applause lines. Addressing a bipartisan studio audience, the president must say things both Republicans and Democrats can applaud and cheer. Best of all, of course, is a standing ovation.

How do you write an applause line? Well, ideally it should speak of children, or assert some new right, or, best of all, both. When a president begins a sentence with the words “Every child has a right to ... ” it makes absolutely no difference how that sentence ends — everyone has to applaud. It could end “ ... an unlimited supply of Tootsie Rolls,” or for that matter “ ... a shiny new Rolls-Royce,” and they would still applaud, because no politician wants to risk being caught by a camera not applauding at the declaration of a new children’s right. A politician has to be able to applaud when a rational man would faint.

Another reliable applause-line opener is “I challenge every American ... ” No word is more presidential than “challenge.” It means our leader is telling us our moral duty; and again, it hardly matters what that duty is. The stern note of authority — one of the sure marks of leadership — has been struck. The audience has to applaud. Nobody wants to seem to be shirking his presidentially defined duty.

Similarly, a good applause-line opener is “We must not rest until we have eliminated ... ” with the direct object being something bad, which everyone agrees must be eliminated. “Eliminated” is another highly presidential word; in America, evils must not just be discouraged or defeated, they must be annihilated. A variant of this opener might be “Tonight I pledge that this administration will remain fully committed to the elimination of” (something indisputably bad, such as terrorism, prejudice, or flatulence).

Another version is “We as Americans must stand united against” (something bad). Or, on the other hand, “We as a nation must never relent in our struggle for” (something good). Again: “Nor can we as a nation afford to waver in our commitment to seeing that every American, regardless of race, creed, or color, enjoys” (something good).

At some point in the speech, the president must call attention to the presence in the audience of a “true American hero,” previously unsung, who has done something heroic, such as running a soup kitchen, though this year’s hero will probably be a New York fireman. Doesn’t matter. Everyone will applaud.

But for the most part, the president doesn’t “report” on the state of the Union, he makes Bold New Proposals, which after a flurry of comment by network pundits are forgotten forever. Having gotten televised ovations, they have served their purpose. It’s just as well. If all these proposals were adopted, Federal spending would triple.

Why these messages are treated as major events is difficult to explain to foreigners. A visiting Chinese or Peruvian might get the impression that they are totally vacuous palavers, and it would be tough to argue otherwise. But they have become a fixed part of the charade of American democracy.

Joseph Sobran