Affect of Komen

            Susan G. Komen for the Cure is dedicated to the prevention, treatment, and eventual cure for breast cancer. While both men and women are susceptible to breast cancer, the usual patients are women, so this organization is primarily aimed at women. Their signature color is pink, designed to appeal to women—and also likely to stick out when men wear it for an awareness or fundraising event sponsored by Komen.

            When a visitor to the website first loads the Komen page, a message from Nancy Brinker, the founder of Komen for the Cure, pops up: “What started as a promise to my sister inspired a global movement.” Aristotle writes that “Pity may be defined as a feeling of pain caused by the sight of some evil, destructive or painful, which befalls one who does not deserve it, and which we might expect to befall ourselves or some friend of ours” (II.8.1385b.14-5). Nearly 30 years have passed since Brinker founded Komen for the Cure in honor of her departed sister, and yet that feeling of pity is still aroused in others by a simple statement about a promise made between two sisters. Not only do women fear getting breast cancer themselves, but the fear of it happening to a loved one, perhaps even a sister, is even more a call to action.

            Longaker and Walker put it another way: “When we imagine an experience, our brains behave as if we were confronted with the object itself” (216). When faced with a website full of images of breast cancer patients and explanatory details about the life and death of Susan G. Komen, the visitor is led to imagine facing breast cancer—either herself, or in someone she loves. The mind, “imagining this experience” as Longaker and Walker say, begins to react with the same emotions as would be present if imagination were reality—terror, anxiety, and grief, all while clinging to hope that a cure can be found, possibly through Susan G. Komen for the Cure.

           How did Komen manage to get this message to spread? Slowly. Brennan mentions that “a difficult idea can spread as if it were indeed contagious” (52), something that Brinker had to use to her advantage, since “newspapers balked at printing the words ‘breast cancer’, [and] no one talked openly about the disease” (Komen).  Komen was not the first charity in existence, and it is hardly the only cancer-related charity around today; Kat Jones, the owner of the company that developed the Livestrong brand, calls the world of cancer charities “a very crowded space”. However, the foundation’s reach makes it seem larger than life. According to Komen.org, Nancy Brinker “pioneered cause-related marketing” with the result that it is hardly possible to walk into a supermarket without seeing pink labels, especially during October, which is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Brinker started with $200 and a bunch of names, and within a year of establishing the foundation, she had already held enough fundraising events in Dallas (including the first Race for the Cure) to start giving out grants for breast cancer research. The Komen site mentions that most people who donate do so because someone they know asked them. It is this way—by word of mouth—that the message of Komen most spreads. Brennan says, “As anyone who has participated in social movements is aware, the effect…is to intensify emotions of collectivity” (58). As one person asks another to donate or to participate in a Komen event, the bonds between the two people are strengthened, as well as the bond that each individual feels toward Komen and toward the entire community that the foundation has gathered around itself.

            Longaker and Walker state, “Specific terms or symbols, if woven into emotionally powerful associative networks, can likewise lay before the audience something moving” (219). This is important to Komen in their two major symbols: the color pink and the running ribbon. Pink became Komen’s designated color in 1990; once innocently sitting around merely being a color, pink is now irrevocably associated with breast cancer, so that wearing anything that is pink gives the impression that the wearer is standing with Komen for the Cure. The pink ribbon first appeared in 1991, and has gone through a few makeovers to arrive at the signature Komen “running ribbon” that is now so well-known. Both of these logos added to the spread of Komen's message, since the mind now had an image to grab and onto which to attach the emotions drummed up by Komen’s marketing. As Ahmed expresses it, “a sign sticks to a body by constituting it as the object” (127), in this case, the object of both fear of breast cancer and hope for a cure. Because the pink ribbon and other pink paraphernalia are so pervasive in the culture now, it seems strange that either one is such a relatively recent addition to the world of breast cancer.

            However, the foundation didn’t stop with symbols; Komen copyrighted the expression “for the Cure” when they changed from Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation to Susan G. Komen for the Cure in 2007, and uses that phrase in every way possible: Race for the Cure, Sleep in for the Cure, Marathon for the Cure, Art for the Cure—any Komen event has the line “for the Cure”, with the intent being that no one can hear that phrase and not think of Komen. In fact, “for the Cure” is a trademarked Komen phrase. No other charity is allowed to use it, regardless of what they are hoping to cure. The reason behind this, according to Komen, is “our donors and volunteers work very hard … they deserve to know that when they see ‘for the cure’, it means their dollars are being used to support Komen research.” Longaker and Walker point out, “many corporate logos have been around for so long that they function as values. We feel strong emotions at the mere presentation of the logo, without a network of emotionally resonant images” (222). Komen has invested a lot of money and emotional capital into their image and their trademark phrase, and don’t want that investment going to waste. “For the cure” also has pathetic value, in that it appeals to people’s need to do something. Not everyone can work in a lab, not everyone can personally do cancer research, and not everyone can care for cancer patients. But everyone can donate or participate in some way.

            Founding the Race for the Cure in 1983 was a stroke of genius. From the 800 participants at the first race in Dallas, the Race has grown to a huge international series of 5Ks with over 1.7 million participants annually (Komen). Not only does every participant pay for the privilege, but many also do extra fundraising before and after every event. There is generally competition between teams—especially corporate teams—at each event to see who can raise the most money. Brennan says that “what ties the group together, what makes an individual a member of a group, hold regardless of whether the group is gathered together in one place” (52). Long before the race begins, and indeed long after it ends, participants in and supporters of a Race for the Cure have these bonds of belief in the cause that drive them to ask others to participate and, failing that, to at least donate.

            Massumi says, "Intensity and experience accompany one another like two mutually presupposing dimensions or like two sides of a coin" (33). Ruth Warren, a frequent Race for the Cure participant, explains that when it comes to a Komen event, participants expect an experience and they are not disappointed. There is always a great deal of energy in the air. As far as intensity, organizers do not hold back: they play loud music to get the crowd energized and ready to run or walk. With the nerves and the excitement, the crowd transforms from sleepy participants trickling into the event by ones or twos to a unified mass of fast-moving people swaying to a beat. Cheerleaders are on hand to up the energy level, and teams or groups of friends who decided to do this event together stand out in their brightly-colored clumps of matching t-shirts. 

            “Regular” runners themselves bring a certain amount of adrenaline to any running event, but even without their help, the air is electric. Many Komen participants only run or walk in Komen events, and generally some of the participants have trained extra-hard for this, their first race, so they bring a different kind of nerves in addition to the emotions already tied to a race with the stated purpose of ending breast cancer. This sort of event, with excitement, sorrow, joy, exhaustion, and enthusiasm all mixed together, is a perfect setting for “emotional displays being looked upon favorably” (Brennan 51). Plus, the music gives a background rhythm which "has a unifying, regulating role in affective exchanges between two or more people" (Brennan 70). No wonder the sense of excitement at a race spreads so quickly.

A breast cancer survivor at the national
Race for the Cure in 2008. Source.

            Before the walk begins, the survivors in pink hats gather, each with a pink balloon, to be recognized. In addition to the crowd cheering on these brave women, there is a balloon release, in order of how many years each of the women has survived. Warren remembers, "It seems a bit silly at first to see them all standing there holding balloons, but as it goes on, it becomes more poignant." One year – five years – ten years: The announcer calls out each time interval in turn, until all the balloons have been released. Brennan notes that "[an image] is transmitted as surely as the words whose sound waves or valence register physical effects in the air around the ears of those who hear" (70-1). For everyone who sees the balloon release, the image is received and the affect is transmitted; in this case, the crowd, already energized from the music, the mass of people, and the nerves, now has a very visual reminder of why they have assembled. If Miss Warren is any indication, participants take this image with them and have even more motivation not only to conquer the 5K, but also to continue raising money for Komen to allow more breast cancer patients to be survivors.

            Survivors are not the only ones celebrated at a Komen race. It is customary for participants to wear placards on their backs, which read “In celebration of” for survivors and “In memory of” for victims. A Komen race is an opportunity to remember those who lost their struggle against breast cancer. The atmosphere of celebration and joy is tinged with sadness and tears in remembrance of those lost ones, and that sadness is punctuated and underlined with every “in memory of” placard that goes by. In some ways, the race ends on a more sobering note than it began, even with the energy of thousands of people and the loud, fast-beat music, because during the race is the chance to see all those placards. All those lives lost. Especially for someone who trained specifically in memory of a loved one, crossing the finish line is bittersweet. Brennan notes that “one individual has the affect, other individuals see it, or sometimes hear it, they then drum it up within themselves, and so the affect, apparently, spreads” (57)—a perfect explanation for the spread of emotion at a Komen race.

            Massumi writes, “That is why all emotion is more or less disorienting, and why it is classically described as being outside oneself, at the very point at which one is most intimately and unshareably in contact with oneself and one’s vitality” (35). While running and exhausting herself, the participant has seen all these names of those who have lost or are still fighting, even while literally (depending on how hard she is running) feeling life pound through her healthy veins. Meanwhile, the pink-shirted survivors are standing nearby, the music is still playing, and the cheerleaders are still chanting and pressing for ever more excitement in the crowds. It is not difficult to imagine a runner feeling disoriented with all those emotions flowing through the air around her, even if she is unaware of how much emotion is being transferred. It is a small wonder, then, that Warren describes runners and walkers finishing the race with tears flowing down their faces, even if they were not showing any emotion at the beginning. Smith and Hyde note, “he evoked such emotions as fear, pity, helplessness, anger and joy in his audience while enhancing their ability to empathize with one another’s plight” (460). While they were referring to Jonathan Edwards, the principle is the same; the emotions evoked at a Race for the Cure advance a participant’s empathy and, therefore, the participant’s likelihood of continuing to support Komen.

             Brennan gives other possibilities for the spread of affect in a group, both of which are in place at Race for the Cure events. She mentions pheromones, which "are literally in the air" (69), especially in a group the size of a Komen race: even in small towns, these events number into the thousands of participants. She adds, "As chemical entrainment also involves touch, we should note that contagion by this means has been mentioned by group theorists from Le Bon to Blumer" (69). Again, in such a large group compressed into a space as small as a race starting line, it would be impossible for participants not to touch each other, even if they didn't want to. And since these groups do tend to be made up of more women than men, it's likely that many are touching willingly-- hugging, grasping an arm, shaking hands, and so on.

             Also in play at a Race for the Cure is the mass of images that the mind sees and must process. Massumi mentions that "it would appear that the strength or duration of an image's effect is not logically connected to the content in any straightforward way" (24). Some images are longer-lasting than others, so what each person brings home from the race will vary. In addition to these in-person images, Komen is not slow to take advantage of the power of photography: The first image a visitor to the Komen website sees is Brinker, standing with her back to the camera and facing the mass of people who has gathered for this particular race. Brinker is a breast cancer survivor herself and is wearing the survivor's pink shirt in the picture, with a placard on her back that reads, "In Memory of My Sister, Susan G. Komen". Massumi notes, "The qualifications of the emotional content enhanced the images' effect, as if they resonated with the level of intensity rather than interfering with it" (25). In this instance, the image is blurred after a few seconds for the "What began as a promise to my sister..." message mentioned earlier. In this case, the picture + words do exactly what Massumi suggests: the effect of the image is amplified by the qualification.

            In many ways, Komen opened the door for other charities to raise money in the same way. There is now a running charity for pretty much any interest or some sort of walking/running event for others: CASA Superhero Run, Walk for Diabetes, Run for the Water, and so on. Edbauer, in her description of the “Keep Austin Weird” phenomenon, remarks, “The phrase ‘Keep Austin Weird’ quickly passed into the city’s cultural circulation, taking on the importance of a quasi-civic duty” (16). Through their marketing, visibility, and word of mouth, Komen has cemented “running = charity” in the minds of many, to the point that not only will non-runners will often automatically assume that their running friends are supporting a cause, but also the same non-runners are likely to ask about the upcoming event, perhaps to see if it is a cause they can get behind and participate in as well. Running just to run in this era of charity runners is becoming an abnormality, something that should please Komen and other charities; they are the ones reaping the benefits.

            Not only are Komen events heavily marketed, but they also get the cooperation of visible parties in a community. It has become a tradition that college football teams wear pink at a home game during October, and they encourage their fans to do the same. Men who want to support their wives, sisters, mothers, and daughters are usually not shy about wearing pink for the same reason. This is especially true of men who are runners and support Komen or another breast cancer-related charity. In the same way that “a local business’s billboard vow[s] to ‘keep it weird’” (Edbauer 17), it is such a norm in our culture now to “go pink” that it is odd not to do so—at best, someone may think the non-participant doesn’t know about breast cancer, or at worst it seems that the person is somehow in favor of breast cancer, just because of his or her refusal to wear pink; he becomes Brennan’s odd “lone resister” (11).

Source.

            In this way, some of the Komen hype can backfire. For every gung-ho enthusiast who turns her Facebook page pink, there is a skeptic who might only be driven further away by this very public display of what is still, to many, a private matter. Awareness campaigns that arise outside of Komen, like the recently popular “Save the Ta-tas”, put a fun spin on a serious topic to make it more bearable. Like the variations on “Keep Austin Weird” that Edbauer describes (17-8), these side campaigns use the color pink and even a non-trademarked version of a pink ribbon, drawing on the established “strong emotions at the mere presentation of the logo” (Longaker & Walker 222) without actually using Komen’s logo. For others, such expressions may be seen as poor taste or as not befitting the seriousness of the disease. Crowley and Hawhee note, “People who are intensely invested in a position are less likely to change their minds than those who are not” (268), which may explain the intense marketing done by believers in the Komen cause. However, a negative attitude of friends or coworkers (“You aren’t wearing pink? Shame on you!”) does little to endear someone who already feels a bit put off by the over-the-top emotional appeals the Komen uses. The peer pressure employed by Komen supporters, while positive in some ways, can be a bit much. This is one of those “situations where people act as of one mind” (Brennan 52), which can annoy and alienate the non-believer.

            Komen for the Cure is an organization started by a woman that will mostly appeal to women. While they have given away millions of dollars in grants for research, the focus of the company is still a message of support between sisters who are in this fight together. Women who are struggling in their fight with breast cancer find comfort in this supportive, understanding, and nurturing community. The emotion of the original promise, the buzz and excitement of an event, and the intensely pink memorabilia associated with the foundation draw in some and push away others.

Works Cited

Ahmed, Sara. “Affective Economies.” Social Text 22.2: 117-39. Schedule: DDD’s Dossier. Web. 1 May 2011.

Aristotle. “Rhetoric.” The Rhetoric and the Poetics of Aristotle. Trans. W Rhys Roberts. 1954. New York: McGraw Hill, 1984. 1-218. Print.

“Breast Cancer Awareness: Save the Ta-Tas.” Advantage Bridal. Advantage Bridal, 2 Oct. 2010. Web. 4 May 2011.

Brennan, Teresa. The Transmission of Affect. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2004. Print.

Crowley, Sharon, and Debra Hawhee. “Pathetic Proof: Passionate Appeals.” Ancient Rhetorics for Contemporary Students. N.p.: n.p., n.d. 251-86. Rpt. in Class Readings. N.p.: n.p., n.d. N. pag. Schedule: DDD’s Dossier. Web. 4 May 2011.

Donaldson, Bob. Race for the Cure. 2008. “More than 36,000 People Participate in the Race for the Cure.” By David Templeton. Pittsburgh Post-Gazette 12 May 2008: n. pag. Post-Gazette.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 4 May 2011.

Edbauer, Jenny. “Unframing Models of Public Distribution: From Rhetorical Situation to Rhetorical Ecologies.” Rhetoric Society Quarterly 35.4: 5-24. Schedule: DDD’s Dossier. Web. 1 May 2011.

Jones, Kat. Class lecture. UGS 303 Creative Problem Solving. FAC, University of Texas. 26 Apr. 2011. Panel.

Longaker, Mark, and Jeffrey Walker. Rhetorical Analysis: A Brief Guide for Writers. N.p.: Longman, 2010. Schedule: DDD’s Dossier. Web. 1 May 2011.

Massumi, Brian. Parables for the Virtual: Movement, Affect, Sensation. Durham: Duke UP, 2002. Schedule: DDD’s Dossier. Web. 4 May 2011.

Smith, Craig R, and Michael J Hyde. “Rethinking ‘The Public’: The Role of Emotion in Being-With-Others.” Quarterly Journal of Speech 77: 446-66. Schedule: DDD’s Dossier. Web. 4 May 2011.

Susan G Komen for the Cure. Susan G Komen for the Cure, 2011. Web. 4 May 2011.

Warren, Ruth. Telephone interview. 4 May 2011.

We're Willing to Risk Overexposure

I was at the Austin Bike Summit this weekend, and one of many things discussed was how to make cycling more mainstream, so that cycling is seen as normal behavior instead of as an aberration (the reasoning being that if cyclists are considered normal and acceptable on the road, drivers are less likely to engage in hostile behavior towards us, thus making cyclists safer). Among the ideas were examples of intentional advertising in cities with a successful cycling programs: bicycles are seen in advertisements for completely non-related products, for example, much as many adverts include cars regardless of what is being advertised, because cars are already a normal part of life. Then on Sunday morning I happened to see an ad for paint with a cyclist in it. Pretty cool, I think, although if I hadn't heard the previous day's discussion I'm sure I wouldn't have thought twice about it.

This fits in, I think, with what Edbauer says about rhetoric: "Rhetorical situations involve the amalgamation and mixture of many different events and happenings that are not properly segmented into audience, text, or rhetorician" (20). Was the paint ad designed to convince people to ride bicycles? No, the intention is to sell paint. The cyclist, along with other traffic pictured in the ad, contributes to the rhetorical situation of a busy city and thus the busy life of the woman (the paint in the ad is very pink, and only women are shown using it) who needs a hard-working paint. Was the cyclist a happy coincidence, or an intentional plant into this rhetorical framework? It could go many different ways: Perhaps the PR firm is trying to reach cyclists. Or city dwellers. Maybe they were greenwashing the paint, by subtly showing a green transportation at the beginning of the ad but not calling attention to it. Or someone responsible for the ad is a cyclist, and put in this little shout-out to him or herself.

To borrow what Edbauer says about "Keeping Austin Weird", the cycling message "is distributed across purposes and institutional spaces. It circulates in a wide ecology of rhetorics. To play off Shaviro's words, the force of 'messages,' as they accrete over time, determine the shape of public rhetorics" (19-20). For the cyclists gathered on Saturday, this would be the best possible outcome toward making cycling normal, visible, and accepted.

(By way of warning: If your comment is about how cyclists annoy you, then I will delete it. That's not the point of the post.)

M*A*S*H, 1984 and the Rhetorical Situation

Bitzer writes, "Rhetorical discourse is called into existence by situation; the situation which the rhetor perceives amounts to an invitation to create and present discourse" (9). Being a person who looks for the humorous or outrageous in pretty much every situation for my own amusement, I have to agree (at least in that sense). Generally speaking, when dumb things happen, I call it an invitation to make fun of something. My comments are generally not required and frequently not wanted, but as the rhetor, I see the situation and present my discourse. My siblings and I can have entire conversations this way-- we were trained early by watching endless episodes of M*A*S*H. We don't even think about it any more, since being smart alecks is our modus operandi, but others still do: One day my sister and I were in the car with our nephew, who interrupted our conversation to ask, "How do you guys do that?" We were confused and asked him to clarify, so he said, "You say funny stuff all the time." Clearly, our 11-year-old nephew is our niche audience.

Bitzer goes on a few paragraphs later, "Imagine a person spending his time writing eulogies of men and women who never existed" (9). Remember the scene in 1984 when Winston Smith had to do that very thing? He created a war hero, who immediately existed because the Party said he had existed. In this instance, as Bitzer says, "through the oddest of circumstances" the obituary "fit the situation" (9). Of course, in the context of the book, Smith isn't quite engaging in writing an obituary just to do it, as Bitzer is talking about; the Party creates a rhetorical situation that calls for fictional writing. And it doesn't seem odd to anyone that Smith should meet it.

I'm not entirely in line with Bitzer's claim that the situation always comes first; as discussed in class (and evidenced by the Party in 1984 deciding they needed a war hero to celebrate), sometimes the rhetor creates the situation. Even when it comes to my sister and I dazzling our nephew with our wisecracking skills, the situation is partly already in existence-- something happens or something is said that we can laugh about, plus we have an appreciative audience in our nephew-- and partly sustained and extended by whatever we say next. So, as with most other things in life, I have to say that it's both.

Project Proposal

Edited to write:

After I got started on my project, it definitely went a different direction than I originally anticipated. Plus, it turned out that both Komen and Livestrong had more than enough material by themselves to fill a project, so I chose to focus on only Komen. Here's the project I actually ended up doing:

I will analyze Komen for the Cure and their use of emotion on their website and at a Race for the Cure event. I will focus on how each of those tactics is discussed/explained in our readings for the semester.
I'll also look at the Komen trademarks: Pink, the running ribbon, and "for the Cure" as to how those each had emotion tied into them and the kinds of emotions they evoke in those who see them now.
I'll discuss the spread of Komen's message and influence: It began as a grassroots organization 30 years ago and now is a worldwide institution that opened the door for other charities to raise money in the same way.
I'll also explore ways in which Komen's rhetoric doesn't work for people.

=================================================
For my final project, I will apply Edbauer's concepts of rhetorical ecologies and apply them to charity campaigns. Specifically, I'll look at the Komen Foundation and Livestrong, and how their awareness campaigns have changed the way charities in the US do business.

For example:
Komen has taken pink as its signature colour, so that "Think Pink" is now a synonymous term with breast cancer awareness.
Livestrong has likewise taken yellow, giving rise to the "Yellow Mile" at the Austin Marathon and other events.
Other charities that have followed their lead, less successfully: ADA (red), Colin's Hope (blue)

Komen's signature event is their 5K series. They weren't the first running charity, nor the last, but they've been highly successful with equating running with fundraising for charity.
Livestrong's signature thing is the yellow bracelets, which has spawned an entire industry devoted to rubber bracelets for charity.
Other charities that have followed their lead: 26.2 for Donna, just about every charity out there

I will further consider what it is about these charities that brings them so much attention-- what pathetic appeals they use, how it works on their audience, and how it doesn't work. I've been to Komen and Livestrong events, so I'll also talk about the affect at work at those events. Specifically, a friend ran the Austin Half-Marathon this year only a few months after his sister lost her fight with cancer, and he shared his thoughts about what the Yellow Mile meant to him, so I will probably include some discussion not only of how he was affected, but also how I was affected when he told us about it.

A side note that I may/may not discuss (depending on whether it really relates to our study, once I have a closer look at it): Komen & Livestrong provide an outlet for people to give of money & time and feel like they are making a difference in the fight against cancer. While I don't dispute that they are helping, I do wonder if massive charities like these lead to complacency as much as activism.

Fear and Loathing in Northern Ireland

In reading Ahmed's description of the climate of fear created by William Hague and David Blunkett, I reflected that the United Kingdom, and especially Northern Ireland, hardly need immigrants or indeed their political leaders to create an environment of hate and fear: They've been inflicting it on each other for generations.

The Catholic/Protestant divide in Britain, while diminished from the riots in the 80s, still exists. When I lived in Scotland, I marveled that people who will only see the inside of any church three times in life-- at christening, marriage, and their funeral-- still allow the religion they are born into to dictate the rest of their life. In Glasgow, the name on the church you are christened in determines where you go to school, which soccer team you support, and which cemetery you will be buried in. In Northern Ireland, they tell me, it also determines what neighborhood you live in-- in Glasgow, Catholics and Protestants live next door to one another, but apparently in N. Ireland they keep separate-- or at least, they have done in past generations. When marching season comes, cities have to determine separate parade routes so that sectarian violence doesn't break out from one group catching sight of the other group's colors. I remember seeing on the news (in 1999) that Catholic groups were undermining Protestant parades by sitting across the preplanned Protestant parade route. Or perhaps it was the other way around? In either case, the offenders had to be bodily removed and hauled off to jail so the parade could continue without any fighting breaking out.

Not long before I moved home from Scotland, a boy in my neighborhood was killed after a soccer game. It seems that a brash Celtic (Catholic) supporter ran across some drunken Rangers (Protestant) fans. Words were exchanged, then blows, and at the end, two parents had to bury their teenage son. The tragedy was all the more heartbreaking because it was so avoidable-- a soccer team isn't worth giving your life over, after all-- and because it was so senseless. On the day of the funeral, I happend to be standing near the church waiting for a bus. I was impressed: Long lines of students came walking into the church from the Catholic and the Protestant schools, with no incident. In the face of tragedy, the teens in the neighborhood came together, set aside their differences, and mourned as one.

A culture of hate is so ingrained after centuries of conflict that it's silly to think this one incident will fix sectarian relations in Glasgow. But it's a step in the right direction for students of both sides to see the stupidity of killing over teams and names.

Joy/Sadness

Spinoza, Edbauer reports, said "the same man can be affected by one and the same object in different ways at different times" (10). When I read this, I'm tempted to mutter "story of my life" and move on. My most recent example: I'm not doing particularly well in a class that I'm not particularly interested in (it's a science class, but I'm a Rhetoric major for good reason). When I realized this past week that the grade I wanted is totally out of reach, I was simultaneously depressed (there goes my GPA) and relieved (now I can stop working so hard at it and try something else). I don't know which feeling I'll land on by the end of the semester.

But that's not really what I wanted to talk about. Edbauer is writing about a real person, a real president, which is all well and good. But I'm going to retreat to the safer world of TV politics: The West Wing.

In the opening episodes of the third season (2001), as President Bartlet is about to announce his reelection campaign, the staff hears that the FDA is about to approve the morning-after pill. This sends them into a dither: on the one hand, they've been wanting this announcement. On the other hand, this gives fodder to their political adversaries: The Bartlet adminstration doesn't share their values. The dual announcements give rise to the same level of bifurcation within the staff as the joy/sadness split can in the same person. Or, as Spinoza also said, "Different men can be affected in different ways by the one and the same object" (9-10). Just as Bush's dialect difficulties caused a different reactions in different people, so would this politically charged announcement.

In both cases, it seems the guy in charge can't win. So, would it be best to try to dampen the reaction as best as possible? (In the TWW episode, the staff suggests postponing the event.) Or just go for it and hope for the best, as both Bush and Bartlet did? Which would be more likely to convince 50% of the electorate?

Raising Awareness

Edbauer writes that "the intensity, force, and circulatory range of a rhetoric are always expanding through the mutations and new exposures attached to that given rhetoric, much like a virus" (13). Her example of the "Keep Austin Weird" phenomenon fits this very well, but while reading, I thought of another-- the proliferation of causes all clamoring to "raise awareness".

I do want to be clear that I have no objection to causes. Social inequalities, environmental issues, various illnesses, and so on will not be fixed by ignoring the problem, so I applaud those who join in and spend their time and effort on a cause in which they believe. However, some causes do take on a life of their own and the rhetoric spreads until, I fear, it does more harm than good.

The biggest one, to me, is breast cancer awareness. The Komen foundation and others have done a fabulous job of getting the word out, raising funds, finding corporate sponsors, and so on. They have met with tremendous success in raising awareness of the threat of breast cancer and steps every woman can-- and should-- take to avoid losing her life to this disease. All well and good.

However, the "think pink" campaign has taken on a life of its own. I was confronted last fall by a Facebook friend who wanted to know why I didn't turn my page pink for the cure. My answer-- that I'm already aware of breast cancer and didn't need to turn my FB page pink-- did not satisfy her. I tried explaining that no one but me could see the pink page, and that not only was I aware, but also all of my FB friends are likewise aware of breast cancer, before I finally gave up and let her think that I'm an unfeeling jerk.

And my jerkiness doesn't end there-- if anyone should dare suggest that perhaps we ought to move on from awareness and spend some of this energy and money on research, the "awareness" advocates might well be offended. I'm not convinced that the Komen foundation began so that we could all buy all-pink products once a year (in addition to running our pink 5Ks), but that's what it has become for most people. We're so "aware" that the message has lost its punch-- and in fact, it's been co-opted for Facebook memes like posting the color of one's bra or the resting place of one's purse or, most recently, various types of fruit, all in the name of "raising awareness".  Actually, it just raises annoyance in those whose news feeds are now cluttered with unexplained, random phrases.

"Raising awareness" has turned into Edbauer's virus, spreading from cause to cause and mutating as it goes, until the whole point of the awareness is lost: Once we're all aware, we're also meant to do something. As long as "raising awareness" remains a buzzword for charities, they are likely to be progressively more ignored, because this is one rhetoric that has so expanded its range as to be commonplace.

Edited to add: Yeah, I read the wrong PDF. That's why this makes no sense. Pretend like you traveled in time to three weeks from now.

A Kid on a Bike Isn't Watching for You

My claim is that drivers are responsible for watching out for children who are riding their bicycles. While riding bikes, kids are busy having fun and are not necessarily watching to see what drivers are doing. It is the responsibility of the driver to keep an eye out for kids in the roadway.

In the argument, I begin with images of happy kids on bikes. The idea is to provoke nostalgia in the audience for the carefree times of bike-riding as children. These kids are smiling, with their friends, and concentrating on having fun, not watching for a car to come by. The next images are of distracted drivers; the audience should recognize common behaviors of texting, using the phone, or eating while driving, all while giving minimal attention to the road; the children aren't watching for motorists, but clearly these motorists aren't watching for cyclists. These images should provoke frustration and anger in knowing that these drivers are sharing the same roads as the children previously seen, and guilt in any audience members who participate in such unsafe behaviors while driving.

The next boy cycling is doing everything right; he's wearing a helmet, he's on the correct side of the road, and he's keeping to the right, where cyclists are required by law to be. Plus, he is smiling, another thing that he is doing "right": he's being safe and having fun at the same time. Contrast this with the distracted drivers, who are neither having fun nor being safe. If they are on the same road as the boy, will they be paying enough attention to slow down and go around him safely? These three images, taken together, are kind of like the build-up in a horror film; the audience can sense what the next image will be, but can't do anything to stop it. Any anger over the distracted drivers should still be present, along with mounting anxiety about what will happen if the cycling boy and the distracted drivers should meet at the next intersection.

With the next image, the audience's fears are realized: A kid was hit by a car, requiring medical attention. The image of a bike left on the side of a road with an ambulance in the background is meant to be gut-wrenching. A child has been in an accident, requiring both a regular ambulance and the air ambulance to respond. There is a Yield sign in the background as well, which could prompt the audience to wonder: Who failed to yield? The driver? The child? Either way, a kid is going to the hospital. In addition to being sickened at the thought of one of the happy kids now being an accident victim, the audience should still be angry at the driver who didn't look out for the child on a bike.

The final images give the potential aftermath of a bicycle-car collision: a grieving family, a child's funeral, and a ghost bike left as a memorial. These images should make the audience sad for the families of those who have been killed, and also give a feeling of the senselessness of this kind of tragedy: a child went from happy to dead in a matter of moments. When the audience connects the images of a distracted driver to a grieving mother, there should still be a sense of anger; that driver took away something precious that was not his (or hers) for the taking.

Up to this point, things have been getting progressively worse for the audience, ending in the needless tragedy of a dead child. The audience, who has been unable to stop the horror of what happened, will now be looking for an answer to the sadness and anger. The final statement, "Please watch out for them," is a plea for drivers to be on the lookout for children playing, but it also gives the audience some relief: Finally, something they can do to stop this tragedy from repeating itself again. While this argument is focused on bicycle-riding children, there is a broader implication that the driver needs to put down the phone, save the eating or the makeup for non-driving time, and pay attention to the road.

The interpretation necessary to get from the images to the desired behavior is the idea that children need protection. Our society puts a greater burden on adults to look out for kids than the other way around, and it's that belief that I'm pulling from to urge adults to watch out for kids. The audience also has to be aware of children's belief in their own invincibility; they will do things that are dangerous (like ride in groups, or without a helmet, or on the wrong side of the road), thinking nothing bad will happen. Adults, however, know that bad things sometimes happen, and should be looking out for children playing.

Image Sources:
Image 1 Community 4:12 URL: http://community412.typepad.com/uniting_to_transform_comm/ 30 March 11
Image 2 And I Still Think So URL: http://www.insuranceblogflorida.com/ 30 March 11
Image 3 Insurance Blog of Florida URL: http://www.insuranceblogflorida.com/ 30 March 11
Image 4 Insurance Quotes.com URL: http://www.insurancequotes.com/ 30 March 11
Image 5 Bikes Belong URL: http://www.bikesbelong.org/ 2 April 11
Image 6 Bicycle Accident Resource URL: http://www.cglaw-bicycle-accident-lawyers.com/ 30 March 11
Image 7 The Atlanta Journal-Constitution Online URL: http://www.ajc.com/ 30 March 11
Image 8 Electronic Village URL: http://electronicvillage.blogspot.com/ 2 April 11
Image 9 Private Collection

Are You Sure?

I'm really curious about the parents who complained about the film with the snowman and said their children were "frightened". Since the researchers found that the children were sad, but in a pleasant way, rather than frightened, I'm curious as to how the parents would make that mistake.

In thinking it over, I've come to two possibilities: First, that the parents just made an honest mistake. Since humans are limited in our expression of emotion, perhaps the parents misinterpreted the children's reaction: Were there tears? Did they turn off the TVs? Did they hug a toy? All those reactions could well mean fright in children. Perhaps the parents tried to draw them out, to find out what was wrong, and the children refused to discuss it. If that were the case, then it's totally understandable that parents would think their children had been frightened and complain to the studio.

The other possibility is that the parents said the children were frightened because they didn't like seeing their children sad. No parent wants to see their child upset: It goes against the laws of attachment to not try to do something to ease that hurt. Did the parents, wanting to protect their children, then decide to complain? And if so, I can see a concerned deciding to blur the truth just a little-- after all, it wouldn't do much good to call up and report that a sad film made a child sad. "That's the point!" I can hear the exasperated manager say. So, instead, the parent goes a step further and complains that her child was frightened. Still an emotional response, but one that is more likely to get a satisfactory response from the television station.

Advertising, Kindness, and Sanity

I'm not sure if Brennan is in favor of civil codes or not, although she seems to be when she says the codes "dissipate negative and disabling affects (putting a person at ease)" (123). With our nation's leaders on their current civility kick (a bit rich coming from politicians, but there you have it), the idea of dissipating the negative affects sounds attractive.

We've talked in class about advertisements and the emotions they play on, so now I'm wondering about all the negative affects passed around in advertising. Our airwaves are flooded with images of sad children (or adults, or pets, or whatever "sad" individual the product will fix) to convince us to buy into everything from causes to toilet paper. The current run of ads featuring kids who are embarrassed by their parents' cars, for example, is sickening, only superseded by the back-to-school ads that encourage kids to shop at the right stores so they don't look like "losers". No wonder parents are faced with whining and screaming from their kids who have a bad case of "I want"; the kids have received a negative affect (discontent) from the advertiser and are merely passing it along!

So I turn my TV off. But there is a positive side to the social code; "one is open to others in a way that wishes them well and would dissipate their anxiety or sorrow if one could" (123). This is the courtesy and civility that people are always waxing nostalgic for, in a "remember when people cared about each other?" kind of way. I can't speak for everyone's neighborhood, but I know in my apartment complex we hardly have to have nostalgia; people do keep an eye out for one another for the most part, although I don't think that we know one another well enough to "feel their joy or sorrow" (123). This kind of polite distance-- which has been a part of our social code, although not everyone practices it now-- does provide a buffer against the "conflict between mental health... and spiritual health" (125) that she mentions. We are close enough to care a bit, but not so close as to share all our affects with one another.

There's a term that I hear from time to time and of course can't remember right now that describes the person who has seen too much sad stuff or had too many emotional appeals from others-- basically, people suffer from overexposure to sadness/suffering and their compassion starts shutting down as a protective mechanism. That's what I thought of many times through this reading, that we're suffering from a collective overexposure to others' affects, voluntarily or not, and that is in part what has led to the abandonment of civility. After all, why would I bother being kind if it's going to leave me exhausted? Why would I use up all my thoughtfulness on strangers and have none left for my family when I get home? There has to be some sort of protective barrier to keep one's own mental and emotional state intact, and perhaps the ignoring of social codes is one way that the human mind reacts.

Written Argument

The purpose of my written argument is to get the audience to think before throwing things away needlessly. To move the audience to this response, I describe the scene at the landfill, including my knowledge of the nasty work that goes on there, thanks to my father being a "trash man" (I believe the PC term is "solid waste technician"). After establishing what a landfill is like, I go on to describe the potential use still available in the reader's favorite t-shirt and my old cell phone.


With the description of the landfill, I'm going for awe at the size necessary for our collective rubbish. I want to give the reader a sense of "what a shame" at all the waste that is needlessly thrown away, plus an idea of what an unpleasant living it is for people like my father to have to deal with an entire city's trash. Then, with the t-shirt and the phone, I want the reader to feel fondness for his or her possessions. So much fondness, in fact, that the reader would not want his or her favorite t-shirt to end up in a landfill unless there were no other option (or any other favorite possession). While there is some guilt at work here, and I'm not trying to avoid it if that's what the reader feels, guilt is not the primary emotion I'm shooting for. The reader should interpret the landfill as a place unfit for any possession that still has usefulness left, and then think before tossing things in the trash.

What's Wrong?

Brennan mentions "a phenomenon that suggests that the affects may, at least in some instances, find thoughts that suit them" (7). Her example is a parent transferring anxiety for a child's education to anxiety over the plumber being late (7). To take the example further: I feel sorry for the plumber, arriving late under these emotional circumstances, who might then be subjected to the emotional outburst that really has nothing to do with him at all. And what if the plumber then absorbs that anxiety and takes it home to share with his family? Thus the emotion gets passed along like a cold: Shorter, perhaps, but still virulent.

Brennan touches on this very thing when she says, "If I feel anxiety when I enter the room, then that will influence what I perceive or receive" (6). The preexisting tension in the room will influence any newcomers whether they are aware of it or not, even to the point of the newcomers blaming themselves; "If I am not aware that there are affects in the air, I may hold myself solely responsible for them" (6).

These statements make sense; the first because we've all experienced stress in one part of our lives (school, for instance) impacting other parts of our lives (like relationships with roommates). In fact, when patching things up after an especially stressful time like finals, roommates may say to one another, "I was just so stressed because of finals," and that is generally an accepted reason for having behaved monstrously for a few days. The second case is also easy to pinpoint, perhaps also with roommates; I've walked into my apartment before to find everyone actively engaged in not speaking to one another. I may have missed the argument, but it would be impossible to miss the fallout. And on another level, I'm sure we could each name someone always who leaves us in a better mood than when we met-- and someone who does the opposite.

So, is Brennan on to something? In this respect, I'd have to say she is, at least in my own experience. Even the most "emotionless" people I know still have an effect on those around them (usually a depressing one). The emotional exhaustion alone after being in a crowd for an extended period is really enough to convince me that humans are like emotion antennas, constantly giving and receiving signals.

And One More for Good Measure

I went to The Threepenny Opera on Friday night, and Mr. Peachum's opening speech about people's emotions made me think of class. (In other words, this blog post is not about the reading.)

He talked about the progression in declining returns when people meet a beggar. The first time they see a beggar, they are generous; the second time, less so; and the third time, they pass by on the opposite side of the street. So, as head of the beggars, Mr. Peachum has to continually come up with new ideas to touch the hearts of the general public and bring them back to generosity. But he knows that nothing he comes up with will last for long.

I know there's an official term for this--emotional fatigue? Emotional overload? Something like that. It certainly exists, and is no less applicable now than in the early 20th century when the musical was first produced. In fact, with the proliferation of causes and needs that come parading into our lives via TV, internet, and people passing out fliers in the West Mall, I would say that we reach the point of fatigue sooner. At some point, in order to protect my own emotional state, I have to say, "No more." And I hate how callous I sound when I say that, even to myself, but it's true; if I get upset over every cause there is, I'll spend all my time unhappy. And that doesn't help anyone.

Mr. Peachum was deliberately and unashamedly manipulative with people's emotions. His livelihood, his family's well-being, and the lives of his "boys" all depended on his ability to resonate with the populous who could spare some coins. Do the ends justify the means? When it's a matter of starvation or not, when the people whose heartstrings are being tugged can afford to give up some change, is the manipulation more acceptable? And if the answer to those two things is "yes", then I should think we have to see ourselves in the same light: Generally speaking, the US is wealthier than most places, so we should expect to see/hear appeals to help. So, is Mr. Peachum right?

Writing/Speaking and Chicken/Egg

I posted the "Writing is prior to speech but not prior to rhetoric" quote on my Facebook page just to see what kind of conversation I could get going (yes, my friends are as nerdy as I am). A couple of people pointed out that this is similar to the chicken & egg dilemma.

Rather than try to reconstruct the entire conversation, let me share where we (more or less) ended.

So presumably early humans had grunt, gestures, and marks of various sorts to communicate. (What I know about early humans is embarrassingly limited, btw, so please excuse the goofs in description as I try to get to a point.) I would call the marks "writing", and the grunts I would call "speech", but the gestures? I don't know. To me who is mindful of ASL I want to say it's speech, but I suppose it could also be called a form of writing. Regardless, the "winner" is the one who can take his or her means of communication and make the next person understand. And not just understand, but also repeat that same grunt/gesture/mark. So, it seems that in the race for written v spoken communication, writing would come first only if markings were communicating a message more clearly.

Someone pointed out that the virtual realm gives us a whole new slant to the topic, since text to speech software was prevalent before speech to text. Could this be a coincidence, or is this a case of technology imitating life, since in that case the written word would precede the spoken?

And finally, to the area of cognition. Some people think predominantly in pictures, some in words, and I'm sure there are some who have an even combination of the two. (We talked this over at home: Chad thinks in pictures, I think in words.) And we know the maxims of "Think before you speak" or "Think before you act", which to me means that I've "written" in my head what I'm going to say or do. So is that evidence that writing comes first in the human brain? Does anyone else do the same thing?

Was Dr. Doolittle a Rhetorician?

I'm very fascinated by Kennedy's description of rhetoric among animals. It's pretty well-known that animals communicate, even though Kennedy "[has] yet to encounter the term 'rhetoric' in social biology" (6), so it's natural that those who are interested in human rhetoric would also be interested in the communication among other members of the animal kingdom.

I chuckled a bit at "the stag that can roar loudest and longest wins" (4). My husband and I come from loud families, so much so that we frequently remind each other about using inside voices, but Chad (husband) likes to tell me about one of his uncles who used to get drunk and then pick a fight with the nearest family member. As long as the uncle was the loudest person present, he went to be happy that he had "won" the argument. I hardly think this phenomenon is limited to Chad's uncle; not only do most people get louder as they drink, but the idea that the loudest person wins seems to be pretty widespread (like on news shows where the participants try to shout each other down). It would seem that our rhetoric is not so far removed, at least in some ways, from other members of the animal kingdom.

Another interesting parallel comes from the crows, who have "what is known as an 'assembly call,' which consists of a succession of loud raucous cries" (5). That sounds like something also known as a "school bell." And I'm very intrigued to read that "what seem to be undifferentiated chirps or grunts...have clearly differentiated meanings" (6). Most parents learn pretty quickly the difference between "I'm hungry," "I'm sleepy," and "I have no better way to get your attention" when their babies cry, even though all three may sound the same to a friend or family member who doesn't spent 24 hours a day with the child.

Then there's the assurance of my pet-owning friends that their pets are excellent at communicating what they want, or have a knack for finding the worst possible moment for interrupting their owners. I used to have this problem with I lived at home; our cats usually decided when I was done sleeping. On the rare occasion that they waited patiently for me to wake up, they were remarkably good at knowing the exact second that I was awake and would immediately launch into action to make sure I stayed that way. I don't speak Cat, but our cats had no trouble understanding me.

I'm sure the easy answer is "Duh, evolution." But I wonder if we (humans, that is) are reading something into animal communication based on our own experience. Or, to take it a step further (and invoke Douglas Adams a bit): Could animal rhetoric actually be superior to our own, and we just don't know it?

I Can't Imagine

This reading was terrifying for me. Not because I was surprised, necessarily, to read that brain injuries can change personalities-- I read too many sports magazines to be surprised by that-- but the details of Phineas Gage's and Elliot's lives falling apart while the men were completely oblivious were horrifying. It's one thing to read a report, however sad, in a sports magazine; it's another thing altogether to read the details printed so clinically.

Elliot's wife and children "could not understand why a knowledgeable person who was properly forewarned could act so foolishly... There was a first divorce" (37). This is the part where I would normally mutter, "I would never..." about Elliot's wife giving up on him. And to a large extent, I would plan not to... but I also hope that as medical science progresses, anyone who is faced with this situation could get more help. It's understandable that people around Phineas Gage would be so uncomprehending of his personality shift, but for modern-day brain injury patients, it feels like there is a lot less excuse for family and friends to not have some understanding that the patient is not at fault.

Of course, the reason that this is so terrifying is that all the knowledge in the world doesn't help when faced with the reality of a changed person. The thought of my husband having no emotion, of him being completely detached, is unthinkable; it would really be a complete personality shift for him to never have the shifts of happy or sad, or excitement, or frustration, or other normal emotional responses. And it's just as bad considering that Elliot's sibling had custody of him, because I would hate to see my brother or sister in this situation just as much as I'd hate for my husband to be in it.

I'm finding it a lot harder to imagine it happening to me, though. Damasio writes, "Try to imagine yourself forever robbed of that possibility and yet aware of the intellectual contents of the visual or musical stimulus, and also aware that once it did give you pleasure" (45). But I can't imagine it at all, because I find it really depressing to think about, except that Elliot was incapable of feeling depression. No, the scary thing to me in this reading is imagining someone I care about losing the ability to have emotion, not the thought of losing it myself.

Emotional Evolution

While reading these articles, I kept thinking about a scene in Little Town on the Prairie when Laura reflects on the proper display of emotion; "Even Pa and Ma almost halted, though they were too grown-up to show surprise. A grown-up person must never let feelings be shown by voice or manner (228)" That was in 1881; clearly, there have been a few shifts in how emotions are perceived between the time of Aristotle and ourselves.

What's interesting is that for at least one segment of the ancient world, showing emotion was perfectly acceptable; Biblical accounts record that Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, David, and Jesus, to name a few, all wept. And no one around them acted horrified or embarrassed-- at least, not that is recorded. Nussbaum says "In Aristotle's view, emotions are not blind animal forces, but intelligent and discriminating parts of the personality, closely related to beliefs of a certain sort, and therefore responsive to cognitive modification" (303). And yet Socrates, as written by Plato, did not seem to have use for any emotions (315). It would seem that throughout American history our ancestors sided with Plato rather than Aristotle (or Biblical example) and suppressed emotions instead of embracing them.

It is interesting to see how our society has come round to the idea of emotion; from Laura's era of no one being allowed to show emotion (elsewhere in the Little House books, when either parent showed emotion, he or she was embarrassed), to it being acceptable for women to be emotional but not men, to our current state of recognizing that men need that freedom to show emotion as well. Even today, it is still suspect for a man to be too sad (my father, for instance, only sheds tears when someone dies, and even then only sometimes).

Our society is still antsy about emotions, of course-- standing around, unsure and feeling awkward, is the usual response to a sudden outburst of happiness or anger or sadness from anyone. We were channel-flipping as I was thinking about this blog post, and paused at a movie long enough to hear a man say to a crying woman, "When did you turn into such a wuss?" I'd say we still haven't arrived at accepting the "script" that Walker describes as a natural part of the human make-up: "The arousal-state prepares the body for action, and the 'script' for an emotion/intentionality gives the body an action to perform" (82).

Source: Wilder, Laura. Little Town on the Prairie. 1941. New York: HarperCollins, 2004. Print.

Get on the Bike: Visual Analysis

            This image was the first billboard in a series from Manchester, England’s Love Your Bike campaign, which encourages residents to choose cycling over driving. It ran on traditional billboards and also on the “rolling billboards” on the back of buses, and was later a part of a postcard campaign along with the other advertising images. The campaign was aimed at able-bodied motorists, especially overweight motorists, who could choose cycling over driving. (Car ownership and obesity are both lower per capita in the UK as compared to the US, but both are on the rise.)

            The cyclist in the image is blurred, giving the appearance of movement and freedom, while the car is still, which adds to the cyclist being in the “fast lane" while the car is not. It brings up exhilaration from zooming along, probably invoking childhood nostalgia of days when cycling was purely for fun. The specially-designed, brightly-colored bike lane has a lot more visual interest, and more fun, than the boring black tarmac next to it. For those who already cycle (and aren’t the target of the ad), it would give a feeling of reinforcement; they are already in the know about the fast lane and might feel pity for (or superiority to) the poor drivers who don’t know what they are missing. Or, the current crowd of cyclists might disagree with the ad, thinking that they don’t want a bunch of newbies crowding their bike paths, and as such could feel irritation or even anger that Manchester would want to take away the thing that makes them different from the motorists, especially since the movement and color around the cyclist give a sense of excitement and a desire to join him.

            In contrast, the car is non-moving and boring. It’s not in the fast lane; it’s in the “fat lane.” The driver who sees this would feel uneasy and guilty, especially if he has noticed any weight gain. A more sensitive motorist might also be angry at the implication that motorists are all fat. The car is the same boring color as the road; clearly, the driver of the car has a monotone life in which he merely drives to work and gains weight. The well-maintained, smooth "fast lane" also stands in direct contrast to the uneven, patched-up "fat lane." After a few moments’ contemplation, frustration with the driving way of life will set in, especially when compared with the free-moving, life-enjoying cyclist next to him, although the city of Manchester does run the risk of alienating the more cynical motorists, who might decide the city cares more about bikes than cars. Since these ads were on the backs of buses in Manchester, it’s entirely likely that a stuck-in-traffic motorist saw more than one cyclist whiz by, unencumbered by traffic woes, while the motorist was staring at this ad! If the motorist wasn't already envious of the carefree cycling lifestyle depicted in the image, the sight of a live, non-stuck cyclist ought to bring on the jealousy. This image was designed to make motorists unhappy with their current mode of transportation, by piling on the guilt and irritation while showing how much fun they could be having. Of course, “fat lane” is meant to be funny; the ones who are laughing will be current cyclists.

            The desired behavior from this ad is that the motorist would put the car in the garage and leave it there, opting for a bike instead. The point of the campaign wasn’t to sell bikes; it was to encourage residents to use them, for health reasons, for transportation, or for recreation. The image stirs the desire to fight the middle-age spread by leaving the car at home, to reclaim some fun from a humdrum life by cycling instead of driving, and to be released from traffic by using the bright bike lane.

            In order to feel this way, the motorist must believe that cycling is fun—again, any childhood joys involving cycling would make the campaign even more effective. The viewer must have bought into the tie between a sedentary lifestyle and weight gain, and also believe that exercise will help combat the weight problem. The viewer who felt guilty about being in the "fat lane" is the one who will be swayed most by this belief; here, the campaign is really pushing for a "Time to get out of the fat lane" response. Any irritation at prevailing traffic conditions would help either message-- that cycling is fun and good for your health--come across more strongly. A motorist who is already uneasy about weight gain, bored with the sameness of life, and/or dissatisfied with traffic conditions would be the one most likely to respond favorably to this ad.

            Since this ad is aimed at motorists, it’s safe to say the Love Your Bike campaign is after the wealthier segment of the population—those able to afford cars and bicycles. Anyone in a position to choose between modes of transportation is the main target of the ad, especially anyone who struggles with being overweight or wants a healthier lifestyle. On the other hand, a side group—those who own bicycles, but rely on public transportation or walking—might also be pulled in by the excitement generated by the blurred cyclist, while chuckling at (or ignoring!) the car in the fat lane, since they don’t drive.

My Marriage Counselor Must Have Read Aristotle

Last time, I found something of Aristotle's that didn't apply to our culture, so I thought today I should, in the interest of fairness, agree with him.

"Bad temper often gets the better of them, for owing to their love of honour they cannot bear being slighted, and are indignant if they imagine themselves unfairly treated" (II.12.1389a.10). This is in the section about young men, directly after his mention of their hot temper. Even without the benefit of modern psychology, Aristotle hit on what is apparently a universal truth of men (although I wouldn't say it's limited to young men). A need for respect seems to be hard-wired into the male psyche.

I'm not saying this to rile up the gentlemen in the class; it's just that I read it and chuckled, because that's what they told me in pre-marital counseling. I've heard it over and over again since, in every marriage book, seminar, women's event, and any other opportunity for marriage tips to be discussed: Men want to be respected. One such book that I read a year or so ago (I don't have it any longer, so I can't credit the source) cited an informal study wherein mixed groups were asked two questions: How many of you would rather be respected but unloved? and How many would rather be loved but not respected? Over and over again, men responded at a nearly 100% rate to the first one. (Women were almost 100% for the second.)

As a perhaps more well-known example, consider Mutt in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. For the first 10 or so minutes that he is onscreen, Mutt overreacts to pretty much everything that is said to him, until Jones finally tells him, "You don't have to get sore all the time just to prove how tough you are" (IMDB). By contrast, even though Mutt says plenty of insulting things to Jones ("You know, for an old man you ain't bad in a fight... What are you, like, 80?"), the older man keeps his cool. This fits in with Aristotle's saying that "[old men] feel contempt for what people may think of them" (II.13.1390a.3). Having had more experience and "been humbled by life" (II.13.1389b.25), Jones sees no reason to get upset.

Perhaps he was exceptionally observant, or culture hasn't changed as much as we thought since ancient Greece, but Aristotle hit this one spot-on.

Source: Aristotle. “Rhetoric.” The Rhetoric and the Poetics of Aristotle. Trans. W. Rhys Roberts. 1954. New York: Random, 1984. 19-218. Print.

IMDB. “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.” Internet Movie Database. Amazon, n.d. Web. 7 Feb. 2011.

Indignant at Aristotle

Aristotle found at least one thing about human nature that seems to be timeless; "the man who is delighted by others' misfortunes is identical with the man who envies others' prosperity" (9.1386.30). About 75% of internet chatter falls into one of those two categories, I think--and I agree with his statement that "all these feelings tend to prevent pity" (9.1387.5)-- in fact, that's a bit of an understatement. I doubt that pity needs to be prevented for either mindset.

Aristotle speaks from a position of privilege in society, a fact that is made clear by his frequent references to servants, inferiors, and superiors-- his world was definitely divided by class. This is rather foreign to me who has grown up in a culture without hard-and-fast class lines, and in a place where social mobility-- in either direction-- happens all the time. So I take issue with his statements about Indignation, specifically "the newly rich give more offence than those whose wealth is of long standing and inherited" (9.1387.15). I feel the opposite, in fact; I'm a lot more inclined to be happy for the one who has worked hard for what he/she has, than for someone who has position or money because of being born into it. (Of course, if the child of wealth likewise works hard, that's a different story.)

As basis for this opinion, Aristotle says, "what the latter [inherited] have is felt to be really their own, but what the others have is not: what appears to have been always what it is is regarded as real, and so the possessions of the newly rich do not seem to be really their own" (9.1387.25). This would seem to be the argument of even modern-day monied classes, who use the term "nouveau riche" as a slur (while to working classes, it sounds more like a compliment). So for those in a caste system or the wealthy of any age, Aristotle would seem to be correct; to me who is neither, he's way off-base. This cause of indignation really seems backwards to a modern audience.

There is one point with which I half agree: "the newly rich give us more offence by obtaining office through their riches than do those whose wealth is of long standing" (9.1387.20). Again, my modern, working-class mind values those who work for a position, rather than using their money to get there, no matter where the money comes from. In other words, a Rockefeller buying his way into office would be as offensive to me as the Olsen twins doing it, and yes, I would have some serious indignation in either case.

So, while Aristotle's causes of indignation may have been appropriate for his era and position in society, they don't apply by today's standards.