Maybe If We All Stopped Trying to Go West ...

Much has been written in the last few days after the shooting that occurred at Congressional Representative Gabrielle Giffords' "Congress on Your Corner" event in Tucson this past weekend. In particular, much discussion has placed rhetoric squarely into the center of discourse, articulating various questions and positions on the role of rhetoric in this instance and instances like it. See, for instance, this piece, from CNN's website, which actually cites rhetorical scholars Thomas Benson and Richard Vatz. Indeed, the central place of rhetoric and the word "rhetoric" in this discourse led me to feel overwhelmingly compelled to make this the example I used to introduce the Rhetorical Criticism class that I teach, which began with the new semester at Bowling Green State University this week.

Some have denied or refused to recognize a connection between rhetoric and actions like those of Jared Lee Loughner this past weekend, while still others have suggested holding off until a direct connection between something specifically said and what Loughner did has been shown, as if only an explicit direct connection provides any basis for calls to examine the significance and impact of rhetoric. Others, though, like Bud Goodall, in this post on his blog, have made compelling arguments for seeing why rhetoric is significant and important in an instance like this (and, for that matter, in so many instances in our everyday lives, including both the ordinary and the out-of-the-ordinary things that happen).

With that in mind, I found interesting that the number one film in the United States this past week was the Coen Brothers' remake of the film (and adaptation of the book) True Grit (something that has been partially the subject of another recent post by Goodall, by the way) While I have wanted to see the film, I have not yet had a chance to do so. I remember watching the original "John Wayne version" of the film as a kid, but I don't remember anywhere near enough about it to comment effectively on the film's story or ideological commitments. Having not seen the new film and not read the novel, I don't feel comfortable speaking much about either of those either. The connection I see, though, is a very general one. Namely, the story is a Western, taking place in the U. S. American West and containing many of the conventions that make a novel or film a "Western." Indeed, David Carr's review of the film in The New York Times calls it "a classic Western" and notes that the film's producer, Scott Rudin, has said that the filmmakers took a "formal, reverent approach to the Western" (Carr's words there, apparently paraphrasing Rudin). It's also not the Coen Brothers' first venture into the land of the Western, as their award-winning No Country for Old Men (also based on a book) also went that route, though it certainly was not a conventional Western. So, while I have not seen the film, I have it on good authority, based on my own general knowledge of what the story is about and my reading of what others have said about the film, that it invokes the mythology of the U. S. West. Now, there remains the question of whether in the process of invoking those mythologies the film offers a critique of them or reinforces them. However, even if critiquing them, invoking them to do so shows their significance in U. S. society.

I'm not going to go too deeply into the mythologies of the U. S. West here, as I'm limited in time and space, and I can make some good recommendations on where to go to read more about it, starting with Richard Slotkin's Gunfighter Nation: The Myth of the Frontier in Twentieth-Century America. Some elements of the mythology include the lone hero figure who both exists on the fringes of society and protects society from dangers beyond its borders; the rugged individualist cowboy figure who silently and with strength goes about his work (and who, notably, is white, male, and assumedly heterosexual, though there are some interesting queer readings of the character, as Jon Stewart pointed out while hosting the Oscars in 2006 when Brokeback Mountain was among the nominees); and the notion of regeneration through violence, which suggests that an act of violence can take care of a problem that society is facing and make everything okay again. These mythologies of the U. S. West have been very pervasive in and significant to the development of U. S. culture and society--something explicitly noted in historian Frederick Jackson Turner's famous Frontier Thesis from 1893, which argued that "the existence of an area of free land, its continuous recession, and the advance of American settlement westward, explain American development."

While Westerns constitute one of the most explicit forms of references to mythologies of the U. S. West in U. S. culture, they certainly are far from alone. Star Wars has been directly linked, including by George Lucas himself, to the mythology of the U. S. West. Star Trek explicitly references the frontier as part of its introduction. The theme song from the sitcom Mad About You called marriage "the final frontier." Plenty of texts and practices use horses, cowboy hats, guns, and other signifiers of the U. S. West as means of identification and promotion. Though not exclusive to the region, states like Arizona, Texas, and others in the U. S. Southwest draw on mythological U. S. West imagery to promote their states, bracket tourist experiences within the states, and identify themselves. A cowboy even appears on the Wyoming license plate, and a vista straight out of a Western, complete with mountains and cacti, appears on the Arizona license plate.

Amid all of this, politics is far from immune. Indeed, much political rhetoric has both explicitly and implicity referenced the mythology of the U. S. West. Much of this has been associated with the political right. Consider the many images of Ronald Reagan in his cowboy hat that circulated during his presidency. Consider John McCain's presidential campaign utilizing the word "maverick" to characterize their candidate. Consider the many uses of Western imagery by George W. Bush--something that Mark West and Chris Carey have analyzed in their essay "(Re)Enacting Frontier Justice: The Bush Administration's Tactical Narration of the Old West Fantasy after September 11" in Quarterly Journal of Speech from 2006. However, the political right is far from alone in this regard. For instance, Secretary of the Interior Ken Salazar is known for wearing his cowboy hat to conduct official government work.

I hope what I've mentioned at least goes a little way to show how deeply embedded the mythology of the U. S. West has been and continues to be in U. S. culture and society. It is, then, there that I see another connection to the events in Tucson this past weekend. I have no clue whether or not Loughner saw himself in any way explicitly in connection with a kind of cowboy or Western hero identity. Perhaps he fashioned himself more of an emo or Goth type. Perhaps he regularly watched Dexter or he regularly watched Blues Clues. Perhaps his favorite films were zombie films or romantic comedies. Perhaps in addition to the many books that have been reported that he owned, he also liked to read the work of John Grisham or of Neil Gaiman or of Jodi Picoult. Perhaps he liked to watch bowling on ESPN. Regardless, by virtue of being in the United States (and even if he engaged with the kinds of possibilities I have just listed), he was not only exposed to but at least in part socialized by many texts and practices that both explicitly and implicitly link U. S. society, culture, and identity to the mythological U. S. West and its ideologies of violence and often short-sighted pride in rugged individualism. In that regard, then, the rhetoric of the U. S. West that has been so dominant and foundational to U. S. society played a role in his socialization and, thus, him getting to where he is today. In a state like Arizona, which is among those that most explicitly links itself to these mythologies, that socialization is all the more likely. Rhetoric thus played a rather significant role in Loughner's actions.

And even if, by some chance, Loughner managed, despite their incredible pervasiveness, to avoid being socialized by the mythologies of the U. S. West, the deep identification with guns, which became part of the Bill of Rights because it was a large part of the frontier mentality at the time of the formation of the United States and which continues to remain high in U. S. culture today, aided Loughner in his actions. Among the many things that the U. S. Western mythology influences, it informs people's fascinations with guns (and, by extension, explosions, shoot outs, and so on in films), and it informs U. S. policies on gun control and people's positions on that issue. If not for the continued identification with what really is an outdated and in many ways overly romanticized way of life associated with the U. S. West, perhaps guns would not be as widespread or as available in this country, and thus perhaps Loughner would not have been able to get one (or to go with the extension to film I noted above, would not have been able to get access to other kinds of weapons and explosive devices). So, even if the rhetoric of the U. S. West in no way directly influenced Loughner (in itself hard to fathom, but perhaps remotely possible), that rhetoric influenced the attitudes, positions, and laws involving guns, weapons, and violence that pervade this country and that allowed Loughner to access the gun he used. Again, rhetoric did--and does--matter here, and it played a significant role in what happened this past weekend in Tucson.

Few can honestly deny that they think that culture and language--both of which are highly invested in rhetoric--play significant roles in socializing people. Indeed, while many on the political right have denied a connection between contemporary political discourse and the events involving Loughner's actions in Tucson this past weekend, many of these same folks have spoken of the need for a "culture war," have made arguments about how the word "hero" should be selectively applied, have decried what they think is the indoctrination of U. S. society through cultural texts produced by the "liberal media" and "liberal Hollywood," and have railed against the use of "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." Their arguments on these issues don't work unless they accept the premise that culture, language, and rhetoric matter. So, they can't, then, genuinely make the kinds of arguments they've been making over the past several days about political discourse and the events in Tucson.


Critical studies of culture, media, and rhetoric ask us, among other things, to be reflective--to be willing to examine our own assumptions and see the power relations and ramifications of these assumptions. It seems to me that more reflection on the deeper mythologies and ideologies upon which U. S. culture and society have been built would do a lot more good right now than posturing defensiveness claiming not to be involved or connected. Given my thoughts here, I'm rethinking what I do and how the things I do might involve and reinforce the violent aspects of the U. S. Western mythology. As part of that, I'm rethinking, among other things, my interest in seeing True Grit. I don't think this is the only answer, but it seems like a useful path to pursue.