A standard 11th grade writing task is to write a rhetorical analysis of Martin Luther King’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” King’s writing craft is so slyly attuned to his balking white audience, even as his cramped 7,000 words were drafted on bits of newspaper and writing pads in the confines of his cell, that his letter is repeatedly anthologized and studied as a masterwork of persuasion. But it is certainly more, too, because its pleading message to complacent white citizens, in its grief, anger, and biting urgency, now carries the weight of half a century with too little changed: police still brutalizing Black bodies, social and economic realities tenaciously holding, and, when any who object to such realities do anything, almost anything at all, besides calmy and solitarily litigate or write an ignorable op-ed, still the angry protestations and accusations of division.
A rhetorical analysis—showing what a writer, speaker, or artist does to achieve a textual purpose—can be a formulaic exercise, and that’s how we generally teach it: a version of a five-paragraph essay with its three-pronged thesis suffocating every chance at intuitive and intellectual connection, often turning to a recipe of the Aristotelean appeals of pathos, logos, and ethos to do the work.The task is about understanding how we reach each other, and all too often—given a sharpening of tribalized community and cyber-noise—our desperate need to do so. This is where I go. I have become deliberate in my teaching of sincerity.
But our students have been so well trained.
Here is a typical response focusing on King’s most heart-rending paragraphs—a litany of horrors that suddenly erupt after seven paragraphs of deferential reasoning:
- King also appealed to emotion by using personal examples and creating empathy. While explaining the problem with asking black people to wait a little bit longer before taking action against segregation, King says, “When you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she cannot go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her little eye” (King 2). Caring deeply about children is a universal experience, as is the belief that children are innocent and pure and shouldn’t have to suffer. By talking about the impacts of segregation on his children, the audience is able to relate and imagine being in the same scenario with their own children, and they become more empathetic than if he had only talked about himself. By using relatable examples and emotion-provoking language, King caused them to empathize more with him and the anti-segregation movement and better understand the urgency and importance.
But I had a good week this week, because in addition to essays that include the one above, another of my students took me at my word. Here is a portion of her essay in response to the same passage:
- He is not so elegant with this letter through the whole thing. He is vulgar. He creates this tension between him, his situation, the mess of which racism was, and the arrogance of the clergy. His impatience is loud. He makes this evident without even having to use descriptive words. When he is addressing the clergy telling him his manner was “untimely,” this heated paragraph had the strongest run-on sentences. It feels as though one cannot stop halfway through, they must finish and be forced to read his words. It is almost tiring. Word after word, bullet after bullet, emotion just bursting in these sentences. One that is the most passionate is when he was talking about how they have never felt the way his people do. “But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will…when you have seen hate filled policemen curse kick brutalize…when you see the vast majority of your 20 million brothers…in an airtight cage of poverty” (pg. 2), and the sentence goes on. The way in which he writes this is so passionate. He creates this swirl of tension. With these long trains of words, he is firing at the clergy. The way he does not stop speaking and is almost telling them to wait until he does, it hurts.
Wow, I didn’t put much time into writing that paragraph; it was just stream-of-consciousness, she said. I told her that this allowed her to unleash: She intuitively tried to capture the feeling she had, of King’s utter rage and sorrow as he’s trying to move white men to feel what they’ve never had to feel, and she captured it like a poet, turning to metaphors and sonic devices because she needed to tap the heart as well as the mind to get at it.
How do I convince others what their emotionality is to their thinking and engagement in all things?
When we were reading Dr. King’s letter, I took the time to go to the era and the place, to discuss the Children’s Crusade there, and of Bull Connor’s response, and to show them pictures I took while I visited Birmingham; I sang “Birmingham Sunday” about the four girls killed in a bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church on Easter Sunday, which I heard first through Joan Baez, and showed them my interview of a man in the park by the church, whose anger was still palpable. Absolute silence followed my singing. I said, I’m taking you through all of this because reading King’s letter is not just an intellectual exercise. And a plea to see and respond to another’s human dignity is not a game. I’m going through the history, I’m laying my vulnerability before you, because I want you reading and feeling his words with your hearts, all through your skin; if you’ve got analytical writing under control, I want you also to try reflecting King’s pain in your own description and discussion.
You will do fine just doing the tasks of a rhetorical analysis; but you will see how much more is available to you, in dialogue, in connection, in meaning, in activism, if, as a writer, as an audience, as a citizen and neighbor, you invest feeling with curiosity and fact and can think feelingly.
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