Environmental Communication
Vol. 2, No. 1, March 2008, pp. 78109
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Narratives, Rhetorical Genres, and
Environmental Conflict: Responses to
Schwarze’s ‘‘Environmental
Melodrama’’
The appearance of Steven Schwarze’s essay, ‘‘Environmental Melodrama’’ (Schwarze,
2006) as the lead article in a recent issue of The Quarterly Journal of Speech marks an
important moment of recognition for environmental communication scholarship.
Schwarze’s essay demonstrates how studies of environmental rhetoric can contribute to
rhetorical theory more generally, while addressing practical questions regarding the
rhetorical aspects of environmental conflict. The contributors to this forum respond to
Schwarze’s arguments, drawing in part upon their own case studies of rhetorical action
and narrative in environmental conflict.
Keywords: Climate Change; Comedy; Conflict; Crisis; Kairos; Identification; Irony;
Kenneth Burke; Melodrama; Rhetoric
Introduction
William J. Kinsella FORUM editor
Schwarze begins his essay by comparing and contrasting three narrative genres*
comedy, tragedy, and melodrama*in terms of their implications for identity,
community, and social conflict. Drawing from his own study of asbestos
William J. Kinsella is Associate Professor in the Department of Communication at North Carolina State
University. Previous versions of these essays were presented at the Ninth Biennial Conference on
Communication and the Environment, Chicago, 24 June 2007. Correspondence to: Department of
Communication, North Carolina State University, Campus Box 8104, 201 Winston Hall, Raleigh, NC 27695,
USA. Email: wjkinsel@ncsu.edu
ISSN 1752-4032 (print)/ISSN 1752-4040 (online) # 2008 Taylor & Francis
DOI: 10.1080/17524030801980242
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79
contamination in Libby, Montana, and from other environmental communication
case studies, he then elaborates five claims, arguing that melodramatic rhetoric can:
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. situate conflict on the social and political plane, clarifying issues of power that are
obscured by privatizing rhetoric;
. reconfigure social relationships and articulate interests that have been obscured by
universalizing and singularizing rhetorics;
. re-moralize situations that are demoralized by inaccuracy, displaying concerns that
have been obscured by the reassuring rhetoric of technical reason;
. encourage a unity of feeling, offering a basis for identification that has been
obscured by emotionally dissipating and dispassionate rhetorics; and
. complicate and transform, not merely simplify and reify, public controversies
(Schwarze, 2006, pp. 246253).
Importantly, Schwarze recognizes that such accomplishments are situated and
case-specific. Thus, while avoiding overarching or exaggerated claims, he reclaims
melodrama as a potentially valuable strategy for environmental rhetoric. His five
claims open up possibilities for further connections to, or critiques of, theories of
rhetorical identification (e.g., Burke, 1969), moral conflict (e.g., Pearce & Littlejohn,
1997), public moral argument (e.g., Fisher, 1987), and narrative theory (e.g.,
Greimas, 1987). The essays in this forum explore these claims and their implications
further, concluding with a response by Schwarze. In a time of polarized politics and
growing ecological concern, the prospects and problems of environmental melodrama merit further scrutiny, and here we hope to expand the valuable conversation
initiated by Schwarze.
Kairos: Time to Get Down to it (Should
Have Been Done Long Ago)
Peter K. Bsumek
In his essay, ‘‘Environmental Melodrama,’’ Schwarze (2006) makes a convincing case
for melodrama. He is right: critics of environmental advocacy have ignored and
denigrated the melodramatic frame for far too long. This is ironic because, as
Peter K. Bsumek is Assistant Professor in the School of Communication Studies, James Madison
University. Correspondence to: School of Communication Studies, James Madison University,
MSC 2106, 1276 Harrison Hall, 54 Bluestone Drive, Harrisonburg, VA 22807, USA. Email:
bsumekpk@jmu.edu
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Schwarze notes, the use of melodrama in environmental controversies has been and
continues to be ubiquitous. By rearticulating melodrama in contrast to comedy and
tragedy, Schwarze demonstrates how melodrama, in the right circumstances, can
transform ‘‘unrecognized environmental conditions into public problems;’’ unmask
the way ‘‘distorted notions of the public interest conceal environmental degradation;’’
and overcome ‘‘public indifference to environmental problems by amplifying their
moral and emotional dimensions’’ (p. 239). As students, critics, and practitioners of
environmental communication, we are indebted to Schwarze for providing us with an
exemplary case study that highlights the productive and constructive ‘‘rhetorical
action’’ that can be preformed by melodrama in an environmental controversy*the
case of asbestos contamination in Libby, Montana. More importantly, we are obliged
to him for providing us with such a thorough explication of the melodramatic frame
and for inviting us to think about the practical and theoretical implications of
environmental melodrama.
In this short missive, I want to focus on the practical and theoretical implications
of circumstances and kairos that are raised by this essay. Circumstances and kairos are
central to Schwarze’s reconceptualization of melodrama. For Schwarze, the denigration of melodrama and the valorization of comedy are the result of the assumed telos
of each form. Comedy is presumed to be more humane because it operates from a
perspective of charity, addresses the complexity of issues, and works to achieve social
unification. In contrast, melodrama is presumed to be less humane because it
operates from a polarizing perspective, simplifies issues, and promotes social
division. Denigration based on these assumptions, Schwarze notes, is ironic because
this characterization is itself an oversimplification of melodrama as a rhetorical form.
A more complex view of melodrama, one that situates it in relation to contingent
social circumstances, offers a rehabilitated view of the form. Schwarze argues that
‘‘promoting division and drawing sharp moral distinctions can be a fitting response
to situations in which identification and consensus have obscured recognition of
damaging material conditions and social injustices’’ (p. 242). This is why he
concludes his essay by claiming that by focusing on the contingent relationship
between circumstances and rhetorical forms, the telos of critical judgment shifts from
a focus on the inherent qualities of rhetorical forms to ‘‘the relevance of kairos as a
principle for critical judgment and rhetorical practice. For criticism, this conclusion
interrupts the valorization of the comic frame in the discipline’’ and suggests that
‘‘critical judgment is better cast in terms of kairos: to what extent does a particular
rhetorical intervention operate as a timely and opportune response to contingent
circumstances and particular audiences?’’ (p. 257).
Schwarze’s essay implores that the time has come for us to focus on time*not in
the overly spatialized sense of the postmoderns (diachronic time, shifting epochs),
but in the highly circumstantial sense of the Sophists. This essay attempts to do just
that by highlighting three ironies, as I relate the theoretical issues of kairos and
dramatic frames to my experiences as a local activist. First, I reflect on a recent
‘‘training session’’ I facilitated for the Executive Committee of Virginia Chapter of the
Sierra Club. Second, I discuss a clean water movement in the Shenandoah Valley
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whose strategies and tactics are grounded in the principles of collaboration*a
movement that, ironically, provides little to collaborate on. . . because there is not
enough conflict. Finally, I conclude with some thoughts on kairos and critical theory.
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First Irony: An Irony of Theory and Practice
In the spring of 2007, I was asked to give ‘‘a training’’ to our state Sierra Club Executive
Committee on ‘‘issue framing.’’ The most significant portion of my presentation dealt
with the difference between melodramatic and comic frames. My students and I had just
finished reading and discussing Schwarze’s essay. Since my environmental communication course draws students mainly from three programs*political communication, conflict analysis and intervention, and environmental studies*we focused on the
practical implications of the essay for advocates, policy makers, and resource managers.
As you can imagine, given that mix of students, the discussion was lively. By the end of
the week, we had generated a lot of ‘‘advantages’’ and ‘‘disadvantages’’ to both melodramatic and comic frames, and had a reasonably good list of situations that might call
for one approach or the other. The students even came up with a list of hybrid
situations*situations that they thought called for more than one approach.
Needless to say, I showed up to give the training on issue framing with quite a lot to
say about dramatic frames and advocacy. For me the great irony of ‘‘training day’’ was
that while I had spent the past few weeks enamored with melodrama and excited about
the new vocabulary I had for articulating its possibilities for rhetorical action, the
members of the Virginia Sierra Club could not get enough of the comic frame. They
were especially intrigued by the ‘‘face saving’’ possibilities that comically framed
advocacy enabled, and the political and coalition building benefits that might be gained
by framing issues without ‘‘vilifying’’ specific individuals, organizations, or behaviors.
Three thoughts about frames and the field of environmental communication
emerged for me from this experience. First, both melodrama and comedy provide us
with powerful pedagogical tools and valuable heuristics. Second, I wonder how it
could be that advocates are excited by the prospects of comic frames at a time when
our field is excited about the prospect of theorizing melodrama. It felt as though our
field and the local advocates were two ships passing in the night. One reason for this
is probably that the Sierra Club in its Grassroots Training Manual teaches and coaches
its members to utilize an explicitly melodramatic frame when constructing
communication strategies for campaigns:
To be compelling, stories must have the following core elements: a problem, a
victim, a villain who is responsible and should be held accountable (This can be a
group of people, such as the city council or a corporation, or an individual such as
one politician), a hero (presumably the public who can make a difference by getting
involved. . .), [and] a successful resolution. (Sierra Club, 1999)
Another thought came to mind as I reflected on this training manual. If advocates are
teaching and practicing melodrama, how could it have taken students of environmental communication so long to theorize its benefits? Surely these advocates know a
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little something about advocacy and its rhetorical actions? Where have we been and
what have we been doing? Third, if we, as a discipline, have been enamored with
comedy for so long, how is it that these local advocates knew nothing of our
obsession? Perhaps Cox (2007) is right; we are a discipline in crisis*too disconnected
from the workaday world of environmental politics and advocacy. Perhaps the time
has come for change.
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Second Irony: An Irony of Theory in Practice
What are we to make of an essay that articulates and champions the melodramatic
frame while simultaneously demonstrating the virtues of the comic frame with a
virtuoso performance? As Schwarze notes in his essay, many critics are drawn to the
comic frame because its primary telos is unification, and its primary attitude toward
persuasion is charity. It is believed that this charitable attitude best affords us a way to
sidestep the inevitable purification rituals and symbolic scapegoating that flow from
dramatic frames that become rotten with their own absolutist perfection. However, it
takes more than unification and charity to protect us from our own dramatic frames.
Indeed, those who champion the comic frame often tend to ‘‘denigrate’’ (to use
Schwarze’s term), or ‘‘debunk’’ (to use Burke’s term), rhetorics that are tragically or
melodramatically framed. More importantly, this occurs all too often ‘‘out in the
streets’’ (as Michael McGee might say).
The Participant Handbook of the Virginia Natural Resources Leadership Institute
(2007) (VNRLI), for example, teaches its participants about the virtues of dialogue
and of participatory processes by juxtaposing dialogue and debate. It does so by
defining debate as a knock down, drag-out affair in which ‘‘opponents line up against
one another to seek (or invent) the weaknesses in others’ statements. Nobody ever
admits wrong or uncertainty. The argument begins with the answers and participants
defend their answers against all attack’’ (VRNLI, 2007, p. 15). It then goes on to
describe the communication practices that are associated with debate: ‘‘Tactics may
include verbal and physical intimidation, name-calling, labeling, and stereotyping.
Deception and deliberate distortion of the opponents’ words are also often accepted
as part of the game’’ (p. 15). Next, the handbook suggests a more desirable alternative
to debate by asking its trainees to ‘‘think of the qualities you appreciate in good
dialogue’’ and offers some examples, such as: ‘‘An assumption that you are speaking
honestly, without a hidden agenda’’ (p. 15).
Finally, the VRNLI handbook summarizes the lesson to be learned from the
juxtaposition of dialogue and debate as follows: ‘‘The question then becomes how to
create forums that nourish this type of productive dialogue rather than unproductive
debate’’ (VRNLI, 2007, p. 15).
The irony here is mind-boggling*the concept and practice of debate is labeled,
stereotyped, and distorted. The VRNLI trainers are using a melodramatic frame to
turn debate and debaters into villains in order to educate participants on a comic
alternative.
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This pedagogical frame is not without consequence. In the Shenandoah Valley, the
Pure Water Forum is an organization that has taken the lead on advancing water
quality issues. The Pure Water Forum is a model VRNLI organization*a forum of
local businesses, governments, and citizens groups working together to identify
problems, avoid and resolve conflict, and find solutions to issues of water quality in
‘‘the valley.’’ Many of its members have attended the VRNLI workshops. Unfortunately, the forum is also a model of diverted and co-opted political action. In the face
of three years of fish kills in the Shenandoah Valley, in which 80% of the adult
smallmouth bass and redbreast sunfish have died in the Shenandoah River, the forum
still has trouble getting the state to provide enough money to fund research designed
to find the cause of the fish kills. In addition, ‘‘the forum’s’’ leadership is unable or
unwilling to suggest that agricultural and industrial wastewater management
practices should be reexamined for fear of ‘‘blaming’’ anyone. In short, 80% of the
fish in the Shenandoah River are dead, and there is nothing to collaborate about and
no problem to solve because there is no conflict to resolve!
Of course, the charitable critical response to this irony is to point out that the
VRNLI trainers are not villains who are nefariously creating a polemic between
debate and dialogue to advance their own interests (whatever those may be)*never
mind that the workshops are ‘‘supported’’ by the USFS, the Virginia Poultry
Federation, and Dominion Power. Rather, from a comic perspective, the thing to do
is to suggest that they are mistaken about the processes of debate and the value of
melodramatic frames, just as Schwarze does when he reminds our discipline that we
have neglected and been less than charitable in our assessments of melodrama.
Alternatively, perhaps the thing to do is to rhetorically constitute the VNRLI as they
have financially constituted themselves*as ‘‘the tool of the man!’’ In either case,
would we not be offering up a comic corrective?
This example highlights, as does Schwarze’s essay, what are for Burke the more
important aspects of the comic corrective: critical balance and self-reflexivity. For
Burke the metaphor of balance is actually an analogy, which is drawn from the
concept of ecological balance. Ecological balance, for Burke, is maintained by irony*
what he calls an efficiency of inefficiency, ‘‘as big beasts would starve, if they
succeeded in catching all the little beasts that are their prey*their lack of efficiency in
the exploitation of their ability as hunters thus acting as efficiency on a higher level,
where considerations of balance count for more than considerations of one-tracked
purposive-ness’’ (Burke, 1937, 1984, p. 150). By analogy, critical balance is also
maintained by irony. In this case, the comic frame of motives keeps us balanced
because it shows us ‘‘how an act can ‘dialectically’ contain’’ two seemingly opposed
ingredients and ‘‘makes us sensitive to the point at which one ingredient becomes
hypertrophied, with a corresponding atrophy of the other’’ (Burke, 1984 [1937], pp.
196197). The comic corrective then keeps us balanced, to the extent that we are able
to be self-reflexive and simultaneously act and critique, and to the extent that we are
able to find both ‘‘A’’ and ‘‘not A’’*say, for example, unification and division*in any
discourse*but especially in our own. Both melodrama and comedy, then, are
methods for advancing a comic corrective, just as both debate and dialogue are
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methods for creating unification (and division); just as both require co-operation
among participants; and just as both seek to reshape society. In either case, our ability
to recognize problems associated with hypertrophy and atrophy depends on where we
draw the circumference of our definition of society.
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Third Irony: An Irony of Theory and Kairos
Many critics will read Schwarze’s essay as an appropriate, timely and successful
invention*a classic and masterful example of dissoi logoi*an example of how to
make the weaker argument the stronger. They will praise the new productive
possibilities provided by what seems to be a dialectical tension between melodrama
and comedy.
However, it is insulting to read Schwarze’s call for kairos merely in terms of
judgments about the appropriate uses of melodrama or comedy in particular
circumstances. Similarly, we insult Burke and his call for a critically balanced comic
corrective when we dismiss melodrama and tragedy. Above all, Schwarze’s essay
implores us to avoid critical stasis. It would be a tragedy, indeed, if we were to allow
ourselves to turn melodrama into a ‘‘proper’’ category of rhetoric just as we have with
comedy.
The essay offers so much more than a dissoi logoi. It is a call for transcendence and
a call for critical invention. We should remember that the essay does not conclude by
asking us to look to melodrama as a valued dramatic frame; it concludes by
imploring us to look to kairos, to the will to invent, and to ‘‘the timely and opportune
response to contingent circumstances’’ (Schwarze, 2006, p. 257). Kairos, in this case,
applies as much to us as critics and theorists as it does to the discourses and
performances that we critique. As Poulakos suggests, the irony of kairos is that ‘‘what
gets said kairotically strives to expand the frontiers of language and invite an audience
to settle them’’ (1995, p. 62).
Let us not settle. Let us avoid the domestication of kairos and the domestication of
melodrama. Let us continue to reflect on the ironies that lurk in our theories and our
practices. Let us heed the significance of those ironies by following Burke’s lead, as
Schwarze does when he articulates the great irony associated with the denigration of
melodrama at the hands of comedy. Let us remember that for Burke ‘‘irony is never
Pharistic,’’ and that it is irony and its cohort, dialect, that prevent comedies from
turning into tragedies (Burke, 1945, 1969, p. 513). Finally, let us, as Burke advises us,
continue to expand the circumference of our thinking and to multiply our
perspectives by searching for the ironies that can keep our theories from ‘‘settling.’’
‘‘Irony arises when one tries, by the interaction of terms upon one another, to
produce a development which uses all the terms. Hence, from the standpoint of this
total form (this ‘perspective of perspectives’), none of the participating ‘subperspectives’ can be treated as either precisely right or wrong’’ (Burke 1945, 1969,
p. 512). Let us, instead, press on past the dissoi logoi of melodrama and comedy to
find additional aspects of melodrama and comedy, alternative frames, and new ways
of responding to contingent circumstances.
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The Transformative Potential of
Environmental Melodrama and its
Conflict (Resolution) Implications
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Gregg B. Walker
This isn’t just the working men and their wives who are dying . . . . This could go
on to the fourth generation within families. My grandchildren watched my mother
die and they were terrified. They asked me if they would die of that, too. (Gayla
Benefield, Libby, Montana resident, High Country News, March 13, 2000)
My fears are if the [Red Dog] mine is opened all the fish we use will be affecting not
just my tribe but all the tribes living on the Kuskokwim River . . . If the
contaminants seep into the river all fish and game that are connected to the
Kuskokwim [and] all our livelihood will be taken away. (Nick David, Jr., Native
Alaskan, at the Region 10 Tribal Leaders Summit, 2006)
I want my son to be able to go up to Carter/Crescent and ice fish with his dad as he
grows up. This will only happen if this area remains open to snowmachine use, as it
always has been (before Forest Service Plan). (Moose Pass, Alaska resident,
Collaborative Learning Workshop, 2005)
In his Quarterly Journal of Speech article, University of Montana Professor Steve
Schwarze presents a compelling case for the importance of melodramatic rhetoric as
part of environmental policy (justice, conflict, and decision-making) situations. The
three statements above illustrate melodramatic rhetoric in different environmental
policy situations: the Libby, Montana tragedy that Schwarze has studied (see
Schwarze, 2003, 2005); water quality concerns of Native Americans/Alaskans; and
family recreation issues expressed at a Seward Ranger District Collaborative Learning
Workshop on the Kenai Peninsula, Alaska. These citizen statements are personal, yet
part of the public sphere through media or as voiced to other participants in a public
gathering. Schwarze’s essay confirms their status as melodrama and suggests that such
statements may help transform environmental policy situations in noteworthy ways.
Transformation is one of the many insights Schwarze presents in his provocative
commentary on environmental melodrama. In the final section of his essay, he
explains that his conception of melodrama ‘‘enables observation of the frame’s
Gregg Walker is a Professor of Speech Communication and Adjunct Professor of Forest Resources,
Marine Resource Management, and Applied Anthropology at Oregon State University, Corvallis,
Oregon, USA. Correspondence to: Department of Speech Communication, Oregon State University,
Corvallis, OR 97331-6199, USA. Email: gwalker@oregonstate.edu
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transformative possibilities . . . . If we consider that the moral, monopathic and sociopolitical appeals of melodrama can reconfigure patterns of identification and generate
new topics of controversy, then melodrama must be seen as more than a mere
instrument of reification.’’ Schwarze asserts that ‘‘the rhetorical action of melodrama
can actually complicate public understanding by enhancing perception of largely
unrecognized issues and challenging the simplicity of dominant discourses.’’
Melodramatic appeals ‘‘can generate rhetorical action that complicates the realm of
public controversy’’ (2006, p. 256, emphasis in original).
Schwarze’s argument regarding the transformative potential of environmental
melodrama has implications for conflict resolution and collaboration. In light of
Schwarze’s views on environmental melodrama as transformation, these areas will be
discussed. Statements like those featured at the beginning of this essay may contribute
to some form of transformation, but do they contribute to conflict resolution?
Conflict Resolution
Schwarze’s analysis of melodrama and conflict could be interpreted as ‘‘antiresolution.’’ He surmises that ‘‘melodrama clarifies conflict through polarization’’
(p. 244, emphasis in original). Schwarze asserts that ‘‘while comedy seeks to reconcile
conflict via compromises, melodrama sharpens conflict through a bipolar positioning
of characters and forces’’ (p. 244). His advocacy features Heilman’s claim that
‘‘melodrama [takes] arms, comedy accept[s]. Melodrama is for victory or defeat,
comedy for compromises’’ (quoted in Schwarze, 2006, p. 244). Furthermore,
Schwarze contends that melodrama’s conflict ‘‘polarization is moralistic in character.’’
It ‘‘frames conflict not as a mere difference of opinion, but as evidence of
fundamental moral clash’’ (p. 244, emphasis in original).
If rhetorical action as melodrama polarizes conflict parties, defines outcome as
winning or losing, and casts conflict as a moral battle, then constructive, mutually
beneficial conflict resolution is not desired or likely. To the extent that melodrama
transforms conflict into moral clashes between polarized parties, melodrama’s
transformative force generates intractable conflicts. The stability of the parties’ core
values and morals provides a foundation for unilateral action (e.g., litigation, civil
disobedience, campaigning) rather than negotiation and compromise (Barash &
Webel, 2002). If the substantive issues of the conflict are deeply embedded in the
participants’ moral orders, then actions and decisions on these issues create winners
and losers (Pearce & Littlejohn, 1997).
There is risk in advocating any form of rhetorical action for the purpose of creating
moral conflict. As Pearce and Littlejohn (1997) note, moral conflict may have
harmful effects. When discussing monopathy, Schwarze remarks that ‘‘stark moral
oppositions and the location of conflict between rather than within social actors
encourage a unitary emotional identification with victors or victims’’ (p. 244).
However, parties in a moral conflict may behave immorally or irrationally, even by
their own standards, contending that the actions and policies of their adversaries
forced such a response (Pearce & Littejohn, 1997, p. 73). In the extreme, one party
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may regard another as a morally depraved enemy, and demonize or dehumanize that
party. Doing so could encourage human rights violations or direct violence, as parties
may come to believe that the capitulation or elimination of the other group is the
only way to resolve the conflict (Pearce & Littlejohn, 1997).
Is this the view of transformation that Schwarze advocates? One could conclude
that Schwarze endorses destructive conflict escalation rather than constructive
conflict resolution. Yet at a later point in the essay, Schwarze writes that melodramatic
discourse features ‘‘seemingly simple storylines about environmental issues in order
to amplify muted voices, expand the range of issues relevant to public decisionmaking, and invent new possibilities for creating a sustainable and healthy
environment’’ (p. 257). This statement suggests that melodrama is a means for
elevating discourse and asserting voice in a manner consistent with Senecah’s ‘‘trinity
of voice’’ (Senecah, 2004). The trinity of voice framework includes participant access,
standing, and influence; concepts seemingly compatible with Schwarze’s concerns
about traditional discourse inhibiting or marginalizing parties affected by unjust
environmental policy decisions and practices.
Schwarze’s view of melodrama as transformative could therefore support the
importance of transcendent discourse, conflict escalation, and constructive confrontation as features of managing and resolving conflicts well. In their comprehensive analysis of moral conflict, Pearce and Littlejohn (1997) see moral conflicts being
managed through transcendent discourse, an emergent shared language through
which parties can bridge their different world views. Transcendent discourse features
eloquence. ‘‘To be eloquent is to represent the highest form of expression within a
frame of rules adopted by a moral community,’’ Pearce and Littlejohn (1997)explain,
adding that ‘‘Within a moral community, eloquent speech elicits attention, respect,
and compliance.’’ Yet they caution: ‘‘Between moral communities, however,
[eloquence] can create frustration, hatred, anger, and even violence’’ (p. 142).
Consequently, just as Schwarze’s characterization of environmental melodrama risks
intractability and even violence, so, too, does eloquence that is insensitive to the
adversarial party.
Melodrama as polarizing discourse and moral argument may escalate a conflict,
increasing its intensity. Although conflict escalation is often destructive, it is not
inherently so. Conflict escalation does increase the intensity and visibility of the
conflict. Doing so may be strategic in order to increase perceptions of interdependence between the parties. ‘‘Constructive escalation occurs when you decide to make
a conflict bigger, more important, and more visible,’’ Wilmot and Hocker (2001)
explain. ‘‘You decide to confront for the sake of an important goal’’ (p. 246).
Establishing or increasing the parties’ perception of interdependence contributes to
a balance of power. In situations where power between the parties is significantly
imbalanced, the low-power party may escalate the conflict in an effort toward power
parity. As Folger, Poole, and Stutman (2005) point out, ‘‘In a situation where power is
unbalanced, the greatest danger for weaker parties is that their needs will not be
viewed as legitimate.’’ (p. 133). Escalation brings visibility to a weaker party’s
positions and concerns. Without escalation, ‘‘stronger parties may be able to define
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the terms and grounds of the conflict in their own favor’’ (p. 134). Wilmot and
Hocker (2001) make a similar point about competitive power:
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Competitive power has its place, too. We view competitive power as being useful
when the following conditions are in place: Crucial needs of one party are at
stake*needs the person is not willing to compromise about unless no other option
exists. These might be economic or personal survival, protection of children,
avoidance of harm, or protection of a crucial sense of self. Competitive power
might lead to the person using the strategy being taken seriously. Sometimes
competition can lead to collaboration, making the playing field more level.
(Wilmot & Hocker, 2001, p. 119).
Consequently, Schwarze’s contention that ‘‘melodrama can situate a conflict on the
social and political plane, clarifying issues of power that are obscured by privatizing
rhetoric’’ (Schwarze, 2006, p. 246) seems consistent with conflict theorists’ views on
power. More precisely, Schwarze’s claim draws attention to the importance of
escalating conflict and employing competitive behaviors to assert and balance power.
Melodramatic rhetoric action may be essential to this task. As Kreisberg (2003)
observes, one condition for conflict to emerge ‘‘is for at least one party to believe that
it can do something to change an adversary and/or the adversary’s conduct, thereby
obtaining more of what it wants’’ (p. 85).
Collaboration
Although melodrama could escalate conflict and contribute to its entrenchment,
could it be productive as part of a broader conflict resolution effort? Might
melodramatic discourse, for example, be part of one’s advocacy in a collaborative
negotiation? Do various collaborative approaches welcome melodramatic rhetoric?
The method of constructive confrontation that Burgess and Burgess (1996, 2001)
have developed to address intractable conflicts seems to accommodate melodrama.
Burgess and Burgess (2001) explain that
The first step towards more constructive confrontation is a commitment by the
parties to use persuasion and moral argument as the primary component of their
strategy. All too often parties conclude that the other side will never seriously
consider arguments which challenge their position. Therefore, they abandon
persuasive arguments in favor of force-based strategies designed to compel
opponents to make concessions (p. 3).
Persuasion and moral argument in a collaborative process may, as melodrama,
‘‘remoralize situations that have been demoralized by inaccuracy, displaying concerns
that have been obscured by the reassuring rhetoric of technical reason’’ (Schwarze,
2006, p. 250).
Johnson, Johnson, and Tjosvold’s (2000) ‘‘constructive controversy’’ process
emphasizes argument as advocacy within a framework of deliberation and
collaboration. They assert that ‘‘American democracy was founded on the premise
that ‘truth’ results from free and open-minded discussion in which opposing points
of view are advocated and vigorously argued’’ (p. 83). To the extent that
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melodramatic rhetoric occurs in a manner that holds open the option of creative
problem-solving and deliberative decision-making, it can contribute positively to a
meaningful collaborative effort as ‘‘constructive controversy.’’
Collaborative Learning, an approach colleagues and I have developed and applied
to numerous environmental and natural resource conflict situations in recent years,
values persuasive activity that could be enacted as melodrama. A Collaborative
Learning project progresses from dialogue to deliberation to decision. As it does so,
participants are encouraged to argue constructively, both as inquirers and as
advocates (Daniels & Walker, 2001). Collaborative argument is an important part
of communication competence in a Collaborative Learning effort (Daniels & Walker,
2001, p. 142). Furthermore, a later stage of the Collaborative Learning process
features deliberation (as collaborative argument/debate) about desirable and feasible
change (Daniels & Walker, 2001, p. 21).
Through such techniques as worksheets, group discussion, and mapping, and
opportunities to share key points at the end or workshops, participants in a
Collaborative Learning workshop can enact voice and communicate assertively and
melodramatically (see Daniels & Walker, 2001; Walker, Daniels, & Cheng, 2006). The
examples of statements presented at the outset of this essay appeared on a worksheet
(the Tribal Leaders Summit) and at a verbal ‘‘key points go-round’’ at the end of a
workshop (in Moose Pass, Alaska). These activities, and the melodramatic discourse
that may occur as part of them, reflect a key objective of the Collaborative Learning
approach.
A second objective that Collaborative Learning does not pursue is the manipulation of the process to favor one group over another. Collaborative Learning values
inclusiveness, and that may mean that the facilitators go to extraordinary lengths to
provide access to the sorts of participants who normally do not have much power in
conventional decision processes (e.g., finding ways to accommodate and reassure
people whose literacy skills may be marginal). However, providing equality of
opportunity is not the same as trying to steer the outcome toward the preferences of
any particular group. Although advocacy groups that feel threatened by collaborative
processes may contend that their constituents are uniquely unqualified to participate
in collaborations (and therefore should not participate because of this competitive
disadvantage), processes such as Collaborative Learning are quite egalitarian in
creating opportunity for mutual persuasion, including melodramatic discourse
within a constructive context (Daniels & Walker, 2001, p. 22).
A Closing Comment
In his body of work on environmental discourse generally and in his QJS essay
specifically, Steve Schwarze has constructed a solid foundation for framing
environmental rhetoric as melodrama. In doing so, he has made a case for
environmental melodrama as a critical feature of environmental conflict and its
transformation. In this commentary, I have considered how the transformative
potential of environmental melodrama can contribute to conflict resolution. I have
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speculated about and questioned the role of melodrama in conflict resolution and
collaboration processes. Melodramatic rhetoric in environmental policy situations
can polarize and divide; it can elevate and accentuate; it can moralize and confront.
In doing so, environmental melodrama can contribute to the intractability of conflict
or to its resolution. Which path is preferable and under what circumstances warrant
further exploration.
Identity, Community, and Risk: Some
Constitutive Consequences of
Environmental Melodrama
William J. Kinsella
The following comments build upon Schwarze’s insights regarding environmental
melodrama (Schwarze, 2006), in part through comparisons to another case study that
can be placed within the same genre. Kinsella and Mullen (2007) have examined the
case of the ‘‘downwinder’’ community affected by operations at the US government’s
facility at Hanford, Washington, which produced plutonium for use in nuclear
weapons from 1944 through 1989. In many ways, the story lines at Hanford and
Libby are strikingly similar, although below I note at least one significant difference in
the interpretive contexts for those stories. Kinsella and Mullen provide a theoretical
framework for analysis of the Hanford case by integrating concepts from rhetoric,
narrative theory, organizational theory, and the sociology of risk. Stressing the
constitutive role of communication*a theme that Schwarze also engages*they
argue that the downwinders’ narrative constitutes, rather than simply addresses, a set
of environmental risks that would otherwise remain unrecognized. Furthermore, they
argue, that narrative plays a constitutive role in producing the downwinder ‘‘risk
community’’ and linking that community to a broader network of allies.
Similar to Schwarze’s Libby case study, the Hanford case study addresses issues of
rhetorical identification, community responses to environmental risk, and the
transformation of a local (or regional) environmental dispute into a broader social
and political engagement with powerful institutions. These two case studies can
William J. Kinsella is Associate Professor in the Department of Communication at North Carolina State
University. Correspondence to: Department of Communication, North Carolina State University,
Campus Box 8104, 201 Winston Hall, Raleigh, NC 27695, USA. Email: wjkinsel@ncsu.edu
Narratives, Rhetorical Genres, and Environmental Conflict
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readily be placed within the same genre, along with a number of other environmental
conflicts cited by Schwarze and by Kinsella and Mullen. Doing so facilitates a process
of comparison and contrast that*as Schwarze suggests*can provide practical
guidance on the strategic rhetorical choices facing communities affected by
environmental risks. Those comparisons and contrasts can also be theoretically
productive, enabling the development of ‘‘practical theory’’ (Cronen, 2001) in the
domain of environmental conflict.
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Hanford and Libby: Commonalities and Contrasts
As at Libby, the Hanford case began with an emerging recognition of environmental
risks by community members, followed by revelations that institutional actors had
been aware of those risks previously, but had not informed the public. In both cases,
melodramatic rhetoric served to mobilize and unify community members. While
Schwarze focuses his analysis on the uses and effects of melodramatic rhetoric,
Kinsella and Mullen ground theirs in a broader theoretical framework. Here I select
two components of that framework*a Burkean approach to identification and a
recognition of multiple, nested interpretive contexts*to organize a comparison of
the two cases.
Burkean Themes at Hanford
Schwarze effectively identifies some limitations of Burkean rhetorical theory, and in
response he offers melodramatic rhetoric as an alternative to Burke’s valorization of
the comic form. On my reading, his essay is not fundamentally hostile to Burke;
rather, he seeks to complement Burkean approaches, and thus to expand the
possibilities for rhetorical choice. One of his critiques of Burke is that although the
comic form seeks unification through transcendence, unification may not always be a
desirable goal; alternatively, melodrama can serve a useful function by foregrounding
differences between empowered and disempowered groups. Here unification operates
within subaltern communities or counterpublics (Asen & Brouwer, 2001), while
difference operates more broadly to foreground relations of power.
In the Hanford case, a melodramatic narrative did serve to illuminate power
differences between the US Department of Energy (DOE) and the downwinder
community. However, that same narrative also fostered a more distributed network of
identifications linking the Hanford downwinders, affected communities at other
DOE sites, members of Congress, independent scientists and medical professionals,
activist groups more concerned with nuclear weapons than with health risks, and a
broader public alerted to the situation through media coverage. Using two concepts
from Burke’s theory of identification (Burke, 1969; see also Cheney, 1983, 1991),
Kinsella and Mullen argue that the downwinder narrative simultaneously fostered
dissociation from the federal government (a significant disruption of the patriotic
loyalty that had formerly characterized the region surrounding Hanford), and
association with a broad range of sympathetic audiences. Identification and ‘‘unity of
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feeling’’ (Schwarze, 2006, p. 251) were, indeed, reconfigured, but the outcome was a
complex, multipolar system of relationships.
Although the Hanford case can be read through the lens of melodrama, Burke’s
emphasis on comedy (or more appropriately here, his concept of the ‘‘tragicomic’’)
also resonates with the downwinder narrative. As an example, Kinsella and Mullen
recount the downwinders’ appropriation of a government document describing how
early in Hanford’s operational history, troops would chase and corner reluctant cows
to measure their radiation exposures. Using this document to depict the Hanford
staff as incompetent bunglers in the Keystone Cops tradition, the downwinders
embedded a comic scene within their overarching melodrama. Indeed, the popular
image of melodrama recognizes the recurrent use of this tactic, as in comic portrayals
of the greedy, mustachioed villain.
Symbolic Convergence and ‘‘Multiple Melodramas’’
Another component of Kinsella and Mullen’s analytical framework is symbolic
convergence theory and its related method, fantasy theme analysis. Bormann, Cragan,
and Shields (1996) cite the Cold War as a ‘‘paradigm case’’ for symbolic convergence
theory, noting that more than 20 extant fantasy theme analyses deal with Cold War
events. The Cold War, of course, was an overarching interpretive framework for the
rhetoric of Hanford, used by the federal government to cultivate patriotic support and
to warrant secrecy and exclusionary, technocratic decision-making (Kinsella, 2001).
The Cold War frame distinguishes the Hanford case from Schwarze’s Libby case. In
the latter case, Schwarze argues that melodramatic rhetoric enabled an effective
community resistance to a system of corporate power. A narrative of corporate greed
emerged, in which profit was the sole motive for withholding information about
health risks from the community. In the Hanford case, profit was also a motive for
the contractors who operated the facility and conducted health effects studies funded
by the Department of Energy. Because of a close identification between those
contractors and their government sponsors, that motive may have also penetrated
into the DOE’s decision-making. However, profit could not be construed as the sole
motive, despite the efforts of some downwinders and their allies to do so. The Cold
War frame provided a crucial additional warrant for the government’s withholding of
information and restriction of deliberation. Two melodramas competed for
interpretive authority at Hanford: a narrative of government misconduct and/or
incompetence, and a grand narrative of conflict with the Soviet Union. The enormous
power of the Cold War narrative (cf. Nadel, 1995) may have contributed to a less
decisive outcome at Hanford; although the downwinders were successful in
significant ways, they may not have succeeded as fully as the members of the Libby
community. This outcome has added relevance in the present political context, in
which a new ‘‘master melodrama’’ of national security threatens to once again
constrain democratic deliberation.
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Concluding Comments: On Rhetorical Genres and Practical Theory
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Rhetorical theory has traditionally been aligned with the principle of phronesis, or
practical wisdom. One goal of Schwarze’s essay is to demonstrate how rhetorical case
studies can be compared and combined cautiously, to produce practical guidance for
communities subjected to environmental risks and harms. Through those case
studies, community members can engage more effectively with the powerful
institutions that so often monopolize environmental decision making. Schwarze
has made an important contribution to that goal by focusing attention on the genre
of environmental melodrama, and continued attention to that genre appears wellwarranted.
Environmental Devils
Terence Check
As rhetorical scholars are well aware, Burke (1968) identified scapegoating as a central
feature of societies burdened by collective guilt. In his essay, ‘‘Environmental
Melodrama,’’ Schwarze (2006) recognized this pattern as a feature of environmental
narratives, arguing that melodrama ‘‘frames situations as confrontations between the
virtuous and the villainous, and encourages audiences to take sides in such
confrontations in order to repair the moral order’’ (p. 251). That villains are central
to rhetorical narratives both real and imagined should come as no surprise to
communication scholars, even as our ‘‘scientific world view lulls us into thinking we
have progressed beyond a primeval symbolism of us-versus-them’’ (Carter, 1996, p.
25). However, Schwarze (2006) saw rhetorical possibilities in melodrama, including
the use of villains to heighten moral awareness of environmental threats. He defended
it as ‘‘an enticing rhetorical strategy for environmental advocates’’ (p. 240), and called
on environmental communication scholars and activists to seek the ‘‘conditions that
are more or less favorable for melodramatic intervention’’ (p. 256). In response to
Schwarze’s essay, I argue that the central feature of a melodramatic narrative is the
presence of a rhetorical devil and I explicate its features. While affirming the potential
of melodrama in some cases, I raise questions about its ability to mobilize the public
on global environmental threats, and I remain concerned by the possibility that it can
distract attention from core issues.
Terence Check is an Associate Professor of Communication at St. John’s (MN) University and the College
of St. Benedict. Correspondence to: Department of Communication, St. John’s University, Collegeville,
MN 56321, USA. Email: tcheck@csbsju.edu
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Environmental devils*those secular agents that constitute the villains in environmental melodramas*are remarkably similar to the theological Devil that inspires
them. The religious devil is a fallen angel of God, and thus it represents power. Melia
(1989) claimed that the attributes of a symbolic secular devil ‘‘are no less stringent
than those required by the sacred counterpart’’ and he identified power as a key
characteristic of a rhetorical devil (p. 416). This echoed Burke’s (1945) description of a
scapegoat as a ‘‘concentration of power’’ (p. 407). Further, the extent of the devil’s
power must be proportional to the degree of guilt society carries. Given the frustration
environmental advocates feel over the rapid deterioration of the planet, they must
locate a worthy villain to achieve the ‘‘‘catharsis’ which will ‘stylistically’ or
‘symbolically’ wash away this guilt’’ (Holland, 1959, p. 75). Wealthy corporations
such as W.R. Grace and ExxonMobil certainly fit this description, but even lesserknown entities can be environmental devils if they acquire the infrastructure to destroy
the planet*bulldozers, chainsaws, oil rigs, and smokestacks*given that these tools
are loaded with the symbolism of violence and pollution.
Although rhetorical devils in any context are imbued with power, environmental
devils in particular are associated with greed and indifference toward future
generations. Environmental devils are typically infatuated with economic profits at
the expense of natural ecosystems. They are not constrained by laws and flaunt them
whenever possible. Alsford (2006), who wrote about fictional characters such as the
Borg from Star Trek, argued they take special status as iconic villains because
‘‘everything that they encounter is to be regarded as a resource, something that can be
consumed and used. The villain is, first and foremost, a user’’ (p. 132). Alsford
claimed the ‘‘essential difference between the hero and the villain’’ is that villains do
not see themselves connected to the world (p. 137). Thus, an environmental devil
views the natural world as fit for exploitation and is indifferent about the impact of
its actions on future generations.
Rhetorical devils are widespread, since the Devil ‘‘is omnipresent’’ (Kohak, 1975, p.
56). Multinational corporations meet this criterion easily, but so can smaller groups
or even individuals as long as they represent evils of the larger community. For
example, not only did the captain of the Exxon Valdez represent a company with
global economic interests, but also as a flawed person he symbolized the evils of
alcoholism, and as such served as a synecdoche for the sins of personal indulgence
and irresponsibility related to drinking-driving. In addition, if one confines the devil
to a particular physical location, it can nonetheless acquire significance if it threatens
something precious and unique. The fact that the devil ruins something original, rare,
or sublime heightens the emotional pain, particularly if the loss of the unique is
‘‘juxtaposed against the usual, the ordinary, the vulgar, that which is fungible or
interchangeable’’ (Cox, 1982, p. 229).
The rhetorical devil is deceitful; it is ‘‘chameleon-like,’’ changing ‘‘its colors
according to the circumstances’’ (Braaten, 2000, p. 102). Theologically, ‘‘in the
struggle with God for the winning of souls, the devil has to play tricks’’ to win over
admirers who might otherwise recognize it (Florescu, 1975, p. 74). In the realm of
environmental policy, corporations engage in a variety of tactics that mask their true
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intentions. One of them is ‘‘greenwashing,’’ a form of ‘‘public relations propaganda’’
intended to give polluting companies a green image (Greenwashing, 2006, p. 1).
Another tactic is the creation of citizen front groups that provide an illusion of
grassroots support for corporate policies (Stauber & Rampton, 1995). Still another
ploy is the creation of public hearings, where officials sometimes feign concern for
public complaints only to ultimately ignore citizen input (Daniels & Walker, 2001).
Corporations have also funded scientific studies with predetermined results, used
media to shape public opinion on environmental policies, and used lawsuits to
intimidate activists (Beder, 1998).
The rhetorical devil ‘‘is, by definition, quintessentially evil [but] is also,
paradoxically, strangely attractive’’ (Melia, 1989, p. 416). Without this feature, the
devil would not be consubstantial with those who ‘‘would ritualistically cleanse
themselves by loading the burden of their own iniquities upon it’’ (Burke, 1945, p.
406). Corporations that despoil the environment also claim to provide local
communities with economic benefits and wider publics with the resources to sustain
comfortable ways of living. These attributes function to make the environmental devil
appealing, particularly in those instances when the consequences of industrialism are
remote and invisible, compared to benefits that seem immediate and tangible.
The environmental devil often poses an immediate threat to the environment, thus
requiring urgent action by victimized publics. This sense of urgency may not exist if
the devil has masked its true nature, but once the disguise is revealed there is a pressing
need to rid oneself of the real or symbolic contamination. The devil also preys on the
weak and powerless in a society. An environmental devil may try to exploit natural
spaces and non-human animals, or it may seek out vulnerable human communities
lacking the political organization or resources to resist polluting industries.
An environmental devil, then, must be powerful; it must be greedy and indifferent
to the violence it causes; it must be ubiquitous either in its physical scope or in the evils
it represents; it often immediately threatens that which is unique and precious; it is
deceitful and cunning; it preys upon those who are defenseless; and despite all of this,
it is attractive to many who admire its qualities. With these features, the rhetorical
devil may function as a compelling villain in an environmental melodrama. Schwarze’s
(2006) description of W.R. Grace fulfills these characteristics, which is perhaps why the
case served as a compelling justification for melodramatic intervention.
What of other environmental threats? Many scientists have asserted that global
warming ‘‘is the most severe problem that we are facing today*more serious even
than the threat of terrorism’’ (King, cited in Speth, 2005, p. 203). However, unlike
terrorism, where rhetors can point to foreign foes and diabolical acts, environmental
advocates have struggled to frame climate change in melodramatic terms. This is
because there is no clear villain; the causes of climate change are diverse and systemic;
the consequences and threats are not immediate; it is not prone to a quick solution;
and the offending acts are tied to economic progress, one of the many God terms of
our age (Weaver, 1953, p. 216). In fact, on this issue, opponents of environmental
legislation have co-opted the melodramatic frame for their own purposes, as when
the United States Senate passed a resolution in 1997 condemning the Kyoto treaty.
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Even those lawmakers who agreed with the science of climate change succumbed to
the emotional rhetoric of critics who accused China of gaining an unfair advantage
over the US by virtue of exemptions from some of the treaty’s provisions. Schwarze
(2006) may be right that ‘‘melodrama can foreground the moral dimension of all
human actions’’ in a manner that overcomes ‘‘the reassuring rhetoric of technical
reason’’ (p. 250), but in the case of Kyoto, this hurt the cause of environmentalism.
However, Schwarze acknowledged that appeals to melodrama are bounded by
situational exigencies. Other environmental controversies may be better suited for
this type of tactic. Advocates have used melodrama successfully in cases such as the
Natural Resources Defense Council’s BioGems campaign in 2000, which halted the
construction of a Mitsubishi salt factory near the San Ignacio lagoon in Mexico, the
home of a gray whale birthing area. In cases like this, environmentalists can invoke
appeals against a rhetorical devil, leading to ‘‘corporate boycotts [that] often villainize
a particular organization or industry by demonstrating how their actions victimize
unsuspecting citizens’’ or animals (Schwarze, 2006, p. 247).
Moving beyond the features of an environmental devil and the likelihood of
locating controversies where its use might be plausible, critics and practitioners alike
should consider a more fundamental question: what type of identity does a rhetorical
devil demand from its audience? In the realm of environmental policy, does a
rhetorical devil challenge assumptions related to growth and progress, or does it
divert attention from their interrogation as ideals in a consumer culture? Critics of
melodrama have cautioned it may divert public attention away from systemic
reforms. Writing about the use of melodrama in environmentally themed films,
Ingram (2000) summarized several concerns, including ‘‘the tendency of melodrama
to construct environmental issues as individualized’’ conflicts that ‘‘simplify the
complex, often ambiguous allocation of blame and responsibility in such matters’’ (p.
2). Further, theorists have cautioned against the use of scapegoats in public
controversies, noting how demagogues such as Hitler have used this tactic to
advance their own despicable causes (Burke, 1941; Allport, 1948). The construction
of literal and figurative devils may worsen this tendency, as it strips audiences of
personal responsibility for their actions (May, 1975).
Schwarze (2006) offered a counterpoint to these assumptions, arguing based on the
case of Libby that ‘‘the personification of villains also can point precisely at a system’s
pressure points and provide the motive force for sustaining social critique’’ (p. 247).
Perhaps the best way for advocates to do this is through use of oppositional
arguments that block enthymematic assumptions. In their essay on the anti-fur
movement, Olson and Goodnight (1994) contended that advocates constructed
arguments that inverted the social and economic meanings of fur. Instead of a
commodity associated with luxury and wealth, advocates redefined the social
meaning of fur so that it represented cruelty. It seems plausible that environmental
devils could serve the same function as ‘‘acts of interruption’’ that question dominant
narratives (Pezzullo, 2001).
However, it is unclear whether an environmental melodrama similar to that seen in
Libby has the power to generate the kind of widespread re-evaluation of corporate
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practices needed to confront national or global environmental threats. Some have
argued an event larger in scope and significance is needed to invoke that kind of
response. According to Speth (2005), ‘‘sweeping policy change happens when a major
wave of new and previously apathetic citizens are attracted to an issue,’’ usually the
result of a ‘‘major event or ‘crisis’ [that] can help redefine the issue and attract wide
attention’’ (p. 199). If such an exigence involved the presence of an environmental
devil, could it have the power to disrupt enthymematic assumptions about growth
and progress on a large scale? An answer to this question might lie in an examination
of past melodramas of significance.
One of the most prominent environmental melodramas in American environmental
history remains the Exxon Valdez oil spill. In the late evening hours of 23 March 1989,
the Exxon Valdez collided into a submerged reef in Prince William Sound, spilling
more than 11 million gallons of oil into Alaskan waters. Oil company officials failed to
recover most of the spill, and it quickly blanketed beaches and wildlife, resulting in the
worst oil spill in North American history (Davidson, 1990; Keeble, 1999). Public
outrage was high, and people directed their anger at two villains: Joseph Hazelwood,
the captain of the supertanker, and the Exxon Corporation. Both agents fulfilled the
qualities of effective rhetorical devils. Further, there was widespread belief that the
event altered public thinking on environmental issues. Sancton (1989) wrote in Time
that ‘‘the Valdez spill convinced all but the most skeptical observers that humanity was
courting ecological disaster’’ (p. 60). Reflecting on the disaster, some scholars have
reached a similar conclusion. For example, Kellner (1990) argued that the television
news coverage of the incident ‘‘pointed to the need to provide stronger environmental
protection and to curb the self-interest of big corporations’’ (p. 109), and Schwarze
(2006) mentioned the event briefly in his essay, arguing that the ‘‘depiction of oilsoaked birds after the Exxon Valdez crash encouraged sympathy for innocent victims
and brought the ‘costs’ of oil dependence home to audiences’’ (p. 252).
However, the transformative power of melodrama in even this defining case is
questionable. For one, Hazelwood became a scapegoat because blood alcohol tests
conducted hours after the accident showed he had consumed an unacceptable
amount of alcohol, leading to suspicions that drinking had caused the grounding.
Revelations about Hazelwood’s past drinking problems only further entrenched this
narrative. This functioned to divert attention from the environmental issues raised by
the spill, such as the nation’s dependence on oil and the costs of oil production and
exploration. Ultimately, the Hazelwood narrative resulted in technical proposals
(breathalyzer tests for skippers, tugboat escorts and double hulls for tankers),
encouraging audiences to view the spill as a transportation problem, not an
environmental one (Check, 1993, 1994).
As for Exxon’s role in the melodrama, the public narrative centered on the
company’s incompetence and inability to clean up the spill. While the crisis
communication scholarship widely viewed Exxon’s response to the spill as a public
relations debacle (Tyler, 1992; Williams & Treadaway, 1992; Benoit, 1995), the
melodramatic framing of the villain in this way failed to function as an argument that
might have challenged the assumption that society was capable of cleaning large oil
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spills. Rather than situating the event on a moral or political plane that might have
rendered a critique of consumption and/or a reconsideration of oil drilling practices
and policy, the melodrama involving Exxon-as-devil directed attention towards
technical issues about the proper way to respond to oil spills (Check, 1997).
The construction of rhetorical devils as part of a melodramatic frame is a common
resource for advocates of social change (Carter, 1997). Schwarze’s essay is an important
reminder to keep melodrama at the forefront of critical attention. There may be
serious limitations to its use in some contexts, since environmental conflicts using a
melodramatic frame require a rhetorical devil that is powerful, ubiquitous, deceitful,
and identifiable. The use of this devil must coincide with a strategy that Schwarze
(2006) argued must counter ‘‘the ideological simplifications of dominant public
discourses’’ (p. 255). However, while the devil in an environmental narrative may
foster indignation directed at particular company, its ability to generate widespread
change in belief and attitude remains doubtful, as the Exxon case points out.
Although I remain pessimistic about the successful use of environmental
melodrama on issues such as global warming, the environmental devil has great
potential for social critique in some cases. Even though the construction of Exxon as a
villain failed to generate widespread systemic criticism after the Valdez spill, a recent
campaign by a collaboration of environmental and public advocacy groups to
‘‘Exxpose Exxon’’ has established a clear link between the company and efforts to
derail a national energy policy and perpetuate a consumption ethic. The campaign
highlights how advocates can channel indignation of a devil into a productive social
and environmental critique. The presence of a devil, after all, has a way of bringing
moral clarity to some situations. ‘‘It may actually be that by recognizing radical evil
and naming it we may gain the tools with which to fight against it,’’ wrote Russell
(1986); ‘‘An understanding of radical evil may help us get past palliative measures . . .
to the heart of the matter’’ (p. 300).
Holding Out for a Hero
Tarla Rai Peterson
I agree with Bsumek’s claim that Schwarze’s essay makes the case for kairos, or
sophistry at its best, more than for melodrama. And yet*my initial response was
Tarla Rai Peterson is Boone & Crockett Chair of Wildlife and Conservation Policy at Texas A&M
University. Correspondence to: 2258 TAMU, Texas A&M University, College Station, TX 77843-2258,
USA. Email raipeterson@neo.tamu.edu
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confessional: for years, I have closed essays with an inspirational peon to the
rhetorical responsibility of perpetuating uncertainty, opening closed doors, and
irritating the margins; how ironic to have become a lap dog for the comic frame.
Despite my confession, however, I cannot resist noting that Schwarze sells comedy
short when he claims it ‘‘seeks to reconcile conflict via compromise.’’ Just as in the
not-so-distant past, the court fool has license to utter blasphemy that would get
anyone else killed. Still, it is relatively easy for a well orchestrated few to drown the
voice of the fool in ribald laughter. Although I remain convinced that, in most
situations, the comic frame has more potential for humane redress of harms,
Schwarze makes a strong case for the importance of leaving open the possibility of
melodramatic response. The current crisis (of climate, democracy, terror, etc.) lends
special legitimacy to Schwarze’s critique. His essay suggests that, in our desire to be
counted among the rational, rhetorical critics are hideously complicit in the post1984 silence that grips much of the nominally democratic world.
Although it differs significantly from Schwarze’s Libby case, the debate surrounding climate change exemplifies a case where melodrama may achieve what comedic
efforts have not. The fact that these two cases, in many ways so different, both cry for
a melodramatic frame, further strengthens Schwarze’s argument. The debate over
climate change requires transformation from the personal to the political plane and
the clarification of obscured power relationships. Without attention to moral
dimensions and emotional connections, the debate is going nowhere. By playing
up the centrality of the moral dimension and emotional connections, a melodramatic
story may complicate and transform this oversimplified and narrowly defined conflict
beyond the current topics of short-term economically defined costs and benefits.
Most climate scientists have long adopted the premise that global climate change is
occurring at anomalously rapid rates compared to historical trends, and that
anthropogenic (human-induced) sources of greenhouse gases (primarily carbon
dioxide) are a significant causal factor. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate
Change (IPCC) is an international scientific project representing hundreds of
scientists that have produced a series of reports synthesizing scientific information
on climate change and its effects on ecological conditions, all of which support this
premise. Their 2007 summaries for policy makers include a report on physical
science, one on impacts, suggestions for mitigation, and a synthesis report
(Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, 2007).
It is clear that the IPCC reports recognize a substantial degree of uncertainty about
climate change cause and effect. There are also many sources of political commentary
about climate change taking positions contrary to those adopted in the IPCC reports.
They suggest that climate change is not occurring, or that if it is occurring, it is a
natural and temporary cycle of climate variation (e.g., Idso & Idso, 1998). On the
other hand, there are also many scientists who believe the IPCC has been too cautious
in communicating the potential severity of climate change and its effects (e.g.,
Huntingford & Lowe, 2007; Kerr, 2007). Moreover, many observers charge that the
international consensus process weakened the official assessments presented in the
IPCC reports (Bohannon, 2007).
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Despite the relatively strong scientific consensus, incredible political pressures have
been brought to bear on these scientists. Frank Luntz is only one of dozens of spin
masters who have made fortunes discrediting climate science. To get an inkling of
how much money goes into discrediting the science, one only needs to google the
term ‘‘climate change.’’ Dozens of groups have formed to rebut the science,
sometimes investing significant corporate resources in clothing themselves as
scientists. They hire individuals to lend credentials to the effort (PhD, MD, DVM,
etc.), reference articles written by climate scientists, and appeal to common sense.
Many otherwise retiring climate scientists have ventured into the public arena in an
attempt to defend themselves from apparently deliberate misinformation. Once there,
they are frustrated by their own inability to declare with 100% certainty that the
precise severity of storm A was caused solely by climate change.
Political opponents of those who advocate state, national and international policies
that respond to climate change take advantage of the fact that climate change occurs
in time and space far beyond human experience. Most people experience climate as
the shift between summer and winter, beachcombing and skiing. To understand
climate change, however, we need to think in terms of epochs. Even thinking about
the seventh generation is largely irrelevant. Geological time dwarfs the span of time
humans have lived on the earth, but that is the time scale for climate. Space is just as
challenging. Climate change is something we think about as occurring elsewhere. For
example, unless they live on the gulf coast, few US residents can imagine the dramatic
shifts climate change has in store for them. Britain’s Daily Mirror responded to the
IPCC reports by noting that climate change would bring the UK ‘‘sunny temperatures
and agriculture booms with new summer crops such as exotic fruits’’ (Prince, 2007).
If we cannot imagine the problems, motivation to imagine mitigation policies seems
unlikely. Even if we can imagine policies to mitigate climate change, entrenched
economic and political forces resist change that threatens their preeminent position
within current hierarchies. They boldly assert that change would hurt the economy,
purchase science when needed, and council caution in the face of uncertainty.
A melodramatic account may destabilize power configurations used to maintain
current policy. The debate is littered with potential heroes, victims, and villains.
Alaskan villages collapse into the Bering Sea as the permafrost that was their
foundation melts. College students in Vermont walk across their state, and then
initiate similar events across the US to pressure lawmakers to cut greenhouse gas
emissions. Islanders drown or narrowly escape when their villages sink into the
Pacific. The British government parts ways with the US government over the issue of
climate change policy. California’s Republican ‘‘governator’’ uses his Hollywood
charisma to initiate state-level policies designed to mitigate climate change, and
accepts invitations to take the message to Britain’s Conservatives. African children die
of dehydration when heat-induced drought claims their community’s water supply.
The US government arrogantly rejects foreign aid offered in the wake of Hurricane
Katrina. The fossil fuel industry dominates discussions of US energy policy, and
insists on government censorship of climate science.
Narratives, Rhetorical Genres, and Environmental Conflict
101
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Environmental communication scholars may dismiss this issue as too obvious to
be intellectually interesting. They may laugh at the obvious power plays. However, the
material reality is that a small group of humans continues to engineer a policy that is
destroying the earth as a habitat for humanity and many other species. If our
contemporary experience with the chaos engendered by mass migrations in Africa
and Asia tells us anything, it should warn that climate change poses a far greater
security threat than the presence of undocumented dishwashers in our restaurants.
The situation cries out for a melodramatic script. Perhaps environmental melodrama
will enable us to both imagine and galvanize the global community that must act to
mitigate climate change.
Environmental Melodrama:
Explorations and Extensions
Steve Schwarze
One of my motives in writing ‘‘Environmental Melodrama’’ was to provoke the kind
of reflection that my colleagues have engaged in here. Each one takes seriously the
notion that melodrama should be taken seriously. Their work carefully considers a
range of contingent possibilities that might follow from melodramatic intervention at
different levels and sites of conflict within ‘‘the green public sphere’’ (Torgerson,
1999). Such is the way of environmental communication scholarship. Echoing the
words of my colleagues in organizational communication, it is gratifying to see an
illustration of how ‘‘environmental communication [is] able to bring together
scholars from otherwise disparate sub-disciplines’’ in order to give ‘‘attention to
issues and problems as centers of intellectual energy’’ (Ganesh, Zoller, & Cheney
2005, p. 186).
In different ways, Pete Bsumek’s and Gregg Walker’s essays confirm an observation
that propels my original piece: polarizing rhetoric is anathema to most players in the
realm of environmental controversy. Bsumek, for example, sees a clear preference for
the comic frame over melodrama among Sierra Clubbers in Virginia. Their preference
may be based on a sound assessment of political dynamics or rhetorical efficacy, or
the sheer desire to try something new. However, might this attraction also be rooted
Steve Schwarze is an Associate Professor in the Department of Communication Studies at the University
of Montana. Correspondence to: Department of Communication Studies, University of Montana,
Missoula, MT 59812, USA. Email: steven.schwarze@umontana.edu
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in a mistaken understanding of melodrama, in a hasty judgment about its
possibilities? Walker explicates the conventional wisdom about the dark side of
melodrama before proceeding to discern melodrama’s more transformative potential.
With support from Pearce and Littlejohn (1997), Walker suggests, ‘‘In the extreme,
one party may regard another as a morally depraved enemy, demonize or dehumanize
that party. Doing so could encourage human rights violations or direct violence, as
parties may come to believe that the capitulation or elimination of the other group is
the only way to resolve the conflict.’’ We certainly do not want that. However, is this
extreme outcome necessary? Probable?
Like any rhetorical phenomenon, the effects of melodrama are notoriously difficult
to pin down. However, resistance to melodrama seems to be rooted in a rather sure
sense of its effects, as well as its normative value: melodrama oversimplifies and
polarizes; this entails scapegoating and direct violence, which are bad. This deeply
oversimplified view of melodrama should concern rhetoricians since it is so deeply arhetorical. Setting aside skepticism about rhetorical causality in general, resistance to
melodrama seems to be rooted in the assumption that contingent and unusually
extreme effects of some melodramatic interventions are necessary and typical effects.
These assumptions and hasty judgments about melodrama led me to an approach
that I observe in Kevin DeLuca’s work on image events. For DeLuca (1999), hostility
to the image as a rhetorical form and image events as a mode of advocacy does not
suggest a disciplinary truth so much as an opportunity for new theory: if
conventional wisdom finds fault with a particular rhetorical practice, (re)theorize
it in order to discern its productive possibilities. That was the task of ‘‘Environmental
Melodrama.’’ I hoped to recuperate melodrama as a concept*rather than a mere
epithet*and explore its strengths and weaknesses as a frame for environmental
advocacy.
Each of the responses advances that exploration, as they refract melodrama
through a different set of theoretical or practical concerns. Bsumek’s comes closest to
capturing the spirit of my original essay and the implications of melodramatic
rhetoric for environmental politics. His analysis of the Virginia Natural Resources
Leadership Institute and the Pure Water Forum is particularly salient in this regard.
Not only does Bsumek savor the irony of how these groups deploy melodramatic
principles to criticize melodrama, he also shows that their preferred rhetorical
strategies are driven by their preferred political strategies: collaboration and
consensus-based decision-making (rather than, say, petition or confrontation). Due
to their disposition toward certain mechanisms and forums for political activity, it is
not surprising that the comic frame is preferred to the melodramatic. However, that
preference is reinforced by a distorted view of melodrama that colors their view of
agonistic modes of politics. In other words, the preference for comic rhetoric and
collaborative processes is mutually reinforcing, as is the aversion to melodramatic
rhetoric and agonistic politics.
This interrelationship of rhetorical strategy and political alternatives can constrain
practicing advocates if their understanding of rhetorical strategy is faulty or limited.
On this point, Bsumek’s case indicates how rhetorical theory can have direct practical
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relevance. Seeing the productive possibilities of melodrama might encourage these
groups to think beyond collaboration and consider alternative strategies for political
engagement.
Yet even within a collaborative orientation, Gregg Walker finds a place for
melodrama. While he remains attentive to the destructive possibilities of melodrama,
Walker discerns its positive potential through the lens of ‘‘constructive controversy.’’
Most importantly, he reminds readers that conflict escalation and the exercise of
competitive power can facilitate beneficial forms of confrontation. Drawing on
several conflict theorists, Walker argues that confrontation can be constructive when
it heightens a sense of interdependence, brings visibility to a weaker party, or
demonstrates that fundamental needs are at stake. In all these ways, constructive
confrontation foregrounds issues of power, and in Walker’s view, ‘‘melodramatic
rhetoric may be essential to this task.’’
In making these claims, Walker confirms two important points from my original
essay. First, melodrama’s transformative and oppositional potential lies in how it
configures relations of power. Its productive possibilities are contingent on
enthymematic assumptions about imbalanced power relationships between parties
to a conflict. To the extent that collaborative processes presume the equality of
participants, this may be another reason why Bsumek’s advocates in Virginia shy away
from melodramatic rhetoric. Second, the principle of kairos is key to discerning the
value of melodrama in environmental controversy. Since the need for confrontation
and constructive conflict escalation is not the same across situations, melodramatic
intervention needs to be evaluated on a case-by-case basis.
Walker’s essay also draws attention to how rhetorical strategies migrate between
levels of communicative interaction. His application suggests extending research into
how particular rhetorical resources serve these needs of environmental advocates in
different contexts, and how those resources work differently under conditions of
dissemination (via mass media, public address, or social movement campaigns)
versus face-to-face interaction (conversation, dispute resolution, collaboration).
Practical implications from this research could improve the communication strategies
of all parties to environmental controversy, and thereby enhance the overall quality of
public discourse on environmental issues.
Practical implications also are evident in Terry Check’s excellent essay on
environmental devils. He demonstrates the unique role that devil-villains play in
melodrama, while also confirming my argument that multiple rhetorical elements
must converge for melodrama to facilitate substantive transformation. His discussions of Exxon and Captain Hazelwood show that a rhetorical devil is a necessary
aspect of melodrama, but insufficient on its own to generate oppositional arguments
and social critique. Without articulation to moral concerns and broader political
dynamics, the devil in melodrama loses its capacity to challenge enthymematic
assumptions and reorient public controversy.
Environmental advocacy, then, must be attentive to the interaction of rhetorical
appeals in a given case to realize melodrama’s transformative potential. Check’s
analysis, for example, provides another way of addressing Bsumek’s comedy lovers in
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Virginia. They may resist melodrama because it appears to create devils out of
potential partners and foreclose any possibility of saving face. However, what of the
moral dimension of melodrama? What if devils could be placed into narratives of
purification and redemption that not only allow them to relieve the burden of past
sins, but also imply pathways for change? Constructing a rhetorical devil may indeed
create adversaries rather than allies, but positioning that devil within fitting moral
and political narratives could permit the devil to ‘‘save face’’ and could chart a path
for social transformation. Based on his reading of the Exxon Valdez oil spill, Check
remains rightly skeptical of scapegoating and the guilt-purification-redemption cycle
as means for initiating large-scale social critique. Yet, he pinpoints precisely how
scapegoating faltered in that situation: it was articulated to narratives that focused on
the personal (problems of Hazelwood) and the technical (competence to clean up oil
spills). The rhetorical failure was not with the devil per se, but with the mix of
rhetorical appeals that situated the devil and other social actors within particular
kinds of narratives.
In addition to the internal dynamics of the frame, melodrama’s possibilities are
influenced by competing rhetorical strategies in a particular situation. Indeed, even a
competing melodrama*one that reifies and oversimplifies*could thwart more
transformative versions of the form. Bill Kinsella, for example, argues that two
melodramas ‘‘competed for interpretive authority’’ in constituting the environmental
risks and the downwinder community connected to nuclear weapons production at
Hanford. While the downwinders’ melodrama eventually reconfigured social
relations, Kinsella asserts that the overarching Cold War melodrama had ‘‘enormous
power’’ and ‘‘may have contributed to a less decisive outcome’’ than that in Libby.
While the outcomes in Libby actually are far from decisive, Kinsella’s essay raises a
much more significant*and timely*issue: whether a ‘‘master melodrama’’ of
national security continues to animate democratic deliberation about a host of issues
in the US (see the Summer 2007 issue of Rhetoric & Public Affairs, especially Simons,
2007). Environmental communication scholars might extend this line of argument to
analyze how environmental melodramas interact with one another and with other
rhetorical strategies. How do certain melodramas emerge as the ‘‘master?’’ When do
they trump, and how are they vulnerable to more transformative rhetorics? Are
master melodramas especially effective in undermining competing melodramatic
framings, similar to the reactionary strategy of ‘‘aggressive mimicry’’ described by
Jennifer Peeples in her analysis of the Wise Use Movement’s rhetoric (2005)?
Conversely, can we identify instances beyond Hanford in which a transformative
melodrama dislodged a reigning master melodrama?
Perhaps the most fascinating constraints on environmental melodrama lie not
strictly in the realm of the symbolic, but where the symbolic meets the materiality of
ecological degradation. Environmental communication scholars are well positioned
to engage the symbolic/material nexus, and as Terence Check and Tarla Rai Peterson
acknowledge, the rhetoric surrounding global climate change offers rich opportunities for exploring this problematic. Peterson suggests that the material dimensions
of climate change defy our ability to fully grasp the problem or craft effective
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solutions; for her, the situation ‘‘cries out’’ for melodrama. Check, however,
maintains that melodrama and the climate challenge are an uneasy fit: ‘‘(E)nvironmental advocates have struggled to frame climate change in melodramatic terms.
This is because there is no clear villain, the causes of climate change are diverse and
systemic, the consequences and threats are not immediate, it is not prone to a quick
solution, and the offending acts are tied to economic progress, one of the many god
terms of our age.’’ Of course, such obstacles are not unique to a melodramatic
framing; as Dilling and Moser (2007) observe, these are significant challenges to any
attempt to address climate change. ‘‘The inherent natural characteristics and deep
societal roots of climate change stack the deck against the issue being recognized as an
urgent and actionable problem’’ (p. 8).
Nonetheless, Check’s assertion about the apparent disconnect between melodrama
and climate change implies broader questions connected to the symbolic/material
problematic. Are particular rhetorical modes more appropriate than others for
addressing ecological challenges? Alternatively, to what extent do some rhetorical
modes have affinities with certain kinds of ecological problems? Recent scholarship
rooted in Kenneth Burke’s work suggests such symbolic/material affinities. For
example, Seigel (2004) claims that, ‘‘The comic frame is, essentially, an ecological
frame’’ (p. 394). She argues that ecological thought in the 1930s had a formative
influence on Burke’s early work, showing how the concept of ecological balance
grounds several arguments in Attitudes toward History and suggesting that Burke’s
‘‘comic corrective’’ flows directly from that concept. ‘‘Like ecology, the comic frame
serves as a corrective to imbalances caused by particular efficiencies’’ (p. 399). From a
different angle, Gregory Desilet (2006) contends that melodrama is inescapably
bound up with the notion of pollution. For Desilet, melodrama partakes of moral
traditions that conceptualize evil as pollution or ‘‘defilement of an original and
autonomous whole’’ (p. 96). In this view, melodrama’s rhetorical action identifies
pollution and removes it ‘‘through thorough sacrifice or destruction,’’ an ethical
concern of Desilet’s that is echoed in Walker’s response (p. 111). While Desilet’s
purpose is to illustrate melodrama’s contribution to violence in entertainment media,
for present purposes his analysis hints at one reason why melodrama is so prevalent
in rhetoric surrounding environmental pollution.
The strengths and weaknesses of Seigel and Desilet’s arguments cannot be fully
addressed here, but it would be worthwhile to sort through these apparent affinities
between the comic and ecological frames on the one hand, and between melodrama
and pollution on the other. For my own part, drawing too close a connection risks
perpetuating many of the same problems and assumptions identified above and in
my original essay: valorizing the comic frame apart from specific contexts, theorizing
rhetorical effects as necessary rather than contingent, and ignoring the corrective
possibilities of melodrama. The theoretical issue is not whether a particular rhetorical
mode is an ‘‘accurate’’ fit with specific ecological conditions. Rather, it is how certain
rhetorical choices articulate the material to the symbolic, constitute persuasive
patterns of meaning for diverse audiences, and offer possibilities for action.
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Asking those questions can help assess and invent practical strategies for addressing
climate change that are attuned to both natural and cultural systems. The range of
possibilities is broad. Peterson’s analysis, for example, leads her to identify the
material reality of the situation not as climate change, but as a very specific
configuration of nature/culture. ‘‘(T)he material reality is that a small group of
humans continues to engineer a policy that is destroying the earth as a habitat for
humanity and many other species.’’ From a different perspective, consider Ted
Nordhaus and Michael Shellenberger’s contention that environmental leaders have
mistakenly framed climate change as a ‘‘very big pollution problem’’ that they believe
entails culturally unpopular solutions of sacrifice and limits on economic growth
(Nordhaus & Schellenberger, 2007, p. 30). As advocates of all stripes work to craft
nature/culture dynamics in compelling ways, environmental communication scholars
certainly have resources that can inform their efforts.
No matter how one might engage the issues raised in my original essay and this
forum, I would encourage my colleagues to be mindful of the conclusion of Bsumek’s
essay. His hymn to kairos, both as a critical concept and a performative one, should be
sung more often. In addition to expanding our understanding of melodrama, we
should also seek to ‘‘expand the frontiers of language’’ in addressing the ecological
challenges that lie ahead.
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