Reaching the Public
By Dr. CHARLES HILL, M.P.
QU1TE early in the General Election campaign I formed the impression—and almost every canvasser made the point —that a high proportion of voters had made up their minds without waiting for the final burst of party propaganda. They declared their intentions simply, politely but quite firmly. This, of course, may have meant no more than that the Parlia- mentary propaganda of the parties had done its work. Anyway, the real task that remained was to make up the minds of the doubtfuls.
I have no doubt of the virtues of the " knocker." To be called upon by a pleasant, and not too discursive, canvasser, is, of itself, sufficient to sway the votes of some. " They took the trouble to call on me " expresses the reaction. Incidentally, it is rarely neces- sary for the canvasser to be equipped with a mass of statistical or other information. What is needed, above all, is a political attitude sincerely and obviously held. A good listener is a most effective 'canvasser.
Of the value of the poster and the public meeting I am less certain. Standing as a joint Liberal and Conservative candidate I preferred locally-designed posters to the national issue. One of their aims was to identify the candidate and to remind the electorate of his surname. Alas, even at a General Election a number of voters were found not to know the names of the candidates—a discovery which brought its own particular brand of humiliation. It seemed, too, that the locally-prepared hand-written poster stood out from the hoardings in a way that the mass-produced article did not ; it seemed alive.
The main usefulness of public meetings lies, I think, in kindling and strengthening the enthusiasm of supporters. I can never forget the melancholy remark of an unusually able Liberal candidate who failed seven times in succession, that, in each case, he had had well- attended and most enthusiastic meetings. I decided against an eve-of-the-poll meeting, believing that one's supporters could be more usefully employed. Our closing meeting was held on the penultimate night, and it was decided, I believe rightly, that on this occasion the candidate alone should speak, leaving abundant time for questions. At this meeting I spoke for rather more than an hour and answered forty-three questions. Even so, I suspect that the issue was already decided.
The loud-speaker, I am convinced, should be used sparingly and concentrated on announcements of meetings to be held on the same day, and a repetition of the candidate's name. No one is converted by a series of blasts. Of the broadcasting approach I have rather more experience, for this was the first ordinary elec- tion I have fought. The basis of broadcasting technique is ridicu- lously simple. There are no mysterious tricks to be learnt, and, although the microphone dislikes the high-pitched voice, there is little substance in the prevalent idea that one kind of voice is much more effective than another.
The first draft of a broadcast should be dictated, not written. Only in this way can one be sure that when the script is read it will bear a reasonable resemblance of the spoken word. For most people the most difficult kind of script is the carefully prepared and repeatedly revised literary essay ; the easiest script to handle is the uncomplicated—and even ungrammatical—series of simple sentences, laced with those parentheses which are so characteristic of conversation and argument.
The first dictation completed, the next step is to eliminate the wastage. Few people, apart from sub-editors, realise how easy it is to eliminate from a dictated script about twenty per cent. of its words without a loss of meaning or character. A second, though very obvious, point is that the ear cannot return to rehear a sentence. An important point needs to be made, and re-made, so as to leave no doubt in the listener's mind. Thirdly—and most important—the number of points which it is sought to make should be relatively few. In my five-minute weekly broadcasts I sought, as a rule, to make no more than two or three points, sometimes only one. Fourthly, every broadcaster must decide for himself his natural pace. When I began some fifteen years ago I spoke too slowly. This did not matter in itself, but unfortunately, in my case, the slow speech meant over-emphasis. I tended to thunder away at every sentence, important or unimportant. Almost by accident I hit on the solution of increasing the pace. On the assumption that the broadcast contains relatively few Important points, this increase of paCe enables one to lay emphasis in the important places, and, for the rest, to " throw away " the inter- mediate material.
Fifthly, it is important that the broadcaster should use the simplest language which is natural to him. This qualification of the broadcaster's natural style is important, for few things would be more inappropriate than a learned professor of philosophy inviting a fellow professor with whom he disagreed to " chuck it." As a Londoner, I tend to use the simpler terms of the Cockney ; the Lancastrian would rely on the magnificently expressive basic language of his own county. What is important is that there should be simplification, which does not amount to " taking down the hair " for the particular broadcaster.
Lastly, there is a point that it is not easy to put. The plain English of it is that the microphone is very sensitive to the insincere and the phoney. It gives away the broadcaster who is using someone else's material. It seems to detect the sentiment which is not genuinely felt, which is merely another way of saying that one should be one's natural self.
My political broadcast was my first experience of the kind. The danger, I felt, was that I might be overawed by the occasion, for I knew that I had to speak on politics as I would on potions. (Alliteration, alas, is the easiest of broadcasting tricks.) I made up my mind to follow the usual rules and to say what I honestly felt in the simplest language. I was not conscious of .iny particular trick of elocution, of any intention to raise the voice or to measure the pace. The main strain came from the fact that for years I have been accustomed to, and greatly prefer, the five-minute broadcast, and this one was timed to last eighteen and a-half.
I suspect that broadcasting is the most effective of all the ways of reaching the public, though whether the sustained stream of nightly political broadcasting during a General Election can escape the tedium which would destroy it I am doubtful.
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