“Delivery, delivery, delivery – delivery is everything.” – Cicero

* **

How would Cicero have handled this inquisition? Konkle, Whipple, Achebe, Hustis, Buttersowrth, Bartles, and Diamond. They are the Faculty Grievance Committee. I have affectionately nicknamed them the seven dwarves. Because either by nature or habit, each has a characteristic quirk, and they always stay true to character in these meetings. Konkle, for instance, is the Master of Ceremonies and the Disciplinarian. Bartles is the sardonic wisecracker. Achebe is the silent notetaker. And so on.

They stare at me from the hearing platform with slouched postures and stolen glances that display scorn and profound disinterest. In my Rhetoric class, we call this a “hostile audience”: an audience that seeks to steal the spotlight and ridicule the speaker.

Konkle says, “The accusation reads that Dorpenyo’s conduct demonstrates a ‘flagrant disregard of the standards, rules, or mission of the University.’ What is your response professor?”

What is my response? This is bullshit. But I can’t say that. I am not tenured. I do not enjoy the presumption of infallibility that attends initiation into the order. What I do know is that grading is not objective, no matter what rubric you use, but results are. Real-world application pits the student against the inherent subjectivity of their audience and demands a rigorous approach to the goal of writing or arguing for a purpose—something a professor-graded exam cannot simulate—not for all the gold in Babylon.

“My response is that Section 12(b)(xviii) of the Grading Rubric for entry-level 100-level courses states that the faculty will endeavor to implement ‘real-world practical skill development in testing protocols’. And that is exactly what I have done.”

“Mr. Dorpenyo, you are aware that professors are required to implement a grading rubric that puts all students on an even footing and objectively measures the teaching skill requirements of the course material.” Note the formal tone. The accusatory mood. The rhetorical and leading nature of the yes/no question that suggests an answer—that begs for agreement.

My mind drifts back to the decision that brought me to the precipice, where my career hangs in the balance of the judgments of this kangaroo court, now, for the second time.

Can I use my rhetorical skills to escape the hangman’s noose again?

* * *

Once a month, on the third Friday of the month, Melissa (whom the students call Ms. Brackney) and I would have a “Freaky Friday.” As the two Rhetoric professors of the 100-level courses, we would grade each other’s papers. We’d both be grading from our respective condominiums in the Iron Pier Apartments off Rensselaer Street in Syracuse.

It begins like any other Friday of the past five years. We are each drinking our favorite wine—in my case Kanonkop Pinot Noir from my native South Africa—in her case a Meiomi—while we comb through essays, or in this case, yawn—MLA-formatted research papers.

Just like any other Friday, I step out on the deck for an American Spirit cigarette and text Melissa that her student’s Rhetoric papers are dogshit. Intros are horrendous, I add. I’ve got my checklist: format, method, results, and discussion. But by the time I read the preliminary statement, the paper usually has found a home on the curve. Melissa texts me back, We can’t all be Cicero! She is hinting at the nickname I’ve been given by my debate team students. And this reminds me of the Roman documentary I have been watching about the Colosseum, with its stadium seating, and heroic life-and-death contests.

It happens in an instant. The crickets chirp by the thousands. A roar of stridulation. I imagine row after row of Roman subjects thundering in anticipation as the arena fills for the munera. The katydids with their shuffle, shake, and buzz become throngs of crying children, hollering merchants offering their wares, and stern armor-clad ushers directing the multitudes. The oaks and maples that border my property from a high ridge form a natural amphitheater. The walls of the Colosseum. And the green lawns and pool become the arena floor. I watch the shuffling shadows of bare winter trees shaking in the gale become gladiators locking swords and engaging in a battle to the death. I see the pageantry of the games, the spilling of blood, and the thrill of victory, of defeat, and of the roar of the masses.

The universe whispers to me. A flood of ideas. And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hits me. Rather than an exam, I will hold a set of games, and I will call it: “Bread and Circus – the War of Words.”

Feeling my oats, I tell Melissa to meet me down at The Preserve.

* * *

“You want to do what?” Melissa asks.

“A set of games, with a peer jury—a War of Words,” I say.

“I don’t know, Adom.”

“What is not to know? This will be great. I’ll handle it like a tournament. It’ll be groundbreaking.”

Melissa took a few sips of wine and signaled the waiter for a check.

“Just refill us both and bring us the check please,” she said.

“What’s your reservation?” I asked.

“Just that someone will complain. You know the days and times we are living in Adom. Anything progressive is very precarious.”

* * *

“Why do I give Cicero as an example of an effective orator? Judy.”

“Because he was an actual lawyer who used his oratory in real-world scenarios,” Judy said.

“Exactly. Cicero was only twenty-seven, not that much older than some of you are now when he secured an acquittal of Sextus Roscius—what a name—a man accused of murdering his father to receive an early inheritance.”

“But we aren’t studying to be lawyers, prof?”

“The point is, Cicero was a great lawyer, philosophical writer, and statesman. But we would have never heard of him, and he would have never done any of these things if he hadn’t used his skills at oratory effectively to make a name for himself. If he had not been effective.”

“Aren’t there other reasons a speaker might be effective besides objective merit,” Keith Chasteen asks.

“I don’t think there are Keith, not really,” I said. “Besides, Cicero was a man without prominent family ties, his effective use of oratory early in his career was literally the only thing to judge him on.”

I stepped up to the front of the room, pulled the lectern into the center, and then brought up two desks, and placed a chair behind each. Then I got out a whiteboard and placed it in the corner of the room, and I began to draw a tournament bracket diagram in red magic marker. I took out a goldfish bowl filled with folded papers and placed it on the lectern. And a second goldfish bowl filled with another set of folded papers.

“Folks,” I said, “I’ve decided that rather than final exams, we are going to try something different. We are going to have a War of Words. I’ve placed all of your names in the first bowl, and I’ve placed argument topics in the second. I will select the names of the contestants from the first bowl, and then I will select an argument topic from the second. You will go head to head. The first contestant arguing for the topic. The second contestant arguing against. Two minutes to state your case and one minute each for rebuttal. The first contestant can pass the baton and allow their opponent to go first, if they so choose. It is a double-elimination tournament with a winner’s bracket and a loser’s bracket. Everyone gets one point for a win, five points for a quarter-final win, and ten points for a final win. You’ll be graded on the curve based on points. Now as far as the arguments go, we will do a jury poll. You will be graded by your peers. You will have to gauge the arguments that will appeal to your audience. Got it?”

The first up were Judy Atkinson and Keith Chasteen. “The topic is Free Speech in Social Media. Judy, you will be arguing for unfettered free speech. Keith you will be arguing for censorship of posts that promote false narratives based on unproven facts. Judy, you’ve got two minutes on the clock.”

Judy started her argument, “From a logical standpoint, any limitations to free speech would give the forum—the Social Media Company—the role of a censor. Rationally, we know that human error is pronounced, bias is prevalent, and reasonable minds can differ with regard to their views and with regard to their interpretations of accepted evidence. This is the very reason why free speech, totally unfettered, is critical to an open and honest public debate. Moreover, we must allow those who are compelled by their private experience to stand on one side of a topic to argue from empathy, or else, the monitors of the facts would have complete control over the narrative, and speech would be nothing more than doublespeak and the repetition of research studies by academics that may be divorced from the everyday experience of the populace and/or which may be flawed due to the inherent biases of the researchers. Finally, it is right, even scientific to put views up to scrutiny and the crucible of contrary evidence which refutes its claims. If we begin limiting the acceptable debate to fact over opinion, we silence those who argue from experience rather than empirical research. Thus, it is right, even necessary, that we insist upon an unfettered right to free speech. In conclusion, any restrictions on free speech would make it impossible to have a vigorous public debate.”

“Keith, you are up.”

Keith started his argument, “Social Media platforms, if left unchecked, allow people to spread dangerous ideas like a virus. These toxic views are indistinguishable from news promulgated through peer-reviewed research or based on principles of journalistic rigor that insist upon sound sources and accepted methods. The public is not suited to sort the wheat from the chafe. Thus, from a logical viewpoint, if we value protecting the public from dangerous ideas, it stands to reason that we must place some restrictions on this type of speech. We have experience with false claims. Propaganda during World War II is a potent example. So, we can utilize our experiences with dangerous ideas, spread and passed off as truth, which we can apply in a contemporary context. Social Media hosts should be limited to utilizing tried and true methods for restricting harmful speech—and should be regulated by monitors who police their censorship—to ensure an even playing field. Without these ‘rules of the road’ bad actors could speed and behave in a reckless manner to arrive at a destination faster, gaining advantage over those who were not utilizing these sundry means. Censorship is not an invitation to suppress vigorous debate but applying a set of rules to ensure a fair and even playing field. It is right to place everyone’s arguments on the same footing and not to give license to peddlers of hate and conspiracy. Therefore, in conclusion, there is no such thing as free speech. All speech in the public forum, just like driving on a public road, runs the risk of harming those who consume that speech, and therefore, to have a safe roadway or a truly open public forum, we must agree upon a set of rules that ensures that everyone puts the interests of the community over their own private interests. Otherwise, we encourage harmful speech and give license to the idea that the end justifies the means.”

“Rebuttal,” I said.

Judy dove into her rebuttal, “Mr. Chasteen ignores the biases of the censor in applying a standard set of restrictions on speech. As we have seen in recent times, the censors impose their own political and social views to invalidate their opponent's beliefs. His argument is a non sequitur, and it equates ‘free speech’ with ‘harmful speech’ which is a false equivalence. It assumes without basis that the public is gullible and is incapable of being the censor or jury that judges speech on its merits—replacing them with a Big Brother—and then claims, without support, that this all-knowing censor possesses greater powers of discernment than the general public and some enhanced ability to judge fact from fiction. Upon closer scrutiny, these arguments fail. The only reasonable conclusion to be drawn is that free speech should reign!"

Keith dove into his rebuttal, saying, “The proponent’s arguments fail. They give short shrift to the harm of promulgating false narratives. For instance, if people were permitted to argue that covid-19 does not exist, a bald conspiracy theory, then this would promote non-compliance with government regulations to keep the public safe. Reasonable restrictions of speech stem from a need to protect the public. The proponent’s arguments for unfettered free speech assume that the public can differentiate between truth and falsehood. But they fail to address the public harm and even loss of life that will result if the public accepts fiction as truth, and therefore fail to adhere to reasonable regulations as a result of a misguided belief in a lie. In conclusion, the better route is to entrust a public body with regulating free speech restrictions, ensuring they are only utilized as a shield to protect the public and not a sword to promote personal biases. In private, people will still be free to argue whatever they feel is true, just like drivers can do as they please on a track, but when in the public forum, on Social Media, users should have to take the safety of their fellow users into account, or face consequences.”

“Thank you both,” and now it is up to you, “Class?”

* * *

Konkle said, “What is your defense against the allegations, Mr. Dorpenyo?”

“Bread and circus, Chairman,” I said.

“Excuse me,” Konkle said, running his hands through his mutton chop sideburns and fanned white beard.

“In Roman times, the term ‘bread and circus’ indicated that the public is looking for distraction and not meaning. Teaching our students in the abstract fails to engage. And ‘objective’ exams are low-hanging fruit, if by ‘objective’ you mean a multiple choice scantron where there is a right and wrong answer. Adults don’t live or die by right and wrong answers, but rather by applying concepts to accomplish a material end. Thus, if we can teach our students to apply skills rather than engage in rote memorization, we will better serve them to be good workers and good citizens—as well as critical thinkers—and aren’t those the very purposes and missions of our institution?”

“But, Mr. Dorpenyo,” Konkle said, with the other six dwarves looking on, “Isn’t it the case that students grading themselves may interject their own bias, friendships amongst class members, or turn the grading of the peers into a popularity contest? What check and balance is there to ensure that their views are right?”

“Well, Chairman, we can’t have it both ways, can we? Either Adam Smith was right, and the free hand of the market is a fair judge of value, or he was wrong, and it isn’t.”

“But how can we ensure that a real-world examination is not just—mob justice?”

“I leave that to you Chairman. But I would refute your claim that the students are unable to tell right from wrong, to tell good arguments from bad.”

“You refute that?”

“Certainly.”

“And why do you refute it?”

“Because, if our students have no discernment and we have to spoon-feed them through robotic standardized testing, we only have ourselves to blame.”

“How is that?”

“Well, by your math, Konkle, we’ve utterly failed in our mission.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you can’t have it both ways. Either our teaching methods are effective, and we’ve created freethinkers with discernment and a foundational liberal education that allows them to judge ideas on their merits. Or we’ve created a population of lemmings who are so easily fooled that we have to police their thoughts like caged animals in a zoo. If we treat them like dangerous animals looking out from caged cells, incapable of being left to their own devices, why would they trust our determinations? They will be ready to turn on us the second the cell doors are left open. The only hope of garnering their trust in us would be to place our trust back in them—that they’ve learned the lessons we’ve taught.”

“Isn’t that a circular argument, Mr. Dorpenyo, I mean you are the rhetorician.”

“Not at all, Mr. Chairman. Not at all. It is an example of judging the judge by the same standard as the accused. To condemn my methods is to find that every member of this panel, including yourself, has failed as an educator. And I don’t think you want to pass that judgment on yourselves. So, if there’s nothing else, I have exams to administer. The War of Words is going very well.”

“Bread and circus?” Konkle asked.

“Bread and circus,” I said.