After the United States’ recent air strike on Iran, President Trump bragged that the attack “was very, very successful. It was called obliteration. No other military on Earth could have done it.” In response to reports that terms like “obliteration” may be an exaggerated assessment of the damage done, Trump said, “I don’t want to use an example of Hiroshima, I don’t want to use an example of Nagasaki, but that was essentially the same thing – that ended a war.” This response isn’t just another Trumpism; it’s the rhetorical tactic of paralipsis.
The term “paralipsis” denotes the rhetorical tactic of offhanded commentary, “stating and drawing attention to something in the very act of pretending to pass it over.” This is a loophole to the motherly advice, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” You can insist that you won’t say that un-nice thing, and in doing so, say it.
Trump’s paraliptic statement did not help him elude animosity; the people of Japan were not happy with it. Many Japanese people called for Trump to retract it, insisting that a comparison to Hiroshima and Nagasaki was insensitive, especially to survivors of the nuclear attacks and current residents of those cities. Retract what, though? In a way, Trump gives himself a kind of plausible deniability; he can say he didn’t really make the claim. In fact, he explicitly said that he wouldn’t say it. Paralipsis, ladies and gentlemen!
This is not an endorsement for or against Trump or this particular airstrike. I just noticed that one of my favorite rhetorical tropes was used on a big stage by the leader of the free world. This is by no means Trump’s only use of paralipsis; he’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. However, my point is that paralipsis, an ancient Greek term for “leave to the side,” has, by no means, been left to the side. It is prominent, and I’d like it to be more so.
Why do I hope paralipsis acquires significant salience in American parlance? Because this kind of ironic statement can lend some levity to otherwise serious situations. The former President, Ronald Reagan, did just that, and on more than one occasion. One time, when a journalist asked Reagan about rumors that then Democratic candidate Michael Dukakis at one time sought psychological help, he answered, “Look, I'm not going to pick on an invalid." Reagan would later apologize for the statement, but he acknowledged the rumor as credible while insisting he would never do such a thing.
Perhaps Reagan’s most masterful use of paralipsis happened during his 1984 Presidential candidate debate with Walter Mondale, where he said, “I will not make age an issue of this campaign. I am not going to exploit, for political purposes, my opponent’s youth and inexperience.” This is meaningful on various levels. Before the debate, Reagan’s age was said to be a concern—was he too old to lead? Thus, through paralipsis Reagan identifies the elephant in the room (his fitness to serve), compliments himself, reverses the insinuation onto Mondale, and gets a laugh all at once.
But, to be clear, paralipsis can be used for more than an ironic form of slander. It can be used for praise as well, a polite paralipsis. As it turns out, real-life examples of this more congenial usage have proven difficult to find. But I won’t harp on how the lack of polite paralipsis in American politics strongly implies an inherent political incivility in this country. There’s no need to point that out in this essay.
Erec, thanks for this post - I learned something new! I like the suggestion that paralipsis could be a way to add some levity to tough conversations. Also, nice use of it at the end of the post.