The Grim Reaper, the ominous, cloak-adorning, scythe-wielding figure has a long history beginning in the Hebrew Bible (Guthke, 1999, p. 11) and consistently appears in religious and philosophical texts. This association of the figure of the Grim Reaper with religious discourses can be found in more recent historical texts as well. The Circle of Human Life, for instance, first published in 1841, is a theological treatise that mentions the Reaper. From this writing, the reader learns that the Grim Reaper appears at the moment of death, although not to judge one’s soul. It does not decide whether that soul goes to heaven or hell; its presence merely designates that one’s soul is bound for judgment by God (Tholuck, 1841, p. 11). The Grim Reaper, then, is inherently a theological figure, entwined with the notion of religious judgment.
Fast forward almost two hundred years to 1987, when the familiar skeletal figure bowled its way onto Australian television screens in the now infamous Grim Reaper AIDS PSA. The ad depicts the Reaper (a metaphorical representation of the AIDS virus) throwing giant bowling balls at innocent Australian children and adults, effectively using them as bowling pins. While the PSA was effective in getting Australians to get tested for HIV (Stylianou, 2010, pp. 11-12), the metaphor was not without its problems. For example, as David Menadue, an author that tested positive for HIV in 1984, has said with respect to the ad: “At the time, it was incredibly scary, particularly for positive people. Like, we felt we were the Grim Reaper bowling the balls and that poor little girl in the pigtails, in many ways, was not the real target of the campaign” (Cited in Padula, 2006, p. 4). Though the PSA did not intend to invoke this meaning, the metaphor of the Reaper came loaded with religious associations that nonetheless enabled otherizing discourses.
Here, I argue that the Grim Reaper PSA uses a parabolic fear appeal, a fear appeal that plays off a specific parable, or a story that includes an extended metaphor (Coats, 1981, p. 370). Parables use “the moral of the fable as a point of provoking judgement [sic] ... The point of the storytelling process is to elicit judgment from the audience” (p. 377). In this essay, I will briefly review the literature on metaphor, distinguishing parabolic fear appeal from other sorts of metaphors in the context of public health and HIV/AIDS in the 1980s. Following this, I will carry out an analysis informed by parabolic fear appeals that demonstrates how the ad worked to frighten people, but not simply by expressing the threat of HIV as a pathogen. By applying a theological figure to HIV/AIDS, the ad also resonated with conservative discourses, encouraging the conflation of homophobic sentiments with evaluations of public health risk.
Figure 1: An image of Brockhampton performing (Image Credit: Kevin Winter/Getty)
Introduction to Counterpublics
In her influential article “Rethinking the Public Sphere: A Contribution to the Critique of Actually Existing Democracy,” Nancy Fraser (1990) identifies what she refers to as subaltern counterpublics. She defines these groups as “discursive arenas where members of subordinated social groups invent and circulate counterdiscourses, which in turn permit them to formulate oppositional interpretations of their identities, interests, and needs” (p. 67). Fraser encourages her readers to understand late-twentieth century U.S. feminists as a prime example of a subaltern counterpublic.
Approximately a decade after Fraser’s defining article, Michael Warner (2002) challenged her conceptualization of counterpublics. Warner questions whether Fraser is really discussing counterpublics or simply subpublics. He writes, “Fraser here names an important phenomenon. But what makes such public ‘counter’ or ‘oppositional’? Is its oppositional character a function of its content alone—that is, its claim to be oppositional? In that case, we might simply call it a subpublic” (2002, p. 85). Warner argues that counterpublics are more than groups who present oppositional claims or offer reform programs. Counterpublics present a deeper level of opposition; they challenge the dominant life worlds within which claims function. Warner (2002) writes:
A counterpublic maintains at some level, conscious or not, an awareness of its subordinate status. The cultural horizon against which it marks itself off is not just a general or wider public, but a dominant one. And the conflict extends not just to ideas or policy questions, but to the speech genres and modes of address that constitute the public and to the hierarchy among media. (p. 86)
In Warner’s conceptualization of counterpublics, two important attributes emerge. First, for a collective to be considered a counterpublic, it must be oppositional to both the claims of dominant publics and from the cultural horizons within which those publics operate. Secondly, counterpublics must also function outside of the traditional genres and modes of address used by dominant publics. With these key elements of counterpublics in mind, I propose that the Hip-Hop collective Brockhampton functions as a counterpublic to traditional boybands. Brockhampton presents a challenge to the life worlds boybands embody, most centrally their positioning of white heteronormativity as the standard for perfection. Furthermore, Brockhampton uses non-traditional modes of communication that break away from the hierarchy of mainstream media. A prime example of this is their use of spectacle in music videos and song lyrics.
Moving beyond Brockhampton’s role as a counterpublic, I also examine the ethical obligations counterpublics have to address how they may embody and perpetuate the life worlds they actively challenge. Drawing upon Gwendolyn Pough’s (2004) discussion of the contradictory positions Hip-Hop artists often occupy, I argue that even as admitting and addressing contradiction is especially risky for counterpublics, it serves their best interest in the end.
This article reports the results of semi-structured interviews with 19 technical communication professionals in New Zealand and Australia. Findings show that many of these workers are self-taught, and their most important skills are making ethical considerations, adapting to work environments, explaining and expanding their value in workplaces, creating writing communities, and developing TPC work techniques. Technical communicators in New Zealand and Australia face many challenges, which might be addressed through more opportunities for formal education and training.
Introduction
As the field of technical communication becomes increasingly globalized, the need for further understanding among cultures and regions engaged in the field increases. As a class of undergraduate technical and professional communication (TPC) students, we engaged in research to increase knowledge of TPC methods and technical communicator experiences in Australia and New Zealand through qualitative interviews. Babcock and Du-Babcock argue for the importance of such research, writing, “[i]n an increasingly fast-paced, interrelated, and expanding globalized business communication environment ... differing cultural exposures (direct and indirect), information exchange possibilities, and communication dynamics are activated in an ever-widening variety of communication situations” (p. 373).
Based on our research of TPC workplace situations in New Zealand and Australia, we found that Kiwi (New Zealand) and Aussie (Australian) technical communicators come from diverse educational backgrounds and therefore become experienced through self-teaching to produce documents, all while following ethical, moral, and professional paths to creating their own niche. The technical communicators we interviewed have expertise based on their self-directed professional development in the workplace. They develop their skills through engaging in ethical considerations, adapting to work environments, advocating for their value, creating and finding communities of writers, and developing a variety of work techniques relevant to TPC.
Research can be defined as the methodical study or analysis of a question in order to gain a better understanding and derive new conclusions. Conducting research, therefore, is the backbone of science and drives advancement in all disciplines. Because of this, a scientist's career is often defined by the research they do and how they are able to better humanity’s understanding of the world around us. Just as research can advance a scientist’s career, for those undergraduate students wishing to become scientists, figuring out how to access research opportunities early on in a college education can help to introduce the individual to the scientific community at an earlier stage than their peers.
For science students, access to undergraduate research has a direct and significant impact on a student’s education. In terms of academic success, “results from a series of multiple regression analyses demonstrate that research involvement is associated with higher undergraduate GPA” (Sell, Naginey, & Stanton, 2018, p.19). Additionally, research has shown that students also benefit in the form of “the growth of self-confidence, independence of work and thought, and a sense of accomplishment” (Lopatto, 2010, p.27). The results of a national survey conducted by Landrum & Nelson (2002) found that generally, the benefits of undergraduate research for students falls into two major categories: interpersonal benefits and increases in overall technical skills. Interpersonal benefits include “teamwork, leadership and time-management skills, self-confidence, and interpersonal communication skills” while technical skills included a variety of discipline-specific “skills [that are] important for graduate school preparedness” (Landrum & Nelson, 2002, p. 16). Another study found that students also reported “increased career clarification [and a] better understanding of whether or not they wished to pursue a research career or attend graduate school” (Laursen, Seymour, & Hunter, 2012, p. 34). For students, these benefits are highly influential and have the ability to change the trajectory of their academic careers and resultingly, their lives.
The influential undergraduate research experience would be impossible without the key role of the research advisor. In fact, the research advisor often determines whether or not a student will gain access to research in the first place and can additionally act as a mentor for a student. Unfortunately, however, the priorities of the research university and the scientific community in general can negatively impact the research advisor/student relationship. It is important to note that research universities have historically prioritized the production of knowledge; the first U.S. universities that required faculty members to take part in research arose in the aftermath of the Civil War and were modeled after German research universities once they were seen to benefit Germany’s industry (Atkinson & Blanpied, 2008). The prioritization of the production of knowledge still pervades today as research professors are often required to publish scholarship and issues like tenure and research funding are often based on the relevancy of research to industry or university prestige (Atkinson & Blanpied, 2008). Additionally, strong communication skills are often valued by the scientific community due to the interdisciplinary nature of science and scientific writing. In her book The Forgotten Tribe: Scientists as Writers, Lisa Emerson (2016) argues that scientists are some of the most flexible communicators because unlike some disciplines, science requires collaboration and communication with a wide range of audiences, including industry, scientific peers from a variety of fields, and an assortment of different public audiences.
We can see the manifestation of these priorities and their effects on the research advisor-student relationship when examining how faculty regards research. One study found that for faculty, there are a variety of costs and benefits associated with undergraduate research that can be seen in Figure 1. Most benefits were emotional, including satisfaction and pride in student success, while some of the costs were more tangible including “inexperience and turnover of student lab workers” as well as “undergraduates’ slow pace and variable output sometimes compromis[ing] their productivity” (Laursen et al., 2012, p.35). Faculty also reported situational stresses associated with student research, specifically concerning institutional policies that make research a requirement for graduation. Faculty reported that they “felt pressured to accept ‘weaker’ students” when research was required (Laursen et al., 2012, p.36). This suggests that professors and students have strikingly different views about student research: for students, research is the key to success; for professors, research is, at best, emotionally rewarding and at worst a burden. This sets up a polarizing power dynamic that influences how students and professors engage in discourse and poses some challenges for the scientific community as to what conducting student research should look like.
Figure 1: Cost and Benefits to Faculty of Conducting Research with Undergraduates (Laursen, Seymour, & Hunter, 2012).
The priorities of the research university and this polarizing power dynamic unfortunately has the potential to affect the equity of student access to undergraduate research. Equity can be defined as equality of opportunity and is recognized by the Association of American Colleges and Universities (AAC&U) as one of the core principles of what the organization calls “Inclusive Excellence.” It was my belief that despite this emphasis on equity and inclusiveness, access to undergraduate research at my university (a member of the AAC&U) had the potential to be inequitable. Because the research advisor has to worry about issues of research funding, publication quotas, and how their research could impact their standing within the university, it is likely that research advisors actively search for students who could help them achieve these goals (e.g. “stronger” students). This could be detrimental to students who are reliant on the research advisor to allow them access into the research space because what counts as “strength” is likely influenced by the research advisor’s implicit bias.
While there are many studies looking at the benefits of student research for both faculty and students (e.g. Landrum & Nelson, Laursen et. al., Lopatto & Sell et. al., ), there is a gap in literature in regard to equity in accessibility to undergraduate scientific research opportunities (accessibility in this context being the opportunity to partake in undergraduate scientific research). With the understanding that student research is a valuable experience for students and a gateway into the scientific community and the context of what the research university values, I will be looking at how my university, as a school that advertises an emphasis on undergraduate research, influences how students can access research and how professors provide opportunities for student research.
The Westinghouse Memorial is a monument to George Westinghouse, a Pittsburgh-based engineer who was one of the city’s icons at the peak of its industrial past. The memorial, erected in 1930 and restored in 2016, is placed in Schenley Park, bordered by the built environment of the city. Drawing upon scholarship of spatial rhetoric, urban communication, bioregionalism, and public memory, this investigation analyzes how different aspects of the memorial function rhetorically within the changing narratives of the city, both in the early 20th and 21st centuries. In the early 20th century, the natural beauty of the memorial served as an escape from the pollution of an industrializing city, while its built elements and celebration of Westinghouse as an emblem of industry’s excellence argued for the continued value of industrial progress. In the 21st century, the nature-culture integration and rebranding of Westinghouse as a beacon of creativity speak to the sustainable, green-city narrative of a post-industrial Pittsburgh. Additionally, this analysis of the Westinghouse Memorial’s rhetorical appeals demonstrates how the efficacy of Pittsburgh’s chosen narrative at any point in time is necessarily limited by how accessible such appeals are to the city’s working class.
Introduction
In the early 20th century, Pittsburgh Pennsylvania’s landscape, appearance, and economy were deeply affected by its steel, iron, coal, and glass industries. Therefore, titans of industry such as George Westinghouse, a Pittsburgh based engineer responsible for pivotal advancements in transportation and electricity, were the city’s iconic figures of the time. Westinghouse in particular founded several companies, obtained innumerable patents, and had famously good relations with his workers. In fact, he was so beloved by his employees that after his death, they pooled their resources to personally fund his memorial (Skrabec 2). In 1926, twelve years after his death, the Pittsburgh City Council decided that the memorial would be built in Schenley Park. After hiring architects Henry Hornbostel and Eric Fisher Wood to design the memorial and sculptors Daniel Chester French, Paul Fjelde, and Massaniello Piccirilli to create the sculptures, the city began the monument’s three year construction. On October 6, 1930, it was unveiled in Schenley Park, to a crowd of 15,000. (“The Memorial Story”). The Westinghouse Memorial remains there today for visitors to admire as they amble through the park.
The memorial consists of landscaping, architectural, and sculpted elements. Foliage is planted alongside two side paths leading to a lily pond surrounded by a Norwegian granite path and Phipps Run stream. At the front of the lily pond are three panels standing in a semicircle faced by a bronze statue of a boy standing on a pedestal which itself stands on a granite peninsula jutting into the pond. A small granite wall stands on the perimeter of the peninsula, intended to make the boy appear as though he is standing at the prow of a boat. Behind the boy is a granite bench. The boy, formally titled The Spirit of American Youth, marvels at each of Westinghouse’s industrial achievements as depicted on the two side panels in front of him, explained on plaques underneath. The center panel features a medallion sculpture of Westinghouse, flanked by a mechanic on one side and an engineer on the other. Underneath these figures is an inscription identifying them as well as a plaque depicting an engraving of the first air brake system, invented by the industrial giant himself.
Figure 1: Westinghouse Memorial and Pond From Pittsburgh Parks Conservancy [Photograph], 2020, (https://www.pittsburghparks.org/projects/westinghouse-memorial)
As a space, given its physical and historical context, the Westinghouse Memorial is an intriguing artifact for rhetorical study. Though it is a celebration of industry, it is nestled within the natural environment of a park, a space which is experienced quite differently than its surroundings are. Just a short distance from the natural oasis of the memorial are both Carnegie Mellon University’s campus and Pittsburgh’s Oakland neighborhood, two spaces which feel unmistakably man-made. These notable differences between the park and its surroundings were especially pronounced in the early 20th century when the built environment of the city was characterized by pollution and cramped living spaces. For Pittsburghers of this era, the Westinghouse Memorial memorialized not just Westinghouse, but an experience of nature they had long since lost access to in an industrialized city.1 However, the rhetorical function of the memorial today is much different than it was then.
In this article, I explore how the Westinghouse Memorial has served a dynamic rhetorical purpose for Pittsburgh over the years, positioning itself within shifting narratives of the city’s identity. To do this, I examine how it reflected the city’s aspirational image at its unveiling in 1930 and then again in 2016 after its most recent restoration. In the context of its origins, I use comments about the memorial from the press and from important city figures at its unveiling to situate the memorial within the broader rhetorical project promoting Pittsburgh’s image as an industrial powerhouse which was occurring at the time. I also consider the challenges inherent in valorizing industry given the emotional toll Pittsburgh’s rapid industrial growth had on Pittsburgh’s working class. In order to explain how choices regarding the memorial’s design and subject matter might have served to mitigate these challenges, I apply scholarship of the bioregional movement to discuss how the natural beauty of the memorial might have promoted affiliation with rather than alienation from the space of the city. In a similar way, I consider how George Westinghouse’s reputation as an enlightened employer might have promoted similar affiliation with an industrial city.
In the context of the 2016 restoration, I address how the memorial has evolved to fit the narrative of a transformed post-industrial city. I consider how changes to the memorial’s design following the restoration as well as press coverage of the event serve as evidence of the memorial’s new focus on creativity and nature’s integration with the urban landscape rather than on industry and seclusion from the city. In both contexts, I also briefly discuss the consequences of the changing narratives of the city by evaluating how accessible each is to the experience of Pittsburgh’s working class. My exploration of the Westinghouse Memorial’s unveiling and its restoration contributes to scholarship of the rhetorics of public memory, space and place, and urban design by providing a case study of a distinctive memory place deeply tied to two different rhetorical constructions of Pittsburgh over time. Furthermore, by offering a bioregional interpretation of how natural spaces come to be rhetorically appealing, this study expands on the rhetorical space and place scholarship that specifically focuses on spaces lying at the intersection of man and nature.
[1] In the early 20th century, a large proportion of Pittsburgh’s population was composed of immigrant millworkers, primarily from Italy and Poland (Faires 10). These workers came from primarily agricultural regions (Sister Lucille). The urban industrial landscape of 20th century Pittsburgh would have been a novel experience to immigrants who for the first time had little access to nature.
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