Rhetoric and Race in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)

Introduction: Film as Rhetorical Artifact

The 1962 film To Kill a Mockingbird offers an ideal artifact for narrative and rhetorical criticism, because so much of the film's meaning is found in its dialogue and narration. Adapted from Harper Lee's 1960 novel of the same name, To Kill a Mockingbird follows the story of Jean Louise "Scout" Finch (Mary Badham), her brother Jem (Phillip Alford), and their father Atticus (Gregory Peck), as they confront the racism and bigotry that comes to light during the trial of a Black man accused of raping a white teenage girl in the 1930s. The film contains a number of significant speeches that, when analyzed through rhetorical criticism, can shed light on the unique role of rhetoric in film — especially as it pertains to the use of visual details, something which has not been a major object of study in rhetorical theory until relatively recently.

In particular, examining Scout's address to Mr. Cunningham — a member of a mob intent on lynching the accused man, Tom Robinson — and Atticus's defense of Tom reveals how the film uses both major and minor events, otherwise known as kernels and satellites, in order to achieve its objective aim. That aim is to uncover and critique the underlying emotions and behaviors that contribute to racism, bigotry, and mob violence, as well as to demonstrate the diminishing efficacy of traditional interpretations of rhetoric (Rhetorical Criticism 342).

Though a richly textured work, the objective of To Kill a Mockingbird is readily evident even upon a cursory consideration of the narrative, because this objective is reiterated throughout — both in the central plot of the trial and its aftermath, and in Scout and Jem's interactions with Boo Radley, the town recluse. Both plots focus on the detrimental effects that ill-informed assumptions have not only on the victims of those assumptions, but also on the individuals who hold them, and serve to achieve the film's objective by implicitly and explicitly revealing the underlying emotions and behaviors that precipitate and perpetuate these assumptions. Furthermore, the different rhetorical modes employed by Scout and Atticus serve to demonstrate how traditional forms of rhetoric, embodied by Atticus, are nearly useless in the face of an illogical, immoral mob. In order to better understand how explicit the film's objective is, it will be helpful to consider its immediate historical context as well as the resonance it retains for contemporary society.

Historical Context and Civil Rights

One cannot consider To Kill a Mockingbird outside the context of the American Civil Rights movement, because by 1962 many of the key milestones in that movement had already occurred. The 1954 Supreme Court decision in Brown v. Board of Education marked the official — though not actual — end of segregation in public schools. In 1955, Rosa Parks's refusal to give up her seat initiated the Montgomery bus boycott, and in 1960 — the same year of the novel's publication and two years before the film — the Freedom Riders risked their lives to test the Supreme Court decision ordering the end of segregation on interstate buses. Two years after the film's release, in 1964, the United States Congress passed the Civil Rights Act, officially ending segregation in a number of public institutions and accommodations, including hotels and restaurants.

Though the film has been criticized for centralizing the white family's story at the expense of the Black characters — thereby offering white viewers "the opportunity to stand in the shoes not of an individual African American person/character, but of the African American 'race' itself, thereby leaving intact notions of race as a legible sign of essential grouping 'difference'" — the fact remains that the story of a white man defending an unjustly accused Black man in the American South touched upon many of the most contentious cultural and political issues of its time (Watson 420–421).

While one may accept Watson and others' argument that "the film operates as a message for white, politically moderate audiences," this does not necessarily undercut the importance of the film in relation to the Civil Rights movement. In many instances, such as the Freedom Rides, white supporters of Black civil rights were singled out for extra harassment due to the perceived racial betrayal they were seen to be committing (Watson 420, Holcomb 35). This observation should not be taken as an attempt to present an equivalence between the difficulties faced by white supporters of Black civil rights and the centuries-long oppression of Black Americans, but rather as a recognition that even if To Kill a Mockingbird is intended for a primarily white audience, the story at least attempts to dramatize and sympathize with white supporters of Black civil rights, and in doing so takes a clear position in the ongoing political and cultural discourse of its time. Thus, while the film may present "a visual experience of an American progressive compromise in which 'white' can empathetically know 'black' without weakening a racial ideology that depends upon maintaining an essential, impenetrable difference between the two," it nevertheless served as "a political act, which, ideally, made the spectators more receptive to civil rights reforms or, at least, more racially tolerant" (Nickels 31 qtd. in Watson 421).

Despite the film's somewhat problematic relationship with racial ideology, it retains a deep resonance to this day due to the way it investigates the underlying, almost primal cognitive and behavioral tendencies that ultimately lead to racism, bigotry, and mob violence — regardless of whether that mob is a literal mob or jury, as in the film, or a mob of physically distant yet like-minded individuals. While the ostensible subject of the film is racial injustice, the statements it makes about the way people think and behave are relevant today because, while the specific issues may have changed, human behavior and thought has not evolved substantially in the subsequent fifty years. As will be seen, the rhetorical devices employed by both Scout and Atticus apply to contemporary discussions regarding the rights of gay and lesbian people, Muslims, and African Americans, because although the specific context of their rhetoric is focused around racial divides, the emotions and behaviors they target are common to all forms of bigotry and discrimination. Thus, the central question this study seeks to answer does not relate specifically to the racial discourses of the film, but rather concerns the way in which the film addresses more fundamental problems of human interaction and socialization, and how it uses rhetoric ostensibly focused on specific narrative events to confront more general challenges.

Setting, Characters, and Narrative Structure

The film takes place in the fictional town of Maycomb, Alabama, during the 1930s, loosely based on Harper Lee's own hometown of Monroeville. The story is narrated in the past tense by an older Scout Finch, and begins with her describing Maycomb as "a tired old town, even in 1932" (Foote 3). However, the older Scout plays a relatively minor role, as the film backgrounds her narration in favor of directly showing events, thereby transferring the narrator's usual "degree of authority" from the older Scout to the younger version seen throughout the film (Grindon 262). Though the exact size of the town is never made explicit, it is clearly small enough that the majority of characters know one another. Though set specifically in Alabama, Maycomb serves in many ways as the kind of idealized small town common in American fiction — like Bedford Falls in It's a Wonderful Life or Grover's Corners in Our Town. Although both of those stories occur in the American Northeast, the film's representation of Maycomb, despite including decidedly Southern details such as the heat making "men's stiff collars [wilt] by nine in the morning," presents itself as a kind of Anytown, USA (Foote 3). The film even opens with a man delivering newspapers to front porches — a common signifier of small-town mundanity. This initial treatment of the setting serves the film's larger objective by generalizing the events to come, such that the deeper meaning of the film transcends the geographically specific limits of Maycomb itself.

The story mainly concerns itself with Scout Finch, her brother Jem, and their father Atticus, though there are other relatively minor characters who serve important narrative functions. Although the story is told by Scout and thus centralizes her perspective, one cannot effectively consider the characters of Scout or Jem without first addressing Atticus, because it is clear that both children take their cues from his example. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Atticus is the fact that he has his children call him by his first name, rather than any of the traditional epithets for a father. In itself this is already a relatively progressive position, because it implicitly reconfigures the relationship between parent and child such that the children are granted a kind of authority and legitimacy not common even in contemporary society. By allowing his children to address him by his first name, Atticus is dismantling one of the many traditions that serve to reinforce and perpetuate conventions that ultimately delegitimize the experience and perspective of certain people. This also forces the viewer to take Scout's recollections and narration more seriously: although they are the memories of a relatively young child, the viewer cannot help but treat them with greater respect in recognition of the respect that Atticus — the most idealized character in the film — grants them.

Taking their cue from Atticus, Scout and Jem are respectful and relatively well-behaved, but are never hesitant to question or challenge attitudes and behaviors that they perceive as unjust or unjustified. Particularly in the case of Scout, they are especially sensitive to behaviors that hypocritically contradict the ostensible moral standards of society. It is worth noting that "the film shifts perspectives from the book's primary concern with the female protagonist and her perceptions to the male father figure and the adult male world"; nevertheless, Scout's status as a female is an important part of her role in the film, as will become clear when considering her address to Mr. Cunningham (Shackelford 102). Examining that same scene will also reveal the specific importance of Jem's role as a male child, because even the relationship between Scout and Jem challenges dominant notions of gender roles.

In addition to the three main characters, two relatively minor characters play important roles by serving as objects of undue discrimination and scorn. As noted above, the character of Tom Robinson is not nearly as fully developed as the white characters, but he is nevertheless crucial to the story, as the overall plot revolves around his fate. In particular, Tom's testimony during his trial serves to reveal the feelings of resentment and superiority held by the white jury when he says that he felt "right sorry for" Mayella Ewell. The prosecution presses him on this point in a condescending, indignant manner, and it is clear from the crowd's reaction that this statement has sealed his fate. In addition to Tom, the character of Arthur "Boo" Radley is an object of undue scorn due to his being a recluse, and in some ways represents the potential for previously maligned individuals and groups to demonstrate their humanity and worth when given the chance. Though one might reasonably take issue with the fact that the white character is granted the opportunity to "redeem" himself while the Black character is killed in a somewhat dubiously characterized "escape attempt," the characters of Tom Robinson and Boo Radley must nevertheless be considered thematically related elements within the film's overall objective.

The central kernel of the story is Tom Robinson's trial, because this event serves as the orienting point for the entire plot. This kernel is developed by the satellite events that occur throughout the story. In order to better understand how the central kernel is developed by these satellites, it will be useful to focus on two particular instances of rhetoric: Scout's address to Mr. Cunningham, and Atticus's closing arguments in Tom's trial. Scout's address to Mr. Cunningham is part of a relatively minor event in the story, but it serves to flesh out both the major event of the trial and the film's overall objective by directly addressing the phenomenon of mob action, and specifically mob violence.

Scout's Address to Mr. Cunningham: Invitational Rhetoric

After Tom has been arrested for the rape of Mayella, Atticus decides to stand watch outside the jail in an attempt to ensure that Tom is allowed a trial. A group of men arrives intent on lynching Tom. Although their intention is never stated explicitly — in a manner common to Horton Foote's work — the relatively sparse dialogue allows the viewer to imagine the mob's malicious intent by "portraying the reaction of lead characters to tragic happenings" (Edgerton 11). As the mob advances on Atticus, Mr. Cunningham says, "You know what we want. Get aside from that door, Mr. Finch," and it is clear that they intend to murder Tom right then and there (Foote 49). Atticus attempts to dissuade the men with little success, until Scout, Jem, and their friend Dill run up to him after spying from the bushes.

Atticus tells the children to leave, and after Jem respectfully refuses, one of the men attempts to carry him off. Scout immediately jumps to her brother's defense and starts kicking the man in the leg until Atticus pulls them both onto the porch of the jail. At this point it is worth discussing the visual imagery of the scene, because it is relevant to the rhetorical force of Scout's subsequent speech. Sonja K. Foss's 1994 essay "A Rhetorical Schema for the Evaluation of Visual Imagery" will offer some assistance in this regard. As Valeria Peterson notes, "the history of visual images and elements in rhetorical scholarship in the U.S. is relatively short and thin," due to the fact that for much of human history, speech and writing were the primary — and sometimes only — recorded artifacts that could be analyzed. However, since the gradual ascendance of film, "the balance of power between words and images has shifted" (Peterson 19, 20). Rather than presenting a problem for rhetorical theory, this shift has merely forced theoreticians to expand the scope of rhetorical theory to include those non-speech elements that nevertheless play a part in any given rhetorical artifact.

In her essay, Foss argues that "judgments of quality about visual imagery [in terms of rhetoric] be made in terms of the function of an image," because in order to understand the rhetorical effect of an image, one must consider that function — irrespective of purpose or intention — in light of "how well that function is communicated," as well as "its legitimacy or soundness, determined by the implications and consequences of the function" ("Rhetorical schema" 215–216). In this case, one may consider the function of this particular moment's mise-en-scène to be the literal and figurative elevation of Atticus and Scout above the mob of men. The scene opens with Atticus sitting on the jail porch, bathed in light, as the dark cars of the mob pull up in front of him. Later, Atticus and the children stand on the porch above the mob of men, occupying the literal and figurative high ground. The function is clearly communicated because the scene relies upon common visual tropes regarding morality, such as light versus darkness and high versus low, and this visual function can be considered legitimate based on the substance of Scout's speech.

As Atticus attempts to convince Jem to leave, Scout recognizes Mr. Cunningham and addresses him directly. When he attempts to avoid her gaze, she presses him, reminding him that he brought them hickory nuts and that she knows his son, Walter Cunningham, Jr. She goes on to comfort him regarding the problem he has with an entailment on his land, and in doing so, ultimately disperses the mob. The importance of this scene for the film's overall objective lies in the way Scout manages to dissolve the mob mentality of the men by addressing Mr. Cunningham as an individual on individual terms. Mr. Cunningham, and the rest of the mob, are only able to confront Atticus and continue on to their murderous goal so long as their individual identities are subsumed by the mob. Scout's address to Mr. Cunningham disrupts this subsumption by appealing to him on a personal level. Recognizing this is crucial for understanding the role of rhetoric in the film and its application to the contemporary world, because it is an instance of rhetoric "built on the principles of equality, immanent value, and self-determination rather than on the attempt to control others through persuasive strategies designed to effect change" (Foss & Griffin 4–5 qtd. in Murray 333–334). Scout's rhetoric is not aimed at dissuading the mob, and indeed it is not clear that Scout fully realizes their intentions beyond the fact that they present a threat to her father. Instead, she is simply appealing to Mr. Cunningham as an individual by reminding him of his own personal experiences, and in doing so she manages to make him reevaluate his actions.

This mode of rhetoric is particularly relevant today, when the anonymity offered by the internet allows individuals to subsume themselves into groups of like-minded people and perpetuate bigoted ideas that they would otherwise be reluctant to express or publicly support. By reaffirming the individuality of Mr. Cunningham in the midst of the mob, Scout provides him a means of escape from the overriding ideology that has thus far dictated his actions in the film. Understanding how Scout's rhetoric functions allows one to better understand a number of recent developments in contemporary culture — from the "It Gets Better" videos aimed at gay, lesbian, and transgender youth, to the harsh backlash that occurs when attempts are made to humanize and individualize maligned groups. The efficacy of personal appeals such as these is perversely demonstrated by the forceful backlash against them, because those holding racist or otherwise bigoted views perceive, at least implicitly, the potential for such appeals to force individuals to reevaluate their assumptions and the degree to which they simply follow the actions and attitudes of their peers — whether connected by geographic proximity or by the spacelessness of the internet. This kind of rhetorical appeal to individuality implicitly uses dialogue "to challenge and transform the ideology of domination that pervades Western culture and from which the communication discipline is not exempt" by partially shifting the burden of persuasion from the rhetor to the audience ("Marginalized perspectives" 254).

Conclusion: Contemporary Relevance and Rhetorical Theory

This analysis of To Kill a Mockingbird contributes to the larger field of rhetorical theory by highlighting the way in which the film demonstrates alternative modes of rhetoric not directly tied to the traditionally defined rhetoric of the past. The film's objective — the uncovering and critiquing of the attitudes and behaviors that contribute to bigotry, as well as the inability of traditional rhetoric to confront these underlying factors — is achieved primarily through two key events, one central and one secondary, that demonstrate two different modes of rhetoric. Scout's address to Mr. Cunningham succeeds precisely because it does not focus on explicitly challenging his underlying ideology, but rather implicitly encourages him to question the behavior that ideology perpetuates. In contrast, Atticus's attempt to directly confront the racial ideology of the jury backfires because the in-group bonds that tie the jurors together make them impervious to traditional modes of rhetoric.