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These are the four tactics that make Pete Buttigieg one of the finest communicators in America

Communication is measured in impact not minutes. But your words will always miss the mark if you don’t watch the clock.

Wednesday night at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, former president Bill Clinton spoke for 27 minutes. He was allotted 12. He rambled and roamed.

Pete Buttigieg spoke for just seven. He made every second count.

There could hardly be a clearer contrast between a fading star and a rising one.

Buttigieg’s opening joke underscored why:

“I’m Pete Buttigieg, and you might recognize me from Fox News.”

Nowadays, few politicians are willing to play, let alone relish, the political equivalent of an away game. They prefer the comforts of a carefully scripted video filmed by their staff or an interview with friendly outlets whose questions are so soft they might as well be asking for a selfie.

But not Buttigieg.

Over the past few years, he has carved out a meaningful niche by his willingness to go toe-to-toe with Conservative commentators on Fox. In doing so, he has cemented his reputation as one of the finest political communicators in America.

His success isn’t just about talent — it’s about a method we can all learn from. Beyond politics, these tactics are valuable in business, negotiations, and perhaps most importantly, at the Thanksgiving dinner table when debating with relatives who hold opposing political views

Out of a sizable bag of tricks, here are just four.

Never accept a bad premise

Political cable news shows, especially of the American vintage, are not celebrity podcasts. It’s not a conversation; it’s a rhetorical jousting match, where the premise to every question is loaded.

Accepting a faulty or uncharitable premise is like trying to win a rigged carnival game. You’re doomed from the start.

Buttigieg always fights for the right framing. And he only answers the questions he wants to. Here’s a perfect example from his recent interview this past week with Fox’s Lawrence Jones:

Jones: I just want to know when did you guys (the Democrats) know that the President (Biden) was unfit to be on your ticket?

Buttigieg: The President is not unfit.

Jones: So why is he not the nominee right now?

Buttigieg: Because he did something Donald Trump cannot comprehend, which is to put his ego aside.

He dismissed the first question. He welcomed the second.

Know the facts and when and how to deploy them

 To be sure, evidence counts for less these days. Political discussions are more about sound bites and less about substance. But Buttigieg has resurrected the rhetorical might of well deployed facts.

In that same interview, Jones attempted to infer that the murder rate in Chicago was the result of Democratic leadership.

Jones: There were over 20 people shot last week …

Buttigieg: Then why would we elect leaders that won’t do anything about gun violence?

Jones: It’s the Democrats that run this city!

Buttigieg: People try to cherry-pick this for partisan purposes. You want to play that game? … I could go around saying that the murder rate in Mississippi is double what it is in Illinois because Mississippi has a Republican governor and Illinois has a Democratic governor. But you and I both know it just doesn’t work that way.

When you know the facts, you can wield them to disarm your opponent and shift the narrative in your favour.

Use transitions to deliver your message

There are two types of transition lines. The first category is of strategic emphasis — i.e. “I see it differently,” “It’s actually really simple.” In the second category, you seize upon a single word or concept in your opponent’s question or rebuttal. Buttigieg is a master of both. He uses the latter with enormous skill to turn the tables.

If his opponents discuss Biden’s “promises” for instance, Buttigieg will often use it to underline the economic promises Trump broke and highlight the promise he kept to “destroy the right to choose.” Simple, yet deadly effective.

Employ the personal

Buttigieg speaks about his war record. His family life. The pride of fatherhood.

It’s credible, it’s authentic, it’s impossible to challenge. And it’s as effective in a combative interview as it is for the home crowd. Here’s what he told them towards the conclusion of his speech.

“I’m thinking of dinner time at our house in Michigan, when the dog is barking and the air fryer is beeping … It’s the part of our day when politics seems the most distant. And yet, the makeup of our kitchen table, the existence of my family, is just one example of something that was literally impossible as recently as 25 years ago when an anxious teenager growing up in Indiana wondered if he would ever find belonging in this world.”

Conventions are not only about the current ticket, they’re also about the next one. Obama brought down the house in Boston in 2004, he was the candidate by 2008.

If he keeps communicating like this, Pete Buttigieg will be the next one after Kamala Harris.

And if you use his tactics, your relatives will be going home licking their wounds this Thanksgiving.

Tim Walz has something you can’t buy or fake

There’s a moment in every drugstore novel or Hallmark movie where one character whispers tenderly to another, “Don’t change a thing. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

I don’t exactly picture Tim Walz, Kamala Harris’s newly anointed running mate, as a protagonist in this sort of sentimental tale. He’s more likely to be the kindly local shopkeeper or father of the fretful bride: steady, supportive, compassionate.

Nevertheless, this is precisely what I would tell him: “Don’t change a thing.”

Walz’s core challenge — to woo and win the votes of heartland America — is far more daunting than anything you’d find in a cheesy novel. But what truly defines the enormity of this challenge isn’t just the political opponents ready to dig through his trash and unearth every mistake or misstep he’s ever made. The real threat comes from within — the hordes of so-called campaign “image advisers” who now, no doubt, surround him.

They are the ones who must resist their genetic impulses to “Sarah Palin-ize” him, and instead, ensure that Tim Walz remains unchanged.

Keep him away from phoney makeovers, better haircuts and suits that fit. Keep his ball caps fastened. Keep his New Balance sneakers laced up. He’s got something you can’t buy or manufacture: authenticity.

Politicians and their campaign teams are prone to forget this.

Here in Canada, you don’t have to look far for evidence. The annual cosplay parade of political figures at the Calgary Stampede donning jeans they’ve pulled out from the bottom drawer and cowboy hats that fit like a last-minute Halloween costume, provides particularly humorous testimony.

But politicians don’t just go in for tropes alone, but specific types. And this tendency is strong south of the border.

The runner-up for the Harris ticket was Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro. A talented politician and a rising star in the Democratic party, but someone who many noticed copies former president Barack Obama’s intonation to an almost absurd extent.

This level of mimicry is nothing compared to Shapiro’s Republican opponents. En masse, countless Republican spokespersons and even governors (Ron DeSantis chief among them) fell under the belief that imitation was not only the sincerest form of flattery to the megalomaniac in chief, Donald Trump, but the best way to reach Americans.

From Trump, they drew the wrong lessons. They stole the crudity of his rhetoric, the spasms of his speaking style and the cut of his suits. But they missed that Trump brought what few else had — and that by copying him they automatically forfeited — authenticity.

In politics, authenticity is the ultimate conduit to effective, credible messaging, to conveying genuine empathy. If you don’t believe someone is authentic, you will never feel they are truly standing on your side or up for what matters most to you.

For a long time, Democrats failed to grasp that this was why so many voters felt and still feel this way about Trump: because, for all his faults, to many he comes across as an authentic original.

Democrats — finally — have woken up and chosen an original of their own: Tim Walz.

He’s not a war hero, but he served his country in the military for more than 24 years.

He was not a billionaire hedge fund manager; he was a school teacher and he’s never owned a stock or bond in his life. An educator who made a difference in the lives of his pupils.

He’s never won the Super Bowl, but he coached his high school football team from last place to victory in the State Championship.

The point is he is refreshingly relatable. The kind of neighbour who not only has the extension ladder you need but also shows up to help you install your new flag just in time for the Fourth of July.

In today’s political landscape, in an era of relentless self-aggrandizement and bombast, these things shine through.

In Tim Walz’s case, his apparel, including the suits that don’t quite fit, are simply an authentic expression of who he is: a family man from the Midwestern United States who joyously loves his country.

A man who doesn’t care much for fashion.

Because he doesn’t need to.

Nor should he in the coming months.