If you watch inaugurals and States of the Union the way I do, you hang on the edge of your seat waiting for a line that might make it into the popular vernacular … “Ask not …,” “… fear itself,” “bear any burden …,” etc., etc.

Did we hear anything on that par last week? We probably did and just don’t know it yet.

The messiness of Iraq did not cloud Bush’s 21-minute address, nor did squabbling over deficits and an impending fight on Social Security, all germane to be sure.

Bush’s speech was high rhetoric. The punditocracy has been busy drawing comparisons to Wilson, FDR and Kennedy in search of anecdotes for the kind of inspirational message to which the president aspired. Lyrically and stylistically, they’re looking in the right places. But the most pragmatic source of analysis of this inaugural begins with Bush’s first.

Its unifying ethos, four years hence, is perhaps none other than being utterly forgettable. I was in the crowd that day in January of ’01; a bright-eyed high school senior on his first trip to the nation’s capital with ears tuned to every word. In penning this column, a text had to be discovered to jog memory of a single line.

Given the context of the times, it is of course unreasonable to expect what we heard last week. In a nation at peace, the pressing issue of the day and the preceding campaign the federal role in K-12 education. The new president did not disappoint: he made three specific references to the need for stronger schools. His message to then-burgeoning “blue” America: I’m compassionate. To then-burgeoning “red” America: I’m conservative. To fellow politicos: I play nice. To his base: “Time to give the Oval a scrubbing.”

A journalistic consensus was elusive. The New York Times headlined that Bush extolled his “character and civility.” (George Washington?) The Los Angeles Times noted in its A1 Headline “President seeks to heal wounds” from a divisive election (Lincoln?). The Chicago Tribune thought Bush emphasized the need for “a Common Bond” in “ask[ing] you to be citizens” again (Kennedy?). The speech itself was a reiteration of reliable campaign themes. It fell flat on the ear of history.

Four paragraphs in, Bush’s thesis emerged: “The grandest of these [American] ideals is an unfolding American promise that everyone belongs, that everyone deserves a chance, that no insignificant person was ever born.” Translation: the bland niceties of compassionate conservatism. Let’s fund after-school programs and faith-based initiatives. Inspiration: Clinton?

Until the momentous Sept. 11 attacks, Bush’s first administration floundered on small themes. He even hinted as such later in his first inaugural, claiming “Some seem to believe that our politics can afford to be petty because, in a time of peace, the stakes of our debates appear small.” Hardly the stuff of legends.

An overriding principle of last week’s address, it seems, was to avoid making the same mistake twice. Circumstances are different, but this president’s view of history has changed.

As the adage goes, when a politician is explaining, he’s not winning. The president didn’t do a lot of explaining last week. He extolled. In the wake of such bold language, the White House has spent the last several news cycles seemingly backpedaling, starting from Bush Sr.’s trot through the West Wing briefing room, downplaying any hint of “new doctrine,” just more of the same, they insist. The lack of specific proposals in the address made this strategy credible; it must have been calculated. Much like no one feels the need to leave a child behind, no one will substantively argue with the value of freedom.

Four paragraphs into this year’s iteration, a thesis also emerged: “We are led, by events and common sense, to one conclusion: The survival of liberty in our land increasingly depends on the success of liberty in other lands. The best hope for peace in our world is the expansion of freedom in all the world.” Translation: none needed. Inspiration: transformative, neo-conservatism so broad it’s radical, maybe even liberal. And, for better or for worse, Bush owns it.

The result: headlines associating the chief executive with freedom; bold and simple, and pre-emptive defense that stemmed criticism of the scope of his rhetoric. A win for the White House.

In a rare feat, Bush and his handlers provoked a ubiquitous reaction in the nation’s (and the world’s) chattering classes as well as viewers at home: love it or loathe it, practical or impractical, Bush’s presidency is focused exclusively on the promotion of freedom abroad. All the ink and breath spilled debating this point argues its feasibility, but leaves its nobility unchallenged. “Is this achievable? Will this test the limits of American power and influence?” The answers are themselves rhetorical. Only the next four years, or perhaps the next 40, will decide whether Bush’s rhetoric joins with Lincoln, or Wilson, or Kennedy, or merely with the packstuff of American history.

The president is through explaining. All that’s left is the winning.

Eric B. Cullen ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in history.