Borrowing from the best

Why some speeches become unforgettable — and what they do to those of us who write for a living

Andre Agassi

I cannot tell you how much plagiarism spooks me. At university, long before the advent of large language models, it was the moral crisis of the age. Later, when writing speeches for politicians, I had Joe Biden cribbing off Neil Kinnock to scare me into submission. And finally, as a journalist, there is no greater sin.

That is why I reference, quote and give credit wherever I can. But I am also conscious of, well, what is the value proposition here, people? I’m not serving up scoops or original reporting. The least I can do is ensure the words are my own, typos and all. It is however difficult when it seems as if, much of the time, someone else already said it better. And not just the odd phrase. Entire paragraphs can get lodged in my brain.

In my leader writing days, I would always do my research but would never read a leader on the same subject from another newspaper. Not out of disinterest but a recognition that, once I saw how someone else had done it, there was no conceivable alternative way to phrase it.

I have my favourite speeches as others have Kardashians. Some are scarcely niche. For example, I think “blood, toil, tears and sweat” is a pretty nifty phrase. For prescience, there is Tony Blair’s 2006 Labour Party Conference address, his last as leader, in which he warned the party not to retreat into its comfort zone. (I have, regrettably, been known to quote entire sections of this speech, in character, after drink has been taken.)

For laugh-out-loud moments, look no further than William Hague’s 2008 Commons speech on the possibility of Blair becoming President of Europe. Warning: not to be viewed in public, for fear of emitting uncontrollable snorts.

But the first speech I remember watching, and then obsessively re-watching was delivered by, of all people, Andre Agassi. The year was 2004 and the occasion was the induction of his wife and 22-time major champion, Steffi Graf, into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. Or as he called her, voice imperceptibly cracking, “Stefanie”.

I don’t know who wrote it. At the time, I didn’t know that speechwriters existed, let alone that I would go on to write speeches that would be delivered in the House of Commons. But at the age of 15, I remember thinking: bookmark that one. It may come in handy.

Speeches are more than the sum of their words. For a truly spine-tingling experience, there are two further key ingredients. Delivery, and timing. The former is obvious. We have all switched off from the person on stage because of a monotonous voice or stilted sentences. By the way, what is up with political speeches these days

and why

do they look

like this?

Keir Starmer's speech on fixing the foundations of our country: 27 August 2024

But timing might be the most important — yet under-appreciated — factor. Churchill’s great wartime speeches are remembered because they were great. But they were also delivered at a time of extreme peril. The phrase “never in the history of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few” might have sounded overwrought if the future of Britain, its empire and the world did not seem as if they were on the line.

Indeed, as Philip Collins, speechwriter, columnist and author of When They Go Low, We Go High: speeches that shape the world and why we need them notes, Churchill had deployed a version of that line numerous times before, albeit to less effect.

“Earlier in his career Churchill was fond of lavishing fine phrases on inappropriate events. In 1899, as a 24-year-old Liberal by-election candidate, Churchill had said to the people of Oldham: “Never before were there so many people in England and never before have they had so much to eat.” In 1908, as colonial under-secretary, he gave a speech on a projected irrigation scheme in which he said: “Nowhere else in the world could so enormous a mass of water be held up by so little masonry.” It took the peril of war for his words and the times to rhyme.”

Agassi, for his part, nailed the timing like the sweetest of crosscourt backhands. The man who once declared that “Image is everything” and wore a disintegrating hairpiece during a French Open final to disguise his receding hairline, found the moment, the words and the delivery. And unlike so much of modern communication, which commodifies our emotions and experiences into a tight package for the enjoyment of as many people as the algorithm allows, this had an audience of one. Everyone else is invited to look, but not touch.

For clarity, I never plagiarised the speech, though I admit to borrowing the odd phrase for my wedding day. Doing so made it more personal, not less. A callback to a teenage boy, inspired by a man capable of voicing unselfconscious honesty and love for another, equal to the occasion. You can watch it below, or read it here. Graf’s reaction is worth staying until the end.