Democratic presidential candidate Al Gore and his wife Tipper wave to supporters after Gore''s concession speech Dec.13, 2000 in Washington D.C. Gore conceded after the U.S. Supreme Court halted Florida's recount of votes, giving the state's electoral votes to George W. Bush, who won 271 electoral votes, one more than needed. Gore won the popular vote by less than 1%. (Photo by Mark Wilson/Newsmakers)

On election night, a responsible campaign machine has prepared two speeches: the victory speech and the concession speech. When the polls close and the votes are tallied, the hope is your candidate gives the victory speech.

For winners, election night is exhilarating. In the winning venue, buffet tables overflowing with food and drinks satiate the supporters waiting for the “victory speech” from their candidate. Attendees keep busy by noshing, congratulating others, or even taking credit for the win (whether they had anything to do with it or not). The political atmosphere is full of fanfare, and party-goers are filled with a sense of relief that they are not in the room with the loser.

In the losing camp, the light slowly starts to die in the eyes of those watching the returns as they grapple with the reality that their candidate is going to have to give that other speech. The fair-weather fans and supporters sheepishly mill out of the venue, hoping to avoid having to utter the obligatory “you ran a good campaign” to anyone in authority. The food goes uneaten. The champagne remains unopened. A cloud of gloom fills the air, and everyone wants to be anywhere but there. In this fog of defeat, there is one thing left to do: concede.

The losing candidate takes the stage, pushing down a mix of emotions ranging from disbelief to disappointment. In a daze, the candidate reads the words prepared by staffers (who had hoped they would not have to pull out the speech from the unmarked folder they had been carrying all night.) In some cases, the candidate has not even seen the speech because pantomiming political loss before defeat is something few wish to take on.

However, when the time comes, concession is a duty that political candidates should be ready to take on.

Someone has to lose. That’s just the way it is. The most responsible and patriotic course of action a politician can take after losing is to admit defeat, wish their opponent well, and gracefully step aside. The concession speech is the best way to do this. The speech provides closure for disappointed supporters, and also signals to the entire electorate that our system of democracy has prevailed in expressing the will of the people. Concession is the campaign’s coda. As early as the morning after a concession speech, voters begin to move on. Within weeks, the name of the loser fades from memory, and the wheels of democracy keep turning. This is just how it should be.

Unfortunately, we are now seeing an increasing number of political actors and supporters who refuse to lose. Post-election, these candidates clog America’s system with recount requests, court challenges, and specious claims about rigged machines, stuffed ballot boxes, and dead people voting. Even when there is no proof to substantiate their claims, these political losers cry “rigged” and “stolen.” This unpatriotic display is dangerous. When losers refuse to concede and subsequently cast doubt on the political process, it breeds distrust, depresses voting in future elections, weakens our institutions, and, in some cases, leads to political violence.

Across the nation, election officials have been stalked, threatened, and harassed by citizens who were misled by claims of fraud or election meddling in recent years. Kentucky Secretary of State Michael Adams appears to be working to tamp down election disinformation. On his website, there is a tab called “rumor control.” One click takes you to a page which addresses concerns about election machine security, vote certification and the like.

Adams, a Republican, continues to prove himself an outspoken opponent of election deniers and conspiracy theorists in the commonwealth. Meanwhile, just days before the Nov.5 election, local and federal officials in Washington, D.C., are calling in thousands more police to prepare for the possibility of the sort of election violence we witnessed in 2021.

On Jan. 6, 2021, an angry mob, fueled by lies about election fraud, attacked the U.S. Capitol, assaulted police and terrorized members of Congress who were in the building to certify the 2020 election results. The nation watched live as police were bludgeoned by flagpoles, lawmakers ran for their lives, and our fellow Americans stormed the halls of power to defend a lie told by those who refused to lose.

I find myself thinking more frequently about Jan. 6 as the 2024 election approaches. I often reflect on the destruction and loss that marked that day, and the pain that lingered in its aftermath. I consider the long-term impact on our democracy and wonder if others share my concerns about the potential for political violence. Yet, the question that stays with me the most is this:?Could it all have been prevented by a concession speech?

The days of “when they go low … we go high” are long gone. At this point, our discourse could devolve into “yo mama” jokes, and no one would blink.?(Getty Images)

Democratic Party messaging couldn’t be called punchy — until now.

This election season, Democrats are going for the jugular rhetorically with cries of “Stop Project 2025,” “Mind your own da—business,” and “We are not going back.” The left is now employing the visceral, simplistic, fear-inducing messaging strategy that Republicans had heretofore owned (re: Southern Strategy, Willie Horton, Monica Lewinsky).?

In the past, Democrats would flash facts and figures, wax poetic, or attempt to appeal to logic when selling the merits of liberal policy. Now, the coconut-emoji keyboard warriors, the wordsmiths at KamalaHQ and the Republicans-turned-Democrat-allies at The Lincoln Project are leaning into the messaging of zero-sum games and existential political threats.?

Democrat TV ads feature gutting stories about child assault victims and mothers killed by untreated miscarriages. Left-wing social media influencers are crafting harrowing tales of shadow governments waiting in the wings to replace lifelong civil servants with an army of sycophants ready to serve a “dictator on day one.” Democrats are painting themselves as watchmen atop the wall of America’s democracy, warning against a horde of authoritarian barbarians at the gate.?

Meanwhile, Republicans are accusing immigrants of kidnapping and eating family pets in Ohio.

Daily pundits, politicians and papers promote conversation about fraud and cheaters, adult film stars and Epstein Island, stolen valor and heel spurs, and other things so misogynistic and indecent I dare not mention.

The days of “when they go low … we go high” are long gone. At this point, our discourse could devolve into “yo mama” jokes, and no one would blink.?

The Democrats’ newfound rhetorical strategy could be deemed a necessary evolution in the survival of a political species. But as a political scientist and former journalist, I am deeply concerned about the democratically deleterious implications of our fever-pitched political discourse.

Wordplay warfare is effective. But is it worth the collateral damage to our social cohesion, norms of decency and ability to engage in constructive dialogue? I think not.

Both Democrats and Republicans would do well to holster their speech six-shooters after this election. Will they do it? Not likely.?