Fortunately, the remedies are equally vintage.
Some of the finest have survived in jokes, anecdotes and parables because they contain rather more practical wisdom than many weighty volumes on political communication. They teach an ancient art: how to escape a foolish question without slighting the questioner, how to expose a false premise without delivering a homily, and how to turn an uncomfortable room into a smiling one.

President Donald Trump, a politician with an exceptional instinct for commanding attention, might find something useful in these venerable tales. It is curious that he does not reach for such methods more often. They cost nothing, require no committee and have proved their worth over centuries.

The Professor and the Horse

There is an old joke about a celebrated professor who, after delivering a formidable lecture, patiently entertained questions until he finally announced that there was time for only one more. A student stood up and asked: “Professor, how many hairs are there in a horse’s tail?”

Without the slightest hesitation, the professor replied: “Two million, seven hundred and fifty-nine thousand, three hundred and sixty-two.”

The audience was dumbfounded. The student, even more so, asked: “But Professor, how could you possibly know that?”

The professor gathered his papers, smiled and replied: “My dear young man, we agreed on only one more question.”

The professor knew no more about the arithmetic of a horse’s tail than anyone else in the room. What he possessed was something rather more precious: presence of mind. He neither rebuked the student nor lamented the absurdity of the enquiry. He simply made it work in his favour.

Lesson One: Do Not Fight Every Foolish Question

A foolish question does not demand an irate answer. Sometimes its very absurdity furnishes the opportunity.

The professor departs with his authority intact. The student retains his dignity. The audience acquires a story for dinner. Everyone leaves happier than they would have after an acrimonious exchange.
For a public figure, that is a handsome return on a few seconds of wit.

The Sultan and the Vanishing Gold

There is another venerable story, this one about a Sultan and his finance minister. The Sultan ordered the minister to open the subterranean chamber containing his gold and diamonds. The doors swung open and, to his horror, the treasury was almost bare. The minister denied purloining anything. So did the guards and every official entrusted with access to it.

The Sultan was not persuaded. Gold, he observed quite reasonably, does not simply evaporate. Unless the minister could account for its disappearance, he might shortly forfeit something considerably more precious than his position.

The minister asked for one hundred soldiers to stand in a line beneath the scorching sun. He requested a generous piece of butter, placed it in the hands of the first soldier and instructed him to pass it along. From palm to palm it travelled until, by the hundredth soldier, scarcely anything remained.

“Did you steal the butter?” the minister asked the last soldier.

“No.”

He asked the man before him. “No.”

And the next. “No.”

Every soldier offered precisely the same answer.

The minister turned to the Sultan and bowed. “Your Majesty, now you understand what happened to your gold and diamonds. No one stole the treasury.

It simply passed through too many hands.”

Lesson Two: When the Question Is Wrong, Change the Question

The Sultan wanted to know: “Who stole my treasure?” The minister revealed that the more discerning enquiry was: “What happened to my treasure?”

There is considerable wisdom in that distinction. A question resting upon a false premise can ensnare anyone incautious enough to accept its terms.

The minister does not tell the Sultan that he is mistaken. Informing Sultans of their errors has seldom been an especially propitious career strategy. Instead, he allows His Majesty to discover the answer for himself.
That is often the more potent form of persuasion. If the premise of a question is defective, do not spend ten minutes proclaiming its defects. Find an image, an analogy or a story that renders the flaw unmistakable.
And, if necessary, bring butter.

Reagan and the Perilous Question

This craft did not disappear with professors and Sultans. Ronald Reagan understood it exceptionally well.

During the 1984 presidential campaign, Reagan’s age had become a genuine political vulnerability. At 73, he was asked during a presidential debate whether he possessed the stamina required for the presidency.

Reagan could have become defensive. Instead, he said that he would not make age an issue in the campaign and would not exploit, for political purposes, Walter Mondale’s “youth and inexperience”.
The audience laughed. Mondale laughed. Reagan laughed.

Within seconds, Reagan had appropriated the very issue intended to discomfort him. Better still, he accomplished it without humiliating his opponent. Mondale was invited into the joke.

Lesson Three: Turn Your Weakness into the Joke

There is a world of difference between laughing at somebody and inviting somebody to laugh with you.

Reagan understood that distinction. His humour lowered the temperature while fortifying his own position. The audience relaxed. His opponent relaxed. Reagan appeared serenely at ease.

Nothing had been surrendered. No principle had been forsaken. No laborious explanation was required afterwards.

One joke had done the work.

President Trump, This One Is Gratis

President Trump already possesses something many politicians spend fortunes trying to acquire: an instinctive ability to command attention. He understands television, timing, repetition and memorable language with remarkable intuition.

Precisely because he already commands the stage, he can afford another luxury: lightness.

A hostile question does not invariably require a hostile answer. An irritating journalist need not be transmuted into an enemy. A dubious premise does not merit an interminable quarrel. There are older instruments in the rhetorical cabinet: humour, irony, analogy, an unexpected compliment, a mischievous inversion and, on particularly adventurous days, a tincture of self-deprecation.

They also happen to be remarkably economical.

No legislation is required. No executive order need be signed. Congress need not appropriate a cent. There is no additional entry in the federal ledger.

Humour lowers the temperature. Wit punctures hostility. A well-chosen story can render a complicated argument intelligible. Grace permits the other person to retreat without indignity. And when two adversaries laugh together, however fleetingly, something changes in the room.

That moment can matter.

Lesson Four: Winning the Room Is Better Than Winning the Fight

Contemporary politics has become exceptionally proficient at manufacturing outrage. It is perhaps becoming less accomplished at dissipating it.

Leadership, however, is not merely the capacity to vanquish an opponent. It is also the ability to make fraught situations smaller, calmer and more human.

The professor managed it with a horse. The minister with butter. Reagan with his own age.

None needed to thunder. None relinquished his position. Each understood something elemental about human nature: people are rather easier to persuade when they are smiling.

President Trump already knows how to dominate a room. The subtler accomplishment would sometimes be to beguile one.

It costs nothing. It has been tested across centuries. It can disarm hostility, temper an exchange and occasionally prevent a minor contretemps from becoming a considerable one.

So when the next impossible question arrives, perhaps there is no need to wage war upon the questioner.

Find the horse. Bring out the butter. Remember Reagan.

An insult may win the exchange. Wit can win the room, and sometimes hearts and minds as well.

And President Trump need not worry.

The next piece of advice is also gratis. It will arrive next week.