War speeches, as a powerful form of political rhetoric, go far beyond their immediate function of mobilization. They play a long-term role in shaping national memory, historical narratives, and the emotional construction of the public. In this sound-based artistic project, the reconstruction of wartime speeches through audio not only involves a reinterpretation of textual meaning, but also triggers a multidisciplinary dialogue between rhetoric, memory, and sound media theory.

One of the core functions of war speeches is the construction of the moral and political legitimacy of warfare. From the perspective of classical rhetoric, Aristotle’s Rhetoric identifies three elements of persuasion: ethos (credibility of the speaker), pathos (emotional appeal), and logos (logical reasoning). Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, with its concise logical structure, solemn emotional tone, and the ethos of the presidential voice, demonstrates an elegant balance of these three rhetorical pillars. Winston Churchill’s speech, with its resolute “We shall never surrender,” exemplifies a collective identity built through pathos, stirring national unity and resistance.

In modern rhetorical studies, Martin J. Medhurst and others, in Cold War Rhetoric: Strategy, Metaphor, and Ideology, emphasize that war-era speeches often construct simplified ideological binaries (e.g., “us vs. them”) to justify complex geopolitical decisions. This theoretical framework is particularly useful in understanding Churchill and MacArthur’s speeches, which do not merely reflect facts but actively shape a narrative framework of national resilience, heroism, and sacrifice.

War speeches are not merely event-driven utterances; they are often elevated into cultural symbols of remembrance. French philosopher Paul Ricoeur, in Memory, History, Forgetting, argues that language is both the vehicle and the manipulator of memory. Public speeches, as a form of authorized discourse, are integral to the construction and perpetuation of collective historical memory. Lincoln’s speech, for example, is not just a battlefield eulogy—it redefines the Civil War as a moral struggle for the survival of democratic government, thereby sanctifying the losses.

Simultaneously, the rhetoric of war is deeply intertwined with the discourse of trauma. Cathy Caruth, in Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History, notes that trauma often resists direct representation and instead surfaces in fragmented, echoing language. In MacArthur’s “Old soldiers never die, they just fade away,” one hears not only farewell but the deeper resonance of personal disillusionment and historical fatigue. This emotional residue is amplified in the sound piece, where repetition, slowness, and tonal decay underscore the lingering effects of wartime experiences and the unspoken aspects of trauma.

In media studies, sound is increasingly recognized as a potent medium for conveying history and emotion. Jonathan Sterne, in The Audible Past: Cultural Origins of Sound Reproduction, emphasizes that sound is not merely a technological output but a socially and culturally conditioned phenomenon. Unlike visuals or text, sound engages the listener physically and emotionally, establishing a more intimate and immersive connection with the past.

Michel Chion, in Audio-Vision: Sound on Screen, points out that sound plays a unique role in constructing spatial presence, emotional tension, and temporal continuity. In this artistic project, the speeches are voiced by different narrators, layered with ambient sound and periods of intentional silence. This design evokes environments such as wartime broadcasts, parliamentary addresses, and battlefield memorials, creating an “acoustic space” that immerses the audience in historical tension and reflection. Sound here is not merely illustrative; it becomes a temporal and affective architecture of remembrance.

Brandon LaBelle’s Background Noise: Perspectives on Sound Art further deepens the analysis by framing sound as a socio-political and spatial agent. He argues that sound defines “auditory orders” that shape our understanding of environments and histories. The re-performance of war speeches as sound art, in this light, becomes an intervention in dominant memory regimes. It resists the visual dominance of historical imagery and proposes an alternative, non-visual mode of commemorating and re-experiencing war—one that is visceral, affective, and deeply embodied.