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"we are at war" for "the second time in the lives of most of us." He also uses the inclusive first person plural possessive as he identifies "our enemies," not Britain's enemies. This personalization and emphasis on the people themselves is followed by several sentences that are much more abstract in discussion of a "principle." At the end of that discussion, King George reinforces the nation's shared values: "For the sake of all we ourselves hold dear, and of the world order and peace, it is
unthinkable that we should refuse to meet the challenge." Later on, he calls the citizenry to "this high purpose" and refers to them not as citizens or subjects but as "my people," a description that suggests a closeness rather than emphasizing the distance between a ruler and his subjects. The pen-ultimate paragraph's references to "God" are another reminder of their shared beliefs: they worship the same god and "commit [their] cause" to him. King George brings ethos to his speech by virtue of his position, but when he assures his audi-ence that "we shall prevail," rather than saying that England or Britain shall pre-vail, he is building ethos based on their common plight and common goals. They are all in this together, from king to commoner. Building Ethos So, what do you do if you're not a king? Writers and speakers often have to build their ethos by explaining their credentials or background to their readers, or by empha-sizing shared values. You're more likely to listen to someone who is qualified to speak on a subject or who shares your interests and concerns. Following is the opening from "The Myth of the Latin Woman: I Just Met a Girl Named Maria" by Judith Ortiz Cofer. Note how she draws on her own Puerto Rican heritage as she describes her experience with prejudice as a young Latina: from The Myth of the Latin Woman: I Just Met a Girl Named Maria JUDITH ORTIZ COFER On a bus trip to London from Oxford University where I was earning some grad-uate credits one summer, a young man, obviously fresh from a pub, spotted me and as if struck by inspiration went down on his knees in the aisle. With both hands over his heart he broke into an Irish tenor's rendition of "Maria" from West Side Story. My politely amused fellow passengers gave his lovely voice the round of gentle applause it deserved. Though I was not quite as amused, I man-aged my version of an English smile: no show of teeth, no extreme contortions of the facial muscles—I was at this time of my life practicing reserve and cool. Oh, that British control, how I coveted it. But Maria had followed me to London, remind-ing me of a prime fact of my life: you can leave the Island, master the English language, and travel as far as you can, but if you are a Latina, especially one like me who so obviously belongs to Rita Moreno's gene pool, the Island travels with you.