The Politics of Survival: The Kennedy Legacy

Hope and Grace

October 16, 2008

Blood and Treasure
While the imperial American government spills the blood of young men and women in Baghdad, we know not why, King George and Prince Henry bail out their brethren on Wall St. who have turned the market into a back alley crap shoot, we know not how. The liberties and human rights, enshrined and protected by the U.S. Constitution, have been gutted by the passage of the Patriot Act and privacy destroyed by FISA courts; habeas corpus is denied and the spies wire tap we know not who. The poet laureate of modernity, William Butler Yeats, foresaw all this in the “The Second Coming,� writing that “The best lack all conviction, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity.�

A crisis confronts America wherein the conflict over private property and human rights reminds us of the Civil War. Abraham Lincoln defined the challenge in these slightly paraphrased remarks from the “Gettysburg Address.� Lincoln said we are “engaged in a great civil war … testing whether that nation, or any nation … conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. . . can long endure.�

When you vote on Nov. 4, 2008, and bet what’s left in your poke, as Mark Twain might say, on the “best congress money can buy,� history will be whispering in your ear and speaking in the vernacular: “Do the right thing.�

The Death of Hope
For my generation, hope began to die that day in Dallas, Nov. 22, 1963, when the assassin cut down John F. Kennedy, the youthful and handsome husband of glamorous Jackie and father of two adorable children, John and Caroline. Hatless, he had gone to the inauguration, where he and Jackie shone like beacons. For a couple of years, whether in Paris or Dubuque, the sun never set on Jack and Jackie. Then the assassin’s rifle in Dallas in 1963 turned into the guns of Vietnam and the beginning of a decade of death. In 1965, Malcolm X was killed. Later in April of 1968, “they� shot Martin Luther King, who “had a dream� of something better for America. Fate delivered the hammer blow for hope in June of 1968 in a hotel kitchen in Los Angeles, when Robert Kennedy died of a gunshot wound.

In “The Last Campaign: Robert F. Kennedy and 82 Days That Inspired America� by Thurston Clarke (Henry Holt, New York, 2008) readers discover that for 82 days, one politician became a human being and a statesman: one man visited Indian reservations and Black Churches, marched with César Chávez and campaigned across the country to represent all white collar and blue collar Americans. For 82 days, Robert Kennedy crisscrossed America, stared out the windows of trains and automobiles at his fate, endured the crowds, who grabbed his arms and shredded his clothes. Hardened pols and cynical socialites were amazed by the transformation of tough guy RFK and the effect he had. They repeated the refrain, “I’m falling in love with this guy.� Despite the love, Bobby knew danger lurked and discussed it with friends and family. He confronted fate, and fate (in the form of another assassin) laid him out like his older brothers, John, and Joseph who died while serving in WWII.

In “The Last Campaign,� Clarke describes the places where people stood knee-deep in mud, paying homage to RFK’s funeral train. More than two million souls tramped across fields and marshes, and watched from bridges and back porches, balconies and factory roofs, as the train slowly wound 226 miles through backyards from New York to Washington D.C.

Passengers stared out the windows and saw men in undershirts, sport shirts, uniforms, and suits, crying, saluting, standing at attention, and holding their hard hats over their hearts. They saw women in madras shorts, housedresses, Sunday dresses: weeping, kneeling, covering their faces, and holding up children as if telling them, “You look at Robert F. Kennedy, and that’s the way you should lead your life.� They saw also the people who were mourning Martin Luther King, Jr. and John F. Kennedy, although they may not have known it, and people who were weeping because they sensed that this signified the end of something, although they were not sure what. The young and old, black and white, laborers and professionals—the progeny of the melting pot turned out. The most riveting image depicts a wedding party: the bridesmaids held the hems of their pink and green dresses in one hand, their bouquets in the other. As the last car passed carrying Kennedy’s, they extended their arms and tossed the flowers against its side.

If you don’t cry when you read this book, you were born without hope—even if all you have is your memories of a time when you were young. What began as shock with Jack’s death was followed by a scream when Bobby died. A scream broke out but silence followed. I got good and drunk both times. Some got high on drugs and blew off the American Dream and stayed in Taos. Maybe we went to work but we got lost in our nihilism, and romantics turned cynical. Some of us turned our back on Jack’s dreams of a better world and Bobby’s compassion for the people deprived of access to equal rights and a decent living. Yet, the Kennedys who lived continued fighting for the hearts and minds of America.

A Note of Grace
Here in Taos on a sunny Saturday morning at Café Loka on Sept. 27, 2008 former Democratic Party Chair Billy Knight introduced the ever-thin, blond haired Caroline Kennedy to a friendly, slightly nervous crowd. As Billy spoke, he referred to her father Jack and choked up when he mentioned her Uncle Bobby. Stressed and distressed, it was another political event, I thought to myself. Celebrity politics, said the cynic in me. Caroline spoke softly, naturally, nothing prepared, no talking points. First, she mentioned her concern about her children: an older one was babysitting for a younger. She mentioned her work in the New York Public Schools. She said her mother Jackie and brother John had enjoyed time in New Mexico. She talked about being kind to each other.

I woke up. Surely this wasn’t just another political event. I remembered how John, her brother, spent a week at TSV’s Thunderbird Lodge, where I tended bar the winter of 1987. The waitresses were ga-ga. We made sandwiches for him and his two high school buddies behind the closed kitchen doors late at night. Elizabeth Brownell, the T-Bird hostess, skied with John and his two mates. I’m sure their thighs burned while following Frau Brownell down the double black diamond slopes. She paid them a compliment when she said, “They could ski.�

Caroline didn’t mention that her Uncle Ted Kennedy co-sponsored the bill supporting the return of Blue Lake to Taos Pueblo in 1970. My memories are dim, but I think that during the summer of 1971, my first wife, Susie, covered the event for The Taos News. Senator Ted Kennedy and others attended the ceremonial hand-over of Blue Lake from the U.S. Government. The Kennedy family members came to northern New Mexico during presidential campaigns, as legend has it, visiting the home of Democratic party boss Emilio Naranjo of Rio Arriba County.

Caroline did mention how her Uncle Ted endorsed Barack Obama, which some of us watched on television. Her cousin, Maria Shriver, the first lady of California, joined her on stage at UCLA, along with Michelle Obama and Oprah Winfrey, to mark the phenomenal rise of Obamamania. She said she was touched by Obama and told how he embodied the spirit and renewal of hope.

Caroline, like her Uncle Teddy, brings credibility to Obama. Nobody knows what a president will do once in office. Time and chance intervene. Abraham Lincoln and Franklin Roosevelt could be seen as a couple of average pols on the stump. But they became great presidents due to circumstances. Bobby Kennedy became himself and America’s last best hope during the 82 days of his presidential campaign.

Uncle Teddy Kennedy is a staunch Irish pol and the best populist there is. And Caroline is about as glamorous as an American can be without having royal blood in her veins. Both come from a family who sacrificed blood for their beliefs and continue to work on behalf of the public. If Barack Obama is good enough for Uncle Ted and Caroline, he ought to be good enough for the rest of us. Like Obama’s mystique, Caroline’s grace touches you. The hope and joy were palpable in the crowd on that September morning at Café Loka in Taos.

Bookend
On Friday, Oct. 9, Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. appeared at the Taos Ancianos Center, across the street from the county clerk’s office at 105 Albright St. in Taos. The President of the United Farm Worker’s Arturo Rodriquez, the son-in law of Cesar Chavez, the legendary organizer, who helped Bobby Kennedy win the last primary of his life, introduced RFK, Jr. Kennedy, who campaigned in Taos four years ago for Kerry, called this election the most important of our lifetime. After the rally, Kennedy and Rodriguez marched across the street to the county clerk’s office, leading Obamanos to the polls, giving Cesar’s slogan "Si Se Puede� new meaning in Taos.

Footnote
On Monday, Oct. 6, 2008, Gov. Bill Richardson plugged Barack Obama at El Taoseño in a room full of local politicos. Richardson said he worked for the Clintons but of Obama he said, “He’s got something, I’m not sure what it is.� The big fella described how kind and friendly Obama was to back stage crews and custodians during the Presidential debates, saying, “He wasn’t surrounded by an entourage.� Richardson said he and Obama frequently sat next to each other at the presidential candidate forums but the candidate from New Mexico rarely got asked a question by the moderator. The Gov. described how his mind wandered one night. “When the moderator asked me a question, I didn’t hear it. He (Obama) whispered ‘Katrina’ to me when he realized I wasn’t paying attention. He could have left me hanging.�

I’m not sure whether the Wall St. bank robbers will leave anything for the rest of us in the public purse. The golden goose is bloody and dying. To survive the politics of turmoil and crass lies, we’ll need all the kindness we can get. To me, Barack Obama possesses traits of courage, grace, and kindness. Having come of age in Chicago politics as a community organizer, you know he’s tough. He runs a disciplined campaign. Like the great Muhammad Ali, Obama uses the rope-a-dope style to wear out his opponent. He absorbs the jabs and waits, waits for his opponent to back up and start breathing hard. Then he counter-punches. If he keeps on moving like a butterfly and stinging like a bee, he ought to be dancing in the White House come January.

Do the right thing.