Remembering Jack

In March of 1964, Bobby Kennedy appeared on the Jack Paar show to offer his first public comments on the death of his brother, which took place just four months prior. It’s a short but very poignant clip.

The Last Good Campaign

This month’s Vanity Fair provides an excerpt from “The Last Campaign: Robert F. Kennedy and 82 Days That Inspired America” by Thurston Clarke. It’s a fascinating glimpse into the early days of RFK’s 1968 presidential run and his historic anti-war speech at Kansas State University. A couple excerpts:

In 1968, America was a wounded nation. The wounds were moral ones; the Vietnam War and three summers of inner-city riots had inflicted them on the national soul, challenging Americans’ belief that they were a uniquely noble and honorable people. Americans saw news footage from South Vietnam, such as the 1965 film of U.S. Marines setting fire to thatched huts in the village of Cam Ne with cigarette lighters and flamethrowers, and realized that they were capable of committing atrocities once considered the province of their enemies. They saw federal troops patrolling the streets of American cities and asked themselves how this could be happening in their City upon a Hill.

The speech:

The field house was a hulking stone structure with exposed steel rafters and a dirt ring to accommodate livestock shows and rodeos. Because Kennedy attracted a record-setting crowd of 14,500, students stood in stairwells, sat cross-legged on the basketball court and under the press tables, and perched on the rafters and scoreboard, dangling their legs in space. Their signs said, bobby is groovy! and kiss me, bobby. Others said, gene for integrity and traitor!

The Kennedys walked onto the dais with Kansas State president James McCain, Governor and Mrs. Docking, and former governor Alf Landon. The students jumped up, cheering, stamping their feet, and scuffing up clouds of dust that dimmed the light and hung like smoke. They cheered because Kennedy was youthful and handsome, John Kennedy’s brother, and he reminded them of happier times. Seventeen-year-old Kevin Rochat, the son of a K.S.U. official, cheered because he thought everything had gone wrong since J.F.K.’s assassination, and only his brother could make it right. Ralph Titus, who managed the university radio station, believes these conservative students cheered because Vietnam had made even them uneasy.

Kennedy edited his speech during the introductions, sometimes glancing up to study the students in the front rows, as if he were changing the text according to their expressions. He saw girls in long skirts who had never worn makeup, and short-haired boys in neckties who were brave enough to leave their prairie towns but not to burn their draft cards. As Kennedy began, his voice cracked, and those near the stage noticed his hands trembling and his right leg shaking.

...He told the K.S.U. students that their country was “deep in a malaise of the spirit” and suffering from “a deep crisis of confidence”—the kinds of phrases that no politician has dared utter since President Carter was pilloried for speaking of a national “crisis of confidence” during his notorious “malaise speech,” in which he never used the word “malaise.”

Kennedy opened his attack on President Johnson’s Vietnam policy with a confession and an apology. “Let me begin this discussion with a note both personal and public,” he said. “I was involved in many of the early decisions on Vietnam, decisions which helped set us on our present path.”

He acknowledged that the effort may have been “doomed from the start” and admitted that the South Vietnamese governments, which his brother’s administration had supported, had been “riddled with corruption, inefficiency, and greed,” adding, “If that is the case, as it may well be, then I am willing to bear my share of the responsibility, before history and before my fellow citizens. But past error is no excuse for its own perpetration. Tragedy is a tool for the living to gain wisdom Now, as ever, we do ourselves best justice when we measure ourselves against ancient texts, as in Sophocles [from Antigone]: ‘All men make mistakes, but a good man yields when he knows his course is wrong, and he repairs the evil.’ The only sin, he said, is pride.”

Kennedy’s apology elicited the loudest cheers of the morning so far, perhaps because these students appreciated hearing an adult admit to a mistake, or because they too had once supported the war and Kennedy’s mea culpa made it easier for them to admit that they too had been wrong. He framed his opposition to Vietnam in moral terms, telling them, “I am concerned—as I believe most Americans are concerned—that the course we are following at the present time is deeply wrong.… I am concerned—as I believe most Americans are concerned—that we are acting as if no other nation existed, against the judgment and desires of neutrals and our historic allies alike.”

He urged his audience to consider “the young men that we have sent there; not just the killed, but those who have to kill; not just the maimed, but all those who must look upon the results of what they are forced and have to do,” and to consider “the price we pay in our own innermost lives, and in the spirit of this country.” This was why, he said, “war is not an enterprise lightly to be undertaken, nor prolonged one moment past its absolute necessity.”

At first he seemed tentative and wooden, stammering and repeating himself, too nervous to punctuate his sentences with gestures. But with each round of applause he became more animated. Soon he was pounding the lectern with his right fist, and shouting out his words.

Rene Carpenter watched the students in the front rows. Their faces shone, and they opened their mouths in unison, shouting, “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!” Hays Gorey, of Time, called the electricity between Kennedy and the K.S.U. students “real and rare” and said that “a good part of it is John F. Kennedy’s, of course, but John Kennedy … himself couldn’t be so passionate, and couldn’t set off such sparks.” Kevin Rochat was close to weeping because Kennedy was so direct and honest. He kept telling himself, My God! He’s saying exactly what I’ve been thinking!

Kennedy concluded by saying, “Our country is in danger: not just from foreign enemies; but above all, from our own misguided policies—and what they can do to the nation that Thomas Jefferson once said was the last, great hope of mankind. There is a contest on, not for the rule of America but for the heart of America. In these next eight months we are going to decide what this country will stand for—and what kind of men we are.” He raised his fist in the air so it resembled the revolutionary symbol on posters hanging in student rooms that year, promised “a new America,” and the hall erupted in cheers and thunderous applause.

As he started to leave, waves of students rushed the platform, knocking over chairs and raising more dust. They grabbed at him, stroking his hair and ripping his shirtsleeves. University officials opened a path to a rear exit, but Kennedy waved them off and waded into the crowd. Photographer Stanley Tretick, of Look magazine, watched the mêlée and shouted, “This is Kansas, fucking Kansas! He’s going all the fucking way!”

It was just the beginning of a campaign that would change America.

One of Kennedy’s favorite authors was Ralph Waldo Emerson. According to journalist Warren Rogers, he had marked three passages in the copy of Emerson’s essays that he kept on his desk at home in Hickory Hill. One declared, “If the single man plant himself indomitably on his instincts, and there abide, the huge world will come round to him.” Kennedy was about to discover if Emerson was right.

Invoking a Tragedy

The Fix reports on the Keith Olbermann response to Hillary Clinton's recent invoking of the RFK assassination.

Whoah. Actually, WHOAH. To say Olbermann's outrage was palpable is, um, an understatement. "You cannot say this," Olbermann lectured Clinton at the start of a series of comments that spanned more than ten minutes. He went on to call Clinton's comments "insensitive" and "heartless", adding that the comments offered a glimpse into the New York senator's soul that was "not merely troubling but frightening." Later he added: "We cannot forgive you this, Senator."

The Liberal Lion

Tim Rutten in the LA Times:

Change is in the air this political season -- in the ever-increasing likelihood that an African American will stand as the Democratic nominee for the presidency, and in the near-certainty that Edward M. Kennedy of Massachusetts, the Senate's liberal lion, soon will exit the institution he has bestrode like a colossus for nearly 50 years.

Just as Barack Obama's primary victories remind us that change often goes hand in hand with progress, so the sudden news of Kennedy's illness is a somber reminder that change also is inevitably loss. Call it tragic wisdom.

Watching the outpouring of emotion from both sides of the aisle Tuesday at the news of Kennedy's condition, it was clear that his senatorial colleagues already are stricken by his impending departure. Partly, of course, that's because Kennedy's tenure in that chamber spans one of the most tumultuous eras in this nation's history. He will exit the Senate as its third-longest-serving member ever. When he first took his seat in 1962, Jim Crow and its de facto shadow were a fact of American life, and women's rights barely extended beyond the franchise. This year, Kennedy enthusiastically endorsed and campaigned for Obama in his contest against Hillary Rodham Clinton.

A new world, surely, and one he helped usher in. But also one that seems to be unfolding without three qualities that distinguished Kennedy's long service. The first is empathy. It's shocking just how tenuous belief in the possibility of empathy as a public emotion has become. Kennedy's brother, Bobby, was fond of quoting the ancient Greeks. One of them, Thucydides, once was asked, "When will there be justice in Athens?" He replied, "There will be justice in Athens when those who are not injured are as outraged as those who are."

If Ted Kennedy's 46 years in the Senate have stood for anything, it is for the enduring power of that antique insight. He is a rich, wonderfully connected Boston Irishman, and yet his life's labors have been on behalf of blacks and women and Latinos, for people who sweated for a minimum wage and couldn't pay their sick child's doctor's bill and asked for nothing more than a public school good enough to give their child a fair foothold on the ladder's next rung. Their slights and injuries were his own.

Today, increasing numbers of Americans and their politicians are lost to narcissism and its communal expression -- identity politics. We believe that no one can feel our pain but us, and we care for none outside our tribe. Kennedy's career has been a half-century reproach to that crabbed notion of the American condition. He believed unshakably in solidarity and the common good, and if that now seems quaint, the fault -- and the loss -- is ours and not his.

Child of privilege that he undoubtedly was, Kennedy also stood for a second quality that is fading: the belief that after the accumulation of wealth came an ambition -- indeed, an obligation -- for public service. It's a notion this new Gilded Age finds slightly ridiculous, but not long ago we expected our national leaders to amass their fortunes before taking office and not during or immediately after. There is a meanness of spirit to an age that commoditizes elective office into an economic opportunity.

Finally, one of the reasons Kennedy's Senate comrades will feel his departure so acutely is that he always stood for a civil partisanship. There was no more committed liberal Democrat in that chamber. A struggle with Kennedy was a bare-knuckle fight to the finish, but always according to traditional politics' version of the Marquess of Queensberry Rules. It was never personal, and differences never precluded friendship, which is why the senior Massachusetts senator could work with George Bush or John McCain or Orrin Hatch, and will leave office with a record as one of the most effective lawmakers of all time. Nothing deforms our contemporary politics in quite the way the loss of Kennedy's old-fashioned civility does.

In his recently published memoir, Ted Sorensen, John Kennedy's special counselor, recalled how the president secretly dispatched him, along with Bobby, to assist his youngest sibling in his first run for the Senate. Teddy's opponent was the favorite nephew of Democratic House Speaker John McCormack, whose help JFK desperately needed, so it was necessary to maintain fictional neutrality.

Sorensen thought Teddy a callow candidate. But his brothers' murders and personal tragedy changed that. For a time, it seemed he might become an American Parnell, a leader of vision and skill undone by personal appetites. That too was surmounted. Today, Sorensen judges him thus: "More respected and effective today than some presidents have been, Ted long ago came to terms with the fact that he need not be president to fulfill his portion of the Kennedy legacy. ... I think he will ultimately die in the Senate. More active and at home in that body than either of his brothers, Ted was -- and still is -- the most relaxed campaigner of the three, with an easier style on the public platform, the best politician, better able to work with other senators in both parties.

"Always the liberal lion, he has proven to be a courageous battler on the cutting edge of issues both domestic and foreign, maintaining the liberal tradition of his brothers, even when others in the Democratic Party showed less courage. ... Jack and Bobby would have been proud."

A Forgotten Issue

The fact that John Edwards is the first “front tier” candidate to declare his intention to run for president is newsworthy in itself, but the way he chose to make his announcement was even more so.

Standing in blue jeans and work boots in a New Orleans neighborhood devastated by Katrina, he spoke of poverty and citizen activism. The location was chosen because, to him, it symbolized his campaign theme of two Americas and was exemplary in both positive and negative senses, as a symbol of citizen action and government inaction. It symbolized “the power of ordinary citizens to take responsibility for their own futures” but it also symbolized the government’s incompetence in the aftermath of Katrina and its refusal to treat the issue of poverty as a moral imperative.

More and more, Edwards has become reminiscent of another Democratic presidential candidate from 40 years ago. And although John Edwards and Bobby Kennedy will ultimately be defined by the times in which they lived, their similarities may outnumber their differences. Each were tempered by a personal tragedy that fundamentally altered their life, and each (at the time of their presidential campaign) was a one-term senator with youthful good lucks, personal wealth, a fairly liberal voting record, and a thick accent that highlighted their regional upbringing. Moreover, each led a campaign focused on the issue of poverty that called on all Americans to do their part and to be patriotic for “something other than war.”

But it’s also true that Edwards doesn’t necessarily embody all of which made Bobby Kennedy who he was. After all, we may never see another candidate capable of invoking that same level of passion among the electorate. We knew Bobby too well. Because of his family, he was constantly under the spotlight. We watched him achieve unprecedented professional success at a young age, and we watched him suffer through overwhelming personal tragedy. Many supported him and what he represented, but many others felt personally vested in him. When war and bigotry divided our country, he was the one we turned to. He was the standard bearer of hope and reassurance capable of uniting us again. After Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed, it seemed as if he was the only one left.

To the impoverished mining families of Appalachia, it may have initially seemed awkward to bear their soul to a young millionaire senator from New York, but that feeling soon faded. For once, someone was there to listen; someone who embodied compassion and sincerity and strove to not only speak, but to act on their behalf. And he had the ability and influence to make good on his promises. Far from a phony, he was a saint. He became an advocate for those with no voice of their own; a true champion of the people.

Today, Edwards (the southern populist) speaks to that same issue but it’s unclear how effective he will be. After all, the issue of poverty is looked upon quite differently than it was 40 years ago. Unlike RFK and to his credit, Edwards is actually a product of humble beginnings (a mill worker’s son) and can credit his ambition and hard work, not his family estate, for his personal wealth. In fact, it is a wealth earned from years of representing the interests of everyday Americans who fell victim to powerful corporations and insurance companies. As a result, representing the powerless is natural to him because it’s an issue that he knows all too well. Long before Katrina brought renewed attention to the issue of poverty, Edwards was speaking on behalf of impoverished America and highlighting the moral responsibility of our government to provide for those less fortunate. In February of 2005, his efforts led to the establishment of a Center on Poverty, Work and Opportunity at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

Depending upon its resonance with the American people, I’m hopeful that Edwards can adapt his message effectively throughout the upcoming campaign. But in doing so, it’s imperative that he not undermine the needed focus and moral clarity that conveying this message provides. The issue of poverty is conspicuously absent from today’s political discourse and the people are desperately looking for a capable new voice, a new champion. Like Bobby Kennedy 40 years ago, John Edwards may be the only one left for us to turn to.

“Past error is no excuse for its own perpetuation.”

In a speech by the junior senator from New York, a raucous crowd was reminded that “All this - questioning and uncertainty at home, decisive war abroad – has led us to a deep crisis of confidence: in our leadership, in each other, and in our very self as a nation.” The implications of a war, of our own doing and being waged on the other side of the world, were playing an increasingly prominent role in the everyday lives of Americans. The exposed fissures in public opinion polarized the country, entrenching those who believed it was the only course our nation could follow to maintain its credibility and its ultimate security, and those who believed that course endangered both.

The senator continued… “I do not want – as I believe most Americans do not want – to sell out American interests, to simply withdraw, to raise the white flag of surrender. That would be unacceptable to us as a country and as a people. But I am concerned – as I believe most Americans are concerned – that the course we are following at the present time is deeply wrong… I am concerned – as I believe most Americans are concerned – that our present course will not bring victory; will not bring peace; will not stop the bloodshed; and will not advance the interests of the United States or the cause of peace in the world.”

The speech was given almost 40 years ago in a fieldhouse on the campus of Kansas State University by Robert Kennedy, a mere three months before he was killed. In the speech, Kennedy went on to chide LBJ when he quoted Sophocles’ Antigone: “All men make mistakes, but a good man yields when he knows his course is wrong, and repairs the evil. The only sin is pride.”

LBJ had the lessons of history and the realities of the present to guide him to more just conclusions, but he chose to ignore them. While President Bush is a similar situation, he also has the advantage of applying the lessons learned by McNamara, Johnson, Nixon and Kissinger. They are lessons that he can not only draw upon from the historical record, but from conversations with those who were intimately involved. Instead, he chooses to follow an estranged course that spends billions of dollars each week at the expense of the services provided to our own citizens. It is a course that has cost the lives of over 2500 of our brave men and women in uniform. And it is a course that further and further damages our Nation’s credibility while emboldening and inspiring a new generation of jihadists around the world.

The full extent to which the Bush Administration’s foreign policy has eroded our security is yet to be known, but until the well-being of American citizens takes priority over one man’s pride, it appears that we are in for a long and difficult journey.