Christopher Hitchens
A good man, very fair, very witty, very loyal
While the world waits, Christopher Hitchens reflects on the life and career of John F. Kennedy Jr.
At a cocktail party in the George Hotel in Washington about a year
ago, I was talking to John Kennedy, and half-turned to point at
somebody. As I did so, I found that all the beauties in the room had
suddenly fused into a single group at my elbow, and were frantically
signaling for an introduction. Many of them were the sort of woman who
go to great lengths not to be impressed by celebrity. I try myself not
to be overwhelmed by it, either. But there is no arguing with charisma,
or with extreme physical grace and even if I weren’t writing on a day
like this I’d be compelled to admit that he had both, in heaping
measure.
Not many of the surviving Kennedy clan possess these features. The venue
of the party was chosen because of the title of his glossy magazine,
which in turn was named for George Washington. In this magazine, young
John had recently written an editorial critical of his family members,
with their endless dreary scandals about booze and drugs and nanny
abuse. “Poster boys for bad behavior,” he called them, proving that he
would never be famous as a writer. (He was much better in person than on
the page. Asked by Barbara Walters what he would do if he became
president, he said that his first act would be to call his uncle Teddy
and gloat. His second act would be to cut taxes.)
It’s conventional to refer to the Kennedys as America’s royal family,
and they are indeed almost dysfunctional enough to deserve the title.
What distinguished John Jr. — as people took to calling him — was
more the noblesse oblige than the pseudo-nobility. He did not act
with a sense of entitlement, or assume that he was owed a seat in the
Massachusetts delegation to congress. Nor did he inflict himself on
everybody with packaged opinions. The tone of George magazine was
decidedly liberal, but for its Washington editor he chose Tony Blankley,
the portly and jovial Englishman who had been chief spokesman for
former House Speaker Newt Gingrich.
Superstitions gather around fetish objects, and people who are normally
quite rational can be heard referring unironically to the “curse” that
surrounds the Kennedy name. (To take just two examples, his uncle Teddy
was nearly killed in a plane crash in the 1960s, and off the island of
Martha’s Vineyard, where John Jr. was bound when he was lost, is the
notorious resort of Chappaquiddick. By a macabre coincidence, this
weekend is the 30th anniversary of the sordid and watery end of
poor Mary Jo Kopechne.) Thus it was always with a slight crossing of
fingers that people spoke of John Jr.’s charmed life. Like charisma,
the word “charm” is overused to the point of tedium, but he did possess
charm, and exerted it effortlessly. He could have had anything or anyone
he wanted, but there has never been a story about his doing anything
tawdry. No nasty breakup, no starlet with a black eye, no heroin, no
bystander sacrificed to greedy celebrity or narcissism. “He was a good
man, quite simply,” I was told by his friend Inigo Thomas, who also
worked at George. “Given the context in which he lived, a really
extremely good man. Very fair, very witty and very loyal.” In
journalism, which was the nearest he came to a chosen profession, he
admired the self-starters and the mavericks — Hunter Thompson being a
favorite.
Richard Reeves, one of the more critical historians of the Kennedy
dynasty, said that he’s sometimes doubted whether it’s really true that
the gods punish those to whom they have first given everything, but that
he doesn’t doubt it any more. I suppose that the image which endures the
longest is the one which the young man had the least conscious influence
in producing. It is that of the little boy saluting at his father’s
coffin, as his beautiful mother wears her widow’s weeds and the entire
world bites its lip and strives not to weep. Since then, the funeral has
been the measure and benchmark of the Kennedy family reunion. (When his
plane went down, John Jr. was en route to the wedding of his cousin
Rory, who was in her mother’s womb when her father Robert was
assassinated in Los Angeles in 1968. The family chapel at the Kennedy
compound in Hyannis, which was to have been used for a nuptial, will now
be used for a memorial again. And a whole new generation of Americans
will have their own personal Kennedy to mourn.)
On a small plane to Martha’s Vineyard the weekend before last, I met the
newlywed Christiane Amanpour of CNN (an old friend of John Jr.’s
since his Rhode Island college days) and Jamie Rubin, chief spokesman for
Madeleine Albright. They were off to stay with John and Carolyn and to
recover from the rigors of Kosovo. I mentioned the encounter to one or
two people, including some pretty hardened local hostesses. “You mean
he’s on the island?” one of them — more than used to celebrity
– exclaimed. I can only begin to imagine what people will have said
when they heard these latest tidings, but it is not impossible that they
will start by saying where they were, and what they were doing, when
they received the latest proof of John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s most
frequent presidential sayings, which is that life itself is unfair.
Guess what, the bombing worked like a charm
The antiwar hand-wringers kept warning us of its perils. But as the Taliban despots flee Afghan cities, and their citizens cheer, the air war's stunning efficacy is clear for all to see
There was a time in my life when I did a fair bit of work for the tempestuous Lucretia Stewart, then editor of the American Express travel magazine Departures. Together, we evolved a harmless satire of the slightly driveling style employed by the journalists of tourism. “Land of Contrasts” was our shorthand for it. (“Jerusalem: an enthralling blend of old and new.” “South Africa: a harmony in black and white.” “Belfast, where ancient meets modern.”) It was, as you can see, no difficult task. I began to notice a few weeks ago that my enemies in the “peace” movement had decided to borrow from this tattered stylebook. Their mantra was: “Afghanistan, where the world’s richest country rains bombs on the world’s poorest country.”
Continue Reading ClosePresident Clinton: Thumbs down!
In his eight disgraceful years, he's squandered our time while lowering the standards for all public officials.
If it were not for William Jefferson Clinton, that overrated and under-written speech by George W. Bush in Philadelphia would have been over before it began. Imagine: An ignorant and spoiled mediocrity opens his acceptance address by comparing himself to George Washington! Only a few years ago, such a comparison, even offered in jest, would have invited ridicule and contempt. (Recall what happened when even the popular Ronald Reagan described the Contra bandits in Nicaragua as the moral equivalent of our Founding Fathers.) But this time, no one dares to challenge such a piece of flagrant profanity. George W. is free to taunt away because he knows the Democrats dare not raise the issue of character or stature. And he is free to drape his dismal program in the camouflage (part Special Olympics and part gorgeous mosaic or Rainbow Coalition) of correctness. Why not? It worked for the last cynic who tried it. Like Clinton, Bush hopes to get good press for getting good press.
Continue Reading CloseYou call this a free election?
The international community sends watchdogs to monitor foreign elections -- that's just what America needs in 2000.
Some things may be true even if Pat Buchanan says them: The inescapable fact is that the 2000 presidential election has so far been a rigged affair, bearing more resemblance to a plebiscite in some banana republic than to anything recognizable as a democratic contest.
The entry of Buchanan as a supposed “insurgent” presidential candidate is itself part of the prearrangement and manipulation. Here we have a loyal Beltway veteran, grown like a mold on the dank sponge of the national security state, and well-known to the powers that be as someone absolutely reliable. He’s already shown himself quite willing to play the game of slush funds and matching funds. There’s your designated dissident. Just for fun, why not set him up against Donald Trump for the Reform Party nomination, so that even the supposed outsider faction can replicate the only allowable division in American politics — that between machine-produced clones on the one hand and nutball narcissistic tycoons on the other.
Continue Reading CloseAn empire after all
Pat Buchanan's book is a loopy and inconsistent piece of Catholic fundamentalism that betrays a weird and self-destructive sympathy for the fascist cause.
Here is what Pat Buchanan’s hero, the “Lone Eagle,” Col. Charles Lindbergh, wrote in the November 1939 Reader’s Digest under the heading “Aviation, Geography and Race”:
Continue Reading CloseAviation is a tool especially shaped for Western hands, a scientific art which others only copy in a mediocre fashion; another barrier between the teeming millions of Asia and the Grecian inheritance of Europe — one of the priceless possessions which permit the White race to live at all in a pressing sea of Yellow, Black and Brown … We can have peace and security only as long as we band together to preserve that most priceless possession, our inheritance of European blood, only so long as we guard ourselves against attack by foreign armies and dilution by foreign races.
Our lady of lies
Stunningly politicized, painfully banal and too fraudulent for the pope to recognize, the Virgin of Medjugorje stands for the bloody ethnic hatreds in the former Yugoslavia
Before you ask, I should say that it’s pronounced med-you-gorey. This is worth stressing, because it’s almost the only thing about the place that is complicated in the least.
The non-facts are these: On June 24, 1981, a 14-year-old peasant girl, unoriginally named Ivanka Ivankovic, unoriginally came across a light that she took to be the Virgin Mary. Not many hours later, three other girls and two boys claimed to have had the identical experience, or sense-impression. Within a matter of weeks, thousands of the credulous had started to appear at the site, and it has now been trampled by millions. Those who turn up have emanated a number of false claims, such as the ability to stare calmly and without harm at the sun (a pointless achievement even if verifiable) and the more acquisitive and medieval capacity to turn their rosary beads into pure gold. Every sort of foolishness is indulged, and every green acre of this once backward village has been transmuted into a knick-knack mall.
Continue Reading ClosePage 1 of 6 in Christopher Hitchens