Pay Any Price, Bear Any Burden, Tell Any Fib
He's done it twice now, first in a formal talk at New York University on Sept. 20, and then again during his debate with President Bush on Oct. 1: John Kerry has (kinda, sorta) likened himself to John F. Kennedy during the Cuban missile crisis--if only to make plain, by contrast, what a miserable cock-up George W. Bush's Iraq adventure has been. Ah, for that glorious Camelot autumn back in 1962. It used to be, Kerry reminds us, that American presidents consulted our European allies before we decided to drop our bombs. Why, it even used to be that we were trusted to behave this way by the French. Thus, Cold War History 101, Professor Kerry (at NYU):
In the dark days of the Cuban missile crisis, President Kennedy sent former Secretary of State Dean Acheson to Europe to build support. Acheson explained the situation to French President de Gaulle. Then he offered to show him highly classified satellite photos as proof. De Gaulle waved him away, saying, "The word of the President of the United States is good enough for me." How many world leaders have that same trust in America's president today?
Politically devastating historical analogy--or totally bogus fabrication? You be the judge.
Item the first: It's not true that Charles de Gaulle decided to forgo any personal inspection of Acheson's evidence for the existence of a Cuban-based Soviet military threat against the continental United States. THE SCRAPBOOK refers you to a contemporary, eyewitness account of the meeting by legendary CIA official Sherman Kent--the man who actually carried the relevant satellite photos into the French president's private office on October 22, 1962. First Kent showed de Gaulle a large photo-composite map of Cuba, and "still standing," the latter man "bent over it as I began to talk about the defensive phase." De Gaulle remained standing, still bent over, while Kent then proceeded to show him many, many similar such photos. So interested was Monsieur le président in Kent's material that at one point he picked up a reading glass in order to see the details more clearly.
Item the second: More basically, it's not even true that this October 22, 1962, episode reflected a serious effort by the Kennedy administration to "consult" its European allies in the first place. According to Jean Lacouture's standard two-volume biography of de Gaulle, the very first thing the French president said to Dean Acheson was this: "I understand that you have not come to consult me, but to inform me." And the only thing Acheson offered de Gaulle by way of reply was this: "That is correct."
And did Charles de Gaulle then go ape, à la Jacques Chirac? He did not.
Item the third: Judging from the confidential telegram America's chargé in Paris sent home to the State Department a few hours after the Acheson meeting broke up, the president of France was worried only that Kennedy and Co. might be too assiduously cultivating European and world opinion. "With respect to proposed action in Security Council," Cecil Lyon advised his superiors in Washington, "President de Gaulle remarked that he realized that this was in line with our policy." But "personally he did not think it would be practical. There might be much talk, but he doubted whether Security Council would be effective."
Charles de Gaulle knew John F. Kennedy. John F. Kennedy was a friend of his. Senator Kerry, you're no John Kennedy.
La Trahison des Jerks
Quick: What's the most famous "dumb intellectual" political anecdote of all time? That would have to be the remark attributed to former New Yorker movie critic Pauline Kael, who's supposed to have expressed her incredulity about the results of the 1972 presidential election as follows: "I don't know how Richard Nixon could have won. I don't know a single person who voted for him."
But wait: Comes now a hard-hitting investigative report from our friends at the online magazine Slate, wherein it is revealed that the golden dunce cap has finally been wrested from the late Ms. Kael's grasp. Novelist Joyce Carol Oates now owns the booby prize for self-involved cluelessness about the culture of American public life. Which is saying a lot. The competition was very stiff indeed.
According to the October 11 posting on its site, Slate asked a "variety of prominent American novelists" for a "frank response to the following question: Which presidential candidate are you voting for, and why?" Oddly enough, George W. Bush did not win this contest. Twenty-four of thirty-one novelists surveyed preferred John Kerry, while only four liked Bush (three others gave some form of "neither" as their answer). And from the pro-Kerry contingent came, as we say, a goodly number of impressively stupid explanations. Somebody named Dan Chaon said he didn't like President Bush's, well, religion: "I find myself particularly repelled by Bush's professed 'Christianity,' even as his administration repudiates every value that Christ represents"--Christ, you recall being, among other things, a notoriously fierce proponent of the estate tax. Bush is "probably not the Antichrist," Chaon allowed, "but he comes as close as I've seen in my lifetime."
Jonathan Franzen will be casting a November vote for Kerry ("of course") because, among other things, "his wife is hot hot hot." Mr. Franzen, you'll recall, is the man who wouldn't do a guest spot on Oprah because, well, Franzen is an artiste and Oprah's much too vulgar.
Then there's David Amsden, who'll vote against Bush because he has a cousin who recently did a tour of Army duty in Iraq only to come home with recurring nightmares. "His stories were crushing," Amsden reports. "Did you know that there are giant spiders that creep up on sleeping soldiers at night?" For that matter, did you know--as Kerry-voter-to-be Nicole Krauss points out--that if Bush is reelected, "It may be the end of life as we know it." Hard to top that for dumbness, isn't it?
But damned if Joyce Carol Oates hasn't gone ahead and done it. "Like virtually everyone I know, I'm voting for Kerry," she tells Slate. Amazing, no? The poor woman's so totally out of it about politics, she doesn't even know Rule Number One: Whatever else you do, for God's sake make sure you don't sound like Pauline Kael.
Dept. of Glass Houses
THE SCRAPBOOK notes that Democratic second-lady nominee Elizabeth Edwards thinks it's "really sad" how Lynne Cheney got mad at John Kerry for having presumed to speculate aloud, on national television, about the lesbianism of Mrs. Cheney's daughter, Mary. Geez, why on earth would any mother be upset about that, Mrs. Edwards wonders? Unless, of course, Lynne Cheney's the kind of mom who -- pssst--doesn't love her child the way she ought to. "I think that it indicates a certain degree of shame with respect to her daughter's sexual preferences," Mrs. Edwards concludes.
Shame is a particular expertise of Mrs. Edwards, it appears. We therefore eagerly await her commentary on certain other prominent political figures who get a little squeamish when it comes to homosexuality. Her own husband, for example, who two weeks ago volunteered on national TV that he thinks it's a "wonderful thing" that the Cheneys "have a gay daughter" and somehow still "embrace her." Or how about New Mexico governor and Kerry surrogate Bill Richardson, who thinks it was okay for the senator to drag Mary Cheney into the presidential debate because it's already a "very known" fact that "Vice President Cheney has a daughter who" . . . um, er, um . . . "feels a certain way."
Come to think of it, Mrs. Edwards, how about this little item, involving Kerry himself, from back in May: "Kerry's apparent discomfort with the issue showed at a news conference yesterday....Asked by a reporter what he would say 'on a personal level' to same-sex couples married in his state, Kerry said: 'It's not my job to start parceling advice on something personal like that.'" So tell us, Mrs. Edwards: What was that about? And how come now it all of a sudden is John Kerry's job to comment on other people's personal lives?