On 5 June 1968, just after midnight, Robert Kennedy was shot in my
presence at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. He had just
acknowledged his victory in the California primary. “On to Chicago and
let’s win there!” were his last public words, referring to the
Democratic Party’s convention that would nominate a presidential
candidate. “He’s the next President Kennedy!” said the woman standing
next to me. She then fell to the floor with a bullet wound to the head.
(She lived.)
I had been travelling with Kennedy through
California’s vineyards, along unsurfaced roads joined together by power
lines sagging almost to porch level, and strewn with the wrecks of
Detroit’s fantasies. Here, Latino workers vomited from the effects of
pesticide and the candidate promised them that he would “do something”. I
asked him what he would do. “In your speeches,” I said, “it’s the one
thing that doesn’t come through.” He looked puzzled. “Well, it’s based
on a faith in this country… I want America to go back to what she was
meant to be, a place where every man has a say in his destiny.”
The
same missionary testament, of “faith” in America’s myths and power, has
been spoken by every presidential candidate in memory, more so by
Democrats, who start more wars than Republicans. The assassinated
Kennedys exemplified this. John F Kennedy referred incessantly to
“America’s mission in the world” even while affirming it with a secret
invasion of Vietnam that caused the deaths of more than two million
people. Robert Kennedy had made his name as a ruthless counsel for
Senator Joe McCarthy on his witch-hunting committee investigating
“un-American activities”. The younger Kennedy so admired the infamous
McCarthy that he went out of his way to attend his funeral. As attorney
general, he backed his brother’s atrocious war and when John F Kennedy
was assassinated, he used his name to win election as a junior senator
for New York. By the spring of 1968 he was fixed in the public mind as a
carpet-bagger.
As a witness to such times and events, I am
always struck by self-serving attempts at revising them. The extract
from Chancellor Gordon Brown’s book ‘Courage’: eight portraits that
appeared in the New Statesman of 30 April is a prime example. According
to the prime-minister-to-be, Kennedy stood at the pinnacle of
“morality”, a man “moved to anger and action mostly by injustice, by
wasted lives and opportunity denied, by human suffering. [His were] the
politics of moral uplift and exhortation.” Moreover, his “moral courage
is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence”.
In
truth, Robert Kennedy was known in the United States for his lack of
moral courage. Only when Senator Eugene McCarthy led his principled
“children’s crusade” against the war in Vietnam early in 1968 did
Kennedy change his basically pro-war stand. Like Hillary Clinton on Iraq
today, he was an opportunist par excellence. Travelling with him, I
would hear him borrow from Martin Luther King one day, then use the
racist law-and-order code the next.
No wonder his “legacy”
appeals to the Washington-besotted Brown, who has sought and failed to
present himself as a politician with enduring moral roots, while
pursuing an immoral agenda that has privatised precious public services
by stealth and bankrolled a lawless invasion that has left perhaps a
million people dead. As if to top this, he wants to spend billions on a
Trident nuclear weapon.
Moral courage, Brown wrote of his hero,
no doubt seeking to be associated with him, “is the one essential
quality for those who seek to change a world that yields only grudgingly
and often reluctantly to change”.
A man with Blair as his
literal partner in crime could not have put it better. All the world is
wrong, bar them and their acolytes. “I believe that in this generation
those with the courage to enter the moral conflict will [walk down] the
road history has marked for us… building a new world society…”. That
was Robert Kennedy, quoted by Brown, celebrating a notion of empire
whose long trail of blood will surely follow him to Downing Street.
