PERHAPS the most obvious and lasting effect of J. F. Kennedy's
presidency has been a preoccupation with the image of our political
leaders. In today's media-driven world, the image outlasts
everything - as we saw last week.
The anniversary of his death was dominated by his tanned,
handsome face, looking out towards a golden future that never came.
But with such a focus has come the suspicion that the image might
deceive. In fact, JFK's gilded image was deeply misleading.
It is now widely known that he suffered from Addison's disease,
and that for most of his political life he was racked with pain
from a back problem. He never complained, surviving on strong
pain-killers. His tanned appearance was partly because of
Addison's. An old Stanford friend suggested that he was ashamed of
his illnesses, seeing them as something effeminate and weak.
There were other issues, too. A documentary for CBS, transmitted
in 1993, included an interview with an anonymous mistress who said:
"I never did experience John Kennedy in a mood of reflection, pain,
or sadness." This is an extraordinary thing to say about anyone,
particularly a lover.
Kennedy seems to have had no kind of inner life. He was his
image. He had magnetic charm, and seems to have exercised an almost
magical power over women and men alike. But the likelihood is that
he needed them as much as they needed him.
The evidence of this is that those in his inner circle felt
strangely incapable of challenging him. They could only live in and
reflect his light. Kennedy invented himself as a charismatic,
almost invulnerable, leader. His death still baffles us. He was not
like ordinary mortals.
Bringing this down to earth, it is perhaps significant that no
president since him (apart from his immediate successor, Lyndon B.
Johnson) has lacked a fine head of hair. In Britain, baldness was
cited as a reason why William Hague could never be Prime Minister.
Throughout the world, leaders have tried to emulate his tanned,
healthy look. Think of Vladimir Putin, bare-chested and
muscular.
It is also tempting for all political leaders these days to hide
any capacity that they might have for "reflection, pain, or
sadness". They are driven to cultivate an image of perfection
rather than to own our common and flawed humanity. We tend to
elevate them like gods, only to tear them down when they inevitably
fail. There was a dark side to Camelot, which still casts its
shadow.
The Revd Angela Tilby is Diocesan Canon of Christ Church,
Oxford, and Continuing Ministerial Development Adviser for the
diocese of Oxford.