The death of politics

LITTLE ROCK — Now that Camelot is really, truly and officially kaput, we shall immediately cancel this year's jousting tournament and begin eating with utensils. The grog was great and maidens most fair, but the times are changing.

Somebody could get rich by opening a school for obituary writers. Much of the stuff about Edward M. Kennedy has been fairly lame, though there have been reported several personal episodes that reveal an unexpected and almost ordinary side to the super-rich late senator from Massachusetts.

The depiction of public people, usually for political or commercial gain, often seems to end up resembling that of a cartoon character instead of a flesh and-blood human being. One is either Dudley Do-Right or Snidely Whiplash. It's either total depravity or angel of light and none of that ambiguous gooey stuff in the mortal middle.

Kennedy was a bit of both. He was a shade of Whiplash and a load of Do-Right, depending on what page of the calendar you might be reading. Real people mature and change. Cartoon characters are flash frozen at the tip of a paintbrush.

His view of life was shaped by the murder of two brothers. How desperately unsettling it must be to experience the unexpected, violent death of siblings, each in the prime of political ambition. Heroes and villains born of professional animation are not tormented by such grief or self-doubt.

More than one source has reported that, once faced with the terrible diagnosis of a terminal brain cancer, the liberal icon devoted himself to finding "a good death." Now what exactly does that look like?

Christians, of course, live in "the sure and certain hope of the resurrection unto eternal life," but death is still the final indignity. Even vast amounts of Kennedy money do not forestall that unrelenting, ultimate fate.

Americans of Irish ancestry generally deal with this kind of happening better than others, and it is possibly because of a certain unique pessimistic strand of genetic information tucked away in our tumultuous, seething pile of DNA. You don't need to be a scientific genius to know that it's probably located right next to that tendency towards "the creature."

Once, while discussing familial history with my Aunt Katherine, it came to light that the Lynches did convene large gatherings to remember the deceased. Yes, my great-grandfather was laid out at home on a table in the parlor, but there was no liquor.

This was a disturbing revelation, and apparently part of a larger pattern of deliberate sobriety in the face of tribulation. This unhappy information shed some light on the frequent dysfunction experienced among the kinfolk in my dad's family. The Kennedy clan seems like more sensible people. Sometimes you need a little shot of something stronger than iced tea to get past the difficult moments.

None of this is intended to make light of the problems many people encounter with alcohol addiction. For some folks, the stuff is pure poison. A good rule is that people should drink enough to enjoy it and never any more.

When Kennedy is remembered, the emerging image is that of a man who could capably preside over the making of a deal. That is the honorable expression of the politician's true profession.

In the give and take of legislative negotiation, it has been generally understood that there are some items that never are "on the table." Such things include nonnegotiable religious beliefs and ethical considerations. The First Amendment has been understood as a protection from such potential abuses.

In this consideration, one may not legitimately ignore that Kennedy, a Roman Catholic, supported access to abortion. The Vatican's official newspaper, L'Osservatore Romano, pointedly makes note of his progressive positions in favor of the disadvantaged alongside the votes in support of abortion rights.

Many have suggested, from various sides of different issues, that Kennedy should have done more one way or another. He seems to have deliberately taken the road of a pragmatist, and some higher court will have to judge his most intimate motivations.

That Irish charm and willingness to compromise will take one a long way in politics, and Teddy Kennedy became the third longest serving senator in American history. He was willing to extend personal acceptance to such would-be adversaries as Orrin Hatch and Bob Dole.

It should not be lost on anybody who keeps up with such things that the hearty Kennedy embrace of otherness is hopelessly at odds with the intolerant tone of the supposed debate on health insurance reform. World Federation Wrestling has a deeper devotion to sensitivity and inclusion.

The old-style politics, the kind of which Kennedy was a master practitioner, sometimes allowed itself to be drawn like hilarious out-of-control cartoon characters, but Dudley and Snidely always got back down to the real work of public policy. The passing of Kennedy may portend more than the supposed conclusion to a nonexistent, idealized kingdom. It may mark the death of politics.

Free-lance columnist Pat Lynch has been a radio broadcaster in Central Arkansas for more than 20 years.