Kerry’s Grand Dilemma
By Isaiah Z. Sterrett (08/31/04)
“I’M THE VIETNAM hero,” he kept telling himself. “I’m the one who volunteered to go to the war, who served my country with honor, and who rescued Rassman from the water. I won all those ribbons—er—medals—er—whatever. I’m the one who protested the war, who led a revolution against it, who testified before Congress! It was all moi!”
The junior senator from Massachusetts thought his military record would remain unchallenged forever. He thought everyone would keep their mouths shut, so as to avoid being accused of questioning his patriotism. But now one group had stepped up to the plate, prepared to confront the myth of Kerry’s sterling military performance. Kerry was floored.
“What can I do,” he moaned to his dearest friend, Sen. Kennedy, also of Massachusetts. “What would Jack have done?”
Teddy, who had just finished the last of a series of Cosmos, was irked by his colleague’s whining. “Week after week after week after week,” he told Kerry, “you’ve crawled into this office, complaining to Uncle Teddy. Well I’ve had enough. Those Swift Boat guys may have gotten the best of you. I always knew you wouldn’t last.”
This kind of insensitivity always brought tears to Kerry’s eyes, but today he was especially shaken by Kennedy’s remarks. He couldn’t help but wonder if his old comrade was right. Were the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth really for truth? Is it possible that he, John Forbes Kerry, had been living a lie? Were his presidential aspirations dying? All he was sure of was that he desperately needed a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich.
He dined on the campaign plane with his running mate. (Elizabeth, Edwards’ wife, was asleep, and Teresa was holding a hula-hoop contest with the reporters.)
“I just can’t figure out what to do,” John #1 told John #2. “Everyone’s turning on me! On me—a veteran!”
“I know,” said John #2. “We’re in trouble. I thought you’d bailed yourself out by choosing me, but I guess not. National voters aren’t responding to my great skin and shiny white teeth and adorable button nose like they did in North Carolina."
John #1 didn’t appreciate John #2’s pessimism.
“It seems to me there are two possible answers,” John #2 continued, grinning. “One answer is safe, and would probably have been used by Clinton or your friend Teddy. The other answer is more risky. I’m not even sure I’ve ever tried it.”
John #2 explained that John #1 could either continue on his current path of half-truths and outright deceptions, or—and this was repeatedly called “dicey” and even “Bushian”—he could come clean. It was a daring suggestion, and Kerry knew it.
All his life he’d wanted to be president, and all his life he’d been planning this campaign. But ignoring Vietnam had never occurred to him. It was not until early the next morning that he truly began to understand the possibilities.
He was eating eggs in his office in Boston, watching Teresa and Mr. Edwards jump rope outside, when he realized that ignoring Vietnam could serve as not only a turning point in the campaign, but as a turning point in his own, self-absorbed life. Forgetting about those fateful four months would allow him to talk about the issues that mattered to The People. He would be heralded as a man of courage, and the Swift Boat vets would look shrill and petty, attacking the image of a brave American.
Soon the rain came, forcing John and Teresa inside. Kerry sat at his desk, still chewing on his grand dilemma, and wondering how he’d gotten into this mess in the first place.
He knew it was his fault. If he hadn’t bragged for the last 35-years none of this would have happened. But in fact he had bragged, and now nothing could be done. It was too late to turn back. He wouldn’t be able to stop the lies or the caterwauling or the arrogance. The noise of Vietnam would forever exist in his political life, and he couldn’t bring himself to change that. He rode to fame on the misery of the ‘60s, and he’d ride it into his golden years. Nothing, not even that pristine palace on Pennsylvania Avenue, would derail him.
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