Former United States first lady Barbara Bush’s death edges us closer to the end of an era in American politics. The dynasties that defined the 20th century goings-on in Washington (the Roosevelts, Kennedys, Bushes, Clintons and Grahams) have either died off or been shoved aside by those who could successfully make that evergreen argument, newer faces are better faces. That tension between a fear of dynastic control and a small pool of people actually possessing the qualifications to govern has existed in the republic since its earliest days. John Adams, our second president, had to be convinced by George Washington that appointing his diplomatically well-seasoned son to a post abroad did not represent an unacceptable level of nepotism. Even when politics was considered the preferred contact sport of the upper class, it was never feasible to coast on the grace and favour of one’s last name. America and its governing proclivities are defined by a near-pathological fear of monarchy and tyranny; as the republic was founded to provide safe haven for those fleeing an unreasonable king, the creation of similarly powerful families was to be avoided at all costs. This is why our political dynasties tend to flame out after two (at most, three) generations, and why the most successful families are the ones who can convince the electorate that they’re “just folks”.
This explains the success of George W. Bush, a man with whom most Americans could see themselves having a beer, and the failure of Nelson Rockefeller, scion of an unimaginably wealthy, secretive family, in their respective presidential election bids. In recent years, however, we’ve seen that traditional governing class fade from view. The sort of Ivy League pedigree that used to be a prerequisite to holding public office is now unimportant, if not an active impediment. We’re in an era that demands not just the appearance of folksiness, but the actual rejection of the traditional trappings of power. The ascendancy of Donald Trump and his team to the loftiest echelons of government is proof that the old ways are dying, if not already dead. Trump’s unlikely path to his current office was mostly helped by his ability to land the argument that handing the keys to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue to either Jeb Bush or Hillary Clinton would reinforce the closed-shop nature of America’s governing class and inevitably lead to further neglect of the long-forgotten lower-middle class. He was brutally honest about how he donated huge sums of money to members of famous families in order to buy access — a successful strategy immortalised by the photograph of president and Hillary next to Trump and the new missus at his most recent wedding.
Trump is the first successful crossover we’ve seen from the new super-donor class to a high-profile role in government. But we can expect others to try to emulate his success, unencumbered with the knowledge that the president now possesses: Being close to power is rather more pleasant than holding it yourself.
Whether this period represents a brief interlude from the normal operating procedures of American politics remains, for the moment, unclear. Perhaps, in a bid to return to pre-Trumpian politics, we will find another, more traditionally suitable family to enthrone. The mythologies that surround these families are at least as important as the truths. The Kennedy curse and the Kennebunkport compound are as much a part of the public discourse about the Kennedy and Bush families as anything their sons achieved while holding high office. That the Kennedys often made very poor choices and that the Kennebunkport compound is more of a big house with a nice lawn matters little; it’s the intrigue that keeps them electable, and so they have little incentive to correct the record.
— The Telegraph Group Limited, London, 2018
Molly Kiniry is a researcher at the Legatum Institute.
