That (Joe) Kennedy Mystique

DURING the 1986 campaign for the Massachusetts eighth congressional seat, then-candidate Joseph Kennedy II jogged through stalled traffic in Allston, shaking hands with motorists in a final effort to sway any remaining undecided voters. Shortly afterward, my friend Paul, who had spent the summer working construction in Cambridge, told me how his co-workers, having seen Kennedy on television, raved about his whistle-stop tour of the area's red lights.

"Did you see Kennedy on TV last night?" they said. "He looked pretty ballsy. He's got my vote."

Admittedly, Kennedy, with his broad shoulders and friendly grin, running through the streets, cut a striking portrait of virility. But it was more than macho posturing. It was the legendary Kennedy mystique at work.

Kennedy's charisma is undeniable. At a Democratic Club-sponsored speech in the Science Center last week, Kennedy's presence immediately filled the hall. As he walked down the aisle, introducing himself with "How ya doin'? Joe Kennedy," his love of the "people" aspect of politics was never more apparent.

He has a tough, loud voice that bursts with gushy enthusiasm when he talks about ordinary people getting involved in the political process. His choice of words is rough and refreshingly unorthodox--referring to the opportunities his audience will have when they graduate, he prefaced his comments with, "when you break outta this joint..."

DURING the 1986 campaign, Joe Kennedy was the Dan Quayle of the race--young, inexperienced, thin-skinned and, by most accounts, stupid. Yet Kennedy's charisma--added to enormous financial resources, instantaneous name recognition, and a superb campaign organization--contributed to his victory over a crowded field of candidates.

Having spent a great deal of time and energy campaigning for one of Kennedy's opponents (State Rep. Tom Gallagher, who dropped out of the race in late June), I failed to understand why the electorate could have chosen style over substance. Besides Gallagher, with his passionate commitment and coherent socialist analysis, there was George Bachrach, as shrewd and capable a politician as can be found in Massachusetts, and Mel King, a stern but enormously popular activist of longstanding in Boston politics.

But for those like me who doubted the value of style in politics, the 1988 presidential campaign, in which both Vice President George Bush and Gov. Michael S. Dukakis have demonstrated an absolute lack of personality, has taught a useful lesson. "People" politics does, and should, matter.

Although part of Kennedy's appeal is merely nostalgia, a wistful yearning for what might have been if his father had lived, his charisma cannot be simply written off as a victory of style over substance. In fact, his charisma--and the type of message he chooses to convey through it--is substantial because it is inspiring.

BOTH presidential candidates have lamented the focus on their lack of charisma. Kennedy even defended Dukakis, praising the governor's administrative ability and political positions.

Kennedy is wrong. The most valuable role a political leader can play in a democracy with a disaffected and apathetic electorate is to inspire them to develop an interest in the workings of government.

Kennedy is best when he addresses himself to the young, financially comfortable and apathetic. At his appearance before the Harvard Democrats last week, Kennedy encouraged his audience to get involved in politics.

"You have a tremendous opportunity," he said, "to go out and make an impact in this country. Maybe you'll choose not to and just say the hell with it. But you can also take another option... to recognize how important a responsibility you have--to get involved in the public affairs of your country."

"There's nothing that can make you feel better," he said, "than to go out and help some poor individual that wouldn't have had a helping hand, when you create a government policy that assists people who just want the opportunity so badly to be able to grow to their full potential. This country needs your love, and above all it needs your involvement."

Kennedy comes across--despite his wealth and occasional flashes of his more arrogant side--as a fairly normal guy. Speaking bluntly and off the cuff, his rough edges have yet to be polished. His presence in the political arena says to people that politics does not have to be dominated by smarmy lawyers, sleazy consultants and geeky technocrats.

TOO many in our generation have a sour opinion of politics and the ability of government to have relevancy to people's lives. Voter participation in this country is abysmal, and young people, sadly, are the most negligent. Having been raised in an era dominated by Vietnam, Watergate, Jimmy Carter and the Iran contra-scandal, this is hardly surprising.

Because of his affluent background Kennedy will never have the impact of Jesse Jackson; he can never speak of empowerment with the same weight.

But Kennedy's own buzzwords of "participation," "involvement" and "responsibility" have meaning to those who already have access to the political system and choose not to exercise their rights.

He may not be the brightest, his policy stands may not always be the most thought out or the best ones, but his connection with the average person on the street is powerful. In a time when so many choose not vote or even care about politics, a politician who can stir a crowd is nothing to be cynical about.