On The Lawn of Independence Hall RFK Jr. Divorced the Democrats
In a break from political dynasty, Kennedy is transformed into the Independent underdog with a legacy we can't ignore
It’s a short walk from our hotel to the sprawling lawn in front of Independence Hall, where Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. has chosen to proclaim himself an Independent in the 2024 presidential race.
We are in town to witness this dramatic severance—a break from American Royalty, fracturing our country's most prominent Democratic dynasty—but also to fuel a teenager's passion for politics. Some people want their kids intellectually sculpted by astute universities. I want mine shaped by weird life experiences to prime their conversational contributions later in adulthood. Convincing them to care about culture takes considerable effort, though, in an age where rabidly consumed TikToks have successfully shredded their attention spans so that more complicated matters are reactively rejected.
Hayes, my youngest, is along because he sweetly appreciates anything historical. His teacher is just as excited as he is about this trip to Philly. She gives him notes on what to see while we're there.
Arlo will be 18 in December. It's impossible not to feel sentimental about this as a concluding chapter in both of our lives. This election will be his first vote. I want it to come with memorable experiences, like mine did—even if my faith in elections has been severely damaged.
At his age, I was interested in these things because of my mother's influence. In the 90s, she was known to host evenings for local politicians and was—on a bigger scale—obsessed with the Clinton/Gore ticket in a way that made me feel excited to be part of it, too. It felt pressingly important to be involved. I lay awake many nights, listening to twilight conversations punctuated with excitement over Clinton's candidacy. My mother had a penchant for Democratic men. Bill Clinton, in his heyday, was the centerfold of that adoration. In dedication to local politics, she was known to clear out the living room of our 1910 craftsman house, making room for rows of mismatched antique chairs to invite the community in to argue decisions.
"RFK, Jr.'s conspiracy theories appeal to some Republican voters, but not to Democrats," said one Democratic strategist. "Democrats have never bought into his theories, but some Republican voters find his fringe stances appealing."
— Hanna Trudo
My stepdad, on the other hand, was a proud Republican. I remember they would argue sometimes over differing views, but the clash never turned vicious. During long car rides on road trips across state lines, we would listen to Rush Limbaugh. It was likely those long, listless hours trapped in the backseat of a Ford Bronco that helped ignite my affection for boisterous political fodder. The talk show ramblings, dull as they were at that age, forced me to consider things happening in the world from two sides and two perspectives. I learned to process the points I liked and mentally degrade the ones I didn't.
Back then, it was still "fun" to disagree.
When we arrive downtown, we are greeted by drum circles and dancers draped in American flags at the rally entrance. Amidst a flock of supporters lining the entrance gate, I see a woman with a beautiful cape draped over her shoulders. "Kennedy" is stitched in large blue letters across the back. From afar, it looks like a beloved relic she could have scored at a stylish estate sale.
When I approach her to inquire about it, she explains that it's her own hand-sewn creation. I wonder, eyeing the details up close, if she meant to echo old America in its design. When I walk over to point out the cape to Denise, she's already on it, snapping photos from various angles, but stops when she spots Bobby Kennedy III mingling around the art booths. Leaning on a tree next to Hayes, he smiles for the shot. Resemblance to his father is not immediately traceable.
"That's Bobby's kid?" Arlo asks with dull intrigue as he walks away.
He is currently on a rigid health kick inspired by the kind of motivational personalities on YouTube that urge young followers to pump iron, eat grass-fed steak, and avoid seed oils altogether, so he is consequently impressed by RFK's dedication to fitness. He appreciates that an "old dude" can still be "jacked."
I catch him watching videos of Kennedy’s pushups and pull-ups, as well as the snake head snatching and his falcon training, with genuine fascination on the plane ride over. I show him photos of RFK with different breeds of birds perched on his arm or shoulder, but stop short of scrolling through the album on my phone dedicated to shirtless Kennedys showing off toned torsos in various boating scenes around Cape Cod; a perfect example of rugged Massachusetts-style masculinity that women my age still swoon over. Especially in an era of increasingly blurred gender lines that define current times.
"Today, we turn a new page in American politics. There have been Independent candidates in this country before, but this time, it's going to be different. Because this time, the Independent is gonna win."
— RFK, Jr.
Along the curb, a full-sized bus is parked with Kennedy's face and campaign slogans stretched across the front. "Kennedy is the Remedy" is written in bold letters on the lower left side. As I get closer, I see the shifting shadows of long-haired guys within the bus busily arranging things I can't make out. Stacked boxes of what look like campaign merchandise clutter the countertops. When one of the guys in a long ponytail catches me snooping, he pauses to wave at me.
We enter the roped-off area early enough to snag a front-row standing spot with a direct view of the red and white tented stage. There are three gray-haired grannies next to us. Throughout the morning, I overhear them praising RFK to family members who call wanting updates. They cannot contain their excitement—not even as TV screens play grim clips from a documentary that tackles the gruesome realities happening across our borders: sex trafficking, cartel interference, rape, and murder.
The excerpts introduce slivers of Kennedy’s policies. In one clip, he explains why he changed his stance on open borders, crediting intimate interactions with those involved and employed at the border with opening his eyes to the horrors happening there. He makes the point that one can only decide (or change) what they believe through such conversations.
The film riles me up. He is measured and methodical with his words. It is in stark contrast to the media profiles that frame him as a reckless radical with far-fetched ideals, "the first MAGA Democrat," or a "conspiracy-spewing Kennedy posing as a populist." The photos selected for these articles work in tandem to underscore this notion. Kennedy is handsome in a traditional sense. It’s not difficult to capture the fact with decent angles. Instead, they show him mid-speech, looking like a deranged madman in a well-tailored suit, overlaid with headlines warning that he’s a peddler of lies and “misinformation,” to ward off the natural interest inherent to his name. The fear being: If we actually allow him to explain his theories and visions stripped of media bias, we might actually like and agree with him.
In a two hour podcast with Lex Fridman, for instance, possibly one of the best interviews I’ve heard with any candidate, his candor is displayed with humility and integrity. He is a riveting storyteller. He speaks about everything from his vision of God, to living through the Cuban missile crisis, to addiction and sobriety, to the intimate details of the Kennedy era —how his uncle and Krushchev would communicate privately to avoid a nuclear war. His stories, combined with his convictions, make for captivating interviews. His voice might be shaky, but his mind and his memory are sharp.
“I’m here to declare myself an Independent candidate for President of the United States. I’m here to join you in making a new declaration of independence for our entire nation.”
— RFK, Jr.
Because my defense of Kennedy is edged at times with emotion, it is often misinterpreted as an endorsement. If I point out or complain about the unjust coverage of him, I am attacked by vax-loving liberals who are still quick to reject anyone who expresses skepticism about Covid.
Trump supporters, on the other hand, are milder in their resentment. While Kennedy has long identified as a Democrat who shares his late father’s and uncle’s visions of peace and middle class concerns, he has undoubtedly built close relationships with prominent conservatives in recent years. In polls, his favor leans far more with Republicans than Democrats, who denounce him for embracing values they previously considered moral pillars.
Liberal rejection is based on two things they are consistently guilty of: misguided assumptions (all mainstream determined and endorsed) paired with good ole hypocrisy. They will rage about Kennedy going off course but keep quiet about Biden’s frazzled state of dementia, outright ignoring the harrowing cognitive decline that is clearly plaguing his presidency.
In decades past, Kennedy would have met all the requirements of a classic Democrat: pro-choice, anti-GMOs, for small business, in support of peace, against big donor funding…the list goes on. Now, pharmaceutical companies and vaccines override all other interests on the left. Their trust in conglomerate forces is inexplicable to those of us who left the party because of it, a point frequently highlighted by Kennedy: how much the old school Dems have changed in recent years. They used to rage against The Man. Now they worship The Man to the point that they have successfully trained an overwhelming portion of their party to defend shots above all else.
When I ask liberals what they don't like about RFK, aside from the vaccine controversies, they can almost never pin down specific reasons. They know—because they were told—he's into "weird conspiracies," and that "even his family doesn't agree with him."
Less discussed is how Kennedy has dedicated his life to advocating for environmental causes; fighting for water and air quality with an unwavering commitment to protecting natural resources and advocating for sustainable practices evident in his legal battles against corporate polluters. As well as his role as an outspoken environmental activist, often taking on powerful interests in his quest to hold them accountable for catastrophic environmental damage. He believes in vaccine injuries because he dared listen (and believe mothers) about harm to their children.
When a friend calls to criticize him during our trip, accusing him of being “too paranoid about the government.” I respond by saying, “If anyone has a right to be paranoid about the government, and the CIA, it's Kennedy’s son.”
‘QAnon Kennedy’ spotted in the crowd: For those not familiar - the lore says that JFK Jr. has been in hiding, disguised as a fedora loving middle-aged, financial services manager from Pittsburgh named Vincent Fusca.
Onstage, a procession of speakers precede Kennedy. Lewis Grassrope, an elder of the South Dakota Lower Brule Sioux Tribe, is first. He calls for Indigenous People’s Day to bring healing in the political divide.
“The left wing and right wing are always fighting. If they are always fighting, how are we to become one?” he asks, before delivering a prayer in his native language and leading the crowd in unified swaying.
Rabbi Shmuley Boteach follows him. He describes Biden’s refusal to pay for Kennedy’s protection on the campaign trail as “an American abomination.”
Kyle Kemper, the super charged driver of the Kennedy bus and half-brother of Justin Trudeau, is another impassioned black sheep with a cause. When he hops onstage, he is buzzing with energetic praise for RFK, carrying a box full of t-shirts that he tosses into the crowd. He ends by urging us to encourage others not to vote, but to “listen to Bobby.” Kennedy, he says, is the “remedy” that will heal this divide.
Link, the bleach blonde darling of TikTok whom I met last month at the GOP debate, delivers a brief speech on the importance of engaging young voters through social media—a feat he is undeniably successful at. Watching his confidence on stage, I think of how proud his mother must be.
Dennis Kucinich, the ex-Democratic congressman for Ohio hired as Kennedy’s campaign manager, appears alongside his young, pretty wife. Denise and I look at each other stunned when they do. The night before, we had watched the two cuddled up in a dark booth above us at our hotel restaurant and sat wondering what their story was. We had no idea who they were, so we each made up versions of what we imagined they did for a living. Political campaign manager wasn’t one of them.
"They say my impact is only going to draw votes from the other candidates. The Democrats are frightened that I'm gonna spoil the election for President Biden, and the Republicans are frightened that I'm gonna spoil it for President Trump. The truth is, they're both right. My intention is to spoil it for both of them."
— RFK, Jr.
Cheryl Hines, in a chic white satin pantsuit, is on hand to introduce Bobby. She indulges the crowd with the greatest triumph of his career as an environmental lawyer—defeating Monsanto in a monumental $290 million “landmark case” against the agricultural giant and its glyphosate-based product (Roundup) that proved the product was likely linked to the cancer of Dewayne Johnson, a former school groundskeeper who Kennedy was quick to believe and defend.
Johnson, now 46, was first diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma when he was 42. The lawsuit attributed his terminal cancer to his extensive use of the weed-killer Roundup, as well as other Monsanto products.
"The jury found Monsanto acted with malice and oppression because they knew what they were doing was wrong and doing it with reckless disregard for human life," Kennedy’s statement read.
When RFK appears, he’s missing his speech. Frantically, he’s mumbling and checking both sides of his suit pockets before someone offstage finds and hands it to him. Because I’ve heard from several sources that he is prone to misplacing things—like his wallet on a regular basis —watching this scene in real time is oddly amusing. If only because it confirms trite gossip.
He dives straight into why this is such a difficult decision for him. He blames convoluted parties on both sides, taking aim at Wall Street, tech censorship, big Pharma as a criminal enterprise, military contractors, the “mercenary media,” and the “two-party establishment” that he is here to formally reject because—he says—it is “leading us all over a cliff.” The crowd cheers him on with each of these railings.
Later, we are led in a chant of “I DECLARE MY INDEPENDENCE,” to echo his break from a tyrannical two party system. Hayes excitedly chimes in, flags on his head wobbling as an oversized camera in front of us zooms in to capture his enthusiasm.
After about 45 minutes, with a surge of applause, Kennedy exits the stage to the embrace of friends and extended family members gathered backstage (still visible through the sidelines). Creedence Clearwater Revival blares through the sound system as we disperse.
Arlo trails off with Denise to photograph people in the crowd, but gets sidetracked by a couple cameramen who interview him on his reasons for being there. He says he’s here with his mom, whom he refers to as “House Inhabit.”
When asked about his stance on vaccines, like a seasoned politician, he declines. “I prefer not to comment on that,” he says as kids in oversized Kennedy tees run circles around him on the lawn.
Hayes catches up with a young girl in a beret. They look at each other with suspicious interest as a man holding a sign that says “I want Camelot” watches, smiling. Something about this pure and fleeting connection reminds those paying attention that the kids are what matter most. We all want Camelot.
In a DM later, my friend asks about Kucinich’s “bombshell”— whom she calls the “Julianne Moore of politician wives”—then proceeds to fill me in on their romance. “There’s an interview she did where she talked about meeting him and him asking her dad for permission to marry her. She loves the way he thinks,” she explains.
The following day, a statement from Bobby's four siblings lands online like a punch in the gut denouncing their brother's candidacy.
Their betrayal, accentuated only because of their lineage, is familiar to so many of us who’ve experienced similar divides based on conflicting views severing friendships and families over the past three years.
It's meant to knock air from his sails but it only amps up his base who see him as the black sheep who's broken the mold to chase his vision, unwilling to fold on his convictions to make family holidays on Hyannis Port a little less awkward.
Later, a friend messages me to explain why and how the Kennedys are in bed with the Biden’s, pointing out how Caroline Kennedy was appointed by him and served as U.S. Ambassador to Japan from 2013-2017. Later Ambassador to the Commonwealth of Australia.
"Biden's admin butters her bread, don’t forget it. Family ties are not her first concern,"the source text.
I’m reminded of why her son Jack (who filmed the pitiful video that looked as if he was being held at gunpoint to express support for Biden over Bobby) did what he did.
“Biden allegiance is strong within that family.”
"Bobby might share the same name as our father, but he does not share the same values, vision, or judgment. Today's announcement is deeply saddening for us. We denounce his candidacy and believe it to be perilous for our country."
— Rory Kennedy, Kerry Kennedy, Joseph P Kennedy II and Kathleen Kennedy Townsend
Following the announcement, Kennedy's divorce from the Democrats doesn't rattle headlines like it should. His decision—while expected—is still a shake-up, as the Independent route is sure to further complicate an election race already on track to become one of the most contested in modern times.
"He's the liberal Trump," I hear more than once in different settings around town.
Those in my DMs are wondering if an Independent today is any different from an Independent in 1992. Ross Perot, God bless him, is our only comparison. Sure, he mounted one of the most successful Independent presidential campaigns in history, but he still only managed to secure 8% of the vote that Bill Clinton ultimately won. Have we changed that much since then? Is political malaise dire enough now to carry RFK into a position of real potential?
Or is he kidding us, and himself, by dragging this out because he feels genetically inclined to do so?
His motivations are called into question anytime I’m around political pundits who are apt to trade suspicions about his “real”reasons for running.
After his announcement, I politely decline an invite to a meet and greet. We are too exhausted (not to mention overstuffed from cheesesteak sandwiches devoured in a hurry at the corner food market). On top of work to catch up on, we still have sights to see.
"But, it's your chance to meet Bobby!" a concerned contact exclaims.
"I've met him," I tell her.
“Really?” she asks, surprised. “How was he?”
"Eloquent. Sharp,” I tell her. “His eyes are much bluer in person.”
David Whiteside, Evangeline Lilly, Bobby Kennedy III
Rewind …
Unexpectedly, last month while driving up to LA with my niece to track down a tour of Woody Harrelson’s consumption weed garden in West Hollywood, David Whiteside—Bobby’s godson—texts wondering if we could swing by to film a short clip for something they are working on for RFK's campaign content. This is outside our plans, but I always say yes to enticing offers. I jot down the address and redirect us toward what I assume will be a rented studio nearby.
On a secluded street, we park at such an extreme angle that I almost can't open my door to get out. We can't stop laughing as we climb out of the car to the residence across the street, where a gate opens to a lush garden growing around the walls of a gorgeously manicured home.
After security clears us and a couple spotted dogs excitedly greet us, I realize this is Kennedy’s home. Around the back, I spot his glowing outline, illuminated by the sun pouring through a large window, where he is encircled on a couch by a small film crew.
Our introduction is slightly awkward. His team is in a hurry, and I’m bad at explaining myself and my platform under pressure. Sitting knee to knee on his couch for this brief interview, any facade of professionalism I hoped to possess falls away when speaks. His eyes are piercingly blue in person; his tan well-earned from daily hikes with his dogs on a trail nearby.
He wears classic Levi’s with a belt and a green corduroy button up. The chiseled outline of his face is weathered but oddly familiar because of features and mannerisms inherited from his father. It’s somewhat distracting for someone like me. I grew up knowing the lines of this face because of my mother’s lifelong affinity for the Kennedys. His visage alone awakens something somber inside me.
As we talk, I ask what the biggest misconception about him is. He says it's that he's anti-vax and reiterates that he is only "anti-mandates"—a stance we both share.
After our conversation comes to a close, I slip into his downstairs bathroom to wash my hands, taking visual note of the history lining this small quaint space. Family photos are hung next to letters signed by Eunice and Rose Kennedy, alongside collected sketches of birds framed in gold. His home is littered with vibrant art in homage to his family history. Before I leave, we take a photo in front of a bold painting of John and Jackie.
When I regret (aloud) that I forgot to ask him what his favorite albums are, a crew member is quick to invite me back. Without pause, Kennedy names CCR as favorite band and “Gimme Shelter” as favorite album.
“Great taste,” I tell him. And mean it.
With that, we are on our way up the snaking curves of Hollywood to find Woody’s weed den again. This surreal kink in my afternoon is something I would normally be excited to call and tell my mom about, but we haven’t spoken since the summer of 2021, after an argument over my refusal to get my family vaccinated triggered a longstanding grudge she still clings to that ended communication between us. Driving back, I’m hit with a wave of sadness, reminded of the lasting damage this time period entailed.
Between political musings, we manage to see most of the sights we planned on in Philly. A feat made harder by dodging gruesome war updates on the news. Outdoor escape feels vital. We make time to toss pennies on Ben Franklin’s grave for good luck, and tour the cobbled strip of Elfreth's Alley. On our last night, we decide on taking in a sweeping view of the city by bus top at sunset.
On one stop we pause to jog up the infamous Rocky stairs like RFK did when he arrived — sprinting faster down them when a homeless man starts demanding cash for the photo tips he offered to ensure we get the “right” shot, snagging my phone and pushing my fist in one direction and Hayes’ in another, demanding when we jump.
When I notice him growing more angry (because I only have Apple Pay available) I make a swifter dash down the stairs where Denise is standing below, laughing out loud over such a ridiculous scene.
A Peek into Independence Hall: Opened in 1753 - where both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were debated and adopted by our Founding Fathers.
Kyle & Keith 4 Kennedy
On our way out, I swing by the Red Owl Tavern to meet a few folks following Kennedy by bus along the campaign trail, while Denise keeps the boys moving around town, ticking sights off as they go. I’d heard rumors about Kennedy’s campaign being “messy” internally for months: “A literal catastrophe,” a source told me just before this trip. Others blamed “too many cooks in the kitchen” or suspected family members on payroll causing new chaos within. All these remarks, though, are vague. No one can tell me exactly what’s so wrong with the logistics when I ask. I figure answers will come by talking to those closest to the alleged heat.
Inside the bar, I’m introduced to a handful of trusted supporters on site to cheer Kennedy on as he stumps his way through the country. Bobby Bailey (another Bobby) is as cheerful and courteous as I expect, having connected via email after he offered me an “Owls for Kennedy” sweatshirt he set aside specially for me, because his wife is a “fan.”
Bailey introduces me to Kyle Kemper, the half-brother of Justin Trudeau— exuberant speaker from RFK’s rally who is quick to inform me that he and Justin have the same mother, not the same politics.
I end up interviewing him spontaneously after a tour of his bus. In our conversation, I learn that another of his brothers died tragically in an avalanche, and his mother lived a life colorful enough to fill several Vanity Fair features. When I search the Internet for images of her, I stumble across one of her holding a cherub-faced infant next to Fidel Castro. In another, she is a dazzling vision in a sequined disco dress partying with Mick Jagger at Studio 54.
Keith Amato then enters the room with no introduction, like a high voltage Corleone cousin, wearing an apron around his waist asking who wants oysters. I don’t have time to answer before he whisks the glass of rosé from my hand and leads us to the patio where a plate of fresh oysters is laid out for us.
I slurp down mine, but am taken aback by the heady reaction it evokes. The taste of it stings my senses like an accidental swig of salt water flooding my brain with vibrant memories of being tossed around the sea as a child. The shock of it stuns me. When I try and describe what just happened to my brain, Keith looks thrilled.
Keith and Kennedy met 9 years ago at a 12 step meeting in Malibu (his first in California), where they served smoked salmon quesadillas topped with lobster and caviar. He experienced a “transmission vision” while walking around Zuma Beach, and decided to use his last $300 to set up shop and sell his art along the beach. He moved in with a Malibu local to start their own recovery meetup every night. The sober house they set up was all the rage. Keith did most of the work. When Bobby Kennedy caught wind of it, he eventually started turning up, too. Before long, according to Keith, he was tending the grill for the group on a nightly basis.
"It was like, do these kids have any clue who’s BBQing their hot dogs?!” Keith laughs, remembering how much the group looked up to him, Fabian, and Bobby as elders hosting these kinetic coastal gatherings.
Years later, when Covid hit, the two reconnected. Bobby’s traveling schedule had come to a halt. Suddenly, he was around all the time and looking to keep his sobriety in check. Together, he and Keith kept a sober meeting going above a bank in LA, one of the only ones that continued on a regular basis when everything else had shut down. They called it the “Catacomb Pirate Meeting.”
Kyle Kemper on Kennedy as the ‘Remedy’ / Keith Amato on Michael being swallowed by the whale and ‘Owl Power’
Bobby III in the bar is less engaging than the other men I meet. Surrounded by a few empty beer glasses, he appears notably uninterested when we are introduced.
After another round, he mentions — to no one in particular — that he has an old bus he's looking to revive with a fresh paint job. I assume to include as a new addition to the colorful campaign caravan trailing his father's travels.
I tell him that my husband restores old buses. He asks if we have a mechanic in LA to suggest. Because we are on the topic of buses, I make the grave mistake of showing him a photo of the 1960’s Commer Mike purchased a year 1/2 ago in England. The license plate has the initials and numbers of RFK's date of death. I tell him how weird it was when we discovered this, thanks to a follower on instagram who pointed it out, long before his father announced his run. During this faltering explanation, I mention a hike planned in the coming weeks that would include an interview in the bus, but realized, right away, he is bothered by the details of it, so I back off. The synchronicity is lost on him. He feels something sinister about it and sharply scolds me for showing it to him, telling me if he were us, he would "burn it."
Back at my barstool, I'm as confused as I am humiliated. One of the men at the bar tells me not to worry about it, but the heat of embarrassment flushes my face. Naturally, I regret oversharing.
After this awkward interaction, Bobby III leaves to catch his flight but resurfaces minutes later to retrieve a backpack he left behind. He pauses at the door to say goodbye to everyone except me. The gesture is meant to reiterate his irritation.
Later that day a text from a source encourages me to forget about it. "He's very deep into the whole Kennedy curse. “I wouldn't take it personally," they insist.
A few days after we arrive home from Philadelphia, I see an email from the Kennedy team announcing that Dennis Kucinich has been abruptly replaced as campaign manager by Amaryllis Fox, Bobby III’s wife. Members of his inner circle I talk to sound equally blindsided by the switch.
Days later, a phone call informs me that the interview I had planned has been canceled. Not only am I not allowed to do the interview, I'm not allowed to hike with him either. The order comes from someone "high up" in the campaign. I know enough to not ask who or why.
That night at dinner, I tell Mike the interview has been called off. The bus renovations he was working to complete for this deadline are no longer a top concern. He doesn't ask many questions, but is clearly bothered by the shunning.
"Their loss." He says. "A stupid thing to do when the rest of the media is so against him."
Arlo, pressing a cast iron skillet over a filet he's preparing for his dad, looks amused. "Guess our next trip is Palm Beach," he says. "Trump town."
At the kitchen table, over a bowl of cereal, Hayes is smiling to himself. Disney World, like Trump, he knows is in Florida.
The pictures and the way you tell a story are top notch. Taking your kids with you to expose them to different opinions and how we can we respectful even when we disagree is a gift.
Your mom and the cancelled ending is so sad. Thank you for being honest.