Strip both names from it, for neither merits the honour: a reflection upon the ‘Trump–Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts’

Hulton Archive/Getty Images

{WP 19 December} ‘Kennedy Center adds Trump’s name to building, despite legal concerns’

The Trump–Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts: I confess I indulged in no small measure of sentimental reverence for the Kennedy dynasty over many years, but it is time—well past time, in truth—for such nostalgia to be laid to rest. Howsoever towering John F. Kennedy may appear when set beside the present holder of the office—and I do freely acknowledge his true heroism in war—we must at last reckon with the full measure of the man: he was corrupt; his fumbling hand brought the United States perilously close to the brink of a third world war (albeit he was not the architect of that crisis); and he behaved appallingly toward Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, toward Marilyn Monroe, and toward Heaven knoweth how many other women.

The dynasty’s moral deficiencies did not begin nor end with him. Joseph Kennedy, the family patriarch, held an admiration for Hitler. Ted Kennedy, lionised by many, bore responsibility for a woman’s death. And today we behold Robert F. Kennedy Jr., dragging American public health discourse back unto the intellectual standard of the colonial age—an erstwhile advanced medical system now obliged to genuflect before a man whose understanding is, at best, mediæval.

For generations there hath existed an almost tribal fealty toward the Kennedys within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, most especially among the predominantly Irish Catholic working class. Yet these have never been my people. As a nominal Protestant of largely English and German descent, I understood from childhood—keenly and unforgettably—that I did not belong, nor was I welcome, within my overwhelmingly Catholic community situated scarcely ten miles north of Boston. (Think somewhere in the vicinity of Spot Pond). It was no phantom of my imagination; I was told so in the plainest, most wounding terms on countless occasions—most vehemently by the Irish kids, and, to a lesser but still palpable degree, by the Italian ones. Why, then, have I spent so many years idealising the Kennedys, a clan whose mythology I was never invited to share? Only Jacqueline ever embodied genuine grace or dignity.

So let us say it plainly: enough of the Kennedys, and curse the cult built around them. And as for Trump—his name, and that of his brood, deserveth no sanctified place in the public square. Strip both names from the façade. We are not the Soviet Union, and no civilised republic ought to plaster the monuments of its cultural life with the surnames of dubious dynasties.

—Arthur Newhook (pen name), somewhere in the vicinity of the Middlesex Fells and severely pissed-off, 19 December 2025.

Copyright 2025, Arthur Newhook.

John Milton’s Areopagitica: a voice of reason from a fractured age, yet also for our present fractured age

public domain

Published on this day in 1644, Areopagitica remains John Milton’s impassioned admonition to heed ‘the voice of reason’, and his powerful denunciation of the English Parliament’s decree (the Licensing Order of 1643) that all authors must first obtain governmental approval before publishing their works. It was composed at the height of the English Civil War, an age of violent ideological fervour and division that was, perhaps, a grim portent of what we now witness unfolding across the globe—most acutely, and relevant to yours truly, within the former United States of America.

It was a fiercely partisan era, yet Areopagitica is the work of a man of nuance and integrity—the very sort of soul who is rare in any epoch, and indispensable in times such as those of seventeenth-century England. Indeed, such men and women are just as vital in our own age of omnipresent technology, nuclear armament, and zealots as unenlightened now as they were in 1644 (or perhaps worse).

Family tradition long held that John Milton was among my ancestors, and though I have found the name ‘Milton’ in my lineage, I have traced it only as far back as the early nineteenth century, in northern Maine and the Maritimes. Doubtless, the line originated somewhere in England—I have confirmed ancestry from virtually every corner of the old country. No matter; I cannot say with certainty that he is a forebear of mine. Yet, I offer humble thanks to the man for what he bestowed upon humanity: ideas that still resonate in certain circles today (amongst the dwindling numbers who still think, that is). I rather suspect he would be appalled at the state of our world today.

Copyright 2025, Arthur Newhook.

Reflections on President Biden's trip to Ireland

Photo: By Milesoneill - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27775026

(Written on Friday, April 14) President Biden is in Ballina, Ireland, where I have an ancestral connection myself. Visited there as a toddler (1981), but my memories of it are about non-existent. Watching the live coverage on Sky News, as I have no interest in how the garbage U.S. media is covering it (if they're even bothering.) While I can only claim partial Irish ancestry (around 20% at the very most), my maternal grandmother was an Irish immigrant to America of Scottish and English ancestry. Born in 1910 in Galway (relocating to County Mayo during the first of two or three marriages), she left a daughter behind in Ireland around the time WWII started and then spent the next decade or so living somewhere in England (possibly Manchester.) Whoever my maternal grandfather was, he was apparently from somewhere in Germany (only making me more Germanic and Anglo-Saxon in blood than my paternal line already made me) …

My mother was given up for adoption around the age of four, and was raised by an older Yankee Protestant couple, and I am thankful for that as that woman was a complete wreck of a person (she died in 1992, which was the second of two unfortunate occasions when ‘Auntie Margaret’ - the aforementioned daughter left behind in Ireland - came to these shores for two extended visits; the woman took over my bedroom, and did nothing but bitterly complain about her distaste for America, and being in a Protestant home the whole time) …

As stated above, my memories of Ballina from 42 years-ago are extremely hazy - apart from one incident that will go unspoken except only to say it left a scar for life. I only vaguely recall it being damp, dreary, and rather poor. We did take a cross-country trip to visit the Dublin Zoo, which I am certain was the best part of the trip. In spite of having visited Ireland, my heart and soul is far more connected to England and Germany than any other lands where I have heritage. Many people I grew up around here in the Boston area were purely Irish, and Irish-Catholic at that. By no means do I have as much of a claim to that land as most Irish-Americans have, my spirit, body, and mind are forever WASP. No matter, though, I am still proud to share an ancestral homeland with President Biden, and I am proud that he is honorably representing a not-so-honorable country as ours abroad. Hells, maybe the president and I are distant cousins, and maybe that is why I relate to him. - A.N.

Copyright 2023, Arthur Newhook. @Sunking278 and @FloydEtcetera on TWITTER, and at the same handles on FACEBOOK. MASTODON - @ArthurNewhook@mastodon.world, and POST - @arthurnewhook.