Cheryl Hines and the Dark Side of Loyalty

Looking at her while looking at myself.

Hines and her husband RFK, Jr. Image courtesy of Shutterstock.com

I probably shouldn’t write about Cheryl Hines.

One day, I’m going to write about one celebrity too many and find myself in real trouble. But I can’t pretend she hasn’t been on my mind lately. I find myself asking at least once a day how she can stay quiet about her husband.

That’s not quite right. Really, I imagine her. I wonder what she’s doing, what she’s thinking, if she feels sick to her stomach or not. Is she on the phone with her best friend, trying to figure out what to do? Is she in therapy, trying to sort it out? I wonder.

It’s none of my business. Or is it? The Cheryl Hines dilemma is chock full of paradox.

It is for me, at least. Because she and I are the same age and of similar demographics. And we both have the protection of the Almighty White American Male.

We’re married.

I’m tempted to say her husband is more powerful than mine. It may have been the case at one point, but in a horse race I’d say Secret Service is now leading by a mile. The clout hers once possessed is fizzling away as we speak.

Hines, a highly successful actor, is in the weeds right now because she finds herself married to none other than Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.— known in our house as Bobby Fucking Kennedy.

Bobby Kennedy, of The Kennedys. Bobby Kennedy, decapitator of whales. Bobby Kennedy, anti-vaxxer. Bobby Kennedy, who claims a worm was in his brain. Bobby Kennedy, prankster who placed a dead bear cub in Central Park. (Yes, really.) And Bobby Kennedy, former presidential candidate, currently endorsing Trump for President.

Bobby Kennedy, who promises Donald Trump will do something about the quality of food we eat in America. Clearly, something is wrong with the man.

Oh, Cheryl Hines. I don’t think silence is going to cut it. But I’m not going to solve anything here. Your silence just provokes more and more questions from me, not answers.

For instance, why choose silence now? You haven’t always. You did speak out against something he said, when he outrageously suggested Anne Frank was better off without a vaccine mandate.

If Hines hadn’t written that dumb tweet last week, perhaps I’d skip writing about her. I hate it when people blame women for their husband’s idiocies.

There was a slew of people who criticized Hillary Clinton for staying with Bill after his scandal involving Monica Lewinsky.

But Bill Clinton’s actions did not hurt Americans. You could argue the lies about the affair did, and the end result of his actions had devastating effects for Monica Lewinsky.

He wasn’t, however, spreading disinformation about life-saving vaccinations. He wasn’t endorsing a man who led an insurrection against the United States of America. Bill Clinton wasn’t threatening public health or the state of democracy.

In other words, it was none of our business how the Clintons worked out their marriage. It was theirs alone.

But when Bobby Kennedy dropped out of the race, Hines tweeted something so enraging in its banality.

The decision has been made to suspend my husband's, Robert Kennedy Jr.'s, presidency and I'd like to extend a sincere, deeply heartfelt thank you to every person who has worked so tirelessly and lovingly on his campaign. They have accomplished feats that were said to be impossible. They have gathered over a million signatures, more than any candidate in history, and have achieved ballot access across the country despite the roadblocks and lawsuits that have been brought against them for the sole purpose of keeping Bobby off of the ballots so no one would even have the opportunity to vote for him. I deeply respect the decision Bobby made to run on the principle of unity. Over the last year and a half, I have met some extraordinary people from all parties — Democrats, Republicans, and Independents. It's been my experience that the vast majority of all parties are truly good people who want the best for our country and for each other. It has been an eye-opening, transformative, and endearing journey.

Reading between the lines is easy. She’s somehow convinced herself it’s more important to see the world through the eyes of her husband, instead of her own.

This, I cannot tolerate. And, I understand it.

I do not want women to keep putting the men in their lives above their own good sense. I just can’t stand it anymore.

Yet I know why it happens, particularly for a woman my age.

Maybe younger women have an easier time of this—I don’t know, because I’m not a young woman. I certainly hope they do. But for women my age and up—I’m at the older end of Generation X—the whisper of loyalty is so strong.

We were taught to be a woman is to be loyal.

I’m supposed to be loyal to my man, my parents, my family, my friends, my nation. This loyalty is unequivocal. It is no matter what. I’m supposed to forgive transgressions against myself and love the people in my life unconditionally.

He was only joking. Don’t take yourself so seriously. It’s not like you’ve never made a mistake. Honor thy father and mother. For better or for worse. In sickness and in health—and he’s sick, he can’t help it.

It was a different time. It’s not my fight, it’s theirs.

Sure, children are in cages, but it’s still the best nation on earth. Be grateful.

Don’t make a fuss. Keep your mouth shut. Let it go. If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t speak at all. You can’t change anything.

It doesn’t matter if every cell in me is screaming no it’s wrong—If I’m loyal, I fulfill my contract as a woman.

How is this possible when every time my inner alarm bells ring? Deep down, I know loyalty at any price is wrong.

And where do I draw the line with my loyalties? I’m asking Cheryl Hines something I need to be asking myself. What’s my price?

I struggle with this, present tense. I’ve written a memoir which has a particular focus. Its main theme isn’t racism, or how my family and I have participated in it over the centuries. I could probably write another entire book about that.

I don’t know if I will.

But as the first draft of this book goes through final edits, one of the hardest struggles I have is how much to write about racism. It’s set in large part in the south. I can’t write a book based in the south without dealing with it.

This memoir is about my life. Being Black in America is not my story. Dealing with racism in myself and others is. I consider it a responsibility. How to write about it, and how much to write about it is a balancing act I have not yet achieved. I don’t want to write some obligatory chapter designed to get me off the hook. I want to be responsible; and I have a book to finish.

I just keep at it. I doubt I’ll be completely successful, in balance. The desire to protect myself and family is strong. I still have to give it my best shot.

I write, I fail, I rewrite. I fail again. I keep writing. One day, I’ll get it; at least I sincerely hope so.

I mention this because it’s not like I’m immune to failures in responsibility or character. And I have to keep this in mind as I think about Cheryl Hines, and her marriage.

What’s interesting to me is how many questions she makes me ask myself. Because I do think I understand a little bit about what’s going on with her, and I think she’s in a struggle facing millions of American women, particularly women of a certain age. Namely, just how much do we owe our families?

It looks so easy from the outside.

I mean, everybody has a line, right? There’s a line you draw about what you will and will not put up with from a partner. And if you are politically involved, like I am, a man probably has a lot less leeway than with a woman who isn’t interested in politics.

For instance:

When I discovered Secret Service was an independent voter early on in our relationship, I had an ultimatum.

“Fine,” I said. “But you have to promise never to vote for someone who says they’re Pro-Life. That’s a dealbreaker for me.”

It’s simple. I don’t care how well someone treats me. If they don’t treat others well, I don’t want to be around them. If Secret Service voted for someone who would deny a woman bodily autonomy, I couldn’t be with him.

He agreed. Over the years, he’s listed further and further port side. Now I’d put him somewhere to the left of Marx. I don’t have to worry about him voting for a libertarian anymore. We’re on the same page.

I have no idea how people manage a marriage if they’re in two different political parties. It’s above my pay grade.

But again: not my business.

So why do I think the Hines-Kennedy marriage is my business?

Short answer: not at all sure it is. It’s me being wistful.

Curb Your Enthusiasm, the show that put Hines on the map, was filmed without a script. All the scenes were improvised.

I used to be an actor, I love improv, and Hines is a master. She was a perfect partner for Larry David. What’s more, Cheryl David the character had a line in the sand herself. One day, she had enough. She left her husband.

She understood how selfish he was all in a moment, and that was that. She was done.

I don’t want Cheryl David the character to have more courage that Cheryl Hines, the brilliant improv artist and actor I admire.

But there’s another reason I can’t stop thinking about her, and it’s not from a place of judgment. It’s from a place of identification, which is much more disturbing.

Being human is a tough business. Being a woman is tough on steroids. But plenty of others have it perhaps even tougher: being non-binary, or LGBTQ; and certainly, being a person of color in the United States.

If you’re a white woman who is married to a white man, there’s a lot of privilege. Because I struggle in this time of rank misogyny doesn’t mean I can forget what others endure. I don’t want Cheryl Hines to forget, either.

This country was designed by and for rich, cis, white men, property owners. What I’m thinking about has to do with the dynamic between white women married to powerful white men. I’m wondering what our responsibilities are to our fellow citizens, our families, ourselves.

I can’t pretend to be better than I am. What I’m criticizing in Hines is a quality I share with her: I enjoy the privilege of being married to such a man. It’s a safe and cushy perch.

But it’s not a place to stay no matter the cost.

Perhaps Cheryl Hines will keep me mindful of the dark side of privilege.

I can’t defend her. I just need to remember I can’t defend myself, either, if I ever choose privilege over what’s right.

Imagining how she lives with herself is a terrible exercise. And an important one.