The Face That Rules Berlin

Text and Photos by Ino Manalo

When one visits Paris, one must go to see the Mona Lisa. In Berlin, it is the bust of Nefertiti, Queen of Egypt. For who can forget that neck more slender than a whisper? Who can forget that face that reminds us that beauty must always be without apology? Hers is indeed a countenance that has enslaved thousands, that has held a city, perhaps even the world, in thrall.

At the time of my visit, Nefertiti was still residing in the Altes Museum. I found her inside a glass case in a room of modest proportions. To my surprise one could actually take pictures of the bust of the great queen. Many tourists were eagerly posing with the famous icon in the background. My companions and I happily waited our turn.

Later on, I took a few moments to examine Nefertiti more carefully. In Jose Rizal’s El Filibusterismo, there is a scene where the audience watches a carnival act involving a magical Egyptian head. At the command of “Deremof!”, the head comes to life, revealing dark mysteries. Was I expecting Nefertiti’s bust to do the same?

The controversial American writer, Camille Paglia, has noted that the ancient monarch’s statue is often shown sideways perhaps to hide the fact that its eyes are mismatched. Only one side has had a rock crystal inserted to suggest the iris. Paglia theorizes that this evokes a bizarre duality which is invariably suppressed since it goes against Western notions of beauty.

No one can account with certainty for this asymmetry. Since the bust was found by a German archaeological expedition in the remains of the workshop of the sculptor Thutmose, it is possible that the piece was still unfinished, not yet ready for delivery. Or perhaps a small detail was deliberately left out so as not to appear too boastful, too capable of perfection? In the same way, I am told, some weavers will purposely retain a loose thread so that their fabrics will not draw the ire of the heavens.

It has also been suggested that Nefertiti was deliberately defaced. In Ancient Egypt it was believed that chiseling out the eye of a rival’s image resulted in the obliteration of her or his legacy. Did Nefertiti have enemies? Was she whose name means “Beauty has come” capable of arousing such anger that revenge would be sought not only in this life but in the next?

Perhaps so. For Nefertiti lived in tumultuous times. Her husband was the Pharaoh Akhenaten who was originally known as Amenhotep. It was, in fact, the reason behind this change in name which was the root of all the trouble. Akhenaten was enamored with Aten who he worshipped as the golden disc of the sun. He restyled himself in honor of his chosen God. Aside from insisting that Aten would supersede the other deities of the land, Akhenaten moved the capital away from Thebes, away from what had been, for countless centuries, the seat of the Pharaohs. He founded a new city and built temples in a site that is now known as Amarna.

All these innovations would create problems among those who had previously benefited from the status quo. Organized religions will fiercely defend their privileges. The priests and devotees of the other gods were not happy with the Pharaoh’s new ideas. After Akhenaten’s death what he had built up would crumble. Campaigns were launched to erase the quixotic Pharaoh from history and soon the desert dunes would cover up whatever else remained.

Yet Akhenaten would not be doomed to oblivion forever. By a strange twist of faith, the historical obliteration that the Pharaoh suffered would have an unforeseeable outcome. It would ensure that his main heir’s tomb would be forgotten and consequently safeguarded by its obscurity. Future generations would be unaware of the very existence of Akhenaten’s son. Unsought, his final resting place would never be looted unlike those of the more famous rulers. It would remain undisturbed for millennia, awaiting rediscovery in the twentieth century. Though its occupant only reigned for a few years, so intact were the contents of the mausoleum, so amazed was the world by the breathtaking view of Ancient Egypt in all its glory, that the name of the young man entombed within would forever be known throughout the entire planet: Tutankhamen!

Tutankhamen was Akhenaten’s offspring not by Nefertiti but by another royal wife. Interestingly though, Nefertiti would become just as famous as her stepson but with one important difference. The world knows King Tut because of the vast hoard of incredible treasures buried with him. In contrast, only one fragile statue is the source of the queen’s global reputation.

But what a statue! There in Berlin, looking at it behind the glass wall, I was mesmerized. For this was the image which must have revolutionized notions of beauty all over the globe. Nefertiti’s discovery in 1912 may have eventually led to the discarding of plump cheeks and fuller figures as the models of desirability. In her high cheek bones, swan-like neck, and diminished silhouette – still hallmarks of today’s fashion industry - one can discern glimmers of Audrey Hepburn, of Tingting Cojuanco with her portrait by Bravo.

But then consider: at what price was all this exquisite perfection achieved? Think of what resources were exploited to sustain the regime that produced this statue. Think of the turmoil of Amarna, of what may have happened to those who disobeyed the reordering of long-accepted pantheons. In less distant times, recall the anguish generated by a restructuring of the ideals of feminine beauty especially among those who were differently gifted. No wonder that Camille Paglia had also observed how this statue is a “bodiless head of fright” and that “the proper reaction to the Nefertiti bust is fear.”

Fearsome or otherwise, Nefertiti’s image is even today still surrounded by many conflicts. There are arguments over the existence of her mummy. She is, as well, at the center of a brewing contest of wills between her host, Germany and her birthplace, Egypt.

Zahi Hawass, Secretary General of Cairo’s Council of Antiquities, brings up in his book, Secrets from the Sand, that the great queen’s departure from her homeland could have involved subterfuge. He notes that the statue may have been covered with a layer of gypsum to make it appear unattractive to the panel set up to divide the discoveries of the excavation.

The Germans insist that their acquisition of Nefertiti was above board. All efforts by Egypt to reclaim its regal daughter have been fruitless. At one point, Hitler is said to have declared that she was his lover and that he would never let her go. So adamant remain her Teutonic stewards about keeping the Lady of Amarna that they have just enshrined her in the recently reopened Neues Museum, refurbished through an immense project led by the British architect David Chipperfield.

Passing by the gift shop as I left Nefertiti’s gallery, I was amused to see that the great Egyptian ruler’s visage was now available as a cardboard mask. For a few euros one could look like this fabled beauty of the Nile. Actually if I had even more euros I could bring home a plaster copy to grace my living room. There were also books, pens, pencils, key chains and bookmarks. Whoever it was who really owned her, Nefertiti was big business.

Outside I would see that this legendary monarch was everywhere, inscribed on the very fabric of Berlin. She was on banners hanging from rafters, on posters on the walls, on sidewalk stall displays. She had been elevated to the status of a goddess in which, borrowed or not, rightly or not, a city had invested something most precious: its identity. How strange that an object from a faraway place and time can come to mean so much for a metropolis of the present.

Would the Egyptians ever get her back? I cannot tell. All I am certain of is that not even saying the word “Deremof” can solve the riddle.

Not So Forbidding City

Photos and essay by Ino Manalo

The original, pre-Revolution name for the Forbidden City had as much to do with the fact that the Palace was a mirror of the celestial realms as the fact that it was off limits. Yet, for many travel promoters, it was always worthwhile to capitalize on the former imperial residence’s image of inaccessibility. In the promotional clips featuring Matt Lauer that aired during the Olympics, one will note the repeated mention of words like “mysterious” and “secretive”. Evidently, audiences all over the world continue to be fascinated by the thought of how this awesome enclave was, for centuries, open only to the privileged few.

Today, of course, the Forbidden City may be scrutinized by anyone who can pay the admission price. About ten million visitors ramble through its halls each year generating revenues equivalent to several billion pesos annually. One must therefore be ready to swim through a sea of humanity for the chance to gaze upon the fabled environment of the former Emperors of China.

Those of a more solitary bent are advised to get to the Forbidden City early or very late to beat the crowds. Intrepid tour guides have even suggested using the north or back gate so that one’s path goes counter to the usual flow. Though this means being able to enter the compound more easily, one will still have to contend with the mob when viewing the main Halls.

By taking the back entrance, one is deprived of the first glimpse of the majestic Hall of Supreme Harmony dominating the immense main courtyard. There are few other vistas on this earth which can compare. Standing there, contemplating the vast expanses, one understands a little bit more just why the Chinese have always believed that their country was the center of the universe.

After this initial breath-taking view, it is time to steel one’s self to take the plunge into the pandemonium which attends any perusal of the Dragon Throne. There is probably no way to avoid this. But there are certainly ways to make the experience less uninviting.

Though I would enter through the south, I would not recommend taking the gate that overlooks Tiananmen Square. I suppose that this great portal with its huge portrait of Mao Ze Dong has become so iconic that everyone heads for it automatically. Instead, I would take the side road directly to the Meridian gate. This is where the ticket stations are located. One should remember to check which line is shorter since there are booths on both sides. It may also be helpful to use the nearby comfort rooms before beginning one’s tour. Though there are equivalent facilities inside the Palace, they may not always be easy to find. In China, if one cannot speak the language, it is a good idea to have flash cards on which essential concepts are printed in Chinese: Subway Station! Exit! Toilets!

While waiting to enter, one should take the time to examine the Gate itself. I would examine the two encircling wings which evoke the image of a great bird in flight. Interestingly, there is a replica of this Gate at the entrance to the Forbidden City of the Vietnamese Emperors in Hue.

The grandeur of Beijing’s imperial compound is such that after a while the mind shuts down. Then one feels only a sense of drudgery while marching across endless enclosures, eager to get to the very end. It is easier to comprehend this fantastic abode if one understands that even the way the buildings are positioned has a story to tell. The Forbidden City follows the Chinese art of feng shui which dictates that residences face south, the direction whence come all good things. Feng shui also stresses the importance of having a stream in front and a mountain in the back. As such, there is, in fact, a rivulet that flows through the first courtyard of the Palace. This forms an archer’s bow, possibly a shape which evokes the Emperor’s power to repel his enemies. In the same vein, there is a hill topped by a pavilion that guards the rear of the Forbidden City. This configuration of flowing water and solid mountain is reflected in many villages - even in the most remote corners of the great realm of China - linking the humblest hamlet with the beating heart of the Empire.

I would also take time to study the symbolism that suffuses the Palace. Consider, for example, that the primary doors have nine rows of knobs as nine was the imperial number. The most recent avatar of the Karate Kid made me aware for the first time that touching these knobs was supposed to bring good luck. This is probably a new practice, arising more from the dictates of tourism rather than tradition. One will see many visitors sheepishly rubbing the golden rows as they pass by. I suspect though, that if one were caught doing this when the Emperor still ruled China, one’s future would be anything but blessed!

In making my progress from south to north, I would not keep to the central axis like the rest of humanity. I would take the walkways on the very edge of the courtyard. Though one will still have to go back to the center to see the interiors of the grand ceremonial halls, taking the side corridors would provide some moments of peace. From this tranquil perspective, one will also have a better chance to perceive that the City has three huge public pavilions which correspond to three smaller ones that were for the personal life of the Emperor and his family.

It is in what used to be the family section of the Palace that one will find the most intriguing but often overlooked displays of the Forbidden City: the exhibits in the Hall of Clocks. In centuries past, when European merchants were still begging to be allowed to enter China’s doors, clocks were used to provoke the interest of the Celestial monarch. China, like most of the other civilizations of the world, conceived of time in terms of cycles. Dynasties rose and fell in keeping with the waxing and waning which was the pattern of life. Europe alone thought of time as one endless line which had to be measured in hours and minutes. As such, Europeans pioneered in the creation of chronometers to capture the passing of days.

Eventually the Chinese would learn from the West the art of clockmaking. The Imperial Collection includes wonderful pieces from both Europe and China, fashioned from gold and other precious materials. Everywhere one looks there are tiny trees glistening with pearls, there are minute pagodas with enameled roofs. There are even life-sized figures that move: a man writes on paper, a woman cools herself with a feathered fan.

In connection to these extraordinary timepieces, the writer Rayvee Sunico reminded me of a tale by Hans Christian Anderson: It is said that there was once an Emperor who discovered that the greatest treasure in his fabulous realm was a nightingale that sang so sweetly. Yet this gentle bird was later replaced by a mechanized avian replica which eventually broke down, bringing the dismayed monarch to the brink of death.

Looking at the amazing objects in the Hall of Clocks, one realizes that there was some truth to Anderson’s story. The Chinese were indeed capable of creating automatons. The question arises: was there also an Emperor who realized that the vast riches of his empire paled before a nightingale’s serenade?

In fact, there was one lord of the Forbidden City who declared that he would give up the luxurious trappings of the Dragon Throne for a life of quiet contemplation. He built a retreat that is now named the Qianlong Garden after his dynastic title. This Garden is today one of the most tranquil areas of the Palace. It is here that I like to end my tour.

Tall mounds of strangely shaped rocks screen the enclosure from passersby. There is even a meandering stream dedicated to literary jousts. Contestants were supposed to toss in a cup and, before this floated out of sight, spontaneously compose a poem. A few years ago, the World Monuments Fund sponsored the restoration of a hall in the Qianlong Garden. Once more, the exquisite paintings that decorated the walls were made to shine.

Unfortunately, the Qianlong Emperor’s beautiful hall is not open to the public at the present. In a way, there is an advantage to this lack of general public access. For delicate murals would not stand a chance if subjected to the perusal of hordes of visitors. Moreover, it seems appropriate that one cannot be admitted to all areas of the Imperial Compound. As it had always been, so shall it be: there are still some things in the Palace that remain beyond our reach.

Guizhou the Glorious

Guizhou the Glorious

Few visitors coming to Western China may have heard of the province of Guizhou. Though it is actually just next door to Yunnan, Guizhou’s reputation has been eclipsed by its much more famous neighbor. Even among the Chinese this area has long been seen as a wild frontier prone to conflicts. Today of course, Guizhou is very peaceful, offering much to the venturesome traveler.

The city of Guiyang is the provincial capital and it was here that I began my journey. From Guiyang we drove to Congxiang , our base for visiting the mountain villages. The trip would take almost all day and it was dark when we arrived in Congxiang.

The next morning I arose early to walk around. What I found was a rather drab community scattered along the edges of a large muddy river. Everything seemed so grey and lifeless until I encountered one of the women from the villages carrying her produce to the market. Her costume, with its jewel-like patches of elaborate embroidery, foretold that what was in store for me once we set out to explore the mountain communities.

Guizhou is one of the smaller provinces of China with 38 million people. Staggering as this number may be, Guizhou only ranks 15^th in terms of residents. In fact, population density is much lower than that of the Philippines and there are vast areas which are practically uninhabited.

As we drove beyond Congxiang, I saw that the mountain slopes had been terraced. Gazing at the unscrolling vistas of emerald staircases against a clear blue sky during our rest stop, I recalled the writings of Arsenio Manuel. It was from this grand old man of Philippine anthropology that I had learned of a theory suggesting how, hundreds of years ago, people from the Yunnan area may have actually traveled to Luzon. Migrating to our shores they brought with them many of the traditions of their mother country among which was terrace building.

Surrounded by the glorious Guizhou landscape, one ponders: was Manuel correct? Did I share common ancestors with the farmers walking along the road accompanied by what were clearly carabaos? Contemplating these questions of kinship, I smiled at one of the farmers who cheerfully returned my furtive greeting. For that moment, I would have to content myself with his smile.

The fields that we were driving through produced a wide range of crops which insured a fascinating indigenous cuisine. We were able to savor different types of rice which came in a rainbow of hues: purple, red, brown. One specialty was a dish of sautéed potatoes distinguished by a remarkable freshness and crunch. There was also a simple but delicious platter of scrambled eggs of a rich golden hue so unlike the pale chalky version that came from chemical addicted poultries. When my hosts learned that I loved eggs they made sure that I was served my favorite dish every single meal!

Later on, we had the chance to wander around one of the villages nestled amidst the terraces. This particular community belonged to the Miao, one of the various ethno-linguistic minorities that lived in the province. The Miao were a fiercely independent group. On many occasions in the past they had led uprisings against the Imperial government. These rebellions were often manifestations of the concern that local identities would not be swallowed up by the growing Han majority.

The Miao villagers met us for a welcome ceremony at the gateway to their homes. We were offered a brief musical performance by a reed pipe ensemble. Punctuating the performance were gun shots fired from an ancient homemade rifle. The music was fascinating but what captured my attention was a little boy who, while watching the entire ceremony intently, never let go of his father’s hand.

Further along the entrance path we were shown the stump of what had evidently been a magnificent tree. Though sacred to the village, it had been chopped down to be used as a pillar for an important building in Beijing. At first, the villagers had been reluctant to part with their arboreal treasure but they were eventually persuaded by the central authorities. Their sacrifice was rewarded by a kiosk that was built over the remains of what must have once been a massive column of the forest with great branches that embraced the sky. Listening to the old man who was explaining the story to us, I fell to thinking about what the Miao thought about losing their sacred tree. Was it situations like this that had worried them about the integrity of their identities?

We also had a chance to view the exhibits in two small museums. The first had panels on indigo dyeing while the second housed a collection of implements used in everyday life. The displays were somewhat dusty and uninspired but I was already quite charmed by the very idea that such a small community would have two galleries. What was even more impressive was that a cement tank filled with water had been built right beside the main exhibition building as a safety measure in case of fires. The collection pieces were definitely in good hands!

Towards the end of the morning we were brought to a clearing where the young people danced for us. Their movements were energetic, without a tinge of self-consciousness. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was a demonstration of the blessing of the trees and even a wedding ceremony between a maiden and a hapless member of our party. Once again I could not help but wonder: what did these youthful dancers think of their visitors? Did it bother them to repeat sacred rituals for our enjoyment or was this all just part of a day’s work? Who determined what the villagers would present to us? Was it some tourism bureaucrat or was it the people themselves?

Dancing and singing were also on the program when we visited the village of the Dong minority. The Dongs are famous for the huge towers that they have built using only timber from the surrounding forests. We sat in one of these while the people serenaded us. The voices of the Dong were shrill and yet strangely hypnotic . I was reminded of the singing of the Philippine Cordillera or even of the Pasyon. Perhaps this was further evidence of the veracity of Manuel’s theories.

Interestingly, the Dong village also had its museum. Entering this I saw that what was on display were mostly pictures depicting important events in the lives of the community’s residents. Among the photos were snapshots from visits of national officials as well as trips of various villagers to some of China’s more iconic sites. At first I was amused especially when I recalled the Miao galleries with their more conventional offerings of implements and craft products. Then it struck me: this was an exhibit which showed visitors what was important to the people who had made this museum. Things were well-kept and immaculate indicating that whoever ran the place valued what they were doing. Who was to say that a village museum should contain household utensils? Why could villagers not showcase images that made them proud?

Back in the capital city, we had been taken to see the provincial museum. Here we saw sanitized exhibits on the different ethno-linguistic minorities of Guizhou where local costumes were displayed as artifacts that titillated audiences with their colors and patterns. Very little explanations were given. One hardly understood how things were used or what they meant. The emphasis was on entertainment and spectacle.

Contemplating what I saw I realized that in many countries, images of minority groups are often used to provide local color amidst a panorama of national harmony. Usually left out are the manifestations of conflict and dissent, the nuances of difference which inevitably arise whenever people interact with each another. One is rarely given a glimpse of what smaller communities think and feel for such intimate details are drowned by the overpowering national narratives of unity.

Fortunately we were also taken to see the Ethnology Museum, a private institution designed and administered by the enterprising Ms Janlly. This is one place that makes stopping in Guiyang worthwhile. Here we saw hundreds of fabrics from the surrounding areas carefully displayed. Instead of shock and awe we were treated to detailed expositions on the symbols that had been lovingly embroidered and woven into the cloth with time-honored hands. What an amazing contrast.

Among the exhibits was one with pieces of cloth festooned with what was apparently a very important symbol for the people of Guizhou: a bird with a fish in its claw. The text explained that this was a fertility symbol : the bird evoked the male element with the female element, the fish, caught in its embrace. My mind was reeling. I was reminded of our Sarimanok back home. Little had been written on this well-known icon. I couldn’t even remember reading a discussion about what it stood for. Yet here, from the mountains of Guizhou, came a clue. Was this another thread in an epic story that enshrouded different peoples whose ties and bonds were now lost in time?

For now, Guizhou with its terraces, its mesmerizing singing and its embroidered panels of birds and fishes would keep its secrets. Perhaps in the future, other travelers will discover their own answers.

Jacqueline Kennedy: A Legacy of Art and Style

Jacqueline Kennedy Style A Legacy of Art and Style

It was still dark outside when my grandparents woke us to break the news: President Kennedy had been assassinated. The fact that an elderly couple in the Philippines considered it necessary to rouse family members just to share the sad tidings shows that the tragic event affected people all over the world. I still remember how serious my grandfather’s face was and how my mother stared blankly up at the ceiling. Thinking about that night, I now realize that this was actually my earliest dateable memory: November, 1963.

In the days that followed, I was part of the global audience which witnessed the funeral of an American President on television. I even recall being quite moved when I saw John Jr. salute as his father’s coffin passed by. I also recall that throughout the ceremony, everyone’s attention was focused on one figure who was a paragon of dignity and grace: the President’s young widow, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy. Her image, so composed, so stately despite her sorrow, would be indelibly etched in the minds of those who had seen her. Lady Jean Campbell would report to the London Evening Standard that Jacqueline had “given the American people from this day on, the one thing they always lacked — majesty.”

In some ways, it is almost absurd that many Filipinos like myself have always been and continue to be fascinated by Jackie. It probably says something about how our minds have been so captivated by American culture. It seems hard to believe, for example, how Mercy, a young woman from Negros who had taken care of me when I was a child, had a huge scrapbook on Mrs. Kennedy. Even when she was still living on a sugarcane farm, Mercy was already collecting anything she could find on the former First Lady! Yet, we Filipinos are not the only ones who have this on-going romance with Jacqueline. So great was the French people’s enthusiasm for his radiant wife that President Kennedy is supposed to have said that he was “the man who had accompanied Jackie to Paris.” Apparently, Jackie had always cultivated an image of style and glamour. When she went on a trip to Europe with her younger sister, Lee, in 1951, one can already see in her pictures a hint of what was to come. The Bouvier sisters published in 1974, a facsimile of the album that they had presented to their mother about their European vacation. I consider myself lucky that I found a copy of this book in a thrift shop in Manila. It is a wonderful tome, filled with photos, write-ups by Lee, as well as drawings by Jackie which sparkle with wit polished by a sense of mischief. One snapshot comes with a caption insisting that the sisters only went out in respectable attire that would be appropriate for attending church services in Newport. It turns out to be a joke as shorts and sandals are very much in evidence! Charming sketches by Jackie show our young maidens jitterbugging beneath the icy stares of Medieval paintings or attending a cacophonic music lesson in Venice. Much of the album is in this light-hearted vein as the “two Bouviers” poke fun at themselves and the sometimes pretentious world around them without losing the sense of wonder that such a trip must have also inspired. One can already discern the qualities of irreverence and playfulness which her associates would find so endearing in Jackie, qualities that would sustain her during the White House years. More importantly, one gets from the memento of that faraway summer, a glimpse of the future First Lady’s evolving sense of personal elegance. After the sisters returned from their European trip, Jacqueline would date dashing Congressman Kennedy and the course would be set leading her to the world stage. Seven years into her marriage, the young Mrs Kennedy would find herself in the presidential mansion of the most powerful nation on Earth.

As Arthur Schlesinger wrote with regard to her new role as First Lady, Jackie “hit the ground running.” Even before she moved, her friend, Rachel Lambert Mellon, would recall already being consulted about how to refurbish the White House. Jacqueline was always conscious that the president’s residence belonged to the whole nation and must reflect the things that Americans should take pride in. Jackie prepared for her task of reinventing the White House by reading up on its history. She stressed that what she was doing was not redecorating but restoration which she pointed out required scholarship. She assembled distinguished panels of experts to collect furnishings and art works. She saw to it that a curator was appointed and that a guidebook was produced. She invited not just politicians but artists to the Presidential parties which under her aegis became exquisite events filled with glorious table settings, fine food and wine, good music. She also came out on television to explain her project.

The public responded with great enthusiasm. In July of 1962, House and Garden magazine would gush that the White House as transformed represented “a shrine of elegance and historical associations” that had “won the approval of the whole country”. Yet, for all her achievements, on the day she was leaving the White House for good, Mrs Kennedy is supposed to have turned to a member of the staff to ask, “My children are good children, aren’t they? They’re not spoiled.?”

Beyond her refurbishing of the Presidential residence, it was Jacqueline’s fashion choices which are still celebrated even today. In May of 2001, I had the good fortune of seeing a comprehensive exhibit at the Met in New York, Jacqueline Kennedy: The White House Years.

I still recall the hundreds of visitors waiting to get in. In the spirit of camaraderie that develops among those that are sharing a long wait, I was soon chatting freely with the people around me. Suddenly, from somewhere along the line, someone asked when the exhibition was closing. Hearing the answer, “July 29”, I found myself saying out loud “That’s the day after her birthday!” I know it is silly, but I must admit that I take some pride in the fact that many heads had turned around to see the pathetic creature who had nothing better to do than to memorize Mrs Kennedy’s bio-data.

The exhibit was fascinating and yet also a little strange. People crowded around the individual displays, looking worshipfully at the clothes on headless mannequins atop pedestals – like beholding the decapitated statue of the Goddess Nike! Clearly, this was not, for many, simply a museum show. It was a pilgrimage. Perhaps a number in the audience may have been recalling what they were doing at the time these dresses and gowns were being worn by the First Lady. What were their thoughts and dreams in those years? The exhibition catalogue mentions the criticism generated because Jackie was seen to favor European designers and how she turned to patronizing American couturiers as a result. One learns that a gown was confectioned from fabric presented by the King of Saudi Arabia. There is also the fact that for her India trip, Jackie knew to choose hot pink, a stunning yellow and the orange of saffron to match the teeming cityscapes of Jaipur and Udaipur. The Givency gown in which, at the great dinner in Versailles, Jackie would win over De Gaulle and the French nation, is described in a way that makes it clear that what was involved was not just taste but anthropology: “Like its wearer, it managed to register as both a vision of modernity and a palimpsest of historical references, suggesting by turns a Venetian domino, a Kabuki robe, and … a costume in a Watteau painting”. One went away from the exhibit with a sense that, for Jacqueline, style was hard work.

What did Mrs Kennedy’s husband make of all of this? There was, at first, the cliché of manly bemusement at the excesses of a young wife. His mother-in-law recalls his comment when she came upon him in the midst of one of Jackie’s makeovers involving whole rooms being redone in a sandy hue: “Mrs. Auchincloss, do you think we're prisoners of beige?” Eventually, President Kennedy would prove to be keenly aware of the importance of Jackie’s artistic programs. Roy Caroll Jr, head of the American Institute of Architects, praised him for being one of the few presidents who “ had a vision of what architecture and its allied arts can mean to the people of the nation”. Kennedy, himself, would intone in a speech that he saw “little of more importance to the future of our country…than full recognition of the place of the artist.” He went on to say that “I look forward to an America which will not be afraid of grace and beauty… which will preserve the great old American houses and squares…and which will build… balanced cities in the future. I look forward to an America that will reward accomplishment in the arts as we reward achievement in business….”

During the Kennedy administration, steps were taken that would lead to the establishment of the National Endowment for the Arts. It is the Kennedy couple’s support for cultural programs that is one of their most enduring legacies. How wonderful to see a president and a first lady that deeply cared about arts promotion and heritage preservation as main planks of their administration platform.

In contrast, concern for the arts is still seen as being politically inexpedient in our own country. I recall being part of a promotional trip where one of the highest tourism officials in our country said that going near museums made him feverish. Although I can fully understand that seeing exhibits may not be at the top of everyone’s list, I think that it is completely unacceptable that a globally savvy public servant would dare say such a thing in the 21st century. In a way, John and Jackie helped establish the standard for such matters. As expressed by Diana Vreeland, they “released a positive attitude toward culture, toward style… and since then we’ve never gone back.”

Fifteen years after her death, one understands better that Mrs Kennedy’s carefully nurtured image was the result of her own efforts as well as an artifact fabricated by the broader culture in which she was embedded. The existence of so many versions of events in her life is a tell-tale sign that so much about Jackie was a myth, propagated by the media. For example, the New York Times and the Kennedy Center cite different dates for the now legendary initial meeting of the future First Couple.

Roland Barthes, in his seminal analysis of the fashion system, describes what he calls the Woman of Fashion as someone who vacations in foreign climes, travels with her husband and knows little of budgets. She represents the “compromise between mass culture and its consumers” in that she projects an image of innocence which helps attract readers who feel that she represents them even as she also represents who they want to become. Ironically, much of what Barthes says rings true for Jackie. Her manufactured persona was actually a powerful weapon that America may use to assert its dominance in world affairs. Mrs Kennedy could be deployed to project an image of a victorious country capable of going anywhere it wanted, conquering hearts and markets. Just like Graham Greene’s Quiet American who secretly spoke Vietnamese, Jackie was presented in news accounts as felling whole nations with her knowledge of community history and a few whispered words in the native tongue. America was mastering the global by winning over the local. In this light, my smugness at knowing her birthday could now be seen as a manifestation of how I had been led to feel that I had a connection with Jackie. Yet, what I was unwittingly revealing was that, just like her millions of fans all over the planet, I was now fertile ground for the commercial messages which she also represented.

Jackie’s image is, after all, a potent instrument of the consumerist world machine, exploited, beyond her control, by fashion empires. This is best illustrated by the fact that her fake pearls which she had bought for 35 dollars would, after her death, be sold at auction for more than 200,000. Moreover, the buyer would later parlay ownership of this iconic piece of jewelry to build a great fortune, selling duplicates to the tune of 26 million more dollars.

To her credit, Jackie tried to distance herself from this global orgy of mass media and consumption. Later in life, she refused to give interviews, fiercely guarding her privacy and that of her family. Perhaps she knew that interviews would only add to the global industry that had sprung up around her. She fought those that tried to benefit commercially from her husband’s legacy. She even sued a writer who she had initially agreed to assist, possibly because he may not have disclosed that he would earn more than half of a million dollars from his work on the Kennedy assassination. Mrs Kennedy, the ultimate fashion icon, came to favor the simplest of clothes to the extent that she went to the office in slacks and sweaters.

I myself am too young to recall what she wore while at the White House. What I vividly remember instead is this luminous image of a Jackie resplendent in modest jeans, hair disheveled, energized by the wind. Future generations will be kind to Jacqueline Kennedy. For she was a woman who made history because she tried her best to assure that history would not unmake her and all that she stood for.