When Barack Obama was asked about the future of the Democratic party in a final White House interview, without hesitation he said one name: Missouri’s Jason Kander.
Obama likely recognized that Kander had the zest and charisma to enthrall voters, and that he could do so even across party lines, not unlike Obama in his own early years.
And then there were Kander’s accomplishments: first millennial to hold a statewide office, two-term Missouri legislator, secretary of state, best-selling author and veteran of the war in Afghanistan.
On Tuesday (October 2) Kander issued a wrenching statement. Citing post-traumatic stress disorder, suicidal thoughts and depression from his time as an Army captain, Kander dropped his bid to become the next mayor of Kansas City. He’s also stepping back from his leadership role in Let America Vote, the nonprofit organization he founded to register voters and fight voter suppression.
“(A)fter 11 years of trying to outrun depression and PTSD symptoms, I have finally concluded that it’s faster than me,” Kander said in an online post.
Among the thousands of shares and comments to the many articles chronicling Kander’s announcement, only a few dared to question how Kander’s four-month intelligence mission could result in such a condition. They were quickly silenced, a rare example of negativity not ruling online space.
Instead, Kander was widely lauded for his bravery and candor in speaking out. Among the first to offer praise and support was former Vice President Joe Biden. Biden, in a tweet, said that by sharing his story Kander was “saving lives.”
But imagine if Jason Kander hadn’t been an Army veteran?
Without the distinction of service, he’d be less sympathetically supported. He likely wouldn’t be urged to make a speedy return to office, a subject he alluded to in his statement.
That’s because depression still carries a stigma, despite the many advances in public awareness about suicide and depression in general, and despite scientific breakthroughs in medicines and therapies that are restoring so many who suffer from depression to stable lives.
Admitting to the ravages of PTSD, the debilitating cycles of depression, is not any more noble because the trauma was inflicted in defense of the nation rather than by violent incidents childhood, or sexual trauma.
Still, Kander hesitated to speak out, knowing that any admission of mental health problems can easily upend a political career.
The case of another Missourian, Sen. Thomas Eagleton, shows how. In 1972, Eagleton was chosen to be the running mate of Democratic presidential nominee George McGovern. After his bouts with depression — and hospitalizations that included electroshock therapy — were publicized, he withdrew from the race.
By coincidence, in 2016 Kander narrowly lost the election for Eagleton’s old Senate seat.
Finally, consider the truths that have only recently been revealed about one of the most storied statesman in U.S. history: Abraham Lincoln.
Scholars have argued convincingly that Lincoln’s “melancholy” was clinical depression.
But nobody would argue that the president who led the victorious Union in the Civil War and freed the slaves was in any way not up to the job.
This is not to wish ill mental health upon anyone. But Lincoln, perhaps more than other political figure past or present, shows that we still have a long way to go in understanding mental health and in how we view those in the grip of depression.
About the Author
