How to Test Negative for Stupid: And Why Washington Never Will

Donald Trump serves as a central figure in Kennedy’s narrative, embodying the populist disruption of the Washington establishment that Kennedy champions. Kennedy presents Trump not just as a political ally but as a fellow “running dog” (111) who understands that “what disturbs Washington makes most Americans rapturously happy” (115). Their alliance is solidified during Kennedy’s 2016 Senate runoff, when Trump holds a last-minute rally for him in Baton Rouge. Kennedy uses this event to illustrate their shared political identity as outsiders who connect with voters tired of the political status quo. For Kennedy, Trump’s victory was a clear message from ordinary Americans who felt ignored and mocked by a “credentialed ruling elite” (112).

Kennedy uses the political and media establishment’s reaction to Trump to build his case against the DC “swamp.” He argues that the relentless “Russia collusion hoax” (123) and media bias were not legitimate forms of inquiry but a coordinated effort to destroy a leader who threatened the established order. By defending Trump against these attacks, Kennedy frames the conflict as a battle between an authentic, if unpolished, leader and a corrupt syndicate of politicians, bureaucrats, and journalists. Trump becomes the primary example of a warrior who refuses to “kiss the ring of the establishment” (112), validating Kennedy’s own combative political style.

Beyond politics, Kennedy offers a personal, humanizing portrait of Trump through private anecdotes. He shares stories of their conversations about policy, personnel, and even pop culture, depicting Trump as funny, accessible, and pragmatic. This insider’s perspective serves to demystify Trump, presenting him as a complex figure whose brashness is part of a calculated strategy to challenge a system that Kennedy believes has failed the American people.

President Joe Biden functions as the book’s primary political and ideological antagonist, representing everything Kennedy finds wrong with the modern Democratic Party and the federal government. Kennedy portrays the Biden administration as a captive of “tofu-eating woke-arati” (142) who are pursuing an agenda disconnected from the values of mainstream America. He critiques Biden’s policies on climate, gender, and the economy as “exquisitely dumb” (134) and part of a competition in the “Woke Olympics” (134). By framing Biden’s presidency in these terms, Kennedy establishes a clear ideological conflict between his own so-called “common-sense conservatism” and what he argues is a radical, out-of-touch progressive movement.

Kennedy directly questions Biden’s competence and fitness for office, using a detailed personal anecdote to make his case. He recounts a forty-minute meeting at the White House where he observed Biden’s slow, shuffling walk and dependence on his staff. This encounter leads Kennedy to conclude that the president is not fully in command, serving instead as a figurehead for unelected, ideologically driven aides. This portrayal moves beyond policy disagreement to a fundamental critique of Biden’s leadership, suggesting that his administration lacks the strength and clarity necessary to govern effectively.

Kennedy accuses the Biden administration of dangerously politicizing the justice system and eroding institutional norms. He argues that the Department of Justice’s decision to prosecute Donald Trump “broke the seal” (163) on using law enforcement as a political weapon. For Kennedy, this represents a profound threat to the rule of law. Though the Justice Department traditionally operates independently of the White House, Kennedy echoes Donald Trump himself in portraying the DOJ’s prosecution of the former president as an attempt by the Biden administration to destroy a political rival.

Buddy Roemer, a former Louisiana governor, is the mentor who launched John Kennedy’s career in public service. Kennedy depicts Roemer as a brilliant, tough-as-nails reformer with degrees from Harvard who was determined to “slay the dragon” (55) of corruption in Louisiana politics. It was Roemer who first called Kennedy away from his law practice to join his administration, setting Kennedy on the path that would define his life. In the book, Roemer functions as the catalyst for Kennedy’s political journey, embodying the ideal of an intellectual maverick dedicated to good government.

Working for Roemer provided Kennedy with a real-world education in the brutal realities of politics. He describes the atmosphere in the Capitol as a “circus without a tent” (57), where he had to learn to navigate a legislature resistant to change. A key lesson came from Roemer’s decision to veto a popular anti-abortion bill. Though Kennedy admired Roemer’s principled stand, he presents the subsequent legislative override and political backlash as a stark illustration of how even well-intentioned decisions can lead to political defeat. This experience serves as a foundational lesson for Kennedy in balancing conviction with political pragmatism.

Edwin Edwards, the legendary four-term governor of Louisiana, serves as the embodiment of the corrupt, “old guard” political establishment that Kennedy and his mentor, Buddy Roemer, fought to reform. Kennedy introduces Edwards as a “handsome, glib politician” (54) known for his sharp wit and ethical scandals, famously quipping, “The only way I can lose this election is if I’m caught in bed with either a dead girl or a live boy” (54). Edwards represents the colorful but cynical transactional politics of a bygone era, providing a clear antagonist for Kennedy’s presentation of himself as a reformer.

This contrast becomes a defining moment in Kennedy’s early career. During his 1991 campaign for attorney general, Edwards offered to place Kennedy’s name on his influential “sample ballot” (73) in exchange for $30,000 in cash. Kennedy’s refusal of this offer marks a critical moral crossroads in his narrative. By rejecting Edwards’s transactional politics, Kennedy establishes his own commitment to integrity over expediency. This decision, which he believes cost him the election, solidifies his persona as a politician who stands on principle, even at great personal cost.

Mike Foster, a former Louisiana governor, initially appears as a formidable political adversary to Kennedy. During Kennedy’s time in the Roemer administration, then-State Senator Foster was a fierce opponent, and their clashes grew so intense that Kennedy recalls calling him a “son of a bitch” (60) in a confrontation that nearly turned physical. This rivalry showcases the personal and high-stakes nature of Louisiana politics and establishes Kennedy’s reputation as a tenacious fighter willing to stand his ground for his political allies and agenda.

The relationship takes an unexpected turn when Foster, after defeating Roemer to become governor, offers Kennedy the position of Secretary of the Department of Revenue. This surprising appointment serves a key narrative purpose, demonstrating that in the fluid world of politics, rivals can become allies and competence can transcend partisan divides. Foster’s decision to hire his former antagonist marks a pivotal moment that launched the next phase of Kennedy’s career in state government, showcasing a pragmatism that both men shared.