On Barack Obama and Benjamin Disraeli

By N.M.

AS AMERICA’S first black president, Barack Obama’s place in history is assured. In the few days since he has left the White House, tributes have deemed him “one of the greatest presidents of all time” and “a unique human being”. But it might be illuminating to compare his particular story with that of another politician who, over a century ago, similarly overcame social prejudice to rise to the summit of political ambition: Benjamin Disraeli.

Like Mr Obama, Disraeli was a sui generis phenomenon. If Mr Obama was considered different as a result of a Kenyan father, Disraeli, though baptised into the Church of England at the age of 12, was viewed as implacably Jewish. In an age where Jews were openly condemned as “Christ Killers” and prohibited from entering parliament, racial prejudice alone could have intimidated him from running for public office. Determined, he stood four times—his public meetings were often interrupted by cries of “Shylock!”—before taking the Maidstone seat on his fifth attempt. He capped his career by being elected prime minister twice (1868 and 1874), on both occasions as part of the Conservative party; it was a stunning achievement that equals, and perhaps even surpasses, Mr Obama’s in terms of sheer gumption, talent and doggedness.

That is not to say that Mr Obama did not face racial abuse; his enemies attempted to stoke distrust with the “birther movement”, and criticism of him and his wife, Michelle, was often couched in racist language. But he had the backing of a doting liberal intelligentsia; Disraeli did not. He was caricatured by Punch and leading Victorian grandees as a “Hebrew juggler” (Thomas Carlyle) with “the enterprise of a mountebank” (Anthony Trollope). What both politicians did have in common was that, even in the face of racial invective, they never retaliated; they were conscious that to do so would be to open themselves up to unsavoury stereotypes. Disraeli even recommended Carlyle for one of the queen’s honours, a gracious act that gave Carlyle pause (he was soon back to saying that Disraeli was “a cursed old Jew, not worth his weight in cold bacon”). Obama displayed the same cool dignity in his welcoming of the new president, a man who spent years spearheading the birther campaign of “cold-blooded bigotry”, to borrow Evelyn Waugh’s phrase. Unflappable, reasonable, even cold (an assumption he has poked fun at during several White House Correspondents’ Dinners), Mr Obama recoiled from the caricature of black men as angry.

Yet the most striking similarity between the two men is the way they used their impressive literary skills to further their careers and directly address their outsider status. In “Dreams from my Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance” (1995), Mr Obama put his unconventional upbringing—a Kansas mother and an absentee polygamous tribesman father—on display. He wrote powerfully about his own racial insecurities and his tormented search for meaning and identity. “The Audacity of Hope” (2006) was rather less soaring, but it was a medium for Mr Obama to discuss education, poverty, war and healthcare, while adumbrating his larger political philosophies.

Disraeli was known first as a political novelist and only later as a legislator. His first novel, “Vivian Grey” (1826), published when he was only 21, followed a young man attempting to make a mark in the political world. “Sybil, or The Two Nations” (1845), considered his most successful novel, was a polemic that empathised with the ongoing Chartist movement, which demanded economic and electoral reform. The novel is particularly memorable for a passionate speech by a Chartist agitator who claims that the queen of England rules over two nations “between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy”: “THE RICH AND THE POOR”. Disraeli often sided with the Church and landed gentry, but was canny enough to see that reforms could not be indefinitely put off: he passed the Reform Act in 1867, extending the franchise to most urban male householders. But of all Disraeli’s novels, “Tancred: or, the New Crusade” was closest to his heart; it imagined a mystical charter that would reconcile Judaism with Christianity. Like “Dreams from My Father”, it was a heartfelt cry for assimilation.

The men’s literary output differs in speed. Whenever he was out of office, Disraeli was prolific, dashing off novels at great speed. His 15 books sold sturdily, but never achieved the Olympian heights of Dickens or Thackeray (though “Endymion”, his last novel in 1880, earned him a record advance of £10,000). Mr Obama is unlikely to produce so many books, though speculation is already rife about his future literary pursuits; a presidential memoir seems likely. Rumours abound that he may be offered as much as $15m (£11.9m) for such a book—a figure to make any writer envious.

There are, of course, more significant differences between them. Disraeli was a resolutely conservative, protectionist imperialist; Mr Obama is an anti-imperialist defender of free trade and liberal values. Disraeli was a ruthless political animal and managed to cut deals and charm backbenchers in a way that Mr Obama did not. Yet few politicians have plaited their personal, literary and political selves as publicly as these two men. Despite the sizable odds stacked against them, both ascended to the top of what Disraeli so eloquently called “the greasy pole”.