Politicians are in many ways the perfect cultural paradox. We elect them to be our representatives, and this elevation seems to incorporate the expectation that they will be paragons of all we consider virtuous. And yet, at the same time (and indeed, time after time) we find their occupation to be among the least trustworthy or ethical.
This strange phenomenon has been brought into sharp and contemporary focus by Anthony Weiner’s recent announcement of his candidacy for New York’s mayor next November. Mr. Weiner, for those of us who’ve forgotten or were bypassed by the whole sticky affair, is the former Congressman who resigned his office in the wake of a sexting scandal. The story was fascinating for a variety of reasons, ranging from the PUNfortunately fitting nature of his name to his status as the first high-profile victim of social media.
While I’ll address the latter later, first I want to revisit the debate on political sex scandals, tired and well-trodden a path though it may be. The debate is summed up in the question, “Should we care?” I suppose in many senses it depends on the definition of a Congressman or general politician’s role. If the job description attached to the bottom of the election application were “professional role model,” then yes, quite obviously, the private shortcomings of a public figure would be a cause for concern. Hyperbole aside, there is some truth to this position. Unlike, for a totally random example, a champion golfer who was thrust into the limelight as a result of his uncanny ability to hit a ball into a hole with a stick, a politician knows what he’s getting into when he decides to run. He is aware that the role is a public one that involves a high level of scrutiny.
If there is an argument for the condemnation of political sex scandals that makes sense, it is probably the argument that dictates that no matter how the role of the political representative is defined, scandal is a pervasive distraction from the real problems at stake. This was one of the more frequently repeated justifications offered, particularly from exasperated members of his own party, for Weiner’s resignation, and was an important factor in his eventually deciding to do so. There is logic to this; if a representative is unable to perform his role due to scandal or publicized personal shortcoming, he should step down.
However, there are weaknesses to be found here, particularly in the willingness to place all blame at the feet of political representatives, as opposed to the political apparatus at large (the press and the public have roles to play, too). Certainly, the representative is not to be absolved of culpability – at least when the initial creation of the distraction is concerned – but to exclude all other factions would be overly simplistic. In essence, the press is tethered by commercial pressures to the tastes of the public. As such, when political sex stops selling, the press will stop peddling it. A quick glance across the Atlantic at our more liberated French allies confirms this view. For better or worse, President Hollande of France is a man whose extramarital activities were highly publicized even though he had four children with a prominent member of his own party. In America, this would doom your campaign faster than you could say, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” In France, however, it is no barrier to winning the highest office in the land and sweeping both houses of the legislature. (Italy is an entirely different question.)
What the argument eventually comes down to is a choice between the different conceptions of the political leader’s role: a symbolic figure meant to represent the collective morals of his constituents taken to extremes or a more technical figure, a legislator acting on behalf of his constituents but not necessarily a reflection of them. I subscribe to the latter. I vote for my representative not because he has a postcard family but because he fights for student loans I need, the medical care I want, the social policies I favor, and so on and so forth.
In carving out ground first for a possible and now for a concrete mayoral campaign, Weiner took a familiar option from the political playbook. He threw his hands up in defeat, went through the motions of apology and acceptance, and disappeared from public view. Emerging some two years later in more thoughtful and considered form, he has expressed his regret at every campaign stop in an effort to push beyond the debacle. At this point it seems likely the election with regards to Weiner could turn into a referendum on the redemption narrative, akin to the successful comeback campaign waged by Mark Sanford earlier this year. This would be a terrible shame and moreover, would miss the point. Weiner’s mayoral effort should be a referendum on him, on his House career, on the fiery spirit that graced many TV stations to press his agenda, and on the representative faithful to his constituents. Or it could be a referendum on a legislator devoid of legislative significant achievement, a confrontational figure anathema to the sort of compromise required to get things done in Congress, a candidate ill-equipped to deal with the administrative leviathan that would be at his command as mayor of the nation’s most famous city. Either way, it should be a debate between these two sides, not a verdict on the man’s previous tendency towards extramarital sexting.
But if you remain unconvinced, take a different approach. Cast your eye forward but a few years, to when those of our generation begin to run for office and wade into public waters. Unlike generations of politicians past and present (in the ‘pre-Weiner’ age, that is), the divisions between public and private will be blurred beyond comprehension. All our candidates will have their youthful errors, lusty sexts, and unflattering pictures in plain view. This will have the unfortunate consequence of scaring off any well-qualified but more colorful – to put it lightly – candidates and ensure that all our voting choices are dominated not by the best and brightest but the blandest. While this sort of mechanism is hardly new, it will lead to a heightened and intensified politics of purity, and that is something well worth avoiding.
I’d advocate a more relaxed attitude – a “laissez-bare” approach if you will (sorry) – to the issue of political salaciousness. We wouldn’t care what the surgeon on call operating on friends or family got up to in their spare time, so long as they are the best person for the job. We should leave to our public figures their private lives, and let their records in the congressional chamber, not the bed chamber, dictate their fortunes.