Over the past month, a US media frenzy has surrounded New Jersey congressional candidate Christopher Gallant. A gay man, some years ago he modelled leather outfits for a gay magazine, and because of this, many American outlets have tried to ruin his election chances. However, he has done nothing wrong; these photographs were created with the consent of adults. Furthermore, Gallant is a war veteran and evidently a decent person who seems committed to improving the lives of those in his community.
This story brought up a fear I have felt for many years. I, like so many, have grown increasingly concerned about the massive issues we humans face, particularly housing, wealth inequality, war and climate change. A part of me is itching to get involved in some way, not because I particularly want to get into politics, but because somebody must do something, and it feels hypocritical to always expect that “somebody” to be a person other than myself.
However, there are my 20s to think about. This reality stops my political “career” in its tracks. I am a millennial who came of age in Celtic Tiger Ireland. I was often at least drunk, and sometimes worse, in that 2000s era where culture celebrated being extreme in music, magazines and in movies such as The Hangover. I am glad plenty of Halloween party photographs remain forgotten on hard drives and in the backs of drawers. However, watching make-up artist Kath Carlin’s humorous Instagram reels, where she recreates that time, reminds me this behaviour was the norm.
That was 20 years ago. Those friends I partied with are now parents and bosses. They get hangovers from two glasses of rosé. They worry deeply about what life will be like for their children. However, I wonder if they feel like me, essentially barred from public life because of the ridiculousness of what happened before they turned 25?
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The reality is, all great leaders in history have been shown, either in their lifetime or afterwards, to be imperfect, often shockingly so. Yet, what would Ireland be without John F Kennedy or Charles Stewart Parnell? We may miss out on the next great figure if we decide perfection is the criterion for holding public office. As Marcel Proust wrote: “There is no man ... however wise, who has not at some period of his youth said things, or lived in a way the consciousness of which is so unpleasant to him in later life that he would gladly, if he could, expunge it from his memory.”
Truth is, if we only select those who manage their lives from a young age to be picture-perfect, the talent pool from which we draw future Irish politicians will be small. This may be why we end up with “career politicians” who watch every sentence they utter, who have PR teams to manage “coms”. I’d prefer a politician who occasionally gets it a bit wrong but at their core is evidently a decent person.
Of course, I am not arguing here for the brazen politicians who make it part of their brand to be unapologetic for truly abhorrent behaviour, where their indiscretions aren’t indiscretions but serious crimes. I don’t think prospective politicians should get a free pass; some people’s choices preclude them from public office, and I applaud the fourth estate’s role in shining a light on them. However, editors and journalists carry a huge burden of responsibility to know where the line is between seeking truth and relishing sabotage.
[ Death of a president: How The Irish Times covered JFK’s assassinationOpens in new window ]
I admire Gallant for braving out his “scandal”. He is the figure described in the poem No Enemies by Charles Mackay, willing to “mingle in the fray of duty”. He has since brought out this statement: “Let’s be clear about what this is: a co-ordinated political hit meant to drive me out of this race ... I won’t allow my private life to be distorted and weaponised against me. Here’s the truth – I’m fighting to make life easier for hardworking families.”
As for me, I don’t think I have Gallant’s bravery in this way. That might be just as well; I’d most likely be an awful politician, even though I would be sincere in my efforts. Regarding my past, I wish it neither unlived nor relived.
Yet, I think there might be a deeper feeling in all of this, beyond politics and my cringing over long-gone nights out. What terrifies me most is an irrational childhood fear, one that many others possess: a belief that I am inherently not good enough, that I am bad or defective in some way, and, because of that, the idea of being a politician, of being under scrutiny, and being publicly “found out” is a threat that feels existential.
Jamie O’Connell is a novelist
