Time to admit that our politicians are human too
It’s a worrying sign of the times when a man in a high-pressured, time-consuming job can be vilified just for falling asleep, writes Eilis O’Hanlon
WHAT do Green Party leader Eamon Ryan falling asleep during a vote in the Dail and the resignation of a staff writer at The New York Times have in common?
Not much, at first glance. Even Bari Weiss, the staff writer in question, might struggle to see how her grim warning about the rise of ideological fundamentalism in the modern media relates to the new Minister for Climate Action taking a nap in the Convention Centre during a vote on the Social Democrats private members’ motion on low pay and employment rights.
It was the reaction to Eamon Ryan nodding off which should set alarm bells ringing.
Weiss resigned from The New York Times, citing a culture which had become increasingly toxic and lacking in mutual respect, in which opponents sought to misrepresent each other’s views and, in some cases, ruin those with whom they disagreed. She knew where the blame lies, writing: “Twitter is not on the masthead of The New York Times. But Twitter has become its ultimate editor. Everyone else lives in fear of the digital thunderdome... Online venom is excused so long as it is directed at the proper targets”. The response on Twitter to Minister Ryan falling asleep displayed those faults to the full.
In mainstream media, it was treated with a certain understanding. Any criticism was aimed at Government TDs for voting against a bill which was portrayed as protecting low paid and essential workers who’d been left vulnerable by the Covid-19 crisis. Much of the online criticism, though, was directed at Eamon Ryan for having the audacity to fall asleep at all.
Some of it was done with wit. One joked that this wasn’t what they’d expected when the Greens said they were for “conserving energy”. If you fall asleep in public, you must expect to be ribbed.
Many went much further, sounding genuinely furious, accusing the minister of having insulted lower-paid voters who pay his wages. Some of this is undoubtedly a residue of resentment at the Greens for going into Government with Fianna Fail and Fine Gael, generally from people who still can’t accept that there wasn’t a left-of-centre alternative Government to be formed after the election. These people had just been waiting for the Greens to slip up so that they could pile in, and took the first opportunity which presented itself.
It was the undercurrent of nastiness which was striking. Is the well of public opinion really so poisoned now that a man is seriously being attacked for falling asleep? Is this what Ireland has become? It would be comforting to think not, but maybe that’s becoming harder to believe in an age of social media.
Eamon Ryan did the most human thing of all. After months of negotiations over a programme for Government, in the middle of a leadership challenge, and a few short weeks into a demanding new job, tiredness momentarily got the better of him. He’s hardly alone in that. When he was UK Prime Minister, Gordon Brown was once seen to nod off during a pre-Budget speech by his own Chancellor.
Brown’s exhaustion was a worry to his colleagues. One Cabinet minister said at the time: “The problem is he thinks the answer to everything is to work harder. It would be much better if he got some sleep and had a clearer head.”
The long, unsocial hours that politicians work simply don’t allow for normal sleep patterns.
Margaret Thatcher famously got by on four hours a night, and, unlike Churchill, never napped, according to those who knew her. They did say, though, that she was frequently exhausted.
Donald Trump claims that he only gets three hours’ sleep.
One American political consultant revealed that he himself once fell asleep while standing in line for a sandwich, and fell so hard he broke a rib.
A local councillor in England has written vividly about days where “there is just no opportunity to sleep at all. Bed was swapped with naps in rotation between me and my staff, be that on the desk or the office floor ... Decisions about who does what became based on who was the most compos mentis that day, with work going on well into the night. I’ve been sent home for a nap like a naughty child.”
Often it’s as if being tired is interpreted as a sign of weakness by other primates in the jungle. The author of a book about the City of London noted some years ago that “there was a real macho competition about sleep” and that “one of the ways of getting respect was bragging about how little you got”.
The health risks associated with this lifestyle, not least heart disease, obesity and depression, are well known. Tiredness is also dangerous for those who have to drive home. The political risks are not so apparent, but are no less real.
Decisions made when tired are not always the best. As former Number 10 adviser Jonathan Powell said: “Having been there, I think politicians get too little sleep. They need more time to rest and think”.
A few weeks ago, Eamon Ryan’s wife, the writer Victoria White, wrote what in retrospect now looks like a timely column in which she described the pressures that politics places on normal family life.
“When did it become reasonable for a minister to work a 16-hour day, six or seven days a week?” she asked. “Do you think that helps their decision-making? Does it help attract women to politics? Is it fair on their families? Everyone needs to take a break. These people are husbands, wives, fathers, mothers.”
That Eamon Ryan is condemned for being tired when the job of minister drains everything from those who take it on is monstrous.
That’s not to say political office is more demanding than manual labour, or that other people with high-pressured jobs don’t also suffer from burn out and exhaustion, but ministers do work extremely hard.
They’re well rewarded, financially and in job satisfaction, and must always be held to account for their decisions; but the level of hostility directed towards Eamon Ryan online points to something much more disturbing.
Everything in public discourse is now weaponised, naps included. This is what Bari Weiss warned about when the rules of social media are allowed to rule the roost.
Some see the howling Twitter mobs as a necessary realignment that takes power from elites and hands it back to the people; but it’s only some of the people, invariably the angriest, most strident. Ireland hasn’t fallen fully into their clutches yet, but, as America tends to be further along that road to hell, it’s possible to heed the warnings.
Those who saw themselves as liberal and tolerant used to laugh at uptight people who said everything was an example of “political correctness gone mad”. No one’s laughing anymore. The signs of political correctness having gone mad are everywhere, and there’s no understanding, or sympathy, or pauses allowed for explanation or dialogue.
It’s all attack, attack, attack, and it’s hard to challenge because anyone who doesn’t fall into line is mortally afraid that the mob will come for them next, even if it is just because they nodded off.
‘Politics does not allow for normal sleep patterns’