The politician: a public health problem?

A triad of risk factors jeopardises the health of the nation

In the late 1960s I was strongly influenced by Professor Alan Davies, the then Professor of Political Science at the University of Melbourne, among whose many interests were the behavioural characteristics of politicians.

In 1971, I considered going to Yale University to undertake a PhD in psychopolitics, but fate intervened and instead I became involved first-hand in politics in Canberra for 2 years.

In Parliament House in Canberra, I came to recognise a triad of characteristics among its inhabitants: sleeplessness; isolation; and boredom. To this day, these characteristics appear common in the lives of politicians. They contribute to the pathology of government.

In addition, the attitudes of politicians have been linked to low self-esteem and hatred, the impact of which has been underestimated in many conversations about political motives.

Harold Lasswell, the American sociologist remembered for his definition of politics as “the study of who gets what, when, and how”, suggested that aspiring politicians have unusually low self-esteem. It can be a driving factor in those individuals becoming politicians and their search for power.1

Henry Adams, the great grandson of the second United States President, observed that “politics, as a practice, whatever its professions, has always been the systematic organization of hatreds”.2

Do politicians really thrive with little sleep?

When I first observed sleep deprivation, it was a time when politicians and staff worked or played late into the evening. Frequently, politicians prided themselves that they did not need much sleep. Margaret Thatcher claimed that she needed only 4 hours' sleep a night. Her biographer wrote:

In Canberra in the 1970s, it was a very macho thing to show you could exist without sleep — just as it was to smoke, stimulated by images of the Marlboro Man. While community attitudes towards tobacco have changed dramatically, the same is not true of politicians and sleep, despite sleep deprivation being a strong risk factor for having poor judgement and being accident-prone.

One mitigating factor is that politicians now exercise more than they did in the early 1970s. I found that when a political problem was annoying me intensely, exercise was a good antidote. John Howard, from what I know of him, was able to relax because of his early morning walk routine. Yet the current prime minister's doctor cautioned him about the dangers of cycling, which one can imagine would be riskier when sleep-deprived.4

How lonely is it at the top?

Isolation is another challenge. Canberra is “a great place to sustain the isolation. It is the quintessential garden city — a file-encrusted chrysalis … a place for bureaucrats and lobbyists”.5 The old Parliament House that I knew was always crowded but, in a way, the cheek-by-jowl existence alleviated the isolation. By contrast, the new Parliament House is a monument to isolation — walk the corridors, talk to no-one and see staffers and media fleeing to the latte oases which dot the parliamentary desert.

Media images once portrayed the leader as the “man alone” — his essential strength manifest in his ability to walk alone in the wilderness, confronting and conquering the political demons afflicting the nation. I thought the image had drifted out of fashion until I saw the front page of the Sydney Morning Herald on 10 February this year, which depicted Tony Abbott sitting alone in the House.

In reality, the leader is never alone, even if isolated. When the leader moves, he or she moves in convoy, surrounded by minders. Security demands are increasing — layer by layer, non-uniform upon uniform, guns at the ready — a world of potential peril scrutinised by figures in dark glasses talking into hidden electronics. For a moment the leader plunges into the crowd. In a moment the image is captured. Then the convoy surrounds the leader and loads him or her into a limousine.

The media is a willing accomplice. The published image provides a cartouche. If the cartouche can be captioned by the one-liner, the news bite is perfect.

But does all the incessant social media bird-calling reduce the intrinsic danger of isolation, whether it be geographic or an inner isolation where the messages never penetrate the cloistered mind?

Familiarity breeding contempt

The third problem is that there is so much repetition, so much frenetic meaningless activity, that at the heart of the political process there is boredom.

Listen to politicians fending off the media. How can ministers of the Crown repeat the same mantra over and over again without becoming totally bored? And as they trudge off after the joust with the press, where do they go except into a world in which they are both sleep-deprived and isolated?

How can anybody sit through the antics of a parliamentary session without being bored by the repetitious adversarial chatter verging on abuse?

Once bored, susceptible politicians and their staffers get locked into games and rituals of gossip, then tweeting too much into too little. It is disastrous if only those who thrive on boredom and revel in gossip insinuate their way into power, and then push those who do not play the game to the periphery.

Low self-esteem and systematic organisation of hatreds result — the legacy of the triad of sleep deprivation, isolation and boredom among those entrusted to rule the country.

A public health problem?

Before scoffing, remember that once the Black Death was seen as God's will, and smoking cigarettes and cigars was considered a societal norm — both beyond the reach of public health.

The arrival of social media has emphasised these dysfunctions in the political system. The craziness of private politics gets translated into a mixture of community disgust and disbelief, so the clamour to change government after one term reaches a crescendo. When private politics is reinforced by the unreality of social media and its narrow focus on self, the purpose of government — let alone good government — is lost. But does anybody learn?

The New South Wales Legislative Assembly has been described as a bear pit. Thus, parliaments that less resemble a mediaeval fairground would be a start. If we do not recognise the symptoms and signs of politics descending into a tournament of egos rather than achieving the business of government, then the health of the nation is at risk, especially if there are politicians listening to voices that do not exist.