As a young reporter of middle-class stock, I plied my chosen trade as a journalist at various radio stations across Connecticut, always looking for the opportunity to tie myself to a tree during a hurricane, in the tradition of Dan Rather, as my ticket to the big time.
Along the way, I would score interviews here and there with the familiar names of Connecticut politics: Dodd, Weicker, Lieberman, O’Neill, Stolberg, Gejdenson, Kennelly and so on. A few times, with the help of the local political celebrities, I’d land a shot at Tip O’Neill, President Carter, President Bush or Bob Dole.
Back then, I looked at all of them with a special degree of respect. To win a few minutes with such leaders so that they could impart their special wisdom on me and my audience was an honor. They were part of the ruling class, better than the rest of us, smarter, expert in specialized areas depending on their committee assignments or some crisis they had faced. Members of Congress seemed always to be fighting for something.
Dodd and Gejdenson, in particular, always carried a certain tone in their voice that said, “We’re fighting for the little guy; we’re not going to take it anymore and the bogeyman of the day is going to know it when we’re done with him.”
All Show
It wasn’t until the end of my career as a reporter that I began to realize many of the fights these members of Congress were fighting were all for show and there was no expectation that any of the battles would ever be won. All a member of Congress had to do was appear to be fighting the good fight and chances were better than average that would be enough to get them reelected.
During what I thought would be a brief pause in my journalism career, I went to work as a press aide in the state Senate. It was here that the mystique began to wear off. I saw that far from being men and women who should be granting anyone an audience, as if conferring a privilege on a person of lesser status, most politicians had little expertise, and had great trepidation about talking to the news media because such an encounter might reveal the secret: They are just like the rest of us. Small, scared, out of their element.
Watching first hand a closed-door Senate caucus, I realized that most of these men and women were fighting for no cause greater than their own reelection and that the glorious Capitol building itself was constructed in such an ornate style only to mask the pettiness taking place inside.
Keeping It Clean
Still, the honor was all mine when given a chance to work in the governor’s office, where for the most part, I was proud to be part of team that was making a difference. Until I found out other members of the team were in it for themselves and would eventually shame us all.
So now, when I see the headlines of a Senator double dipping into public funds and campaign funds, another being accused of forgery, Sen. Dodd facing questions about his mortgage, the mayor of Hartford under arrest and three Obama nominees pulling out because they haven’t paid their taxes — it’s very difficult to summon outrage. I have been educated.
This government we have depends on politics to work. The only way to keep the politics clean is to get the respect and reverence flowing in the opposite direction — away from the officer holders and toward the constituents. The honor should be all theirs.
Dean Pagani is a former gubernatorial advisor. He is V.P. of Public Affairs for Cashman and Katz Integrated Communications in Glastonbury.
