I’ve witnessed it too many times, and frankly, it’s a bizarre spectacle that never fails to frustrate me to my core.
When a national disaster strikes – whether it’s a hurricane, a wildfire, a devastating flood or an unexpected economic downturn – my immediate instinct, like so many others, is to turn to the news for critical updates. I crave information: where are the resources heading? What’s the safety protocol? How can I help, or how can I ensure my loved ones are safe?
What I often get instead is a surreal, almost theatrical performance starring our elected officials, one that leaves me utterly bewildered and, at times, downright angry.
I’m talking about the press conferences held in the immediate aftermath of these devastating events. The camera pans across a stage, and there they are, a line-up of politicians – the president, the governor, senators, local mayors, emergency responders – all ready to address the nation. My expectation, and I believe it's a reasonable one, is for a concise, impactful delivery of vital details.
But what consistently unfolds is an elaborate ritual of mutual admiration, a never-ending cycle of "thank yous" and "shout-outs" that feels utterly disconnected from the gravity of the crisis at hand. It’s as if the primary purpose of the gathering isn’t to inform a suffering populace, but to engage in a public display of back-patting and ass-kissing.
We see this play out during the Texas floods over 4th of July weekend. The images of widespread devastation were heartbreaking. Homes submerged, lives uprooted, communities shattered. And then, there they were, the politicians, lined up at the podium. Each one took their turn, not just to update us on the situation, but to lavish praise upon their colleagues.
"I want to thank the president for his unwavering support," one would declare, followed by another chiming in, "And I must commend the governor for his tireless leadership."
Then came the turn for the senators to nod sagely and offer their own reciprocal thanks. It was an endless loop of self-congratulation, a public relations exercise draped in the somber attire of crisis management.
This is where my frustration boils over.
Why do they make it seem like they’re doing us a favor? Why is the president, for example, thanked profusely for providing federal assistance? It’s his job and our money, plain and simple. The president’s role, especially in times of national crisis, explicitly includes mobilizing federal resources, coordinating relief efforts and ensuring the safety and well-being of American citizens.
It’s not an act of unparalleled generosity or a magnanimous gesture; it is a fundamental part of the oath they took, the duty they signed up for. The same goes for the governor, who is constitutionally bound to protect the state and its residents, or the senators, who represent their constituents' interests at the federal level. When they step up during a disaster, they are not exceeding expectations; they are meeting the bare minimum requirements of their powerful offices.
This constant performance of gratitude diminishes the actual hard work of countless emergency personnel, volunteers and local heroes who are truly on the ground, often risking their own lives with little fanfare. More importantly, it devalues the concept of public service itself.
By framing basic governmental functions as extraordinary acts of kindness, our politicians inadvertently send a dangerous message: that we should be grateful for them simply doing what they’re elected and paid to do. It fosters a culture where accountability takes a back seat to optics and where fulfilling one's responsibilities is seen as an optional extra, rather than an inherent obligation.
I find myself watching these press conferences, waiting impatiently for concrete details – evacuation routes, shelter locations, aid distribution points, long-term recovery plans – only to sit through minutes, sometimes what feels like an eternity, of hollow accolades.
Time that could be used to disseminate crucial, life-saving information is instead consumed by political posturing. This isn't just an annoyance; it’s a disservice to the suffering communities, to the anxious families and to all of us who are desperately seeking clarity in chaos.
Why do they engage in this bizarre ritual? Is it an attempt to signal unity, even when divisions might persist behind the scenes? Is it a calculated move to boost approval ratings by appearing collaborative and compassionate? Or is it simply a deeply ingrained habit of political theatre, where every public appearance is an opportunity to score points and reinforce alliances?
Whatever the motivation, it reveals a profound disconnect between the politicians on the stage and the people they are ostensibly there to serve.
My plea is simple, yet I believe profoundly important: cut to the chase. When disaster strikes, I don’t need to see politicians patting each other on the back or kissing each other’s asses. I need clear, concise, actionable information. I need to know what’s being done, how it’s being done, and what I, or my community, can do to help or stay safe. I need to see leadership that understands its duty is not a favor, but a solemn responsibility.
Let’s remember that in times of crisis, the public deserves substance over spectacle and competence over congratulations. It's time our elected officials focused on their jobs, not on the applause.