The question people ask me the most is “What was it like to be a Minister?” This blog is a short answer to that question. Think of it like a first personal reflection of what it meant for me. Providing an answer that does justice to the experience will probably require a whole book. For now, I’ll imagine I am telling you this over a cup of Ecuadorian coffee.
My first political appointment was as Minister of Tourism. At first, I tried to explain (without success) that I was not a politician. After all, I hadn’t been a candidate and won an election. I would say that I was a technical person in a political position (the infamous ‘technocrat’). With time I‘ve embraced the fact that I was once a politician, as Wikipedia states, but I still say that I was not a ‘traditional’ politician.
Some of my reflections about politics started with Michael Ignatieff, a former Harvard Professor that became a Canadian politician. When I first started as a Minister, I read one of his articles (I’ll tell you more in a second). Five years later, I reencountered Ignatieff’s reflections about politics again. This time in his book Fire and Ashes. He talks about his journey, what he learned, his success and ultimate failure in politics. If you are interested in politics, I definitely recommend it. In this blog I’ll refer to some parts of his book and talk a little about what it was like for me.
Politics in theory and in real life
The feeling of entering into politics somehow reminds me of the feeling of becoming a mom. Nothing can prepare you for that experience and the transformation it will generate. It doesn’t matter how much you read, study or even hear about politics, until you live it you will never fully understand. In his book, Ignatieff says “Practical politics is no science… Its basic skills can be learned but they cannot be taught”.
When I started as a Minister, I came across Ignatieff’s letter to a young politician (the article I mentioned earlier). It’s a letter of advice with what he wished he had known before becoming a politician. It resonated with me, particularly this: ‘I had the vocation for politics. What I didn’t have was any aptitude for political combat’. That’s how I felt, too.
I love public policy. What I mean by that is the design, but foremost the implementation, of public programs, projects and policies. By now, you have probably heard me talk about the transformative power good policies can have. But I have to confess, I don’t like politics. More precisely, I don’t like political combat. In Spanish this was harder to explain because policy and politics are the same word ‘política’. Politics felt very real to me, very quickly.
The good
Ignatieff says the first thing you should know when you enter into politics is why you are doing it. For me, it was the opportunity to serve. To be in a position where I could affect change. As you know, development is a political process. Who is in power matters. Furthermore, it matters who those in positions of power serve (i.e. who is their ‘base’ or their interest groups). When politicians serve the citizens, the impact can be enormous. For me, that should be the only reason why someone enters into politics—to improve the lives of others, especially the most vulnerable. Unfortunately, we all know, that is not always the case.
There are so many stories that demonstrate what one can do as a politician that fill my heart with joy and gratitude (I’m smiling as I remember). There is one in particular that provides a good summary. I once went to visit one of the new public hospitals. The doctors took me to the new ICU unit for neonates, something that area of Ecuador didn’t have before. There was a young mom with her baby, she was less than 30 weeks. She told me her baby’s name was Zoe, because it means life. As I was leaving, she said: “I am Zoe’s mom, I saw you upstairs. Without the hospital she wouldn’t have had the chance to fight. Thank you!” For me that’s what politics is about. Giving everyone equal opportunities, so each individual has the chance to fight for a better future.
The bad
When you enter into politics you are always on show. As Ignatieff says, you are there for public consumption. The problem is, the judgement of your actions depends on the fraction of the story someone else wants to tell, which is colored by that person’s own bias towards you. With time, I learned not to take things personally. But it’s not easy. Some say that to be in politics you need to have a thick skin. I am not sure I had it, at least not thick enough.
In his book Ignatieff talks about how others that see you as a threat use things that you’ve said in the past to represent you in a negative way. As he explains, the problem is not that they manufacture things that are false (i.e. a recording or document of you saying something that you didn’t say). Instead, the issue is how your opponents turn your “record” to their advantage by taking things you’ve done or said out of context, or representing them in a deceitful way. For me, this was a hard position to be in, which was exacerbated in a polarized society.
The ugly
Ignatieff has the best explanation I’ve found so far about what, for me, is the ugly side of politics. As I mentioned, Ecuador at the time was very polarized. Politics were taking place in an already divided society, and turning adversaries into enemies. As Ignatieff explains an adversary has to be defeated, while an enemy has to be destroyed. With adversaries, compromise is possible. An adversary today can become an ally tomorrow.You can’t compromise with enemies. And you certainly can’t become allies with them.
Carl von Clausewitz said “war is the continuation of politics by other means”. But politics is not the continuation of war. It is the alternative to it. According to Ignatieff, we defend politics and seek to preserve its vitality because its purpose is to save us from the worst. But when politics turns into a war, the purpose is lost.
I felt that in Ecuador we, as a country, lost sight of the greater good. We all contributed to that war, through a loss of tolerance and respect for someone that doesn’t think like you. Politics somehow felt like a war, not an alternative to it. And in a war, everyone loses. The feeling of being on a battlefield is certainly not what I envisioned when I chose a career in public policy. There were days when I felt there were no rules, no respect, no boundaries. The goal was to destroy the enemy. I felt I was in the middle of that war.
The hope
As this unprecedented year finishes, my hope for my country, and for the rest of the world that also suffers from this lack of tolerance, is that what bring us together becomes greater than what brings us apart. We can debate and have different opinions about things, but we don’t need to hate each other in the process. If there is anything we have learned this year, it is how much we need each other. How much we rely on each other to survive and thrive.
In a world where ‘everything is true and nothing is true’ as Obama said in an old interview, our approach to politics and democracy is different. My hope is that we can recover the essence of what politics is about. That we start engaging with adversaries, instead of enemies. That we don’t lose ourselves, as a society, in the process. Tolerance and respect are essential for any type of coexistence.
My hope is this new year comes with an opportunity to be better together. To agree on a baseline of goals to aspire to, like having equal opportunities for all. Then we can debate different alternatives to achieve those goals. I dream of a world where we can have different ideas, without meaning we hate each other. I want to finish this year with the hope of a better future, of better politics, of better decisions for the benefit of the many and not for the power or interest of the few. For a better world, even if it is just 1% better every time.
Photo by Timon Wanner on Unsplash
