Andrew Cuomo is the latest leader to go from lionization to downfall
Every politician has to be a performer, and none of us are immune to the temptation to assume that good performance is an inevitable mark of skill and wisdom. But New York Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo’s downfall is a reminder of a particular danger: believing that public performance in a moment of crisis is what makes a good leader.
On Tuesday, in the wake of a brutal report from the state attorney general documenting allegations of sexual harassment and abusive behavior made by 11 women, and facing the increasing likelihood that he would be impeached, Cuomo announced that he would resign.
His statement was unfortunately what we have come to expect in a situation like this one, in which the alleged harasser says he takes “full responsibility” while actively trying to avoid responsibility.
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“In my mind, I’ve never crossed the line with anyone, but I didn’t realize the extent to which the line has been redrawn,” he said. “There are generational and cultural shifts that I just didn’t fully appreciate, and I should have no excuses.”
But an excuse is exactly what that was. The problem is not that some arbitrary and external “line” was redrawn before Cuomo realized it, but that the old “line” — and much more importantly, his own power and tendency to intimidate, bully and mistreat those beneath him — allowed him to engage in abusive behavior. He created real victims, and it would have been nice to hear not just that he now gets that the “line” has moved, but that he realizes that’s a good thing, because it helps protect those with less power from people like him.
Last spring, whether Cuomo was a predator was on few people’s minds. As the covid-19 pandemic began, Cuomo held daily press conferences, and his style — quiet but assured, resolved and empathetic — gave rise to a ridiculous level of fandom, not to mention speculation about when he’d run for president. New York Magazine called his press conferences “the most comforting show on television right now.” He quickly put out a book called “American Crisis: Leadership Lessons From the COVID-19 Pandemic.”
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They even gave him an Emmy award for the press conferences.
But his actual leadership left something to be desired. Allegations emerged that his administration covered up the number of nursing home deaths, and before long nobody was talking about how great Cuomo performed on the pandemic.
This is a story that should be familiar by now: At a moment of crisis, a politician provides reassurance that things are under control and we’ll get beyond our current fear and distress, then people lionize him as some kind of superhuman leader. Yet over time it becomes clear that the public performance wasn’t really all that hard to accomplish and had little to do with the complex realities of governing.
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That’s what happened with George W. Bush after the September 11 attacks, particularly that remarkable media moment when he stood atop the rubble at Ground Zero with a bullhorn, and when someone said, “We can’t hear you,” responded, “I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you, and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!”
It’s almost impossible to adequately communicate the kind of fawning media coverage Bush got in the following days. Much of it would have made employees at the North Korean state news agency say, “We all love the Dear Leader, but isn’t this a bit over the top?”
Nearly all journalists agreed that the callow, inarticulate frat-boy president had grown to awe-inspiring proportions. The New York Times described him as “transformed from a casually educated son of privilege into a mature leader of a nation at war.” A Newsweek cover article depicted “a model of unblinking, eyes-on-the-prize decisiveness" who was “eloquent in public” and "commanding in private.”
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But Bush’s ability to deliver the right combination of sympathy and chest-beating didn’t enable him to make good decisions; most consequentially, he took America’s thirst for righteous vengeance and turned it into the Iraq War, the worst foreign policy disaster in our history.
September 11 gave us another leader nearly sanctified for his ability to provide reassurance in a crisis: Rudolph W. Giuliani. He did indeed perform well for the cameras on that day and in those that followed; before long he was Time magazine’s “Person of the Year” and lauded as “America’s Mayor,” adulation he quickly monetized into millions in speaking fees and consulting contracts.
But in the Donald Trump years, we saw both the petty, cruel, vindictive Giuliani that New Yorkers knew before 9/11, and a more bizarre and pathetic version, chasing conspiracy theories around the world and embarrassing himself again and again.
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Just as the Giuliani of Four Seasons Total Landscaping and leaking hair dye may overwhelm the Giuliani of 9/11 in our memory, Cuomo’s ignominious fall will be the first line in every history of his governorship. Which is just fine.
We want our political leaders to provide reassurance for us in times of crisis, and public performance is a part of their job that shouldn’t be discounted. But it isn’t too much to expect that even when the cameras are off they not only do the rest of their jobs well, but conduct themselves with dignity and respect for those around them.
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