If Tom Kean cannot do his job, he shouldn't be in Congress

Severe mental illness is a tragedy, not an excuse. Congress isn't a participation trophy. Kean vanished for months while being hospitalized for depression. He shouldn't run for reelection.

This spring, Congressman Tom Kean Jr. went missing.

For four months, Kean, a Republican from New Jersey, didn’t show up for House votes. Or talk to his constituents. Or the media. Or other Republicans. In May, his chief of staff told a reporter, “There’s no cameras where Tom is,” a comment that hardly put the questions to rest.

On Tuesday, Kean reappeared, with an explanation for his vanishing act. Sort of.

In a five-minute speech on the House floor, Kean — who is running for reelection — claimed he had been hospitalized for depression after “some testing” at a “hospital.”

And that was, essentially, all he said.

He took no questions. He didn’t name the hospital, or how long he’d been hospitalized. Or offer any details about his diagnosis, or if it was related in any way to drug or alcohol use. Or what treatments he’d received, and whether they included medicine, electroshock, or both. Or whether he continues to take medication.

Sorry, Congressman. You cannot expect voters to respect that story. If that’s the best you can do, you need to quit your reelection campaign. This is not a partisan issue; it’s about the minimum standards we can expect of public officeholders — and of the reasonable expectations we can have for people with severe mental illness.

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(The truth, even when it’s hard.)

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Of course politicians, like everyone else, have some expectation of privacy on personal health matters (with the possible exception of the Presidency, given the unique importance and demands of the job), as long as they’re doing their jobs.

Kean failed to do his. For one-sixth of his entire term, he was gone.

Assume Kean is telling the truth, and not using a depression diagnosis to hide a substance abuse problem. He still doesn’t get a pass.

If Kean had cancer or congestive heart failure or some other physical ailment severe enough to keep him hospitalized for months, voters would rightly expect him to explain his diagnosis and treatment enough to allow them to judge his health for themselves. Trust me, I’m better, would not be an acceptable answer.

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(Tom Kean, in the flesh)

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Instead, Kean seems to think that “I was depressed” is an all-purpose defense against follow-up health questions. The opposite is true. Psychiatric illness requiring prolonged inpatient treatment is even more relevant to Kean’s capacity to serve than a disease like cancer.

Suppose Kean had been diagnosed with schizophrenia or another psychotic disorder. Almost no one would suggest he should remain in Congress. But severe depression can include elements of psychosis. Did Kean’s? Is that why he was hospitalized for so long? We have no idea, because he didn’t say. Even assuming it did not, people with severe depression frequently relapse. How can Kean offer any reasonable promise he won’t be back in the hospital again next term?

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Severe mental illness is deeply painful, and people suffering it deserve compassion and support.

But in the last 20 years American culture has gone from stigmatizing mental illness to almost valorizing it, encouraging people to talk endlessly about their diagnoses. Along the way, we have grown to pretend truly severe mental illness is a get-out-of-jail free card that once played exempts its sufferers from ordinary standards of behavior and work.

Serving in Congress is a privilege, not a right. At a minimum, Tom Kean needs to explain to voters why he deserves that privilege.

If he can’t, he should leave his seat to someone who can..