A gaffe is when a politician tells the truth.

Hear the sharp and piercing words of Michael Kinsley, who declared: “A gaffe is when a politician tells the truth.” At first glance, the saying seems clothed in jest, yet beneath its cloak lies a blade of deep wisdom. For in politics, where words are chosen like weapons and polished like jewels, the truth often comes forth not as a crown but as a stumbling stone. A politician, trained to soothe the crowd with promises, to speak what ears desire to hear, commits a “gaffe” not when he errs, but when he lays bare reality unmasked. The world calls it a mistake, yet it is the only moment of honesty.

Why is this so? Because men hunger for comfort more than they hunger for truth. The truth often wounds, often demands sacrifice, often calls for burdens heavier than the people wish to bear. And so the politician, like the ancient orator, learns to dress reality in soft garments, to wrap it in the silk of illusion. But when he forgets himself and speaks plainly, when he declares what is rather than what should be, the crowd recoils. They call it a blunder, a slip, a gaffe. Yet in that moment the veil is lifted, and the people glimpse the raw face of power, of struggle, of reality.

Consider the tale of Walter Mondale, who during his 1984 campaign told the American people, “Mr. Reagan will raise taxes, and so will I. He won’t tell you. I just did.” This was no miscalculation, no ignorance, but the truth spoken plainly. And what happened? The people turned away, for the truth was bitter, and the sweet lie offered by his rival was easier to swallow. Mondale’s words were branded a “gaffe,” yet in truth they were the most honest declaration of that campaign. Here the wisdom of Kinsley’s words reveals itself: honesty in politics is treated as error, for it dares to disturb the dream.

The ancients also saw this pattern. In Rome, when Cato the Younger declared that corruption was rotting the Republic, many called him mad, obstinate, or a fool. His enemies mocked his plain speech, for it broke the spell of Rome’s grandeur and revealed the cracks within. Yet history remembers Cato as a man of integrity, while those who spoke pleasing lies faded into obscurity. Thus, the truth spoken in public life often appears as folly in its time, but as wisdom to the ages.

This reveals something tragic about the human soul: it does not merely fear the truth, it punishes those who speak it. The politician who tells comforting lies is rewarded with power, but the one who dares to speak hard realities is condemned. Therefore, the people themselves must share in the guilt, for they demand the lie and reject the light. The “gaffe,” then, is not the politician’s sin, but the people’s mirror. It shows that society prefers illusion to wisdom, flattery to honesty, and dreams to discipline.

Yet here lies the lesson: do not despise the “gaffe.” When a man in public life stumbles into honesty, do not join the crowd in mocking him. Instead, attend closely to his words, for they may reveal more truth than a thousand polished speeches. And in your own life, beware of treating honesty as error. Do not punish those who tell you hard things, but honor them, for they give you the gift of sight.

And finally, my child, carry this into your days: practice truth in your own speech, even when it costs you. For though the world may laugh, though it may call your words blunders or mistakes, in the end truth is the only soil upon which trust and justice can grow. Remember Michael Kinsley’s words well: in a world of politics and power, the moment of truth is called a “gaffe.” But in the world of wisdom, it is the only moment worth remembering. Choose truth, even when it is mocked, for it is the one word that will endure when all lies crumble to dust.