Karen, everyone has something.”
—Roger Milliken
There is no perfect person. Therefore, there is no perfect politician. In the arena of politics, it has become something of a blood sport to hunt for human weakness and then weaponize it. Every flaw is magnified, every private failing or perceived shortcoming is turned into public spectacle. The goal is rarely understanding or accountability; it is often simply to destroy.
Last night at the Newberry Opera House, South Carolina watched that sport play out once more. The SCETV debate between Senator Darline Graham and Congressman Ralph Norman began with both candidates cut off during their opening statements. A live audience cheered, called out, and even booed in the familiar ritual of exposure. People in our state sometimes brag that South Carolina is a ‘bare-knuckle’ state. There is truth in the toughness of our politics and our people. But that does not mean we should be a state without a soul. Bare-knuckle fighting can still be conducted with honor. It does not require dehumanization.
I learned this lesson the hard way.
In 2009 I became the first—and to this day the only—woman elected to chair the South Carolina Republican Party. Within the first several months of my tenure, our governor’s extramarital affair exploded into international headlines. The storm that followed was fierce. There were those who hoped, and some who actively worked, to see me fail. The pressure was relentless. The unkindness was personal. I was a woman in a role that had never before been held by one, and the moment the party’s most visible leader stumbled, certain voices rose to suggest that the problem was not the frailty of one man, but the unsuitability of the woman now tasked with steadying the ship. Yet even in that season, the party won every constitutional office—a result the Associated Press and others called the first Republican “clean sweep” in our state’s history.
Not long after, Nikki Haley stepped forward to run for governor. Once again the atmosphere turned vicious. Allegations were leveled that, at the time, felt almost unheard of in their ugliness. I felt unequipped to navigate the cruelty. So I sought the counsel of my mentor, the late Roger Milliken—industrialist, philanthropist, and one of the quiet architects of South Carolina’s modern Republican Party.
In the course of our conversation he looked at me and said simply, “Karen, everyone has something.”
Those four words have stayed with me for more than fifteen years.
They are not an excuse for wrongdoing. They are a reminder of shared humanity. When we ask people to step into the role of public servant—whether as senator, congressman, party chair, or any other office—we are asking imperfect human beings to carry imperfect institutions. They will have private struggles, hidden wounds, gaps in knowledge, and moments of failure. That does not mean they forfeit the right to basic human dignity. It does not mean their service should be met with a level of nastiness that we would never tolerate in any other arena of life.
Something else has changed in the years since I served. When I was chairman, the post was unpaid. One ran for that position for ideological reasons often sacrificing time, treasure and talent for the betterment of the party. It was an honor. Today the chairmen are paid, a shift that has markedly altered the party’s tenor. What was once an act of service rooted in conviction has become something closer to a political consultancy, where a paycheck quietly replaced the older sense of sacrifice. And as the incentives moved, the soul of the work shifted too.
Mr. Milliken’s wisdom was not cynical. It was compassionate and realistic. He understood that the demand for perfection is itself a form of cruelty—one that ultimately depletes the pool of people willing to serve. If only the flawless may lead, then no one may lead.
We live in a time when the sport of exposing weakness has grown more sophisticated and more merciless. Social media amplifies every misstep. Opponents and sometimes even allies treat human frailty as political capital. Last night’s debate was only the latest demonstration. Yet the deeper truth remains unchanged: there is no perfect person. The men and women who offer themselves for public service do so knowing they will be scrutinized, but they do not deserve to be dehumanized.
I often think of those early months during my chairmanship. The attacks came. The isolation was real. And yet the counsel of a wise mentor helped maintain perspective. ‘Everyone has something’. The measure of a leader is not the absence of weakness, but the presence of character in the face of it—and the willingness of a community to respond with something better than pure destruction.
May we remember that when we look at those who serve. May we hold them accountable without forgetting they are human. And may we, in our own imperfect lives, extend the same grace we hope one day to receive.
With much love,
ELYSIAN Publisher & Founder