There is something deeply uncomfortable about the modern politician's need to be seen everywhere, particularly in places where vulnerability is most visible. Hospitals, elderly care homes, rehabilitation centres, schools and nurseries have increasingly become stages for political image-making. The pattern is familiar: a smiling politician stands beside a frail elderly person in a wheelchair, leans over a hospital bed, or holds a child while cameras click and phones record the moment for immediate publication on social media.
The image is meant to convey compassion, accessibility and humanity. In reality, it often reveals something far less admirable.
The problem is not that politicians visit hospitals or homes for the elderly. In itself, that is not objectionable. Public officials should understand the institutions that serve society's most vulnerable citizens, and direct contact with patients, residents and staff can help them appreciate the realities that policies affect. The issue arises when these encounters are turned into carefully staged publicity exercises. When a politician's visit is documented, packaged and broadcast as proof of empathy, the line between engagement and exploitation becomes blurred.
The situation becomes particularly troubling when the people appearing in these images are clearly in vulnerable conditions. Elderly individuals suffering from debilitation conditions, patients recovering from serious illness, or residents whose physical frailty is evident are suddenly transformed into silent props in a political narrative. They may not be fully aware of who is standing beside them, or why a photograph is being taken. Yet their image becomes part of a politician's public profile, circulated widely online and presented as evidence of care and dedication.
In an age before social media, such encounters were often private or limited in exposure. A politician might visit a ward or a residential home and speak with staff, patients and residents without the interaction becoming a public spectacle. Today, however, every visit appears to demand documentation. A short visit is quickly converted into a sequence of photographs and captions: "Honoured to spend time with our elderly," or "Inspiring to meet these brave patients". The visit becomes less about the people being visited and more about the person visiting them and the image being projected.
What makes the practice particularly troubling is that it depends on the participation - willing or otherwise - of people who may have little control over how they are portrayed. A frail centenarian sitting in a wheelchair, perhaps unable to follow the conversation around them, suddenly appears on a politician's social media page, surrounded by comments and reactions from strangers. The dignity of the individual is secondary to the message being conveyed. Their vulnerability becomes the backdrop for a political performance.
The same dynamic can be observed with children. Politicians across the political spectrum appear to have a natural attraction to photographs involving young children. A baby is lifted for the camera, a toddler is held up with a broad smile, or a group of schoolchildren gathers around a visiting official. The symbolism is obvious: children represent innocence, the future and hope. Standing beside them allows the politician to borrow some of that symbolism.
Yet here too the ethical question is rarely asked. Children are not political instruments, and they cannot reasonably be expected to understand the context in which their image is being used. A photograph posted online can circulate indefinitely, detached from the circumstances in which it was taken. The child grows up, but the image remains part of the digital record of a political campaign.
Responsibility for this situation does not lie solely with politicians, although they are the primary beneficiaries. The public also plays a role, and often a decisive one. Politicians would not be able to produce such images if people consistently refused to participate. Yet many appear willing to do so. Families gather around a visiting politician, smiling for the camera while an elderly relative sits quietly beside them. Parents beam as a political figure holds their child for a photograph.
It is difficult to understand why this acceptance persists. Perhaps some people feel honoured by the attention of a public figure. Others may believe that refusing would appear impolite or ungrateful. In some cases, there may be a sense that participation offers a small moment of recognition or importance. Whatever the reason, the result is the same: vulnerable individuals become part of a political narrative that they did not choose and may not even comprehend.
The ethical responsibility of relatives and parents in such situations should not be underestimated. When an elderly parent or grandparent is in a fragile state - physically, cognitively or emotionally - their dignity depends on the judgment of those around them. Allowing that person to appear in a political photograph that will be broadcast publicly raises serious questions about whether their interests are truly being protected. The same applies to children, whose images and identities deserve careful safeguarding in a digital environment where content spreads rapidly and permanently.
Politicians, for their part, often defend such encounters as harmless or even positive. They argue that visits to hospitals and care homes demonstrate commitment to the community and highlight important social issues. There is some truth in the claim that public attention can draw focus to institutions that need support. But the distinction between raising awareness and cultivating a personal image is often impossible to ignore.
The timing of such visits is also revealing. As elections approach, the frequency of these carefully documented interactions tends to increase. Suddenly politicians are more visible in precisely those environments that evoke sympathy and compassion. The pattern is so obvious that it becomes difficult to interpret these visits as spontaneous acts of concern. Instead, they resemble components of a broader campaign strategy, designed to reinforce the impression that a candidate is attentive to society's most vulnerable members.
What is particularly striking is how normalised this behaviour has become. Images of politicians with patients, elderly residents or children circulate daily on social media, usually attracting positive reactions and approving comments. Rarely is the ethical dimension discussed. The presence of vulnerability in these images is not seen as problematic but rather as part of the emotional appeal.
If there is to be any change in this pattern, it will not come solely from politicians deciding to restrain themselves. Political actors rarely abandon effective communication strategies voluntarily. Change would have to begin with the public refusing to participate in such displays. If families declined requests for photographs, if parents politely insisted that their children not be used for political imagery, and if institutions themselves established clearer boundaries, the opportunities for such performances would diminish significantly.
Ultimately, dignity should not be negotiable. Elderly people struggling with illness or cognitive decline deserve respect and privacy, not exposure as accessories to political messaging. Children deserve protection from being inserted into narratives they cannot understand. And society as a whole should expect its political leaders to demonstrate compassion through policy, governance and integrity rather than through carefully staged photographs.
The presence of politicians in hospitals, schools or care homes need not disappear. Engagement with communities is an important part of public life. But engagement should not require a camera, a caption and a social media post. When vulnerability becomes a backdrop for self-promotion, the line between empathy and exploitation has already been crossed.