He came like a comet, blazing a trail, but when the smoke cleared, all that could be seen was an optical illusion. Last June, the people of south Dublin invested their trust in George Lee. He glided through the campaign wielding the sword of truth and the shield of justice. "A straight talker with credibility," according to his election poster.

He was the man from the telly, who could be observed nightly, barely concealing his anger at the mess into which the country had been thrust. He was the thinking woman's Eddie Hobbs.

Lee became a lightning rod for the national anger. He was also wholly unsuited for the task at hand, but such a minor matter was drowned out in the wave of 27,768 first preferences, which carried him into the Dáil.

For those who voted for Lee, and thousands beyond the confines of Dublin South, he represented a new form of politics. The old order was manifestly broken. A perfect storm had engulfed the country. Fingers were pointing at the banks and developers, but politics was also in the dock.

George was being dispatched on behalf of those on the outside to bring some substance where there had been little more than spin and featherbedding during the crazy years. So went the general notion, anyway.

Outsized egos are not alien to the media or politics. But for a major self regarder to
prosper in the latter, you require at least a serious collegiate impulse, or a neck like a jockey's nether regions. George had neither. His ego was delicate, and demanded regular massage.

According to Olivia Mitchell, he made no effort to integrate, never going for coffee after meetings. He didn't push his policies on the party. He was waiting for the party to come to him. And he waited, and waited. Perhaps he was under the impression that the change he considered himself to represent would arrive as easily as had his election.

Then last week, he packed it in. "Here I was in the middle of the greatest economic collapse the country had seen and nine months had gone by and I had no impact at all. I was completely silent," he explained. No wonder the economy is still in the doghouse. Nobody went to George to respectfully request him to fix it.

The manner of his leaving spoke volumes. Anybody with a sense of perspective making such an exit would have gone on with Sean O'Rourke, said what had to be said, and disappeared for the rest of the day. Anybody who was returning to journalism after a brief stint in politics would have been doubly minded to follow such a course.

George issued his resignation letter at 12.30pm. For the following 12 hours, he was barely off the airwaves. At last! Back where he belonged, in front of the camera, telling his fans how he had tried to save the world.

Leaving Fine Gael could have been a victory for him. Moving onto the independent benches would have freed him up to propound on how exactly to fix the country. He could have effected change, or at least put the frighteners on the Blueshirts, by shouting from the margins. It would have been lonely and tough, but he would have been guaranteed re-election, and possible re-entry to the party with a stronger hand. His ego could have flowered, as he posed as the people's true champion. He would have had something to tell his grandchildren.

But that wasn't for George. Unlike most politicians, he felt no humility at the faith invested in him at the ballot box. He was floating way too high to notice those people.

Now he's gone, and with him the hope that change might be on the way. Lee was not made of the stuff he claimed to possess, but the symbolism of his departure is depressing. Just as his arrival was cast as signalling change, his exit indicates that the old order remains intact. So goes the perception, and in politics, perception becomes reality.

The wagons were circled last week. There is nothing wrong with the system, according to TD after TD, from all sides of the House. George was the problem. There is nothing wrong with a system where attending funerals is regarded as a political priority over amending legislation. Nothing wrong with a Dáil that is largely a rubber stamp for the executive. Nothing wrong with an absence of checks and balances that allowed three or four individuals to shape economic policy to the point where the state nearly collapsed.

Nothing wrong with an elected legislator finding it impossible to have a private member's bill enacted. What about the featherbedding, over representation, pr stv? Nothing wrong with doing social work on a chief executive's salary. No problem with a post-colonial attitude to family seats and purporting to represent the voter's personal interests against a hostile state. Move along there now, nothing that requires change here. That Lee man simply couldn't stand the heat.

On Thursday, a small example illustrated all that is wrong. The Oireachtas Education committee was conducting hearings on the challenges facing schools in integrating non-national children. This is destined to be a pressing national issue, but it's not an area where there are many votes floating around. The seven Fianna Fáil TDs on the committee didn't bother to show up. Perhaps Thursday was a big day for funerals.

The system certainly places huge demands on politicians, but most of the work is designed for securing re-election, rather than tackling issues.

According to former TD Jim Glennon, who stayed the course with a doggedness known only to second-row forwards, 80% of the work is constituency based. Glennon also confirmed that the obsessions of those who walk the corridors of Leinster House are often removed from what is happening in the world beyond.

Inanities

Stamina is the word that the denizens of Leinster House have been uttering in the wake of Lee's departure. Stamina, they declare with chest-thumping pride. It certainly requires huge stamina to wade through the manure, bear up under the noise of inanities and actually achieve something of substance eventually. The few who manage to do so deserve serious credit, but the glaring question remains; why is the system designed to stifle rather than facilitate initiative?

For sure, voters have a role to play in effecting change. The electorate of Dublin South believed that's what they were at. A much greater debate needs to take place about the system, but there is precious little appetite among the incumbents for change.

The madness of George's brief tenure has also thrown a spotlight on Fine Gael, which our hero had identified as a repository of a new brand of politics. The tweedledee Blueshirts are projecting themselves as a completely different proposition from the tweedledum crowd who landed us in the mire. Really?

Lee was approached by Frank Flannery, chief strategist for the party. The snaffling of George was not an effort to inject something new into the party, but merely to secure a PR victory. George was their celebrity candidate with knobs on.

Irrespective of his own hubris, there should have been some effort to accommodate him on the front bench immediately, knock his head together with that of Richard Bruton's. Enda Kenny lacked either the authority or the smarts to do so.

The new brand of politics Fine Gael claims to represent has been distilled down to a PR-inspired suggestion to abolish the Seanad. Beyond an attempt to save money – a pittance of €20m per annum – throwing out the Seanad would have no real effect on the body politic.

The party is spinning its way to power in order to carry on where Fianna Fáil left off, minus the close friendships with high-profile developers.

The policy position on Nama sums it all up. There were no votes to be gained in going along with Nama, even if it broadly represented the party's ideological stance on the banks. So instead, a Mickey Mouse idea about a good bank/bad bank scenario was forwarded. Kenny made no sense when he tried to articulate the good bank. Richard Bruton, usually assured on such matters, managed to get tongue tied when he stepped forward.

Kenny is a decent man, but decency is a minor attribute in the make-up of a leader.

Last Tuesday, he told the nation. "What I'm going to do now is be myself." It's a sentiment with which many 14-year-olds could identify. Enda is 59, an elected TD for the last 35 years, leader for the last nine. Who was he up until now?

But onward ho we go, with a beady eye focused on the next opinion polls. If Enda has to be thrown overboard, so be it. Power looms at last. Time for Tweedledee to have his turn. George? George who? Country, what country?