The Political Journeys of Astronauts

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From Orbit to Office

The transition from astronaut to politician is one of the rarest and most demanding career shifts in modern public life. It represents a leap not just between professions, but between worlds. One is a realm of physics, engineering, and meticulous procedure, where success is measured in orbital mechanics and mission objectives. The other is a domain of persuasion, compromise, and ideology, where success is gauged by public opinion and legislative victories. The skills required for survival in the vacuum of space – unwavering discipline, technical mastery, and adherence to a rigid chain of command – do not obviously translate to the fluid, often chaotic, environment of a legislature or a campaign trail.

Yet, a small and distinct group of individuals has made this journey. From the pioneering days of the Space Race to the contemporary era of polarized politics, a handful of American and Canadian astronauts have traded their flight suits for the corridors of power. Their stories are more than just biographical curiosities; they are compelling case studies in the nature of heroism, the meaning of public service, and the complex interplay between celebrity, expertise, and political power.

The list of these trailblazers includes some of the most iconic names in the history of space exploration. In the United States, the path was forged by John Glenn, a Mercury Seven hero who became a four-term senator and a presidential candidate. He was followed by Apollo 17’s Harrison Schmitt, the only scientist to walk on the Moon, who served a single term in the Senate. In the modern era, Space Shuttle commander Mark Kelly has navigated the treacherous landscape of a swing state to become a prominent senator from Arizona. Their journeys are contrasted by those who tried but fell short, like Jack Lousma and José M. Hernández, and the tragic story of Apollo 13’s Jack Swigert, who won his election but died before he could serve.

North of the border, the Canadian experience offers a different model. Marc Garneau, the first Canadian in space, transitioned from astronaut to head of the Canadian Space Agency before embarking on a long and successful career in Parliament, holding senior cabinet positions. His contemporary, Julie Payette, another celebrated astronaut, took a non-partisan path, receiving a vice-regal appointment as Governor General of Canada – a tenure that ended in a manner that highlighted the unique pressures of high office.

This article chronicles the political lives of these remarkable individuals. It examines their motivations for entering the political arena, the ways they leveraged their unique backgrounds, and the distinct challenges they faced. By exploring their successes and failures, it becomes clear that while the mantle of “astronaut” can be a powerful political asset, it is no guarantee of success. The ultimate test for these figures has been their ability to translate the extraordinary experience of seeing the world from above into a vision that resonates with the earthbound concerns of the people they seek to represent.

The Trailblazer: John Glenn’s Four Decades in the Public Eye

John Glenn’s life unfolded across three distinct, heroic acts: as a decorated military pilot, a pioneering astronaut, and a long-serving statesman. He was not just the first American astronaut to enter politics; he was the archetype, the figure against whom all who followed would be measured. His journey from the cockpit of a fighter jet to the floor of the U.S. Senate defined the possibilities and the pitfalls of translating iconic status into a durable political career. His story is the foundational narrative of the astronaut-politician, a four-decade-long masterclass in navigating the treacherous currents of American public life.

From War Hero to National Icon

Before he ever donned a silver spacesuit, John Glenn had already forged a reputation for courage and skill under extreme pressure. His public service began in the crucible of global conflict. Born in Ohio in 1921, he left college to enlist as a U.S. Navy aviation cadet following the attack on Pearl Harbor, eventually transferring to the Marine Corps. During World War II, he flew 57 combat missions in the Pacific theater, piloting F4U Corsair fighters. His service continued in the Korean War, where he flew 63 missions in F9F Panther jets and another 27 in the faster F-86 Sabre through an inter-service exchange with the Air Force. It was in the skies over “MiG Alley” that he cemented his status as an ace, shooting down three MiG-15 fighters in the final weeks of the war. Over the course of two wars, he flew 149 combat missions and was awarded six Distinguished Flying Crosses and eighteen Air Medals.

After the wars, Glenn’s career path led him to the frontier of aviation: test piloting. This was the high-risk, high-skill profession that would supply America’s first astronauts. At the Naval Air Test Center, he pushed experimental aircraft to their limits. His growing celebrity received its first major boost in 1957 when he conceived and executed “Project Bullet,” the first supersonic transcontinental flight. Flying an F8U Crusader from California to New York in just 3 hours and 23 minutes, he demonstrated not only the aircraft’s capabilities but also his own flair for capturing the public imagination. The flight made him a minor celebrity, earning him a profile in The New York Times and an appearance on a popular television game show.

This combination of a sterling combat record and a test pilot’s technical prowess made him an ideal candidate when NASA began its search for the nation’s first astronauts in 1959. Selected as one of the original Mercury Seven, Glenn quickly stood out. He was the oldest of the group and possessed a quiet, Midwestern charisma that played well in the media. He specialized in cockpit layout and design, advocating for pilots to have more manual control over their spacecraft.

His defining moment came on February 20, 1962. After multiple delays, Glenn climbed into the cramped capsule he had named Friendship 7 and launched into history. During a flight that lasted just under five hours, he circled the globe three times, becoming the first American to orbit the Earth. The mission was not without its perils; a failure in the automatic control system forced him to fly parts of the orbit manually, and a faulty sensor indicated his heat shield might be loose, a problem that could have been fatal upon reentry. His calm performance under pressure was broadcast to a rapt nation. The successful flight was a monumental victory for the United States in the Cold War, a powerful response to the Soviet Union’s early lead in the Space Race. Glenn returned to Earth a national hero of the highest order, greeted with ticker-tape parades and a ceremony with President John F. Kennedy. The president, recognizing his immense value as a symbol of American achievement, considered him too important to risk on another spaceflight.

A Stuttering Start in Politics

Even during his time at NASA, those around Glenn recognized his potential for a life beyond spaceflight. Agency psychologists identified him as the astronaut best suited for public life. It was Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy who first suggested that he channel his immense popularity into a political career, encouraging him to run for a U.S. Senate seat from his home state of Ohio in 1964.

Seeing his path to future Apollo missions as unlikely, Glenn resigned from NASA in January 1964 and announced his candidacy for the Democratic nomination. He was the first astronaut to attempt the transition to politics, and his entry immediately reshaped the race. his first campaign came to an abrupt and bizarre end less than two months after it began. While trying to fix a mirror in his bathroom, he slipped and fell, striking his head against the bathtub. The fall resulted in a severe concussion and an inner-ear injury that caused debilitating vertigo, leaving him bedridden and unable to campaign. Though his wife, Annie, and fellow astronaut Scott Carpenter campaigned on his behalf, doctors advised him that recovery could take up to a year. Unwilling to be elected on fame alone, without the ability to personally articulate his positions to voters, Glenn withdrew from the race in March.

He retired from the Marine Corps as a colonel in 1965 and entered the private sector, becoming an executive for Royal Crown Cola and investing in a chain of hotels. But the political ambition remained. In 1970, he made a second attempt at the Senate, again seeking the Democratic nomination. This time, he faced a formidable opponent in the primary, wealthy businessman Howard Metzenbaum. Glenn’s campaign was underfunded and outmaneuvered, and he lost the primary. It was a humbling defeat that demonstrated a hard political lesson: heroic status and name recognition were not enough to win a contested election. He needed to build a more effective political operation and a more compelling political message.

The Senator from Ohio

Glenn’s political fortunes turned in 1974. He once again entered the Democratic primary for the Senate, setting up a rematch with Howard Metzenbaum, who had been appointed to the seat a few months earlier to fill a vacancy. The campaign was contentious, and Metzenbaum made what would prove to be a fatal political error. In a debate, he criticized Glenn’s career, suggesting that the former astronaut and decorated war hero had “never held a job.”

The attack provided Glenn with the opening he needed. At their next debate, he delivered what became known as the “Gold Star Mother” speech. He powerfully reframed his life of service, not as an absence of a traditional job, but as the ultimate form of public employment. He asked Metzenbaum to look at any Gold Star mother – a mother who had lost a son in combat – and tell her that her son had not held a job. He spoke of his time in the military and at NASA as a dedication to duty that was more important than life itself. The speech was a turning point, transforming the narrative of the campaign and resonating deeply with Ohio’s voters. Glenn won the primary and went on to defeat his Republican opponent, Ralph Perk, in the general election, carrying all 88 counties in the state.

John Glenn’s Senate career would span 24 years, making him one of the most durable and respected members of the chamber. He was reelected three times – in 1980 by the largest margin in Ohio history, in 1986, and again in 1992. From the outset, he sought to carve out a niche based on his unique background. He secured a seat on the Government Operations Committee (later the Committee on Governmental Affairs), which he would eventually chair from 1987 to 1995. There, he focused on making government more efficient and rooting out waste, leading investigations into problems at the nation’s nuclear weapons facilities and authoring legislation to improve federal financial management.

His military and technical expertise made him a natural voice on defense and foreign policy. He served on both the Armed Services Committee and the Foreign Relations Committee. As chairman of the East Asian and Pacific Affairs Subcommittee, he traveled extensively in Asia and was the chief author of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Act of 1978, a landmark piece of legislation designed to curb the spread of nuclear weapons. He also helped pass the Taiwan Enabling Act of 1979, which established the framework for continued U.S. relations with Taiwan after the recognition of the People’s Republic of China. He was known as a Senate expert on science and technology, though his positions sometimes put him at odds with his own party’s leadership, such as his support for the B-1 bomber program over the objections of President Jimmy Carter.

National Ambitions and a Career Blemish

Propelled by his landslide reelection in 1980, Glenn set his sights on the White House. In 1983, he announced his candidacy for the Democratic presidential nomination, hoping to challenge the popular incumbent, Ronald Reagan. Early polls showed him as a front-runner, ahead of former Vice President Walter Mondale. Glenn positioned himself as a centrist, a hero who could unite the country. The release of the film The Right Stuff that year further burnished his iconic image.

the campaign quickly faltered. His organization was weak, and his political advisors were often in conflict. His message, which seemed to rely heavily on his past achievements, failed to ignite the passion of primary voters who were looking for a clear vision for the future. He made a critical mistake by not campaigning personally enough in Iowa, resulting in a disastrous fifth-place finish in the caucuses. After poor showings in New Hampshire and on Super Tuesday, he withdrew from the race in March 1984, saddled with millions of dollars in campaign debt that would follow him for years.

His long career was also marked by one significant blemish: his involvement in the Keating Five scandal of the late 1980s. Glenn was one of five senators who intervened with federal regulators on behalf of Charles Keating, the head of the failing Lincoln Savings and Loan Association and a major campaign contributor. The Senate Ethics Committee investigated the matter and, while clearing Glenn of the most serious charges, concluded that he had exercised “poor judgment.” The finding was a blow to his carefully cultivated image of unimpeachable integrity and became a recurring issue in his subsequent campaigns.

An Unprecedented Return to the Stars

As he neared the end of his fourth Senate term, Glenn orchestrated a final act that would redefine his legacy and masterfully blend his two careers. On February 20, 1997, the 35th anniversary of his historic orbital flight, he announced that he would not seek reelection in 1998. But he had one more mission in mind. For years, he had been lobbying NASA to send an older person into space to study the effects of weightlessness on the aging process, arguing that many of the physiological changes experienced by astronauts – bone density loss, muscle atrophy – were a sped-up version of what happens to people on Earth as they age.

In 1998, NASA agreed. At the age of 77, while still a sitting U.S. Senator, John Glenn was named as a payload specialist for the STS-95 mission aboard the Space Shuttle Discovery. He returned to space on October 29, 1998, becoming the oldest person ever to fly in orbit. The mission was a national event, capturing the public’s imagination in a way that no shuttle flight had in years. It was a moment of pure political and personal genius. The flight allowed him to end his long career on his own terms, reinforcing his identity as a forward-looking public servant dedicated to science and progress. It effectively eclipsed the memory of the Keating Five scandal and his failed presidential bid, cementing his place not just as a hero of the past, but as an enduring American icon. He left the Senate in 1999, having completed a journey that took him from the battlefields of the Pacific to the frontiers of space and, for a quarter-century, to the center of power in Washington.

The Scientist-Statesman: Harrison Schmitt

Harrison “Jack” Schmitt’s journey to public office was as unique as his path to the Moon. He was not a military man or a test pilot, the traditional stock from which early astronauts were drawn. He was a scientist, a geologist with a doctorate from Harvard, who brought a new kind of expertise to the astronaut corps. His career, both at NASA and in Washington, was defined by this identity. He was the scientist-astronaut who became the scientist-statesman, a figure whose deep technical knowledge was both his greatest political asset and, ultimately, a contributing factor to his political undoing.

A Geologist Among Pilots

Born in New Mexico in 1935, Harrison Schmitt’s early career was grounded in the earth sciences. He earned his Bachelor of Science from the California Institute of Technology and his Ph.D. in geology from Harvard University in 1964. He worked for the U.S. Geological Survey in its astrogeology branch, participating in the telescopic mapping of the Moon. His career took a dramatic turn in 1965 when NASA selected him as part of its first group of scientist-astronauts.

This was a significant shift for the space agency. The first astronaut groups were composed exclusively of elite military test pilots, men chosen for their flying skills and ability to handle high-stress situations. The inclusion of scientists was a recognition that the Apollo program was evolving from a pure engineering and exploration challenge into a scientific endeavor. Schmitt and his fellow scientist-astronauts were tasked with ensuring that the lunar missions yielded the maximum possible scientific return.

To join the ranks of his test-pilot colleagues, Schmitt had to undergo a rigorous 53-week flight training course to learn to fly jet aircraft, eventually logging over 2,100 hours of flying time. His primary contribution during the Apollo program was on the ground. He played a key role in training the Apollo flight crews, teaching them the fundamentals of lunar geology, navigation, and feature recognition. He helped integrate scientific experiments into the missions and was deeply involved in the analysis of the lunar samples brought back by the early Apollo crews. He was, in effect, the geological conscience of the Apollo program, ensuring that the astronauts who walked on the Moon knew what to look for and how to document it.

The Last Man on the Moon

Schmitt was initially assigned as the backup Lunar Module Pilot for Apollo 15, which put him in line to fly on the Apollo 18 mission. when budget cuts led to the cancellation of Apollo 18, the scientific community lobbied heavily to ensure that a trained geologist would make it to the Moon on the program’s final flight. As a result, Schmitt was assigned to the prime crew of Apollo 17, replacing Joe Engle as the Lunar Module Pilot.

In December 1972, Schmitt and mission commander Eugene Cernan descended to the lunar surface in the lunar module Challenger, landing in the Taurus-Littrow valley. Over three days, they conducted more than 22 hours of extravehicular activity, traveling across the lunar landscape in the rover. Schmitt’s trained eye proved invaluable. His most famous discovery came when he spotted a patch of orange-colored soil, which he excitedly identified as evidence of past volcanic activity. The orange soil, composed of tiny beads of volcanic glass, was one of the most significant scientific finds of the entire Apollo program.

When he stepped onto the lunar surface, Schmitt became the twelfth person – and the only professional scientist – to walk on the Moon. As the last scheduled lunar mission, Apollo 17 marked the end of an era. When Schmitt and Cernan lifted off from the Moon, they left behind a plaque that read, “Here man completed his first explorations of the Moon, December 1972, A.D. May the spirit of peace in which we came be reflected in the lives of all mankind.”

A Single Term in Washington

After his return from the Moon, Schmitt remained active at NASA, organizing the agency’s Energy Program Office. But like John Glenn before him, he felt the pull of a different kind of public service. In August 1975, he resigned from NASA to run for the United States Senate in his home state of New Mexico.

Running as a Republican, he launched a fourteen-month campaign focused on the future. His status as a moonwalker gave him immense name recognition and a platform to speak about science, technology, and innovation. In the 1976 general election, he faced Joseph Montoya, a two-term Democratic incumbent. Schmitt ran a strong campaign and defeated Montoya decisively, winning 57 percent of the vote.

In the Senate, Schmitt’s career mirrored his scientific background. He served on the Commerce, Science, and Transportation Committee, where he became the chairman of the Science, Technology, and Space Subcommittee. His expertise gave him a unique and credible voice on issues related to NASA, energy policy, and technological development. He was the only natural scientist in the Senate, a distinction that set him apart from his colleagues. He also served on the Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs Committee and the Select Committee on Ethics.

Reelection Defeat and Post-Senate Career

Schmitt sought a second term in 1982, but the political landscape had shifted. He faced a strong challenger in the state’s Attorney General, Jeff Bingaman. The country was also in the midst of a deep recession, which made for a difficult environment for incumbents.

Bingaman’s campaign effectively turned Schmitt’s unique background against him. They crafted a pointed and memorable slogan that asked voters, “What on Earth has he done for you lately?” The question was a clever piece of political messaging. It subtly painted Schmitt as a politician whose focus was on the heavens – on space, science, and other lofty issues – rather than on the pressing, terrestrial concerns of his constituents in New Mexico. It suggested a detachment from the everyday economic struggles of the people he represented.

The attack, combined with the difficult national political climate for Republicans that year, proved too much for Schmitt to overcome. He was defeated in the election, with Bingaman winning 54 percent of the vote to Schmitt’s 46 percent. His career in elected office was over after a single term.

Following his Senate term, Schmitt returned to the worlds of science, business, and academia. He worked as a consultant on geology, space, and public policy. He became an adjunct professor of engineering physics at the University of Wisconsin–Madison and a prominent advocate for the utilization of lunar resources, particularly the mining of helium-3 as a potential fuel for nuclear fusion reactors. He also served for a time as the chairman of the NASA Advisory Council, providing technical advice to the agency’s administrator. In 2011, he was briefly appointed as the secretary of the New Mexico Energy, Minerals and Natural Resources Department, but he withdrew after refusing to undergo a required background check. His single term in the Senate remains a powerful example of how a background of extraordinary technical achievement can be both a gateway to political office and a potential liability once there.

The Modern Era: Mark Kelly’s Ascent

Mark Kelly’s political career represents a significant evolution of the astronaut-politician model. While he shares the decorated military and spaceflight background of his predecessors, his path to the U.S. Senate was forged not just in the cockpit or the command module, but in the crucible of personal tragedy and public advocacy. He successfully fused the traditional archetype of the hero-technocrat with a potent, issue-driven platform, creating a political brand uniquely suited to the polarized landscape of 21st-century American politics.

Decorated Aviator and Astronaut

Like John Glenn, Mark Kelly’s journey began in the demanding world of military aviation. The son of two police officers, he and his identical twin brother, Scott, were drawn to public service from a young age. Kelly earned a degree in marine engineering and nautical science from the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy and later a master’s in aeronautical engineering from the U.S. Naval Postgraduate School.

As a U.S. Navy pilot, he flew the A-6E Intruder attack aircraft. He was deployed to the Persian Gulf aboard the aircraft carrier USS Midway and flew 39 combat missions during Operation Desert Storm. His distinguished military career earned him the Defense Superior Service Medal, the Legion of Merit, and two Distinguished Flying Crosses. He retired from the Navy with the rank of Captain, having logged more than 5,000 flight hours in over 50 different types of aircraft.

In 1996, NASA selected both Mark and Scott Kelly to be astronauts, making them the only siblings to have both traveled to space. Mark Kelly’s NASA career was extensive and distinguished. He flew on four Space Shuttle missions, accumulating more than 54 days in space. He served as the pilot on STS-108 in 2001 and STS-121 in 2006. He then moved into the commander’s seat for his final two missions, commanding STS-124 in 2008 and, most notably, STS-134 in 2011 – the final mission of the Space Shuttle Endeavour. His career at NASA placed him at the pinnacle of the space program during the final years of the shuttle era.

A New Mission: Advocacy and Public Life

Kelly’s life, and his future career path, was irrevocably altered on January 8, 2011. While he was in Houston training for his final shuttle command, his wife, then-Congresswoman Gabby Giffords, was shot in an assassination attempt at a constituent event in Tucson, Arizona. The attack left her with a severe brain injury and thrust Kelly into a new, intensely public role as a devoted caregiver and advocate.

After commanding Endeavour’s final flight, Kelly retired from NASA and the Navy to focus on his wife’s recovery. The couple’s journey became a national story of resilience and determination. Together, they made a joint decision to channel their experience into a new form of public service. In 2013, they founded a non-profit political action committee called Americans for Responsible Solutions, which later merged into the organization now known as Giffords. The group campaigns for what they describe as common-sense gun safety measures, such as universal background checks.

This work transformed Mark Kelly from a celebrated astronaut into a prominent national advocate on one of the country’s most contentious political issues. It gave him a clear political identity and a dedicated platform long before he considered running for office himself. Unlike Glenn or Schmitt, whose political careers were launched primarily from the platform of their space achievements, Kelly’s political journey was catalyzed by a deeply personal and public cause.

From Advocate to Senator

In 2019, after years of advocacy, Kelly announced that he would run for the U.S. Senate in Arizona as a Democrat. He entered the 2020 special election to fill the seat once held by John McCain. Arizona’s status as a highly competitive swing state made the race one of the most closely watched in the country.

Kelly’s campaign was a masterful blend of his different public personas. He leveraged his background as a combat pilot and astronaut to project an image of competence, patriotism, and non-ideological, mission-oriented problem-solving. This appealed to the state’s significant population of independent voters and moderate Republicans. At the same time, his well-established advocacy for gun safety energized the Democratic base. He wasn’t just “the astronaut running for office”; he was “the gun safety advocate who is also a combat pilot and astronaut.”

This hybrid identity proved to be a powerful and winning formula. In November 2020, he defeated the incumbent Republican, Martha McSally, to win the special election. He was sworn into office in December 2020. Two years later, in the 2022 midterm elections, he ran for a full six-year term and won again, defeating Republican challenger Blake Masters in another hard-fought and expensive race.

In the Senate, Kelly has continued to cultivate his image as an independent-minded Democrat focused on delivering tangible results for his state. His committee assignments on the Armed Services, Environment and Public Works, and formerly on Energy and Natural Resources, align with his technical background. He played a key role in shaping major bipartisan legislation, including the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act and the CHIPS and Science Act, which aims to boost domestic microchip manufacturing – a major industry in Arizona. His legislative work reflects his campaign promise to focus on jobs, national security, and practical solutions rather than partisan warfare. His success in a politically divided state suggests that his unique combination of heroic backstory and issue-specific advocacy has created a formidable political brand for the modern era.

The Canadian Pioneers: Public Service North of the Border

The path from space to public service in Canada presents a notable contrast to the American experience. While U.S. astronauts who enter public life have almost exclusively done so through the highly partisan arena of electoral politics, their Canadian counterparts have often followed different trajectories, moving into high-level administrative or non-partisan appointed roles. The careers of Marc Garneau, Canada’s first man in space, and Julie Payette, one of its most celebrated female astronauts, exemplify these distinct Canadian pathways and offer powerful, albeit very different, lessons about the transition from the technical precision of spaceflight to the nuanced demands of public leadership.

Marc Garneau: From Space to Cabinet

Marc Garneau’s career is a story of sequential service to his country, moving seamlessly from the military to the astronaut corps, to the leadership of the national space agency, and finally to the highest levels of partisan politics. Born in Quebec City in 1949, Garneau was educated at the Royal Military College of Canada and earned a doctorate in electrical engineering from Imperial College London. He began his career as a combat systems engineer in the Royal Canadian Navy.

In 1983, he was selected as one of the first six Canadian astronauts. On October 5, 1984, he made history, launching aboard the Space Shuttle Challenger on mission STS-41-G to become the first Canadian in space. He would fly two more shuttle missions, STS-77 in 1996 and STS-97 in 2000, logging over 677 hours in orbit.

After his flying career, Garneau’s transition into public administration began. In 2001, he was appointed president of the Canadian Space Agency (CSA), a role in which he guided the nation’s space policy and its participation in international projects like the International Space Station. This position served as a bridge between the technical world of space exploration and the political world of government administration, a step that has no direct parallel among his American counterparts who entered politics.

In 2005, Garneau resigned from the CSA to make the full leap into electoral politics. He ran for a seat in the Canadian House of Commons in the 2006 federal election as a member of the Liberal Party. His first attempt was unsuccessful. Undeterred, he ran again in 2008 and won, representing a Montreal-area riding. He would go on to be re-elected in 2011 and 2015.

When the Liberal Party, led by Justin Trudeau, formed the government in 2015, Garneau’s long and distinguished record of public service was rewarded with a cabinet appointment. He was named Minister of Transport, a significant and demanding portfolio. In this role, he oversaw major policy initiatives, including a Passenger Bill of Rights and the Oceans Protection Plan. In a 2021 cabinet reshuffle, he was appointed Minister of Foreign Affairs, one of the most senior positions in the Canadian government. He served in Parliament for over 14 years before retiring from politics in 2023. Garneau’s career demonstrates a successful, step-by-step integration into the political establishment, building upon each phase of his public service to reach the next.

Julie Payette: A Vice-Regal Appointment

Julie Payette’s journey followed a path that is unique to Canada’s Westminster-style parliamentary system. An accomplished engineer with degrees from McGill University and the University of Toronto, Payette was selected as a Canadian astronaut in 1992. She flew two missions to the International Space Station, STS-96 in 1999 and STS-127 in 2009, becoming the first Canadian to board the station. She also served as the CSA’s Chief Astronaut from 2000 to 2007.

After retiring from the astronaut corps, Payette held several prominent positions, including working as a science diplomat for the Quebec government in Washington, D.C., and serving as the Chief Operating Officer of the Montreal Science Centre. Her public profile was that of a brilliant, multi-talented national icon – an engineer, a pilot, a musician who could speak six languages, and a celebrated space explorer.

In 2017, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau announced that Payette would be appointed as the 29th Governor General of Canada. This is a non-partisan, vice-regal role in which the appointee serves as the representative of the Canadian monarch, the head of state. The Governor General’s duties are largely ceremonial and constitutional, including giving Royal Assent to legislation, dissolving Parliament for an election, and serving as commander-in-chief of the Canadian Armed Forces. The appointment seemed a fitting honor for a national hero.

Payette’s tenure was fraught with controversy. Reports soon emerged of a difficult and toxic work environment at Rideau Hall, the Governor General’s official residence and office. Staff alleged that Payette and her secretary engaged in verbal harassment, creating a culture of fear and disrespect. The allegations were a stark contrast to the public image of the office, which is meant to embody the best of Canadian values.

The government launched an independent review of the workplace allegations. The final report was damning, concluding that Payette had presided over a toxic workplace characterized by “yelling, screaming, aggressive conduct, demeaning comments and public humiliations.” Faced with the report’s findings, Payette announced her resignation in January 2021, less than four years into her five-year term. She became the first Governor General in Canadian history to resign amid scandal.

The contrasting careers of Garneau and Payette are telling. Garneau’s success in partisan politics showed that he was able to adapt his skills to the collaborative and often contentious world of a legislature and cabinet. Payette’s failure in a non-partisan but highly public and diplomatic role suggests that the hierarchical, mission-focused mindset that serves an astronaut well in space can be a significant liability in a position that requires subtle interpersonal skills, staff management, and consensus-building. Together, their stories illustrate that even within Canada’s distinct system, success in public life requires a specific set of political talents that are not guaranteed by a career spent among the stars.

Paths Not Taken and Journeys Cut Short

For every astronaut who achieved a long and successful political career, there are others whose journeys were more fraught, ending in defeat, disappointment, or tragedy. These stories are essential to understanding the full picture of the astronaut-politician phenomenon. They serve as a important reality check, demonstrating that the immense public admiration afforded to space explorers does not automatically translate into votes. The careers of Jack Swigert, Jack Lousma, and José M. Hernández highlight the formidable barriers to entry and success in professional politics, proving that even for national heroes, the fundamental rules of the game – timing, fundraising, local connection, and the strength of one’s opponent – still apply.

Jack Swigert: The Tragic Victory

John “Jack” Swigert’s name is forever linked with one of the most dramatic episodes in the history of space exploration: the near-disaster of Apollo 13. An Air Force veteran and engineering test pilot, Swigert was a last-minute replacement on the mission, assigned as the Command Module Pilot just three days before the April 1970 launch after the prime crewman was exposed to measles. When an oxygen tank exploded en route to the Moon, crippling the spacecraft, it was Swigert who uttered the now-famous, understated words to Mission Control: “Okay, Houston, we’ve had a problem here.” His calm performance, along with that of his crewmates Jim Lovell and Fred Haise, was instrumental in the crew’s safe return to Earth.

After leaving NASA, Swigert, a Republican, decided to enter politics. His first attempt was a 1978 run for a U.S. Senate seat from his home state of Colorado. He lost in the primary, a first indication that his Apollo 13 fame was not a golden ticket. In 1982, an opportunity arose when Colorado was awarded a new, sixth congressional district. Swigert announced his candidacy for the U.S. House of Representatives.

His campaign was shadowed by a personal crisis. During the race, he was diagnosed with bone marrow cancer. He chose to disclose his illness to the voters, and his doctors expressed optimism that he could be successfully treated. He continued his campaign with vigor. His story of survival in space, combined with his new battle on Earth, resonated with the electorate. On November 2, 1982, he won the election decisively, with 64 percent of the vote.

But Swigert would never get to serve. His health declined rapidly after the election. On December 27, 1982, just seven days before he was scheduled to be sworn into the 98th Congress, Jack Swigert died of respiratory failure at the age of 51. His story is the great “what if” among astronaut-politicians. He had successfully navigated the electoral gauntlet, only to be denied his seat by fate. A statue of Swigert in his Apollo 13 spacesuit now stands in Denver International Airport and another in the U.S. Capitol, a permanent tribute to the congressman-elect who never was.

The Unsuccessful Bids: Lousma and Hernández

The stories of Jack Lousma and José M. Hernández are more conventional tales of political defeat, illustrating that even with an astronaut’s resume, unseating a well-established incumbent is a monumental task.

Jack Lousma was a decorated Marine Corps pilot who flew on two major space missions. In 1973, he served as the pilot for Skylab-3, the second crewed mission to America’s first space station, spending 59 days in orbit. In 1982, he commanded STS-3, the third test flight of the Space Shuttle Columbia. He was also the CAPCOM in Mission Control who received Swigert’s famous call from Apollo 13. After retiring from NASA, Lousma entered politics in his home state of Michigan. In 1984, he secured the Republican nomination for the U.S. Senate. His opponent was the incumbent Democrat, Carl Levin, a formidable and popular politician. Lousma ran a spirited campaign, but he was unable to overcome Levin’s deep roots in the state and strong political organization. Lousma lost the election and retired from politics thereafter.

José M. Hernández’s life story is one of remarkable perseverance. The son of Mexican migrant farmworkers, he spent his childhood moving throughout California, harvesting crops with his family. He didn’t learn English until he was 12 years old. Inspired by the selection of the first Hispanic-American astronaut, he earned degrees in electrical engineering and worked as an engineer at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. After being rejected by NASA eleven times, he was finally selected for the astronaut corps in 2004. In 2009, he flew as a mission specialist on the Space Shuttle Discovery mission STS-128.

After leaving NASA, Hernández ran for Congress in 2012 as a Democrat in California’s 10th congressional district. His campaign emphasized his incredible personal journey and his technical expertise. His race was an uphill battle against the Republican incumbent, Jeff Denham. Hernández faced challenges that had little to do with his space career, including a dispute over whether he could list “astronaut” as his profession on the ballot and questions about his campaign fundraising. In the end, Denham’s incumbency and the district’s political leanings were too much to overcome. Hernández lost the election and, like Lousma, did not run for office again.

The Next Frontier: Terry Virts’s Campaign

The tradition of astronauts seeking political office continues. Terry Virts, a retired Air Force colonel who piloted the Space Shuttle Endeavour on mission STS-130 and later commanded the International Space Station during Expedition 43, has thrown his hat into the ring. In June 2025, he announced his candidacy for the 2026 U.S. Senate election in Texas, running as a Democrat for the seat currently held by Republican John Cornyn.

Virts’s initial campaign messaging draws heavily on the established playbook for astronaut-politicians. In his announcement video, he is clad in a flight suit and speaks of the lessons learned in space, where “chaos is lethal” and success depends on teamwork and problem-solving. He positions himself as a “common-sense Democrat,” distancing himself from the national party establishment and framing his candidacy as a mission to bring a new, non-partisan style of leadership to a dysfunctional Washington. His campaign is a modern test of the enduring appeal of the astronaut as a political figure, an attempt to see if the hero’s mantle can still capture the imagination of voters in one of the nation’s most competitive and polarized political arenas.

Analysis: The Astronaut as Politician

The individual stories of these astronauts, with their varied outcomes, reveal a set of common themes and challenges that define the phenomenon of the astronaut-politician. Synthesizing their experiences provides a clearer understanding of their motivations, the unique assets and liabilities they bring to the political arena, and the ways in which their paths have been shaped by their national political cultures. The transition from orbit to office is not merely a career change; it is a significant test of an individual’s ability to adapt and translate their extraordinary life into a viable political identity.

The Call to Service

A powerful and recurring motivation for astronauts entering politics is a deeply ingrained sense of public service. Many, particularly in the early days of the American space program, came from military backgrounds. Figures like John Glenn, Mark Kelly, Jack Lousma, and Terry Virts spent decades as officers in the Marine Corps, Navy, or Air Force. For them, a military career was built on a foundation of duty and a commitment to serving the nation. The astronaut corps, though a civilian agency, inherited much of this ethos. Being an astronaut was seen as the pinnacle of service, pushing the frontiers of human achievement on behalf of the country.

From this perspective, a move into politics can be seen not as a radical departure, but as a logical continuation of that service on a different frontier. Having served the nation in the air and in space, the political arena offers another venue to contribute to the country’s welfare. This narrative of continued service is a central plank in their campaign platforms. They present themselves as individuals who have dedicated their lives to the nation and are now seeking a new way to apply their skills and dedication for the public good. This framework helps to cast their political ambitions in a noble light, distinguishing them from career politicians who may be seen as motivated by personal power or partisan gain.

The Hero’s Mantle: Asset and Liability

The single greatest political asset an astronaut possesses is their status as a hero. In the public consciousness, astronauts embody a unique combination of courage, intelligence, discipline, and patriotism. They have seen the Earth from a perspective reserved for a select few, a vantage point that often imbues them with a sense of global perspective and unity. This “hero’s mantle” grants them immediate and widespread name recognition, a level of public trust that other candidates spend years and millions of dollars trying to build. It opens doors, attracts media attention, and creates a presumption of integrity and competence.

this heroic status can also be a significant liability. The very qualities that make astronauts seem extraordinary can also make them appear disconnected from the ordinary lives of voters. The public may admire a moonwalker but question whether that person understands their concerns about taxes, healthcare, or the local economy. This vulnerability was expertly exploited in the campaigns against both John Glenn and Harrison Schmitt. Glenn’s opponent accused him of never having held a “real job,” an attack he had to powerfully rebut. Schmitt’s opponent successfully painted him as a man with his head in the stars, asking voters, “What on Earth has he done for you lately?” The hero’s mantle can create a pedestal, but a pedestal can be an isolated and politically precarious place to stand.

The Technocrat’s Mindset

Astronauts are, by training and temperament, engineers, scientists, and pilots. They are technocrats, individuals who believe in data-driven solutions, meticulous planning, and the systematic execution of complex procedures. This mindset is essential for the high-stakes, zero-error environment of spaceflight. When they enter politics, this approach often shapes their legislative focus and their style of governance.

They naturally gravitate toward committees and policy areas where their expertise is most relevant: science and technology, defense, and energy. John Glenn became a Senate expert on nuclear non-proliferation. Harrison Schmitt chaired the Subcommittee on Science, Technology, and Space. Mark Kelly has been a key negotiator on the CHIPS and Science Act. This technical credibility can be a major strength, allowing them to speak with authority on complex issues.

This mindset can also be a political weakness. The technocratic approach can lead to a communication style that is perceived as dry, overly analytical, or lacking in passion. It can also result in a policy focus that seems esoteric or abstract to the average voter. Furthermore, the command-and-control structure of a space mission is fundamentally different from the collaborative, consensus-driven nature of democratic governance. The case of Julie Payette is a stark illustration of this disconnect. Her management style, likely honed in a career where decisive, top-down leadership was valued, was perceived as abrasive and dictatorial in the diplomatic, public-facing role of Governor General, leading to her downfall.

Divergent Paths: A Tale of Two Countries

The comparison between the American and Canadian experiences reveals how significantly national political structures can shape the post-spaceflight careers of these public figures. The United States, with its highly partisan, candidate-centered electoral system, offers a single, challenging path into public office. Astronauts who choose this path must become political combatants. They must raise vast sums of money, build a campaign organization, and engage in the often-negative back-and-forth of a modern election. Their success or failure is a public verdict rendered by the voters.

The Canadian system, while also having a robust partisan electoral process, offers alternative avenues for public service that are less common in the U.S. Marc Garneau’s career trajectory – from astronaut to president of the Canadian Space Agency to cabinet minister – shows a more integrated, step-by-step path within the governmental establishment. The role of CSA president allowed him to transition from a technical to an administrative leadership position before entering the partisan fray. Julie Payette’s appointment as Governor General represents another distinct path, one entirely outside of partisan politics. The vice-regal appointment is a non-elected position bestowed as a national honor. These different structures create a wider range of possibilities for how a celebrated astronaut can continue to serve their country.

Ultimately, the political success of any astronaut, regardless of their country or the path they choose, hinges on a complex act of translation. They must translate their unique and unrelatable experiences in space into a compelling narrative that addresses the terrestrial concerns of the public. They must translate their technical, mission-oriented skills into the softer, more ambiguous skills of political leadership: empathy, communication, and the ability to build consensus. Those who master this translation, like John Glenn and Mark Kelly, can build durable political careers. Those who do not, find that even the view from orbit is no guarantee of a long-term future in the corridors of power.

Summary

The small fraternity of North American astronauts who have ventured into politics represents a unique intersection of science, celebrity, and public service. Their careers, marked by both remarkable successes and notable failures, offer a series of compelling lessons about the nature of leadership and the challenges of transitioning between two of the world’s most demanding professions.

John Glenn, the trailblazer, demonstrated that while the status of a national hero is a powerful political asset, it must be carefully translated into a narrative of service and duty that resonates with the values of the electorate. His 24-year Senate career and his unprecedented return to space at age 77 set a high bar for those who would follow. Harrison Schmitt, the scientist-statesman, embodied the technocrat’s dilemma; his unparalleled expertise as the only geologist to walk on the Moon gave him a credible voice on science and technology, but also left him vulnerable to the charge of being disconnected from the everyday concerns of his constituents, leading to a single term in office.

In the modern era, Mark Kelly has redefined the model, successfully blending the traditional hero archetype with a powerful, issue-driven platform born from personal tragedy and public advocacy. His victories in a politically divided state suggest a new formula for the astronaut-politician in a polarized age. In Canada, the careers of Marc Garneau and Julie Payette highlight a different path, one that often favors administrative or appointed roles over partisan combat. Garneau’s long tenure as a cabinet minister and Payette’s tumultuous term as Governor General show that regardless of the system, the interpersonal and political skills required for success in public life are distinct from those needed for spaceflight.

The journeys of those who fell short – the tragic victory of Jack Swigert, and the electoral defeats of Jack Lousma and José M. Hernández – serve as a vital counterpoint. Their stories underscore the reality that in politics, fame is no substitute for the fundamentals of campaigning, fundraising, and connecting with voters on local issues.

The journey from orbit to office is a testament to a continuing desire to serve. These individuals, having seen the world from a perspective of breathtaking unity, have felt compelled to engage in the often-divisive work of governing it. Their political lives reveal that the skills that conquer the final frontier are not always the ones that win elections or manage public office. Success ultimately belongs to those who can bridge the vast distance between the two worlds, proving they are not just heroes from another realm, but effective leaders for this one.