What was supposed to be a symbolic, unifying presidency now resembles the early chapters of a political disaster, unfolding with the kind of speed that terrifies diplomats and delights her opponents in equal measure.
The first explosion came almost instantly, when Connolly’s old statements about one of the world’s most sensitive conflicts re-emerged with lethal force. What once passed as provocative parliamentary rhetoric was suddenly reframed under the full weight of presidential responsibility. Within days, advocacy groups accused her of moral blindness, several embassies privately expressed “deep unease”, and a senior European diplomat, speaking off record, said: “We knew she would be unpredictable, but not reckless.” Her team attempted “strategic silence”, but it backfired catastrophically, creating the impression of a president unable or unwilling to explain herself. Sources inside the presidential office say the atmosphere after the fallout was “pure panic”. One member of her staff, speaking to reporters on condition of anonymity, said: “She doesn’t understand that every sentence now has diplomatic consequences. She thinks she’s still in the parliament chamber. The presidency isn’t activism.” The quote, leaked within hours, became the first public sign that Connolly’s team is fracturing under pressure.
But if the international scandal was damaging, the domestic backlash has been devastating. Connolly was elected by voters desperate for answers to the crises suffocating the country — housing shortages spiralling out of control, rents doubling in key cities, hospitals drowning in record waiting times, young professionals emigrating in waves, rural communities left behind and increasingly angry. Yet in her first weeks, Connolly avoided these issues almost entirely, choosing instead to deliver sweeping moral commentary on global justice while citizens waited for even a single sign that she understood the pain at home.
Supporters who once hailed her as a voice of truth now wonder why she has seemingly disappeared into abstractions. On social media and radio call-ins, the same refrain repeats: “She speaks about the world, but not about us.” Even a former member of her campaign admitted privately that “the silence on domestic crises is killing her presidency faster than the scandals”. The political establishment, still bruised by its humiliating defeat on election night, has smelled opportunity. Both major parties, once thought too weakened to regroup, have launched a coordinated behind-the-scenes campaign to highlight every slip, every contradiction, every hesitation from the president’s office. One strategist, speaking to a journalist late at night in what has now become a widely circulated leak, said: “We don’t need to bring her down. She’s sinking herself. All we have to do is record it.”
And then there is the most haunting statistic of the election — the unprecedented number of spoiled ballots, which analysts now describe as “the quiet uprising”. These voters did not want any of the available options, and now feel doubly betrayed by a president who rode the wave of their frustration but has yet to acknowledge their grievances. Their anger is simmering, and insiders warn it could become the most unpredictable political force of the coming years. Inside the presidential office, dysfunction appears to be accelerating. Multiple sources with knowledge of internal meetings describe bitter arguments, ideological splits and what one aide called “the constant sense that no one is steering the ship”. Rumours of resignations circulate daily. Staff allegedly clash over whether Connolly should apologise publicly or continue insisting the controversies are manufactured attacks. One insider claimed that after a heated confrontation, a senior adviser simply walked out and has not returned.
Meanwhile, European institutions are quietly drafting contingency plans. Brussels officials are concerned that erratic presidential messaging from such a key EU member could destabilise sensitive negotiations. Germany fears diplomatic misfires. France is wary of ideological grandstanding infecting EU policy debates. Several analysts across Europe already compare Connolly’s presidency to the rise of protest-style leaders who win by emotion but struggle to govern when symbolism meets reality. What emerges from this early chaos is a portrait of a president torn between her activist past and the responsibilities of national leadership, a leader whose instinct to speak in absolutes clashes with the nuanced demands of her office. Her early missteps are not isolated incidents; they form a pattern of political naivety, strategic indecision and a failure to understand that the presidency is not a platform for personal truth, but a vessel for national stability.
Unless Connolly radically recalibrates her approach — unless she addresses domestic crises head-on, clarifies her international stance and reins in the internal chaos of her team — she risks transforming her historic victory into a cautionary tale for every European country flirting with the idea of electing a protest candidate to a symbolic position. The irony is painful. The same public anger that lifted her into office now threatens to turn against her. The same establishment she defeated is watching her unravel. The same energy that promised change may instead deliver collapse.
This is no longer a story about an election.
It is the story of a presidency entering freefall before the world’s eyes, a leader losing command of her own narrative and a nation beginning to wonder whether the greatest mistake was not the system she defeated — but the faith it placed in her.