America's greatest President is a fictional one

This, we realise, is not just a work drama, nor a mere political thriller. With The West Wing, Aaron Sorkin gave us a White House where the President and his staff are humanised, nuanced, occasionally confused, but always brimming with energy and idealism.

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Only Sorkin could have conjured a show with such intellectual velocity, one that celebrates the strength of wit, intelligence, and humour over sensationalism. From the opening moments, The West Wing offers a masterclass in the rhythm of dialogue, words cascading over one another in a quick, almost musical manner, as if every syllable matters because—well, it does. Here, words are more than words; they’re the machinery of democracy, the wheels of government greased by the brilliance of those who wield them.

What makes The West Wing truly revolutionary, however, is its refusal to cater to cynicism. This is not a show that dips its hands into the gutter to root around for cheap melodrama or scandal. Rather, Sorkin delivers an unabashedly optimistic view of government, where brilliant, passionate individuals strive to be their best because they know they have been given an immense responsibility. It began in 1999, before we lost our faith in “public service" as anything more than a political catchphrase. Here, people chose politics because they believed it could change lives. And Sorkin, with his romanticism and razor-sharp wit, makes us believe it too.

Enter Martin Sheen as Josiah Bartlet, the greatest fictional President ever to grace the screen. From the first time he appears—in a dramatic, almost theatrical entrance where he quotes the First Commandment to an evangelical foe—Bartlet is captivating. There’s an undeniable warmth to Sheen’s performance, a charisma at once commanding and comforting. Bartlet is cerebral, often inscrutably so, with a love for history, literature, and the occasional chess metaphor. But he’s also very much in on the joke; he has an impish glint in his eye, and he never misses a chance to playfully outwit his staff. He is, above all, a reminder of what leadership can be: principled, humane, and yet never without humour.

One of Bartlet’s many gifts—and Sorkin’s—is his ability to make the people around him feel like their best selves, even as he subtly reminds them who’s boss. He doesn’t demand respect; he commands it, often in the most unorthodox ways. A sly smile, a clever retort, a wry observation to defuse a tense situation, and we see why his staff would follow him through any crisis. Watching him spar verbally with advisers and staffers alike, each quip sharper than the last, you sense a rare kind of leader who’s aware of his own imperfections, yet confident enough to let them breathe.

Two decades later, The West Wing feels almost like a fever dream, a fantasy woven in a time when we hadn’t yet become numb to incompetence in leadership. In today’s climate, where global politics is a circus ring dominated by despots, demagogues, and disastrously bad actors, the earnest nobility of Bartlet’s White House almost feels absurd. Who would believe it? A President who reads, who cares deeply about policy, who pauses to think—who doesn’t tweet with wild abandon or make decisions on a whim.

British satirist Armando Iannucci, who made the magnificently profane The Thick Of It and the rollicking Veep (streaming in India on JioCinema), gave us oafish, self-serving politicians who didn’t know what they were doing. These characters were like the ones around us, with their fiendish short-term vision, absurd propaganda and shouty press-releases. Iannucci brutally pulled back the curtain and showed us just how messily the sausage of government was made—and how much swearing and betrayal was involved.

In contrast, The West Wing is about the audacity of hope. It reminds us of what public service could be, if only we dared to believe in it again. It celebrates a government not as a monolithic entity but as a collection of flawed, brilliant people, each trying to do right by a country that’s almost as flawed and brilliant as they are. And in the way only the best television can, it elevates its characters beyond mere mortals, making them icons of a world that ought to be.

That’s why, all these years later, I find myself with my DVDs of The West Wing, hoping that idealism may rub off again. Sorkin, through his fiercely sharp writing and unwavering optimism, reminds us that, yes, politics can be messy, but it can also be noble. As we watch Sam Seaborn’s incredulous, hungover face, or Bartlet’s sly, knowing smile, we’re reminded that sometimes, it’s our fictional heroes who keep our hopes alive. They’re the ones who make aspiration great again.

Raja Sen is a screenwriter and critic. He has co-written Chup, a film about killing critics, and is now creating an absurd comedy series. He posts @rajasen.

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