The Tragic Hypocrisy of Fitzgerald Grant III: How a Man Who Had Everything Became Nothing Like He Promised

Poor Little Rich Boy

Lover boy himself.

Fitzgerald "Fitz" Thomas Grant III, the fictional U.S. president at the heart of ABC's *Scandal*, presents himself as the ultimate reluctant leader - a man of principle thrust unwillingly into power who only ever wanted a simple, happy life away from politics. Yet a thorough examination of his character arc reveals a far more disturbing truth: Fitz was not an innocent victim of circumstance but an active participant in his own moral corruption. Despite his constant proclamations about morality and his vehement insistence that he never wanted to become like his domineering father, Fitz ultimately replicated nearly every one of his father's worst qualities. He cheated flagrantly on his wife, emotionally abandoned his children, clung desperately to power he didn't legitimately earn, and consistently prioritized his own selfish desires over his family's wellbeing. By the series finale, Fitz's legacy stands not as that of a noble leader reluctantly serving his country, but as a weak, hypocritical man who became the very monster he swore to destroy.

The Carefully Constructed Myth of the Reluctant Leader

From his earliest appearances, Fitz works diligently to cultivate an image of himself as someone who never wanted the presidency. He frequently waxes poetic about how he would have preferred a quiet life as a fisherman or carpenter, delivering these lines with the practiced melancholy of someone who has told this story many times before. "I never wanted this," he tells Olivia in one characteristic moment, "All I ever wanted was to be happy."

But this self-portrait of a man dragged kicking and screaming into power completely collapses under scrutiny. While Fitz may have initially resisted entering politics, once in the Oval Office he fights with startling ruthlessness to remain there. When he discovers that his initial election was rigged - first by his own father and later through the manipulations of Cyrus Beene and Mellie - he makes no move to step down or rectify the situation. Instead, he clings to the presidency like a drowning man to a life preserver, proving that his supposed aversion to power was nothing more than a carefully maintained fiction.

Perhaps most damning is his reaction when he learns that Olivia's father, the ruthless Rowan Pope, orchestrated the assassination of his son Jerry. Any truly principled leader - any decent father - would have moved heaven and earth to bring the killer to justice, regardless of personal consequences. But Fitz, terrified of losing Olivia, allows Rowan to walk free without punishment. This singular moment of moral cowardice exposes the fundamental emptiness of Fitz's claims to integrity - he was willing to sacrifice his own son's memory to preserve an illicit relationship built on deceit and betrayal.

Like Father, Like Son: The Inescapable Cycle

Fitz's relationship with his father, Frankie Vargas, forms the psychological bedrock of his character. He describes his father in almost mythic terms as a cold, cruel, unfaithful tyrant - a man who cared more about political legacy than family. Yet in a bitter irony that defines Fitz's tragedy, he unconsciously mirrors every one of these hated traits:

The Family Betrayal: Just as his father maintained numerous affairs that humiliated Fitz's mother, Fitz carries on a years-long, painfully public infidelity with Olivia Pope that emotionally destroys Mellie and destabilizes his entire family unit. While he frames this as a grand romance, the reality is far tawdrier - it's the midlife crisis of a privileged man unwilling to accept responsibility for his choices.

The Absent Father: Fitz replicates his father's emotional neglect by shipping his children off to boarding school, effectively abandoning them just as he felt abandoned. His relationship with his son Jerry is particularly strained until the boy's tragic death, and even then Fitz seems more affected by how the loss impacts him politically than by the loss itself.

The Power Addiction: Despite his constant claims to despise his father's ruthless ambition, Fitz employs shockingly similar tactics to maintain his presidency, including blackmail, cover-ups, and even tacitly endorsing murder when politically convenient. His administration operates under the same "win at all costs" mentality he claims to abhor.

The tragic poetry of Fitz's character lies in this unconscious repetition - he spends his entire life running from his father's shadow only to become his father's mirror image. In one of the series' most revealing moments, Fitz drunkenly tells Olivia, "I'm nothing like my father," just hours after making a decision that proves exactly the opposite.

The Rot Beneath the Charm

What makes Fitz such a fascinating character study is the fundamental weakness that lurks beneath his presidential charisma. Unlike Olivia Pope, who actively manipulates those around her, or Cyrus Beene, who owns his ruthless ambition, Fitz maintains a delusional self-image as a good man trapped in difficult circumstances. This psychological disconnect manifests in several damning ways:

The Affair That Wasn't Seduction: Olivia never actually has to work to seduce Fitz - he pursues her with the single-minded desperation of a man seeking escape from his own life. Their relationship begins with Fitz as the aggressor, undermining his later attempts to frame himself as helplessly in love.

The Victim Narrative: Whenever confronted with his failures - whether by Mellie, Cyrus, or Olivia - Fitz inevitably retreats into self-pitying victimhood. He blames Mellie for his unhappy marriage, blames Olivia for his inability to let her go, and blames the presidency for choices he makes willingly.

The Alcoholism: Like his father before him, Fitz turns to alcohol to avoid facing his problems, leading to increasingly erratic and dangerous behavior. His drunken rages become a recurring motif, each outburst revealing more of the angry, petulant child beneath the presidential facade.

The Final Humiliation: A King Without a Kingdom

The ultimate tragedy of Fitz's arc comes in his series-ending fate. After years of proclaiming Olivia as his great love, after leaving Mellie and putting his family through hell for this relationship, he ends up completely alone. Olivia ultimately rejects him for Jake Ballard - a man who, unlike Fitz, refuses to worship her unconditionally or excuse her worst impulses.

By the final season, Fitz is no longer president, no longer with Olivia, and largely estranged from what remains of his family. The man who once occupied the most powerful office in the world is reduced to a figure of pity - a cautionary tale about the dangers of self-delusion and unexamined privilege. In his last appearance, he watches Olivia walk away for good, finally forced to face the emptiness of choices he spent years rationalizing.

The Legacy of Fitzgerald Grant

Fitzgerald Grant's story is not one of tragic nobility, but of willful self-destruction. He had every advantage - wealth, education, charm, and opportunity - yet squandered them all in pursuit of a fantasy. His presidency was illegitimate, his marriage a hollow performance, and his great love affair ultimately revealed as mutual exploitation rather than romance.

What makes Fitz such a compelling character is how perfectly he embodies *Scandal's* central themes: the corruption of power, the lies we tell ourselves to sleep at night, and the uncomfortable truth that most people are neither heroes nor villains but flawed individuals making selfish choices. In the end, Fitz proved himself to be exactly what he feared most - not just like his father, but in many ways worse, because he lacked the self-awareness to recognize his own hypocrisy.

*Scandal* may have initially presented Fitz as a romantic lead, but his complete arc reveals a far darker truth: he was never the hero of his own story. Just another weak man who confused wanting with deserving, and who paid the price for that confusion with everything that ever mattered to him. His tragedy wasn't that he failed to escape his father's shadow - it's that he never truly tried.