The Danger of Ruling by Resentment

When leadership fails, the consequences rarely arrive as a sudden catastrophe. More often, they unfold gradually, almost invisibly, until the nation finds itself trapped in economic fragility, social fragmentation, and moral exhaustion.

Leadership is not simply the exercise of authority or the art of political survival. It is, at its core, the responsibility to think beyond immediate advantage and personal impulse. Where that responsibility is neglected, governance becomes an instrument of harm rather than protection.

A state reflects the intellectual and ethical capacity of those who govern it. Policies are not abstract decisions; they shape livelihoods, identities, and the future trajectory of a society. When leaders govern without sensitivity, foresight, or institutional respect, the damage extends far beyond the tenure of any single administration. Bad governance is not merely inefficiency. It is a failure to understand that power, once misused, multiplies suffering across generations.

Few examples illustrate this better than Argentina’s repeated cycles of economic populism and political short-termism. For decades, successive governments prioritized immediate political comfort over structural reform, relying on unsustainable subsidies, excessive borrowing, and currency manipulation.

These decisions often won temporary public approval but steadily undermined economic stability. Inflation became chronic, trust in institutions eroded, and the middle class shrank. Argentina’s story is not one of sudden collapse but of leadership choices that consistently postponed difficult decisions, leaving future generations to bear the cost. It demonstrates how the refusal to govern responsibly, even under democratic mandates, can trap a nation in perpetual crisis.

Leadership failure also manifests when governance becomes an exercise in exclusion rather than inclusion. The collapse of Yugoslavia in the 1990s offers a stark reminder. Political elites exploited ethnic grievances and historical trauma to consolidate power, transforming identity into a weapon.

What followed was not merely the disintegration of a state but the moral breakdown of society itself. War crimes, mass displacement, and enduring hatred became the legacy of leaders who found it easier to mobilise resentment than to build coexistence. The tragedy was not inevitable. It was engineered through deliberate political choices that prioritised dominance over dialogue.

By contrast, leadership anchored in foresight often emerges most clearly in moments when restraint appears politically costly. Post-war Germany provides one of the most powerful examples. After the devastation of the Second World War, Germany faced not only physical ruin but profound moral discredit. The temptation to deny responsibility or nurture nationalist grievance was strong.

Instead, successive leaders chose acknowledgment, institutional rebuilding, and integration into a rules-based international order. This willingness to confront the past without turning it into a tool of revenge allowed Germany to rebuild democratic legitimacy and economic strength. It was not an easy path, but it was a sustainable one.

This distinction between foresight and impulse becomes even more critical in post-conflict justice. History repeatedly shows that when states equate justice with retaliation, they prolong instability. The experience of South Africa after apartheid remains one of the most philosophically significant examples of leadership choosing reconciliation over revenge. Decades of racial oppression had inflicted deep wounds, and the demand for retribution was both understandable and politically popular.

Yet the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, flawed and controversial as it was, represented a deliberate effort to prevent the state from becoming an agent of collective vengeance. By prioritising truth, acknowledgment, and conditional forgiveness, South Africa avoided a cycle of reprisals that could have plunged the country into prolonged violence. The process did not erase injustice, but it preserved the possibility of a shared future.

There are similar lessons in East Asia. After the devastation of the Korean War, South Korea could have remained trapped in authoritarianism and militarised politics. Instead, despite long periods of repression, its eventual democratic transition was guided by institutional reform rather than purges. Former authoritarian leaders were held accountable through legal processes, not mob justice or state-sponsored revenge. That restraint allowed democratic institutions to take root and contributed to the country’s remarkable economic transformation. It underscored a crucial truth: justice anchored in law strengthens nations, while justice driven by emotion weakens them.

The philosophical danger arises when leaders mistake anger for legitimacy. Revenge may offer immediate emotional gratification, but it corrodes the moral authority of the state. A government that governs through fear or humiliation loses the trust required for long-term stability. Political philosopher Hannah Arendt warned that societies unable to forgive become prisoners of their own history. This insight applies not only to individuals but to states. When leadership weaponises the past, it ensures that the future remains hostage to unresolved wounds.

Justice and revenge are often conflated in political rhetoric, but they serve opposing ends. Justice is institutional, measured, and constrained by principles. It aims to restore balance and uphold dignity. Revenge is impulsive, selective, and unconstrained by ethical limits. It creates winners and enemies rather than citizens. In societies where revenge becomes policy, law loses its neutrality and institutions lose credibility. Stability becomes impossible because every act of punishment invites retaliation.

In the contemporary world, this temptation has grown stronger. Social media amplifies outrage, rewards polarisation, and turns governance into performance. Leaders who choose restraint risk being labelled weak, while those who promise swift punishment are celebrated. Yet history consistently punishes leaders who confuse popularity with wisdom. States are not built on applause; they are built on trust, continuity, and the capacity to absorb disagreement without disintegration.

Many developing countries remain trapped in cycles of leadership failure precisely because governance is reduced to personal rivalry. Political power becomes a means of settling scores rather than serving the public. Institutions are weakened, not strengthened, because strong institutions limit personal authority. As a result, citizens experience governance not as protection but as uncertainty. The tragedy is not simply economic stagnation but the erosion of the idea that the state exists for the collective good.

Good history is written not by those who rule loudly, but by those who govern wisely. Leadership requires the humility to recognise that power is temporary, but consequences are permanent. A private individual may act on impulse and affect only a few lives. A leader who does the same risks damaging the destiny of millions. That is why leadership demands a higher moral standard.

When leaders fail to rise above personal impulses, nations suffer in ways that cannot be easily repaired. Economies falter, social bonds weaken, and the future becomes a battleground of unresolved grievances. History offers no shortage of warnings. States that choose foresight over fury, justice over revenge, and responsibility over ego do not merely survive moments of crisis. They create the conditions for endurance.

H. M. Nazmul Alam is an Academic, Journalist, and Political Analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Currently he teaches at IUBAT. He can be reached at [email protected]