By The Sunriser
Some politicians have developed a curious defense mechanism whenever confronted with public expectations: they invoke the great philosophical truth that “to err is human,” then conveniently stop there.
Other politicians treat public expectations like a bad Wi-Fi signal—unreliable, unreasonable, and best ignored. When asked why they failed to deliver, they wax philosophical: “I’m only human,” as if that alone absolves them of responsibility.
They remind us—often with a theatrical sigh—that they are prone to weakness and the occasional lapse in judgment. “Don’t expect too much,” they say, as if public service were a casual favor, not a responsibility. Criticize them, and suddenly you are the one who is unreasonable, lacking empathy, or worse, a moral pretender.
It’s a strange thing: the higher the office, the lower the bar they seem to set for themselves. Yet, when seeking that office, their campaign leaflets do not read, “Vote for me, I am deeply flawed and may disappoint you often.” Instead, they promise vision, competence, and change.
But once in power, they quote philosophy, religion, and Freud—selectively—to explain away poor decisions. They speak of “stones cast by the sinless,” forgetting that it was they who offered to hold the moral and political mantle in the first place.
But isn’t it common sense to expect a public servant to, well, serve the public? Perhaps the real hypocrisy lies in asking for the people’s trust, only to act offended when the people expect it to mean something.
To be fair, we should not expect perfection from our leaders.
But when leaders treat accountability as a form of persecution, and reasoned criticism as a character flaw of the citizenry, we must wonder if the real weakness lies not in their humanity, but in their unwillingness to rise above it—if only a little—for the sake of those they serve.
After all, humility is not in denying expectations, but in trying to meet them.
Even if you stumble.
***
Revenge Candidates and Political Amnesia
Some people enter politics not to serve, but to settle scores.
They parade their misfortune as martyrdom, never mind that it was the result of abusing power when they once had it.
When they fall from grace—not because of enemies, but because gravity catches up with ego—they reframe the story: “I was a victim,” they cry, “I was targeted!”
Not for wrongdoing, of course, but for daring to play politics with the other team.
They forget that karma, like politics, is also a cycle. What you do in office echoes louder when you’re out of it.
Now they want back in—not to lead, but to get even. Not to correct mistakes, but to rewrite the blame.
But the people they once ignored, silenced, or stepped on—they remember.
And memory, especially among the ordinary folk, is often sharper than ambition would hope.
