There is a Pashto proverb that lingers in the background of every discussion about power and responsibility:
“When God is angry with the ant, He gives it wings.”
The proverb mocks the presumptuous rise of the small and the meek. But its true message is more sobering: when power or elevation is given to those unprepared or unworthy, it becomes not a blessing, but a curse—both for the individual and for the system that made the error.
The ant, by its very nature, is the model of order and discipline. Its world is one of structure, loyalty, and sacrifice for the collective. The colony survives not through the glory of any single ant, but through their collective subordination to a greater whole. Yet, at a certain time, a group of ants develop wings. These winged ants—alates—designed for a singular purpose: to leave, to mate, to start anew. But in the process, they become exposed, vulnerable, and, most importantly, incompatible with the home they once belonged to. Their wings make them visible targets for predators, and their bodies—now unsuited to the narrow tunnels of the colony—obstruct and destabilize the very order that once sustained them. The so-called gift becomes a liability.
History is full of tragic parallels. Time and again, the fate of organizations, nations, and even empires has been imperiled by the elevation of the unfit. Roman Emperor Nero is a classic example—an individual whose rise to power was less a testament to merit and more a product of family, chance, and unchecked ambition. His reign, characterized by extravagance and impulsiveness, hastened Rome’s decline. Likewise, King Louis XVI’s indecision and weakness at a critical historical moment enabled the forces of revolution to sweep through France, with consequences still studied centuries later. In the twentieth century, Neville Chamberlain’s well-meaning but naïve appeasement policy enabled the rise of Nazi Germany, leading to devastation on a global scale. These were not merely errors in judgment; they were failures in the moral obligation to match power with competence and readiness.
Such historical failures are rarely isolated accidents—they are symptoms of a deeper systemic flaw: the willingness of societies to confuse popularity, heritage, or sentiment for ability. The result is always the same. Power magnifies weakness and exposes structure to risk. The individual, now exposed and enlarged, cannot fit back into the framework that created them. What once seemed harmless or even promising becomes the source of obstruction, decay, and, at times, catastrophe.
Recognition of this reality places a unique burden on those who do understand the stakes. In every era, there are individuals who see clearly that the system is threatened from within. But here, another harsh truth that emerges intervention is rarely welcomed. Human nature resists disruptive messenger. As J.K. Rowling so acutely observes in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, “Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies.” Those who act to correct the course—whether in politics, business, or social movements—are frequently met with suspicion, resistance, and distortion. Society prefers the comfort of heroes who are easily understood, celebrated, and palatable. The reformer, the disruptor, the necessary corrector, is always met with hostility, not gratitude.
The cost of necessary intervention is loneliness and vilification. From Julius Caesar, whose centralization of power in Rome provoked his assassination, to Alexander the Great, whose relentless pursuit of vision sparked both admiration and resentment, history is replete with figures who carried the heavy price of decisive action. In fiction, complex characters like Voldemort or the Joker exist not as mindless villains, but as embodiments of uncomfortable truths—truths about order, control, and society’s aversion to correction, no matter how dire the need.
The core lesson is this: power given to the unworthy does not simply fail—it endangers. Passive observation in the face of evident dysfunction is complicity, not neutrality. True leadership, especially in times of decline, requires not popularity but resilience, a willingness to accept the burden of acting for the greater good, even at the expense of personal reputation.
When the ant has given wings, it is a warning to every system: ensure that your elevation process is governed by merit, readiness, and discipline, not sentiment, inertia, or convenience. And when you find yourself among those who see what others do not recognize that intervention is not only necessary but urgently do not wait for consensus or applause. Act. Bear the weight. History may misunderstand you; your peers may reject you. But the true test of leadership is not in public acclaim, but in the preservation and renewal of the structure itself.
Finally, the best leaders are often those who accept the facts to be being misunderstood or criticized to ensure order, survival, and the greater good. The courage to act when others hesitate, the willingness to correct when others prefer silence, which is the price and the proof of true responsibility.