IN life, many of us take on roles that carry influence and authority – whether as judges, lawyers, ministers, CEOs, police officers, or public servants.
These positions command respect, sometimes fear, and often come with perks that give the illusion of personal greatness. But therein lies the danger: it is easy to be carried away by the outward respect and forget that it is the position, not the person, that is being honoured.
Since my teenage years, I have had a keen interest in observing people and the unfolding of their lives. I noticed how some were gentle and humble in power, while others became arrogant, cruel, or dismissive of those beneath them.
Over time, I also began to see how life has a way of humbling even the most powerful – especially those who allowed the intoxication of authority to get the better of them.
I find it sad to have observed that many individuals fall into the trap of losing touch with who they really are. They become so usurped by their roles or positions that they mistake their titles for their identity.
It is a dangerous illusion. Because if they live a long life, they may eventually be subjected to the silent torture of being alone with someone they do not know – themselves.
The outer world fades, and what remains is the question: Who am I without the power? And for some, that question becomes unbearable.
History has shown us that not only have highly revered political leaders suffered unhappy and hollow final years, but many others with prestigious positions – senior judges, senior civil servants, corporate giants, popular leaders, celebrated academics – have met similar fates.
Their earlier years may have been filled with recognition, influence, and admiration. But when retirement comes and the applause fades, many are left restless, bitter, or even depressed – especially if they had never cultivated their inner lives or relationships beyond their titles.
Take, for example, the stories of once-feared leaders or senior government officials. Many of them, upon retirement, find themselves lonely or forgotten.
The late President Suharto of Indonesia, once one of the most powerful men in South-East Asia, spent his final years in near-isolation, facing public anger and legal scrutiny over corruption.
The reverence that once surrounded him turned into silent disapproval and, in many quarters, public disdain. It wasn’t just political backlash – it was the natural reaction to the way he exercised power.
In Malaysia, we too have seen powerful individuals – ministers, corporate figures, enforcement officers and so on – who once appeared untouchable, but ended up facing court charges, social rejection, or quiet retirement without the fanfare they once enjoyed.
The respect, the headlines, the invitations – all of it vanishes quickly once the position is gone. And for those who did not prepare inwardly – who mistook the prestige of the post for personal greatness – it becomes a very bitter realisation.
Compare this with individuals who remained grounded even at the peak of their careers. Former South African president Nelson Mandela, for instance, is remembered not just for his political role but for his humaneness, his humility, and his ability to forgive. Even after stepping down, he continued to be revered – not for his title, but for the character he embodied. Then there is Mahatma Gandhi. That is the kind of legacy worth leaving behind.
One can also think of those in simpler roles – teachers, nurses, smalltown mayors –who treat people with kindness, dignity, and fairness, despite not having national recognition or massive power.
Strangely enough, their legacy often lasts longer in the hearts of those they touched than the fame of those who climbed higher but treated others poorly.
Ultimately, it is not power that defines us, but how we behave when we have it. Life has a rhythm that cannot be avoided.
Old age comes. Retirement comes. Even memory fades. And the inner punishment for those who were cruel or self-absorbed in power often comes not in courts or newspapers, but in silence, regret, and the emptiness of a soul that spent too much time chasing applause and too little time nurturing humanity.
So let us remind ourselves: no matter our role in life – whether as a senior judge, minister or a street cleaner – treat others with basic human decency. Be kind even when you don’t have to. Be humble even when people praise you.
Use your influence to make others’ lives easier, not harder. Because when the world stops clapping, all that remains is the truth of who you are.
And that is what life eventually reveals.
Knowing this, for those who choose to take the seemingly difficult but righteous road, I say: continue. Walk it with quiet strength. You may not always be praised, and you may even be misunderstood. But at least you have avoided the delusion.
You are living in alignment with your conscience and with the laws of nature that favour balance, integrity, and inner peace.
That, in the end, is the real success.
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Senior lawyer Dato Sri Dr Jahaberdeen Mohamed Yunoos is the founder of Rapera, a movement which encourages thinking and compassion among Malaysians. The views expressed here are entirely the writer’s own.
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