The Tribune

A quiet war rages in the hearts and minds of those we trust most—the police officer patrolling our streets, the teacher shaping our children, the doctor holding a life in their hands, the politician entrusted with a nation’s fate. They wear uniforms, titles, and authority, but beneath the symbols of power, there is the same shared vulnerability of the human mind, capable of compassion, cruelty, service or self-interest.

The question that demands our attention is this: What happens when the minds behind authority are unexamined, unstable, or unchecked? The answer is not despair, but the potential for positive change. The consequences are dire when those in power lack emotional maturity, self-awareness, and empathy. Chaos quietly brews in classrooms, hospitals, police stations, and parliaments, undermining the very fabric of our society. There have been enough incidents to tell us that something is not right. What are we waiting for?

The police officer: The uniform and the ego

A police officer is expected to embody justice and restraint. They face the rawest edges of humanity daily—violence, deceit, desperation, and grief. But what toll does this constant exposure take on their psyche? How does one remain calm, patient, and objective when every encounter could turn fatal?

Policing demands not just physical courage, but also emotional intelligence. Yet, our current recruitment and training practices often prioritise authority, obedience, and control, neglecting the crucial aspects of emotional regulation, empathy, and community engagement.

When a police officer’s identity fuses with the uniform, when respect becomes something to demand rather than earn, the line between protector and predator blurs.

A police officer dealing with a drunk, a mentally ill person, or a frightened teenager is not merely enforcing the law; they are testing their own humanity. The difference between peacekeeping and oppression often lies not in the law but in temperament—the ability to absorb insult without retaliation, stand firm without humiliation, and wield power without losing humility.

When officers use authority to mask insecurity or exert dominance, the system breeds not safety, but fear when that temperament is missing. An emotionally unstable officer with a weapon and a badge is not a guardian; they are a potential threat. Too many, especially young officers, have no idea what rational means.

The teacher: Carrying the burden of two worlds

If the police officer deals with crime, the teacher deals with innocence—though often innocence lost too soon. Teachers are the quiet soldiers of civilization, standing between ignorance and enlightenment, chaos and hope. But they, too, are human beings who bring their personal wounds into the classroom.

A teacher’s mental and emotional state affects every child in their care. A teacher suffering from burnout, depression, or resentment can unintentionally transmit their turmoil to a classroom full of impressionable minds. When a teacher lacks emotional balance, children pay the price.

Worse still, many teachers face overwhelming social and psychological pressures: inadequate pay, administrative scrutiny, parental expectations, and the weight of managing classrooms filled with children from fractured homes, trauma, or neglect. How can a teacher build patience when the world offers none to them? The children are taking notes.

Teaching is not just a job—it is a moral calling.

A teacher must be emotionally literate and able to see beyond behaviour to the pain beneath it. The child acting out may be hungry, scared, or unloved. The silent child may be carrying burdens beyond comprehension.

When teachers forget this or their own unresolved anger spills into the classroom, the result is not education, but emotional damage disguised as discipline.

A teacher’s authority should never become a weapon to humiliate. Their role is to elevate, not dominate.

The doctor: Under the knife of pressure

The medical profession sits at the crossroads of science, ethics, and human fragility. Doctors are entrusted with the ultimate responsibility—to decide who lives and dies, who gets treatment and who doesn’t, how resources are allocated, and how to deliver hope when hope is nearly gone.

We rarely talk about the mental toll this constant proximity to suffering exacts. Doctors are expected to be infallible—never to waver or err. But beneath the calm of clinical detachment, many are crumbling under enormous emotional strain. Depression and burnout among physicians are among the highest of any profession.

What happens when a doctor’s exhaustion hardens into apathy? When does the empathy that once fueled them give way to cynicism? Patients stop being people and become “cases”. Decisions turn mechanical, compassion fades, and medicine devolves into procedure rather than care.

The public expects doctors to be gods, but humans are drowning in impossible expectations. And yet, with great power comes great responsibility—to remain sober in judgment, humble before uncertainty, and kind even in crisis. When doctors forget this sacred covenant, when arrogance replaces empathy or detachment becomes indifference, the result is cruelty dressed in clinical language.

The politician: Power without reflection

If police officers hold power over liberty, teachers over knowledge, and doctors over life, politicians have power over all three. And yet, the political arena often attracts precisely those least fit for moral leadership: individuals driven by ego, ambition, and manipulation rather than wisdom, patience, or vision.

We entrust them with the keys to our collective future. But how often do we ask: Are they emotionally stable? Are they guided by conscience or vanity? Are they truly capable of listening and governing with empathy rather than control?

Politics, at its best, should be the art of service; at its worst, it becomes the theatre of self-interest. A politician with an unstable mind can destabilize nations. Their words can ignite hatred or heal division, their decisions can destroy economies or save lives.

Sobriety of mind is not optional—it is essential.

Every impulsive outburst, every vindictive policy, every act of greed ripples outward, affecting everyone. The politician’s responsibility is to legislate wisely and embody composure and dignity under pressure.

Yet, how often do we see the opposite? Leaders mistake authority for superiority. They weaponise power to silence dissent and reward loyalty over integrity. In doing so, they create chaos—not just in governance but in the very soul of society.

Authority without empathy: The recipe for chaos

Whether it’s a police officer, teacher, doctor, or politician, the common thread is authority. And authority, when coupled with immaturity or emotional instability, is a dangerous combination.

Authority without empathy becomes tyranny. Power without patience becomes abuse. Control without compassion becomes cruelty.

Each profession demands emotional intelligence, yet too rarely nurtures the ability to self-regulate, perceive others’ pain without judgment, and act not from ego but from principle.

We talk endlessly about qualifications, ranks, and regulations. But what about the mind? Shouldn’t emotional screening be as critical as technical training? Shouldn’t those who hold authority over lives, minds, and freedoms be required to demonstrate mental stability, self-awareness, and a proven capacity for restraint?

A society that neglects the mental health of its gatekeepers invites disaster. The consequences are all around us: teachers breaking down, doctors walking out, police officers lashing out, politicians burning bridges.

The hidden epidemic of authority fatigue

We live in an age of emotional exhaustion. Public servants are under siege from impossible expectations, shrinking resources, and a lack of social respect. The very people who should embody calmness are being consumed by stress.

The result is authority fatigue, the burnout of those responsible for maintaining social order. It manifests as irritability, indifference, or aggression. When unchecked, it festers into cynicism and cruelty. A burned-out officer stops caring about the community. A weary teacher stops believing in students, a fatigued doctor stops listening to patients, and a jaded politician stops serving the people.

Authority fatigue is not just a personal issue but a public crisis. When those in positions of power lose emotional balance, the systems they uphold begin to fracture. The law becomes punitive. Education becomes oppressive. Medicine becomes mechanical. Politics becomes toxic.

The discipline of dignity

The antidote to this creeping decay is dignity—the discipline of treating others with unwavering respect regardless of status or circumstance. It is easy to be polite to the powerful and dismiss the powerless. True dignity lies in doing the opposite—showing patience with the problematic, compassion for the broken, and respect for the unseen.

A police officer who arrests with courtesy restores faith in justice. A teacher who disciplines with empathy builds resilience in children. A doctor who comforts as well as cures heals beyond medicine. A politician who listens instead of lecturing earns the nation’s trust.

These are not sentimental ideals. They are the building blocks of civilization. When dignity disappears, society descends into mistrust and resentment. Authority becomes something to fear, not respect.

The moral weight of authority

Every position of authority carries a moral weight. To hold power over another human being is to have their vulnerability in your hands. That power must never be used to control, humiliate, or exploit.

Across institutions, abuses of power remain rampant. The police officer who enjoys intimidation, the teacher who humiliates a struggling child, the doctor who mocks a patient’s ignorance, and the politician who uses fear to manipulate voters are not isolated incidents—they are symptoms of a deeper moral illness: the loss of reverence for responsibility.

Authority should be a service, not a privilege. Those who wield it must cultivate humility, not hubris. Because the greater the power, the greater the moral restraint required to wield it wisely.

Tolerance, patience, and the art of listening

At the heart of all healthy authority lies tolerance—the ability to coexist with difference—to meet anger with calm, ignorance with understanding, and defiance with grace.

Tolerance is not weakness; it is strength under control. Patience is not passivity; it is wisdom in motion. Politeness is not subservience but the highest form of respect for oneself and others.

Imagine a world where those in authority practised these virtues not as formalities but as moral imperatives: a police officer who pauses before reacting, a teacher who listens before judging, a doctor who explains before prescribing, a politician who consults before commanding. These small acts of patience build the foundation for a just and humane society.

The catastrophe of neglect

When authority forgets its moral foundation, chaos follows.

We see it in the streets, where citizens fear the police more than crime.

We see it in classrooms, where students learn obedience but not curiosity. We see it in hospitals, where efficiency replaces empathy.

We see it in parliaments, where power has replaced principle, when the mind behind authority decays, institutions rot from within. The result is a cynical, mistrustful society where respect is coerced, not earned. Yet, we cannot rebuild trust merely through policy or punishment. Psychological reform is needed—a collective reawakening to the mental and emotional duties of leadership.

The call for emotional accountability

We must start treating emotional stability as a professional qualification. A police officer should be evaluated for marksmanship and emotional control. A teacher should be assessed not only for curriculum mastery but for compassion. A doctor should be trained not only in diagnosis but in empathy. A politician should be judged not by slogans but by integrity and restraint.

The future of a civilised society depends on the mental hygiene of its leaders. Those who cannot control themselves cannot be trusted to control others.

The sacred responsibility of power

The mark of true maturity is not dominance but discipline, not control but composure, not authority but accountability. We cannot afford emotionally unstable custodians of justice, education, health, or governance. The stakes are too high. A police officer’s misjudgment can end a life. A teacher’s cruelty can scar a soul. A doctor’s indifference can end a future. A politician’s recklessness can destroy a nation.

The mental state of those in power or seeking power is not a private matter but a public concern. Every badge, stethoscope, chalk, or ballot should come with a vow: to serve with patience, humility, and humanity, because authority, when stripped of empathy, becomes tyranny.

Facing Reality, the measure of a society is not how it treats its powerful, but how the powerful treat everyone else.