Beyond the Blame Game
Ecosystems of Power and the Illusion of the Individual Leader
We live in an age where headlines carelessly anoint villains and heroes, pretending that individual actors determine our circumstances. Putin is blamed for Ukraine’s devastation. Xi is condemned for rising tensions over Taiwan. Trump is cast as the source of America’s fractures. By contrast, Zelensky is celebrated as the defender of democracy, Greta Thunberg hailed as the conscience of climate action, and Elon Musk portrayed as the visionary of technological progress. In each case the storyline is simple, seductive, and emotionally satisfying: if only these individuals acted differently - or conveniently disappeared - the crisis would end, the future would brighten.
But this is an illusion. This fixation on individual "leaders" as solitary architects of human destiny obscures the complex social ecosystems that actually drive and shape events. Behind every figurehead stand networks of elites, bureaucrats, militaries, sycophants, and media barons, along with cultural myths that sustain and amplify their power. Removing one individual rarely changes fundamentals. In fact history shows that when public figures fall, the networks that sustained them typically rejuvenate, often in more perilous forms.
This isn’t confined to politics. In the corporate world, popular imagination still credits the single genius for a company’s rise. Steve Jobs is immortalised as Apple’s visionary, for example. In truth the company’s dominance depended on Jony Ive's brilliant design team, global supply chains, outsourced labour, and a culture of innovation refined by thousands of unseen hands. In finance, public outrage after the 2008 crisis zeroed in on individuals—Dick Fuld, Bernie Madoff—while ignoring the deeper mesh of deregulation, misaligned incentives, ratings agencies, and speculative bubbles that actually propelled collapse. Just as in politics, we cling to visible faces because the systemic reality is harder to comprehend and narrate.
Why, then, do we insist on clinging to the myth of individual leadership? Part of the answer lies in psychology: we're hard wired to prefer personal explanations over general ones, a bias reinforced daily by media spectacles and social media platforms. Part of it lies in culture: for centuries, we have celebrated the “great man” theory of history, telling ourselves stories of lone heroes who struggle but eventually prevail against the odds. These myths simplify liability but blind us to reality.
Leadership is hardly ever the achievement of a lone mastermind. It emerges from the web of relationships, institutions, and structures that shape collective life. Power is embedded - and until we move beyond the blame game and heroic adulation, two sides of the same coin, we will struggle to build the resilience our turbulent world-system demands.
The tendency to pin blame or praise on individuals is deeply rooted. Psychologists call it the fundamental attribution error: our minds prefer to ascribe events to personal agency rather than shifting contextual dynamics. Sociologically, this echoes Thomas Carlyle’s nineteenth century “great man theory,” which revered (usually male) "leaders" as the solitary shapers of history. Culturally, myths like the hero’s journey reinforce the expectation that progress comes from intrepid savants carrying out their inimitable vision.
In today’s media environment, the most negative tendencies are supercharged. Digital platforms personalise conflict, amplifying and deflecting blame into viral scoops. Algorithms are designed to reward outrage or veneration, making the image of a single villain or hero far more clickable than the patient tracing of complex patterns. This is why Jobs was viewed as the prodigy behind Apple's success. It is why Putin becomes shorthand for war, Xi for authoritarian control, and Trump for democratic breakdown, even though none of them acts alone and would be ineffectual if they tried.
In my 2007 book The Five Literacies of Global Leadership, I argued that actual leadership has relatively little to do with individual visionaries instructing others what to do. In fact that's the role of managers. I dismissed entirely the concept of followers. The phenomenon of leadership is all about positive distributed agency. I even redefined the term itself as a shared experience in which people come together to improve one or more aspects of the human condition - thus ruling out petty tyrants and despots by association. I also proposed five interconnected literacies that were crucial for enabling my new definition of leadership in the context of a complex world-system: deep listening to emergent signals, pattern recognition across complex systems, collaborative sense making with diverse actors, navigation of uncertainty, and anticipatory action that distributes agency across networks. These literacies are not prescriptions for solitary titans but tools for cultivating adaptive, collective intelligence and informed action. Leadership in this framing is not imposed; it's an emergent phenomenon.
We can already see concrete illustrations of these literacies in practice. Citizen scientists monitoring watersheds and using low-cost sensors demonstrate “deep listening to emergent signals.” Investigative journalists mapping offshore finance webs exemplify “pattern recognition.” Grassroots assemblies deliberating on housing or climate priorities enact “collaborative sense-making.” Civil society organisations grappling with AI dilemmas show us “ethical navigation.” And networks of climate activists preparing city-level adaptation strategies reveal “anticipatory action.” These examples illustrate that the literacies are not abstract aspirations but a lived, distributed praxis.
By contrast, what we conventionally call leadership - resting on ecosystems of power - is nothing of the kind. More often it's a perversion where followers and sycophants of a sociopathic figure amplify his or her preferred narratives. Ruling class donors supply resources. The military enforce agendas. Lobbyists and corporations translate money into policy. Bureaucracies and intelligence agencies maintain continuity across successive administrations. Media celebrities dramatise and personalise. Together, these forces create the scaffolding that sustains the fallacy of the leader. Sound familiar?
C. Wright Mills captured this dynamic in The Power Elite, where corporations, military, and political elites interlock to shape outcomes. Modern systems theory and game theory both deepen this perspective: those we call "leaders" are just principal characters who delegate certain features to agents with their own incentives, producing outcomes that often defy central control.
Putin is blamed for the brutality of the Ukraine war. Why, when behind him stand oligarchs who fund private armies, media loyalists who craft the much needed distortions, energy lobbies that manipulate dependencies, and military hierarchies with Soviet roots? Even the 2023 mutiny revealed the resilience of these networks. Removing Putin would not dissolve them; it would merely unleash new contestations within the web of influence. He's there for us to blame.
Xi is faulted for tech purges and assertive moves in the Taiwan Strait. But his centrality masks the adaptive resilience of the Communist Party. The Politburo amplifies his directives, tycoons are realigned, Huawei champions global reach, and the PLA advances territorial claims rooted in history. Consequently, sanctions against Xi miss the point entirely: it's the CCP's network that drives China’s trajectory. Xi is there for us to blame.
The contrast with Russia is revealing. Putin’s authority is stabilised through oligarchic patronage and security services, while Xi’s rests on a bureaucratically entrenched party-state machine. Both models show resilience, but for different structural reasons. Either way, systemic scaffolding, not a single strongman, drives continuity.
In North Korea, Kim Jong Un is often portrayed as an absolute monarch whose whims dictate nuclear tests, missile launches, and domestic repression. Western media especially casts him as the embodiment of the state - an eccentric dictator whose personal psychology explains the regime’s trajectory. Yet the reality is far more complex. Kim operates within a dynastic system built on decades of institutional layering since his grandfather’s rule. The Workers’ Party of Korea, the military-first doctrine (or Songun), the security apparatus, and the networks of party elites all reinforce his position. Patronage systems distribute privileges to loyal cadres, while surveillance and control mechanisms operate independently of Kim’s daily decisions. Even his highly choreographed public appearances are the product of state propaganda bureaux, not spontaneous acts of personal charisma.
Kim’s power is embedded. The regime survives because of bureaucratic inertia, bargains between the elites, and a population conditioned by generational propaganda. Internationally, China’s tacit support, illicit trade networks, and North Korea’s integration into the global shadow economy further sustain the system. This means that while Kim is the visible face of North Korea’s nuclear brinkmanship, the persistence of the regime is rooted in a resilient ecosystem of influence. Were he to disappear tomorrow, the apparatus would likely endure, with another figurehead stepping into the role - just as it did when his father and grandfather died.
Saudi Arabia provides a similar example. Mohammed bin Salman is often painted as the sole architect of reform or repression, yet his authority depends on the entire House of Saud dynasty, oil rents, clerical endorsements, military procurement, and foreign alliances. Even sensational incidents like the assassination of Jamal Khashoggi involved networks of loyal officials and security operatives. As with Kim, MBS is the face of a far larger patronage system.
Thailand offers another example of how power is sustained through networks rather than individuals. International commentary often highlights the monarchy as central to the country’s political life, but what truly shapes outcomes is the enduring alliance between royal institutions, the military, and business elites. The monarchy provides a powerful source of legitimacy, reinforced by cultural traditions and legal protections. Since the end of the absolute monarchy in 1932, the country has witnessed 13 successful military coups and 7 unsuccessful coup attempts, making it one of the most coup-prone nations in the world. These are justified in reference to preserving national stability and continuity. Business families and corporate groups align with these institutions, creating a resilient system of patronage and influence. Seen through this lens, Thailand’s politics are not determined by a single figure but by a resilient ecosystem that weaves together monarchy, military, and economic interests. It illustrates once again that leadership is less a matter of individual will than of interconnected arrangements that persist over time.
We can see this too in corporate dynasties: South Korea’s Samsung or India’s Tata Group are frequently mapped onto the reputations of charismatic patriarchs, but their survival depends on convoluted webs of family ties, state partners, global markets, and financial institutions. The face of “the leader” in such companies is symbolic, while the networks ensure permanence.
In the US the President is assumed to hold all the power. But again that's not the case. Trump is castigated for civilian unrest and divisive politics. Yet donors, lobbyists, lawyers, and media enablers augment his authority, while intelligence agencies and bureaucracies uphold continuity. Biden was blamed for Afghanistan’s chaotic withdrawal and economic strains, but contractors, advisors, and entrenched agencies shaped those outcomes. The continuity of the deep state reveals the limits of individual agency - stretching back to Lyndon Johnson’s reversal of Kennedy’s Vietnam plans under bureaucratic pressure.
This persistence is bipartisan. Every president in recent history has confronted the same entrenched bureaucracies, Pentagon contracts, Wall Street donors, and a lobby-driven Congress. That’s why foreign policy continuity, surveillance policies, and bailouts show such remarkable similarity across apparently different administrations. The leader changes; the system endures.
Modi in India is blamed for polarising policies, but his network of Hindu nationalist groups, corporate backers, and bureaucratic enforcers sustains the momentum. Netanyahu in Israel is seen as the architect of Israeli politics, yet his grip on power depends on coalitions of settlers, Mossad, and the Jewish lobby abroad. In both instances, religious, economic, and military networks ensure continuity beyond the nominal leader. These cases align with Mills’ power elite thesis: corporate-industrial elites combined with Hindu nationalist networks in India, and settler-military-religious blocs in Israel, ensure continuity long after any prime minister departs. Rulers ride these forces more than they direct them.
Blaming individuals offers clarity in times of chaos. It simplifies accountability, galvanises quick fixes like sanctions or regime change, and provides the press with dramatic storylines. But it blinds us to the resilience of complex systems. When Saddam fell, Iraq’s networks regenerated in violent forms. Bolsonaro’s environmental rollbacks were sustained by agribusiness lobbies that outlasted him. In every case, focusing on the figurehead delayed deeply needed systemic reforms.
The opposite dynamic is visible in movements for justice. The global climate movement is often personified by Greta Thunberg, but its durable power comes from coalitions of scientists, indigenous activists, grassroots politicians, and multilateral agreements. Black Lives Matter began with three organisers and a hashtag, but flourished as a diffuse leader-full network of local chapters, lawyers, artists, and communities. These are examples of positive distributed leadership — action without a single saviour.
The illusion of the heroic leader persists because it comforts us. It allows us to imagine that the steering wheels of history are in the hands of singularly charismatic personalities. Yet reality is closer to a delta of interwoven rivers: rulers are nodes, not captains. If we want to move beyond the blame game, we must cultivate systemic habits. Citizens can diversify information sources, trace funding and lobbying patterns, and resist media simplifications. Policymakers can design reforms that rewire networks through campaign finance transparency, stronger oversight of intelligence, and regulation of lobbying.
And at community scales, people already practice distributed stewardship: participatory budgeting in Brazilian cities reallocates resources through collective decision-making, renewable energy cooperatives in Germany and Spain distribute agency across households, and online communities collaborate on fact-checking and open-source solutions. These experiments hint at how everyday leadership without leaders begins to look in practice.
These case studies reveal a consistent illusion: what is commonly called leadership is hardely ever the decisive will of a single individual but the emergent outcome of complex systems. Conventional leadership theory, with its focus on heroic figures bending history to their will, was only ever a revenue stream for the large consulting firms, and obscures the deeper reality. In spite of appearances to the contrary, power is sustained by networks of institutions and circles of influence, not by the individuals themselves.
If we abandon the myth of the solitary leader, and take petty tyrants and despots out of the equation, we can define leadership for what it truly is: a collective phenomenon, an emergent property of a society formed when people align around a shared purpose and mobilise resources to improve one or more aspects of their situation. Leadership, you see, is less about directives and more about collaboration - the ongoing stewardship of systems in ways that allow communities to endure and flourish.
Here the five literacies return as anchors of this stewardship: listening deeply, recognising patterns, sense-making collaboratively, navigating ethically, and anticipating systemically. They are not only tools for presidents or CEOs, but literacies communities themselves can cultivate to steward shared futures.
This reorientation matters. It shifts our gaze from the media spectacle of individual actors to the deeper patterns of cooperation, navigation, and adaptation that shape societies. It cautions us against both idolising or demonising public figures, and instead invites us to study the conditions under which genuine leadership for change emerges or fails.
To identify leadership as stewardship is to recognise our own role within this phenomenon. None of us stands outside the system, waiting for a saviour. There are no followers. Each of us contributes, however modestly, to the collective forces that define our shared future. Transformative change doesn't wait for the rise of a leader - it comes from the capacity of communities to steward themselves wisely in complexity.
For centuries the “great man” narrative has framed our history: Napoleon, Churchill, Gandhi. Today, Putin, Trump, Xi, Musk. This story comforts us with its simplicity, but deceives us with its distortion. Leadership was never the absolute property of individuals — it’s the emergent property of societies. If we can abandon the fable of the solitary leader, we can begin to tell a truer story: one where stewardship is stronger than dominance, where intelligence is shared rather than hoarded, and where agency is distributed. Given the dire state of incumbent leadership in the conventional sense, I believe our survival depends on this pivot.