The renowned U.S. diplomat Henry Kissinger lived to be a hundred. His experience with politics, diplomacy, and political figures was, in a word, exceptional. Drawing on that experience, he once remarked that 90 percent of politicians give the remaining 10 percent a bad name.
In other words, in his view, only about 10 percent of politicians are genuinely good—those who are undeserving of blame or scandal.
Even from our limited experience, we have seen that there are indeed a few politicians who have managed to remain untainted—people against whom no allegation can stand, no matter how hard one tries to find fault.
It is important to remember that this small 10 percent are, in fact, the lifeblood of politics. In poorer nations, calling such individuals extraordinary would be an understatement.
These are people who, while earning their own livelihoods through honest work, dedicate their time and intellect to public welfare.
There are even examples of those who, despite holding high office, neither took advantage of government facilities nor accepted official allowances. Sadly, in many Third World countries, such good people are rarely considered when crucial decisions or political transitions occur.
Whenever change comes in these nations, everyone is thrown onto the same scale, weighed without distinction. This is precisely why real change never comes to developing countries. What happens instead is the simple flipping of the same coin—one side replacing the other.
When the newcomers, driven by political motives, start lumping everyone together, when they shut the eyes of conscience, their own acceptability to the broader public inevitably comes into question.
There’s a term in English—character assassination. It refers to the deliberate effort to damage someone’s reputation or social standing through false accusations, rumors, fabricated evidence, or malicious criticism.
This phenomenon is particularly rampant in developing nations. Those who have spent their lives doing good often become victims of such baseless attacks, leading them to wonder: Was it wrong to remain honest? Was it a mistake to stay loyal to clean politics?
They recall the lament of the medieval poet Gyandas in his Vaishnava verses:
“All turned to poison as I bathed in the nectar-sea.
O friend, what fate is written for me?
I worshiped the moon thinking it cool,
But burned upon seeing the sun’s flame.”
We must pause and ask ourselves—have we, in trying to belittle others, ended up belittling ourselves? Leaving aside the moral argument, even legally, to demean someone requires sufficient reason and evidence. Without that, the accusation itself becomes weightless. Therefore, whatever one’s role or position, one must act guided by conscience and within the bounds of law and fairness.