Who the hell would want to be in charge? Leadership, accountability & humanity

I would be the last person to argue against the democratic principle of holding our leaders to account. Quite the opposite — it’s vital that we, as citizens, challenge those in positions of power, both professionally and politically, to ensure they are acting in the best interests of all of us. That scrutiny is part of what defines a healthy democracy.

But something has changed in the way we hold our leaders to account.

In years gone by, there was a rhythm and structure to political challenge. Opposition parties had a clear role, media outlets played their part, and public opinion was mostly filtered through the formal lens of editorials, letters pages, and televised debate. Today, though, we live in a very different landscape — a world of social media where everyone is a commentator, everyone is an expert, and judgment comes fast and unfiltered.

And in that shift, something else has quietly crept in: the blurring of lines between professional scrutiny and personal attack.

We used to challenge the decisions of politicians — their policies, their leadership styles, their handling of a crisis. Now, we seem just as comfortable, if not more so, to criticise the people themselves. Their facial expressions. Their body language. Their families. Their vulnerabilities.

Yet our leaders — whether MPs, councillors, or Prime Ministers — are still just people. They are parents, partners, sons, and daughters. They suffer loss. They have off days. They experience everything the rest of us do — but with a camera and a crowd watching.

Take a recent example: Rachel Reeves, the Chancellor, seen tearful in the House of Commons. Within minutes, the online commentary machine had spun into action — speculating about her performance, suggesting a collapse of control, inventing narratives around professional failure. But what if it wasn’t political at all? What if it was personal — an emotional moment, a family matter, or simply the result of a hard day, like we all have?

Shouldn't there be a place for that in public life?

And here’s the bigger question: if Reeves had been unwell or dealing with personal issues, should she have been up there at all? In most workplaces, we understand and support a colleague who needs to take time. We check in. We make space. Why should politics be different? Leaders have line managers too — and just like I would expect support for one of my team, shouldn’t Keir Starmer or others in leadership act the same way for their colleagues?

Instead, we’ve created a culture where to step into public leadership is to surrender every part of yourself to scrutiny. Your professional capacity, yes. But also your private life, your emotional expression, even your moments of silence. And that brings us to a crucial point: what kind of people are we encouraging into leadership when the cost is so high?

We should want a broad church of representation — people from all walks of life stepping into local government, national roles, and everything in between. But how many brilliant potential leaders are looking at the world we’ve created and thinking: no thanks?

I’ve been asked, sometimes jokingly, “When are you going to be Prime Minister?” I laugh it off. But in truth, I’m not sure I’d want to live under that kind of exposure. To lead well should mean being open to challenge, yes — but protected from harm. We must find a way to hold our leaders accountable without dehumanising them in the process.

And right now, we haven’t struck that balance. And that’s a real concern — not just for today’s leaders, but for the next generation of people we desperately need to step forward.

Image credit: Telegraph