Careless Leaders

Why our cynicism protects the wrong kind of leaders

If you believe that we are careless and selfish creatures, you do not have to look far to find support for that cynical worldview. Just open the news or scroll through your social media feed. Polarization, vanity, war, collapse, and the threat of human extinction through AI. Look at the language used to capture our attention. Jobs disappearing by 2027. Democracy under pressure. AI developers warning about a technology that is advancing faster than our ability to understand the consequences of using it at scale.

What we are exposed to every day is not a dystopian movie plot. There is enough real world damage, recklessness, and selfish exploitation of power to make a cynical view of human nature feel completely rational. What we often overlook is that dramatic news coverage doesn’t just inform us but also shapes the story we tell ourselves about how human beings are. In the attention economy, fear is highly marketable, negativity is sticky, and the worst examples of human behavior become visible proof of what we begin to accept as human nature.

Over time, cynical beliefs can become self-fulfilling prophecies.

Unfortunately, our beliefs matter far more than we think. They eventually shape how we move through the world. What we believe about human nature influences what we expect from others, the behavior we tolerate, and accept as normal. The problem with acceptance is that it makes us turn away from opportunities to change something and to take action. Over time, cynical beliefs can become self-fulfilling prophecies. They lower our standards, narrow our imagination, and quietly drain the energy needed to act with courage, responsibility, and care.

 

I went through this myself. The moment I realized how deeply I had been pulled into that narrative came when I finally read Rutger Bregman’s Humankind. The book had been sitting in my library for almost two years while I had picked up other titles immediately.

I had bought it in German, my native language, and that title must have had a subconscious impact. It’s called Im Grunde Gut which roughly translates into Basically Good.

 

Knowing that the book explored human nature, that framing did not resonate with me at that time. I had seen too much bad behavior dressed up as ambition, too much carelessness, and too many examples of power being used in ways that felt like pure selfishness and completely detached from consequence.

 

What finally got me to read it was a gift from a friend.

Bregman’s newer book, Moral Ambition, led me back to Humankind, and became an even greater gift. It helped me step back from the stories I had been told and the ones I had started repeating to myself. More than anything, it made me realize how much cynicism had begun to undermine my belief that meaningful change is possible.

 

I learned that unless we review our beliefs and understand who and what they serve, we become passive consumers of a narrative that keeps us from seeing our own responsibility in sustaining it. And that is a dangerous mistake. Human nature is far more complex, and far more hopeful, than the dominating stories of our news and echo chambers suggest.

 

This shift becomes particularly important when we look at leadership.

Our own way of leading, the leadership we tolerate around us, and the kind of leadership we help to sustain.

When we look at harmful leadership behaviour and see it as proof of a darker human nature, we often overlook the complexity behind it. We reduce it to individual character and ignore the systemic conditions, the motives at play, and our own role in allowing it to continue.

By systemic conditions, I mean the operating systems we have created for our societies, our organisations, and ourselves. In leadership, that includes organizational structures, culture, management and belief systems, all reinforced through values, incentives, and rewarded behaviour.

These systems are genuinely complex. Hierarchy places decision-making in the hands of those furthest from the work. Competitive cultures undermine collaboration and short-term results are rewarded while long-term responsibility is deferred. With time, these dynamics compound in ways that make it increasingly difficult to see where we still have power and where our influence stops. Our willingness to challenge inconsistent, self-serving, and careless leaders keeps declining under fear of repression and consequences. At some point we eventually lower our standards for what we expect from leaders and normalise harmful trade-offs in the name of growth, efficiency, and innovation.

In Bregman’s book, it becomes fairly obvious that in ancient, smaller social groups, getting rid of unwanted leaders was much easier. A leader had earned the trust of the group, brought valuable experience or wisdom, and served the group instead of exploiting it. And if they turned towards the dark side of power and changed their behaviour, their role would change as well.

In our modern world, the dynamics and levels of power have changed tremendously. Complexity is real, and I do not want to dismiss it. The weight of it is one of the reasons why people start to feel less powerful, with only limited agency to challenge careless leadership.

We stay silent when faced with an authoritarian leader about to make a harmful decision because we know how easy it is to lose our job. We consume products despite knowing about their negative effects because everyone else is using them too. And we do not question the narratives repeated through our media channels because we rarely understand all the power dynamics behind them.

Are we really without power to change direction, or do we just believe that we are?

However, the real question is whether complexity is a valid excuse for acceptance and quiet support of careless leadership. Are we really without power to change direction, or do we just believe that we are? What follows from this may feel uncomfortable, but it is important.

If we want things to change, we always have to start with ourselves. It is easy to point at bad leaders, ruthless politicians and powerful Tech-CEOs and say that they are the problem. If that is where our reflection ends, nothing will change. Acceptance certainly holds some comfort as it gives us an excuse to stay complacent and tell ourselves that this is just how people are. Self-serving, power-hungry, greedy and careless. That kind of thinking is exactly what keeps the narrative going and the wrong leaders in charge.

Someone can be exceptionally intelligent in the traditional sense and still be emotionally and socially underdeveloped.

The result is a systemic mismatch. People with extraordinary cognitive abilities are placed into leadership positions without the full spectrum of intelligence required to lead humans responsibly. Someone can be exceptionally intelligent in the traditional sense and still be emotionally and socially underdeveloped. The results can be observed in most workplaces. When organizations fail to assess and value these dimensions, they repeatedly promote people who optimize systems and economic success while failing people. Gallup’s most recent global workforce study found that only 21% of employees worldwide are engaged at work and that 70% of team engagement is directly attributable to the quality of leadership they experience. And unlike leadership quality, the damage is easy to quantify. That is a leadership problem with a $438 billion annual price tag.

AI development reflects this failure at another scale. The dominant narratives around artificial intelligence focus on speed, dominance, capability, and inevitability, not human impact. The argument that development must continue because others will do it anyway is a familiar abdication of responsibility. It shifts moral accountability outward and disguises ego as realism. The impact is already visible.

There are no leaders without followers.

Leadership starts with ourselves and the acknowledgement that there are no leaders without followers. If we want to talk honestly about leadership, we also have to look at the role we play in following and sustaining leaders. The beliefs we hold about human nature, power, and our own agency all shape the environments we help create.

You can see this very clearly in the current narratives around the race for AGI, Artificial General Intelligence. We are being exposed to warnings that this technology could replace us, outpace us, and even contribute to the extinction of humanity. And while those fears should not be dismissed, the way we respond to them is what really matters.

We do have agency in how we use these tools. I can use ChatGPT or Claude to brainstorm ideas, polish my writing, challenge my thinking, or support my research. That is very different from handing over my thinking and what I produce altogether. The difference is whether I use a tool to strengthen my own capabilities or in a way that gradually weakens them.

We can either support or jeopardise our agency to drive change.

If we want to see less carelessness in leadership, maybe the place to start is much closer than we think. We can either support or jeopardise our agency to drive change. And the moment we become more conscious of what we are enabling, we become more capable of changing course.

Reading Bregman’s Humankind helped me step out of a view I had held for too long. A view that the world is simply too complex, too entrenched, and too far gone to change. This book did not make the complexity disappear or turn me into an idealist. I actually consider myself a possibility seeker. So I would say it gave me back something I had quietly lost: the belief that my own choices and actions still matter. That I have more agency than I had allowed myself to see.

Carelessness often starts with ourselves. But so does care.

That shift is exactly what led me to start The New Work Playbook. I know that one person or one platform will not fix careless leadership. What can make a difference though is when people start exchanging ideas, challenging each other’s thinking, and practicing leadership with care. Carelessness often starts with ourselves. But so does care.

Whether you agree with what I have written here or see it very differently,