In the dimly lit corridors of the developing world’s politics, truth often walks with a limp — scarred, bent, and barely audible — while power parades in a blinding spotlight, gilded with slogans, spectacles, and silence. The question — what holds more value in political culture, ‘power’ or ‘truth’?—may appear philosophical, but its answer, as Nobel Laureate Paul Krugman bluntly puts it, is practical: ‘It is not important who has the truth; rather, the big issue in politics is who has the power.’ This seemingly cynical observation echoes painfully loud in nations where institutions remain fragile and the rule of law bends under the weight of political ambition.
This world of politics, particularly in postcolonial, post-authoritarian, and transition-struck nations, frequently reveals an unsettling paradox. As philosopher Hannah Arendt warned, politics, when divorced from truth, becomes susceptible to totalitarianism. Arendt described how authoritarian regimes rise not by convincing the public of a particular ideology but by eroding the very notion of truth, replacing facts with manufactured realities. In that sense, the politics of the developing world hasn’t simply forgotten truth — it has strategically exiled it.
Henry Adams once mused, ‘Politics hides a lot of information.’ What was once a critique has now become the status quo. Information is not just hidden; it is weaponised. The mass rewriting of history, the elimination of dissent, the suppression of facts, and the amplification of half-truths form the bedrock of many political regimes. The leaders of today don’t just seek to govern bodies — they aim to colonise memory. Consider the textbooks of many such nations: former dictators are called ‘nation builders’, and heroic uprisings are erased or diluted. Truth becomes a casualty not of error but by design.
Why does this trend persist? Perhaps a psychological lens can help. Cognitive dissonance, a theory developed by social psychologist Leon Festinger, explains how people experience mental discomfort when holding two conflicting beliefs. To reduce this discomfort, they often reject facts that challenge their worldview. When societies are historically wounded — by colonisation, poverty, or ethnic conflict — they become fertile ground for cognitive dissonance. They cling to comforting myths, often provided by those in power, even if those myths are built on lies. Power seduces the masses not through reason but through the emotional ease it offers.
Nowhere is this clearer than in the fable-like anecdote of the young idealist trying to practice ‘honest politics’. When he jumps from a high-rise in pursuit of noble ideals and breaks all his bones, he is given a grim piece of advice by the old man: ‘Be honest yourself, but do not trust other politicians.’ That cynical mentorship reflects a brutal truth. In a political culture where betrayal is the default setting, trust becomes a luxury few can afford. Political scientist Guillermo O’Donnell has written extensively about the ‘delegative democracies’ of Latin America — political systems where presidents claim to be democratic but operate in autocratic ways, demanding loyalty without transparency. This applies equally well to large swathes of Asia and Africa, where power does not circulate but calcifies.
Sociologist Max Weber categorised power into three forms: traditional, charismatic, and legal-rational. In many developing nations, charismatic power dominates — a leader’s personal mythology outweighs institutional legitimacy. As a result, political survival becomes a game of narrative control, not policy achievement. What matters isn’t what’s true but what is made to appear true. Today’s fallen dictator becomes tomorrow’s rebranded saviour, with a little help from media manipulation and public amnesia.
This brings us to the ugly underbelly of political culture: the assassination of character. It is no longer sufficient to oppose a politician’s policies — his or her entire existence must be invalidated. False allegations, doctored videos, and whispered conspiracies circulate like wildfire. In many developing countries, politics is less about governance and more about gladiatorship. Destroying your opponent becomes the fastest route to legitimacy. British philosopher Bertrand Russell once said, ‘The fundamental cause of trouble in the world today is that the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt.’ And perhaps this is why truth stumbles: it does not shout; it deliberates. In a political arena where volume trumps veracity, truth simply cannot compete.
Yet, there is something deeply tragic here. When truth is sidelined for too long, its absence becomes systemic. Institutions designed to uphold it — courts, parliaments, election commissions — become paper tigers. The result is what psychologist Erich Fromm might have called ‘the pathology of normalcy’. Societies begin to normalise deceit, reward cunning, and ostracise integrity. A young politician who once believed in honesty is told, ‘Honest politics is not profitable.’ And in a deeply transactional political environment, profit — not principle — is the only metric of success.
This degeneration also contributes to another crisis: the erosion of mutual respect among political actors. Instead of adversaries, politicians treat each other as existential threats. This fuels political polarisation, where dialogue is impossible and violence becomes inevitable. The entire political landscape morphs into a battlefield of vendettas. Each regime change is followed by purges, imprisonments, and a rewriting of political history. In such a scenario, justice becomes selective, and truth, once again, is caught in the crossfire.
But what is the way forward? Can truth ever reclaim its place from power? Political philosopher John Rawls argued for a society based on ‘justice as fairness’. For such a society to exist, its political actors must be held accountable through fair processes — not propaganda. Political psychologist Drew Westen also emphasised the role of emotion in decision-making. According to him, facts alone can’t win arguments; they must be embedded in compelling narratives. Hence, to restore truth in politics, societies must invest in telling honest stories — through education, media, and literature — that resonate with their people’s emotions and experiences.
The media, in particular, holds immense potential. In a healthy democracy, it should act as the fourth estate, checking power and illuminating truth. But in the developing world, many media houses are either co-opted or coerced. They survive not by exposing injustice but by echoing it. Still, the rise of digital platforms offers some hope. Independent journalists and citizen reporters now have tools to challenge dominant narratives. But they too face character assassination, legal intimidation, and, in some cases, fatal consequences.
To build a new political culture, a fundamental shift is required — not just in policy but in perception. As Mahatma Gandhi once said, ‘You may never know what results come of your actions. But if you do nothing, there will be no result.’ Change will not come overnight. It will come when people stop clapping for orators who lie well and start voting for leaders who serve quietly. It will come when citizens demand transparency, not theatrics; policies, not platitudes.
The battle between truth and power is not new, but its stakes have never been higher. In the politics of the developing world, truth has long been a casualty. Yet, its revival is not impossible. But it requires courage — of the kind the young politician had before his bones were broken. Perhaps he will rise again — not because power allowed him to, but because truth, even when broken, still holds the power to heal a nation.
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ÌýHM Nazmul Alam is an academic, journalist, and political analyst.
