By Robert Clements
I Take the Blame..!
Today, the Prime Minister lands in Navi Mumbai to inaugurate a gleaming new international airport. Cameras click, drones hum, and television anchors shout themselves hoarse describing how “under his leadership” a dream has taken flight. Later in the day, he descends into the city to inaugurate the new underground metro line—another “visionary” achievement, they say.
The television channels are in overdrive, anchors glowing like LED bulbs, repeating words such as historic, landmark, transformative, as if a dictionary of adjectives had been emptied into their teleprompters. What they forget to mention is that these projects were started long before the leader’s convoy first rolled down their dusty sites.
Engineers, planners, and workers who actually toiled for years to make it happen, of course, are too sweaty and anonymous to be part of the frame. After all, who needs masons when you’ve got a good photo op?
But here’s what I wonder—since our leaders love standing before airports and metros and saying, “I take the credit,” shouldn’t they also stand before a few other places and say, “I take the blame”?
Picture this: a political leader, sleeves rolled up, standing in Manipur, before the smouldering remains of burnt houses and shattered lives. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, flashing his best smile, “I take the blame!”
For the women who ran in fear, for the families torn apart, for the silence that stretched for months—I take the blame.
Or imagine him before a family who’s just lost their daughter to a brutal crime, saying, “Yes, I take the blame.”
Or maybe outside a jobless youth’s home, holding a press conference to declare, “I take the blame for your unemployment!”
Or in front of a burnt church or a lynched man’s house, whispering, “I take the blame!”
Wouldn’t that be leadership worth applauding?
But sadly, that scene remains as fictional as a politician refusing a garland. When bridges fall, when women cry for justice, or prices rise faster than a hot-air balloon, our leaders are suddenly missing in action—probably on a foreign tour, hugging someone or waving from the steps of an aircraft.
And what about us, the public? We clap till our palms hurt. We wave flags, we chant names, we post selfies with the background of whatever they’ve just cut a ribbon for. “Wow, what a leader!” we say, not realizing that the person taking credit for the airport never lifted a hammer, never turned a bolt, never sweated a drop, nor even planned the airport. The real heroes are the nameless engineers, the labourers who worked through rain and heat, and the planners who fought red tape thicker than concrete.
But when disaster strikes, the spotlight swivels away. Suddenly, there’s no “visionary leadership.” There’s only a “technical glitch,” “an unfortunate incident,” or “circumstances beyond control.” The blame passes faster than a political promise before elections—from minister to bureaucrat, bureaucrat to engineer, engineer to contractor, and finally to that ever-reliable scapegoat: “act of God.”
Nobody says, “I take the blame.” And maybe that’s the real tragedy—not just that mistakes happen, but that no one owns them.
True leadership, dear reader, isn’t about basking in the glory of completed projects, but about standing firm when things fall apart. Leadership isn’t a photoshoot; it’s a mirror. A mirror that reflects both triumph and failure. But in our country, mirrors are carefully angled to show only the flattering side.
I sometimes think what would happen if our leaders had to inaugurate every event that happened under their watch. Would they stand in front of crumbling schools and whisper, “I take the blame”? Or before empty hospital beds during a pandemic and murmur, “I should have done more”? Or at a farmers’ protest and say, “I failed to listen”?
Now that would be an inauguration worth remembering.
But we, the citizens, are partly to blame too. We’ve become so used to worshipping power that we’ve forgotten to question it. We’re dazzled by lights, impressed by long motorcades, and hypnotized by speeches that begin with “My fellow citizens” and end with “I, I, I.” The “we” of democracy has been replaced by the “me” of politics.
So maybe the next time you see a ribbon being cut, pause before clapping. Ask yourself: who deserves the applause—the one holding the scissors or the thousands who held the shovels? The one waving from the stage or the ones who built the stage?
And perhaps, when another tragedy strikes and the cameras point elsewhere, ask again: where are those who said, “I take the credit”? Why can’t they now say, “I take the blame”?
Because, my dear reader, a nation doesn’t rise on credit—it rises on accountability. And until those who seek power also seek responsibility, we will continue to be a land where airports soar but ethics crash-land.
So today, as flashbulbs pop and another ribbon is cut, maybe we should clap a little less and ask a little more. Because the true test of leadership isn’t how many airports you inaugurate—it’s how many broken bridges, broken systems, and broken hearts you stand beside and say, with humility and courage, “I take the blame.”
Until that day, the only thing flying higher than our airports… is political hypocrisy…!
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