Political folklore loves the image of the unbending leader: the iron-spined figure who refuses to change course regardless of opposition, protest, or plain common sense. History books often dress such obstinacy in the noble language of “principle.” In reality, it is often something far less flattering.
In the 1990s, the British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher famously declared, “You turn if you want to; the lady’s not for turning.” The remark, delivered during fierce debates over the direction of Britain and the European project, became a symbol of what admirers called principled leadership. Her cabinet and supporters knew exactly where she stood.
But the same rigidity was also visible in her domestic policies. The notorious poll tax—a council tax imposed not on property value but on the number of occupants—was widely perceived as protecting the wealthy land-owning minority while placing disproportionate burdens on ordinary people. The result was predictable: riots erupted across the United Kingdom. Yet the government refused to change course until the political damage was already done.
The pattern did not end there. Years later, Labour Prime Minister Tony Blair marched Britain into the Iraq War alongside George W. Bush. Despite massive public opposition and dissent within his own cabinet, Blair pressed ahead. The principled stand narrative again surfaced. But the price of that “strength” was the resignation of senior figures such as Robin Cook, who walked away rather than support a war he believed unjustified.
These episodes are routinely cited as examples of strong leadership.
I disagree.
Leadership in a democracy should not be measured by a leader’s ability to ignore their people. If a leader fails to persuade the public of a particular course of action, the burden lies on that leader—not the public—to reconsider. Democracy is not a stubborn contest between ruler and ruled; it is a conversation.
A leader who listens is often mocked as weak. Yet the current British Prime Minister Keir Starmer has recently been criticised for doing precisely that—taking public opinion seriously and adjusting policy accordingly. Instead of applauding democratic responsiveness, critics raise eyebrows and whisper the dreaded word: weakness.
But what exactly is weak about listening?
Treating public opinion as irrelevant diminishes democracy itself. It creates a political culture that romanticises strongmen—leaders who ride roughshod over their citizens in the name of decisiveness. History repeatedly shows where that road leads, and it rarely ends well.
The Iraq War is a case in point. Bush and Blair drove headlong into a conflict whose consequences still haunt the Middle East and the reputations of those who launched it. Today we see similar patterns emerging in the actions and rhetoric of figures such as Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu, who appear convinced that repeating yesterday’s mistakes might somehow produce a different outcome. History, it seems, is a teacher whose lessons some leaders refuse to attend.
If anything, Starmer’s willingness to adjust course places him on the more defensible side of history. Leadership should involve the humility to recognise when the public is unconvinced and the wisdom to reconsider.
The opposite tendency is visible elsewhere. In Nigeria, President Bola Tinubu unilaterally removed the subsidy on petroleum products, unleashing a wave of economic hardship that pushed millions deeper into multidimensional poverty. Whether one supports subsidy reform or not, the absence of broad public persuasion or consensus has left many Nigerians feeling that policy was imposed rather than agreed.
That is the difference between governance and command.
Democracy is not supposed to produce infallible leaders. It is supposed to produce accountable ones. The willingness to listen, reconsider, and sometimes reverse course is not weakness—it is the very mechanism through which democratic legitimacy survives.
The “lady not for turning” may sound heroic in a political speech. But in a democracy, the ability to turn—when the people clearly demand it—is often the true mark of leadership.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 