When Power Corrupts Humility: A Kashmiri Dilemma

Arrogance is not born of power; it is born of spiritual poverty. Power merely reveals it.

Dr. Fiaz Maqbool Fazili

There is a question that has haunted me for decades: Why do people in Kashmir lose humility the moment they acquire power, position, or prosperity?

After travelling across the world for more than thirty-five years—from the deserts of Arabia to the cities of Europe—I have rarely witnessed such a rapid inflation of ego as I often find back home. A clerk promoted to a desk job turns arrogant overnight. A businessman with sudden success forgets his neighbours. A social worker who receives public applause becomes unapproachable. Even in religious or civil society circles, humility—the hallmark of spiritual and moral maturity—evaporates as soon as status arrives.

The Vanishing Virtue-Humility has always been a prized virtue in our cultural and spiritual heritage. Kashmiri civilisation was shaped by saints and sages—Sheikh-ul-Alam, Lall Ded, and countless mystics who taught modesty, restraint, and the awareness that fame and fortune are fleeting. They lived among the poor, served humanity, and found dignity in simplicity. Yet today, our public life—from politics to professional spaces—reveals a crisis of character. The moment a man gains access to influence, he seems to forget his roots and begins to talk in the language of superiority, entitlement, and self-importance.

Why this moral mutation? What in our environment encourages pride and discourages humility?

Sociological Roots: Kashmir has lived for long under scarcity—of opportunities, recognition, and justice. When scarcity becomes a way of life, the moment anyone climbs a step higher, he clings to it fiercely, afraid of falling back. Power becomes a shield against insecurity. Humility, in that sense, is seen not as a virtue but as weakness.
Generations that lived under suppression or economic struggle often internalise a psychology of deprivation: “Now that I have it, I must show it.” From government service to social media, success in Kashmir is frequently displayed, not shared. The craving for validation—the need to be noticed, praised, and obeyed—arises from long-standing feelings of inadequacy. A poor society, when suddenly exposed to wealth or status, often suffers from what sociologists call compensatory arrogance.
Ego as Defence,Psychology explains much of what sociology observes. The ego is a fragile construct—it inflates when one feels small inside. Many among us mistake respect for fear, and dignity for domination. We carry our wounds of past humiliation, and when life gives us a little authority, we unconsciously project power to heal those wounds.

You can see it everywhere—an official treating citizens harshly, a doctor talking down to patients, a cleric dismissing a question, a teacher humiliating a student. These are not merely behavioural flaws; they are signs of inner insecurity masquerading as confidence. In truth, arrogance is often a cry for recognition. The humble person doesn’t need to prove his worth; the arrogant one cannot stop trying.

The Loss of Spiritual Anchoring,many religious clerics believe in this theory .
In our tradition, humility (tawazu‘) was not just etiquette—it was theology. To be humble before God meant to be kind before men. Yet our religion today has been reduced for many to rituals without reflection, sermons without self-reform.

Our mosques and pulpits echo with the language of faith, but not always with the fragrance of character. When prayer fails to soften the heart, and when knowledge fails to produce compassion, the soul becomes dry. Such dryness manifests as pride. In the Sufi understanding, arrogance (kibr) is the root of all moral decay; it was arrogance that made Iblis fall, though he was a worshipper among angels. True spiritual consciousness begins with the awareness of one’s insignificance before the Creator. Once that sense fades, self-glorification takes its place.

The Political Legacy: Power as Privilege

The political history of Kashmir has also contributed to this behaviour. Power here has rarely been a public trust; it has been a private possession. For decades, politics meant patronage—one’s worth measured by one’s closeness to authority. That mindset has seeped into bureaucracies, institutions, and even NGOs.

The moment someone gets a title—chairman, president, director, advisor—he begins to behave as if he owns the office, not serves through it. The hierarchy of titles has replaced the hierarchy of values. In such an ecosystem, humility looks out of place; people fear it will be mistaken for weakness or lack of influence. The paradox is that those who flaunt power are often the weakest within—they depend on external symbols to feel relevant.

Social Media and the New Vanity

Technology has deepened the disease. Social media, which could have been a platform for dialogue and empathy, has turned into a theatre of ego. Every act of charity must be photographed; every meeting must be publicised; every gesture of goodwill must be documented. Likes and followers have replaced genuine respect.

This culture of self-promotion has made even the humble anxious—if you don’t project yourself, you are ignored. The tragedy is that even religious or humanitarian groups now compete in self-branding rather than service. We are producing a generation that values being seen over being useful.

The Cultural Contrast

During my travels—from the hospitals of Medina to the clinics of Geneva, from town councils in Switzerland to modest villages in Turkey—I observed a pattern opposite to ours. The higher a person’s position, the gentler his tone; the more respected a leader, the more accessible he was. Power there is associated with responsibility, not privilege.
When you are trusted to lead, you are expected to listen more, not talk more. The CEO stands in the cafeteria queue with nurses and janitors. The mayor cycles to work. The consultant apologises to a cleaner if he blocks her trolley. Humility is institutionalised—not through slogans but through systems of accountability and civic culture.

In contrast, in Kashmir, the smallest token of authority often inflates a man’s self-image. Perhaps because we have never truly experienced systems that reward humility and discipline; instead, we have lived in a moral economy where visibility matters more than virtue.

Coping in an Atmosphere of Arrogance

How does one survive—and stay sane—in an environment where arrogance dominates conversation, where courtesy is mistaken for weakness, and where humility has no social reward?

First, we must internalise the wisdom that humility is strength controlled, not strength lost. It is the courage to listen when you can silence, to forgive when you can punish, to yield when you can demand. The Prophet ﷺ said, “No one humbles himself for the sake of Allah except that Allah raises him in honour.” That is the antidote to the poison of self-importance.

Second, we must build inner immunity. When surrounded by boastful or ego-driven individuals, don’t react with resentment. Arrogance thrives on attention. The humble must learn the art of quiet endurance—sabr with dignity. Withdraw from toxic circles, but don’t withdraw from goodness. Keep doing what you must, without expecting applause.

Third, as a society, we need to redefine status. Our schools, offices, and religious institutions must reward character as much as performance. Leadership training should include empathy; success metrics should include humility. Civil society groups must set examples of modesty in speech and action. Power becomes dangerous only when it lacks self-discipline.

Towards a Culture of Grace
We cannot legislate humility, but we can nurture it. It begins in families—when parents teach children to say thank you to a servant, to greet a driver, to wait their turn, to accept correction. It grows in schools where teachers model respect, not superiority. It strengthens in workplaces where leaders admit mistakes.

A culture of grace is built slowly—one act of courtesy at a time. If every Kashmiri professional, official, and influencer remembered that power is temporary but reputation is permanent, humility would return as our collective ornament.

Tailpiece
The Mirror Within
The real battle is internal. The day you start believing that your success is entirely your own, you begin your moral decline. Every blessing—power, position, prosperity—is a trust (amanah). It can either elevate your soul or expose its emptiness.

The more we rise, the more we must bow. Mountains are tall because their roots go deep. Similarly, men of greatness remain grounded. Kashmir needs such grounded souls—those who can walk among the people without reminding them who they are.

The question that once baffled me no longer does. I now see that arrogance is not born of power; it is born of spiritual poverty. Power merely reveals it. The cure, therefore, lies not in removing power but in enriching the soul—with gratitude, remembrance, and the humility to know that everything we have is, in truth, a loan from the Almighty.