The Cost of Losing Institutional Memory

Recently, I found myself requesting a document confirming a service that I had genuinely completed when I was a teacher. The college where I studied was able to provide an official certificate because the record of my service existed within the institution. However, when the document required confirmation from a higher authority (the University), the process became unexpectedly complicated. Before the document could be endorsed, the person concerned asked me to provide further evidence proving that the 1-year programme I completed and which the college subsequently endorsed had really existed in the first place.

It was a surprising moment of reflection. The question was not whether I had completed that program. Rather it was about whether the institution still remembered the history behind initiating such programs which I happened to a part of. 

A few years ago, I wrote about Data Democratisation (December 4, 2022) and the importance of making information accessible. I argued that public institutions should move away from restrictive information practices and instead make data more openly accessible, reducing unnecessary bureaucratic barriers so that needy people can obtain the information they need more easily. At that time, my focus was primarily on improving access and transparency in how information is shared and retrieved.

Today, I realise there is an even deeper challenge. Before information can be accessed, it must first be preserved.

However, accessibility without institutional memory is like building a library whose books have slowly disappeared from the shelves. Even if people have the right to access knowledge, that knowledge becomes meaningless if it has not been properly documented, stored, and passed on.

This experience led me to reflect on the importance of institutional memory. By institutional memory, I refer to the collective knowledge, experiences, records and practices that an organisation accumulates over time. It is the invisible thread that connects the past, present and future of an institution. It allows current leaders and employees to understand, for example, why certain course or programmes existed, how decisions were made (e.g., to amend or remove) and what historical circumstances shaped the organisation.

Without strong institutional memory, organisations slowly lose parts of their own identity. As times goes by, leadership changes and systems evolve, valuable knowledge can disappear. New generations inherit responsibility but may not inherit the historical understanding required to protect that responsibility.

The consequence is that genuine events (for example, in this case, the program I completed and the evidence of my service) begin to require proof. Past students, employees or citizens may find themselves having to demonstrate experiences that institutions themselves once created, managed and recorded. The issue is not that people are making unsupported claims. The issue is that institutional memory has not travelled successfully across generations.

Documentation is, therefore, not merely an administrative obligation. It is an act of preserving institutional truth. Records such as policy documents, programme handbooks, academic calendars, circulars, meeting minutes, annual reports and curriculum documents serve as the foundation of organisational memory. They allow institutions to explain not only what happened, but also why it happened. 

For universities and public institutions (e.g., colleges and schools), preserving institutional memory should be considered a core responsibility. These organisations do not only deliver services, but they also carry histories. Every programme introduced, every policy implemented, and every decision made contributes to a larger institutional story.

Maintaining this memory requires deliberate strategies. Institutions should establish proper archival systems, digitise historical records (e.g. building websites), create searchable databases and ensure that important knowledge is transferred during leadership transitions. For example, in my case, it was a shame that the key official who was responsible for endorsing my document was unaware of the one-year program that her institution had a hand in creating, and later removed. Documentation should not be treated as paperwork that is stored and forgotten. It should be treated as an investment in continuity and accountability.

While making information available is important, preserving information is the necessary foundation that makes accessibility possible. At the end, a library is valuable not only because people can enter it, but because the books remain on its shelves. 

Playing Not to Lose vs Playing to Win

 

Watching how Argentina versus England approached their World Cup semi-final match today took me back to my Health and Physical Education (HPE) classes, where I first came across some popular ideas from Sports Psychology: Playing Not to Lose and Playing to Win.

This well-known phrase is used to describe the contrasting mindset of the sports players or team. But in our everyday conversation of matches, teams are usually described as either defensive or offensive. That does not mean that it is incorrect. 

 

The difference is that, Playing Not to Lose and Playing to Win describes a mental attitude whereas being defensive and offensive are tactical choices. So, there is a subtle difference. For example, a team playing to win often looks offensive, but a team can actually play defensively and while still having the mindset of playing to win. 

 

Playing Not to Lose is the mindset of those who are ahead, at least at that point in the game time. They play so that their current position or outcome (e.g., score) stays unchanged. To do this, tactically, they often show an defensive play, trying to stop other team's chances rather than pushing forward. The team slows the tempo of the game, absorbing pressure from their opponents. 

On the other hand, playing to win is the mindset of those who refuse to accept their current position, whether ahead, level, or behind. Such teams play so that the outcome keeps moving in their favour. Tactically, to do this, they often show offensive play, trying to score against the other team from every possible chance. The team maintains or increases the tempo of the game, constantly applying pressure to their opponents.   

England: Playing Not to Lose

England was aggressive and dominant for the first half of the match, right up until they took a 1-0 lead. After scoring the goal, the team spent the majority of the remaining time playing not to lose.

The players dropped back. The substitutions made by the coach was visibly defensive by changing those in the defence lines using tall players to control crosses from Argentina. This narrow approach invited pressure from Argentina and ultimately backfired when Argentina capitalised with two late goals to secure a 2-1 victory. 

 

Argentina: Playing to Win

Argentina, by contrast, was Playing to win. Until England’s only goal in the 55 minutes, they had been largely dominated. However, even while trailing, they maintained an aggressive attitude and kept attacking rather than accepting that 1-0 score line. Their persistence in the last minutes of the game, of course assisted by one and only, the Goat Lionel Messi, produced two goals that eventually sealed the match, securing a dramatic comeback and booked a spot in the World Cup final. 

 

Analysing these two teams together, one can easily understand their contrast in stability. England’s mindset was reactive, dictated entirely by the scoreline. By scoring one goal, it was enough to make them defensive. On the other hand, Argentina’s did not change how they played even after conceding. Instead, the scoreline moved their mindset differently. 

Fighting. 

Levelling. 

and then,

Leading. 

Part | Whole Analysis: What a Recent Bullying Incident Tells Us About Our Society

A video recently circulated on social media showing a group of schoolgirls physically attacking another girl inside a classroom. Some students stood and watched. Others recorded it on their phones. Within hours, the footage had spread widely, and public reaction was swift and fierce.

 

People were angry. Rightly so. A child was hurt, in a place that was supposed to be safe, while others watched and did nothing. The outrage was directed at the students who attacked her, at the school for failing to prevent it, and at bystanders who chose to film rather than help.

 

But as the heat of the anger is almost settled, a harder and more honest question remains.

 

What does this incident reveal about the relationships in that classroom or learning environment?

 

What does it tell us about the kind of emotional environment those students were living in every day? 

 

And what does it say about us, as a society, in how we respond when a child is harmed?

 

This incident, as specific and painful as it is, is not just about girls or this classroom. It is a fragment. And like all fragments, it carries the shape of the whole it came from. To look closely at what happened in that classroom is to see something about the larger world those children live in every day.

To interpret this incident, I draw upon Scheff’s Social Bond Theory that focus on quality of human connections and what happens when they break down. 

 

Understanding Through the Lens of Social Bond Theory

 

Thomas Scheff, a micro-sociologist, argue that human beings are, at their core, relational. We do not simply live alongside one another. We need to feel recognised, respected, valued, and included. These are not luxuries. They are social and emotional needs. When those needs are met, people feel that they belong. When they are not met, something begins to go wrong in the way people treat each other.

 

Scheff describe these connections between people as social bonds. Healthy social bonds are the invisible threads that hold a group together. They allow people to disagree, to compete, even to frustrate each other, while still treating one another with basic dignity. When those threads weaken or break, the conditions for exclusion, humiliation, and violence grow. 

I examine four of his core concepts: attunement, alienation, engulfment, and shame. For each one, I follow a specific method called Part | Whole analysis (elaborated in the next section).

 

Attunement

At the centre of healthy social bonds is what Scheff calls attunement. It simply means the ability to recognise and understand another person’s feelings and experiences. It is not about always agreeing. It is about remaining sensitive to the fact that the person in front of us is a human being with an inner life that matters.

In a classroom with genuine attunement, students may argue and compete, but they still listen to one another. They still notice when someone is in pain or is hurting. That recognition, however small, is what keeps the social fabric of a group intact.

 

The bullying incident reveals a serious breakdown of attunement. The students who attacked the girl showed no visible recognition of her fear, her pain, or her dignity. The students who watched and filmed showed no visible impulse to intervene or help. From Scheff’s perspective, this is more than poor behaviour. It is a sign that the emotional connections within that group had already been seriously damaged, long before the camera started recording.

And this breakdown did not grow in that classroom alone. It is the part that reflects a larger whole. The same emotional coldness visible between those students mirrors a broader pattern in the society around them, one where busyness, individualism, and the pace of modern life have quietly eroded the habit of genuinely noticing one another. When a society stops practising attunement in its homes, its communities, and its public life, its classrooms will eventually show the same absence.

 

Alienation

When social bonds break down, people experience alienation. This is not simply loneliness. It is the experience of being cut off, of feeling invisible or unwanted within a group one is physically part of.

 

The girl who was attacked was positioned inside the classroom. She was surrounded by her schoolmates. And yet she was completely outside the circle of recognition, care, and belonging that the group extended to itself. The attack made that exclusion visible and public. In that moment, she was not treated as a member of the classroom or school community. She was treated as someone who did not belong to it at all. That is alienation in its most painful form. 

But she is the part, not the whole. Ask honestly: how many people in our society today sit within communities, within families, within institutions, and still feel they do not truly belong? The girl in that classroom is a small and visible version of a quieter and more widespread experience. Physical presence without genuine inclusion is not a problem that begins or ends at the school gate.

 

 

Engulfment

Scheff also describe a very different but equally dangerous problem, which he calls engulfment. This happens when a person becomes so absorbed into a group that their own independent judgement begins to disappear. They act with the group, think with the group, and stop asking whether what the group is doing is right.

 

Looking at the behaviour of those who participated in or encouraged the attack, engulfment is worth considering seriously. Not all of them may have acted out of personal cruelty. Some may have joined in because the group was doing it. Some may have stayed silent because speaking up felt impossible in that moment. Group pressure, particularly among young people, is a powerful and often invisible force. It can pull individuals into behaviour they would never choose on their own.

 

This creates a striking and painful contrast within the same incident. The victim experiences alienation, being pushed outside the group. Some of the perpetrators may be experiencing engulfment, being swallowed so deeply inside the group that their own conscience is temporarily suppressed. Scheff calls this pattern bimodal alienation, and it helps explain why bullying so often happens collectively rather than alone.

Again, this classroom dynamic is the part. The whole is a society where collective pressure routinely overrides individual conscience, where people stay silent in the face of wrongdoing because the cost of speaking up feels too high. The children in that room were not inventing a new behaviour. They were rehearsing one they had already absorbed from the world around them.

 

Shame

Scheff understands shame not simply as embarrassment but as a signal that a social bond had been threatened or broken. Shame arises when a person is humiliated, excluded, or publicly degraded. It is the emotional experience of being cast out.

 

The girl in the video was publicly attacked, in front of her mates, in a space where she had every right to feel safe. The shame she is likely carrying is profound. It is not just the physical pain. It is the knowledge that others watched, that others filmed, and that no one stepped in. That kind of experience leaves a mark that punishment alone cannot address.

 

When shame is not acknowledged or addressed, it does not simply disappear. It can transform into something else, including anger, bitterness, and in some cases, the impulse to hurt others. This does not shift blame or excuse what happened. But it reminds us that emotional experiences, left unattended, tend to resurface in ways we do not expect.

And here, if we are honest, the part mirrors the whole most uncomfortably of all. Our society, like many others, has a pattern of responding to painful public incidents with a flood of visible outrage followed by quiet forgetting. That is itself a form of collective unaddressed shame. We see something wrong. We feel the discomfort. And then we move on before anything is genuinely repaired. The individual victim's experience of being seen and then abandoned is not so different from how society treats its own difficult truths. What we do not sit with, we cannot heal. And what we cannot heal, we will keep repeating.

And so, if each of these moments points beyond itself, if the broken attunement in one classroom reflects a society that has grown less tender, if one girl's alienation echoes the quiet exclusion felt by many, if the engulfment of a peer group mirrors the silencing of individual conscience at every level of public life, and if unaddressed shame recurs in both the individual and the collective, then we are no longer simply looking at an incident. We are looking at ourselves. What happened in that classroom is the part. We are the whole. And the distance between what we witnessed and the values we claim to hold is the measure of the work still ahead.

Each of these concepts, taken together, points beyond the classroom. And that is precisely where Scheff's idea of part | whole analysis comes in.

Part | Whole Analysis

Part | whole analysis looks at a smaller piece of social life, event, or situation as a window to understand broader patterns, culture, values, and problems within a commouivtny or society. 

 

For example, the recent classroom bullying incident is the part. Our society is the whole. And the incident, as painful as it is, gives us a rare and honest window into what is actually happening at every level between them.

 

The victim invites us to ask who in our schools and communities feels excluded, unseen, or unsafe. She is not the only one. She is simply the one whose experience became visible.

 

The perpetrators invite us to ask what kind of peer culture is shaping young people. What are the social pressures they are living under? What does belonging mean to them, and what do they feel entitled to do to protect it?

 

The bystanders invite us to ask what we teach children about responsibility and courage. Silence in the face of cruelty is not neutral. It has a weight. Those who watched and filmed are part of this story too, and understanding their position requires honesty rather than simple condemnation.

 

The classroom invites us to ask what the daily quality of relationships between students actually looks like. Not what the school policy says it should look like, but what it genuinely feels like for the students who sit in those rooms every day.

 

The school invites us to ask whether institutions are truly built around the wellbeing of students, or whether they are primarily built around rules, rankings, and reputation. A school that responds to bullying only after a video goes viral has already failed in a quieter and more ordinary way.

 

Our society invites us to ask what values we are passing on to the next generation. Not the values written in policy documents or stated in public speeches, but the values visible in how we treat people who are harmed, how long our concern lasts, and whether we follow through.

 

The incident belongs to all of us. We may not have been in that classroom, but the conditions that made the incident possible did not grow there alone. They grew in the broader environment that all of us, together, are responsible for shaping.

 

 

Looking Beyond Discipline

 

Scheff argues that social life revolves around four ongoing processes: forming bonds, maintaining bonds, disrupting bonds, and repairing bonds. Schools are generally well practised at the first two. They are far less equipped for the last one.

 

When something like this happens, the instinct is to reach for punishment. Punishment is not without value. There must be accountability. The students who attacked another child need to understand the gravity of what they did and face real consequences for it. That is not in question.

But punishment, on its own, does not repair what was broken. It does not restore the victim’s sense of safety and belonging. It does not help the perpetrators genuinely understand the harm they caused. It does not address the bystanders’ experience of having watched something wrong without intervening. And it does not change the emotional environment that allowed this to happen in the first place.

 

Support for the victim must be genuine, sustained, and led by her own needs. For now, the victim requires not just formal support but human connection. Someone who listens. Someone who stays. Her sense of dignity and belonging needs to be actively rebuilt, not just acknowledged in a meeting and then left alone.

 

Accountability for the perpetrators should go beyond suspension or disciplinary action. It should involve a process where they are required to reflect honestly on what they did, to understand its impact, and to engage in some form of meaningful repair. Restorative approaches, where harm is acknowledged and responsibility is taken in a structured and supported way, are far more likely to produce genuine change than punishment alone. Restorative approaches to conflict and harm should be adopted seriously and resourced properly, not treated as an optional add-on.

 

More than everything, I would like to see institutional responsibility, the part that is most easily avoided and forgotten in our context. Schools must look honestly at the relational environment they have created or allowed to develop. They must ask whether students feel genuinely safe and included, whether teachers or school counsellors are well-equipped to recognise and respond to social and emotional distress, and whether the systems in place are built around the wellbeing of students rather than the management of problems after they escalate.

Each of these failures at the institutional level is not merely a school problem. It is the part that reflects a whole-of-system failure. A school that only responds after a video goes viral is doing what the wider society does: reacting to visibility rather than attending to reality. The institutional reluctance to look inward mirrors the social reluctance to hold uncomfortable truths long enough to act on them.

And yes, public concern also carries a responsibility. The outrage that floods social media in the days after such an incident is real, but it fades so quickly from our memory until it occurs in a same or other ways. From a sociological point of view, I ask: 

Did the concern translate into anything lasting? 

Was the victim still supported after the incident? 

Were required changes actually made? 

If not, then society expressed just an emotion. An emotion that has expired before it was meant to bring an impact. 

Interestingly, Scheff’s emphasis on social bonds is not foreign to Bhutan. Many of the values embedded in Bhutanese society, including compassion (སྙིང་རྗེ་), harmony, interdependence (རྟེན་འབྲེལ་), reciprocity, mutual responsibility, and care for others, reflect the same understanding that human wellbeing depends on the quality of our relationships. In many ways, the concerns raised by Social Bonds Theory echo principles that Bhutan has long regarded as central to a healthy society.

 

What Next? 

Bhutan has built its national identity around values that are unique to the rest of the world. Gross National Happiness (GNH) that we proclaim in every public speech is not a slogan. It is a commitment to placing human wellbeing, including emotional, psychological, and social wellbeing, at the heart of national life. 

 

Our Buddhist values of Ley Judrey, Tha-damtsig, Driglam Choesum, compassion, interconnectedness, and care for others are not just religious teachings in books. They are part of what it means to be Bhutanese. 

 

And so, it is worth asking, where are those values in that classroom or school? 

 

This is not a question meant to shame or to point fingers. It is a question that only a society serious about its own values can afford to sit with. If compassion is real, it must show up in the way students treat each other. If GNH is genuine, it must be felt by every child in every classroom, including the children who are most vulnerable and most easily forgotten. 

 

The gap between the values our society holds and what happened in that video is itself a Part | Whole story. The classroom is the part. The nation’s stated commitment to happiness and human dignity is the whole. And the distance between the two is not a reason for despair. It is a precise measure of where the work needs to happen.

The incident does not merely show the behaviour of a few young people. It also reflects broader social changes such as increasing individualism, weakening community relationships, reduced emphathy, growing influence of social media, normalisation of humiliation as entertainment, and declining attention to emotional wellbeing.  

 

So, what can we do collectively?

 

Schools as learning institution must create genuine (I repeat, a genuine) space for students to talk about their relationships, their difficulties, and their emotional experiences, not just in a formal counselling session, but as a normal part of school life. Compassion should not only be a subject on a timetable or during the auspicious prayer time. It should be the atmosphere of the room. 

 

Professional learning should equip teachers and school leaders with practical skills to identify exclusion, bullying, and emotional distress before they escalate. A teacher who can recognise when a student is being excluded, before it reaches a breaking point, is one of the most valuable things a school can have. I have practically done this over-a-decade teaching service with multiple students and always learnt nuances of student experiences. And honestly speaking, this is how I was intrigued to pursue my doctoral study focusing on Social Bonds theory. 

 

Communities, including families, parents, elders, religious figures, and local leaders, have a role to play in reinforcing the message that every child deserves to belong and to be treated with dignity. These values do not live only in schools. They live, or fail to live, in every relationship young people witness and experience growing up.

 

And at the national level, student wellbeing, school counselling, and social and emotional learning deserve serious policy attention and real investment.

 

Bhutan does not need to import these values from elsewhere. They are already here. They are written into the country’s philosophy, its traditions, and its sense of itself. It is even pronounced in the Vision statement of the Education Ministry. The work ahead is not about finding new values. It is about allowing the ones already held to live more fully in the everyday life of every school, every classroom, and every child.

 

The girl in that video deserved a classroom where she felt she belonged. Every child does. She is the part. Every child in every classroom across this country is the whole. And a nation that means what it says about happiness cannot afford to leave any part of that whole behind. 

Suggested Readings 

 

Scheff, T. (1990a). Microsociology: Discourse, emotion, and social structure. The University of Chicago Press.  

 

Scheff, T. (1990b). Socialisation of emotions: Pride and shame as casual agents. In T.D. Kemper (Ed.), Research agendas in the sociology in emotions. State University of New York Press.

 

Scheff, T. (1994). Bloody revenge: Emotions, nationalism, and war. Westview Press. 

 

Scheff, T. (1997). Emotions, the social bond, and human reality. Cambridge University Press.

 

Scheff, T. (1999). Being mentally ill: A sociological theory (3rd ed.). Aldine DeGruyter.

 

Scheff, T. (2006). Goffman unbound: A new paradigm for social science. Routledge.

 

Scheff, T. (2013). Repression of emotion: A danger to modern societies? In N.Demertzis (Ed.), Emotions in politics: The affect dimension in political tension (p. 84-105). Palgrave Macmillan. 

 

The Tragedy of the Commons

The recurring reports of the most insidious man-made virus, widely known as Corruption, across mainstream and social media remind one of Garrett Hardin’s Tragedy of the Commons. 

No matter how moral and respectable a nation may be, how spiritual and holy its people claim to be, and how generous and philanthropic the rich and powerful are, I believe, there exists no place on Earth that has escaped the clutch of this artificial virus. The most common symptoms of this viral infection include bribery, nepotism, favouritism, misuse of power, embezzlement of public funds, rigged contracts, political patronage, and exploitation of public office for private gain. 

When its infection spreads silently and relentlessly, it weakens the health of our institutions, erodes the fabric of public trust, and leaves societies exposed to inequality, inefficiency, and decay.

 

Tragedy of the Commons

The Tragedy of the Commons refers to a situation where something that is shared by everyone (e.g., land, water, or public fund) is overused or exhausted because individuals act in self-interest for a short-term gain. 

The key message of this phenomenon is that when individual selfishness rules over collective good, it is everyone that eventually suffers (hence tragedy). It is a moral and social issue that reflects how human greed, corruption, and neglect can destroy what we all depend on together. 

In today’s world, this analogy can be used to understand the health of our public systems, institutions, and national wealth. For example, when individuals or groups take more than their fair share or use what belongs to everyone for their own gain, it is the society that suffers at the end. 

Modern Examples 

Misuse of public funds. 

When officials or influential individuals (e.g., politicians) use public money and natural resources for personal enrichment through corrupt practices, they shrink or deplete the nation’s shared wealth and resources. While the powerful grow richer through such practices, it is only the poor and innocent who suffer, losing access to basic services such as health care, education, and infrastructure. 

Exploitation of public institutions. 

Another example is when people in authority use their connections to secure jobs, contracts, or privileges for friends and relatives. When a few individuals engage in such self-centred practices, it is the public trust and merit-based systems that are victimised and eventually forced to collapse. When such practices keep happening, institutions lose their credibility and efficiency.

Consequences 

The scar left by this viral infection can be deep and long-lasting. The shared resources that should serve everyone will become exhausted. 

The gap (inequality) between haves and have-nots will widen. This means, while a small number of people gain wealth and power, it will be the majority that would be left with fewer opportunities and weaker systems of support.

Public trust and confidence will collapse and decay, and people will start losing faith in anything that requires collective action. By then, institution of any kind will lose their purpose and efficiency. 

If left unchecked, the most non-curable consequence in the society would be its long-term instability. As inequality and mistrust grow, societies face protests, unrest, and even violence, social phenomena that are not very new to every nation these days. 

As Hardin cautioned, when the commons are left unguarded against human greed, collective ruin becomes inevitable. Unless societies develop moral antibodies through integrity, transparency, or shared responsibility, the tragedy of the commons will continue to unfold as everyday drama within our society.

 

The Inconvenient Truth?

 

 

Astronaut Garan’s perspective is a striking metaphor, yet it does not leave me enchanted. Not because I dislike the astronaut or his opinion, but some truths such as this are already known to us. These facts are clearly visible and tangible, even as we stand here on Earth. Obviously, I can easily understand problems faced on earth, without even travelling to any part of the space. 

My question is, 

Do we really need to leave Earth to see what’s broken? 

While his message is thoughtful considering his perspectives from outer space, at its heart, it only echoes the same pressing discomfort that urgently calls to confront our misplaced priorities. 

 

The Lies We Live

As stated earlier, I do not feel a need for one to travel to another orbit, only to realise that Earth is whole. Also, it is well known to us that earth is the only planet that is suitable to call our home. Sadly, we witness our planet increasingly getting compartmentalised and living fractured lives. Using Garan’s lines, there are no borders from space. But, ironically, man-made borders have become the sources of tensions and conflicts on earth. 

The greatest threats to humanity today are not natural disasters, but heinous man-made catastrophes. Who creates wars, inequality, environmental degradation, and the climate crisis? These are not miscarriage of nature, but purposeful consequences impregnated by human greed and ego.

Wars displace millions, annihilate infrastructure, and leave behind strings of trauma that survives for generations. Famine is not always born of drought, but these days, it turns to be another illegitimate offspring of conflict and political manipulation. Economic sanctions are always conceived in the womb of corruptions, abhorrence, and dominance to strangulate civilian populations.

At the heart of it all lies immutable DNA of hypocrisy. Nations that declare the loudest to uphold world peace manufacture proxy wars, aggravate arms races, and engineer regime changes. Institutions borne to uphold peace are suffocating and struggling to challenge on actions launched by superpowers. Climate agreements designed to combat climate change are handcuffed by national interests. Each change in leadership reshuffles global priorities, unleashing tsunamis that erodes global progress, and flood the world with erosion of instability and inconsistency.  

The real inconvenient truth is all about changing our mindset and not the climate change or natural disasters. We know what must change, but we resist because it threatens our ego, our comfort, our profit, and our power. We are, indeed, living a lie.

At times, thinking of these, I wish those who exploit the world with their power, ego, and money find another place to live and never return 😠. 

Power Rules But Wisdom Leads

 

I have always been consumed by the thought that the temporary seats of war and famine had been permanently removed from the table of human decision-making. But I was mistaken. 

With daily news of explosions, detonations, and killings, it is suffocating to see that this world is still contaminated by those who believe that leadership is demonstrated through visibility, control, and influence. 

Leaders of this kind make decisions not necessarily for peace, but to parade their ego and manifest hubristic pride. In the name of defence, they launch missiles which, in reality is to flaunt their illusion of supremacy. Sanctions are brutally imposed as tools of control and not with conscience. Flags, which was long used as emblems of shared identity has lost its soul, because it is increasingly used as markers of claimed territory drawn against perceived enemies. 

These self-styled leaders hardly embody the spirit of their nations. They treat their countries as personal trophies or weapons, using them to compete for dominance, rather than to serve or safeguard their people. Under the banner of sovereignty, they send thousands to the frontlines, to kill and to be killed, often at the expense of the innocents in the process. Under the guise of service to the nation, they exercise control.

And the cost is immense not just in terms of losing hundreds of thousands of guiltless lives, but in damaging trust, shattering futures, and suffocating the planet.

This often makes me think, what makes a good leader? 

Is it the one shaped by dominance and driven by the hunger for legacy? Or is it the one who rises not from ego or conquest but through empathy and conscience?

 

The Myths of Modern Leadership

We have read the histories of world wars and the leaders whose egos and lust for dominance unleashed unimaginable destruction. Yet rather than learning from these devastating errors that wars are curse upon humanity because it is largely ignited by the self-serving ambitions of the few, we appear to have learned very little. 

In fact, some leaders of today’s world continue to mistake leadership for dominance and control. The myth of their leadership is based on their ability to start wars, impose sanctions, sway opinions, and command global attention. Such heartless leaders often forget that this kind of power, though loud and forceful, often lacks depth and conscience because they prioritise strategy over sincerity and ambition over empathy. 

Perhaps these leaders are consciously ignorant about the consequences their leadership brings. For example, the protests in the streets, the shedding of innocent blood, and the rising cries of the harmless people are largely the outcomes of bad leadership. 

They know that power, when built on fear and control, is fleeting. Look at some countries, where leaders are even hunted once their terms (political/official) end, and they are no longer protected by the illusion of their office and titles. For those who are still alive, they live in isolation behind layers of security,  imprisoned by the very fear they once imposed on others. 

And yet, they persist, not out of ignorance, but out of the refusal to wound their pride. They protect their ego at all costs, even as nations crumble beneath them. They do not lead, but still they rule. And still not with wisdom, but with the brittle armour of dominance.

At a time when the world is obsessed with Leadership of Dominance, I am always reminded of and feel blessed of our Bhutanese leadership, particularly the role of our Kings for its distinct charisma. Rooted in Buddhist philosophy and guided by a unique approach to modernisation that balances tradition with the well-being of its people at its core, it stands in stark contrast to global models. What our leaders may lack in global clout or strategic dominance, they make up with the Leadership of Conscience.

 

Leadership of Conscience

By Leadership of Conscience, I refer to a form of leadership guided not by personal ambition, force, or manipulation, but by an inner moral compass that possess a deep sense of right and wrong. It is a form of leadership that emerges from integrity, empathy, compassion, and a commitment to serve others, even when it is inconvenient, unpopular, or costly. 

A Leadership of Conscience prioritises service over status, wisdom over wealth, people over power, and peace over pride. Consequently, a leader of conscience upholds these principles and serve accordingly to achieve their outcomes. 

Since its establishment in 1907, the Monarchs of Bhutan have consistently exemplified the Leadership of Conscience. Their style of leadership has always been steered with compassion, humility, and long-term vision centred on the wellbeing of the people. 

As a Bhutanese citizen, I feel privileged to have been blessed with such leadership of conscience which is insanely rare and vital these days. Although such leaderships do not always make headlines, but it changes lives in quiet, lasting ways. Perhaps this is one reason why Bhutan continues to thrive under a monarchy system, much like a handful of other Asian nations in the likes of Japan, Thailand, and Cambodia.

Having born and grown up during the times of His Majesty the 4^th King’s reign (June 2, 1972 – December 6, 2006), I can elaboratively express how such leaderships are cherished and eternal in the memories of their citizens. 

In 2008, the Great Fourth, King Jigme Singye Wangchuck, took the unprecedented step of abdicating the golden throne to usher democracy in Bhutan. People across the nation raised their concerns that the Kingdom’s continued stability, peace, and economic progress nurtured under the monarchy system might get weakened or eroded with the arrival of democratic ideals. Yet, the Great Fourth introduced a Democratic Constitutional Monarchy as a precious gift from the throne to the people. 

I fondly recall the Great Fourth addressing students during his school visits, emphasising that the future of our nation lies in the hands of the younger generations, while consistently imparting the timeless values of service, wisdom, loyalty, humility, and sacred responsibility.

While at the same time, he portrayed leadership not as a personal privilege but as a sacred responsibility. His visions for the country, embodied in the profound idea of Gross National Happiness, environmental stewardship, and the preservation of distinct age-old culture, are still celebrated, locally and globally. Such is the legacy that leadership of conscience creates. Bhutan may be small, but through leaders like the Great Fourth, it reminds the world of a timeless truth that leadership is not what one takes, but what one gives.

 

Talking about his selflessness and visionary leadership, the Great Fourth, reminded that a nation’s strength must not rest solely on the shoulders of one leader (referring to a King). He called upon the people to take charge of their destiny, to lead, and to shape their future based on their unique potential and aspirations. He cautioned the people that while it may feel reassuring to live under a wise and benevolent monarch, the real test of a leadership lies in the risk that power may one day be inherited by someone who does not serve in the interest of the people. Therefore, not speaking as a father, the Great Fourth affirmed with conviction that the present King (erstwhile a crown prince) embodies the ideals of farsighted vision wisdom, and humility and that he will serve for the welfare of the nation even if he steps down from the golden throne. 

 

Continuing the Legacy 

It did not take long for the citizens to trust the words of the Great Fourth, for we experienced the same radiance of compassion and care when the present King ascended the golden throne. In fact, the transition of monarchical power was so seamless that it passed almost unnoticed. What we had been blessed with under our benevolent monarchs continued, perhaps even stronger, under His Majesty’s vibrant and visionary rule.

 

The Gelephu Mindfulness City (GMC) that recently became the global phenomenon, serves as a fitting example of how the legacy of Leadership of Conscience is being carried forward. This royal vision as announced during the National Day celebration on December 17, 2023, is a bold undertaking towards building Bhutan as a dynamic economic hub. Considering the rapid economic transformation of South Asia, His Majesty said that the GMC will serve as a Special Administrative Region (SAR), creating a flexible, autonomous zone to attract foreign investments aligned with national values. In doing so, it is expected to enhance opportunities at home by fostering investment, job creation, and infrastructure development. 

Recognising the GMC as a noble and long-term royal vision to build a prosperous and sustainable Bhutan, Bhutanese people from all corners of the world have responded to His Majesty’s call on National Day with wholehearted support. This overwhelming response is hardly surprising, given Bhutan’s enduring tradition of Tha-Damtshig between the leader and the people and the Kingdom’s deeply rooted culture of voluntary service. Tha-damtshig is an indigenous Bhutanese concept that embodies a profound sense of affection, kinship, duty, and reciprocal responsibility in human relationships.

Take, for instance, the construction of the international airport at the GMC, which is being funded entirely by the Bhutanese people through bond subscriptions. True to His Majesty’s words during the National Day address, His Majesty has personally led the initiative, setting an example by involving the princes, despite their tender age, in contributing their labour. This act not only demonstrates the importance of national service but also instils a deep understanding of the responsibilities that come with such a noble undertaking. His Majesty’s direct involvement reflects a leadership of conscience, one that leads not by command, but by conviction, empathy, and moral example. It is a leadership rooted in service, integrity, and a deep sense of national duty.

 

My Impressions 

I believe that the world today is not short of leaders. We have no scarcity of individuals who are capable, articulate, and well-educated. Yet, what the world deeply lacks is wisdom in those who lead.

Despite the remarkable progress in science and technology, advancements that are deemed make humanity connected and the world more liveable,  we find ourselves more fragmented than ever. Boundaries have grown sharper, and divisions based on religion or regionalism have deepened. This is not because we lack intelligence, but because power, greed, and the thirst for dominance have outpaced our moral growth.

What we often fail to understand is that leadership, like all worldly positions, is temporary. No matter how powerful, no matter how enduring it may seem in the present, the authority to rule is always bound by time. However, what truly endures is not how long one holds power, but how one uses it. The nature of one’s leadership which includes one’s character, intent, and consequence, leaves an imprint that history does not erase.

To quote an example, I have never lived during the lifetimes of Adolf Hitler, Napoleon Bonaparte, Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Mao Zedong, Joseph Stalin, Winston Churchill, or Benito Mussolini. And yet, I hear of them not out of fondness, but the history refuses to erase what has been written. They may not still hold the power, but their actions have shaped the world in irreversible ways. Their leaderships were temporary, but the impacts of their leadership are permanent. 

His Majesty the King with the Prime Minister behind at GMC airport construction

Her Majesty The Gyaltsuen at the GMC airport site

Their Royal Highnesses Gyalsey Jigme Namgyel and Gyalsey Ugyen Wangchuck at the GIA site