By Abdoulie Mam Njie
Africa-Press – Gambia. Power has always fascinated human beings. It elevates, exposes, and sometimes destroys. Across cultures, from Youssou Ndour’s Sa Doole to timeless parables, one truth remains constant: power does not change a person, it reveals them. It uncovers strength or insecurity depending on what already lives beneath the surface.
In The Gambia, this psychology of power plays out in ways that are familiar to all of us. Ours is a small country where everyone knows someone who knows everyone else. In such a close-knit society, power often feels larger than the office it occupies. Even a modest title can change how a person walks, speaks, or carries themselves. A simple shift in responsibility can suddenly influence how people greet you, how they speak about you, and how they expect you to behave. And because people know one another’s histories, achievements, and weaknesses, the temptation to use authority for personal advantage becomes stronger. It can become a tool for reviving old grievances, influencing how others are seen, reshaping personal narratives, or proving superiority.
At its core, power amplifies personality. Those who are secure in themselves use it to build, guide, and serve. Those driven by insecurity use it to dominate or silence. This is why in every society, including ours, some people handle authority with grace while others become defensive, aggressive, or unnecessarily intimidating. Their reactions are shaped not by the title they hold but by the fears they carry.
The transformation often begins subtly. A person may start with the desire to serve, but over time the seat becomes more important than the responsibility. Instead of protecting the public good, they begin protecting their position. The office stops being a platform and becomes a shield. What once mattered, such as humility, integrity, and community, slowly becomes secondary to survival.
This is how the position keeper emerges. We meet them across sectors. They are not driven by ideas, excellence, or results. They are driven by fear: the fear of losing relevance, the fear of losing visibility, the fear of losing control. To feel secure, they build small alliances, avoid honest voices, and surround themselves with people who agree, obey, or applaud. In the silence of that environment, mediocrity grows. Innovation fades. Institutions slow down. Excellence becomes threatening because it forces reflection and raises expectations.
These dynamics are not just theoretical; I have witnessed how power, personality, and perception intersect in real situations within the civil service. At one point in my career, my former Minister was promoted to replace my current Minister, creating a swap that naturally brought tension between them. Some colleagues were drawn into the differences, but I was reminded by my brother-in-law, Honourable Lamin Kiti Jabang, to focus on what I could control: my duties, the civil service principles that guide my work, and my professional integrity.
In situations like this, it becomes clear that power can create circumstances where perceptions, rather than the full context, shape decisions. The lesson reinforces a key theme of this article: true strength under authority comes from remaining principled, neutral, and guided by values, even when the environment is influenced by the ambitions or insecurities of those in higher positions.
This pattern is not new. A couple of months ago, in my reflection What Power Forgets, History Will Remember, I wrote that power is always temporary, always on loan, and always accountable to something greater than itself. That message feels even more relevant today. The behaviours we display in moments of authority are remembered long after the authority itself has passed. In a small country like The Gambia, where stories travel quickly and memory is long, history becomes personal. Titles fade, but conduct lives on in the minds of those we served or those we failed to serve.
Yet our society sometimes allows these behaviours to flourish. Mediocrity survives because it is often non-threatening, while excellence unsettles. A competent person forces others to raise their standards. A principled person forces reflection. A courageous person reveals the insecurities of those who cling tightly to their seats. Many choose the predictable ease of mediocrity over the demanding challenge of excellence.
But this comfort comes with a price. Power is never loyal to those who misuse it. Those who rise solely on alliances fall with alliances. Those who depend on fear eventually fear everyone. Those who cling too tightly to their seat soon discover that the seat was never theirs. It belongs to the people, and the people — quietly, gradually, but surely — decide its fate.
Still, there is hope. The Gambia has produced leaders in communities, institutions, and national life who understand power differently. They see authority as stewardship rather than entitlement. They speak with humility and act with calm. They uplift others instead of suppressing them. They know that leadership is not measured by volume or intimidation but by fairness, dignity, and integrity.
In a country as small as ours, where every action echoes loudly, this kind of leadership is essential. The psychology of power teaches that real strength is quiet, steady, and grounded. Those who misuse authority to punish or belittle often do so because of unresolved inner battles. Those who use power to unite, solve problems, and create fairness show that leadership is not about the seat one occupies but the values one carries.
In the end, power leaves everyone with a mirror. It shows the world who you are and reveals to you who you have become. Long after titles fade and positions change hands, one question remains: Did your power serve the people, or did it serve your fears? Every Gambian, in some way, holds influence — in a home, a community, or a workplace.
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