A person needs only a little to show who they are. In the Balkans, some people don’t even need great power. A stamp, a work phone, a system password, a chair next to the director’s, or the right to tell someone, “We’ll see”—that’s enough. Instantly the little vizier stirs. A person who yesterday kept silent before the powerful suddenly roars at the weak. This is where our mentality is at its ugliest.
Submissive before the boss. Arrogant before the worker. Humble before the institution. Important before the neighbor. Cautious before the powerful. Merciless before the weak. That’s not authority. It’s a position used to humiliate rather than to get the job done. The worst power isn’t the grand, public, state-level kind. The worst is the petty, everyday, Balkan kind.
The kind at the counter. The kind at the company. The kind at city hall. The kind on the committee. The kind in the family business. The kind that says, “I decide, you wait.”
They don’t want the post to do the job better; they want it so someone will finally wait on them, call on them, beg them. So that someone would feel the humiliation they have been swallowing for years. And then we wonder why our systems resemble private vendettas. Because many, as soon as they gain a little power, don’t become leaders.
They become proof that they were never great people. Just small people without opportunity. But power gives them that opportunity—not to demonstrate ability, but character.
The way we treat someone who depends on us speaks louder than any seal of office or job title.
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