GIDEON OHENE

The Narrow Space Between Politics, Loyalty and Interest Every young politician arrives with a heart full of belief and a head empty of maps. Soon they begin to confuse three things that look alike and behave differently: politics, loyalty and interest. The confusion costs careers, and it costs people their names. Politics is a marketplace. It is the art of getting things done alongside people who do not love you. Those who go looking for warmth in a room built for bargains leave colder than they entered. A colleague is not a brother, and a committee is not a family. Politics rewards those who can work with anyone and trust almost no one completely. Loyalty is a debt, and debts must be earned before they are collected. Too many young politicians hand it out like campaign flyers, then wonder why it is never returned. Give your loyalty to principles first, to people second, and to those who have not earned it, never. A leader who demands your loyalty but offers you nothing in return is not a leader. He is a landlord, and you are paying rent on a house that will never be yours. Interest is the compass every person carries, though most pretend they do not. It is not a dirty word. It is simply the truth about why people do what they do. Your own interest is honest if you admit it to yourself. Other people's interest is dangerous if you ignore it. When a smile changes, check what changed in the interest behind it. Warmth that appears only when you are useful was never warmth. It was arithmetic. The mistakes follow a pattern. The first is confusing access with affection. The man who takes your call today is not your friend. He is a door, and doors close. The second is confusing a favor with friendship. Favors expire with the season, while principles outlast it. The third is the worst: becoming so loyal that you cannot leave, or so driven by interest that you cannot be trusted. The first makes you a servant. The second makes you a stranger to everyone, including yourself. The wise live in the narrow space between these two failures. They are loyal enough to be relied upon and interested enough to survive. They know that politics is a game of seasons, and that the one who gave you the microphone will not be holding it forever. When the season turns, and it always turns, the titles will fall away, the allies will scatter, and the crowds will find someone new to applaud. What remains is your word, your name and whatever you refused to sell. So do not ask who is loyal to you. Ask what holds each person in place. Ask it of your allies, ask it of your rivals, and above all ask it of yourself. The answers will not always comfort you, but they will keep you standing.