Empathy is the emotional ability to understand what another person feels, to see things from their point of view, to imagine yourself in their place, and act accordingly. It means being able to sense their hurt and share their joy.  It connects us, not just intellectually, but viscerally and is a cornerstone of our humanity. 

Neuroscience shows that empathy arises partly through mirror neurons; when we see another’s pain, our brains echo it as if it were our own.  But it’s also deeply shaped by childhood and environment. Nurturing, responsive upbringings build empathic pathways. Without them, those circuits can atrophy, leading to emotional detachment or indifference.

In an era when leadership often looks more like dominance than service, it's worth asking: Why do the most powerful people in the world so often seem to lack empathy? 

Political figures like Benjamin Netanyahu, Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin, have each demonstrated patterns of behaviour that suggest not only a lack of emotional attunement to others but also traits aligned with what psychologists refer to as the "Dark Triad”; narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy. These are not casual insults. They refer to measurable psychological traits. Narcissism, in particular, is not only common in leadership roles, but is often rewarded in positions of power. 

According to Dr. Sam Vaknin, an expert on narcissism and himself twice diagnosed with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, “Power attracts narcissists. And once they obtain it, they use it to perpetuate their grandiosity and control.”

Studies show that gaining power changes how the brain processes empathy.  A 2006 study published in Psychological Science by Dacher Keltner and colleagues found that people in power pay less attention to others’ emotions and are more likely to view others instrumentally, as means to an end. Power, they argue, impairs the brain’s “mirroring” response.  This leads to reduced perspective-taking and a decline in compassionate action.  In short, hierarchical power often suppresses empathy while inflating self-regard.

Leaders with Power

Putin casts himself as the indispensable guardian of Russian destiny.  His war in Ukraine is framed not as a brutal invasion but as a defensive act against the West’s moral and political decay.  He shows little to no emotional resonance with the suffering his decisions cause, fitting the profile of emotional coldness often found in psychopathy. 

Donald Trump frequently boasts about his intelligence and success while showing disdain for those he perceives as weak.  He mocked a person with disabilities, disparaged immigrants, and said of veteran John McCain that he liked soldiers who “don’t get caught”.  He prizes loyalty and views any challenge to his narrative as betrayal.  

Erdoğan in Turkey likewise casts himself as a saviour figure, entwining national identity with his personal authority. 

Netanyahu, using the language of existential threat, prioritises control, strength, and loyalty over understanding, compassion, or collaboration.  He has portrayed himself not only as a leader, but as an historical necessity.  His narrative often suggests that without him, Israel would falter.  When legal challenges arise or opposition threatens his position, he tends to frame it all as a conspiracy against the nation, not just against himself.  This victim complex, coupled with an aggressive media strategy and efforts to undermine the judiciary, further reflects traits of narcissistic and Machiavellian leadership.

In recent months, the Israeli Defence Forces' actions in Gaza and the West Bank have shocked much of the world.  Entire neighbourhoods have been levelled, civilian infrastructure decimated, and tens of thousands of lives lost.  In recent weeks, over a thousand civilians desperate for food have been shot dead by the IDF at aid distribution sites.  Images of children pulled from rubble and hospitals struggling without power or supplies give insights into the horror. 

The scale and intensity of destruction indicate not only strategic objectives, but the dehumanisation of an entire population, in the minds of the perpetrators.  Empathy, here, is not absent by accident; it is deliberately shut out. Netanyahu’s rhetoric consistently justifies these actions in terms of survival and security, but never pauses to name the emotional or psychological toll inflicted on Palestinian lives.  It is this absence of morality, the objectification of the Other, that makes cruelty possible.

These men don’t just lack empathy in passing moments; their political survival often depends on a style of leadership that denies empathy its rightful place in public life.  

These patterns are not incidental.  They reflect a broader societal divide that is increasingly polarised between empathy and narcissistic traits; those who express vulnerability or compassion are dismissed as naive or weak, while those who dominate and divide are seen as strong.  This dynamic is profoundly damaging. 

When empathy is absent in governance, it reverberates through policy, institutions and culture.  Societies become more tolerant of cruelty and citizens begin to see others not as humans but as categories, threats, or problems to be managed.  The strategy of narcissistic leadership, is to divide, dehumanise and dominate and it erodes our shared humanity.

There are exceptions.  Volodymyr Zelenskyy, the Ukrainian president, offers a different model of leadership.  While thrust into the global spotlight by war, he has demonstrated emotional openness, vulnerability, and authentic concern for his people.  His leadership is charismatic but grounded in solidarity, not supremacy.  Rather than suppressing empathy, he has made it a rallying point.  This is rare.  In times of conflict, most leaders lean into fear and force, but Zelenskyy instead has leaned into connection, proving that combining compassion and power is possible.

So, What Can We Do?

So, as the world falls further into polarising camps of those with empathy and those with narcissistic traits, what can we do?  First, we need to understand that empathy is not a ‘soft skill’, it is a moral intelligence and a cornerstone of democratic life and our humanity.  It’s value in an equal world is indispensable. 

Secondly, it can be cultivated, and it can be defended.  Practising empathy starts small; reading stories from other perspectives, listening more than we speak, slowing down enough to ask what someone else might be feeling and why.  We can also teach it.  Children who grow up in emotionally rich environments are more likely to develop into empathetic adults.  Advocating for trauma-informed education, parental support and mental health care will help.

On a societal level, we must hold our leaders to a higher standard.  Confusing performative strength for moral authority is a mistake.  Leaders who refuse to acknowledge suffering or complexity should not be seen as ‘tough’, but as ‘limited’.  We need to elevate those who can act decisively while still listening, who can defend security without abandoning humanity.  In doing so, we resist the cultural pull toward cruelty and control, and we create a different kind of power, rooted not in fear but in connection.

President Obama once said, “The biggest deficit that we have in our society and in the world right now is an empathy deficit.”  That deficit is growing, especially among those who shape our lives the most.  When empathy disappears from the places where decisions are made, it becomes our collective responsibility to keep it alive in our neighbourhoods, our conversations, and our votes. 

When we stop caring how others feel, we lose what makes us human.  And the antidote to that is more empathy.