Are We Doomed To Be Ruled by (Mostly) Male Assholes?

The reign of strongmen may feel inevitable, but human history and evolution suggest otherwise

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Among chimpanzees, one of our closest primate relatives, some high-ranking individuals — almost always males — take a gentler approach to leadership, maintaining power by forming alliances and doling out favours such as grooming and sharing food. And those who adopt this strategy tend to remain leaders for quite some time.

Others, however, have a more ‘thuggish’ leadership style. In most extreme cases, the dominant chimp essentially becomes a tyrant, hoarding resources and relying on violence and cruelty to keep his position. But this approach rarely ends well. Chimp tyrants don’t hold onto power for long, and their downfalls can be brutal. In one striking example, the tyrannical leader of the Fongoli chimpanzee community living in Senegal was ultimately overthrown, killed and.. eaten by his tribe.

Our other close relatives, bonobos, take a different path. Since they live in female-dominated societies — a structure far more common among primates than once believed — it’s female coalitions, frequently made up of older females, who take the lead. They maintain peace, protect resources, and actively suppress male aggression. And when conflicts do arise, they resolve them through sex rather than violence.

It’s not hard to see which of these two primate species humanity most resembles today, is it? Whether we look back at the past few centuries or even just the last few years, it’s often the dominant thugs who claw their way to the top of our food chain.

It might then be tempting to conclude it’s simply an immutable feature of our human species. But is it, really?

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When we hear the word ‘leader,’ I imagine many of us still instinctively picture a man.

Like chimpanzees, humans tend to organise themselves into male-dominated societies — or rather, we have done so for the past few thousand years, though not everywhere. And those who rise to power aren’t just primarily men, but men who often fit a strikingly narrow mould. They are the Napoleons and Genghis Khans, the Henry VIIIs and Adolf Hitlers and, in more recent times, the Silvio Berlusconis, Jack Welches, Vladimir Putins, Donald Trumps, Elon Musks, and the rest of the ‘broligarchy’ now moving fast and breaking things in their favour.

These men are dominant, emotionally callous, aggressively self-assured, and loud — like a chest-thumping chimp who just discovered a microphone. They have no hesitation in using intimidation, coercion, deception, or any other means necessary to secure and maintain their position. And much like in certain primate hierarchies, those who make it to the top aren’t necessarily the smartest or most competent — just the best at making noise and convincing everyone else that they belong there.

And far too often, we believe they do.

That’s because, in a male-dominated world, the definition of ‘good’ leadership is shaped almost entirely by ‘traditionally’ masculine traits — dominance, competitiveness, overconfidence, aggression, and risk-taking. Studies show that too: many of us like our leaders to be rough and ruthless. To be ‘strongmen.’ This preference is particularly robust in times of conflict and uncertainty.

It then hardly matters — if it matters at all — that these strongmen routinely defy the very rules and principles that uphold our society. So enamoured are we with the idea that the loudest, most brutish chimp in the room must be the best choice that we eagerly excuse and justify their many transgressions. Instead of seeing them for what they are — sociopathic assholes, mediocre bullies and narcissistic blowhards — we mythologise them as geniuses, heroes, or the second comings of Jesus Christ himself.

That’s also why men who embody these masculine norms don’t just survive failure — they ‘fail up.’ In particular, if they happen to be white.

Unsurprisingly, this tendency to place — or allow — the most aggressive and dominant men in leadership roles isn’t exactly beneficial. Dominance may be an effective tool for individuals seeking power in a world that rewards it, but it’s far less effective when it comes to collective well-being.

Research on workplace dynamics, for example, suggests that dominant, authoritarian leadership fosters aggression, unethical behaviour, inefficiency and poor employee well-being. One 2017 review of studies found that leaders high in dominance frequently go to such great lengths to protect their power that they even sideline talented individuals — whom they perceive as threats — in favour of the incompetent. They also tend to isolate their subordinates out of fear that they might form alliances against them. In other words, they deliberately sabotage their own group’s success just to cling to power a little longer.

It’s also no secret that nations ruled by self-serving strongmen — dictators, absolute monarchs, military juntas, elected authoritarians and similar creatures — rarely top the charts for prosperity or happiness.

There’s an enormous social cost to being ruled by assholes.

But we likely already knew that many years ago, too.

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In his 2013 book, Talking to My Daughter About the Economy, Greek economist Yanis Varoufakis noted:

In ancient Greece a person who refused to think in terms of the common good was called an idiotis — a privateer, a person who minded his own business.

It wasn’t until much later that British scholars gave the word idiotis its modern English meaning — a fool. But as Varoufakis points out, our capitalist society has turned us into both kinds of idiotis. Perhaps that’s also why we allow them to rule over us. Or why they have such an easy time ascending to power. Both patriarchy — a system of male dominance — and capitalism are dominance-based hierarchies that reward those who prioritise individual attainment over the collective good, short-term exploitation over long-term sustainability, and power consolidation over genuine leadership.

But it wasn’t always this way. Long before the Greeks coined the term idiotis, our hunter-gatherer ancestors lived in largely egalitarian, decentralised communities. Leaders in these societies — both past and present — weren’t rulers in the hierarchical sense we see today but individuals who earned influence through wisdom, experience, and generosity. In other words, they were the opposite of strongmen.

During his time with the !Kung people — hunter-gatherers living on the edges of the Kalahari Desert in Botswana and Southwest Africa — anthropologist Richard Lee observed, for instance, that one of the worst things a person in their tribe could be accused of was acting like a ‘big man.’ The group also actively resists such behaviour. As one tribesman explained to Lee:

(…) when a young man kills much meat, he comes to think of himself as a chief or a big man, and he thinks of the rest of us as his servants or inferiors. We can’t accept this. We refuse one who boasts, for someday his pride will make him kill somebody. So we always speak of his meat as worthless. This way we cool his heart and make him gentle.

According to anthropologist Christopher Boehm’s ‘reverse dominance hierarchy’ theory, early human societies likely operated in a similar way. To prevent any one individual from amassing too much power, group members would collectively resist — or even banish — those who seemed to get too big for their boots. In this way, the pyramid of social hierarchy was effectively flipped.

There’s also ample evidence suggesting that leadership and decision-making weren’t solely the domain of men, though this doesn’t necessarily mean female thugs existed either. In surviving matrilineal communities today — such as the Minangkabau people of West Sumatra, Indonesia — neither gender rules and all decisions are taken collectively by everyone, with the common good in mind.

As academic Cat Bohannon argues in her book Eve, even our anatomy, like low levels of sexual dimorphism and small male canine sizes, suggests a past where it’s cooperation and affiliation that were the norm, not violence and competition. Early human survival likely also depended on female coalitions and social bonds, which helped navigate the increasingly dangerous and energy-intensive process of child-bearing and rearing.

For much of our history, humans may have very well been more like bonobos than chimpanzees in how we organised ourselves. But even male-dominated, violence-prone chimpanzee societies understand that a violent and resource-hoarding tyrant is terrible news for the group.

So why don’t we?

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The notion that ‘humans are special,’ or worse, that we’re ‘inherently rational,’ as traditional economics would have us believe, is more of a comforting illusion than a reflection of reality.

We’re not that special, and we’re certainly not rational.

Sure, we might be the only animal to reach the moon and the only primates with such complex social structures, language, and technological ingenuity. But we’re also, singlehandedly, the greatest force behind the escalating climate crisis that threatens both our planet and our own future. And instead of seeing this as a wake-up call to reassess our priorities and the people we choose to lead, many remain convinced that only dominant, aggressive, and self-serving idiotis can save us.

If humans were truly rational, we would ensure that those we entrust with power serve the common good rather than their own self-interest. But we don’t. At least not yet, and not in most places.

However, our leadership preferences and the systems that create them aren’t just at odds with common sense — they contradict scientific evidence.

Studies also consistently show that the most effective leaders are those who exhibit humility, emotional intelligence, self-awareness and a commitment to reciprocity. It’s precisely these qualities that then foster collaboration, cooperation, and innovation, leading to greater long-term success and higher group well-being. Even in times of crisis — and contrary to popular belief — leaders prioritising empathy achieve the best results. We saw this during the COVID-19 pandemic, too. And it’s perhaps not surprising that it’s female leaders who handled the crisis arguably better than their male counterparts. One recent systemic review of over 100 studies published in BMJ Global Health confirmed that women’s leadership can indeed positively impact a nation’s wealth, health, innovation, and ethics.

Of course, female leaders who adopt the same capitalist, patriarchal, and imperialistic playbook can be assholes, too — and some are — but there’s a clear overlap between the traits of effective leadership and those we ‘traditionally’ associated with women.

Still, as history reminds us, today’s gender norms are not our biological destiny. And neither is living under the rule of assholes.

What actually sets humans apart is not our rationality — or rather, lack thereof — but our adaptability. After all, we are shaped more by culture than by anything else. And culture is simply the stories we tell ourselves, over and over again, until they become accepted wisdom. Some of them do deserve preservation. But others, not so much. And that’s fine. Human culture is ever-evolving. We break it, rebuild it, and refine it again and again. And we can do so now — especially when it comes to redefining what ‘good’ leadership really is.

Because it’s certainly not prioritising your own interests at the expense of others and being an arrogant, uncaring asshole.

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In his 1982 book Chimpanzee Politics: Power and Sex Among Apes, Primatologist Frans de Waal observed:

It is quite normal among chimpanzees for low-ranking group members to protest aggressively at being slapped, and they regularly put the dominant ape to flight or even physically overpower him, especially when they combine forces.

When necessary, chimpanzees aren’t afraid to take collective action and challenge the power balance — even from the very bottom.

Humans can do the same. Yes, greedy, selfish, and aggressive people will likely always exist. But the problem isn’t that they exist — it’s that we so often praise the very ground they walk on as if they wouldn’t trample over us if it means they could get ahead. They would.

But let’s not forget that we can always flip the pyramid.

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