A global obsession with titles

WHEN power feels shaky, there's always one timeless cure: add another title. Across continents and centuries, leaders have perfected this therapy. When achievements dry up, adjectives rush in like comfort food —calorie-heavy but oh-so-satisfying. Consider the former strongman from East Africa who achieved Olympic levels of self-glorification. His self-bestowed title stretched: "His Excellency, President for Life, Field Marshal Al-Hadji Doctor … … Dada," and so on until even the alphabet rebelled in exhaustion. Not content with ruling humanity, he crowned himself "Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea."

Not to be outdone, a ruler from Central Africa decided "President" lacked glitter and promoted himself to "Emperor", staging a self-coronation that was a parody of Napoleon's, complete with imported horses and mirrored epaulettes. The entire nation paid for his vanity parade in both taxes and embarrassment. George Sand foresaw his tragedy: "Vanity is the quicksand of reason." Then came another whose official name roughly meant "the invincible warrior who scorches the earth in conquest and leaves only ash." He too practised the yoga of title — stretching one until it snapped.

Meanwhile, "Excellencies" and "Honourables" reign over lands where citizens would settle for uninterrupted electricity over uninterrupted flattery. The formula for governance remains simple: when there's not enough food, just feed the people words. But before we laugh too loudly, remember that title inflation is a global pastime. The corporate kingdom has its own aristocracy: "Chief Inspiration Officers", "Global Strategy Evangelists", "Senior Creative Ninja" and "Senior Innovation Catalysts". Academia, not to be upstaged, joins the parade with its "Distinguished Fellows" and "Endowed Chairs", as if humble "Professor" seemed underdressed.

By contrast, history's true giants needed no decorative titles. Gandhi, Mandela, Lincoln — each chose simplicity as their crown. The irony is that these most consequential titans in history usually preferred names so modest they were practically nicknames: Gandhi's "Bapu", Mandela's "Madiba", Lincoln's "Abe". Their authority carried moral decibels, not ceremonial volume.

Even I once contracted a mild strain of this title fever. At the UN in West Africa, I often paid courtesy calls on officials and chiefs, introducing myself as "Head of Regional Security". My hosts responded politely, but without interest. Then my local colleague pulled me aside: "Sir, call yourself Chief of Regional Security. Without "Chief", you are invisible here." My title — modestly bureaucratic by UN standards — had been diagnosed as insufficiently regal. And so, with mild reluctance and considerable amusement, I upgraded myself and magic happened. Doors opened, smiles broadened, tea appeared and protocols materialised. The alchemy of one word had transformed indifference into reverence. And I learned, firsthand, that while work whispers, titles shout and their echoes travel much farther than most achievements ever will.