Today we are once again caught in what I would like to call the “bad leader trap,” a recurring pattern in international politics in which the fall – or sometimes illegal removal – of a villainous ruler is treated as a triumph of freedom, while the deeper political realities that produced that ruler remain largely intact.
The trap is deceptively simple. A leader somewhere in the world gains a reputation as authoritarian, corrupt, or repressive. Their record becomes widely known: democratic institutions are hollowed out, critics are silenced, protests are repressed, and the independent press is censored. When such a leader is challenged, removed, arrested or killed, the moment is presented as a victory for freedom.
The moral clarity of that narrative is seductive. A bad leader has fallen. It seems justice has been done.
However, this clarity often blinds us to much more complicated questions about international law, geopolitical consequences, and the long-term future of the societies involved.
Take for example the recent assassination of Iran’s second supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, during the ongoing US and Israeli attacks on Iran. Few would question the repressive nature of his 36 years of leadership.
The brutality of the Iranian state has been evident for decades. Since late December, authorities have violently repressed protests across the country demanding “fundamental and structural change, including a full transition to a democratic system that respects human rights and dignity.”
Human Rights Watch reported that Iranian security forces used tear gas, batons, and metal pellets fired from shotguns against unarmed protesters, as well as lethal force, including military-grade weapons. Security forces even raided hospitals to arrest injured protesters and confiscate the bodies of those killed.
The world saw this crackdown vividly in 2022, when 22-year-old Mahsa Amini was detained by Iran’s morality police for allegedly violating mandatory veil laws. They arrested her, beat her and then she died. Her death sparked the Jin, Jîyan, Azadî “Women, Life, Freedom” protests, which were again met with lethal force and the use of the death penalty as a tool of political repression.
None of this is in dispute. Khamenei’s record fits the family portrait of the “bad leader.”
But the problem lies in what happens next.
In Western political discourse, bad leaders, especially those from the Global South, serve a very particular purpose. When politically expedient, they can be presented as symbols of all that is wrong in the world beyond the West. Their repression becomes a convenient counterpoint in narratives about who “we” are: defenders of democracy, freedom, and human rights.
Even when bad leaders emerge within the West itself, they are often treated as anomalies.
Take Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán, for example. Its steady erosion of democratic institutions and press freedom is frequently described as inconsistent with “European values,” as if Europe’s own political history had not repeatedly produced similar illiberal turns. Or consider Donald Trump, whose xenophobic rhetoric and attacks on democratic norms are routinely presented as an aberration in American politics rather than part of a longer tradition of exclusionary politics in the United States.
In other words, the bad leader narrative is not just about condemning authoritarianism elsewhere. It is also about preserving a comforting image of ourselves.
When the moment becomes politically opportune, this same narrative makes the bad leader an easy and justifiable target.
In March 2003, US President George W. Bush launched the invasion of Iraq with the stated goal of removing Saddam Hussein from power. The Bush administration spent months seeking public support by claiming that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction and had ties to the terrorist groups responsible for the 9/11 attacks.
None of the claims were ever substantiated.
However, when those arguments collapsed, another justification became available: Saddam Hussein was undeniably brutal. Images of his statue toppled in Baghdad’s Firdos Square and Bush’s carefully staged “Mission Accomplished” speech aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln reinforced the idea that a great moral victory had been achieved.
But the victory was not what it seemed. What followed was not democracy as promised, but years of instability, conflict and violence. The invasion created the conditions that helped give rise to ISIS (ISIL) and contributed to civilian deaths exceeding 200,000.
The bad leader had fallen. The geopolitical consequences were just beginning.
A similar logic has emerged more recently.
Earlier this year, after the Trump administration launched military strikes in Venezuela and kidnapped President Nicolás Maduro and his wife Cilia Flores in Caracas, transporting them to New York to face narcoterrorism charges in Manhattan federal court, many observers questioned the legality of the move and the precedent it could set.
However, many were also quick to return to Maduro’s record as a bad leader.
One commentator described him as a figure who “combined blustering incompetence with ruthless repression.” British politician Priti Patel declared that “we are not shedding any tears.”
Maybe not. But a lack of sympathy does not resolve the legal or geopolitical questions such action raises.
A similar reaction emerged after the attack that killed Khamenei and several members of his family. Once again, attention quickly returned to the catalog of abuses committed under his rule.
My point is not to question that record.
Rather, the problem lies in the euphoria that often surrounds “overthrowing” the bad leader, and in the way that euphoria can blind us to the broader context of norms, ethics, laws, and geopolitical consequences.
It is easy to declare that the bad leader is really bad. It’s much harder to ask what’s next.
What does it mean for Venezuela’s democratic transition if the regime’s bureaucracies and security structures remain intact while outside powers appear primarily concerned with securing oil interests and economic leverage?
What does it mean for Iran’s democratic future if a military campaign begins with airstrikes that reportedly hit civilian infrastructure? Can a democratic transition really emerge from a campaign designed and executed primarily by foreign military powers? To what extent can we really believe that such campaigns are about freedom and democracy?
And when Western leaders suddenly discover concerns about human rights abroad, how seriously should we take those claims?
When Donald Trump encourages Australia to grant asylum to members of Iran’s women’s national soccer team, branded “traitors” by Iranian state television for refusing to sing the national anthem, he presents himself as a defender of dissidents.
Yet the same administration has overseen immigration raids, visa bans and harsh asylum policies at home.
These contradictions are not incidental. They are essential for the functioning of the bad leader trap.
By focusing attention on the villainy of individual rulers, the broader systems around them and the interests that shape international responses often disappear from view.
The removal of a single leader does not dismantle a security apparatus, rebuild institutions or produce a democratic culture overnight. In many cases, it simply creates a power vacuum, new instability, and a new cycle of geopolitical competition.
We have seen this pattern repeatedly across the Middle East and beyond.
Recognizing the trap does not mean defending authoritarian rulers or ignoring the suffering they cause. It means rejecting the comforting simplicity of narrative.
If the international order truly claims to be governed by values, democracy, human rights and the rule of law, then those principles cannot be selectively invoked only when facing geopolitical rivals.
Otherwise, the bad leader trap will continue to repeat itself: a familiar cycle of outrage, intervention and celebration, followed sooner or later by instability and the geopolitical consequences that are left behind.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.
