It happened to a conniving national upstart in Europe during the late 1930s to mid-1940s.
In the beginning, he only claimed to be setting right the injustices done to his nation by the victors of the previous world war. But between 1938 and 1940, he had his nation in the palm of his hand. He annexed Austria, Czechoslovakia, the Bohemian lands, part of Lithuania, western Poland, Alsace-Lorraine (from France), Luxembourg, and Belgium.
By the end of 1940, his regime had occupied France, Norway, Denmark, Yugoslavia, and Greece. The Prime Minister of Great Britain came, metaphorically or literally, hat in hand to negotiate, hoping to preserve Britain’s empire—South Asia, Burma, Hong Kong, and much of the Middle East—in exchange for formal recognition of these annexations and a promise of non-interference.
The Führer—as he was called—had by then swallowed up nearly the entire European continent, except Russia, which he marked as his final prize after giving up on conquering the British Isles.
No court stopped his racial killings. After he became Führer in 1934 (absolute dictator by 1938), the courts became irrelevant. Judges who dissented were removed. The army worshipped him. A former corporal with no commissioned rank, Hitler became the head of the entire military as well as the nation..
Even the Vatican sent birthday greetings.
The people, stripped of democratic power, bowed to him and chanted his name. His industrial-scale genocide was barely whispered, even by his enemies.
Then, one day, when his once-mighty Army, Navy, and Air Force were being trounced on all fronts, he realized he had overreached. He had been blinded by the adulation of flunkies, the obedience of corrupted courts, and the faith of a public intoxicated by propaganda.
So, he crawled into an underground bunker—and poisoned himself.
Not too surprisingly, the lackeys, the flunkies, and the once-trusting public rejoiced. The press wrote mountains of articles about his failures—facts that had been suppressed for years.
Truth be told, there never was a stronger or more nationally popular man in modern history during the decade of his reign. He was worshipped, never questioned. Not even Genghis Khan, not Alexander the Great, not the King of England after donning the crown of the Emperor of India, matched the fervor or the land he commanded.
But adulation without accountability has a short shelf life.
History repeated itself in India when another populist leader—misguided by sycophants and a captive media—overreached. She was ultimately killed by her own bodyguards, including one she had promoted from Havildar to Sub-Inspector only months earlier.
History, like a haunting refrain in a song, repeats itself every few years.
Lying strongmen (and women) who overstep the limits of reason and deceive the public with fake news and rhetorical excess will always meet the fate they invite.
Rhetoric impresses admirers, exposes the speaker, and amuses the foes.
