Over the years, I have come to see that words are not neutral. They shape character, influence society, and reveal intent. I know this in my own life, but I see it most starkly in politics, where leaders often weaponize words.
At first glance, bluntness and rudeness may look alike. Both can sound harsh, both can sting, and both can unsettle. But the spirit behind them is worlds apart.
When I am blunt
When I am blunt, my aim is clarity. I want the truth to stand unvarnished.
In the barracks, I once told a junior soldier his report was sloppy. He thought I had humiliated him, but months later, he thanked me. My bluntness had sharpened his discipline. That moment reminded me that true bluntness, though it may sting, is meant to help.
When rudeness disguises itself as bluntness
Rudeness, however, is different. It ignores empathy and strips away dignity. I have seen this in myself on bad days, but more troublingly, I see it in the political arena.
I remember the late former President Rawlings once rebuking some young members of his own party, the NDC, calling them “children with sharp teeth” because of their rude attitude.
Some even referred to him as a “barking dog” in response. What struck me was not only the exchange itself but the reaction of onlookers. Many supporters applauded these sarcastic remarks, hailing them as blunt truths. But in reality, they were not blunt; they were rude. Words meant to demean, to score points, or to sting are not the same as words meant to correct or guide.
I saw the same pattern in Parliament when Isaac Adongo mocked Dr. Mahamudu Bawumia by calling him Ghana’s “economic Maguire.” It was a jab designed to reduce a leader’s economic stewardship to a football blunder. The chamber erupted with laughter, and supporters praised it
as witty bluntness.
But I could not mistake it for candor. It was ridicule, not reason; a dismissal of the man rather than a critique of his policies.
And yet, crowds cheer. Supporters rise in applause and declare, “At least he is honest.
At least he says what others are afraid to say.” But I cannot deceive myself, this is not bluntness. It is cruelty clothed as candor. It does not build, it destroys. It does not correct, it humiliates.
The dangerous fine line
The fine line between bluntness and rudeness is often blurred. A person who is truly blunt risks being misunderstood as rude. But far worse is the person who is truly rude and hides behind the mask of bluntness. Politicians are masters of this disguise.
They claim to be “fearless truth-tellers” while they insult the poor. They call critics “too sensitive” while they normalize contempt. They equate volume with courage and insult with integrity. And their supporters, desperate for a champion, defend them fiercely.
But I ask myself: What good is speaking your mind if your words poison the very society you claim to serve? Is a leader really strong when his only strength is tearing others down?
My Ongoing Reflection
This is why I hold myself accountable for my own words. If I am blunt, I must check my spirit: am I being honest to help, or to harm? But when I listen to many leaders, I wonder if they ever ask themselves the same question.
I have learned that bluntness without empathy is cruelty, and empathy without truth is flattery.
But political rudeness, dressed up as bluntness, is something even worse; it corrodes the culture, teaching people to cheer insults as though they were wisdom.
And once people are trained to cheer at mockery, to clap at belittling, and to mistake humiliation for honesty, the society itself loses its moral compass.
My Conclusion
The difference between bluntness and rudeness is not simply about tone, but about purpose. I can be blunt and still preserve dignity. But when a politician is rude, they destroy dignity while pretending to honor “truth.”
So I measure words — my own and those of leaders, by this question: Do they lead to growth, or do they only wound? For me, that is the true test.
And it is a test many politicians fail, even as their supporters insist otherwise.