Why We Must Question the Legends We Create

There’s a curious human tendency to martyrize people after their death—especially public figures. It doesn’t matter whether they were divisive, corrupt, or even responsible for atrocities during their lifetime; once they’re gone, time seems to wash away their flaws. Over the years, society elevates them to legendary or even divine status, often forgetting the moral complexity they carried.

This is especially true for political leaders. We’ve seen cases where individuals convicted of corruption or responsible for violence are later remembered as heroes. Their darker deeds are softened, rationalized, or completely erased from public memory, replaced with carefully crafted tributes and sanitized biographies.

It brings to mind the old saying: “History is written by the victors.” Those who gain power often shape the narrative—not just in their favor, but sometimes at the cost of truth. Our school textbooks, national holidays, and public statues often reflect a single-pointed version of events—one that glorifies some and demonizes others.

But the truth is rarely binary. Human beings, even those we label as heroes or villains, live in the grey zones.

Think of figures like Jesus, Mohammad, Buddha, Gandhi, Churchill, or Martin Luther King Jr.—all seen as transformative leaders. Yet, each of them had controversies, critics, and contradictions that are often glossed over in mainstream narratives. Similarly, those cast as villains might have had beliefs or intentions that were contextually complex, if not entirely justifiable.

We tend to generalize too easily—placing people in boxes labeled “Great Example” or “Eternal Villain.” It’s like thinking in binary, where the only options are 0 and 1, black or white, good or bad.

But life isn’t binary. It’s quantum.

Much like a quantum computer that operates with qubits in superposition, our understanding of history should allow for multiple truths to coexist. A leader can be a visionary and a flawed human. A movement can be both liberating and problematic. A revolution can bring justice while also causing suffering.

This is not to excuse wrongdoing or blur the lines between good and evil. It is to recognize that truth is often layered, contested, and complex. When we simplify our history to make it more palatable, we risk learning the wrong lessons.

So what should we do?

• Be skeptical of single-pointed narratives.
• Understand that history is shaped, not just remembered.
• Seek out voices from the margins—those who were silenced or sidelined.
• Accept that our icons were human, not gods.
• Teach our children to explore history with curiosity, not certainty.

In the end, the goal isn’t to destroy legacies—it’s to understand them with honesty. Because only when we embrace the full spectrum of human complexity can we grow wiser as a society.