I'm not talking about what you hear from 5 per cent of the

Hear the voice of Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, the “Iron Lady of Africa,” who once declared: “I’m not talking about what you hear from 5 per cent of the population on the radio, in the papers. I don’t pay attention to it. I travel around the country. I’m happy I have a good relationship with the people.” These words, spoken by Liberia’s first female president and Africa’s first elected woman head of state, hold the strength of one who has stood in storms and chosen to see beyond noise into truth. They speak not only of politics, but of the eternal difference between voices of power and the living voices of the people.

The heart of her saying lies in the contrast between the 5 per cent—the loud minority who dominate the media—and the vast, quieter majority whose lives are lived in silence. The press, the radio, the clamor of elites, may amplify criticism or praise, yet Sirleaf reminds us that leadership is not measured in headlines but in the trust and connection with ordinary citizens. The newspapers may roar like thunder, but the farmer’s handshake, the market woman’s smile, the child’s hopeful gaze—these are the true foundations of legitimacy.

This wisdom is ancient. In the days of Marcus Aurelius, the emperor of Rome, voices in the Senate often thundered against him. Pamphlets and whispers of dissent swirled in the city. Yet in his Meditations, he reminds himself that the crowd of voices cannot alter the truth of his duty, nor the dignity of serving the greater whole. So too Sirleaf speaks: the noise of the few is not the measure of the many. To govern rightly, one must travel the land, listen with one’s own ears, and walk among the people themselves.

Consider her own Liberia, scarred by years of civil war. The media, often fueled by elites or factions, could easily shape narratives of division. But Sirleaf, like the leaders of old, chose to go among the people, to walk villages, to sit in churches, to hear directly the cries of women and the hopes of youth. This act, humble yet heroic, became her anchor. For while papers could condemn, the people could affirm. While radios could distort, the people could reveal truth. In this way, she rooted herself not in the noise of the few, but in the lifeblood of the nation.

The lesson is profound: true leadership listens beyond the loudest voices. In every age, the few who hold the pens, the microphones, the platforms, can appear to speak for all. But wisdom requires discernment. Just as a sailor does not navigate by a single star but by the whole sky, so must leaders—and indeed all humans—look beyond the clamor of a minority to hear the heartbeat of the majority.

There is danger in heeding only the “five per cent.” It leads to arrogance, to detachment, to ruling in the echo chambers of elites. History offers warnings: the kings of France who listened to courtiers but not peasants, the emperors of China who trusted officials but ignored the hunger of villages, the czars of Russia who heeded advisors while ignoring bread riots. All were overthrown because they mistook the voices of the few for the will of the many.

Thus, Sirleaf’s words shine as both warning and guidance. The people—the humble, the quiet, the countless—must be the compass of our decisions, whether we lead nations, communities, or households. Media and elites have their place, but they are not the whole. To be truly wise, one must travel the land, step outside the circles of noise, and look into the eyes of those whose voices rarely reach the stage.

And in practice, let each listener learn this truth: do not judge reality only by what is loudest. Seek truth in quiet places. Listen to those unseen by the world. Walk among the people of your own community—the workers, the elders, the children—and let their voices guide your understanding. For as Sirleaf teaches, relationship with the people is the true measure of wisdom and strength, and those who ignore this will rule only shadows, while those who embrace it will stand rooted in the living earth.