There is sometimes an almost vindictive streak in politics

Hear the words of Jacob Rees-Mogg, spoken with the tone of history’s witness: “There is sometimes an almost vindictive streak in politics whereby governments follow policies which they know will harm the electorate, but nonetheless, they keep them, sometimes for years. The Corn Laws are a classic example.” These words strike at the heart of the darker side of governance, for they reveal that power does not always err out of ignorance—it sometimes persists in cruelty even when the harm is clear. In politics, there can be pride so stubborn, and interest so entrenched, that leaders hold to destructive paths not out of blindness, but out of arrogance.

The origin of this truth is found in Britain’s nineteenth century, during the long and bitter fight over the Corn Laws. These laws, passed after the Napoleonic Wars, imposed heavy tariffs on imported grain. Their purpose was plain: to protect the profits of wealthy landowners. Yet their effect was ruinous. They drove up the price of bread, placing heavy burdens on the working poor, whose wages could scarcely keep pace with the cost of living. The suffering was visible, undeniable, and yet for decades the laws endured. This is the “vindictive streak” of which Rees-Mogg speaks: the deliberate clinging to policies that punish the people, upheld for the sake of narrow interest and political pride.

Consider the plight of the laborers and the poor in those years. Families went hungry, children wasted away, and the price of a loaf of bread became the measure of misery. The government knew this. Voices rose in protest—voices of reformers, radicals, and even moderate statesmen who pleaded for change. Yet still the laws stood, defended fiercely by landowners and the ruling class. For them, wealth outweighed compassion, and pride outweighed mercy. Here, politics revealed its cruelest face: the knowledge of harm, yet the persistence of it.

But history also shows the breaking point. The Anti-Corn Law League, led by Richard Cobden and John Bright, organized tirelessly, giving speeches, printing pamphlets, and rallying the people. Their movement grew until even the powerful could no longer ignore it. In 1846, under immense pressure, the Prime Minister Sir Robert Peel repealed the Corn Laws, splitting his own party and sacrificing his career for the greater good. The repeal brought relief to millions, yet it also exposed how long governments may cling to ruinous policies before justice prevails.

The lesson of the Corn Laws is not bound to the nineteenth century alone. In every age, leaders may defend policies they know will harm their people—whether through unjust taxation, reckless wars, or rigid economic doctrines. Sometimes they persist out of stubborn pride, sometimes out of loyalty to the interests that hold them in power, and sometimes out of fear of admitting failure. The tragedy lies in the years of suffering endured while the obvious harm is denied.

O seeker, learn from this tale: beware of those in power who defend policies not with reason but with pride, not with compassion but with stubbornness. A wise ruler listens to the cries of the people and adapts; a foolish one digs deeper trenches, even as the nation suffers. The persistence of harmful policies is not a sign of strength, but of vanity. It is the mark of a government that has forgotten its purpose: to serve, not to punish.

And what actions must we take? As citizens, we must never grow weary of questioning, of protesting, of calling leaders to account. When policies harm the people, silence is complicity. Organize as Cobden and Bright did, raise your voices as the poor did, and press for justice until the walls of pride crack. And as leaders in your own sphere—whether in family, community, or work—never let pride bind you to a harmful path. Have the courage, as Peel had, to change course, even if it costs you dearly.

Thus remember Rees-Mogg’s words: governments sometimes persist in policies they know are harmful, as with the Corn Laws. Let this not be merely a lament of history, but a warning for the present. For the cruelty of pride is timeless, and so too must be the vigilance of the people. Only when truth and compassion overcome vanity and self-interest can politics serve its true purpose: not the exaltation of the few, but the flourishing of the many.