There is a seductive illusion in the politics of conflict—the belief that one can fight a cold war through borrowed strength. It is the quiet confidence that an ally, once recruited, will remain a tool rather than become a force. Yet history, philosophy, and human nature warn us otherwise: the people we enlist in our silent wars often become the very storms that consume us.
This caution is powerfully captured in The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene, particularly in Law 19: “Know who you are dealing with—do not offend the wrong person.” This law is not merely about enemies; it is equally about allies. For in the theatre of power, the wrong ally can be more dangerous than the right enemy.
To use another man as a weapon is to gamble with his nature—and nature, unlike strategy, does not bend easily.
The first, and perhaps most deceptive, ally is the arrogant man—the proud friend whose strength appears irresistible. He is bold where you are cautious, loud where you are silent, and fearless where you are calculating. At first, he seems like the perfect instrument against your adversaries. But arrogance carries within it an unyielding sense of self-importance. Such a man does not see himself as serving your cause; he believes he is the cause.
The danger emerges the moment he realizes he has been used—or worse, undermined behind his back. Pride, once bruised, does not retreat quietly; it retaliates. Like a lion provoked beyond dignity, he does not merely withdraw loyalty—he attacks with the fury of betrayal. As Niccolò Machiavelli warned, reliance on forces whose loyalty is not rooted in shared purpose is a fatal error.
How to handle the arrogant ally:
The only sustainable way to manage such a man is through controlled respect and clearly defined boundaries. Feed his ego just enough to maintain cooperation, but never allow him access to your core strategy. Do not publicly undermine him; arrogance, when humiliated, becomes vengeance. Where his pride becomes uncontrollable, distance is safer than confrontation. You do not “break” an arrogant man—you outgrow his relevance and quietly remove his proximity to power.
If arrogance is explosive, insecurity is corrosive. The hopelessly insecure man is a far more subtle but equally destructive ally. He operates not from confidence, but from fear—fear of being overlooked, replaced, or diminished. His loyalty is fragile, constantly seeking validation and reassurance.
Deprived of recognition, he begins to unravel. In his desperation, he may leak information to feel important, sabotage efforts to avoid being sidelined, or even align with your enemies if it restores his sense of worth. This reflects the psychological insights of Sigmund Freud, who emphasized how unconscious anxieties shape behavior.
How to handle the insecure ally:
Such a man requires structured reassurance, but never dependence. Give him defined roles, measurable contributions, and limited access to sensitive information. Praise in moderation, but never elevate him beyond his emotional capacity. If his instability begins to threaten the mission, gradual disengagement is essential. One must reduce his influence without triggering his fear of abandonment—for that fear is what makes him unpredictable.
More dangerous still is the man governed by suspicion—Mr. Suspicion. He appears vigilant, even useful, in a world where deception is common. But excessive suspicion quickly turns into paranoia. He sees betrayal in every gesture, conspiracy in every silence, and threat in every delay.
Such a man cannot sustain cooperation. He questions your intentions as much as he questions those of your enemies. He withholds information, hesitates in action, and may even preemptively betray you out of fear that you will betray him first. In many ways, he embodies the world described by Thomas Hobbes—a condition driven by fear and mistrust.
How to handle the suspicious ally:
Transparency is your strongest tool, but only to a limit. Provide clarity in communication, document decisions, and avoid ambiguity that feeds his paranoia. However, never make him central to operations requiring trust cohesion. Where suspicion becomes chronic, containment is necessary. Keep him on the periphery, where his vigilance can be useful but his paranoia cannot destabilize the core. If left unchecked, he does not just doubt others—he dismantles the very structure he is part of.
Finally, there is the most dangerous figure of all: the serpent with a long memory. Unlike the arrogant man, who reacts in anger, or the insecure man, who collapses under pressure, this one is patient. He does not forget. He does not forgive. He waits.
Every slight, every manipulation, every hidden insult is quietly recorded. And when the moment is right—when you are vulnerable, dependent, or distracted—he strikes with precision. This reflects the darker philosophical insight of Friedrich Nietzsche on ressentiment: a deep, enduring resentment that matures into calculated revenge.
How to handle the serpent:
The only true strategy is discipline of conduct. Do not wrong such a person in the first place if you must keep them near. Maintain consistency, fairness, and strategic distance. If you suspect accumulated resentment, never assume time has healed it—time has only refined it. Where risk outweighs value, complete disengagement is the safest course. Some relationships cannot be repaired; they can only be ended before they mature into retaliation.
In political and personal history alike, the most devastating betrayals rarely come from declared enemies. They come from those who once stood closest—those who watched, waited, and remembered.
The lesson, therefore, is both simple and severe: power is not merely about defeating enemies; it is about understanding people. The greatest strategic error is not underestimating your opponent—it is misjudging your ally.
The arrogant man will turn on you when his pride is wounded. The insecure man will collapse and take your plans with him. Mr. Suspicion will paralyze your strategy with doubt. And the serpent with a long memory will destroy you when you least expect it. The wisdom of Robert Greene is therefore not optional—it is essential. To navigate power without understanding human nature is to walk blindly into danger.
Do not take comfort in using others to fight your silent wars. For the moment they discover your hidden hand—scratching their backs while sharpening your own blade—they will not remain your allies. They will become your reckoning.
And when they strike, it will not be as friends. It will be as forces you foolishly created.
About the Writer
Evan Sande Ndahura is a Ugandan political and legal commentator, columnist, poet, and social justice advocate whose writings interrogate governance, constitutionalism, and the political economy of power in Africa. He writes from a critical Pan-African perspective, examining judicial accountability, electoral justice, and institutional reform, with a particular focus on Uganda’s legal and political landscape. He believes that Africa’s liberation will not be won by the gun, but through the power of a relentless and conscious pen.
Torch Media Africa
