Sorry, not sorry: When unapologetic leadership becomes a power play

To be an effective, empathetic leader, there are moments when saying “sorry”, authentically admitting error or taking accountability for past poor choices, is the smart and morally sound course, writes Mark Carter.

Is being apologetic a sign of weakness? In recent years, some leadership trends have reframed what it means to be “authentic”, at times blurring the line between conviction and stubbornness. Forbes has critiqued a growing tendency for leaders to double down on decisions without reflection or accountability, presenting unwavering confidence as authenticity. The danger lies in mistaking steadfastness for strength when it can mask ego or a lack of empathy.

In the realm of leadership, the power of an apology, a “mea culpa”, has long been a mainstay of public relations. The Latin expression, meaning “through my fault”, evolved into an important strategy when faced with harsh public criticism.

When a leader faces such backlash, be it politics or business, this standard historical approach is steeped in behavioural science and psychology. Admittance, accountability, and empathetic positive action may be disarming, appealing to a sense of humility, thus opening a door in the mind of the offended to the possibility of redemption.

Tylenol’s response to cyanide-laced capsule poisoning sabotage in the 1980s, with forthright apologies paired with concrete actions, not only saved the brand at the time, but it also became a case study for how companies should potentially handle a crisis when faced with the most destructive PR scenario.

But what happens when leaders refuse to apologise, remain defiant and simply continue to move forward unapologetically, something we are seeing more of in the modern age.

Uber’s Travis Kalanick exemplified the hard-charging founder archetype. A string of public controversies, including a viral video of him berating a driver and widespread reports of a toxic workplace, culminated in investor pressure that forced his resignation as CEO in 2017.

For Elon Musk, being unapologetic and unfiltered seems part of his persona. He is comfortable to speak his mind and will hang with it even in the face of the fiercest controversy. Musk previously even went as far as to refer to British cave diver Vern Unsworth as a “pedo” in initial rescue attempts to reach the soccer team trapped in the Tham Luang caves. When threatened with a lawsuit, he responded with “if you don’t sue, it’s true”. A court case did eventuate, with Musk’s defamation defence victory only seeming to further fuel his bravado at leveraging unrepentance as a strategy.

In February 2025, during a CPAC conference, Musk brandished a chainsaw on stage, a gift from Argentine President Javier Milei, declaring: “This is the chainsaw for bureaucracy.” Months later, following public criticism, Musk acknowledged on social media that the stunt “lacked empathy”. This rare moment of self-reflection coincided with a turbulent period in which his personal brand was under intense scrutiny, compounded by tensions with Trump over federal budgets and public backlash to the volatile handling of DOGE.

Jeff Bezos, too, has frequently swept aside discussions surrounding labour practices to monopoly, instead downplaying criticisms using tactics of diverting the focus to the positive impacts of success as measured by innovation and dominance, not public approval.

Some leaders have either a knack or a tendency for remaining unapologetic over a long period. Alan Joyce, former CEO of Qantas, won admiration from some and harsh criticism from others for many years for making tough, sometimes controversial, decisions. Leading to an exit that, in the end, received more sighs of relief than congratulatory thanks or applause.

Even post-exit, Alan Joyce has continually defended decisions as necessary, telling interviewers: “We had to make some really tough decisions to survive.” Critics argue this framing deflects accountability as unavoidable, particularly given Joyce’s remarks during operational struggles post-COVID-19, where he partially blamed passengers for simply not “being match fit”.

There may well be gender dynamics, even biases, at play in how we react to our leaders. For a male leader, refusing to apologise may be perceived as strength; female leaders who demonstrate similar traits are more likely to be defined by other less flattering terms for their lack of expected empathy.

Kelly Bayer Rosmarin, CEO of Optus, was criticised for lacking empathy for her focus being perceived as weighted towards technical sophistication over a heartfelt apology in her initial response to the 2022 cyber attack and data breach.

In Alicia Menendez’s book, The Likeability Trap, she opens with the importance to her of being liked, describing this as being “particularly pronounced for women and girls, because across cultures we socialise women and girls to think of ourselves in relation to others”.

Perhaps the likeability trap that Menendez is referring to is the softer approach we expect from female leaders, holding them to a different level of emotional accountability, than those faced by their male counterparts.

Plenty of studies suggest as much, reflecting that the softer approach we expect from female leaders may hold them to different levels of emotional accountability than those faced by their male counterparts, including greater scrutiny for assertive decisions and being penalised when they do not conform to expected “softer” behaviours.

With the recent Triple-Zero Optus outages, apologies from embattled CEO Stephen Rue and Singtel’s CEO, Yuen Kuan Moon, have been clear and direct. Rue’s apology, though connected to a far more tragic operational failure than the 2022 cyberattack, has been criticised more as procedurally flawed and inadequate, rather than emotionally insufficient.

From a human behaviour perspective, gender aside, those with more dominant style tendencies are more likely to resist apologising, interpreting that doing so may be perceived as a sign of weakness. The polarity being those with a natural inbuilt antenna for the welfare of others might lean instead into such vulnerability, seeing this instead as a great strength.

Distinctions like this scratch the surface. At a deeper level, it is why EQ (emotional intelligence) is such a significant skill for leaders to work on and develop as a holistic, grounding tool.

Empathy and apology have deep evolutionary roots. Within humans and our closest ancestors, cooperation and maintaining social bonds were crucial for survival, sharing food, defending against predators, and resolving conflicts. Demonstrating humility or conciliatory behaviour helped secure allies and ensured inclusion within the tribe, making empathy and acknowledgement advantageous traits to be passed down through generations.

Emotional intelligence is, in many ways, a muscle like any other. You can strengthen EQ muscles in relation to personal facets such as self-awareness, self-regulation, social awareness and social regulation through conscious development and better choices.

Doing so arms leaders with balanced, grounded power. Knowing when to stand one’s ground versus when to show humility, that saying “sorry” doesn’t necessarily equate to diminishing power or negating a cause.

Stephen Fry, actor, author and comedian, is also often famously cited: “It’s now very common to hear people say, ‘I’m rather offended by that’ ... ‘I am offended by that.’ Well, so f-ing what.” In discussions, he argues, not every expression of offence requires redress; behavioural science likewise shows empathy and humility evolved as social-bonding mechanisms that support group cohesion rather than constant self-abasement.

In recent years, access to social media has given everyone the power to be free-speaking publishers. Often, without recourse or accountability. This, married with algorithms on a mission to aggregate what you read and respond to in your own reinforcing echo chamber, has messed up the dynamics of societal norms, including the social fabric of community and civil discourse.

Like many universal scientific laws, there’s always an exception to the rule. In this case, if relentless lack of remorse, unapologetic behaviour, were a science, then Donald Trump is surely the obvious exception. He’s escaped dozens of controversies that would be career-ending for most other people.

After the controversial 2005 “Access Hollywood” tape, Donald Trump’s brief apology, “I said it, I was wrong, and I apologise,” was widely criticised as limited, especially given that it was quickly followed by defences of the remarks. Illustrating how a terse mea culpa can be perceived as insufficient when behaviour remains consistent, at least to everyone other than the most hardened followers or sycophants. In his second term as President, surrounded by loyalists replicating his behaviour, any sign of the slightest capacity to reflect, recant or show remorse has all but disappeared.

If you are tempted to follow in the footsteps of leaders who are unbendingly unapologetic, pause first and think hard before digging your heels in by default.

In recent years, this rise in unapologetic leadership, reframed under the guise of authenticity, is blurring the line somewhat between conviction and stubbornness. The danger lies in mistaking steadfastness for strength when it actually masks ego or lack of empathy.

When intelligent thought, ethics, values, and morals have been properly considered, standing firm, backing yourself and “crossing the Rubicon” can indeed be a sign of strength.

But to be an effective, empathetic leader, there are moments when saying “sorry”, authentically admitting error or taking accountability for past poor choices, is the smart and morally sound course. It’s also simply part of being human.

Mark Carter is an international keynote speaker, trainer, TEDx speaker and author.