Research Insights

Hubris, the ancient Greek word for excessive pride or self-confidence, has toppled empires, ruined careers, and brought billion-dollar companies to their knees. It begins quietly, almost invisibly: a string of successes, a rise in reputation, the belief that failure is a problem for other people. Then, like a slow leak in a pressurised system, it builds into something dangerous. 

For individuals, hubris warps judgment. The brilliant CEO starts ignoring advisors. The rising politician dismisses dissent. Confidence becomes arrogance, and the ability to course-correct fades. The fall, when it comes, is often swift and public not because failure was inevitable, but because warning signs were ignored. 

Organisations suffer in similar ways. Success breeds complacency or overreach. Innovation stalls, blind spots widen, and the culture grows intolerant of feedback. Executives start believing the rules don’t apply to them until a scandal, a market shift, or a more agile competitor forces a reckoning. Or in the aged care sector, an operator fights back. 

Hubris isn't just a flaw; it's a risk factor. Left unchecked, it turns strength into vulnerability. But when recognised and tempered with humility, curiosity, and a willingness to listen it can be the difference between a short-lived success and enduring impact. The myth of Icarus wasn’t just about flight. It was a warning: soar high but never forget what happens when you fly too close to the sun. 

Hubris is more than just overconfidence it’s the kind of pride that blinds us to reality. It’s the belief that being right is more important than being reasonable, that winning an argument justifies the cost of the battle. In other words, people or residents in this case get hung up on "it’s the principle of it all.” 

In community settings like retirement villages, where cooperation and shared living are essential, hubris can be especially corrosive. We've all seen it: a resident becomes so fixated on proving a point or defending a principle that they stop listening, negotiating, or considering the wider impact. The result? An operator spending thousands of dollars in legal fees, strained relationships between residents within the Village community, and reputations damaged beyond repair. And for what? A "victory" that feels hollow, and a Village that bears the scars. 

It’s a cautionary tale not just for individuals, but for organisations too. Operators who dismiss concerns out of pride, or residents who escalate out of ego, can turn manageable issues into expensive crises. Conflict creates income, and sometimes no one truly wins. The irony of hubris is that it often begins with a desire to do what’s right. But without self-awareness, humility, and the ability to compromise, it quickly spirals into something destructive.

In the end, it doesn’t just tarnish the person who let pride lead the way, it destabilises the very community they claim to care about. Sometimes, the most powerful thing a resident can do is not insist on being right, but choose to be wise.

"He threw his walking frame at me. I ducked. And then I went back to work like nothing happened. There was no report, no follow-up. My manager said, ‘He’s just frustrated, you know how he is.’ But what about us?" 

This is just one of many frontline voices I’ve heard during this project, stories of aged care staff in retirement villages being expected to quietly absorb verbal abuse, threats, and physical aggression from residents, often without acknowledgement, protection, or practical support. 

Managers are caught in the middle, under pressure to retain residents and maintain occupancy, sometimes unsure of how far they can go when balancing care with the rights of others. But the reality is stark: we are breaching our duty of care when we fail to protect staff from workplace harm. The Health and Safety at Work Act 2015 (NZ) is clear, aggression and psychological harm are workplace hazards; in fact, this type of abuse has a name, it's called a psychosocial hazard and employers must take all reasonably practicable steps to eliminate or minimise these risks. So why are so many staff still expected to “cope”?

In exploring the complexities of the aged care sector, I chose Candid Conversations as my primary research methodology because it centres on what truly matters: authentic human experience. This approach allowed me to get a better idea of the real-life situations of those who live and work within the sector. Unlike traditional surveys or structured interviews, candid conversations foster trust, openness, and vulnerability qualities essential for capturing the raw, unfiltered realities of what it's really like to work in the aged care sector. 

There is a need to shine a spotlight on real voices, particularly those of Operators, Managers, and their staff is more urgent than ever. These voices offer a nuanced perspective on the systemic pressures, emotional labour, and ethical dilemmas faced daily by those on the front lines. Policies and reforms often speak in numbers, but it is people who make the system function, adapt, and care. When we listen to them, we gain insight not just into what’s broken, but into what’s possible. 

Aged care staff are not just employees, they are the sector’s most valuable resource. Their experiences, resilience, and compassion form the backbone of the care environment. Yet too often, their voices are overlooked in decision-making processes. By elevating these perspectives, we don’t just gather data we co-create understanding and advocate for change grounded in lived reality. Ultimately, Candid Conversations is about respect. It respects the dignity of those who care and those who are cared for. It affirms that meaningful change begins with listening deeply, honestly, and without agenda.