We often imagine that nations that transformed themselves did so because they invented everything themselves.
The history suggests something quite different: again and again, the most successful societies were not the most original. But they were the best students.
That may sound obvious. Yet many of us behave as though borrowing ideas is a weakness. We celebrate originality, glorify homegrown solutions, and treat the labels “African”, “local” or “indigenous” as the ultimate proofs of sovereignty. But history teaches a different lesson.
Indeed, history is a long chain of intellectual debt. The Romans built their state on the foundations of the Greeks, the Renaissance flourished because Europe learnt from the Arabs, and in our lifetime, the Asian Tigers rose by systematically reverse-engineering the West.
None of these societies became successful by asking, “How can we be the most original?” In the cold, hard calculus of national development, that is a fatal delusion.
That’s why avoiding what might be called the “originality trap” is crucial. It is better to be a copycat than remain a perpetual amateur.
I keep finding the evidence for this throughout history.
For example, when the Americans developed the first atomic bomb, the Russians didn’t seek an authentic Russian version.
They obtained the secrets from the US and developed theirs. Faced with the Cold War realities, the only question was: “What works?” And that is the question that separate the weak from the strong: while the weak seek authenticity, the strong seek effectiveness.
Consider China.
Today, China is a global leader in innovation, but its rise was predicated on the greatest act of systematic learning in history. Following the 1978 reforms, Deng Xiaoping didn’t lecture the world on Chinese uniqueness, he went on a tour of Singapore, Japan, and the US.
He studied their special economic zones, industrial standards, and administrative workflows.
China didn’t invent the high-speed rail, it mastered the German and Japanese technology, made it their own, and achieved a scale—with over 45,000 kilometres of high-speed track today Or look at Meiji-era Japan.
Following the arrival of Commodore Perry’s fleet in 1853, Japan’s backwardness was laid bare.
Instead of retreating into patriotic pride, the Meiji reformers launched the Iwakura Mission. They spent two years traveling across Europe and America, studying everything from postal systems and banking to telegraphy and military education.
They hired thousands of foreigners—to learn. They weren’t preoccupied with where the solutions came from, they cared only if they could propel Japan forward.
It worked.
The obsession with being “us” is, at its core, a psychological trap. It is a mask for an ego that cannot handle the humility required to be a student. Strong nations understand that, that’s why they are strong. Weak nations, instead, are defensive amateurs who always blame circumstances.
Now consider Tanzania.
I think the Tazara railway is a monument to our inability to learn anything from others. Between 1965–1976, China brought over 25,000 labourers here.
Tazara was a huge infrastructure challenge, but the Chinese made it work. Unfortunately, the Chinese technology wasn’t good enough yet: their locomotives really struggled against the rugged Tanzanian terrain. But the Chinese learnt and climbed up the technological ladder.
The tragedy for us is that we didn’t, and more than half a century later, we have remained consumers of railroad technology developed elsewhere.
The outcome? Tazara is back under Chinese management and our SGR is being built by foreigners. Again.
Mastery requires imitation and iteration.
That is how mastery has always been acquired. Nobody begins at the frontier. First you imitate. Then you adapt. Then you improve. Only then do you innovate.
China followed this path. Japan followed this path. South Korea followed this path. Türkiye. Israel. Singapore.
Even Russia—the country often romanticised as an independent civilisational power—spent centuries importing technology and expertise from Europe before emerging as a great power.
We have to become good students first if we want to be teachers. The obsession with being ourselves is a modern delusion.
The origin of an idea doesn’t increase its value. To paraphrase the great Deng Xiaoping, the colour of the cat doesn’t matter if that cat catches mice.
The real skill of statecraft is not invention but selection. Nations develop by knowing what to copy, what to adapt, and what to reject.
The most successful nations are not the most creative at the beginning, they are the most curious, the most humble, and the most willing to learn.
So, we don’t need to become China, Japan, South Korea, Israel, or Türkiye.
But we must learn from all of them. We must learn how nation-building works. We must learn how leadership works.
And we must learn how the economics of growth works.
A wise man once said that children don’t grow by stretching themselves, they grow by eating the right food.
I listen to many of my compatriots and feel that we are trying to skip a step: we want to become masters before we have graduated.
Worse still, we insult those who are ahead. We are just stretching ourselves.
While our stunting is evident for all to see.
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