In Greek mythology, Medusa was portrayed as a monster, her gaze turning men to stone, and her head sought as a trophy. Her origin story tells a different version of this truth. She was once a mortal woman, violated by a Greek god, too powerful to be punished, and then cursed to the mythological monster we know, not by her own doing but by the actions of others.
This myth mirrors a modern paradox found in the life of a Business Rescue Practitioner. A professional who, depending on the observer, can be either the saviour of a company or the executioner of hope.
The practitioner is an ally to the employees, who wake each morning with a job still in place and salaries still paid. They see someone who has stepped into chaos and is desperately trying to restore order.
To certain creditors, the view is far darker. These creditors are the parties who are forced to compromise, often receiving only cents in the Rand. They do not see jobs saved or futures preserved. They see only what was owed and what is now lost. In their eyes, the practitioner is the villain, executing commercial triage with cold detachment.
This sharp contrast is not surprising. According to Moral Luck and Outcome Bias, we don’t judge intention, but rather by perceived results. When those results vary across stakeholders, so does the judgment.
Yet what is overlooked is the Deontological duty carried by the practitioner, the legal and moral obligation to act in the best interest of all affected persons, not just the loudest or most wounded. This obligation requires that a practitioner does as little harm as possible for the greatest good. It is not glamorous work, it is not fun, and it is not always black and white, but it is needed.
How, then, can one be a villain when they secure 50 cents in the rand instead of 5? How can saving jobs and preserving economic value be seen as malevolent?
The answer lies in perspective.
Much like Zimbardo’s Lucifer Effect – where ordinary people take on unexpected roles in extreme situations – the Business Rescue Practitioner steps into a world where desperation reframes every decision to be judged by the individual's sensemaking.
A hero to one is a villain to another, not because the practitioner changed, but because retrospective framing allows others to cast different lights on the same fates.
So let us ask: Is the practitioner the monster, or merely the one who walked into the cursed temple to try to fix what others had broken?