The moral of the story – lessons in ethical leadership from the Netflix drama, Toxic Town

First things first: spoiler alert. I refer to the whole story of the Toxic Town drama in this piece. If you’re intending to watch it, perhaps it’s best to do so first and then come back to read what I make of the drama through the lens of moral leadership.

Toxic Town is a four-part Netflix drama based on the true story of the Corby toxic waste case. It aired in early 2025; I came to it later, watching over three nights in May.

The series centres on a group of mothers whose children were born with severe birth defects after exposure to toxic waste during the redevelopment of a steelworks site. Their legal battle culminated in a 2009 judgment that found Corby Borough Council negligent. It’s both beautiful and heartbreaking.

For me, it raised an important question about what leads some people to act in defence of justice, fairness, and human dignity – those who were, in the words of Abraham Lincoln, “the better angels of our nature.” And why others fail to act, even when the moral stakes are high.

There is deep richness in the story: the mothers’ long fight for justice; the quiet determination of their lawyer, Des Collins; and the moral awakening of the young engineer, Ted Jenkins. But for the purposes of this piece, I’ll concentrate on the two political figures, their markedly different moral responses, and the personal implications.

One story, two leaders, and a world of difference in ethics

At the heart of Toxic Town are two public figures: Roy Thomas, the fictionalised Leader of the Council, and Sam Hagen, a more junior councillor. Both face mounting evidence that something has gone terribly wrong.

Roy Thomas is a politically ambitious figure who rises from Deputy Leader to Leader. He’s driven, calculating, and ultimately complicit in ignoring safety shortcuts, awarding improper contracts, and suppressing damning evidence. He is not a villain in the caricatured sense, but a man convinced he is acting in Corby’s best interest. Over time, we watch the gradual erosion of his moral discernment as he becomes adept at not seeing, justifying, and protecting the institution – and himself above all else.

He is contrasted with Sam Hagen: less influential, less politically astute, but morally alert. When council engineer Ted Jenkins raises concerns, Sam listens. He doesn’t rush to judgment, but he stays open. He senses that something is wrong and chooses to act, even though it costs him status and support. As Roy grows more entrenched and defensive, Sam takes a lonelier, more principled path – one that ultimately aligns with truth and accountability.

Their diverging responses offer a compelling case study in ethical leadership.

A moral framework for understanding Roy and Sam

James Rest (1941–1999) was a prominent moral psychologist who developed a practical model for understanding how people make ethical decisions. His framework identifies four components necessary for moral action:

1. Moral Sensitivity – recognising a moral issue
2. Moral Judgment – reasoning about what is right
3. Moral Motivation – prioritising ethical action
4. Moral Character – following through, even when it’s hard

These components play out in stark contrast between Roy and Sam. Rest’s model helps us move beyond abstract ideals and into the real-world complexity of how leaders perceive, reason, and act under pressure.

Moral Sensitivity – What do you allow yourself to see?

Roy is deeply invested in the council’s regeneration plans for Corby. So when early warnings arise – scientific reports, resident complaints, internal concerns that he trains himself not to see them.

Moral sensitivity is the capacity to recognise that a situation has moral implications and requires the empathy necessary to adopt perspectives beyond one’s own. In this regard, Thomas is profoundly lacking. His ambition for higher office and his personal legacy overshadow his ability to frame the corruption and safety breaches he oversees as ethical concerns. He filters evidence through a lens of institutional self-preservation. His moral sensitivity is not absent due to ignorance but is dulled by habit, reinforced over time by a system that rewards loyalty and strategic detachment.

Sam, in contrast, listens. When Ted Jenkins raises the alarm, Sam does not deflect or dismiss it. He allows the discomfort to settle. His openness to vulnerability and refusal to look away demonstrate moral sensitivity in action. This marks his first act of moral responsibility.

Moral Judgment – What do you believe is right?

Recognising a moral issue is not the same as reasoning well about what to do. This is where moral judgment comes into play – the capacity to assess options and determine what is ethically right. It necessitates not only logic and values but also the willingness to reconcile those values with reality.

Roy Thomas fails here, too. His moral reasoning is instrumental and procedural. He doesn’t ask: “What’s right?” but “What will preserve the council?” He relies on legal process and precedent, rather than ethical principles. Even with credible evidence of harm, he rationalises inaction as strategic risk management.

Sam’s judgment, though less certain, is ethically grounded. He doesn’t have all the facts, but he understands that silence in the face of harm is not neutral. His reasoning is principle-driven, based on fairness, transparency, and accountability. He’s willing to reassess and act accordingly, even when it’s inconvenient. Crucially, Sam is not governed solely by institutional rules, but by a deeper moral compass.

Moral Motivation – What matters most to you?

As pressure builds, Roy’s motivation becomes clear: protect the institution, preserve his position, and avoid blame. Even if he suspects wrongdoing, those ethical priorities have long been eclipsed by ambition and fear.

Moral motivation is the most psychologically rich and socially complex of the four components. Unlike sensitivity (which is about noticing) or judgment (which is about reasoning), moral motivation is about what people value most when their values come into conflict. It answers the question: Even if I know what’s right, will I prioritise it above what’s comfortable, safe, or self-serving? It’s about what wins when values clash.

Roy is not uniquely unethical; his motivations have been shaped by a political culture that rewards loyalty, discourages dissent, and conflates success with self-preservation. Ethical concerns have been displaced. Not denied, but deprioritised.

Sam, meanwhile, sustains moral motivation. He continues to act in alignment with his values, even as it isolates him. His identity isn’t bound to his party or career. He is not outside the system, but he isn’t beholden to it. His commitment to truth, community, and responsibility anchors him when the stakes rise.

Where Roy asks, “What protects us?”, Sam asks, What is right?” That distinction is everything.

Moral motivation, as James Rest suggests, is not merely the desire to do good. It involves prioritising moral values when they compete with other influences – such as ambition, loyalty, safety, or success. What makes Sam exceptional is not that he is free from these pressures, but that he consistently elevates ethical concerns above them. This is the essence of moral motivation: the decision, often costly and often quiet, to place conscience before convenience.

Moral Character – Will you act, even when it costs you?

This is where the deepest divergence lies. Sam perseveres. He brings the issue to light, supports the mothers, and stands as an independent candidate when his party no longer backs him. His decision is not loud or self-congratulatory, but it is resolute. He acts not only from principle, but with moral character: the final component in James Rest’s model, and often the most underappreciated.

He brings the issue to light, supports the mothers, and stands as an independent candidate when his party no longer backs him. His decision is not loud or self-congratulatory, but it is resolute. He acts not only from principle, but with moral character: the final component in James Rest’s model, and often the most underappreciated.

Roy, by contrast, retreats. In a final exchange with lawyer Des Collins, he mutters, “I don’t think the judge is convinced,” refusing to accept the court’s moral verdict. When Des tells him, “You put profits over people,” Roy defends himself:

“People expect perfect nowadays. Nothing can be perfect, but good enough. Corby was built on good enough. The steelworks—not perfect but good enough. Some people got hurt.”

This is not the voice of ethical complexity. It is the voice of someone who never built the moral capacity to carry responsibility. Roy cannot hold the truth of what happened, so he reframes it as acceptable collateral damage. He rationalises rather than reflects, offering nostalgia in place of accountability.

Rest’s insight was that moral failure is rarely a failure of knowledge. It is more often a failure of character—the ability to endure moral discomfort, stand up in the face of dissent, and act when action is costly. Roy does not lack intellect. He lacks courage. And without courage, the best judgment and clearest vision will crumble under pressure.

Sam’s integrity, by contrast, is not innate. It’s been cultivated. His moral identity, values, and actions are aligned. That alignment—what Rest might call ethical stamina—is what defines character.

Status as moral constraint

The difference between Roy and Sam wasn’t only personal, it was structural.

As the figurehead of the council, Roy had everything to lose by admitting any fault. His status constrained his moral imagination, and he couldn’t afford to step outside the system that had elevated him. To question the council’s actions would have meant questioning his own legitimacy, legacy, and identity.

Sam, being further from the centre of power, had less to protect and more room for clarity. His relative marginality created conditions conducive to moral courage. This highlights an often-overlooked reality: moral clarity doesn’t solely originate from within. It’s influenced by position, power, and proximity to risk. Would Sam have shown the same courage had he been accepted as an insider? Perhaps not. Insight requires space, and courage often demands detachment from what others might consider unthinkable to lose.

Their final confrontation, in the toilets of a working men’s club, captures the fracture. Sam tells Roy, “I used to want to be like you.” It’s a break not just with his party, but with his former self. Roy responds with disbelief. He can’t understand why Sam would abandon the group. What Roy sees as betrayal is, in fact, integrity.

Later, we see Sam alone. He has lost his job, his status, and his standing. But he hasn’t lost his self-respect. It is Sam who convinces Ted Jenkins to testify. It’s the decisive act that makes justice possible. His legacy has been secured by his willingness to risk it.

The moral of the story

Toxic Town offers many lessons for leadership, but one stands out: two men faced the same crisis. Only one was ready.

Their difference was not just a matter of moral instinct, but of moral courage.

Rest’s model shows that ethical leadership depends not only on good judgment, but on the ability to:

• Recognise moral complexity (sensitivity)
• Think through what is right (judgment)
• Prioritise moral values under pressure (motivation)
• Follow through with courage and coherence (character)

None of these can be taken for granted in leadership. They must be cultivated, over time, often in quiet moments long before a public crisis appears.

So the real question for executive leaders isn’t: What would I have done in Roy’s or Sam’s position?

Better questions are:

• Do I consistently recognise the moral dimensions of my work, or have I conditioned myself not to observe?
• When values clash, what do I prioritise—and what does that reveal about me?
• Am I developing the courage and resilience to act when the cost of doing so is high?
• And who do I have around me that helps me in becoming the kind of leader who can follow through?

These are not abstract questions. They are leadership questions. And the answers, when they come, will not be in what we say, but in what we do.

References

Rest, J. et al (2014) Postconventional moral thinking: A Neo-Kohlberian Approach. Psychology Press: New York.