Sacrificing morality seems to be easiest road to success

When immorality is gradually becoming normalised in Bangladeshi society, the life of a conscientious person becomes a tale of silent resistance. When people around him dress up deception under the guise of “smartness” and “cleverness”, holding on to truth becomes a form of social self-immolation. In this country today, a father is more anxious about his child's exam results than the child’s honesty. Even as teachers, many prioritise selling notes over moral lessons. Businesspeople present adulteration as a “strategy”. Politics has become not a service to people, but a game of greed and influence. And among these crowds, those few who still dare to speak the truth and try to walk the path of righteousness are seen by society as “kings in the land of fools”.

But the anguish of a conscientious person begins elsewhere. When he makes a mistake, he cannot accept it—he keeps asking himself, “What would have happened if I had shown a little courage then?” Others forget their wrongs; but conscience does not let him forget. Even seeing his loved ones’ mistakes, he must remain silent—because the helplessness of being unable to act despite seeing the waywardness of someone you love burns the heart. And when he speaks the truth, when he cautions others, his words dissolve into the air—instead, people laugh and say, “Can you survive on ideals?” As a result, society’s rejection and ridicule gradually silence him.

The greatest pain comes when his loved ones suffer the consequences of wrongdoings—someone loses a job, someone’s honour is destroyed, someone perhaps faces legal trouble for a crime. Yet he himself was not part of the wrongdoing—but still, out of love, out of a sense of humanity, his suffering is no less. This shared pain may not be visible to others; but it corrodes his mind from within. Day after day, month after month, the struggle continues—until finally a fatigue settles over his heart. No one asks, “How are you?” Society assumes he is fine—because he does not scream; but inside him grows a silent depression, a melancholy that does not speak, only dims the light in a person.

There are countless people like this who can earn through hard work abroad; but when they return home and try to earn honestly, they are ashamed. Because our society looks at titles, not professions. A cleaner’s job abroad is honourable, but if one opens a tea stall at home, they are ridiculed. Yet the real question should have been—“Was this income earned honestly?” Instead, we ask—“Was this income a lot?” We hide corruption behind a mask of civility, and turn honesty into a symbol of poverty.

Standing against this mentality is not easy. Because society constantly says, “Everyone does it, why should you be left out?” But here the error is clear—if everyone does wrong, does that make it right? Even if everyone takes bribes, when one person says no, that is when the first pulse of change in society begins. If a bank officer resists the temptation of daily “speed money”, he is the one standing for integrity.

Social respect is no longer determined by principles, but by how expensive one’s car is, how large one’s office is. An honest grocer is looked down upon, while a corrupt contractor is invited and received with a smile. Education gives us degrees; but it does not teach us the dignity of labour—so even a young freelancer becomes “unemployed” in the eyes of relatives, though he takes no bribes, and lives by his own effort.

If we truly want to change society, we must show the new generation the value of morals. If fathers give bribes at home, lie, and then tell their children “be honest”, it will not work. A cleaner, a farmer, an honest small entrepreneur—they should be the role models for children. Not through books, but through life stories we must teach that honesty is not weakness—honesty is courage.

And we must bring those courageous people forward—those who live quietly, sustained by the power of truth. Their stories must be made viral in media and on social platforms, so that youth can understand—this path is also possible. If a government officer rejects all bribe offers, he must be made the centre of national conversation. If a teacher regularly takes his classes on time, let him be the role model.

Because if honest people feel shame and hide, then the triumph of corruption becomes inevitable. To preserve the foundation of society, honest people must come forward with dignity. They must say with heads held high—“I earn a small income; but I steal from no one.” That is the real pride, that is true freedom.

Such people already exist around us. For example, Altaf Hossain in Mirpur, Dhaka—a tea vendor who doesn’t take even a penny extra. One day, a wallet was found outside his shop—inside was forty thousand taka. Everyone said, keep it; but he returned it, found the owner. His shop now has double the customers—because people want to believe that honest people still exist. Altaf says, “You can’t buy respect with money; but if you have respect, money will come.”

There is Runa Akter—a village girl who learned freelancing through YouTube and has now created employment for 15 women. At first, she had to sew quilts to earn money for data; but she never accepted unethical proposals. She says, “I want not just money, but peace of mind too. Honest earnings are what give me peaceful sleep at night.”

There is Rafiqul Islam—who passed the public service exam but refused to give a bribe and returned to his village. Now he does organic farming and trains other farmers. His enterprise ‘Satata Krishi’ (Honesty Agriculture) is not just a business, but a movement. He says, “I didn’t work for the state; but I’m doing something for society—and that means a lot more to me.”

These stories are for those who think, “If everyone steals, why shouldn’t I?” or those who are still hesitant about choosing the path of truth. Looking at these people makes one feel—it is possible to live uprightly even while being honest.

Because honest income is never small. It may be a small amount; but it contains sleep, pride, and self-respect. If we respect small jobs, empower honest people, and honour our own conscience—then society will reward us.

When conscience is lost, not just one person but an entire society is lost. And when an honest person stands tall, forgetting his weaknesses, the foundation of society does not shake—it becomes stronger.

But this truth-driven life is not always applauded. Society often puts these people on a pedestal—not to follow, but to show that “even being good doesn’t ensure a good life.” Those who lose their jobs protesting injustice, who are transferred for not taking bribes, whose career progression stalls because they stay honest—we look at them only with pity. Yet it is not pity they deserve, but respect. Because even if they lose, their position was not wrong. They are the ones who say, “I did not compromise”, and that statement itself can one day become a tale of pride for our children.

When a child sees that his honest father is falling behind, that his teacher remains poor for not taking bribes, he asks, “Father, if this is what happens when you’re honest, why should I be?” Then if we just say, “You just keep your conscience clear”—that is not enough. We must structure our society in such a way that being honest also becomes a path to success. Otherwise, the next generation will become even more self-centred and opportunistic, believing—“My benefit is the ultimate truth.”

So, now is the time to break the silence of honest people. Their stories must be brought not just to families, but to the nation. Journalists, teachers, writers, filmmakers—everyone should have just one goal: to make truth-tellers into heroes. If a thief is stylish on the cinema screen, and in real life we mock the honest man, then which path will the youth follow? To bring change, we must build a new imagination—where morality is not weakness, but heroism. Where not wealth, but respect is the ultimate measure.

Many say, nothing will change in this country. Many say, “That’s just how the system is.” But this system is formed by our silent acceptance. If we once say, “No”—then the system can change. If a bus driver refuses extra fare, if a student refrains from taking a leaked exam, if a journalist rejects a secret deal—then our children will know, there is an alternative path.

That alternative path is not easy—we know this. But on that path lies peace. Because at the end of the night, when a person looks in the mirror and does not see the signs of fear in his own eyes, he knows—his life may be small; but it is right. Where money, status, fame—all will fade one day, the only immortal thing is self-respect.

So, this article is not just one of sorrow, but of an appeal. If you are still choosing the path of honesty, or wish to—then know this: you are not alone. All around you are many others, who quietly, resolutely hold on to the truth. You just have to find them. When these silent warriors speak up, society changes.

We want a society where, when an employee returns home without taking a bribe, the wife says, “Your honesty is my pride.” Where a child is not asked, “What does your father do?” but “What kind of person is your father?” Where the method of earning matters more than the amount. And where a person’s conscience, not his profession, defines his humanity.

In a society where sacrificing morality seems to be the easiest road to success, living with conscience means carrying a kind of silent, invisible pain. It is a story of five layers of deep emotion, a conscientious person’s journey not just of moral choices—but of inner torment. This journey is usually formed in five stages. First, remorse—inner anguish over past decisions or wrong actions. Second, helplessness—the pain of being unable to act despite seeing a loved one’s mistake. Third, frustration—society’s deafness and ridicule despite constant caution. Fourth, shared suffering—mental anguish from the pain of loved ones even without committing the wrong. And in the fifth stage comes melancholy and exhaustion—a gradual internal death that society neither sees nor wants to know, one that many in Bangladesh carry silently.

This article ends here; but the question raised at the beginning remains—do you really think one cannot live honestly? Or are you now feeling, even a little, that to live is not just to earn—but to live with a heart?
If the answer is ‘yes’, then you yourself are the name of a possibility.

Rahman Mridha: Researcher and Former Director, Pfizer, Sweden