There is an uncomfortable truth within parts of our South Asian community that we need to confront. We talk regularly about racism, discrimination, glass ceilings and the barriers holding our communities back. These are real issues. But perhaps we also need the courage to ask a more uncomfortable question: how often are we holding each other back?
I have seen it too many times over the years. Someone gets promoted, builds a successful business, receives an award, enters public life, or gains recognition for their work. You might expect the response to be: “Well done. One of our own is succeeding.” Sadly, sometimes the opposite happens.
The whispers begin. “Who does he think he is?” “She thinks she is somebody now.” “They only got there because they know the right people.” Then comes that dangerous phrase: “I’ve heard things about them.” Heard what? From whom? Where is the evidence? It often doesn’t matter. The seed has been planted and the gossip machine gets to work.
In places such as Bradford, where communities are closely connected, gossip can travel frighteningly quickly. One conversation becomes ten, a WhatsApp message gets forwarded, and before long an allegation is repeated as though it were fact.
Some people go even further. They don’t just gossip; they actively try to damage someone through anonymous complaints, malicious emails, telephone calls, reports to employers or whispers to influential people. Then, incredibly, they may shake that person’s hand the following week and smile as though nothing has happened.
That is what makes it particularly ugly. The knife often doesn’t come from the front. It comes from behind, and sometimes it is held by somebody you know.
After decades working in the community, I have learned an uncomfortable lesson: sometimes strangers can be happier about your success than people you thought were your friends. Success reveals people. Many will sympathise when you are struggling; the real test of friendship is whether somebody can genuinely celebrate when you are doing well.
Why does this happen? Part of the problem, I believe, is our obsession with comparison.
For many South Asian children, comparison begins early. “Look at your cousin.” Who got the better GCSE results? Whose daughter became a doctor? Whose son has the better job? Who bought the bigger house? Who drives the more expensive car? Who had the grander wedding?
We have turned life into a league table and then wonder why some adults become bitter when somebody else appears to move above them. Instead of thinking, “If they can do it, perhaps I can too,” the reaction becomes: “Why them?”
Social media has made matters worse. We now see everybody’s promotions, awards, holidays, businesses, houses, cars and achievements instantly. What we don’t see are the years of hard work, rejection, sacrifice and disappointment behind those photographs.
There is also something contradictory about our attitude towards ambition. We push our children relentlessly to succeed: become a doctor, lawyer, accountant or academic; build a business; reach a senior position. Yet when somebody actually becomes successful, visible or influential, we sometimes accuse them of “getting too big for their boots”.
So, which is it? Do we want successful people, or only successful people who don’t become more successful than us?
Of course, successful people are not above criticism. Nobody should be. Some become arrogant, some forget where they came from and others misuse their positions. They should be challenged. But there is a huge difference between legitimate criticism and desperately digging for dirt because somebody’s success makes you uncomfortable.
We should also stop pretending that every malicious complaint is about “accountability”. Sometimes it is simply jealousy wearing a respectable suit.
For Muslims, this should be particularly uncomfortable. Islam warns strongly against hasad — envy — as well as backbiting and damaging another person’s reputation. We speak proudly about brotherhood and community and say Masha’ Allah when someone succeeds. But saying it with the tongue means very little if resentment is burning in the heart.
We can stand shoulder to shoulder in the mosque and then spend the journey home pulling somebody’s reputation apart. Surely, we should ask ourselves what that says about our character.
This behaviour not only hurts individuals; it also weakens communities. Successful communities build networks. Established professionals’ mentor younger people. Business owners encourage new entrepreneurs. People recommend others for opportunities. Those who climb the ladder reach back and help somebody else climb.
We need much more of that mentality in Bradford and across our communities.
Instead, too much energy can be wasted on personalities, factions, family rivalries, community politics and gossip. We complain that British Asians and Muslims are underrepresented in senior positions, yet when one of our own reaches the top, somebody may already be waiting to drag them back down.
We cannot constantly complain about glass ceilings outside our communities while creating new ones for each other inside them.
Perhaps the hardest lesson I have learned is that not everybody who congratulates you is genuinely happy for you. Some people want you to succeed, but not more than them. They want your children to do well, but not better than theirs. They welcome your recognition until your name appears more often than theirs.
That isn’t friendship. It is competition disguised as friendship.
Someone else’s success does not diminish yours. Their promotion did not steal yours. Their business does not prevent you building one. Their award does not make your contribution less valuable.
For those of us who believe in Islam, there is another simple reminder: our rizq, our provision and opportunities, ultimately come from Allah. Pulling somebody else down will not increase what is meant for us.
So perhaps it is time to stop asking, “Why them?” and start asking, “What can I learn from them?”
Stop the gossip, the backstabbing and the anonymous attempts to destroy people. Stop trying to extinguish somebody else’s light in the hope that yours will somehow shine brighter.
It won’t.
A strong community doesn’t pull down the people who climb. It builds more ladders and helps more people climb them.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions or editorial position of Asian Standard, its publishers, employees, partners or any associated brands or organisations. Responsibility for the opinions expressed rests with the individual author.
