Maq Masi Blog

Why trust must be rooted in clarity, not just culture

The robe may be sacred, but not every hand that holds it is clean.

The voice may pray, but not every tongue speaks truth.

Greed does not knock — it sits beside you, calls you brother,

And smiles as you hand it your trust.

We often imagine betrayal as something foreign — a threat that comes from the outside, spoken in a different tongue, veiled in unfamiliar custom. But more often than not, it arrives wearing the face of familiarity. And it does not raise a weapon. It whispers virtue.

There is a strange paradox at the heart of human nature. We are taught to fear the outsider, to question the unfamiliar. Yet it is within our own circles — those who share our faith, our skin, our rituals — that we let down our guard completely. This blind trust, especially when coated in sacred language, opens the gates not to unity but to quiet exploitation.

At the root of this is greed — not always loud or obvious, but present in the subtle hunger for control, validation, wealth, or influence. And it is often disguised as service, as guidance, even as spiritual duty. A person may encourage you to marry a certain way, donate in a certain direction, invest with certain people — all in the name of shared belief or identity. But behind these suggestions can lie private interests, masked by public devotion.

And why do we not see it?

Because many of us have been shaped by default judgements — a mental shortcut that teaches us to assign trust based on likeness rather than conduct. We are more likely to believe someone who shares our surname, our dress, or our scripture, and more likely to resist someone whose ethics are unfamiliar, even if their intentions are pure.

Religious belief, for many, intensifies this default. It paints life in binaries: good and evil, right and wrong, us and them. And in this black-and-white view, we forget the most vital colour of all — discernment. We forget that the language of God can be used to justify man’s desire. That rituals can be rehearsed by the dishonest. That sacred symbols are not proof of sacred hearts.

It is not the stranger who blinds us, but the familiar face we refuse to question.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the deeply entrenched caste behaviours seen in parts of Indian society. Even when families migrate abroad, they tend to cluster — not just geographically, but mentally. They build protective bubbles of familiarity, often reluctant to mix or trust those from other communities. Marriages are carefully arranged to preserve caste lines. Children are taught — sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly — that marrying outside the community or religion is a dishonour, even in a new country.

The paradox is sharp: they move to societies that are open, tolerant, and diverse, yet carry with them inherited fears and boundaries that were meant for another time and place. The result is a kind of cultural entrapment in exile — surrounded by new opportunity, but unwilling to step out of old thought patterns.

In contrast, many in Western cultures approach identity more fluidly. There is often more openness to intermarriage, to collaboration across backgrounds, to choosing people based on values rather than tribe. This is not to idealise the West or deny its flaws — but to note a broader willingness to let individuals be individuals, not merely extensions of ancestry.

This raises a philosophical question: are we serving our tradition, or is it quietly enslaving us?

When trust is dictated by blood and belief rather than behaviour and ethics, it becomes a tool of control. And when people say they’re preserving culture, what they often mean is: preserving my comfort, my reputation, my inheritance. It is not always about honour. Sometimes, it’s about fear.

Greed wears many faces, but the most dangerous one is the face that resembles your own.

Real trust is not tribal. It must be earned, not inherited. It must be renewed through action, not assumed through association.

If philosophy teaches us anything, it is that truth lives beyond boundaries. Socrates questioned the sacred. The Buddha left the palace. Spinoza was excommunicated for thinking freely. Each in their own way reminds us that to live wisely is to live awake — to examine, to question, to refuse the comfort of inherited thought.

So how do we protect ourselves without becoming bitter?

We must learn to judge by clarity, not closeness. Observe quietly. Does the person offer counsel when there’s nothing to gain? Do they stand by you when no one’s watching? Do they still respect you when you say no?

Greed will never introduce itself as greed. It arrives speaking your language, quoting your scripture, sharing your supper. The test is not in how alike you are — but in how they behave when your boundaries are firm.

And if a stranger shows you loyalty, accept it. If someone from another walk of life offers help without agenda, receive it with grace. Virtue is not native to any one religion or race. It is a choice, renewed every day, by action.

Perhaps the deepest freedom begins when we learn to love people without a frame.

Not by caste, not by creed, not by tribe.

When we meet others as they are — not as we expect them to be — our judgement becomes clearer, and our trust becomes wiser. We no longer ask, who do you worship? or where are you from? but instead, how do you treat others when no one is looking?

In the end, betrayal does not come from afar. It comes when we refuse to see what is close, clearly.