Mahtab Uddin Ahmed

Numbers rarely lie, even when Trump is in the room. But they do have a habit of whispering truths our profession would rather not discuss over coffee. Bangladesh’s latest audit statistics are doing exactly that.

Three friends from different countries once discussed what made them happiest.

In every office, there’s that “corporate friend” who calls you brother but forwards your email to the boss with “just for visibility.” He borrows your charger, your ideas, and occasionally your lunch. At appraisal time, he suddenly develops selective amnesia about team efforts. Yet at office parties, he hugs you, saying, “We survived together!” “We are one team!” In corporate life, friendships are real, just performance-linked and ego-driven.

Once, leadership meant fixing problems. Today, it means fixing narratives. Roads can wait, facts are negotiable, and applause is a performance metric. The louder the speech, the stronger the leader. Listening is optional, empathy is overrated, and silence is sold as public support.

The CEO and board spent three meetings arguing over his bonus, quoting KPIs and “current market conditions.” The consultant calmly billed for conflict management and facilitation, earning more than the bonus, even though they did not attend the final meeting.

A famous mango seller named Mintu sold the cheapest and juiciest mangoes. One night, the inspector discovered mangoes were being stolen from the government orchard.

Every society has its unwelcome truth tellers. In Bangladesh, we treat them with refined politeness.

If Bangladesh suddenly bans social media for everyone under sixteen, the first shock will not shake the earth. It will shake the nation’s emotions.