(This article is the fourth episode in the ongoing MIB Management 101 series, following our discussions on leadership as amanah, the spirit of service, barakah, and ihsan.)
Sometimes these reflections flow from memory; other times, they stumble out mid-thought — that’s how real conversations brew. You’ll notice the shifts and small jumps between ideas. That’s all right; not every thought must land neatly before the next begins. Life doesn’t, after all.
☕ KopiTalk with MHO | MIB Management 101
Episode 4 — Amanah in Action: Building Trust in Organisations
“Ad-dāʾimūna al-muḥsinūna bi-l-hudā — Always render service with God’s guidance.”
“Indeed, we offered the Trust (Amanah) to the heavens and the earth and the mountains, but they refused to bear it and feared it. But man undertook it; he was indeed unjust and ignorant.”
(Surah Al-Ahzab 33:72)
Reflection: Trust — the Weight We Chose to Carry
In all my years as a journalist, I’ve learned that trust is fragile — easier to speak of than practised.
Whether in the newsroom, the boardroom, or at the government counter, trust is the thread that holds everything together.
Yet it’s also the one thing we take for granted the most.
Sometimes I wonder if amanah — this sacred concept we often translate as “trust” — has become too abstract for daily life.
We speak of it during meetings, we print it on posters, but do we really feel its weight?
The Qur’an reminds us that even the mountains refused it — yet we, the fragile and forgetful, said yes.
Perhaps that is where our story of leadership truly begins: with the courage to carry what even creation feared.
The Prophetic Mirror
The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ once said:
“The signs of a hypocrite are three: when he speaks, he lies; when he makes a promise, he breaks it; and when he is entrusted with something, he betrays that trust.” (Sahih al-Bukhari, Sahih Muslim)
Every broken promise, every convenient half-truth, and every time we misuse a position — these are cracks in the mirror of amanah.
In organisations, hypocrisy doesn’t always wear evil’s face. Sometimes, it comes disguised as procedure, ego, or silence.
And when that happens, barakah — the hidden blessing we talked about in the last episode — slowly disappears from the workplace.
It’s a piercing hadith — not about others, but about us.
I’ve seen how systems built on mistrust begin to crumble quietly. People stop believing in policies because they stop believing in the people behind them.
When Amanah is Neglected
The Prophet ﷺ also warned:
“When amanah is neglected, then await the Hour."
When asked how, he said:
“When positions of authority are given to those who are not qualified for them.” (Sahih al-Bukhari)
How relevant that feels today.
Neglecting amanah doesn’t always mean theft or corruption — sometimes it’s just the quiet choice to look away, to reward loyalty over merit, or to promote convenience over conscience.
In Brunei, we’ve heard stories of bright young officers who lose heart because sincerity is no longer the measure of success.
It’s not that people don’t care — it’s that the system has forgotten how to trust.
And when that happens, a quiet cynicism starts to grow.
People begin saying, “Jangan tah luan labih-labih, inda jua kana puji, inda jua naik gaji.”
It’s a sad, familiar excuse — a reflection of how mediocrity becomes a form of self-defence.
Many stop striving for excellence, not because they can’t, but because the culture no longer rewards it.
Some even dim their own light just so it doesn’t outshine their superiors.
It’s not always laziness that kills excellence — sometimes it’s the fear of being seen as too good.
I’ve seen how even well-meaning individuals get quietly sidelined for being “belabih” — too active, too creative, too uncomfortable for the status quo.
Not long ago, a youthful leader in his mid-thirties — full of energy, ideas, and purpose — was removed from his position in an association after the old guard felt uneasy with his forward-looking style.
They called him “belabih,” and staged what can only be described as a quiet coup.
It wasn’t about wrongdoing — it was about ego.
And when ego triumphs over amanah, progress becomes the first casualty.
This happens more often than we admit.
Those who want to reform are silenced by those who prefer comfort.
And so, the culture of trust — the very soul of amanah — begins to erode from within.
All of You Are Shepherds
The Prophet ﷺ also said:
“All of you are shepherds, and each of you is responsible for his flock.”(Sahih al-Bukhari, Sahih Muslim)
It reminds us that amanah isn’t reserved for ministers or CEOs — it belongs to everyone who has been given a task, a team, or even a single person to care for.
From the cleaner who locks up last to the director who signs off on the budget, everyone is a shepherd of something.
And in truth, the heaviest weight of amanah isn’t carried on the shoulders — it’s carried in the heart.
That line never fails to humble me.
In our Melayu Islam Beraja philosophy, leadership isn’t a ladder to climb — it’s a burden to bear with grace.
Trust as a Living Culture
I’ve come to believe that trust cannot be legislated.
You can draft procedures, install audits, and even recite slogans — but amanah only lives where there is sincerity.
It breathes through small gestures: a boss who defends his staff, an officer who bends a rule to serve justly, a worker who refuses to cut corners even when no one’s watching.
As His Majesty once reminded, “Jentera kerajaan perlu kaya dengan disiplin dan kaya dengan amanah dalam menjalankan tugas, sebagai cara untuk meraih berkat dalam perkhidmatan.”
It’s a timeless reminder — that systems and slogans mean little without sincerity and self-discipline. True reform begins not with policy shifts, but with personal integrity.
Perhaps amanah is best understood not as a policy, but as a spiritual ecosystem — a space where honesty feels safe, fairness feels natural, and responsibility feels shared.
It is the invisible current that makes organisations human again.
The Forgotten Weight of Responsibility
Surah Al-Ahzab (33:72) describes amanah as a trust the heavens declined but mankind accepted.
Scholars interpret it as the weight of moral choice — the freedom to obey or to betray.
That verse reminds me that every leadership title, no matter how small, carries the same cosmic test.
And perhaps the first step toward passing it is to acknowledge how easy it is to fail.
Amanah is never about perfection.
It’s about awareness — the awareness that every decision leaves a moral footprint, and every role is a trust before Allah.
Rebuilding Trust: A Personal Reflection
Sometimes I imagine what would happen if every meeting began with a quiet reminder — not of policy, but of purpose.
If every job evaluation measured not only results but also sincerity.
If every leader paused to ask: “Am I serving, or am I ruling?”
Because the truth is, amanah is not built in boardrooms — it’s built in the unseen.
In late nights spent solving a problem no one will thank you for.
In the humility to admit a mistake before it becomes a scandal.
In the quiet conscience that whispers — the state of ihsan, excellence born from the awareness that Allah is always watching.
Closing Reflection
Amanah is not a management principle — it’s a moral heartbeat.
When it beats strongly, organisations thrive in peace and purpose.
When it falters, no amount of structure can save them.
And in that void, bureaucracy replaces service, and fear replaces faith.
These words echo deeply — that amanah is not an ornament of faith, but the living proof of service.
Are we guarding our amanah — or are we just guarding our positions?
Maybe that’s why the Prophet ﷺ said that when amanah is lost, the end draws near — not the end of time, perhaps, but the end of trust, the end of meaning in our work.
As His Majesty reminded again in the New Year message of 2024, “… para penjawat awam … untuk sentiasa mengamalkan pendekatan Whole of Government … serta … menanai amanah ini dengan melaksanakan tugas dan tanggungjawab dengan ikhlas dan penuh komitmen demi kesejahteraan rakyat.”
So maybe the real question for all of us is simple:
Because in the end, as every shepherd will learn, the flock remembers not how loudly we commanded, but how sincerely we cared.
📖 KopiTalk with MHO — reflections brewed with humility and heart.
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