Episode 11 — Itqan: Doing Things Properly, Even When Nobody Is Watching

 

 ☕ KopiTalk with MHO | MIB Management 101

There's a phrase we often hear in the office: "Yang penting siap."

As long as it's done.

Not necessarily done well.

Not necessarily done properly.

Just... done.

I used to think this was harmless—a practical attitude, a way to survive deadlines, pressure, and conflicting instructions. Over time, however, I began to realise something uncomfortable: this mindset quietly shapes our character.

It trains us to aim not for excellence, but for escape.

We don't ask, "Is this the best I can do?"

We ask, "Is this enough to get me through?"

And slowly, subtly, standards begin to sink.

In the previous episode, we talked about tatfīf—giving less than what is due, cheating not only with money but also with time, effort, and sincerity. Today, I want to talk about its opposite:

Itqan.

Itqan means doing something properly, carefully, with quality, and with responsibility—with a quiet sense of pride that doesn't need applause.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

"Verily, Allah loves that when any of you does a job, he does it with itqan (excellence and thoroughness)."

Not for show.

Not for KPI.

Not because the boss is watching.

But because Allah is.

Looking back at my younger working years, I can now see how often we lived in the space between "enough" and "proper". We cut corners not because we were malicious, but because we were tired, unmotivated, or quietly cynical.

Sometimes the system itself trains you to be that way.

You submit a careful report; nobody reads it.

You do extra; nobody notices.

You rush something; nobody questions it.

After a while, you learn the wrong lesson:

Why bother?

And that is how a culture of "janji siap" slowly replaces a culture of itqan.

We don't collapse, and we don't fail spectacularly.

We just became... mediocre.

Everything still works, but nothing shines.

Files are processed, but care is missing.

Meetings are held, but thinking is shallow.

Projects are completed, but pride is absent.

People come to work, but their hearts are not fully there.

It is not corruption.

It is not a scandal.

It is something more dangerous because it looks normal.

It is the quiet death of standards.

In a Negara Zikir, this should worry us.

Because Islam doesn't teach us to work only until we are safe from punishment, it teaches us to work until our conscience is satisfied.

Itqan is not perfectionism; it's sincerity meeting competence.

It's the difference between:

"I've done my part" and "I've done it properly."

It's the difference between:

"Not my problem anymore" and "Let me make sure this is right."

It's the difference between:

"This will pass inspection" and "This will stand before Allah."

When you work with itqan, you don't need to be supervised all the time. You don't need to be threatened or constantly reminded.

Your work is guided by something stronger than policy:

Your amanah.

And this is where everything in this series quietly connects.

Without amanah, itqan feels unnecessary.

Without ihsan, itqan feels exhausting.

Without 'adl, itqan feels pointless.

Without tawadhu', itqan turns into arrogance.

But when these values coexist, something changes.

Work becomes ibadah.

Duty becomes dignity.

Responsibility becomes honour.

We stop asking, "Can I get away with this?"

And start asking, "Is this worthy of trust?"

Sometimes people say, "Why should I do extra? My pay is the same."

That question itself tells us how far we have drifted.

Because itqan is not about extra.

It's about doing what is already yours—properly.

The tragedy of many organisations isn't a lack of talent. We have talented people everywhere. The tragedy is that, over time, good people learn to shrink.

They learn to stop caring too much, stop thinking too deeply, stop checking twice,
stop asking if something can be better.

Not because they are lazy, but because they are tired of being disappointed.

And so the organisation survives, but it never becomes great.

When itqan disappears, quality disappears quietly.

When quality disappears, trust disappears slowly.

When trust disappears, everything else becomes paperwork.

We end up managing forms instead of serving people.

In the end, perhaps the real question is a simple one:

If nobody checks your work, if nobody praises your effort, if nobody knows what you did...

Would you still do it properly?

That is where itqan lives.

Not in inspection, not in KPI, not in fear, but in the quiet space between you and Allah.

And maybe that is what MIB management is really trying to protect:

A civilisation where people do the right thing, not because they are watched, but because they are guided.

 

KopiTalk with MHO — reflections brewed gently, with honesty and heart.