The Prize and Price of Integrity

The past few months or so have been markedly challenging for me, especially in the context of work. And not "challenging" in the pseudo-positive way some people use the word— "I like a good challenge!"— No, rather like its more apt synonyms: testing, taxing, difficult. Although I like to think of myself as a no-nonsense professional who lives by the saying, "Hope for the best but prepare for the worst," I need to admit that I was, in fact, caught off-guard on multiple occasions in these few months and that these circumstances have culminated into a sense of hurt, betrayal, and, yes, even heartbreak.

Long story short, I was deeply disappointed having learned the shocking, less-than-ethical conduct of various people around me. I was awash in a mix of emotions and thoughts; I could not find the north of my mind. On top of all the confusion, I was left with a tough task: What do I do now? What is the right thing to do?

This is, in fact, the price of integrity.

Although integrity is often simply considered the state of being honest, I very much prefer its secondary definition: "the state of being whole and undivided." It perfectly captures what you'd expect from someone with integrity— consistency in actions, values, methods, measures, principles, expectations, and outcomes. When someone possesses integrity, their actions align with their ethical principles, suggesting completeness and coherence in their moral character. Just as an intact structure is undivided and stands firm, a person with integrity acts in a whole and consistent manner, undivided even under the pressures or allures of life.

The price of integrity is keeping your integrity in spite of yourself. It is resisting the urge to separate from yourself, from what you know to be objectively right, even when it feels subjectively wrong and unfair. Like paying your taxes honestly in Ethiopia! It is that push and pull that threatens to divide us— wanting to take matters into our own hands but also knowing our own experiences, desires, and emotions can cloud our judgment, leading us to justify actions that serve our interests but compromise our integrity. The price of integrity is having to think long and hard— I say this because, at least in my experience, the desire for integrity is not always a primary, much less sustained, instinct.

When I found myself hurt, my desire was to return the favor. In the spirit of vulnerability, I'll even confess that I'd drafted several "strongly worded" emails that remain in my drafts folder. I was titillated by the idea of catching those who caused me the heartbreak of a broken trust just as off guard as they did me— I felt justified to do so. However, there is nothing quite like integrity that marks the value of the saying, "Two wrongs don't make a right."

By no means do I want to engage in virtue signaling... I am far from virtuous on my own. However, two things persuade me to pursue integrity. One is simple: I love God, and I consider doing the right thing to be a form of response to that love. Second is the prize for integrity.

Once I'd indeed taken time to think long and hard, my boiling emotions came down to a low simmer. I did the right thing. Not even just the right thing "given the circumstances." No, to the best of my knowledge and capacity, and as honest as I could remain to myself and others, I did the right thing. The prize? No, not applause. No one to pay me on the back, "Good job, Diana!" No plaque on Hollywood Boulevard, I'm afraid.

The prize of integrity is a good night's sleep.

Although I (and many others, I'm sure) sometimes wish the prize for integrity was... somewhat louder, there is nothing quite like peace. This is why people ask, "How do you sleep at night?" when they find integrity missing from the formula of your life. This is the prize for integrity— rarely a public event— is a clear conscience. There are no internal rifts caused by actions that contradict your moral compass. This consistency— this wholeness— eliminates the stress and turmoil that come with duplicity and self-compromise. It allows you to rest, unindicted by that small voice in the back of your mind that always tells the truth.

But, prize aside, integrity is difficult and fragile. It can begin to disintegrate as a whole if you start chipping at it from a seemingly harmless little corner. A little lie here, some harmless change pocketed over there. A little yeast works through the whole batch of dough. There is no compartmentalized disintegration of integrity.

This makes it especially challenging for our context where we watch— and are on an increasing scale compelled to participate in— the decline of integrity on a systemic, communal, and individual level. I was having a conversation with my family over the weekend while we watched the commencement of the Adwa Museum. We were essentially discussing the integrity of politicians— or the lack thereof. I noticed, in myself and others, a comparative measure of integrity. "Well, yes, of course, he's lining his pockets, but look at all the good he's done as well!" or "Yes, they're, of course, defrauding their constituents, but look at ____________." This comparative measure of integrity—judging it on a graded scale—is a stark indication of our own moral decay. It's not about expecting perfection from politicians or anyone else; human fallibility is a given. However, the moment we start viewing integrity as something transactional, weighing one action against another, it becomes a telltale sign that our collective moral compass has been compromised. When integrity is seen as negotiable rather than fundamental, it reveals a deep-seated corruption in our societal values, a shift that undermines the very fabric of trust and ethics upon which communities are (or should be) built.

Although the experience of one act of integrity that I shared earlier is one of success, there have been many instances in my life when this was not so. I am not at all the model for this behavior, but I tell this story so we're all continually lured by the prize for integrity, myself included. Perhaps beyond the peace of mind that I feel is the primary prize of integrity, we can also restore a right moral compass, one act at a time. We can swim against the tide and, in time, the tide will turn.

More importantly, I tell it because I highly doubt people are just "born with integrity." I believe it takes consistent exercise to develop and maintain that muscle. We shouldn't be discouraged when we find that integrity is not always an automatic response, especially in our context, especially when the stakes are high, but rather remember that it's sometimes a painstaking process and that the price of integrity is thinking long and hard.

This week on my reading list: