On Greed

My dear friend,

I have been circling around a word all week, after several calls and meetings with people wanting more and more. A word we rarely speak about with honesty. Greed.

We speak easily about ambition, progress, and growth. We celebrate drive, productivity, and success. But few of us stop to ask when ambition quietly turns into greed. It is an uncomfortable word, one that feels almost impolite to say. We think greed belongs to the powerful, to corporations, to those who hoard wealth or influence. But if you stay still long enough, you begin to see that greed has smaller, quieter versions hiding in ordinary places, even in us.

Lately, I have been seeing it more and more. I am not sure if it is because times are harder, or because people have lost jobs, or because the world itself feels more uncertain. Maybe everyone is holding tighter to what they have. Maybe we all want more, not because we are bad, but because we are afraid.

Greed is not always loud. Sometimes it wears a smile. Sometimes it sounds like motivation. Sometimes it even looks like love. But underneath, it is the same impulse: the desire for more. More recognition. More control. More admiration. More comfort. More applause. It feeds the self until the self forgets where enough begins.

I have met greed in many forms in my life. Not only in politics or in business, but also in the places meant to serve good. I have seen it in humanitarian work, where it hides behind noble words. I have seen people compete over who helps better, who gets funding, who gets better branding, who speaks louder for justice, who gets to sit at the table of influence. I have seen greed inside organizations built to serve others that ended up serving their own image. I have even seen it in myself, in small moments when I wanted to be noticed, to be praised, to be remembered. Greed, when left unexamined, becomes the shadow of every good intention.

I remember once, years ago, in a small field office in the northeast of Nigeria. A staff member came to my desk with a simple request. He wanted fuel for the generator to keep a small community space open for children in a camp at night. He said softly, “They just want light for two more hours.” The budget was tight. I hesitated. My instinct was to protect what we had, to say no until the next approval came. But something in his tone stayed with me. That week, I went to the camp. The learning space was lit by one weak bulb hanging from a wire. Children sat on the floor reading from torn notebooks. Women were making handmade products to sell in the small market in that camp. They smiled when I entered, not because of who I was, but because they had light. That night I understood something that has never left me. Greed is not only about taking too much. Sometimes it is about withholding when you could have given more.

Greed can also live in our fears. The fear of losing comfort. The fear of sharing credit. The fear of giving without certainty. I have seen leaders cling to their seats long after their purpose was gone. Some stayed for years, collecting higher salaries, holding meetings that meant nothing, adding layers of control instead of courage. They stayed because they could not imagine who they would be without power. I have seen people defend broken systems simply because those systems protected their authority. Greed is not only the hunger for more. It is also the refusal to let go.

And yet, there is another side to this. Not every desire for more is greed. There is a kind of ambition that is sacred. The will to create, to improve, to build something better. The line between ambition and greed is very thin, but the difference lies in intention. Ambition asks, “What can I give?” Greed asks, “What can I keep?” Ambition expands the circle. Greed tightens it. Ambition builds others. Greed feeds itself.

Sometimes I think about the humanitarian world as a mirror of humanity itself. We build programs to feed the hungry while staying hungry for recognition. We preach fairness while competing for funding. We talk about collaboration while protecting our share of visibility. The aid industry, with all its ideals, often reflects the same dynamics of the world it tries to fix. It has its hierarchies, its privileges, its unspoken competitions. It makes me wonder whether we are serving change or just preserving the system that keeps us relevant.

But then I remember people who still keep the heart of the work alive. The ones who stay humble, quiet, and true. In South Sudan, I once met a man who managed logistics. He had no title that made others stand when he entered a room. But he ran the base like a heartbeat - steady, invisible, essential. One evening we sat under the stars and he said, “You know, everyone wants to be seen changing the world. But the world changes when no one is watching.” That sentence has followed me ever since.

Greed blinds us to that truth. It makes us chase credit for what was never meant to belong to us. It makes us mistake validation for value. It replaces purpose with performance. It tricks us into believing that impact only matters if our name or logo is attached to it.

Even when you start to recognize greed, it does not disappear. It simply hides better. It finds new language. It disguises itself as wisdom, saying, “You deserve more rest,” or “You need to protect yourself first.” Sometimes it is right. We do need rest. We do need safety. But sometimes, that voice is just fear dressed as reason. It whispers that generosity can wait, that humility can wait, that courage can wait. It convinces you that the right moment to do good is always later.

When I feel that voice rise in me, I try to pause. I ask myself, will this make me lighter or heavier? Will this serve the work or just serve me? Am I protecting my comfort or protecting what is right? These are not easy questions. Sometimes I cannot tell the difference. Sometimes it takes days, even months, to see clearly what was fear and what was greed. But asking is already a beginning.

There are small antidotes to greed. Gratitude is one. It resets the heart. When you stop counting what you lack and start seeing what you already have, greed loses its breath. Generosity is another. Not only with money, but with your time, your attention, your kindness. To give credit freely, to help without calculation, to forgive without keeping score. And perhaps the greatest antidote is humility, the quiet recognition that we do not own anything, not even our talents, only the chance to use them well for a short time.

I tell you this, my friend, because I struggle with it too. I see greed show up in small ways - in my need to prove myself, in moments when I feel unseen, in the subtle pride of wanting to be right. Sometimes it is not desire that drives it, but exhaustion. When we are tired, we cling to what feels safe. We say yes to the wrong things because we are afraid of losing what little we have built. But real safety does not come from holding tighter. It comes from alignment. When your values and your work walk together, you no longer need to grasp. You can give, and you can rest.

I once read that the opposite of greed is not poverty, but contentment. Contentment is not about settling. It is about being at peace with enough. It is working hard, not to gain more, but to honor what you already have. It is a quiet strength that says, I will do my best, but I will not lose myself in the chase.

At its root, greed is not about money. It is about emptiness. It grows where meaning fades. It thrives where fear lives. That is why no system, no country, no person is immune to it. Because all of us are trying, in our own ways, to fill the space between what we have and what we still feel missing.

And yes, my friend, sometimes you need a little greed. The kind that pushes you to dream, to fight for your vision, to demand more time for what matters. There is a difference between wanting more to grow and wanting more to control. The first gives life. The second drains it.

So when you chase something, pause and ask yourself, will this make me more whole, or just more full? One lasts. The other fades.

I am still learning this. I still find greed hiding in my words, my decisions, my hunger to matter. But I am also learning that the cure is not guilt, but grace. It is to notice, to breathe, and to return to what matters: people, purpose, and peace.

The candle beside me burns lower now. Its flame is small, but it still gives all it has. It does not ask for more wax, more air, or more space. It just gives, quietly, fully, and honestly. Maybe that is what it means to live without greed. To give what you have until the light itself becomes your legacy.

With clarity and calm,

Ali Al Mokdad