Every so often, a theme emerges that feels bigger than the news cycle, bigger than politics and bigger than any single profession.
Integrity is not a slogan. It is a standard.
Integrity is one of those themes. In business it is fundamental and yet — in recent years in other sectors of life — strangely fragile.
In the world of professional services, integrity is the bedrock of everything we do. But in public life, it often feels like an optional extra. That contrast is worth exploring, not to moralise, but to reflect on what it means to lead, to serve, and to be trusted. This essay is my attempt to do that — to look at integrity through the lens of professional expectations, public behaviour, and the values we uphold.
In every regulated profession, there is a shared understanding: you do the right thing, even when it is inconvenient. Clients expect it. Employees depend on it. Communities judge us by it. Professional integrity is not a marketing line. It is a daily discipline — the quiet, consistent choice to act with honesty, fairness, and transparency. It is one of those things as a Fellow of the Institute of Chartered Accountants in England & Wales is very important to me.
In accountancy, law, and medicine, for example, integrity is existential. Without it, the entire system collapses.
A tax return without integrity is a liability. Advice without integrity is a risk.
Most firms have values printed on their websites. Fewer have values embedded in their behaviour. The difference is not in the words themselves, but in the consistency with which they are lived.
Integrity is not demonstrated in grand gestures. It is demonstrated in the email you choose not to send, the shortcut you refuse to take, the conflict of interest you declare, the client you decline because the fit isn’t right, the mistake you admit before anyone else notices. These are the moments that define a professional.
That is not to deny that mistakes do not happen. There should though always be an intent not to make mistakes.
But if there is a mistake, and Matthew Syed, quoted from the Times last year (see later) “… for 12 months minimum, show penitence. Explain sincerely and forensically what you got wrong. Get down on your knees. Only then might the British people be persuaded you have learnt from your catastrophic mistakes.”
Integrity is not simply about avoiding wrongdoing. It is about telling clients what they need to hear, not what they want to hear; refusing to bend numbers to fit narratives; challenging assumptions, even when it is uncomfortable; protecting confidentiality; declaring conflicts of interest; being transparent about limitations.
None of this is glamorous. None of it is headline‑worthy. But it is the foundation of trust. And trust, once lost, is rarely regained.
And there is another dimension: integrity requires consistency. It is not something that can be switched on for important meetings and off for routine tasks. It is a habit, a muscle, a way of thinking.
The firms that thrive over decades are not those that shout the loudest about their values, but those that quietly live them every day. In a world that increasingly rewards speed, shortcuts, and surface‑level impressions, the steady, patient work of integrity can feel old‑fashioned. Yet it remains the only reliable route to long‑term credibility.
Recent reporting involving Lord Mandelson and his historical connections with Jeffrey Epstein has reignited public debate about judgement, transparency, and the standards expected of those in public life. The details are well‑covered elsewhere, but the broader theme is clear: public trust is fragile, and once damaged, it is difficult to restore. These stories are not isolated. They sit alongside a wider pattern of public concern about how individuals in positions of influence conduct themselves, who they associate with, and how they respond when their judgement is questioned.
In business, reputational damage lingers. In politics, it often evaporates.
What is striking is not simply that these stories emerge, but how quickly they are absorbed and forgotten. A few days of headlines, a round of interviews, a carefully worded statement — and then the machinery moves on.
In business, this would be unthinkable. If a senior partner in a professional firm were embroiled in a controversy of comparable seriousness, clients would not simply “move on”. Boards would not shrug. Employees would not forget. But in politics, the bar seems lower — or at least more flexible.
This is not about individuals. It is about culture. When public life normalises poor judgement, it subtly shifts expectations everywhere. It creates a sense that integrity is optional, negotiable, or situational.
But in professional life — and certainly in accountancy — integrity is none of those things. And perhaps the most worrying aspect is how quickly the public becomes desensitised. What would once have been shocking becomes “just another story”. Outrage becomes fatigue. Fatigue becomes apathy. And apathy is the enemy of accountability.
A Promise That Faded
When the new government took office in 2024, there was a familiar sense of hope that a change in leadership might bring a change in standards. Many people — across the political spectrum — expressed a desire for a reset, a fresh commitment to transparency, and an end to the culture of blurred lines that had dominated too many headlines in recent years.
But it would be misleading to suggest that concerns about integrity began with this administration. The preceding Conservative government faced its own well‑documented challenges: lobbying scandals, questions over ministerial conduct, and controversies that steadily eroded public confidence.
The truth is that no party has been immune. Integrity has not been the defining strength of any recent government, and that is precisely why so many people now feel politically unanchored. The issue is not one of individual parties — it is systemic, cultural, and long overdue for serious attention.
Integrity is not a party-political issue. It is driven by personal values and cultural.
I say this as someone with decreasing political allegiance. I find myself uncertain in who to trust — not because I am disengaged, but because I cannot see a party that consistently places integrity at the centre of its culture.
Some of you might remember Martin Bell — the independent MP who famously wore a white suit as a symbol of anti‑sleaze politics — remains a rare example of someone who entered Parliament with a clear commitment to honesty and public service.
Importantly, he maintained that reputation throughout his public life. His election was a reminder that integrity can still inspire people, even in cynical times.
“I came into politics because of the sleaze. I left because of the spin.”
Every morning, I tend to wake before the rest of the house and so sit quietly reading the Times, for whom writes probably my favourite columnist, Matthew Syed.
Recently, Matthew has spoken about joining the Conservative Party, not out of tribal loyalty but because he believes in the importance of ideas, accountability, and evidence‑based thinking.
Whether one agrees with his politics or not, his emphasis on intellectual honesty, high performance, personal responsibility, and rigorous debate is refreshing. Those of us that have read his books may recall how he draws parallels between the aviation industry and healthcare — what happens when things go wrong and how do we learn from those mistakes.
Drawing parallels with politics in Black Box Thinking in 2015: “The problem is not that politicians make mistakes; it is that they refuse to learn from them.”
Many would argue that Parliament would benefit from more voices like his — people who prioritise integrity over ideology.
Across the political spectrum, we see individuals return to positions of influence after serious lapses in judgement.
Angela Rayner’s swift rehabilitation after controversy is one example. Resigned in 2025 for not paying the correct SDLT but this month Sir Keir has described her as a, “fantastic asset” and confirmed she has a future role in government, saying: “I would like to have Angela back at the right point. I've always been clear she has a future role to play.” Perhaps soto voce, he requests that she leaves the “vast glass of rose” at home when she comes back?
Lord Mandelson’s repeated returns to senior roles despite past conduct is another.
Can you imagine in any normal business environment, a CV with such history would not raising serious questions about future behaviour?
Yet in politics, the cycle resets with remarkable speed. And this raises a deeper question: what message does this send to the next generation of leaders? If consequences are temporary and accountability negotiable, what incentive is there to uphold higher standards?
Where Integrity Is Not Optional
Integrity is not an abstract concept. It is the foundation of how we work, how we advise, and how we build relationships that last decades.
Just yesterday, I met with a potential client seeking a valuation of their business. The purpose was succession — a fair, transparent, and unbiased handover from one generation of owners to the next. Such a valuation shapes livelihoods, business relationships, and the future of the business itself. It must be defensible, evidence‑based, and free from bias or agenda.
These are the moments where integrity is not just desirable; it is essential.
Working in Shropshire, as I largely do, I am acutely aware of how reputation works in local business communities.
Trust is earned slowly and lost quickly.
People talk. People remember.
A lapse in integrity is not forgotten after six months. It is not brushed aside because someone is “useful” or “experienced” or “connected”. In politics, individuals can return to senior roles after controversies that would end a business career. In professional life, the opposite is true: integrity is cumulative, and so is its absence.
These are not just values. They are practices.
Integrity is not something we claim. It is something we demonstrate.
Every report. Every valuation. Every conversation. Every decision.
And perhaps most importantly, integrity is something we protect. It is easy to lose sight of values when commercial pressures rise, when deadlines tighten, or when clients push for a particular outcome. But those are precisely the moments when integrity matters most. In a community like ours, where relationships span decades and reputations travel quickly, the long‑term cost of compromising integrity far outweighs any short‑term gain.
Integrity is often spoken about as if it were a moral luxury — something nice to have, something that looks good in a brochure. But in reality, integrity is a competitive advantage. In politics, the consequences of poor integrity are often absorbed by the system. In business, they are not. Clients choose who they trust. Employees choose who they follow. Communities choose who they recommend.
The world is noisy. Trust is scarce.
And in that environment, integrity becomes a differentiator.
This essay is not a lament for the state of politics, nor a claim that the professional world is perfect. It is a reminder that integrity matters — not because it is fashionable, but because it is foundational.
At CBSL, we choose integrity not because it is easy, but because it is right. Because our clients deserve honesty. Because our community deserves transparency. Because our profession depends on trust.
If politics wishes to rebuild public confidence, it could do worse than look to the standards expected in professional life — where integrity is not a slogan, but a standard. And if businesses wish to thrive in the long term, they must remember that integrity is not a cost.
Back to Martin Bell:
“Trust, once broken, is not easily repaired — and sometimes it is not repaired at all.”
It is an investment. One that pays dividends for decades.
