By Riad Beladi
There is a particular pain that comes not from strangers or rivals, but from those who share your blood—those you raised up when they had nothing, only to watch them become a burden you wish you never carried. This is the story of my three brothers. A story of betrayal, delusion, and the abuse of generosity.
I spent the best years of my youth helping them. I brought them to the UK. I bought them cars. I gave them money when they had none. I lifted them from obscurity and hardship, believing family was worth every sacrifice. But what I learned, painfully, is that you can give someone a hand up—but you cannot give them dignity. You cannot gift pride, or work ethic, or decency.
All three of my brothers have no education beyond primary school. They lack both ambition and self-respect, and instead of working to build something of their own, they chose to live off their wives and the state—trapped in homes they do not pay for, living lives subsidised by government benefits while secretly working illegally on the side. They are, in every sense of the word, parasites. A stain on a society that offers opportunity to those who want it.
What makes it worse is not their failure—it is their envy. As I near the end of a long, honest career built with integrity and discipline, they now try to imitate what I do—poorly and dishonestly—contacting my clients behind my back, misrepresenting themselves as me, and trying to profit off the reputation I spent decades building. They are not just ungrateful; they are disgraceful. Their behaviour reeks of desperation, lacking both intelligence and the emotional maturity to understand how foolish they look.
And yet, they once had the audacity to ask me to give them my company. Yes, the very same business I built from nothing, the one that gave me purpose and earned me respect. To hand it over to people who have never managed anything more than deceit and dependency? It was the final insult.
They are not just a personal shame—they are a symptom of something greater: a generation of people who want the rewards without the effort, the success without the sacrifice. They feed off others, living in shadows, pretending to be what they never dared to become. Their lives are built on lies, envy, and entitlement.
The truth is harsh, but it must be spoken. Not every family is a blessing. Some are your greatest burden. Some will drain your soul under the guise of brotherhood. The three I once called brothers are no longer family to me—they are simply the worst kind of opportunists: the kind who betray you while smiling to your face.
And for those reading this who find echoes of their own story here—know this: you are not alone, and you are not responsible for saving people determined to stay broken.