The Soham Parekh Incident Teaches Us the Problem with Altruism

Altruism Is Making the World Hopeless in the Long Run

In last few days the tech world was rocked by the Soham Parekh incident, where an Indian software engineer was accused of moonlighting at multiple Y Combinator-backed startups simultaneously, collecting paychecks from three to five companies without disclosure. The controversy erupted when Suhail Doshi, founder of Playground AI and former CEO of Mixpanel, publicly called out Parekh on X, warning that he was “preying on YC companies.” Startups quickly fired him, canceled trials, and founders like Varunram Ganesh predicted a sharp drop in remote hiring of Indian engineers, tweeting, “Pretty sure very few YC startups will hire remote Indians.” The response ignited fierce debates about trust, ethics, remote work—and raised concerns about discrimination, since blanket bans risk unfairly punishing everyone for one person’s actions.

The Soham Parekh saga is a sharp reminder of the costs of misplaced trust. High-trust societies often pride themselves on assuming goodwill and minimizing oversight. But when that trust is taken advantage of, the entire system gets shaky. This piece argues that blind altruism clouds judgment, sets us up for betrayal, and breeds long-term disillusionment. What we need instead is something more grounded: a skeptical but clear-eyed realism that keeps the system from collapsing.

How Altruism Undermines Critical Thinking

Altruism—believing others act from good intent—often distorts judgment. Startups trusted Parekh based on a polished resume (University of Mumbai and Georgia Tech), a convincing interview, and an assumption of goodwill. But reports allege he misled companies about his location, faked credentials, and claimed to be in a war zone during India’s Operation Sindoor to avoid work.

This didn’t happen because people lacked tools. It happened because they chose trust over verification. No one checked his GitHub. No one tracked his hours. The system relied on a kind of professional optimism that feels virtuous—but breaks easily under pressure.

This mirrors how many of us ignore red flags to preserve a preferred narrative. “They probably meant well” or “It was just a misunderstanding” are excuses, not analysis. In high-trust cultures, this mindset scales. It feels humane. But it also lets deception pass through unnoticed.

Now compare this to foreign policy. No one assumes good intentions in geopolitics. When countries test missiles or sign deals, analysts ask why. They look for the angle, the leverage, the risk. No one hopes for the best—they prepare for the worst.

If startups had scrutinized Parekh like analysts scrutinize state actors—cross-checking credentials, watching output—they could’ve caught the signals. Instead, they trusted first and asked questions later.

Why Altruism Leads to Hopelessness

The cost of misjudged altruism isn't just temporary betrayal. It triggers a deeper collapse.

Once Parekh was exposed, startups like Antimetal and Fleet AI dropped him immediately. But the reaction went beyond one hire. Suddenly, Indian engineers—most of whom had nothing to do with this—were lumped in as risks. “This guy single-handedly destroyed the reputation of remote work for devs,” one user wrote. It was collective punishment disguised as caution.

This overcorrection happens when high expectations implode. Altruism builds a mental image of a better world—where people are honest, systems are fair. When that image breaks, people don’t just feel angry. They feel duped. And that produces a deeper emotion: hopelessness.

I’ve written before about how this dynamic plays out inside companies. Employees believe in loyalty, culture, mission—until layoffs hit. They don’t just lose jobs. They lose faith. Same with startups who believed Parekh’s story. The disillusionment wasn’t just about him. It was about their entire approach.

Matthew Parkhurst of Antimetal called hiring Parekh a “rite of passage”—a signal of shared frustration among founders. But behind that frustration is a deeper unease: maybe our systems aren’t built for this kind of trust. And maybe trying to operate as if they are is what breaks them.

As disillusionment sets in, policies swing hard. Remote work gets axed. Hiring narrows. Innocent people lose out. This mirrors personal life too: trust enough people who lie, and you stop engaging. You isolate. You assume the worst. And eventually, hope starts to feel naive.

Why Cynicism Leads to Hope (Counterintuitively)

Cynicism gets a bad rap. But it’s not blind pessimism—it’s realism with filters.

Instead of assuming good intent, cynical thinkers ask: what’s the incentive? Where’s the evidence? In Parekh’s case, a cynical approach would’ve flagged issues early. Blockchain-verified identities. Actual GitHub checks. Output-based evaluations. Not because people are evil, but because systems work better when you verify, not just trust. "Trust, but verify" quoting former US president Ronald Reagan who ended Cold War with this mindset.

This mindset powers fields like cybersecurity. Assume an attack, build defenses. Same in law: evidence beats stories. Applied to hiring, it means more than just LinkedIn glances. It means code reviews. Live tests. Cross-referenced credentials. Deedy Das of Menlo Ventures called Parekh “just the tip of the iceberg,” citing online communities with hundreds of thousands sharing similar playbooks. That’s not a one-off. That’s a system-level exploit.

But here’s the key: cynicism doesn’t mean shutting the door. It means building a better one.

Instead of excluding Indian engineers, startups could adopt transparent, performance-based hiring systems. Vet early. Track output. Trust, but only after proof. It’s the same in relationships: trust someone once they’ve shown you who they are. Not before.

That shift—from blind belief to earned trust—is what makes cynicism a more hopeful stance. It doesn’t get crushed when someone lies. It recalibrates. That’s real resilience.

And it avoids the broader fallout: banning remote work, reinforcing stereotypes, writing off entire groups. Parekh didn’t kill remote work. Bad systems did.

If you’re planning for self-interest—as Parekh clearly was, reportedly juggling 140-hour weeks—you’re no longer surprised by it. You plan accordingly. You stop getting blindsided. And you stop dragging innocent people into the wreckage.

The Soham Parekh incident should be a wake-up call. Not to abandon trust—but to stop giving it away for free.