The Corruption We Choose Not to See
When power changes hands, principles should not change sides
Anil Kumar Sharma
Whenever we discuss corruption, our conversation almost invariably turns towards the person who has taken a bribe, accumulated disproportionate wealth or misused his position. We identify the corrupt officer, the businessman, the middleman, the contractor or the politician who has been caught. But there is a larger and more uncomfortable question that we seldom ask: What about those sitting at the helm of affairs who know what is happening? What about the political leadership and administrative authorities who possess the machinery, information and authority to know who is accumulating wealth beyond his known means, who is misusing his position and who has suddenly transformed his lifestyle? Do they really have no clue, or have we become selective about what we choose to see?
A person’s success today is often measured by the house he has built, the cars he owns, the properties he possesses, the influence he commands and the wealth he has accumulated during his career. We admire the lifestyle, but rarely ask the uncomfortable question: “Where did it come from?” If someone’s legitimate income is reasonably known, why should society be afraid of asking whether his visible wealth corresponds with his known sources? Why do we become tight-lipped when the question concerns someone powerful? Why does our courage to question the ordinary person disappear when the person in question has influence, political access or administrative authority?
John Acton’s famous observation, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” remains relevant even today. But perhaps power does something else as well. Power does not merely tempt a person to become corrupt; it can make others afraid to question his corruption. And that is where institutional integrity begins to weaken.
A law-abiding citizen generally understands that the law is meant to be followed. The real test, however, is for those who administer it. If the people at the helm possess integrity, values and courage, no individual, however influential, should be beyond the scrutiny of the system. A strong institution does not look at the status of the person before applying the law; it looks at the conduct. The law should ask only one question: “What did you do?” and not “Whom do you belong to?”
Unfortunately, this principle is sometimes compromised. Political patronage, personal loyalty, professional proximity and ideological affinity can influence the manner in which power is exercised. Those who are useful, connected or willing to stand with the powerful may receive a degree of protection that others do not. Those who fall outside the circle may suddenly discover the full weight of rules and procedures. When the law begins distinguishing between “our people” and “their people”, it ceases to be blind. It starts looking sideways.
The most disturbing consequence is what happens down the administrative chain. A subordinate watches what happens at the top and learns quickly. He learns whom to question and whom not to question. He learns which file deserves urgency and which can remain unattended. He learns who is protected and who can be made an example. The culture of an institution travels downward from its leadership. If the top is selective, selectivity becomes a habit below.
Sometimes, a small officer or employee becomes the face of corruption. Action against him is publicised as evidence that the system is working. There is nothing wrong with punishing wrongdoing. But the question is whether the same courage is shown when the person involved is more powerful, more connected or politically useful. A system that punishes the weak while protecting the powerful does not create accountability; it creates fear.
There is another irony that deserves serious reflection. Many people begin their public or professional journey as vocal critics of corruption. They speak passionately against irregularities, demand transparency and present themselves as uncompromising champions of honesty. But when power and influence eventually come into their own hands, the vocabulary remains the same while the standards begin to change. The slogans remain, the speeches remain, but the application of principles becomes selective. The most sophisticated form of corruption may not always be corruption of money; sometimes it is corruption of conviction.
This is why the famous phrase, “Everyone does it,” is so dangerous. It converts wrongdoing into routine. A bribe becomes chai-paani. Favouritism becomes setting. Influence becomes approach. Bypassing procedure becomes jugaad. The language becomes softer, but the practice remains the same. Once society begins giving respectable names to questionable conduct, corruption starts acquiring social legitimacy.
Kautilya recognised the difficulty of detecting corruption centuries ago. His famous comparison of dishonest officials to fish in water remains remarkably relevant. Today, corruption does not necessarily come in an envelope or a suitcase. It can hide in a manipulated tender, selective interpretation of rules, inflated expenditure, delayed decisions, preferential treatment, a convenient transfer, an influenced promotion or a violation deliberately overlooked. The methods have changed, but the misuse of power has not.
And this is not merely an Indian or J&K problem. It is a worldwide phenomenon. Wherever there is power, there is a possibility of its misuse. Wherever institutions become weak, the powerful find ways to bend rules. Wherever wealth becomes the principal measure of success, society becomes less interested in asking how that wealth was accumulated. The difference between societies is not whether corruption exists; it is whether their institutions have the courage to confront it impartially.
The greatest damage is ultimately suffered by the ordinary citizen. When a deserving person loses an opportunity because of influence, when a public project suffers because of manipulation, when a citizen’s legitimate work moves only after intervention, or when an honest employee sees a connected person escape accountability, something much larger is lost than money. Trust is lost. And once citizens lose trust in institutions, they stop approaching them as rights-bearing citizens and begin approaching them as petitioners looking for someone who can “get the work done”.
Edmund Burke’s often-quoted warning that evil triumphs when good people do nothing has particular relevance here. Silence is not always neutrality. Sometimes silence protects the powerful. Sometimes it comes from fear, sometimes from benefit, and sometimes from the belief that speaking out will change nothing. But when honest people stop questioning unexplained wealth, selective enforcement and institutional favouritism, they unintentionally strengthen the very system they complain about.
Perhaps the most worrying development is not that corrupt people exist. They have existed throughout history. What should worry us is when society begins to admire them. When wealth becomes the only measure of success. When influence becomes a substitute for character. When a person is respected because of whom he can call rather than what he has contributed. When honesty is described as weakness and manipulation as intelligence. At that point, corruption has moved beyond administration and entered our values.
The answer does not lie only in stronger laws. Laws are necessary, vigilance is necessary, audits are necessary, transparency is necessary and accountability is essential. But no law can replace integrity at the top. If the leadership is honest, subordinates understand the limits. If the leadership is selective, subordinates learn selectivity. The character of an institution is often reflected in the behaviour it rewards and the behaviour it tolerates.
Perhaps, therefore, the question we should ask is not merely, “Why are people corrupt?” The more uncomfortable question is, “Why do we allow some corruption to be seen while choosing not to see other corruption?” Why does the law sometimes appear extremely powerful against the small offender and remarkably patient with the powerful? Why do we question a person’s wealth only after his political usefulness has ended? Why do those who once demanded transparency sometimes become defenders of discretion when they acquire power?
These questions do not belong to one political party, one government, one institution or one region. They belong to society itself. Because the greatest danger is not corruption alone. It is the selective morality with which we confront corruption.
A genuinely clean system does not require every person to be a saint. It requires those at the top to be consistent. The person who demanded accountability yesterday must be prepared to face accountability today. The person who questioned power yesterday must be willing to be questioned when power comes into his own hands. The real test of integrity is not how loudly we speak against corruption when we are outside power. The real test begins when power comes into our own hands.
Perhaps that is where our conversation about corruption should begin—not with the weakest person caught by the system, but with the strongest person who believes he is beyond it.
And perhaps, before pointing a finger at the corrupt, we should also ask whether our silence, our compromises and our admiration for unexplained wealth have helped create the environment in which corruption flourishes.
Because ultimately, corruption does not always enter society with a loud announcement. It enters quietly, through a small compromise, a convenient silence and a selective principle. One day we discover that what once disturbed our conscience has become part of our routine.
The real battle, therefore, is not only to catch the corrupt. It is to ensure that power itself does not become a licence to escape scrutiny.
(STRAIGHT TALK COMMUNICATIONS EXCLUSIVE. The author is a columnist | former banker I social commentator)
