corruption in india
Corruption in India
Andrew Sanchez
T
he momentum of last year’s hunger strike by the anti-corruption campaigner Kisan
‘Anna’ Hazare currently sees India’s parliament wrestling with the formation of a national corruption ombudsman. Hazare’s campaign rests upon the proposition that the democratic ideals with which the Indian state was formed in 1947 are all too often subverted by the self-interest of public servants. Hazare’s supporters argue that this process has two primary effects. First, corruption allows wealthier citizens to access resources and preferential state treatment to which they are not entitled. Second, corruption constitutes a drain on the coffers of many ordinary Indians, in the form of demands for bribes by state functionaries, without which their services cannot necessarily be procured.
Hazare’s formulation is largely correct, and if popular support for his campaign is any indication, he has articulated a political frustration with bribery that is unique in spanning the regional, ethnic and religious divisions of Indian society. However, the discontent which Hazare’s movement expresses relates to a corruption that is broader than bribery alone. ‘Corruption’ in this context encompasses a more pernicious subversion of the Indian state that has seen substantial numbers of often violent career criminals enter parliament since the 1970s, and has consequently weakened popular faith in governmental institutions.
The current relationship between politics and criminality is a consequence of a culture of entrepreneurial corruption that adheres to Indian public office. While parliamentary service remains such a lucrative profession, it will continue to attract individuals whose ambitions extend beyond the confines of their position, and whose means of satisfying them include coercion.
The extent to which Hazare will find satisfaction in India’s corruption ombudsman depends in the first instance on whether the ‘Lokpal’ (‘protector of the people’) bill to
Andrew Sanchez
T
he momentum of last year’s hunger strike by the anti-corruption campaigner Kisan
‘Anna’ Hazare currently sees India’s parliament wrestling with the formation of a national corruption ombudsman. Hazare’s campaign rests upon the proposition that the democratic ideals with which the Indian state was formed in 1947 are all too often subverted by the self-interest of public servants. Hazare’s supporters argue that this process has two primary effects. First, corruption allows wealthier citizens to access resources and preferential state treatment to which they are not entitled. Second, corruption constitutes a drain on the coffers of many ordinary Indians, in the form of demands for bribes by state functionaries, without which their services cannot necessarily be procured.
Hazare’s formulation is largely correct, and if popular support for his campaign is any indication, he has articulated a political frustration with bribery that is unique in spanning the regional, ethnic and religious divisions of Indian society. However, the discontent which Hazare’s movement expresses relates to a corruption that is broader than bribery alone. ‘Corruption’ in this context encompasses a more pernicious subversion of the Indian state that has seen substantial numbers of often violent career criminals enter parliament since the 1970s, and has consequently weakened popular faith in governmental institutions.
The current relationship between politics and criminality is a consequence of a culture of entrepreneurial corruption that adheres to Indian public office. While parliamentary service remains such a lucrative profession, it will continue to attract individuals whose ambitions extend beyond the confines of their position, and whose means of satisfying them include coercion.
The extent to which Hazare will find satisfaction in India’s corruption ombudsman depends in the first instance on whether the ‘Lokpal’ (‘protector of the people’) bill to