New Delhi, July 23 | EKHON: Corruption rarely announces itself with spectacle. It seeps in quietly, normalises itself through repetition, and eventually embeds into the moral fabric of a people. In Tangkhul society today, corruption has ceased to be an occasional aberration; it has become systemic, diffused across institutions, and internalised within everyday practices. It is no longer merely a legal or administrative problem; it is an epistemic crisis, a distortion of values, and a reconfiguration of what is considered acceptable, necessary, or even inevitable.
When does corruption cease to be seen as wrong? The answer lies not in the magnitude of the act but in the frequency of its occurrence. In Tangkhul society, corruption has undergone a troubling transformation, from being condemned as unethical to being quietly accepted as a necessary strategy for survival and advancement. This normalisation is perhaps the most dangerous dimension of the crisis of the time.
Is it corruption when a leader manipulates funds meant for collective welfare? Is it corruption when a businessperson inflates prices to exploit community dependencies? Or do these acts become “smartness” in a context where honesty is seen as naivety? These questions are not rhetorical; they reveal a shifting moral baseline. Corruption thrives not only through overt acts of embezzlement or bribery but also through subtle everyday negotiations of favouritism, nepotism, silence in the face of wrongdoing, and the selective application of rules.
At its core, corruption is sustained by individuals. Yet, it is convenient to externalise blame onto leaders, institutions, or systems while ignoring personal complicity. Every act of corruption, however small, contributes to a broader culture of moral erosion. Why do individuals participate in corruption even when they recognise its harmful effects? One explanation lies in the logic of reciprocity and obligation. In tightly knit communities like the Tangkhul, social relationships often override formal rules. Helping a relative secure a job, favouring a friend in a contract, or bypassing procedures for someone within one’s network are often justified as acts of loyalty rather than corruption.
But at what point does loyalty become injustice? When personal ties undermine merit, fairness, and transparency, they cease to be virtues and become instruments of exclusion. The tragedy is that such practices are rarely questioned because they are embedded within cultural expectations.
Students’ unions, civil society organisations (CSOs), schools, colleges, and religious institutions historically represent hope, resistance, and the aspiration for a better future. Yet, in Tangkhul society, these bodies are not immune to corruption. Allegations of fund mismanagement, power struggles, and the prioritisation of personal gain over collective welfare have increasingly surfaced.
What happens when those who are supposed to challenge corruption become its practitioners? The implications are profound. It signals a generational transmission of corrupt practices, where young leaders learn early that power can be leveraged for personal benefit. This raises a critical, yet fundamental, question. Are these institutions still spaces of political education and ethical formation, or have they become training grounds for future corruption? If the latter is true, then the crisis is not only present but also perpetuated into the future.
CSOs occupy a unique position as intermediaries between the state and the community. They are expected to uphold transparency, advocate for justice, and hold power accountable. However, when CSOs themselves become entangled in corruption, through misappropriation of funds, lack of transparency, or selective advocacy, their legitimacy is undermined.
Why is there often silence when CSOs engage in questionable practices? Is it because they operate under the guise of community service, making criticism appear as betrayal? Or is it because accountability mechanisms within these organisations are weak or non-existent? The failure of CSOs to maintain integrity has far-reaching consequences. It erodes public trust and creates a vacuum where no institution can be relied upon to act in the collective interest.
Perhaps the most disturbing dimension of corruption in Tangkhul society is its presence within religious institutions. Churches and faith-based organisations are expected to be moral anchors, guiding individuals toward ethical conduct. Yet, instances of financial mismanagement, power struggles, and lack of accountability have raised serious concerns. How can institutions that preach integrity tolerate corruption within their own structures? Does spiritual authority shield leaders from scrutiny? Or has faith been instrumentalised to maintain power and silence dissent?
The increasing commodification of the name of Jesus and the corporatisation of religious institutions in Tangkhul society raise critical questions regarding the extent to which Christian faith and ecclesiastical practices are being reshaped by market-oriented values and institutional managerialism.
This paradox exposes a deeper crisis. The disjunction between belief and practice. When churches publicly single out major donors in “name prayers” while ignoring the ethical sources of their wealth, they risk normalising and indirectly encouraging corruption by rewarding financial contribution over moral accountability. When religious institutions fail to uphold their own moral standards, they not only lose credibility but also contribute to the normalisation of corruption.
In the economic sphere, corruption manifests through price manipulation, monopolistic practices, and the exploitation of community dependencies. The absence of regulatory frameworks and the reliance on informal networks create opportunities for unethical behaviour. Is profit the ultimate justification for all actions? When businesses prioritise gain over fairness, they contribute to widening inequalities and eroding social cohesion. The question is not whether businesses should make a profit, but whether they can do so without compromising ethical standards.
Corruption in political leadership is perhaps the most visible and widely discussed aspect of the problem. Elected leaders are often accused of misusing public funds, engaging in nepotism, and prioritising personal or factional interests over the welfare of the community. Yet, corruption in politics cannot be understood in isolation. It is both a cause and a consequence of broader societal practices. Leaders emerge from the same social context that normalises corruption, and they operate within systems that lack effective accountability mechanisms.
Why do corrupt leaders continue to be elected? Is it because voters prioritise immediate benefits over long-term integrity? Or because there are limited alternatives? These questions point to a cyclical dynamic where corruption sustains itself through both supply and demand.
Even organisations that claim to fight for justice and liberation are not immune to corruption. Allegations of extortion, misuse of funds, and internal power struggles have raised serious questions about their legitimacy. How can organisations that position themselves as agents of change justify practices that mirror the very systems they oppose? Does the rhetoric of revolution provide a cover for corruption? Or is corruption an inevitable outcome of concentrated power without accountability?
This dimension of corruption is particularly troubling in Tangkhul because it undermines the moral authority of movements that claim to represent the people’s aspirations. To move beyond fragmented analyses, it is necessary to conceptualise corruption in Tangkhul society as a cultural system: a set of practices, norms, and beliefs that sustain and reproduce themselves across different domains. Corruption is accepted as part of everyday life in Tangkhul.
Understanding corruption as a system shifts the focus from individual blame to collective responsibility. It challenges the notion that corruption can be eradicated through punitive measures alone and emphasises the need for cultural transformation. The time has come for uncomfortable introspection. Why do we condemn corruption in others while justifying it in ourselves? Why is silence often the preferred response to wrongdoing? Why do institutions meant to uphold integrity become complicit in its erosion? Why do we continue to trust leaders who have repeatedly betrayed public confidence? Are we willing to sacrifice short-term benefits for long-term ethical integrity? These questions are not meant to assign blame but to provoke reflection and action.
Corruption is not an external force imposed upon Tangkhul society; it is an internal crisis that demands collective responsibility. Addressing it requires more than policy reforms or institutional restructuring; it requires a fundamental rethinking of values, priorities, and practices. Integrity must be reclaimed not as an abstract ideal but as a lived reality. This involves cultivating moral courage, strengthening accountability mechanisms, and fostering a culture where ethical conduct is valued and rewarded.
The silent enemy of corruption will not be defeated through silence. It requires voices that question, actions that challenge, and a collective commitment to change. The future of Tangkhul society depends on its ability to confront this crisis with honesty, courage, resolve, and dismantled self-serving attitudes toward corruption.
In the now-famous meme, Kenyan human rights activist Samson Owimba Ojiayo states, “Corruption is not bad. Corruption is only bad if I’m not involved. But if I’m part of that corruption, I’ll defend it.”
