is all corruption dysfunctional? perceptions of corruption and its consequences in papua new guinea

public administration and development

Public Admin. Dev. 33, 175–190 (2013)

Published online 25 October 2012 in Wiley Online Library(wileyonlinelibrary.com) DOI: 10.1002/pad.1636

IS ALL CORRUPTION DYSFUNCTIONAL? PERCEPTIONS OFCORRUPTION AND ITS CONSEQUENCES IN PAPUA NEW GUINEA

GRANT W. WALTONThe University of Melbourne, Australia

SUMMARY

Many anti-corruption organisations work from the notion that both petty and grand corruption axiomatically results in negativeconsequences. However, few studies have asked citizens to evaluate the effects of different scales and types of corruption. Thisarticle investigates how rural people in Papua New Guinea associate dysfunctional or functional consequences to different typesand scales of corruption. It draws on findings from focus groups conducted in four provinces of the country. The article finds thatmost examples of corruption considered by respondents were perceived as dysfunctional; however, marginalised respondentsconsidered small-scale corruption as functional—if the acts described benefitted marginalised people. These findings suggest thatit is critical that anti-corruption organisations understand and respond to the constraints faced by poor and marginalised people whenoperating in weak states. Copyright © 2012 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

key words—corruption; perceptions; anti-corruption; consequences; Papua New Guinea

INTRODUCTION

The growing literature on corruption has, for the most part, found that corruption is detrimental to the environment,economy and social fabric of developing countries (Tanzi and Davoodi, 2001; Gupta et al., 2002; Seligson, 2002;Anderson and Tverdova, 2003; Lambsdorff, 2007; Booth and Seligson, 2009)—a dysfunctional perspective. Thereis a tendency in this literature to view all types of corruption as dysfunctional: many now see petty corruption(corruption involving low-level officials extracting small sums or benefits) as, if not more, detrimental than grandcorruption (corruption that takes place in the realm of high-level officials and involves large sums of money or benefits)(Harrison, 2006). But there is little evidence to show that citizens feel the same way; few studies have asked citizens toevaluate the effects of different scales and types of corruption (Tverdova, 2011). Understanding the way citizensperceive the functionality of corruption provides insights into their likelihood of support for, or resistance to, corrup-tion. As citizens’ support is crucial to the fight against corruption, insights into the way citizens evaluate it may helpimprove anti-corruption policies and programmes.

This article examines the way rural Papua New Guineans evaluate the consequences of different types and scales ofcorruption. It first examines the literature on the consequences of corruption and how prominent anti-corruptionorganisations interpret the consequences of petty and grand corruption. Second, it examines how corruption has beendiscussed in the literature on Papua New Guinea (PNG). The third section describes the methodology that framed thecollection of empirical data. Sections four and five present key findings from this primary research. The articleconcludes with a discussion of the implications of this case study for efforts to fight corruption.

CONSEQUENCES OF CORRUPTION AND THE ANTI-CORRUPTION INDUSTRY

The way scholars think about corruption often depends upon how they perceive its consequences, with those discuss-ing corruption frequently taking one of two perspectives. The first, and most popular in the academic literature, is

Correspondence to: G. W. Walton, c/- 1 Queen Street, Coburg, Victoria 3058, Australia. E-mail: [email protected]

Copyright © 2012 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

176 G. W. WALTON

labelled ‘dysfunctional’ as it focuses on the negative consequences of corruption. For example, empirical studies havefound that corruption undermines state legitimacy (Seligson, 2002; Anderson and Tverdova, 2003; Booth andSeligson, 2009), exacerbates income inequality (Gupta et al., 2002) and leads to a reduction in economic growth(Tanzi and Davoodi, 2001). A large of body scholarship corroborates this perspective, with Andvig and Fjeldstad’s(2001: 78).review finding that the literature tends ‘to support the dysfunctional view in most situations’.

The second perspective is known as ‘functionalist’ as it is rooted inMerton’s (1968) functional theory of corruption.In this perspective, ‘corruption provides immediate, specific benefits to groups which might have otherwise beenthoroughly alienated from society’ (Huntington, 1968: 381). If an individual engaging in ‘corruption’ is constrainedby structural forces beyond his or her control—for example power asymmetries, traditional obligation, illiteracy or lackof education (Diamond, 1987; Ward, 1989; Yang, 1989, 1994; Shore and Wright, 1997; Haller and Shore, 2005;Harrison, 2007; Arriola, 2009)—then from this perspective he or she may be judged as engaging, not in corruption,but in a transaction born of cultural, social or economic necessity. In other words, the functionalist perspective positsthat acts signifying corruption may be a means to desirable public ends. This perspective challenges the concerns ofWesternWebererian scholarship that explains corruption as the mixing of the private and public spheres. For example,Collins (2012) notes that in ‘collectivist’ societies (an epithet that applies to PNG—where 99 per cent of land iscommunally owned), the problem of corruption might be better explained not by the overlapping of public and privatebut by ‘economic problems or gaps in the system of governance’.

Recent scholarship highlights the ambivalence that people in developing countries hold towards these two perspec-tives. For example, Marquette (2012) found elites in India and Nigeria condemned corruption but believed that othersmay engage in corruption because of its systemic nature. As a result, ‘individuals are left with a typical collective actionproblem, in which their choice not to engage in corruption is seen as illogical or even ridiculous’ (Marquette, 2012: 21).Doig (2012: 133) notes that people in ‘highly corrupt’ countries condemn corruption, but individual and institutionalfactors help determine what ‘corruption’ is.

This ambivalence is not reflected in policy documents and promotional materials of prominent anti-corruptionorganisations: rather, overwhelmingly, the dysfunctional perspective reigns. The World Bank, for example, stressesthat international bribery costs $1 trillion and that

Countries that improve on control of corruption and rule of law can expect (on average), in the long run, a fourfoldincrease in incomes per capita. . .such a country could expect, on average, a 75 per cent reduction in childmortality (World Bank, 2010: 1).

Transparency International’s (TI)—the world’s most recognised anti-corruption organisation—annual GlobalCorruption Reports have argued that corruption can undermine efforts to address climate change (TransparencyInternational, 2011), reduce people’s ability to benefit from water resources (Transparency International, 2008a) anddeprive citizens of quality health care (Transparency International, 2006a). These narratives reinforce the idea thatall corruption is bad; there is little if any acknowledgement of benign or good corruption.

The tendency of anti-corruption organisations to view all types of corruption as bad, and needing to be addressed, hasincreased over time. For example, TI began operating in 1993, with the intention of focusing almost entirely on grandcorruption (Galtung and Pope, 1999). By the late 1990s, however, it came to view petty corruption as potentially justas damaging (Galtung and Pope, 1999). Now TI, like many other organisations, actively supports the fight against allforms of corruption.

The conceptual conflation of petty and grand corruption is also apparent in popular statistical surveys that seek tomeasure corruption. The most influential of these is TI’s Corruption Perceptions Index (CPI). First released in 1995,the CPI has reified the otherwise amorphous nature of corruption and, in so doing, has helped erode the boundariesbetween grand and petty corruption (Harrison, 2006; Rose-Ackerman and Truex, 2012). According to TI (2009),the 2009 CPI

measures the perceived levels of public sector corruption in 180 countries and territories. A composite index, theCPI is based on 13 different expert and business surveys. Each country is ranked out of 10 and, depending uponthe score of each nation, is ranked accordingly.

Copyright © 2012 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Public Admin. Dev. 33, 175–190 (2013)

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177PERCEPTIONS OF CORRUPTION AND ITS CONSEQUENCES IN PAPUA NEW GUINEA

In turn, the CPI reinforces the notion that all types of corruption are detrimental. For example, economists drawingfrom the CPI have produced cross-country analysis showing that ‘corruption hurts economic growth; it reduces thelevel of foreign investment,. . .hurts mostly poor people; [and] distorts the logic of public investment’ (Krastev,2004: 33). Drawing from the CPI, these conclusions fail to identify the types of corruption that are more detrimentalthan others. Nonetheless, the CPI has justified mostly economic remedies to corruption and has shaped the internalpolitics of countries as well as the allocation of aid to developing nations (Andersson and Heywood, 2009).

But some argue that considering both petty and grand corruption as dysfunctional undermines anti-corruptionefforts (Dix, 2008; Sundell, 2012). For instance, Sundell (2012) argues that the fight against corruption is flailingbecause anti-corruption organisations do not adequately target different scales of corruption. He argues that whengovernments are weak and cannot effectively collect revenues and pay public servants a living wage, petty corruptionshould be legalised—this leaves governments to focus on addressing grand corruption. He cites a Bulgarian studyshowing that most respondents were in favour of formalising informal payments (Delcheva et al., 1997). Such viewsare, however, far removed from the dysfunctional perspective taken by many in the anti-corruption industry.

In the main, the anti-corruption industry focuses on retribution for corrupt behaviour, ‘primary through repressiverational, legal and institutional measures’ (Doig, 2012: 129). However, Collins (2012) and Doig (2012) argue that thesemeasures are limited and may be hindering the fight against corruption. Given the lack of evidence that anti-corruptionefforts have been successful (see Gebel, 2012), Doig (2012) calls for a different approach: arguing for greater efforts todeveloping a ‘culture of rejection’ towards corruption in public office, through stressing the importance of honesty inpublic service (i.e. rejecting corruption because ‘it wouldn’t be honest’). But, he also questions whether or notdeveloping such a culture is dependent on ‘a particular set of country specific or development-specific contexts’(Doig, 2012: 132). The problem for Doig (2012), is that the effects of cultural changes are not known because thisapproach has not been a part of donor agencies’ anti-corruption agendas.

FUNCTIONAL AND DYSFUNCTIONAL PERSPECTIVES OF CORRUPTION IN PAPUA NEW GUINEA

The Pacific nation of PNG achieved independence from Australia on September 16, 1975. Although politics in thecountry has been turbulent throughout its history (see Dorney, 2001; May, 2004 for more comprehensive accounts),May (2004) suggests that it was during the 1990s that nepotism and corruption becamemost noticeable. PNG is a weakstate1 in that it fails to provide citizens in many parts of the country with security, rule of law, economic opportunitiesand essential infrastructure and services. Weak states are also marked by corruption (Rotberg, 2003), and some fearthat the existing failings of the PNG state, along with a perceived increase of corruption, has the potential cause statefailure (Gosarevski et al., 2004; Hughes, 2004).

As a result, writings about PNG have overwhelmingly linked corruption to the dysfunctional perspective.Corruption has been described as leading to a severe breakdown of law and order in the country (Morauta, 1996; Pitts,2001, 2002; May, 2004). For example, Pitts (2002), suggests that illegal corruption by elites results in citizens feelingvictimised and, in turn, encourages them to mimic their leaders’ illegal activities in order to gain a greater share of stateresources. Others have pointed to the deleterious effects corruption has on the electoral system (Kurer, 2007; Standish,2007; Allen and Hasnain, 2010) and the bureaucracy (Dinnen, 1997; Payani, 2000; Dorney, 2001; Hughes, 2003;Gosarevski et al., 2004). For example, Dorney explains how administrative mismanagement and misappropriationin the 1980s led to the suspension of a number of provincial governments and the eventual abolition of separatelyelected provincial governments (2001: 237–38).

By undermining due process and the rule of law, corruption has been linked to poor service delivery (Dorney,2001), declining social indicators (Gosarevski et al., 2004; Hughes, 2004), environmental destruction (Barnett,1989; Greenpeace, 2005; Australian Conservation Foundation and CELCoR, 2006) and economic decline and uncer-tainty (Manning, 2001; Barker and Awili, 2007). With the numerous cases of corruption reported in government, the

1Although there is much conjecture about the exact nature of a ‘weak state’, Rotberg (2003) argues that the weakness or strength of the nation statedepends on its ability to political (public) goods to people living within its borders. Political goods include security (considered most important byRotberg), functioning rule of law, the opportunity to freely participate in politics and the provision of essential services and infrastructure.


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private sector and NGOs (see Okole and Kavanamur, 2003), to many it is self-evident that corruption is a problem inPNG and must be addressed.

However, some, reflecting the functionalist perspective, argue that there may be very good reasons as to whyPapua New Guineans engage in what many consider ‘corruption’. With a paucity of services, no state sponsoredsocial security, few employment opportunities or means for development, many communities on the periphery of‘Westernisation’ wait in hope for development to arrive (Dwyer and Minnegal, 1998). The inability of the PNG stateto deliver resources and services to its people has lead Crocombe (2001) to suggest that although citizens may notapprove of corruption, they may condone it and rationalise it, if they benefit from it. The respected stateswoman and,at the time of writing, only female serving in the PNG parliament, Minister of Parliament Dame Carol Kidu, wrote, inthe National newspaper, that politicians work outside of the rules and laws guiding their office and engage in acts out-siders may consider corrupt because ‘they feel a Melanesian obligation and compassion for the situation many peopleare in’ (From the National 7March 2006, cited in: Larmour, 2006: 15). These commentators effectively argue that trans-actions that some label ‘corrupt’ can serve as social protection mechanisms for those who are poor and marginalised.

‘Corruption’ has also been considered important for maintaining ‘traditional’ practices. For example, Larmour(1997: 2) notes that a previous Prime Minister refuted criticism over payments made ‘to prevent a minister defectingto the opposition, by arguing that “gift giving” is part of the Melanesian political tradition’. Kanekane (2007) suggeststhat Papua New Guinean customary ways result in a tolerance of corruption. He explains that voters re-elect leadersfound to be corrupt as they have a ‘primordial acceptance that, although MPs have done wrong, they should be givena second chance’ (Kanekane, 2007: 23). Papua New Guineans, according to Kanekane, place personal relationshipsbefore rules and laws of the state because they see greater benefits in maintaining traditional ties with ‘big men’(traditional leaders of a community mostly chosen through merit) and chiefs, than abiding by state laws and rules.

These debates have been framed by an ambiguous and inconsistent use of the term ‘corruption’. Some viewcorruption as a subset of criminal activity (Pitts, 2002), others have used it as a term to refer to the abuse of public officefor personal gain (Dinnen, 1997; Payani, 2000; Dorney, 2001; Hughes, 2003; Gosarevski et al., 2004). There are alsothose who write of corruption as a moral failing (Kanekane, 2007). In addition, there is a tendency to talk about pettyand grand corruption interchangeably (Manning, 2001; Barker and Awili, 2007). This inconsistency means thatacademics are talking at cross purposes about the issue, and this makes it difficult to understand the links between‘corruption’ and its consequences.

There has been a very little research conducted into how citizens understand corruption and its associatedconsequences in PNG. Surveys in cities such as Port Moresby have provided insight into the degree to which somePapua New Guineans think ‘corruption’ is a problem (PNG Justice Advisory Group, 2007) but have yet to explainwhat Papua New Guineans perceive corruption is. This is particularly the case in rural communities—where more than85 per cent of the population live (Rannells and Matatier, 2005: 190). It is here where forms of exchange that prefer-ence reciprocity over individual accumulation are strong. These informal and ‘traditional’ modes of exchange occurbetween individuals of the same clan, family or region. In PNG, this is called thewantok system and is sometimes citedas a reason why PNG suffers from corruption (Payani, 2000).

A wantok—Tok Pisin (the local lingua franka) for ‘one talk’—may be a friend, family or tribal member to whomone is obligated. For outsiders, the practice of reciprocity between wantoks is often seen as the key aspect of PapuaNew Guinean culture that is responsible for nepotism, cronyism and corruption (Payani, 2000; Mcleod, 2007). But,the system also plays an important redistributive and protective role in the absence of a welfare state. Citizens relyon their wantoks for medicine, jobs, money, shelter and food, when the state cannot provide (McLeod, 2007). Thebenefits of the wantok system in PNG are therefore contested.

METHODOLOGY

This article draws on the findings of 64 focus group discussions that were held in four provinces in PNG—Southern Highlands (SH), Milne Bay (MB), Madang (MDG) and East New Britain (ENB)—over 6months in2008 (Figure 1).


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Figure 1. Provincial locations of research.


A team of 16 local researchers were trained to facilitate focus groups for this research. In each province, researchteams visited two villages: one that was relatively remote and had little access to government services, another closerto urban areas and/or development projects. Respondents were chosen through a quota sampling system that ensuredthose of different genders, ages and with different levels of literacy were represented. So, the article provides insightsinto what some Papua New Guineans’ think about corruption, rather than providing a statistically representativesample of all citizens.

Table 1 provides a breakdown of the gender, age and education of participants by province. It shows that mostrespondents were male, 18–24 years old and educated up to year 6. SH focus groups featured significantly more

Table 1. Focus group respondents by province

SH SH (%) MDG MDG (%) MB MB (%) ENB ENB (%) Total Total (%)

GenderMale 60 62 65 53 75 55 77 55 277 56Female 36 38 57 47 62 45 63 45 218 44Total 96 100 122 100 137 100 140 100 495 100

Age18–24 43 44 54 44 61 44 56 40 214 4325–35 32 33 29 24 27 19 41 29 129 2636–45 13 14 20 17 15 11 18 13 66 1346–55 7 7 10 8 21 15 21 15 59 1255+ 1 1 8 7 13 10 4 3 26 5Total 96 100 122 100 137 100 140 100 495 100

EducationCannot read or write 36 38 46 38 42 31 47 33 171 35Educated up to year 6 35 36 45 38 53 39 47 33 180 36Educated up to year 7–12 20 21 25 21 34 25 29 21 108 22Tertiary, college, TAFE 5 6 5 4 8 6 18 13 36 7Total 96 100 122 100 137 100 140 100 495 100

TAFE, Technical and Further Education; SH, Southern Highlands; MB, Milne Bay; MDG, Madang; ENB, East New Britain.


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180 G. W. WALTON

men (62 per cent) than women (38 per cent); this province also featured a higher proportion of participants youngerthan 36 years of age (77 per cent) than the other three provinces. SH and MDG featured the highest proportion ofilliterate respondents: 38 per cent of respondents in each of these provinces could not read or write. The greatestproportion of older respondents (over 55) was inMB, where ENB focus groups had a greater proportion of respondentswho had completed higher education (13 per cent).

The research instrument included five scenarios that represent different scales, actors and types of possiblecorruption. As shown in Table 2, three scenarios represented possible petty corruption, whereas two representedpossible grand corruption. Scenarios involved public officials, the private sector and citizenry. Possible embezzlement,abuse of power, bribery and nepotism are featured. Each scenario is coded, with these codes referred to throughout thefindings sections of this article.

The scenarios reflect ‘corruption’ defined as ‘the abuse of entrusted power for private gain’—a definition that ispopular with academics (Boehm and Olaya, 2006; Fisman and Miguel, 2007; Oyewobi et al., 2011) and anti-corruptionorganisations (Transparency International, 2002; Asian Development Bank, 2004; Transparency International, 2006b;AusAID, 2007; Transparency International, 2008b). Defined in this way, corruption may involve transactions betweenand among public officials, the private sector and civil society.

Table 2. Scenarios for rural respondents

Scenario Code Scale Those involved Type

1. A teacher occasionally takes a box ofnote pads and pens from the schoolstores cupboard, without permission,to donate to the local community centre(for example a health facility).

Donate Petty Government employeeand community worker

Embezzlement

2. Tax is a payment that all businessesoperating in Papua New Guinea need topay to the government. A group ofbusinessmen influence the government todecrease the amount of tax their business pays.They influence the government withoutbreaking any laws. This helps their businesseskeep more money.

Businessmen Grand Governmentand private sector

Possible abuseof power

3. A candidate stands for election and tells avoter that he or she will give the voter 50 kina[approximately $25] if the voter votes for him or her.The voter takes the money and tells the candidatehe or she will vote for him or her.

Voter Petty Citizen andelectoral candidate

Bribery

4. A logging company comes to a Papua NewGuinean village and flies two local landownersto Australia. The company does this to helpconvince the two landowners to give them accessto their land. The two landowners’ accommodation,flights and meals are paid for by the loggingcompany. The two landowners agree that thecompany can have access to their land, withoutgetting consent from the rest of the community.

Landowners Grand Civil leadersand private sector

—

5. Mary works in the government of Papua NewGuinea and gets a job for her wantok [a family orclan member] as a driver. But she does notfollow the correct government procedure toemploy her wantok. Her wantok is a safeand reliable driver.

Wantok Petty Government employeeand citizen

Nepotism


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Respondents were presented with these individual scenarios and asked (i) if the type of activity mentioned occurs inPNG and why it does or does not; (ii) what they thought about the actors mentioned in the scenarios; and (iii) what theybelieved the consequences of such scenarios would be. This article focuses on the responses to the latter two questions.

Respondents were not asked if they thought the scenarios were ‘corrupt’; this was because at the start of the researchit was not known how familiar respondents would be with the term. In many languages, in PNG—including TokPisin—there is no recognised equivalent for ‘corruption’. Although the homonym koraspen has been used by somein the country (Feizkah, 2002), it is not recognised in official dictionaries (Mihalic, 1983; Baing et al., 2008) and isnot used in English to Tok Pisin translations of key works, such as the Bible (The Bible Society, 1993). Using the word‘corruption’ in the research instrument would have necessitated researchers describing what ‘it’ is and thus biasingresponses—a problem that has been faced by other researchers (Savage et al., 2007).

This approach is a significant departure from quantitative studies that investigate the nature of corruption’sconsequences (Gupta et al., 2002; Reinikka and Svensson, 2006) because it allows for a more nuanced accountof corruption and its perceived consequences. It takes seriously the contested and multifarious nature of corruption.

SYMPATHETIC, UNSYMPATHETIC AND NEUTRAL RESPONSES

Analysis of responses to the characters of the scenarios revealed that three types of responses were prominent:‘sympathetic’, ‘unsympathetic’ and neither sympathetic nor unsympathetic (categorised as ‘neutral’). The‘sympathetic’ response is so named as highlights the tendency for respondents to sympathise, or empathise, withone or more of the characters in the scenario. For example, responding to the wantok scenario, some argued that thegovernment employee (Mary) was justified in hiring her wantok without following the correct procedure becauseshe was helping someone in need. As a corollary, focus groups labelled ‘unsympathetic’ condemned those involvedin the transaction. For example, some respondents suggested that Mary and her wantok were in the wrong, as theyknew they transgressed due process. Those categorised as ‘neutral’ were uncertain about how to evaluate the scenario.

Table 3 summarises how the 64 focus groups are categorised. It shows that most focus groups were unsympatheticto the scenarios but not equally so. The characters depicted in the landowners (92 per cent of focus groups wereunsympathetic towards this scenario) and businessmen (86 per cent) scenarios were mostly viewed unsympathetically.The characters in the donate (73 per cent), voter (70 per cent) and wantok (53 per cent) scenarios were also mostlyviewed unsympathetically but to lesser degrees.

As a corollary, the actors in the wantok scenario garnered the most amount of sympathy, with 42 per cent of focusgroups categorised as sympathetic to this scenario. The actors in the voter (28 per cent) and donate (25 per cent)scenarios also elicited some sympathy. However, few focus groups were sympathetic to the actors in the landowners(8 per cent) scenario, whereas no groups (0 per cent) were classified as sympathetic when responding to thebusinessmen scenario. Very few groups were categorised as neutral; the highest percentage for this category was inresponse the businessmen scenario, with 14 per cent of focus groups categorised as neither. So, overall, although mostwere unsympathetic, respondents were most sympathetic to the three acts that depicted petty corruption—the wantok,voter and donate scenarios—and least sympathetic to the scenarios that depicted grand corruption—the landowner andbusinessmen scenarios.

Table 4 segments focus groups by age, gender, literacy, wealth of the village and province. It shows that there islittle difference between age groups, with those older than 25 years as likely to be sympathetic/unsympathetic as thoseyounger than 25 years. There is also little difference between illiterate and literate focus groups, except when compar-ing their responses to the wantok scenario. Fifty-six per cent of illiterate focus groups, compared with 28 per cent ofliterate focus groups, sympathised with the character(s) in the wantok scenario. This was because literate respondentscould more readily place themselves in the position of those who missed out on the job because of Mary’s actions.For example, a man from MB said, ‘if I missed out on this I would be angry. . .it’s not right’. Illiterate respondents,reflecting their lack of economic opportunity, were more willing to acknowledge that relationships were importantto receive jobs. One illiterate male respondent from SH said, ‘we will never get employment. . .so who you know isthe best option for a job’.


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Table 3. Focus groups categorised by responses to scenarios

Number Percentage

DonateSympathetic 16 25Unsympathetic 47 73Neutral 1 2Total 64 100

VoterSympathetic 18 28Unsympathetic 45 70Neutral 1 2Total 64 100

LandownersSympathetic 5 8Unsympathetic 59 92Neutral 0 0Total 64 100

BusinessmenSympathetic 0 0Unsympathetic 55 86Neutral 9 14Total 64 100

WantokSympathetic 27 42Unsympathetic 34 53Neutral 3 5Total 64 100

182 G. W. WALTON

There were also significant differences between the genders with respect to two other scenarios depicting pettycorruption. Forty-one per cent of female groups, compared with 9 per cent of male groups, were sympathetictowards the donate scenario. Women, likely because they and their children were more frequently in need of

Table 4. Focus group responses by age, gender, literacy, wealth of village and province

Donate Voter Landowners

Sympathetic(%)

Unsympathetic(%)

Neutral(%)

Total(%)

Sympathetic(%)

Unsympathetic(%)

Neutral(%)

Total(%)

Sympathetic(%)

Unsympathetic(%)

AgeOld 28 72 0 100 28 72 0 100 3 97Young 22 75 3 100 28 69 3 100 13 88

LiteracyIlliterate 25 72 3 100 31 66 3 100 6 94Literate 25 75 0 100 25 75 0 100 9 91

GenderFemale 41 59 0 100 44 56 0 100 9 91Male 9 88 3 100 13 84 3 100 6 94

WealthHigh 13 84 3 100 22 75 3 100 9 91Low 28 72 0 100 34 66 0 100 6 94

ProvinceENB 28 72 0 100 19 81 0 100 6 94MA 13 81 6 100 31 63 6 100 0 100MB 13 88 0 100 25 75 0 100 13 88SH 50 50 0 100 38 63 0 100 13 88


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medical assistance, showed greater concern over the state of health facilities than men. They were therefore morelikely to see the donate scenario as a transfer of funds, rather than an egregious act. For example, one femalerespondent in SH supported the actions of the teacher in this scenario, because, ‘we go to the health clinics andwe miss out. . .the health clinics need more things’.

Forty-four per cent of female groups, compared with 13 per cent of male groups, were sympathetic to the voterscenario. This reflected women’s willingness to trust those in positions of authority. For example, one woman fromMDG said, ‘I would takemoney from the candidate. . .as long as they are endorsed by those in the village. . .that [takingthe money] is OK’.

Those in poorer villages were also more likely to sympathise with the donate and voter scenarios. Thirty-eight percent of focus groups in poorer villages, compared with 13 per cent in wealthier villages, were sympathetic to the donatescenario. This was because those in poor villages were more acutely aware of the shortages in state services. Indeed,many directly related the scenario to their own experiences. One man from a poorer village in MB said, ‘look around,we have very little here, we have to make do. Sometimes one [service] borrows from another’.

Thirty-four per cent of groups in poor villages, compared with 22 per cent in wealthier villages, sympathised withthe voter scenario. This reflected the scant opportunity those in poorer villages had to benefit from these resources. Formany, the candidate in this scenario was, as a man from a poorer village in SH put it, ‘giving us kina. . .[because]nobody else gives us any’.

Table 4 suggests that, mostly, the province where focus groups were conducted did not significantly shaperesponses—the vast majority were unsympathetic to the scenarios. There is some variation in terms of howmany focusgroups were unsympathetic; for example, 81 per cent of focus groups in ENB, 63 per cent in MDG, 75 per cent in MBand 63 per cent in SH were unsympathetic to the VOTER scenario. The number of unsympathetic focus groups variedacross provinces, but, as this example highlights, in all provinces a large majority were unsympathetic.

There were two notable exceptions to this rule, however. First, focus groups fromMDG province were more likelyto be sympathetic to the characters in the wantok scenario than other provinces: 75 per cent of focus groups werecategorised as sympathetic compared with 25 per cent as unsympathetic. This is explained by the attitude of manyrespondents in one village, which is nearby Ramu Agri-Industries Limited—a private agricultural company. Theysuggested that this privately run company engaged in nepotism, with employees hired according to their personal

Landowners Businessmen Wantok

Neutral(%)

Total(%)

Sympathetic(%)

Unsympathetic(%)

Neutral(%)

Total(%)

Sympathetic(%)

Unsympathetic(%)

Neutral(%)

Total(%)

0 100 0 88 13 100 44 50 6 1000 100 0 84 16 100 41 56 3 100

0 100 0 84 16 100 56 41 3 1000 100 0 88 13 100 28 66 6 100

0 100 0 75 25 100 47 44 9 1000 100 0 97 3 100 38 63 0 100

0 100 0 97 3 100 44 47 9 1000 100 0 75 25 100 41 59 0 100

0 100 0 100 0 100 38 63 0 1000 100 0 69 31 100 75 25 0 1000 100 0 100 0 100 19 63 19 1000 100 0 75 25 100 38 63 0 100


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connections rather thanmerit. For example, one male respondent from this village said, ‘Ramu company also plays this[wantok] system, if your wantok is the manager; he or she employs their wantoks to work’. Thus, for many from thisvillage, the wantok scenario was analogous to private sector nepotism.

Second, respondents from SH were ambivalent towards the donate scenario, with 50 per cent sympathetic and50 per cent unsympathetic. This reflected the divide between landowners who were beneficiaries of royalty paymentsfrom a nearby oil and gas project and those who were not, with the latter category more likely to express concern aboutthe lack of government facilities in their area. For example, a man from the relatively impoverished village in SHprovince said, ‘the health clinics here are poorly stocked. . .they need supplies. . .wherever they come from’. Thevillage where landowners received royalty payments, however, had greater access to services and were moreconcerned that rules were being followed. For example, one landowner from a village of SH (whose members receivedroyalty payments), in response to this scenario, said ‘we have seen our money misused by our leaders, we don’t want[rules] broken’.

So, regional differences were mostly small, although groups in MDG and SHP were more likely to be sympatheticto the wantok and donate scenarios, respectively.

Most respondents understood all the scenarios and could recall instances where similar events had occurred tothemselves or people they knew. However, the businessmen scenario was unfamiliar to many. This was reflected inthe higher percentage of focus groups that were labelled as ‘neutral’ to this scenario (Table 3). Gender, wealth ofthe village and province of origin were all variables, where significant uncertainty was manifested. Twenty-five percent of female groups were categorised as neutral to this scenario, in comparison, only 3 per cent of men respondedin this way. This was because, as participants suggested, women were less likely to engage in politics outside of thevillage level.

In addition, the businessmen scenario baffled those from poor villages. This is likely due to their remoteness andlack of engagement and awareness in political affairs outside of the village. As a result, 25 per cent of focus groupsfrom poor villages, compared with 3 per cent of wealthy villages, could not respond to this scenario.

The businessmen scenario also confused many from MDG and SH provinces. Thirty-one per cent of focus groupsfromMDGand 25 per cent from SHwere categorised as neutral. This reflected the remoteness of the poorest villages inboth of these provinces. The poorer village in SH province—Yamasi—was noted for its lack of resources and inacces-sibility. This was also the case with the village of Bumbu village in MDG province. The remoteness of these locationsmeant that many locals were cut off from economic and political debates.

So, most respondents were unsympathetic towards all five scenarios, although there was variation between differenttypes of focus groups. Women, those classified as illiterate (who are often excluded from community decision-makingprocesses concerning outsiders [Walton and Barnett, 2008]), those from poor villages (excluded from social services)and those fromMDG and SH (two of the provinces with the most remote villages) were most likely to sympathise withscenarios depicting petty corruption. It therefore appears that, by and large, it was those who were poor and margin-alised that were most likely to sympathise with scenarios, particularly those depicting possible petty corruption. Thesesame attributes meant that they also were less likely to know how to respond to the businessmen scenario.

EVALUATING THE CONSEQUENCES OF CORRUPTION

The previous section provided a profile of those categorised as ‘sympathetic’, ‘unsympathetic’ and ‘neutral’; thissection examines the way ‘sympathetic’ and ‘unsympathetic’ groups evaluated the five scenarios based on theirperceived consequences.

The donate scenario

Unsympathetic respondents railed against what they considered the violation of bureaucratic procedure when evaluat-ing to the donate scenario. For example, in a focus group among literate women inMDG, one respondent started off bysaying, ‘the teacher got the materials without permission’, which was followed by another agreeing and adding that thiswas ‘clearly an example of corruption within the school premises’. Their concern about this violation was linked to the


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negative consequences they believed this would have on their community, particularly for children. For example, ayoung man in his twenties in MDG said that such acts ‘deprive children of learning’. A woman in MB feared, ‘theschool will run out of materials and [children] will give up school’. This aroused passion in many focus groups withrespondents saying that they would personally resist against teachers who were suspected of engaging in suchactivities. In SH, in particular, respondents suggested that they would directly confront the teacher. For example,one man in SH said, ‘we’ll beat up anyone who does this in our place’. Thus, unsympathetic respondents focusedon the dysfunctional consequences this transaction would have on children, which fuelled a desire to resist against suchan occurrence.

Sympathetic focus groups were more ambivalent about the possible consequences from this scenario. On the onehand, some articulated a concern that the community would suffer. For example, one woman from SH said that thetransaction would mean ‘the aid post administration will not be running so effectively because it will be dependingon the stolen items; so when the school runs out of supplies, the aid post will be closed’. But, despite such concerns,those in sympathetic groups stressed the importance this transaction would have for the teacher. For example, oneyoung woman in SH believed the teacher ‘needed money to live’ given that he or she had ‘yet to be paid by thegovernment’. For these respondents, the teacher’s actions mean he or she could, as a man from SH said, ‘feed thefamily’. So, although sympathetic respondents understood the problems, this scenario could cause the communityas a whole, ultimately, they believed it was justified; a female respondent from MB summed up this sentiment saying,‘this is not good, bad things will come of it, but teachers around the country will do this until the government pays themproperly’.

The voter scenario

Unsympathetic respondents believed the voter scenario typified PNG’s problematic elections. Some had first-handexperience of this kind of transaction. For example, a female respondent in MDG said that this type of scenario hadoccurred in her village. Reflecting on the scenario she said that, in the past, candidates

would give us money and goods just to get more votes, so that [they] win the election. If [they] won [they] would notcome back again. . .[and therefore not] contribute to the development [of the community].

Unsympathetic respondents who did not indicate they had first-hand experience with such a transaction believednegative consequences would arise. For example, an old literate man inMDG said, ‘this will lead to people everywherestruggling; poverty [and] poor governance. . .[will result] all over the country’. Thus, unsympathetic respondentssuggested that this scenario would result in poor services, poverty and poor governance, both at the local and thenational level.

Sympathetic groups, on the other hand, were open to the positive consequences that could arise from this scenario.Some believed that this scenario could be beneficial if the transaction was conducted transparently and enfranchisedeveryone. For instance, a young man from SH province said, ‘the candidate is to be blamed as he is doing it secretly,which is not good. If he comes openly and lets the community leaders know, then that is good’. This quote suggeststhat vote buying may help to secure relationships that are otherwise uncertain. In turn, some suggested that the candi-date’s actions were not wrong if he paid the entire community. Another man from SH, summed up this position:

Such bribes should be given to the whole community and leaders so every one benefits and not only a few people.When everyone is involved the candidate will know that he won through their votes and will deliver services later.When only a few are involved, services are not delivered.

Thus, for these respondents, if the candidate gained approval from the right community leaders and the entirecommunity benefited, then ‘corrupt’ behaviour could be excused.

The landowners scenario

Unsympathetic respondents were concerned about the negative social and environmental consequences that wouldresult from the landowner scenario. For instance, a woman from SH said that the scenario would mean, ‘the


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186 G. W. WALTON

environment will be impacted, there will be nothing left’. Some provided first-hand accounts of the environmental con-sequences of logging operations. For example, a man in MDG said, ‘this is happening now to us, the company hasdestroyed our natural resources, we have nothing’. Respondents were also concerned about the economic impactson the community. For instance, one male respondent from ENB province said that the logging company will ‘be richfrom our resources while we are left poorer than ever’. In turn, some believed that the poorest in the community, whorely upon forests for their livelihoods, would be most disenfranchised. One man from SH said, ‘there will be no foodthat is usually obtained from the bush; animals will run away and the community will suffer’.

But, the few groups that were categorised as sympathetic believed that the transaction could help the communityand the two landowners depicted in the scenario. For instance, one male respondent in MB said, ‘the two landownershave done the right thing as they wanted to ensure their clan is financially sound over the long run’. They also believedthat this type of activity occurred because the two landowners needed money to survive. As a man from SH said,‘money is the source of life’, and without money, landowners could be susceptible to enter into such deals. This isnot to suggest that all those in sympathetic groups did not believe the scenario could have negative impacts. Somestressed the environmental and social problems that could arise out of the transaction. For example, in MB, one malerespondent said that as a result of this scenario, ‘wewill suffer as wewatch our natural resources finish before our eyes’.But, unlike their unsympathetic counterparts, sympathetic groups stressed the importance of this transaction to benefitindividuals and communities amid a paucity of economic opportunities.

The businessmen scenario

The businessmen scenario met with opprobrium across the board, with no focus groups expressing sympathy towardsthose depicted in this scenario. Some were concerned that the scenario would lead to a reduction of social services. Forexample, one male from MB said that ‘the government will be unable to deliver some of the much needed servicesbecause of insufficient funding arising from the lack of tax being collected’. In turn, another male in ENB opined,‘the government should not lower company taxes because it is the only way they collect money to help us people’.Respondents therefore linked reduced tax revenue to poor economic and social consequences.

Although decreasing tax would benefit the company, respondents were not convinced that they would gain from it.Indeed, many believed that the company would increase the prices of its goods with impunity, further disenfranchisingrural people. For example, a female respondent in the SH said that this scenario would result in the ‘cost of goods in thestore rising’; another woman in the same village said, ‘the people become poorer when prices of goods go up’.

The wantok scenario

Unsympathetic respondents were primarily concerned with three potential consequences arising from the wantokscenario. First, they despaired about what the scenario would mean for employment opportunities across the country.For example, a woman fromMBprovince said that the scenario would result in ‘qualified people finding it harder to getjobs’. Another in the same focus group added that ‘unemployment figures will rise’. Second, unsympatheticrespondents were concerned about the impacts such actions would have on further wrongdoing and corruption; asentiment expressed by a woman from ENB who said, ‘our country will be more corrupt when the wrong peopleare in the system’. Some had seen public servants abusing their positions and drew on the experience to evaluatethe scenario; for example, another man from ENB said,

the vehicle driven byMary’s wantokwill be used to ferry morewantoks, market produce and for drinking sprees—notfor its intended purpose, as I have seen on many occasions.

Finally, unsympathetic respondents were concerned that this scenario could result in violence. This was exemplifiedby one woman in ENB who said the scenario ‘will lead to tribal fights and killing’. Thus, unsympathetic respondentswere concerned that this scenario would lead to fewer jobs, further breakdown of bureaucratic processes and conflict.

Sympathetic respondents were more likely to believe that positive consequences would arise from this scenario. Forexample, a man from MB province said that if these types of scenarios occurred regularly around PNG, ‘everybodywill be lucky because we will all have jobs’. Respondents were particularly sanguine about what this would mean


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for Mary’s wantok. Assuming that her wantok was poor, may believed that this transaction would help pull him or herout of poverty. For example, one man from ENB argued that Mary’s wantok ‘could now eat rice’. Some wereambivalent in their assessment of the potential consequences. For example, another man in MB said, ‘to help a wantokis good but in this case it is not fair to others who want a job’. Thus, although many sympathetic groups identifiednegative impacts such a transaction could have, they still recognised the importance of helping friends and familiesin times of crisis.

So, the most pronounced difference between sympathetic and unsympathetic respondents was evidenced inscenarios depicting possible petty corruption—the donor, voter and wantok scenarios. In these scenarios, sympatheticgroups stressed the potential positive consequences of the transaction for the protagonists who were, respondentsbelieved, constrained by structural forces beyond their control. Thus, they were concerned with the teacher’s pay scale,the voter’s alienation from development and the poverty of Mary’s wantok. These structural constraints were crucial intheir sympathetic viewpoint, because, as rural Papua New Guineans, they could relate to them.

The scenarios depicting grand corruption—the landowners and businessmen scenarios—were less likely to belinked to functional consequences because they depicted those outside of the community (a logging company, businessand government elites) gaining from the transaction. The fewwho were sympathetic towards the landowners perceivedthem to either be poor villagers or willing to distribute resources within the community. So, although most respondentssaw all scenarios as corrupt, differences between sympathetic and unsympathetic groups came about when respondentsbelieved that ‘corruption’ would not benefit the poor and marginalised within the community.

CONCLUSIONS

This study finds that the concerns about the effects of corruption on the poor and marginalised shape respondentsperceptions about its functionality. This confirms what many functionalist authors have argued: that in weak states suchas PNG, some types of corruption can offer social protection mechanisms for those excluded from state benefits. At thesame time, most citizens in the survey saw corruption—particularly grand corruption—as detrimental to their commu-nities and the state. Keeping in mind the limits of this survey, it appears that both citizens and anti-corruption organisa-tions have similar views about the impacts of grand corruption but differ significantly when it comes to pettycorruption. This supports Collins’ (2012) assertion that in ‘collectivist’ societies the problem of corruption is tiednot only to the overlapping of private and public but also, in this case, economic problems.

This suggests that while continuing to address grand corruption, anti-corruption initiatives must better understandand respond to the structural constraints that frame corruption. Where the poor and marginalised have little accessto state services and development, it is important to address these constraints—rather than focusing on repressivemeasures—of those who try to survive by engaging in petty corruption. In other words, it supports Doig (2012) andCollins’ (2012) concerns about the limitations of repressive anti-corruption measures—in certain situations. Inaddition, it suggests that Doig’s call for greater efforts to promote a ‘culture of rejection’ would be (as he suspects)curtailed by the developmental context in which individuals find themselves. Expecting people to reject corruptionbased on premise that ‘it wouldn’t be honest’ is not tenable when corruption serves to redistribute state resourcesto the poor. This suggests that anti-corruption efforts need to directly provide development that tangibly improvespeople’s lives (such as guaranteed work initiatives, roads and health and educational facilities). And that governmentsshould carefully consider legalising petty corruption in poor districts, provinces or states if there is sufficient evidenceto show that this benefits the poor andmarginalised. But in order for prominent anti-corruption organisations to supportsuch moves, they first need to recognise the validity of the functional perspective in certain circumstances. If they donot, they risk alienating the very people whose lives they ostensibly seek to improve.

So, although there is a need for further research to confirm these findings, the key argument emerging from this datais that in weak states, like PNG, petty corruption is one of the fewmechanisms that can strengthen ties betweenmargin-alised citizens and the state. Responses to corruption that assume that petty corruption as axiomatically detrimental tothe state may, ironically, unravel these ties. Formalising petty corruption may be one way of preventing weak statesbecoming failed states.


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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to Professor Jon Barnett, Dr Monica Minnegal and Professor Leslie Holmes for supervision on the PhD thesisfrom which much of this work is based. Appreciation goes to the Australian aid program (AusAID) and TransparencyInternational Papua New Guinea for providing funding for this research. Thanks also to Ivan Jemen who coordinatedthe field work for this research and to Dr Sarah Dix, Paul Barker, Alois Francis, Emily Taule, Dr Orovu Sepoe, SimonJenkins and Dr Alphonse Gelu for providing methodological and practical insights into conducting this research inPapua New Guinea. This article benefitted from the insightful comments of two two anonymous reviewers. Allmistakes remain my own.

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is all corruption dysfunctional? perceptions of corruption and its consequences in papua new guinea

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