DUPLICITOUS STANDARDS

Intro: Westerners have no right to feel morally superior over those in developing nations

The West likes to believe corruption is something that happens elsewhere. It is presented as a pathology of poorer countries, weak institutions, and unstable governments. In much of Africa, corruption is routinely cited by Western politicians, the media, and international organisations as evidence of failed governance. It is used to justify conditions on aid, scepticism towards investment and, increasingly, a broader sense of moral superiority.

Yet the uncomfortable truth is that many of the same behaviours exist in Britain, Europe, and the United States. The difference is not always the conduct itself. The difference is often the language we use to describe it. In Western democracies, power rarely operates through crude bribery or overt illegality.

Instead, it works through relationships, access, networks, and privileged information. Outcomes are shaped quietly, informally, and often entirely within the rules. Those closest to political and financial power gain opportunities, protection, and influence that others do not. We prefer to call this lobbying, networking, or simply “how things get done”. But if similar systems operated elsewhere, we would often call them corruption.

The global pandemic exposed this contradiction particularly clearly. Between February and November 2020, more than £3.7bn of UK PPE contracts were channelled through a “VIP lane” for companies with political connections. Those firms were significantly more likely to secure government contracts, even where they had limited relevant experience.

Had a similar process emerged in an African country – where politically connected individuals were fast-tracked for lucrative state contracts during a national emergency – Western governments and media outlets would almost certainly have described it as corruption. In Britain, however, the language was notably softer: “urgency”, “extraordinary circumstances”, “procurement challenges”. The same behaviour, but a different use of language and vocabulary. What increasingly troubles the public is not simply individual scandals, but the perception that elite networks operate by different rules altogether.

The Epstein affair reinforced that suspicion powerfully. It exposed the extraordinary proximity between convicted offenders and some of the most influential political, financial, and social figures in the Western world.

The main focus of accountability for the sexual abuse was rightly directed at Jeffrey Epstein himself and later Ghislaine Maxwell. But many others associated with Epstein – some of whom knowingly enabled, tolerated, or benefited from the network of influence and privilege surrounding him – have emerged largely untouched.

For many people, this reinforced the belief that wealth, influence, and proximity to power can create a form of informal immunity. Not necessarily from the law itself, but from the level of scrutiny and accountability that would apply to ordinary people – or indeed to public figures in other countries.

When access, relationships, and privileged information determine outcomes, public trust is inevitably eroded – regardless of whether formal rules have been technically breached.

If confidence in democratic institutions is to be rebuilt, it will require more than compliance processes and carefully managed optics. It demands a far more honest recognition of how power actually operates within Western systems.

Because the real danger is not simply that corruption exists elsewhere. It is that the West has become extraordinarily skilled at defining its own behaviour in ways that prevent it from recognising corruption when it is closest to home.