Corruption: The Timeless Tradition Everyone Hates (But Can't Wait to Inherit)
Corruption—it's the national pastime no one admits playing. Everyone agrees it's a scourge, a plague, a moral disgrace, but corruption just won’t leave. In Indonesia (and let’s be honest, in pretty much every country with a government-shaped object) corruption is spoken about in hushed tones, condemned publicly, but secretly kept alive in everyone's back pocket.
Politicians go on dramatic corruption-cleansing crusades every election season, armed with slogans, white shirts, and suspiciously expensive watches. Reformists give TED Talks. Civil society organizations hold candlelight vigils. The public furiously tweets at 2 a.m. from cafés funded by, well, probably someone corrupt. And yet—shock of all shocks—nothing changes. Nothing ever does. Corruption survives, evolves, and gets a desk job with a pension.
And the next wave of hopefuls? They start off with fire in their bellies and anti-graft hashtags in their bios, only to end up sipping overpriced whiskey with the very devils they once vowed to slay. Curious, isn’t it? Almost like the system isn’t broken—it’s working exactly as intended.
"We Hate Corruption, Except When It Helps Us" – The Public’s Selective Outrage
Corruption is the villain we all love to hate—until it shows up wearing a friendly smile and waving a shortcut to our bureaucratic nightmare. It’s the ultimate societal contradiction: we march against it, hashtag it, sigh dramatically about it at weddings and warungs… and then, ever so casually, participate in it the moment it benefits us.
Need a permit processed faster? Slip a little “coffee money” into the envelope. Want your cousin to get that sweet government job? Call in that “family friend.” And if a political candidate wants to trade your vote for a sack of rice or a suspiciously generous envelope, who are you to say no? That’s not corruption—that’s community outreach!
The truth is, what people really want isn’t the end of corruption—it’s VIP access to it. If only the elite are getting rich off backroom deals and sneaky side-hustles, then of course it’s unjust. But if you get a piece of the pie? Well, that’s just smart networking.
So yes, we may clutch our pearls at the big scandals. We may rage online about corrupt officials and “how things need to change.” But let’s be honest: for many of us, corruption is less of a moral crisis and more of a mildly shameful productivity hack.
And in that twisted little contradiction lies the genius of the whole system: everyone hates it, no one wants to be left out of it, and absolutely no one is willing to be the first to stop.
The Next Generation of Leaders: Training in Corruption Since Day One
“But surely,” you whisper, “the youth will save us. The next generation! The TikTokers! They’re different!”
Bless your optimism. Now please sit down before reality gives you whiplash.
Here’s the inconvenient truth: the next generation of leaders isn’t inheriting corruption—they’re being groomed by it. Corruption isn’t some accidental moral failing; it’s a carefully structured system that teaches its apprentices how to play the game from the moment they step into their first overpriced political science lecture.
That idealistic young campaign volunteer? He learned within three weeks that promotions come faster when you keep quiet about missing budget reports. That bright young manager? She saw firsthand that refusing to “grease the process” meant losing the contract to someone with more liquid assets. That future CEO? He didn't need a mentor—he had a masterclass in skimming by watching his boss expense a new yacht as “client hospitality.”
By the time they’re climbing the ladder, they’re not fighting corruption—they’re fluent in it. They’ve built connections, paid tributes, and made compromises. They’ve convinced themselves it's "just temporary"—just something you do until you get to the top, at which point… surprise! You now have the power to really cash in.
And let’s not forget: anyone who actually tries to clean house gets about as far as a mosquito in a meat grinder. The system is built with enough defense mechanisms to repel any attempt at reform—red tape, institutional inertia, and occasionally, mysterious brake failures.
So no, the next generation won’t fix it. They’re too busy preparing for their turn at the trough. After all, they’ve waited patiently. They’ve played by the rules. Now it’s their turn to eat.
Benevolence: When Leaders Pretend to Care (And the Public Pretends to Believe Them)
Let’s get one thing straight: most leaders don’t need to be good, they just need to look better than the last disaster. Welcome to the art of strategic benevolence—where leaders pretend to care, and the public pretends to be impressed.
Modern leadership is 10% governance, 90% optics. And for the corruption-savvy leader, the trick is simple: give just enough to keep hope alive, while ensuring that the money trail leads directly to a villa in the south of France.
You don’t even need to hide it well—just hide it plausibly. Build a school here, a clinic there, show up at a flood site in rolled-up sleeves, and boom—benevolent icon status unlocked. Behind the scenes? No-bid contracts, quietly rewritten regulations, and mysterious offshore accounts that apparently opened themselves.
And the people? Oh, we eat it up. Because the bar is in the basement. We’re so used to kleptocrats in suits that when someone shows basic decency, it feels like divine intervention.
"Yes, he’s corrupt, but he reduced corruption." "Sure, she’s siphoning funds, but she also gave free Wi-Fi to one rural village!" "At least this one smiles!"
Public memory is short, and expectations are shorter. As long as a leader doesn’t actively kick puppies on live television, they’re seen as progressive.
And thus, corruption survives—not through brute force, but through carefully curated Instagram stories and vaguely worded mission statements. It's not just tolerated; it’s rebranded.
This is how corruption wins awards, gets reelected, and opens community centers—with our blessing. Because in the theater of politics, benevolence is just good costume design.
"It’s Just How Things Work": Why Corruption Becomes the Default Setting
At first, corruption shocks you. Then it annoys you. Then, if you're around long enough, it starts to feel like just another day at the office. Over time, it graduates from scandal to standard operating procedure. What began as a crime eventually rebrands itself as culture, gets a LinkedIn page, and starts hosting webinars.
You see, people don’t really choose corruption. It’s simply the water they swim in. You either adapt or sink under the crushing weight of bureaucracy and "lost" paperwork. It’s not a moral failing—it’s “how the game is played,” according to your uncle who definitely knows a guy.
No one likes it. Everyone complains. But when it comes time to act? Crickets. Because deep down, everyone knows that change would mean dismantling an entire ecosystem of quiet conveniences: the speeding up of permits, the skipping of queues, the gentle art of envelope gifting during festive seasons.
And to make it all feel palatable? We just rename everything.
Bribery? That’s “relationship-building.”
Kickbacks? A “thank you gesture.”
Nepotism? That's “family values.”
Suddenly, corruption doesn’t sound so bad—it sounds like something your HR department would offer a seminar on.
This linguistic laundering allows everyone to pretend the machine is still clean, even as it leaks oil, money, and basic dignity. And the cycle chugs on, reliable as ever: the old corrupt retires, the new corrupt arrives, and we all sigh, make a meme about it, and move on.
Because let’s face it: when corruption becomes tradition, it stops needing permission. It becomes background noise—annoying, yes, but oddly comforting. And that, is what we call “stability.”
So, will corruption ever truly die?
Let’s not insult our collective intelligence. Absolutely not. Corruption is like that one dinner guest who shows up uninvited, eats the most food, makes a scene, and still somehow gets invited back every time.
Politicians will continue waging glorious performative battles against corruption, armed with task forces, press conferences, and new acronyms. The public will cheer, tweet, and rage-post, right before paying a little something extra to speed up their license renewal.
And the youth? Our future. They’ll march in the streets, chant slogans, swear to burn the old system down—until they inherit it, get a taste of the perks, and think, “Well… maybe just a little corruption.”
Twenty years from now, we’ll still be here, having déjà vu conversations about the “new face of corruption” with all the wide-eyed shock of someone watching their favorite TV show recycle a plotline. Again.
But maybe this time will be different.