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A Corruption Primer
Posted: Sunday, December 9, 2001

By Donna YawChing

Prime Minister Basdeo Panday has been insisting that in the upcoming election, "Corruption is not an issue"; that it's "a political ruse". This despite the fact that each morning's headlines seem to spotlight a new eruption of sleaze either within, or close to his Cabinet: the Inncogen boondoggle; the Gillette licences and ferries; the Ibis School's sickening air; the leaked Lindquist Report (didn't Kamla Persad-Bissessar vow to resign if Lindquist offered any evidence of corruption?)

And of course, Mr Panday is conveniently side-stepping the fact that, were it not for the corruption issue, he would not be facing an election at all. Say what you like about Eric Williams or George Chambers, ANR Robinson or Patrick Manning—Mr Panday's name is the one which will forever be linked to endemic, outrageous corruption. This, not his "Indian-ness", will be his biggest historical legacy.

In a sense, though, the Prime Minister is right. Corruption is not an issue in this campaign, it is the issue. All the talk of performance falls hollow, when we take stock of the fact that whatever achievements this government can claim—and let us be fair, there have been some; just as there have been with other administrations—these have largely been underwritten by scandalous overspending that enriched a few, very privileged pockets.

Corruption, you see, is not just a moral word expressing righteous indignation; it is actually a luxury tax paid by the very poor into the coffers of the very rich. For those who are inclined to accept Mr Panday's blithe disclaimers, I offer below a Corruption Primer: an ABC, if you will, of the national sport. Here is what corruption is:

Corruption is asking for or accepting bribes to do the job you're being otherwise paid to do. Corruption is awarding contracts to your friends, families and supporters, without having them go through the proper procedures; or granting them contracts even though they are clearly not the most qualified to do the job, or their price is higher than that of their competitors. Corruption is allowing said friends, etc. to pad their final invoices with unjustified expenses, over-estimated costs, over-use of raw materials (like road pitch, for example); and paying such invoices without query.

Corruption is using your position of authority to get rich. It is reaping personal profit from official events, particularly when you're one of the people involved in these events (who provided ground transport for the Miss Universe contestants? Food? Entertainment?) It is using your position of authority to obtain special favours (licences, contracts, permissions) for personal or family interests that might otherwise be problematic. It is diverting funds from their official destination into your own pocket. It is stacking state boards and enterprises with inept or dishonest people whose only qualification is that they have supported you financially in an election campaign. It is using your power to reward those you like, and to spite those you don't.

The ultimate corruption is voluntarily surrounding yourself with people who fit any of the above descriptions.

One of the problems in T&T is that a large number of people, reading the above list, will shrug. For them, these things aren't corrupt, they're normal, they're taken for granted. In the immortal words, all ah we tief—or would, if we had the chance.

But for a country caught in its thralls, corruption has its consequences. Here are a few:

Corruption means that everything costs more than it should. You wouldn't shop in a supermarket whose prices were double that of the competition; you'd go elsewhere. But when the government is spending your money, you have no choice: you shop where it wants to shop, and pay the higher prices when it chooses to shop in its friend's supermarket. And when the government incurs a huge debt to pay its inflated bills, the person who is slated to service that debt, for the rest of your natural life, is you.

Corruption means that money is funnelled out of the social system. If a government overpays for an airport or a model school, it has that much less cash to put into improving your quality of life. The $800 million over-budget that went into an overblown airport whose tiled floors are already mottling could have built a lot of schools where children don't get sick from toxic fumes.

It could have paid a lot of properly-qualified teachers to staff those schools, and funded more school-feeding programmes or subsidised textbooks. It could have kept a lot of nurses here and happy, working in hospitals where the generators function and the basic drugs are available. It could have bought dialysis machines, radiation machines, baby incubators.

The $150 million in loan guarantees that were offered as an inducement to Inncogen could have boosted WASA's crumbling supply infrastructure by God knows what per cent: a lot of pipes (not Kamla's type) can be laid for $150 million. It could have paved roads in places where roads are needed, rather than just re-surfacing those areas where Carlos drives his $1.3 million SUV. It could have funded social programmes to give a lost youth some genuine sense of hope and direction, instead of a future dedicated to drugs and death.

The money from the lost rice deal, the desal plant, or Miss Universe (whose promised foreign investment and Trump Casino we are still waiting, along with God's face, to see)—any of these might instead have provided funds for proper drainage to avoid flooding; or to fight forest fires; or to create safe havens for battered women and children. This money could have promoted literacy, job skills, entrepreneurial start-ups. It could have created a future for many who have none.

The costs of corruption are human costs. The humans who lose are you and me. On December 10, by all means vote for Basdeo Panday: it's your right. And afterward, as he drives around in his two Mercedes Benzes, you'll have five whole years to wonder about your sanity.



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