Anti-corruption measures are actually anything but that

Anti-corruption is widely treated as an unambiguous public good. Investigations, prosecutions, commissions, and transparency initiatives are assumed to weaken entrenched power by exposing wrongdoing. Yet in practice, anti-corruption often functions in the opposite direction. Rather than dismantling corrupt systems, it fragments and neutralises public scrutiny. Corruption is continuously exposed in pieces but never confronted as a structure.

The defining feature of modern anti-corruption is not silence but saturation. The public is presented with a constant flow of scandals, inquiries, indictments, and document releases. This produces an atmosphere of apparent vigilance. But it also overwhelms any attempt to form a coherent picture of how power actually operates. Corruption becomes ubiquitous in discourse while remaining largely intact.

Anti-corruption: fragmentation instead of accountability

Anti-corruption operates through fragmentation. Individual cases are isolated from one another. Responsibility is narrowed to specific actors. Timelines are truncated. Structural continuity is excluded from the frame. Each scandal is treated as a self-contained deviation rather than part of a durable system of power.

This approach has predictable effects. It prevents cumulative understanding. It makes it difficult to identify persistent networks, institutional protection mechanisms, or long-term patterns of accumulation. The public is invited to react repeatedly, but never to connect.

The legal form of anti-corruption reinforces this logic. Prosecutorial standards require narrow evidentiary thresholds. Journalistic coverage mirrors these constraints. What cannot be proven in court or documented in a single file is treated as speculative, even when the broader pattern is clear. As a result, systemic corruption in practice is rendered episodic in representation.

The Epstein case and managed disclosure

The ongoing fallout from the Jeffrey Epstein scandal illustrates how anti-corruption can generate exposure without consequence. Since Epstein’s death, a steady stream of court documents has been released, heavily redacted and carefully staged. Names appear without context. Associations are hinted at but rarely examined. The public receives information, but not an explanation.

Epstein’s wealth, protection, and extraordinary access were not accidental.

For decades, he operated at the intersection of elite financial, political, and intelligence-adjacent environments. These conditions could not have existed without some degree of institutional tolerance. Yet anti-corruption mechanisms have focused almost entirely on individual criminality rather than systemic facilitation. They have also undoubtedly ignored the very-real human cost of Epstein’s depravity – the countless victims and survivors of his horrors.

Yet, the role of financial institutions, intelligence agencies, and our own political class remains marginal to the official narrative. Instead, the case is repeatedly reopened through partial disclosures that generate periodic outrage without a comprehensive resolution for either the victims and survivors or the public.

This is not a failure of transparency. It is a controlled version of it. Redaction, selective release, and procedural delay ensure that attention is constantly renewed while structural accountability is indefinitely postponed, never to actually fruition. The scandal remains alive, but its implications remain contained in perpetuity.

Post-communist transitions and elite continuity

The same logic is visible in post-communist Eastern Europe, where anti-corruption discourse was embedded into the language of democratic transition. Romania provides a particularly clear example.

After 1989, Romania formally abandoned one-party rule but did not dismantle the elite structures that sustained it. Political authority, bureaucratic expertise, and security networks were preserved and reconfigured. Under the leadership of Ion Iliescu, the state adopted democratic forms while maintaining deep continuity in personnel and power.

Privatisation in the 1990s did not disperse economic power. It concentrated it, with state assets transferred through opaque processes to politically connected actors, many of whom had direct ties to the former regime. This was not corruption occurring within a democratic transition. It was corruption in the constitution of the transition itself.

Anti-corruption initiatives emerged after these processes had already been consolidated. Investigations focused on marginal figures or later abuses, not on the foundational redistribution of property. The most consequential decisions were rendered historical, legalised, and therefore untouchable.

By the time anti-corruption became institutionalised, the core structure of elite power had already been stabilised, and the same equally corrupt figures were making theatre, publicly denouncing practices they themselves relied upon and profited from, and staging prosecutions that carefully avoided the architects of the system. Anti-corruption became a self-purification ritual performed by elites who had already secured their positions and insulated themselves from scrutiny. Corruption was acknowledged in abstraction, while its material foundations were rendered permanent and untouchable.

Moralisation and depoliticisation

A central feature of anti-corruption discourse is moralisation. Corruption is framed as a personal failure: greed, immorality, and a lack of ethics. This framing is politically useful. It allows condemnation without a broader critique of the system, which cultivates corruption, under which it operates and thrives.

Once corruption is moralised, it is depoliticised. Questions of class power, ownership, foreign influence, and intelligence involvement are displaced by narratives of individual wrongdoing. The solution becomes better oversight, stronger laws, or cleaner politicians, rather than heralding a social and political transformation capable of dismantling the networks and interests that corruption serves.

Anti-corruption enforcement is inherently selective. Not all corruption is prosecuted. Not all actors are equally vulnerable. Decisions about whom to investigate, when, and how are political decisions, even when framed as technical or legal ones.

Selective enforcement serves an important function. It demonstrates activity while preserving stability. By prosecuting certain figures, the system signals seriousness. By protecting others, it preserves continuity. The appearance of accountability is maintained without threatening core interests.

This is particularly evident in cases involving intelligence services, large financial institutions, or strategic political actors. These domains are consistently under-investigated, despite repeated indications of involvement in corruption scandals. Anti-corruption stops where power becomes too concentrated.

Corruption as a structural condition

The assumption underlying most anti-corruption discourse is that corruption is a deviation from an otherwise functional system. In reality, corruption is often a structural condition of state formation, economic transition, and imperial power.

Where states are built through rapid privatisation, geopolitical pressure, or security-driven governance, corruption is not incidental. It is the mechanism through which authority is converted into ownership and influence into wealth.

Anti-corruption initiatives that ignore this reality cannot succeed. At best, they manage public perception. At worst, they legitimise the very systems they claim to oppose.

The function of noise within anti-corruption

Anti-corruption campaigns generate a constant churn of investigations, indictments, headlines, commissions, and moralistic discourse. This creates the appearance of transparency while overwhelming the public with fragmented scandals.

The result is paradoxical: corruption is everywhere talked about, but nowhere fully mapped; reframed as periodical episodes of outrage targeting “bad apples”, obscuring the structural depth of corruption rather than confronting it.

As a result, anti-corruption is merely a tool for the stabilisation of the system, absorbing dissent, managing outrage and converting structural problems into a sequence of oversimplified scandals that liberal democracies can contain via formal and legalistic measures.

These gestural anti-corruption measures actually reinforce the system of corruption by allowing people to experience the moral outrage and catharsis of seeing the system supposedly hold people accountable, channelling public anger into formal, bureaucratic or judicial channels and thus rendering it impotent.

But most importantly, state-mandated anti-corruption measures fail to bring justice for any of us – not least in the case of Epstein the victims and survivors of his systemic web of abuse.

Featured image via the Canary