The International Monetary Fund predicts that Pakistan could increase its GDP by 5 to 6.5 per cent over five years if it addresses corruption and entrenched governance failures. This projection raises deeper questions: why do institutions that begin their mandate with solemn oaths so often abandon the commitments they declare? How does a public servant who stands before the Constitution and invokes the name of Allah so easily slip into patronage, favour, and private gain? Why do we craft elaborate promises only to watch them fade within systems that reward the very behaviours they condemn? Let us get to the bottom line.
Every minister, legislator, judge, and civil servant in Pakistan begins their official life with the same ritual, “In the name of Allah, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful. I do solemnly swear that I will bear true faith and allegiance to Pakistan.” This opening, in an oath, is not a mere formality. It is designed to locate public service within a sacred moral order. In a country where faith shapes everyday reasoning, the invocation of Allah is not incidental. It is meant to remind the office holder that their conduct is subject not only to constitutional scrutiny but to divine accountability.
Yet something happens the moment the oath ends. The religious gravity of the moment dissolves as soon as the official steps into an office where patronage networks, political pressure, and established routines sit waiting. The oath continues to exist on paper, but its moral force does not travel into the spaces where decisions are made. This is not because the words lack meaning. It is because our institutional cultures override the very ideals we proclaim.
Consider the promise that appears in nearly every oath, “I will not allow my personal interest to influence my official conduct.” This is a powerful sentence. It is unambiguous. It targets the root of most corruption in Pakistan.
Pakistan has the potential to achieve the target of 6.5 per cent GDP growth if the powerful individuals stop breaking the words they swear to live by and govern their organisation.
But the language of the office quickly replaces it with another set of expressions, all too familiar, “let us adjust the file,” “the order has come from above,” “we will see the procedure later.” These everyday phrases quietly normalise behaviour; the oath explicitly rejects.
The oaths contain another remarkable commitment, “I will do right to all manner of people according to law, without fear or favour, affection or ill will.” This formula is centuries old, designed to remove emotion and personal loyalty from the exercise of power. However, in our political system, fear and favour remain the primary currencies of influence. Promotions, postings, investigations, and contracts often move through informal channels. Even the most honest officer must learn to navigate a landscape where the oath’s impartiality is admired but rarely practised.
What this reveals is that corruption does not survive only because laws are weak or enforcement is selective. It survives because our languages, both official and informal, make space for it. When an official calls a bribe a “service charge” or a patronage decision a “gesture of support,” the linguistic framing protects the act from moral scrutiny. When the public describes corruption as “the way things work,” the resignation embedded in this phrase removes any sense of urgency. And when political leaders speak of accountability only as a tool to target rivals, the word itself loses its meaning.
This does not mean language is helpless. In fact, the role of language in combating corruption is more crucial than we imagine.
First, language sets the boundaries of what a society recognises as wrongdoing. If the vocabulary of corruption remains vague, corruption remains invisible. The oaths help by naming specific behaviours such as conflict of interest, personal influence, breach of confidentiality, and disloyalty to the Constitution. These are powerful categories. But unless these terms enter public conversation and institutional practice, they remain ceremonial.
Second, language shapes the moral identity of the office holder. The phrase “to the best of my ability, faithfully in accordance with the Constitution” constructs a self-image rooted in integrity and constitutionalism. If institutions reinforced this identity in daily interactions, the oath would become a living standard rather than an annual performance. This requires a shift in how internal memos, directives, and administrative conversations take place. The language of procedure must echo the language of the oath.
Third, language empowers citizens. A public that knows the exact words of the oath can ask precise questions. When a minister steers a contract toward a personal associate, the citizen can say, “Your oath prohibits personal interest in official decisions.” When a bureaucrat delays a service until personal benefit is offered, one can remind them that they swore to “do right to all manner of people.” The oath becomes a tool of civic oversight when its language becomes widely understood.
Fourth, language can disrupt patronage when institutions adopt clearer, more transparent communication practices. Decisions explained in writing, reasons documented, and procedures followed through standardised language reduce the space where corruption hides. The more explicit the language, the fewer opportunities for manipulation.
Finally, language can update the oaths themselves. Our constitutional oaths were written in a different era. They emphasise loyalty, faith, ideology, and the Constitution. These remain essential. But they do not mention transparency. A simple line such as “I will make all decisions transparently and avoid real and perceived conflicts of interest” would strengthen public accountability through discourse.
The point is not that language alone can fix corruption. It cannot. But it prepares the ground upon which reform becomes possible. Not surprisingly, corruption thrives in ambiguity, silence, and euphemism. It weakens when a society develops a clear vocabulary to name it, challenge it, and reject it.
The oaths already give us a strong starting point. They tell us what we expect our public officials to be honest, impartial, selfless, and loyal to the Constitution. The challenge is to ensure that these ideals do not remain confined to ceremonial moments. They must flow into the daily language of administration, into public discourse, and into civic education.
Pakistan has the potential to achieve the target of 6.5 per cent GDP growth if the powerful individuals stop breaking the words they swear to live by and govern their organisation.
Muhammad Shaban Rafi is a Professor of English at Riphah International University, Lahore, and lead guest editor at Emerald and Springer Publishing.Ayesha Saddiqa is Assistant Professor (English) at Govt Graduate College for Women, Samanabad, Lahore