Corruption is a persistent shadow over Papua New Guinea’s development and democracy. From missing millions in public funds to opaque procurement deals and political patronage systems, public perception of corruption in PNG has remained consistently high for decades. For a country struggling to improve basic services, boost investor confidence, and assert institutional credibility, corruption is more than a governance issue—it is a structural impediment to national progress.
The long-awaited establishment of an Independent Commission Against Corruption (ICAC) was passed into law in November 2020 after years of political resistance, public pressure, and donor encouragement. Now, in 2025, with the ICAC office operational but not yet fully resourced or staffed, the central question remains: Is Papua New Guinea truly ready—not just institutionally but politically, culturally, and systemically—for a fully functional and effective anti-corruption watchdog?
In theory, the answer should be a resounding yes. PNG’s public sector is riddled with inefficiencies and misuse of funds. Corruption has weakened service delivery, hollowed out state agencies, and diminished trust in government. A strong and independent ICAC could serve as a critical mechanism to investigate and prosecute high-level corruption, deter political interference, and restore public confidence. It could help break the cycle of impunity that has shielded the powerful and punished the poor.
But theory often clashes with practice. The mere creation of an anti-corruption body does not guarantee impact. Across the developing world, anti-corruption commissions have been launched with fanfare, only to be undermined by weak enforcement powers, political meddling, or selective justice. PNG’s context—with its complex tribal politics, decentralised governance, and entrenched patronage networks—presents a formidable challenge to any such institution.
First, there is the question of political will. Corruption thrives where leadership tolerance is high and accountability is low. For years, the idea of an ICAC was floated, shelved, and revived by successive governments. The eventual passage of the ICAC Act under Prime Minister James Marape was heralded as a breakthrough. Yet implementation has been slow, and funding inconsistent. The appointment of leadership positions has been mired in bureaucratic delays. Critics argue that while the government has endorsed ICAC rhetorically, it has not demonstrated consistent commitment to fully empower it.
There is also the issue of capacity. PNG’s broader law and justice sector is already overstretched. The police force suffers from under-resourcing and credibility issues, while the judiciary faces backlogs and uneven enforcement. For the ICAC to be effective, it must be independent not just on paper but in function—it requires skilled investigators, legal experts, forensic analysts, and adequate protection from political or criminal retaliation. That infrastructure is still being built.
More concerning is whether the political environment will permit ICAC to operate without fear or favour. PNG’s history is littered with examples of whistleblowers, journalists, and reformers facing intimidation or worse. The Ombudsman Commission—PNG’s existing oversight body—has often raised concerns about misuse of public office, only to see its recommendations ignored or legally challenged. Will the ICAC be any different? Without strong legal protections, prosecutorial autonomy, and bipartisan political backing, the commission may find itself in the crosshairs of the very elites it seeks to investigate.
A related concern is the public perception of anti-corruption efforts. There is a deep cynicism in PNG, born of years of unfulfilled promises and highly publicised but ultimately ineffective inquiries. For the ICAC to command legitimacy, it must demonstrate independence through action. Early cases will matter. If investigations focus only on low-level bureaucrats while ignoring politically connected individuals, public trust will erode quickly. If prosecutions fail due to weak evidence or interference, the ICAC risks becoming another toothless watchdog in a landscape already crowded with dormant oversight bodies.
To succeed, the ICAC must navigate PNG’s unique political culture. Politics in PNG is deeply localised, driven by kinship, obligation, and resource flows. Members of Parliament are expected to deliver development goods directly to their constituencies, often through discretionary funds such as the District Services Improvement Program (DSIP). These systems, while designed to decentralise development, have become avenues for patronage, vote-buying, and opaque contracting. Investigating how these funds are used—let alone misused—requires not just legal authority but political courage.
There is also the problem of elite consensus. In many countries, anti-corruption agencies work best when there is bipartisan agreement that no one is above the law. PNG’s political environment, however, is fragmented and transactional. Political alliances shift rapidly. Governments fall and rise through votes of no confidence. In this context, the temptation to use the ICAC as a political weapon—to target rivals while shielding allies—is ever-present. Safeguards must be built to insulate the commission from partisan pressure.
Yet readiness is not only a function of politics—it is also about citizen engagement. Public support is crucial. Civil society groups, media outlets, churches, and community leaders all have roles to play in sustaining pressure for accountability. PNG has a vibrant but vulnerable civil society sector, often dependent on donor support and susceptible to political pushback. For ICAC to thrive, it must engage the public, provide regular updates on its work, and create safe channels for whistleblowers and citizens to report misconduct.
Donors, too, have a role to play. Countries like Australia, the United States, New Zealand, and the European Union have invested heavily in PNG’s law and justice sector. They should continue to provide technical assistance, training, and funding—but without undermining national ownership. External support must be carefully calibrated: too little, and the commission will flounder; too much, and it may be seen as externally driven, risking a legitimacy deficit.
The creation of ICAC also raises broader questions about PNG’s governance architecture. An anti-corruption commission cannot substitute for systemic reform. Strengthening the public service, improving procurement systems, digitising financial transactions, and reforming political finance laws are all necessary complements. Transparency must become the default, not the exception. Otherwise, ICAC risks becoming an island of integrity in a sea of dysfunction.
There are also lessons to be drawn from other countries. In Indonesia, the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK) initially won public admiration for its bold prosecutions, but eventually faced backlash from political elites and saw its powers curtailed. In Fiji, the Fiji Independent Commission Against Corruption (FICAC) has been criticised for selective enforcement. In Hong Kong, long seen as the gold standard, ICAC was successful only because it was paired with deep institutional reform and strong public support.
For PNG, context matters. A one-size-fits-all approach won’t work. The ICAC must be tailored to the country’s legal system, political economy, and social norms. It must balance enforcement with prevention, punishment with education. And it must deliver early results—not just symbolic wins, but systemic impacts that change how power is exercised and how resources are allocated.
So, is Papua New Guinea ready?
In some respects, yes. There is overwhelming public demand for accountability. The legal framework for the ICAC now exists. Donor support is available. Civil society is engaged. And the costs of inaction—continued service failures, donor fatigue, and declining investor confidence—are rising.
But readiness also requires bold leadership, institutional coherence, and cultural transformation. It demands that politicians relinquish impunity, that bureaucrats resist capture, and that citizens refuse to normalise graft. The road ahead is fraught with challenges. But without a credible, empowered anti-corruption body, PNG’s democratic experiment and development ambitions remain deeply at risk.
The ICAC is not a silver bullet—but it can be a powerful tool. Its success will hinge on more than legislation. It will depend on integrity, independence, and the collective will to confront the system from within.