In Pakistan, a quiet and insidious form of corruption is thriving— one that doesn’t make headlines but touches the lives of ordinary citizens every single day. It isn’t the billion-rupee embezzlements or the offshore accounts that spark political scandals. It’s the low-level extortion practiced by clerks, nurses, ward boys, government typists, peons, and court staff— the people who sit at the grassroots of public service but have come to view their roles as opportunities for personal gain. It’s the hundred rupees here, the five hundred there. It’s the cash slipped silently across counters, not out of generosity, but out of compulsion.
Walk into any public hospital and the practice is painfully evident. A nurse who has assisted during delivery will refuse to hand over the newborn to the parents until she’s been “tipped.” This “tip” is not optional; it is demanded with a shameless entitlement, regardless of whether the family can afford it. In many cases, these families are already impoverished, having scraped together money for transport and basic medication. But the nurse, the aaya, the ward boy— all stand in line for their share, as if delivering a child is not just a medical event but a business opportunity.
The same happens in courts. A clerk will openly ask for extra money once someone wins a case. It doesn’t matter that the person may have spent years in legal turmoil, paying for lawyers and traveling across cities. The government official, who is paid to handle paperwork and process court orders, will expect his cut of the “good news.” In NADRA offices, land revenue departments, education boards, passport offices, and even graveyards, this pattern plays out. A death certificate? A stamp on a land file? An admission to a government college? Nothing moves without grease money. Not because it’s legal. But because it has become normalized.
This everyday extortion is so deeply woven into the fabric of our bureaucracy that no one questions it anymore. Those who protest are seen as naive or foolish. “Yahan sab chalta hai” (Here, everything goes) is the common retort. People pay because the alternative is delay, humiliation, or sometimes complete inaction. The helplessness is even worse for the poor, the uneducated, and the marginalized. For them, access to even the most basic public service becomes a toll road— pay up or get lost.
The psychological impact of this embedded corruption is devastating. It destroys public trust in the system. It teaches citizens that honesty doesn’t work, and that if you want to get something done in Pakistan, you must either bribe someone or have connections. It demoralizes those few public servants who genuinely want to serve without exploitation. And it turns civil service into a marketplace of petty negotiations instead of a mechanism of governance and support.
But how did we get here? The roots of this culture are a mix of low public servant salaries, lack of accountability, absence of surveillance, and a generational acceptance of “gifts” as informal gratitude. However, there’s a thin line between a token of appreciation and systemic exploitation. That line has been crossed— long ago— and it’s time we called it what it is: extortion under the veil of service.
The damage isn’t limited to social dignity. It also impacts governance, efficiency, and justice. A citizen’s file can sit in limbo for months until the “chai pani” is paid. A patient might be left unattended in a ward because the nurse is expecting a “service fee” before doing her job. A widow may have to bribe her way to a pension that is legally hers. These aren’t isolated incidents—they are daily, widespread, and deeply corrosive.
So how can this culture be dismantled?
First, surveillance and digital recordkeeping need to be ramped up. Every public office— hospitals, courts, and registries— should have CCTV with audio, and citizens should be able to report extortion attempts anonymously via mobile apps or hotlines. But merely collecting complaints isn’t enough. The system must act on them visibly and swiftly. Whistleblower protections must be enacted so that those who report are not harassed.
It’s time for a collective moral reckoning, for people to say no to exploitation, and for the state to restore dignity to public service. Otherwise, we will keep raising generations who learn not from textbooks or teachers, but from the whispered lesson of every clerk and nurse: that everything has a price— even honesty.
Second, performance-based incentives can be introduced. Many of these workers are underpaid and overworked. A transparent, tiered bonus system can replace the need for informal “tips.” If staff know they’ll receive structured recognition and fair pay for their work, they’ll have less incentive to extort the public.
Third, there must be zero tolerance for this behaviour. If a nurse withholds a baby until she’s paid, she should be suspended. If a clerk demands a bribe, he should be replaced. Without accountability, training and laws are meaningless. Public servants must be reminded that their job is a duty— not a favour.
Moreover, public awareness is key. Citizens need to be educated about their rights. Posters in hospitals and government offices should clearly say: “You do not have to pay any money for this service. Report if you are asked to.” Young people especially must be involved in citizen watchdog groups, and local media should spotlight cases of petty corruption as much as they do high-profile scandals.
Finally, the government must model integrity from the top down. If senior bureaucrats and ministers are themselves complicit in corruption, how can we expect a nurse or clerk to act differently? Ethical leadership, strong unions that reward transparency, and civil service reform are long-term goals— but they are essential.
The system we have today doesn’t just allow small-time corruption— it encourages it. And as long as citizens remain complicit by continuing to pay these “fees,” the problem will persist. It’s time for a collective moral reckoning, for people to say no to exploitation, and for the state to restore dignity to public service. Otherwise, we will keep raising generations who learn not from textbooks or teachers, but from the whispered lesson of every clerk and nurse: that everything has a price— even honesty.
