Death and the whistleblower

Then consider the curious life experiences of every tormented righteous soul, from the 15th century Reformist monk Martin Luther down, in more contemporaneous times, to Dr David Kelly (the British microbiologist who blew the whistle on Tony Blair’s “sexing up” the case for a war on Iraq, and was later driven to suicide) and, nearer home, Satyendra Dubey (who paid with his life for squealing on the construction mafia in Bihar). In every case, the whistleblower was responding to the pain of being caught up in the tangled web of deceit around him, and the only strength he drew was from a moral force of a higher order.

In every case, the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil was for these good men to have done nothing. But to their eternal credit, do nothing is just what they didn’t. And although the evil that they battled remains far from vanquished, they will remain inspirational role models for those who just want to do the square thing. For to remain silent amounts, in some situations, to being complicit in crime.

The courage and loneliness of the whistleblower is all the more striking when one considers the opportunity cost of being righteous. For one, the whistleblower becomes a marked man, and if his target is a powerful entity, he puts his life, limb and liberty on the line when he chooses to speak up.

The ship of state says Sir Humphrey Appleby in Yes, Prime Minister! is the only one that leaks from the top. Calculated leaks are the characteristic instruments of character assassination that vengeful governments resort to. Whistleblowing in the Felt tradition—the insider who leads the way, against formidable odds, to the truth—is far more risky. Given the prevailing standards of morality in public office the world over, the risks of being righteous when you have nothing to gain, and the rewards for lying low, it’s fair to say that selfless whistleblowers themselves are a dying breed.