Tonga has an Anti-Corruption Commission. It has had one since 2008. It has the legislative scaffolding, it has an Act of Parliament, and it even has a Commissioner,appointed only in 2024. But what it does not have is power. And it does not have purpose.

Why? Because the Commission was never meant to function. It was designed to be a symbol of reform, not a tool of it. The answer to Tonga’s corruption problem lies not in the absence of laws,but in the presence of powerful actors who made sure those laws remained unimplemented.

The 2007 Anti-Corruption Commission Act, championed by Clive Edwards and passed during a time of democratic transition, was a promising start. The machinery for accountability was supposed to follow: a Prosecution Unit, an Education Department, institutional policies, and sustainable funding. But this machinery was deliberately left unassembled. The engine was built, then drained of fuel. Without these missing pieces, it simply cannot do the job it was created to do.

At the heart of the sabotage was resistance from within the corridors of power. During the first democratic government under Lord Tu‘ivakano, efforts to operationalise the Commission stalled. Cabinet ministers redirected focus to “other priorities.” Funding that had already been identified was never used. And crucially, Tonga failed to appoint an Anti-Corruption Commissioner for nearly a decade. The only logical candidate Clive Edwards, the very architect of the Act, was sidelined.

According to sources at the time, Law Lord Ramsey Dalgety played a central role in redirecting the appointment process, which ultimately resulted in the selection of Law Lord Tavake Afeaki in 2017. His appointment was met with concern by some observers, who questioned whether he had the requisite expertise and institutional background for a role of this complexity. The result was that the Commission, still lacking legal teeth and operational authority, remained inert.

The consequences have been profound. Without the institutional tools to investigate, prosecute, or educate, the Commission is a hollow body. Corruption in government has surged in its absence. Bribery, favouritism, and the abuse of public office have become systemic. Government roles are viewed less as duties of service and more as personal revenue streams. Public funds vanish into opaque channels. Infrastructure crumbles. Schools and hospitals decay. The state becomes a sieve through which opportunity leaks.

And all of this occurs while the Commission stands idle,not because it lacks a mandate, but because it was never allowed the means to act on it.

The deeper malaise is systemic self-protection. Tonga’s political leaders—many interconnected through familial or institutional ties,have reshaped governance structures to shield themselves from scrutiny. The Privy Council, once a constitutional bulwark, now exemplifies this capture. Its influence over appointments to the judiciary and oversight institutions allows it to effectively shield the establishment from internal investigation.

Even when Tonga finally appointed a Commissioner in 2024,New Zealand lawyer Chris LaHatte,it was too late. The structure was already gutted. With no Prosecution Unit, no legal authority, no staff and no funding, LaHatte finds himself presiding over an office that cannot enforce anything, cannot educate the public, and cannot hold the powerful to account.

A recent legal standoff between the Anti-Corruption Commission and the National Reserve Bank of Tonga exemplifies the very dysfunction at the heart of this issue. When the ACC launched a judicial review challenging a $5,000 staff bonus payment made by the Bank, the NRBT responded not by defending the merits of its decision, but by attacking the legitimacy of the ACC itself. It argued that the Commission had no jurisdiction and sought to strike out the case entirely,despite the ACC relying on powers provided under the very Act passed in 2007. The Supreme Court dismissed the Bank’s application, marking the first judicial ruling ever made under the Anti-Corruption Commission Act. Yet in a telling response, the NRBT issued a press release maintaining its claim that the ACC lacks authority and signalling its intention to appeal. The incident doesn’t just reveal the legal ambiguity surrounding the Commission’s role,it reveals how deeply entrenched the culture of denial remains. Even when the ACC takes action within its legal mandate, it is treated as an overreach. Not because it is acting unlawfully, but because Tonga’s political leaders have never expected it to act at all.