The anatomy of a civil servant

By Mugambi Nandi

The sciences were not our forte back in our high school days. In particular, biology was much liked but not easily grasped. That is how we ended up in law school.

For this, we are grateful to the teacher who (we forget his name, because of the trauma of the experience) made us dissect cockroaches and examine their revolting interiors under a microscope.

Against this background, you will indulge our somewhat warped understanding of the anatomy of a civil servant. It is also to be understood that we are strictly applying measures of central tendency (we fared quite well in statistics) to the situation, which means that some exceptional civil servants may not fit our description.

Kenneth Robert Livingstone, the first elected Mayor of London, had this to say about civil servants: “I actually think the civil service, who are the malignancy at the heart of public life, have consciously prevented, talked ministers out of, made it difficult regulatory-wise, to allow more pressure on alternative energy sources to grow”. Remove the last part of that statement and insert anything you wish, and the result will be the same.

The British satirical sitcom “Yes Minister”, produced in the early 1980s, depicted the shenanigans between a Cabinet minister who believed he was in charge of his department, and a senior civil servant who, in reality, was in charge. 

Efforts by the minister to bring about change within the department were often frustrated by the civil servant. You have our assurance that the situation on the ground here at home is not very different. The civil service runs government. The civil service is government.

The term ‘civil servant” is a veritable misnomer. More often than not, civil servants do not treat their hapless masters, the taxpayers, civilly. Nor do they conduct themselves with the meekness of a servant.

Who has not suffered under the hands of a civil servant? Who has not, at one time or another, been forced to nearly go down on his knees in humiliating supplication to a civil servant, for some service or other? Who but a civil servant labours under acute delusions of grandeur and severe megalomania?

Despite Amb Francis Muthaura’s efforts to streamline the civil service through such measures as performance contracting and the rapid results initiatives, the typical civil servant is still in the early stages of evolution. However, and to his credit, the civil servant has all the organs necessary for the perfunctory performance of his duties.

First and foremost, he has a head for the accommodation of essential organs such as the eyes, the mouth and the nose, and occasionally hosting a hat. Once in a while, the head is used to devise schemes through which to commit acts of corruption and abuse of office.

His eyes are essential for identifying opportunities within the national budget and elsewhere in the procurement process (now renamed “Supply Chain Management”, to camouflage its potential as a cash cow). His mouth is attuned to self defence against allegations of corruption and incompetence, and skilled in putting the hapless taxpayer in his place.

When not engaged in those useful tasks, the mouth comes in handy if the civil servant is compelled by economic circumstances, to join the impromptu choir put together by his trade union.

He will ably (no reference to the quality of the music, but the vigour with which it is delivered) belt out the trade union anthem (Solidarity Forever!) and such other tunes composed for the occasion, and sang in the streets, to intimidate his employer into submitting to demands for a pay hike.

His ears are literally on the ground, ready to warn him of the danger of being caught in his errant ways. His fingers are long enough to reach the bottom of the cookie jar over which he is supposed to watch on behalf of the taxpayer. (Which reminds me that the excuse for pickpockets, according to Charles Whibley’s “A Book for Scoundrels”, is their love for research).

His hands are strong and will not tire of receiving a bribe, ably solicited by the mouth. His legs are nimble. They will propel him anywhere but to the office, where he shows up occasionally to check that the jacket (the only permanent resident in his office) is still on the coat hanger. His stomach, no doubt the repository of the fruits of his labour, is of a round shape, with the appropriate dimensions.

We have painted the caricature of a civil servant as finely as we could. We know there are exceptions to the rule, and are therefore not shy to commend the few patriotic civil servants who perform their duties with zeal and professionalism. We only wish we would come across more of them.

Sir Winston Churchill, the master of the one liner, occupied an office close to that of the Secretary for Foreign Affairs. One day, he sent his assistant to request his cabinet colleague to lower his voice. The assistant came back and informed him that the Secretary for Foreign Affairs was speaking to Australia. Churchill retorted: “Ask him to use the telephone!”