Ethics That Works
Boundaries for Power, Truth in Use
In the post The Ethics of Ethics: When Morality Becomes a Mask, I asked what happens when ethics is reduced to performance. When codes and committees become theatre. When morality becomes costume. That was Part 1.
Now in Part 2 the question is different. What does it look like when ethics actually works?
At its best, ethics is not an ornament. It is the quiet architecture of power. It guides how authority is used. It protects dignity. It sets boundaries that cannot be crossed, guardrails that keep decisions aligned, and truth practices that make courage routine.
The starting point is always the same: boundaries. No one should be humiliated, retaliated against, or penalised for raising a concern. Conflicts of interest must be declared, and stepping aside should be expected, not avoided. Due process means a fair hearing, access to evidence, and the right to appeal. No secret punishments. Power must be used only when necessary and never beyond proportion. Advice is not investigation. Investigation is not decision-making. Transparency should be the default, with outcomes reasoned and published, anonymised when needed, within clear timelines. Leaders must be bound first, not last. Even emergency powers must expire quickly. And rules must apply equally, regardless of name, role, or revenue.
None of this is radical. Yet watch how quickly these basics vanish when the decision touches the powerful.
Boundaries on their own are not enough. Ethics that works also needs guardrails — habits and structures that make fairness routine. Decisions should always be tested for legitimacy, necessity, proportionality, accountability, transparency, timeliness. Cases should be handled quickly and openly. Outcomes should be consistent, not improvised. Complaints must have a direct path to independent ears, not be filtered through layers of management. If anyone seeking protection feels they must go outside the system to be heard, then the system has already failed.
And silence is not neutrality. When requests for updates go unanswered, trust drains faster than any outcome can repair. Delay is its own kind of retaliation. Stretch a case long enough, and justice is denied without ever being refused.
People do not lose faith in ethics because of complexity. They lose faith when the rules bend for the powerful and grind down the powerless.
Truth matters too. The measure of integrity is not the values written in a handbook, but the values lived under pressure. That can be tested. Decisions can be recorded with a simple note: what was chosen, and what evidence could prove it wrong. Dissent can be captured, not erased, and explained for the record. Leaders should be able to explain choices in plain language to the least powerful person affected. Reasons given inside must match reasons given outside. Short sessions can be used to test assumptions in the open before final calls. And every decision should be revisited later to ask a simple question: did the outcome match the ethical aim?
The point is not paperwork. The point is discipline. These practices keep institutions honest when the pressure is greatest.
It is easy to see the difference. Good ethics is visible: conflicts declared, timelines respected, outcomes explained, remedies completed. Bad ethics hides: complaints blocked, standards shifting, silence as the default, vague statements standing in for reasons, no remedy, no learning. When committees refuse to act because they lack comfort, it is worth asking whose comfort matters more — theirs, or the truth’s.
The test cases are familiar. The star performer who believes results outweigh the rules. The senior official who thinks status grants immunity. The whistleblower who fears that speaking up is the end of their career. These are the moments when culture is revealed. And these are the moments when people notice whether ethics is real.
Too many systems fix the press release before they fix the problem. That is not accountability. That is theatre.
Systems that work do not take years to build. In a matter of months, a board can adopt clear boundaries, publish a ladder of consequences, open an independent reporting line, train leaders in how to make and explain decisions, and publish its first report of outcomes. These are not lofty ideals. They are simple disciplines. The question is not whether they can be done, but whether there is will to do them.
Ethics is often described as a compass. But a compass is useless unless it changes direction. The value lies not in pointing north but in course correction. When principles become procedures, courage becomes routine.
That is when ethics stops being performance and starts being infrastructure.