Here in Mercer County, we’re about as far away from Harrisburg as you can get and still be in Pennsylvania. But even upwind as we are, the stink of statehouse corruption is getting hard to ignore.

This week a former computer tech who worked for state Sen. Vincent Fumo pleaded guilty to destroying hundreds of e-mails to frustrate a federal investigation of his boss. Fumo, a Democrat, is routinely described as an influential legislator who has wielded considerable control over state spending during his 30 years in the General Assembly.

That power is waning, but only because Fumo decided not to seek re-election so he can focus on his trial on charges he raided the state treasury and the coffers of a Philadelphia charity he controlled to support a lavish lifestyle.

Add that case to the bonusgate scandal that resulted in current and former lawmakers being dragged into courtrooms in handcuffs and exposed a scheme that turned Pennsylvania taxpayers into Democratic campaign contributors.

That’s on top of stories about the fast and loose way the state gaming commission is handling the development of casinos in Pittsburgh, the Poconos and elsewhere, fat paychecks and expense accounts for executives who loaned the state’s money to struggling college students, appeals court judges accused of cutting deals with lawmakers to raise all their salaries, and classic tales of ghost employees and no-show state jobs for relatives and friends of lawmakers.

It’s pretty clear that Pennsylvania’s political culture is defined by corruption and a complete lack of ethics.

But of course we’re not talking about our lawmakers. The closest thing we’ve had to a political scandal in the last two decades was former Rep. Mike Gruitza’s hidden DUI conviction, an embarrassing legal problem a sizeable number of county voters have faced.

No, our guys — and gal — are OK. They’re just workaday lawmakers who are trying to do good for their districts and get re-elected again and again. It’s a good job with the best of benefits and the only qualification is likeabilty.

They’re little fish. They don’t make waves and generally follow their party’s leadership, currying favor to bring a little bacon back home.

It’s not their fault that the powerful lawmakers can’t keep their fingers out of the till. They haven’t done anything improper and aren’t feathering their nests at taxpayer expense.

So why are we bringing them into this? They haven’t done anything wrong.

Or have they?

Leaders are leaders because others follow them. When Fumo announced he was getting out of the game, lawmakers on both sides of the aisle lamented the end of a great political career and noted the Philadelphia lawmaker’s renown as a dealmaker who could work with both Democrats and Republicans.

The man in charge of those who allegedly perpetrated the bonusgate scam, House Majority Leader Bill DeWeese, retains his position. DeWeese claims he had no idea what his underlings were up to, despite the fact that he signed a letter urging those who got bonuses for illegal campaign work to keep quiet about it. While that position would lead most rational people to determine DeWeese is either guilty or a moron, only a dozen or so House Democrats have called for his resignation from the party post.

Sen. Bob Robbins and Rep. Dick Stevenson are statehouse veterans whose tenures should make them forces to deal with in Harrisburg. While the long-serving Republicans can blame the latest examples of the culture of corruption on Democrats, their constituents would be better served if the lawmakers used whatever power they’ve accumulated to clean up that culture.

Reps. Mark Longietti and Michele Brooks are newcomers who face the choice of going along to get along or standing up for the people who pay their salaries. Longietti’s relative silence on DeWeese may be an indication of which way the freshman rep is leaning.

That said, we know that there is little that Robbins, Stevenson, Brooks and Longietti can do on their own to rid the state of corrupt politicos.

It’s going to take collective action by ethical lawmakers who are — like Howard Beale, the Mad Prophet of the Airwaves from the movie “Network” — “mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.”

It’s going to take lawmakers who are tired of being perceived as either corrupt powerbrokers or impotent lackeys.

And it has got to start somewhere. The hinterlands of western Pennsylvania is as good a place as any.