EDITORIAL: At a time when millions are bracing for yet another round of inflation and fiscal tightening, the decision to multiply the salaries and perks of Pakistan’s top lawmakers reads like a grotesque miscalculation. The increase — reportedly raising the monthly salary of the Senate chairperson and National Assembly speaker to Rs1.3 million, plus a Rs 650,000 sumptuary allowance — goes well beyond tone-deaf. It signals a fundamental detachment from the economic reality faced by the majority of people of this country.
That Khawaja Asif, a senior minister from the ruling coalition itself, felt compelled to call the move “financial obscenity” is telling. It suggests not just internal discomfort but a recognition — at least from some quarters — that the government has overstepped. Lawmakers are not salaried staff in the conventional sense.
They are elected representatives, often already among the wealthiest segment of society in this Islamic Republic, who are expected to legislate and govern in the public interest — not negotiate the kinds of benefits that would shame most private executives.
In any other context, the justification might have been couched in inflationary trends or revised compensation frameworks. But coming in the same week as a federal budget that made no provision for raising the minimum wage — and offered precious little in the way of substantive relief for working-class households — the decision smacks of institutional insensitivity. Worse, it exposes a political elite that appears to have insulated itself from the sacrifices it routinely demands of others.
This isn’t just about numbers. It’s about optics, timing, and public trust. The image of parliamentarians quietly approving windfalls for themselves, even as families across the country tighten household budgets and slash essentials, is corrosive. It undermines whatever credibility remains in a system already seen as serving the few at the expense of the many.
The public outcry was immediate, and justified. Social media users pointed to the contrast between this indulgence and the stagnant wages of ordinary workers. Labourers, clerks, and even low-grade civil servants have yet to see meaningful wage adjustments in years, despite surging prices and falling rupee parity. Fuel, power, education, rent — everything costs more. But somehow, only parliament has been spared the argument that there simply isn’t room in the budget.
And it bears repeating: these positions already come loaded with benefits — taxpayer-funded residences, staff, travel allowances, security details, discretionary grants, and access to institutional power. The base salary is hardly the full picture. That makes the case for further upward revision not only weak, but indefensible.
Khawaja Asif may well be accused of political posturing, but his criticism cuts to the core of a broader structural rot. When politics is reduced to privilege, and when parliament resembles an exclusive club rather than a public institution, resentment festers. And, in a country already suffering from democratic fatigue, that resentment has consequences — political, social, and economic.
If the government is serious about fiscal discipline, social justice, and institutional reform, it must reverse this decision. Not scale it back; reverse it entirely because this isn’t a budgeting error. It’s a moral failure.
Copyright Business Recorder, 2025
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