Dr Bilawal Kamran
Pakistan’s financial narrative has long been plagued by an all-too-familiar paradox: while state coffers are consistently declared empty when it comes to public welfare, they magically replenish when it’s time to enrich the ruling elite. Whether it’s increasing the salaries of public servants, enhancing allocations for health and education, providing relief from skyrocketing utility tariffs, or launching essential welfare programs, the answer is nearly always the same—no money available.
This fiscal tight-fistedness was recently reaffirmed by Finance Minister Muhammad Aurangzeb, who, during a Question Hour session in the National Assembly, bluntly stated that “at present, no proposal is under consideration of the government for substantial rise of pensions of Federal Government employees in the next financial year.” The message was unequivocal: the government’s hands are tied due to what it frequently cites as empty state coffers.
Yet, in a display of striking hypocrisy, these same coffers appear boundlessly generous when it comes to catering to the needs of Pakistan’s political elite—the very class to which the Finance Minister himself belongs. Just last week, in a move that has sparked public outrage, the government announced a staggering increase in the salaries of federal ministers and ministers of state. Their pay has been raised from Rs200,000 and Rs180,000 per month to a jaw-dropping Rs519,000—a hike of roughly 160-180 percent. Notably, this raise is backdated to take effect from January, underscoring the urgency and priority given to it.
The manner in which this pay hike was executed also raises eyebrows. The President of Pakistan issued an ordinance to formalize the increase, bypassing standard legislative debate and scrutiny. This decision mirrors the earlier salary raise granted to MNAs and senators in February, which saw their compensation jump by 175 percent.
The sheer audacity of these decisions cannot be overstated. While the general public grapples with unrelenting inflation, rising fuel prices, and diminishing purchasing power, their elected representatives are busy securing massive financial windfalls for themselves. The optics are not just poor; they are downright offensive. At a time when ordinary Pakistanis are being told to tighten their belts and make sacrifices for the good of the country, the ruling elite are shamelessly grabbing their “pound of flesh” without a hint of restraint.
This is not merely a matter of budgetary policy; it is a fundamental question of ethical governance and social justice. Shouldn’t those entrusted with leading the nation, especially during an economic crisis, be the first to demonstrate austerity and solidarity with the people they serve? One would expect elected officials to set a moral example, refusing undue financial perks and showing genuine empathy for the struggles of the common citizen.
Instead, what we witness is a deeply entrenched culture of entitlement among Pakistan’s political class. This culture fosters a dangerous disconnect between the rulers and the ruled, widening the chasm of trust that already exists. Every rupee allocated to ministerial perks at a time of economic distress sends a clear message: the well-being of the elite takes precedence over the needs of the masses.
Moreover, this pattern of behavior is emblematic of a larger systemic issue. Pakistan’s budgetary process often fails to prioritize human development. Despite clear evidence that investment in health, education, and social welfare yields long-term economic benefits, these sectors remain perpetually underfunded. Instead, the lion’s share of budgetary allocations goes to administrative costs, debt servicing, and, as we now see, political patronage.
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Critics argue that this is symptomatic of a state captured by elite interests, where policymaking is less about public service and more about self-enrichment. The latest salary hikes are not isolated incidents but part of a broader trend of fiscal favoritism that has long undermined Pakistan’s democratic and economic development.
What’s even more disheartening is the lack of accountability and public debate around these decisions. Ordinances like the one used to formalize the recent salary increases circumvent meaningful legislative oversight and deny the public a chance to voice their concerns. This undermines not only fiscal transparency but also the democratic process itself.
In light of these developments, it is crucial to ask hard questions: Why is there always a dearth of funds when it comes to alleviating public suffering, yet an overflow when the beneficiaries are part of the political elite? Why is the government so quick to legislate financial perks for its ministers but so slow to enact meaningful reforms that would ease the burden on ordinary citizens? And perhaps most importantly, what will it take for Pakistan’s rulers to align their personal financial interests with the broader national interest?
The answers to these questions are not just rhetorical; they have real implications for the country’s social cohesion and political stability. A government that consistently prioritizes the elite over the masses risks deepening public disillusionment and alienation—fertile ground for unrest and populist backlash.
Ultimately, genuine leadership is measured not by how much one takes, but by how much one is willing to give up for the greater good. It is high time that Pakistan’s political leaders recognize this and act accordingly. The country can ill afford the continued erosion of public trust at a moment when national unity and resilience are more critical than ever.
Until then, the stark imbalance between the sacrifices demanded of the public and the privileges enjoyed by the elite will remain a glaring testament to Pakistan’s ongoing budgetary hypocrisy.
