Columns

In the heat of the last Presidential and Parliamentary elections, few issues stirred public emotion as strongly as the question of political entitlements. Years of waste, privilege, and impunity had left voters deeply resentful of those in power. Against this backdrop, the National People’s Power (NPP) entered the campaign with a message that appealed to public anger: politicians, they argued, should not have any privileges that ordinary citizens do not have.

They pledged to abolish presidential entitlements, reject salaries for legislators, refuse official vehicles, and travel by bus or train like ordinary people. To many Sri Lankans—struggling through one of the worst economic crises in the country’s history—these promises felt refreshing, a sign that a new political culture might finally be taking shape.  

But politics does not run on symbolism alone. After assuming office, the same government legislators now receive salaries, use official vehicles, and utilise the basic facilities required for governance. Not surprisingly, the Opposition has seized on this shift, accusing the NPP of betraying its campaign pledges.

The criticism, although valid, however, misses the essential point. The debate should not be about whether politicians live like everyday citizens, but about what level of compensation and support is necessary to ensure competent, honest and effective governance in a modern state.

The romantic notion that political leaders can run a complex country without salary or infrastructure may be popular, but it is deeply unrealistic. Worse, it is dangerous.

The idea that public office should be a form of unpaid voluntary service appears virtuous. It appeals to a sense of moral purity and resonates in a political culture damaged by corruption. But history and comparative political experience show that unpaid politics is a recipe for exactly the opposite of what the public desires.

If elected representatives receive no salary and no facilities, the only people who will survive in politics are: those with independent wealth; those backed by powerful financiers; or those willing to rely on shadowy networks.

In other words, voluntarism drives ordinary citizens out of politics. A teacher, engineer, trade unionist, youth activist, or social worker simply cannot afford to serve full-time in parliament without income or logistical support. Politics then becomes a domain reserved for the wealthy—an outcome that contradicts the very ethos of democracy.

More dangerously, unpaid politics creates dependence on private donors, patrons, and financiers. And in politics, dependence quickly transforms into influence. A politician who must rely on others to cover personal or constituency expenses becomes obligated—subtly or explicitly—to repay those who kept them afloat. Whether in the form of favourable contracts, appointments, or policy preferences, the pressure is inevitable.

Recently a Deputy Minister on a television programme admitted that a friend had stepped in to pay his bills. This is a dangerous path and a slippery slope which can eventually and inevitably lead to ethical issues.

No democratic society can afford a legislature filled with individuals beholden to private interests. Reasonable public compensation is not a luxury; it is a safeguard against capture.

A common misconception in Sri Lanka’s public debate is the confusion between facilities and privileges. Facilities are the tools that make governing possible: transport, staff, office space, and communication systems. Privileges are excesses: luxury SUVs, multiple backup vehicles, foreign junkets, and unnecessary perks.

The problem in the past was not that politicians had vehicles, but that they abused them. The answer cannot be to ban vehicles altogether. It is to ensure that vehicles are used strictly for official duties and are modest, reasonably priced, and transparently monitored.

Consider the practical reality. Can a minister responsible for infrastructure, health, or education travel from meeting to meeting on a crowded bus? Can a rural MP efficiently reach constituents scattered across a vast district without reliable transport?

For instance can a Member of Parliament representing the Kalawana electorate spanning a distance of 78 miles from end to end (under the First Past the Post electoral system) rely on public transport to serve constituency needs? How much more demanding would it be under the Proportionate Representation system where the Parliamentarian is required to look after an entire district?

Can a parliamentarian handle legislative files, attend committee meetings, and respond to emergencies while juggling public transport schedules?

These questions answer themselves. Rejecting official vehicles may make for appealing campaign slogans, but once in government, the demands of public office are clear. Efficient governance requires functionality, not posturing.

Across the democratic world, the principle is well established: pay elected representatives adequately, but regulate them strictly. United Kingdom: MPs receive a professional salary and a constituency office budget, but face stringent oversight and mandatory disclosure. The system aims to ensure independence, not luxury. Canada: Salaries are high by international standards, reflecting the expectation of full-time, specialised work. Ethics regulations and transparency mechanisms are among the strongest in the world. Singapore: Frequently cited for having one of the cleanest governments globally, Singapore pays ministers and MPs competitive salaries to eliminate temptation and attract top-tier professionals.

These examples demonstrate that reasonable compensation is a cornerstone of clean governance. Underpaying politicians does not make them more virtuous. It makes them vulnerable.

What matters is not how little they are paid, but how strictly their conduct is regulated, audited, and publicly scrutinised.

Sri Lanka faces a unique challenge. After decades of political excess, the public is naturally sceptical of any argument made in favour of paying politicians. Yet the task is not to pamper public officials, but to ensure they can work professionally and independently.

A balanced compensation framework would include: 

1. A modest but sufficient salary

2. Strictly regulated official vehicles, limited in number, type, and usage.

3. Clearly recorded logs of all official travel, available for public inspection.

4. ublicly disclosed allowances with strict limits and annual audits.

5. An Independent commission to review pay and entitlements for legislators, removing the power of self-approval from politicians.

6. Zero tolerance for abuse, with penalties that include reimbursement, fines, and removal from office for violations.

Such a system would satisfy two essential requirements: preventing the old culture of excess, and avoiding creating a new system of unrealistic voluntarism.

The NPP’s dilemma is not unique. Every reformist party in the world has faced the tension between campaign idealism and government pragmatism. What matters now is whether the government can clearly communicate the reasons for its shift, acknowledge its earlier oversimplifications, and articulate a transparent, sustainable framework for entitlements.

The public’s frustration with political privilege is justified. But frustration should not drive the nation towards solutions that are symbolically satisfying yet practically disastrous.

Sri Lanka needs political leaders who can govern effectively. Governing effectively requires time, focus, transparency—and adequate compensation.

The debate over political salaries and facilities should move beyond emotion and symbolism. A country emerging from economic collapse cannot afford governance that is either extravagant or crippled by self-imposed austerity. What Sri Lanka needs is a mature, balanced approach: pay politicians enough to work independently, provide them with the tools needed for public duty, and enforce strict standards to prevent abuse.

The real test of a political culture is not how cheaply it compensates its leaders, but how honestly those leaders use the resources entrusted to them.

A democracy that expects its elected representatives to work without pay, without facilities, and without dignity is not asking for sacrifice—it is inviting dysfunction.

Sri Lanka should choose transparency over spectacle, responsibility over rhetoric, and a realistic path over romantic illusions. (javidyusuf@gmail.com)