When a nation is in financial distress, leadership is measured not by speeches but by sacrifice. In that sense, the decision of the Parliament of Sri Lanka to abolish pensions for its lawmakers is nothing short of historic. By a decisive vote of 154 in favour out of 225 members, Sri Lanka has scrapped lifetime pensions for Members of Parliament—an entitlement that many citizens considered an outrageous privilege in a country struggling to recover from economic collapse.
The reform was pushed by the government headed by 45-year-old Anura Kumara Dissanayake, which came to power after the devastating economic crisis that triggered the dramatic 2022 Sri Lankan economic crisis and forced the resignation of former president Gotabaya Rajapaksa. For the new leadership, abolishing MPs’ pensions was not merely a fiscal measure—it was a moral statement. Lawmakers, they argued, cannot claim privileges that ordinary citizens struggling with inflation, unemployment, and rising costs can only dream of.
The reform is radical in its clarity. Under the previous system, Sri Lankan MPs qualified for pensions after just five years in office. Critics argued this was grossly excessive when compared with the terms offered to ordinary public servants. The new law eliminates pensions entirely—even for those already receiving or eligible for them. It follows earlier moves by the government to strip former presidents of lavish perks such as state-funded residences, luxury vehicles, and expansive security details.
And the question that inevitably arises is this: if Sri Lanka can do it, why can’t India?
India proudly calls itself the world’s largest democracy. Yet when it comes to the privileges enjoyed by legislators, it often resembles one of the most insulated political classes in the world. Indian MPs determine their own salaries, approve their own allowances, and continue to enjoy lifelong pensions even if they have served only one term.
Consider the numbers. A Member of Parliament in India currently earns a monthly salary of around ₹1,24,000. On top of this comes a daily sitting allowance of ₹2,500 whenever Parliament meets. They receive constituency allowances, office expense allowances, free domestic air travel (34 flights per year), unlimited first-class train travel, rent-free accommodation in the national capital, and generous communication reimbursements.
But the most controversial benefit is the lifetime pension. Once a parliamentarian completes the required service period, he or she becomes eligible for a pension of about ₹31,000 per month for life. For every additional year beyond five years of service, an extra ₹2,500 per month is added. This means that even a one-time MP—someone who may have served just a single term—can draw pension payments from the national exchequer for decades.
Multiply that by hundreds of former MPs, many of whom also hold multiple pensions after serving in state legislatures or other offices, and the burden on taxpayers becomes significant.
What makes this particularly galling is the glaring inequality it exposes. India struggles to provide adequate social security to millions of elderly citizens, farmers, and unorganised workers. Pension schemes for ordinary Indians are modest and often difficult to access. Yet politicians, after a few years in office, enjoy a guaranteed lifelong pension funded by the very taxpayers who receive far less protection from the state.
This contradiction has not gone unnoticed. Over the years, civil society groups have launched signature campaigns demanding the abolition of MPs’ pensions. Many citizens hoped that such reform might come during the tenure of Narendra Modi, who rose to power promising to challenge entrenched privileges and bring accountability to governance. Yet despite more than a decade in power, the political consensus required to scrap these pensions has not materialised.
To be fair, defenders of legislative pensions argue that eliminating them could discourage talented individuals from entering public life or push politicians toward corruption as they seek financial security after leaving office. Sri Lanka’s opposition leader Sajith Premadasa voiced similar concerns during the debate there.
But the counterargument is far stronger. Public service should never be treated as a guaranteed pension scheme. It is meant to be a responsibility, not a lifetime financial arrangement funded by citizens.
Indeed, Sri Lanka’s justice minister Harshana Nanayakkara captured the public mood bluntly when he told lawmakers that voters simply “don’t think MPs deserve a pension.” His words reflected a broader democratic truth: privileges that appear disconnected from the realities of ordinary life ultimately erode public trust in political institutions.
Across South Asia, legislators in countries like Pakistan and Bangladesh continue to enjoy generous benefits as well. But Sri Lanka has now broken that pattern. In doing so, it has sent a powerful signal that political accountability must begin with the political class itself.
India should not ignore that message.
If a small nation emerging from economic collapse can summon the courage to abolish lawmakers’ pensions, surely a rising economic power like India can muster the same moral resolve. Scrapping lifetime pensions for MPs would not only reduce the burden on the exchequer but also restore faith that public office is about service—not entitlement.
Until that happens, the uncomfortable truth remains: in this matter of political ethics, Sri Lanka has shown the way while India continues to hesitate.
And that hesitation should make us hang our heads in shame.
