In any functioning democracy, the cornerstone of representative governance is the power of the purse. Under constitutional frameworks and public financial management laws, it is Parliament that holds the purse strings. Citizens surrender their hard-earned income to the State on the explicit understanding that the legislature will act as a vigilant trustee. Parliament exists to ensure that every rupee collected from the public is managed with strict legality, spent efficiently, and aligned impeccably with national budget plans. It is the Nation’s chief financial watchdog, tasked with holding the executive and public institutions to rigorous account.

Yet, when the watchdog itself turns out to be feeding off the public pantry with unbridled extravagance, the entire edifice of democratic accountability begins to crumble.

A damning special audit report tabled by the Auditor General’s Department on 21 August has laid bare a culture of unchecked financial privilege, institutional hypocrisy, and staggering waste within the supreme legislative institution. The findings, covering the Eighth and Ninth Parliaments between September 2015 and November 2024, point to not just administrative oversights. They also reveal a deeply ingrained system of self-entitlement, operating in complete defiance of the fiscal standards that Parliament purports to enforce on the rest of the country.

Consider the sheer scale of fuel privileges detailed in the Auditor General’s report under Article 154(6) of the Constitution. At a time when ordinary citizens and public servants across the civil service were subjected to strict rationing and austerity, parliamentary officials treated public fuel supplies as an endless, free-flowing reservoir. In 2024 alone, the post of Speaker consumed an average of 6,122 litres of fuel per month, costing the public purse Rs 26.05 million. The Deputy Speaker drew 21,299 litres of fuel worth Rs 8.55 million for a private vehicle over two years, in addition to exceeding allocations on three assigned official vehicles. Meanwhile, the Secretary General’s office ran two official vehicles simultaneously, burning through fuel at rates thousands of litres higher than the highest-fuelled Ministry Secretaries in the wider public service.

This was not an isolated lapse in judgment, but a pervasive rot that extended across top leadership. From committee chairpersons receiving lavish official transport without any formal authorisation, to senior officials claiming generous private mileage allowances while reimbursing the State at a ludicrously low rate of Rs 8 per kilometre, the audit exposes a governing apparatus entirely unbothered by the concept of financial prudence.

Even more alarming is the brazen disregard for constitutional law regarding top-level remuneration. Under Article 65(2) of the Constitution, the salary of Parliament’s Secretary General must be formally fixed and approved by Parliament itself. Yet, the audit revealed that no fresh parliamentary approval had been sought for more than two decades, even as the basic salary expanded by roughly 800 per cent over the intervening period. This constitutes an improper, unconstitutional charge upon the Consolidated Fund. It is the height of irony that an institution whose primary mandate is to enforce statutory compliance should manage its own chief executive’s pay in direct breach of the supreme law of the land.

The institutional carelessness extends far beyond individual perks. For nearly a decade, Parliament spent Rs 335.66 million on an employee bus service operating without a written agreement, watching the average cost per travel pass skyrocket from Rs 27,662 in 2016 to over Rs 95,000 in 2023. Millions more were poured into foreign travel; over Rs 265 million was spent sending MPs and parliamentary staff across the globe, without even a basic requirement to submit post-travel reports detailing what value these journeys brought to the public.

At the root of this structural failure is an archaic administrative structure. Parliament continues to operate under the outdated Parliamentary Staff Act of 1953, a relic from a bygone era that has never been modernised to align with contemporary legislation like the Public Financial Management Act No. 44 of 2024. This legal anomaly has allowed a culture of opacity to flourish, shielded from standard public scrutiny.

With the Treasury allocating nearly Rs 3.5 billion annually to run Parliament, taxpayers have every right to feel deeply betrayed. An institution that demands fiscal discipline from hospitals, schools, and municipal councils cannot be permitted to operate as a law unto itself. Tighter controls on vehicle entitlements, the immediate repeal or amendment of the 1953 Staff Act, and strict constitutional re-sanction of top salaries are not just technical recommendations; they are urgent moral imperatives. Until Parliament cleans its own house, it retains neither the moral authority nor the democratic credibility to manage the financial destiny of the Nation.