Singaporeans love complaining about politicians.
So naturally, the moment the Government announced that political salaries would be increased, the collective Singaporean blood pressure went up.
And honestly? I expected it.
What I did find interesting, however, was how much of the discussion immediately became:
Why do ministers need more money?
I think that is the wrong economic question.
The more relevant question is:
What should Singapore pay for political leadership, and what should we reasonably expect in return?
And yes, before someone decides that I am somehow unqualified to have an opinion on this: I am a Business major with a minor in Political Science.
So this is literally an intersection of two fields I study — how organizations and incentives work, and how governments and political instituitions work.
I am not claiming that makes me the final authority on ministerial salaries.
It does, however, mean I am perfectly capable of analyzing the issue beyond “wah, so much money.“
First, let’s establish what actually happened.
The Government has accepted the recommendations of the 2026 review of political salaries.
The revised framework takes effect from 15 October 2026. MPs’ monthly allowance will increase from $13,750 to $18,500. For Ministers, the Government is not immediately giving everyone the new benchmark salary.
Instead, existing political officeholders will receive a one-off adjustment of up to 9%, depending on factors including circumstances and performance.
The new MR4 benchmark rises from SGD$1.1 million to SGD$1.8 million, but that does not mean every MR4 Minister will suddenly be earning SGD$1.8 million. Prime Minister Lawrence Wong exepcts more MR4 Ministers who remain in that grade to be around $1.35 million by end of this term, with higher remuneration tied to performance and greater responsibilities.
And there is one detail that I think is particulary important:
The Workers’ Party supports the increment.
Where WP disagrees is primarily with how the salary benchmark is calculated, preferring the party’s 2012 formula, which would result in more modest increases over time.
So no, supporting a political salary increase isn’t inherently a PAP position.
Apparently, even the opposition can look at a spreadsheet and go:
“Yeah, actually, some of this makes sense.”
So why do I support it?
Because political leadership is not an ordinary job.
Singapore is a small country with an unusually large exposure to external shocks.
We are a global financial, trading, logistics and technological hub sitting in one of the most strategically important regions in the world.
Our economic survival is deeply connected to what happens beyond our borders.
We have had to navigate geopolitical tensions surround Israel and Gaza, conflicts affecting energy and supply chains, the broader consequences of the Russia-Ukraine war, US-China competition, trade disruptions and an increasingly fragmented global economy.
Then there are domestic issues happening simultaneously: ageing, housing, healthcare, immigration, productivity, technological disruption, AI, social cohesion and an economy that has to remain competitive despite having very little room for error.
And somehow, the expectation is that Singapore remains stable through all of this.
That stability has economic value. It affects whether multinational companies invest here. It affects whether businesses establish regional headquarters here. It affects whether foreign talent wants to work here. It affects whether investors perceive Singapore as a predictable place to do business. It affects whether Singaporeans themselves can continue to enjoy the standard of living that we have become accustomed to.
So when we discuss political remuneration, I don’t think it makes sense to look only at the person’s individual consumption needs.
The question isn’t whether Lawrence Wong personally needs another million dollars.
Of course he doesn’t.
The question is whether Singapore needs to maintain a political system capable of attracting people who are competent enough to manage an economy and state of this complexity.
Those are two completely different questions.
And this is where the concept of diminishing returns gets interesting.
One of the most common economic arguments agaisnt extremely high salaries is the principle of diminishing marginal utility.
Basically, the first dollar matters more to someone than the millionth dollar.
If I give someone earning $30k an additional $10k, that money could materially change their life.
If I give someone earning $2million another $10k, their quality of life probably doesn’t change very much.
So you could argue:
Why keep increasing the salaries of people who are already extremely wealthy?
That’s a perfectly legitimate economic argument.
But I don’t think diminishing returns works particularly well as an argument against political remuneration in this specific context.
Because we’re not paying Ministers primarily for their consumption.
We’re paying for labour, responsibility, incentives and talent allocation.
If the purpose of a salary is simply to make the individual happier, then yes, $3.6million for a Prime Minister is obviously excessive.
But that isn’t the purpose.
The salary is part of the incentive structure for attracting people into political leadership.
Imagine someone who is already a senior executive, entrepreneur, lawyer, investment professiona, doctor or other highly paid professional.
They aren’t asking, “Will another $500k allow me to buy an extra five handbags?“
They’re asking:
Why would I leave my existing career, surrender a significant degree of privacy, expose myself and my family to public scrutiny, have my decision dissected by millions of people and potentially spend years of my life in politics?
The opportunity cost matters.
And this is where diminishing returns become less relevant.
The question isn’t whether the politician derives proportionately more happiness from the additional money.
The question is whether the additional compensation changes the economic attractiveness of entering or remaining in political service.
Those are not the same thing.
Being an MP also comes with a very unusual cost: you lose your privacy.
This gets overlooked because people see the salary and forget about the job.
Being an MP means being publicly identifiable. Your face is recognizable. Your statements, voting records and personal conduct can be scrutinized. Your family can potentially become a subject of public attention.
And every policy decision becomes an opportunity for someone to tell you that you’re an idiot.
Singaporeans are particularly enthusiastic about this last part.
And before anyone actively chooses to misunderstand me: politicians absolutely should be scrutinized.
Democracy without accountability is basically decorative democracy.
But there is a difference between legitimate scrutiny and the assumption that every complaint deserves equal intellectual weight.
Some criticism is thoughtful. Some identify genuine policy failures. Some exposes incompetence. Some are necesssary.
But most are just like “oh, I don’t like this“
That’s not an argument. That is a feeling.
The fact that politicians are public servants doesn’t mean every person who is angry at them made a valid criticism. Public scrutiny is part of the job.
It isn’t a reason to pretend the job has no economic value.
It is, quite literally, the job that safeguards everyone else’s jobs. We are talking about a job whose decisions can affect the employment, businesses, investments and livelihoods of everyone else in the country.
And this is where I think the Singaporean conversation gets particularly strange.
We are perfectly comfortable paying CEOs millions because they are responsible for billion-dollar companies.
We accept that highly specialized professionals can command high salaries because their decisions carry significant consequences.
But when the organization happens to be called Singapore, suddenly the conversation becomes:
But they’re public servants! They shouldn’t be earning so much!
Why?
Singapore has an economy worth hundreds of billions of dollars. It manages a sovereign state. It controls fiscal policy. It makes decisions affecting millions of residents. It negotiates internationally. It regulates industries. It manages national security. It determines long-term infrastructure and development strategies. The scale of responsibility is enormous.
So personally I don’t find SGD$3.6million for the Prime Minister inherently outrageous.
In fact, I think the more interesting question is why we automatically assume that because someone is a politician, the market value of their labour should somehow be disconnected from the scale of their responsibilities.
The Prime Minister’s new annual remuneration is SGD$3.6million. That is certainly a huge number — and Singapore’s Prime Minister remains among, if not the, highest-paid national political leaders globally.
But “that’s a huge number” isn’t an economic argument by itself.
Huge relative to what?
That’s the question we should actually be asking.
However, high pay creates a corresponding obligation.
This is where I think supporters of the pay increase need to be intellectually honest.
If we’re going to pay Ministers at this level, then the standard we hold them to should be equally high.
You don’t get:
high remuneration + low accountability.
You get:
high remuneration + high accountability.
The Government itself acknowledges this principle: political leaders are expected to demonstrate integrity, competence, responsibility and ultimately accountability to voters.
And I agree.
If a Minister performs badly, we should be able to say so.
If a policy fails, we should be able to question it.
If someone makes a serious mistake, there should be consequences.
If someone consistently underperforms, they should not automatically receive the same rewards as someone who performs exceptionally.
In other words:
If we’re going to use the private sector as a benchmark for remuneration, we should also be willing to apply performance expectations that resemble the private sector.
That’s the other side of the bargain.
This is also why I don’t think the pay rise should be reduced to “politicians rewarding themselves.”
The framework isn’t simply:
Minister says “I want more money.”
Government says “Okay!”
There is an independent review mechanism, a remuneration framework and an established benchmark.
The current system benchmarks political remuneration against the earnings of Singapore’s top 1,000 earners, while incorporating a discount to reflect the ethos of political service.
You can absolutely disagree with that formula.
And apparently, the Workers’ Party does.
But that’s a substantive disagreement about methodology, not evidence that the entire concept of paying political leaders competitively is absurd.
In fact, I think this is exactly the kind of disagreement we should be having.
Should the benchmark be the top 1,000 earners?
Should it be tied to MP salaries?
Should there be a larger public-service discount?
Should there be stronger performance differentiation?
Should the formula be reviewed every five years?
Those are actual questions.
“Politicians make too much money” isn’t really an analysis.
It’s an opening sentence.
So where do I land?
I support the increase.
I don’t think S$3.6 million for the Prime Minister is automatically excessive simply because it sounds obscene compared with the median Singaporean salary.
I don’t think diminishing marginal utility is a sufficient argument against it, because we’re not paying political leaders based on how much additional happiness another dollar gives them.
We’re paying for talent, opportunity cost, responsibility and incentives.
I also think Singapore’s geopolitical and economic position makes competent political leadership unusually valuable.
We are a small country with almost no margin for geopolitical or economic incompetence.
Maintaining stability while navigating conflicts, energy insecurity, trade disruptions and major-power competition is not a small responsibility.
And yes, I think politicians deserve to be compensated for carrying that responsibility.
But here’s my condition:
Don’t ask me to defend their salaries while asking me to lower my expectations of them.
If you’re going to pay political leaders millions, then I want excellent leadership.
I want accountability.
I want competence.
I want transparency.
I want performance to actually matter.
And I want criticism to be based on something more substantial than “wah, they earn more than me.”
Because ultimately, the question isn’t:
“Do Ministers deserve to be rich?”
The question is:
“What is the appropriate price for competent political leadership in a country where the cost of getting that leadership wrong can be extraordinarily high?”
That’s a much harder question.
And, unlike the Facebook comments screaming about million-dollar salaries, it’s actually worth discussing.
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