Why our salary structure fails

The government has formed a new National Pay Commission to design a revised pay scale. To that end, the commission has sought public opinion on how salaries and benefits for government employees should be structured. For this purpose, an online survey has been launched, open until October 15. Through this essay—my "two cents"—I wish to share some reflections on the issue.

Our bureaucratic system still classifies citizens into categories such as "first-class officer," "second-class officer," "third-class employee," and "fourth-class employee." In the 21st century, how can any modern nation demean its citizens by labelling them "third class" or "fourth class"? The insult becomes even clearer when we look at the staggering income gap between these so-called "third or fourth class" workers and their "first class" counterparts. The salaries of traffic police who manage our streets, constables who safeguard law and order at the grassroots, primary school teachers who form the backbone of education, or clerks and peons who serve the public every day, are so pitifully low that they amount to institutional humiliation. Bangladesh itself is a living testimony to what a country becomes when the basic quality of life of this class is ignored.

If we aspire to build a just, beautiful, and sustainable Bangladesh, we must first confront one of the deepest structural flaws of our society: the distribution of income. Economic inequality in Bangladesh is not merely a matter of numbers—it is at once a moral failure and a developmental crisis that shapes the lives of millions each day. A nation's true progress is not measured by the height of its tallest skyscrapers, the scale of its GDP, or the number of billionaires it produces, but by the dignity, security, and opportunity afforded to its ordinary citizens.

In a humane and enlightened economy, the real indicator of success is not how high the highest salaries rise, but how low the lowest ones fall. If the poorest cannot meet their basic needs, enjoy dignity, or access the fruits of national growth, then development is hollow. A society that seeks long-term harmony must ensure that its income structure is grounded in fairness, not extreme disparity.

Ideally, this structure should resemble what statisticians refer to as a Poissonian distribution: a bell-like curve where the majority of people earn a respectable, average wage. This stands in direct contrast to our current reality in Bangladesh, where income follows a power-law distribution. Here, a tiny elite captures the lion's share of national wealth while the vast majority earn too little to survive with dignity. In a Poissonian system, no one earns so little that they are unable to live a decent life, and no one earns so much that they become divorced from the everyday realities of the population.

The salaries of traffic police who manage our streets, constables who safeguard law and order at the grassroots, primary school teachers who form the backbone of education, or clerks and peons who serve the public every day, are so pitifully low that they amount to institutional humiliation.

Examples of equitable income distribution exist and offer valuable lessons. Nordic and Scandinavian countries—such as Sweden, Norway, and Finland—have long embraced this model. There, even those working in service or sanitation sectors can afford a home, own a car, and access quality healthcare and education. This is not a utopian accident but the result of deliberate, rational, and humane policy choices. The result? These nations consistently top the global happiness, well-being, and equality indices.

In Bangladesh, the contrast is stark. Nearly 80% of wage earners live on incomes so low that meeting even the most basic human needs becomes a daily struggle. A domestic worker often works in four different homes yet fails to earn enough to feed her children adequately. A primary school teacher—entrusted with nurturing the minds of future generations—faces constant financial stress. These are not isolated cases; they represent a systemic failure. Meanwhile, a small elite—about 5% of the population—enjoy lavish salaries, generous state perks, and a lifestyle insulated from the harsh realities faced by most citizens. This inequality is often bolstered by political patronage, institutional privilege, and structural injustice.

Such imbalance is not only morally indefensible—it is economically and socially unsustainable. In a society where the overwhelming majority are locked in economic hardship, the well-being of a privileged few cannot endure. Widespread inequality breeds resentment, social fragmentation, and ultimately threatens the very stability and productivity upon which wealth creation depends. One cannot flourish in a field of withered roots.

The way forward is clear and urgent. Bangladesh must commit to a just restructuring of its income distribution. This does not mean forced equality or uniform wages. Rather, it means closing the obscene gaps that exist today, and building a system where every profession is respected and fairly compensated. Income should reflect contribution, expertise, and effort—not mere power or proximity to the political centre.

This vision requires more than policy change; it requires a shift in societal values. We must abandon the glorification of wealth for its own sake, and instead celebrate dignity, service, and collective well-being. Minimum wage laws must be reformed and enforced, taxation made progressive, public services made robust, and education and healthcare truly accessible to all.

Only when we design a society where every citizen can dream, thrive, and contribute meaningfully, can we call ourselves a just and prosperous nation. The road to a beautiful Bangladesh does not begin with marble towers or luxury condos—it begins with the simple, powerful act of ensuring fairness for all. Let us build not only a richer Bangladesh, but a kinder, more equal, and more enduring one.

This is possible if we follow this. In Bangladesh, the amount of money that circulates through bribery and corruption is staggering. If the same amount were instead collected as taxes, the country would be transformed. Similarly, the enormous sums of money and countless hours that parents spend on private tuition and coaching centres—if redirected into school fees or government revenues through taxation—could radically strengthen the nation's education system.

Globally, Bangladesh ranks among the lowest in terms of tax-to-GDP ratio, even within the South Asia–Pacific region. With a ratio of only about 7.2 percent, the country's performance is embarrassingly poor. By comparison, India's stands at roughly 12 percent and Pakistan's at around 11 percent. In 2023, the average tax-to-GDP ratio in the Asia-Pacific region was 19.5 percent, while OECD countries averaged 33.9 percent. Bangladesh—and Ethiopia, with similarly low figures—are striking outliers at the bottom.

In a humane and enlightened economy, the real indicator of success is not how high the highest salaries rise, but how low the lowest ones fall.

This is not merely a statistical embarrassment but a fundamental economic constraint. Tax revenue is the lifeline of public services. Without sufficient collection, it becomes impossible for the government to invest adequately in education, healthcare, infrastructure, or social protection. Low revenue generation, therefore, disrupts national development and undermines long-term sustainable growth. The examples of Bangladesh and Ethiopia clearly illustrate that without an effective tax policy and expanded revenue base, public-oriented development remains unattainable. Strengthening tax collection and reforming the system is thus essential for building a stronger economic foundation.

When citizens pay taxes responsibly, rather than evading them, they gain greater legitimacy in demanding accountability, better governance, and improved services. If additional revenue were invested in raising salaries across government and semi-government sectors, and reducing wage inequality, society as a whole would benefit. Today, many low-level employees earn so little that their standard of living cannot be described as dignified, while others accumulate enormous wealth through bribery and corruption—so much, in fact, that they often struggle to find ways to spend it.

What does it mean for a country to be "developed"? It means that even a street cleaner or sanitation worker should have a home, be able to educate their children, and live a decent life. A nation prospers when all of its citizens can access a minimum standard of dignity and well-being. The happiest countries in the world are those where even the lowest-paid workers can afford a home, a car, and at least one annual holiday.

In other words, true happiness and stability come when a nation's income distribution resembles a bell curve: the majority clustered around a liveable, average wage, with very few people at either extreme of extreme poverty or excessive wealth. Only then can we say we are building a society where everyone has a fair chance at living well.

Dr Kamrul Hassan Mamun is a professor in the Department of Physics at Dhaka University. He can be reached at khassan@du.ac.bd.

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