Let’s be honest for once. Pakistan’s parliamentarians - past, present, and future - deserve blue passports. In fact, they deserve far more. Parliament must pass a law exempting all 57,000 blue passport holders from personal income tax, corporate income tax, capital gains tax, sales tax, excise duty, customs duty, capital value tax, agriculture tax, immovable property tax, motor vehicle tax, motor vehicle registration tax, stamp duty, profession tax, entertainment tax, withholding tax, petroleum levy, gas infrastructure development cess, workers welfare fund, and municipal and development charges.
Nineteen taxes. While we’re drafting, let’s throw in the Neelum-Jhelum surcharge too. And - since we’ve come this far - criminal prosecution altogether. Why stop at taxes when you can exempt a family from the law itself? Serving the state, it seems, must now mean hereditary privileges. Passed down like a family business. The Interior Ministry says misuse is damaging Pakistan’s credibility abroad and that issuance will now be restricted. The Senate, in the very same season, is expanding it. Read that twice. Their children must be free to land in foreign capitals and claim asylum. No questions asked.
No consequences owed. The document that was supposed to prove you serve Pakistan becomes the document that lets your family leave it. The Constitution of Pakistan says all citizens are equal. Clearly, it needs amending. Article 25 was written before someone thought of blue passports for 28-year-olds who’ve never held a government post in their lives. Countries sign visa-free and visa-on-arrival agreements with each other so that official state business can move without friction - not so that privileged families can move without scrutiny.
Every one of those bilateral arrangements rests on a promise: the passport means what it says. Break that promise often enough, and the promise gets withdrawn. Should Pakistan really be willing to spend down its bilateral credibility to please a few hundred families? Now look next door. Bangladesh once went further than we’re proposing. That privilege had one saving grace we don’t even have: it expired with the parliament’s term. Five years, then gone.
It still collapsed. When the Hasina government fell, cancelling those passports was among the interim government’s first acts. India didn’t even get that far. Its diplomatic passports are tied to officials actually travelling on a mission - with family included only when they’re travelling with that official, and only once the Ministry formally certifies dependency.
No blanket household entitlement. No lifetime claim after the job ends. Bangladesh tried our model and had to reverse it after a revolution. India never tried it at all. Guess which one Pakistan’s Parliament is choosing to copy. So what does all this say about Parliament’s priorities?
One-third of this country lives below the poverty line. National debt and liabilities have climbed from Rs 10,000 billion to Rs 100,000 billion - a tenfold rise, on our watch, funded by taxpayers who will never see a blue passport in their lives. And the legislative energy of the moment is going into who gets a lifetime travel perk, and whether their grandchildren should get it too. Parliament, it turns out, has found its urgent national priority. It just isn’t the nation’s.
