It is truly a testament to the abysmal state of human expectation that we are expected to find something noble in a politician taking a pay cut. In Colombia, President Gustavo Petro has signed off on a thirty percent reduction in the salaries of congressional members, a move being framed as a heroic sacrifice in the face of a ‘budget crunch.’ Let’s be clear: calling this a sacrifice is like calling it a diet when a glutton realizes they’ve run out of gravy. It is a cynical, performative, and entirely predictable maneuver designed to placate a starving populace just long enough to ensure the status quo survives another election cycle. The legislators, those professional vultures who have spent decades picking the bones of the Colombian economy clean, are now being asked to settle for slightly smaller carcasses. And we, the weary observers of this global theater of the absurd, are expected to applaud as if the thieves have suddenly developed a conscience.

The timing of this fiscal haircut is, of course, entirely coincidental—if you happen to be a lobotomized goldfish. With elections looming in the first semester of this year, the ruling class has suddenly realized that having the highest-paid legislators in a country where the minimum wage is a cruel joke might not be the best ‘look.’ It is the political equivalent of a cheating spouse buying a bouquet of wilted supermarket carnations while the divorce papers are being drafted. They aren't cutting their pay because they care about the budget; they are cutting their pay because they are terrified of the optics. The ‘budget crunch’ is not a natural disaster like a hurricane or a drought; it is a man-made catastrophe manufactured by the very people now pretending to be the solution. It is the inevitable result of a state that manages its treasury with the foresight of a gambling addict at a horse track, yet we are supposed to be impressed that they’ve decided to stop betting the rent money for five minutes.

Deeply analyze the structure of this 'crisis.' Why does a nation find itself in a budget crunch? Is it because the legislators were paid too much? Hardly. While their salaries are indeed an insult to the working class, they are a rounding error in the grand scheme of state-sponsored waste and systemic corruption. The pay cut is a distraction, a shiny object dangled before the eyes of the electorate to keep them from noticing that the entire ship is sinking. Whether the captain takes a thirty percent pay cut doesn't matter much when he’s the one who steered the vessel into the iceberg in the first place. This is the hallmark of the modern political animal: when faced with the consequences of their own incompetence, they offer a symbolic gesture that costs them nothing in terms of actual power but buys them everything in terms of public relations.

The Left will frame this as a victory for the people, a sign that Petro’s government is finally ‘taxing the elite.’ The Right will undoubtedly grumble about ‘populism’ and ‘interference,’ while secretly being relieved that the cut wasn't fifty percent. Both sides are equally nauseating. The Left’s performative austerity is just a mask for their own brand of bureaucratic expansion, and the Right’s indignation is just the squealing of a pig being moved to a slightly smaller trough. Neither side has any intention of actually fixing the structural rot that makes these pay cuts necessary. They just want to make sure they are the ones holding the scissors when it comes time to trim the fat.

Let’s philosophize on the hopelessness of this situation for a moment. In any other profession, if you ran your company into a ‘budget crunch,’ you wouldn't just take a pay cut; you’d be fired, possibly prosecuted, and certainly barred from ever touching a ledger again. In politics, however, failure is just a rebranding opportunity. By reducing their wages, these legislators are effectively buying themselves another term of doing absolutely nothing. They will spend the next few months pointing at their slightly smaller paychecks as proof of their ‘solidarity’ with the poor, all while continuing to enjoy the perks, the kickbacks, and the absolute immunity that comes with being part of the ruling class. The 30% they are losing in salary will undoubtedly be made up for in ‘consulting fees’ or ‘campaign contributions’ from the same corporate interests they pretend to regulate.

In the end, nothing changes. The system is designed to preserve itself, and this pay cut is just the latest evolutionary adaptation. It is a tactical retreat, not a moral awakening. The Colombian people will go to the polls, perhaps feeling a flicker of gratitude that their masters are being slightly less greedy this year, and they will vote for the same brands of incompetence they’ve always voted for. The cycle will continue, the budget will remain a disaster, and the legislators will eventually find a way to vote themselves a ‘cost of living adjustment’ once the heat dies down. It’s a weary, pathetic cycle, and watching it unfold is like watching a rerun of a bad sitcom where the jokes weren't funny the first time. But please, by all means, let’s celebrate the thirty percent. It’s the least they could do—literally.