The government prepares to “stand idly by” on bankers’ bonuses

Nick Clegg waters down his rhetoric and gives no indication of measures to enforce restraint in payo

On Radio 4's Today programme this morning, Nick Clegg appeared to confirm speculation that the government is backing away a big confrontation with the banks over excessive bonuses – if only through his reticence.

Let's just recap. A month ago, the Deputy Prime Minister was full of fiery rhetoric, telling the Financial Times:

The banks should not be under any illusion, this government cannot stand idly by.

They don't operate in a social vacuum. It is wholly untenable to have millions of people making sacrifices in their living standards, only to see the banks getting away scot-free.

Yet today, this was substantially watered down:

I totally accept that the kind of sky-high numbers bandied about in the City of London sound like they come from a parallel universe to most people. State-owned banks have to be sensitive. The British public are the shareholders of those state-owned banks. We are entitled to say – as the government has – that they must be sensitive.

Asked by the show host James Naughtie what action the government would take to force the banks to listen, Clegg refused to give any solid answer, simply saying "they have to listen to us because they're state-owned".

Lest we forget, the coalition agreement pledged "detailed proposals for robust action to tackle unacceptable bonuses in the financial services sector". But in a marked contrast to his words in December, Clegg appeared to deny – or lay the ground for denying – the need for further action:

We're in discussion with the banks, and we've already done a great deal as far as the banking system is involved . . .

It's worth remembering that new rules have already dramatically changed the way bonuses are structured.

The new rules that he is referring to are reforms from the EU and the Financial Services Authority, meaning that at least half of bonuses now have to be paid in shares, and between 40 per cent and 60 per cent cannot be cashed in for several years.

But the idea that making employees into shareholders will reduce their risk-taking behaviour is misguided. Lehman Brothers is a case in point – employees there were large shareholders, but that did not stop them from hastening its collapse. Moreover, even if the gratification is delayed, it still exists. Shares can be cashed in eventually, and the incentive for irresponsible risk remains.

Even if the bonus pool is smaller than last year's, the sums involved will still feel like an insult to ordinary people bracing themselves for the full pain of the government's austerity programme.

Clegg may still feel a personal distaste for large bonuses, but his words today indicate that "standing idly by" is precisely what the government will be doing.

Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

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Why hasn’t British Asian entertainment built on the Goodness Gracious Me golden age?

It is 20 years since the original radio series of Goodness Gracious Me aired. Over two decades, the UK media portrayal of Asians hasn’t used its success to evolve.

Save for a handful of special one-off episodes, Goodness Gracious Me hasn’t occupied a primetime TV slot for nearly two decades. Yet still it remains the measuring stick for British Asian comedy.

The sketch show, which transitioned seamlessly from radio to screen (it started as a BBC Radio 4 series in 1996), has stood the test of time and is as much a staple of modern British Asian culture as Tupperware or turning up an hour late.

What Goodness Gracious Me did so expertly was to take a set of serious issues facing first, second and now, I suppose, third generation migrants, and turn them on their heads. 

In making light of the pressures of academic expectation or family drama, Goodness Gracious Me wasn’t playing down the poignancy of such concerns; it was raising awareness and combatting their uglier side with humour.

It offered resonance and reassurance in equal measure; it was ok to have an embarrassing uncle who insisted he could get you anything much cheaper, including a new kidney, because other people like you did too.

That Goodness Gracious Me was broadcast on a mainstream channel was also a victory for minorities; it made us feel integrated and, perhaps more importantly, accepted. Against the backdrop of Brexit, what wouldn’t we give for that treatment now?

Really, though, the jewel in Goodness Gracious Me’s crown was its willingness to recognise diversity within diversity. It is a relic of a departed era when discourse on TV around Asians was different, when the broad church of that term was truly represented, rather than reduced to one catchall perception of British Muslims.

Goodness Gracious Me offered insight into the experiences and idiosyncrasies – religious or otherwise – of Indians, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Sri Lankans and even English people. It’s what made it so accessible and, in answering why subsequent programmes have failed to reach similar heights, this is a good starting point.

Without the flexible sketch format, the modern Asian sitcom Citizen Khan has struggled to cover multiple topics, and, by being specifically about a Muslim family, it leaves many non-Muslim Asians wondering: where’s ours?

I hasten to add that I feel plenty of sympathy for the British Muslim community, hounded by tabloid headlines that attack their faith, but it would be disingenuous to suggest that non-Muslim Asians are sitting pretty in 2016 and don’t need a similar level of support in terms of positive public perception.

The current volume of British Asian media products is fairly good. The BBC has its dedicated network, The Good Immigrant essay collection was one of the outstanding reads of the year, and we still have champions of comedy in Romesh Ranganathan and Nish Kumar.

But I think ultimately it comes down to the broadness of appeal, rather than the quantity of products. Goodness Gracious Me was not only able to engage the full spectrum of British Asia; it transcended its target audience and was on terrestrial TV.

The British Asian media on offer now is up against it, released as the country’s attitude towards foreigners completes a full circle back to the same suspicion my grandfather encountered in the Sixties.

Fewer outlets are willing to explore the stretch of what it means to be Asian, either by denying it due consideration in mainstream shows or by peddling their own monolithic observations. The BBC Asian Network, for example, is laudable in its existence, but does little to engage the young Asians who aren’t into techno spliced with Bhangra.

The mainstream representations of Asians in Western film and television that are commissioned, meanwhile, are irritatingly limited and sometimes inaccurate. In an article for the Guardian last year, Sara Abassi lamented the disproportionate appetite for “gritty post-9/11 films about conservative Pakistani families”, and that the researchers of American series Homeland failed to realise that the national language of Pakistan isn’t Arabic.

When I interviewed the actor Himesh Patel for the No Country for Brown Men podcast, he suggested that the answer to re-establishing Asians in mainstream media, both here and in America, was three-fold. The first challenge to overcome was for outlets to acknowledge that not all Asians fit the same religious or cultural profile; the second was to be open to placing Asians in non-Asian specific products to better reflect their presence in society.

Patel, who is best known for his portrayal of Tamwar Masood in the soap opera EastEnders, made his third recommendation based on this role. He felt that characters should be written with only their personality in mind, making the ethnicity of the actor who plays them incidental. Tamwar’s awkwardness but underlying kindness, Patel said, was what defined him – not his skin colour.

Goodness Gracious Me, though a primarily Asian show and a comedy at that, actually taught some salient lessons about representation. It succeeded in providing a window into a multiplicity of cultures, but at the same time wasn’t a total slave to the politics of identity – several of the 100-plus characters needn’t have been Asian at all. It was reflexive to the times we lived in and a perfect advertisement for empathy. That is why we still talk about it today.

Rohan Banerjee is a Special Projects Writer at the New Statesman. He co-hosts the No Country For Brown Men podcast.