Why nobody wants to admit they're part of the 1 per cent

A culture of secrecy over executive pay is holding back attempts to tackle inequality.

Last week another public figure, the Archbishop of York, Dr John Sentamu, had his two penn'orth on top executive pay, decrying the excesses of the financial sector as unfair and bad for society. But for all the air time given to the issue of levels of pay, discussing how much we are paid remains a social taboo - a subject best avoided in polite circles.

It raises the question - how do we address the thorny issues of high levels of pay amongst elite groups in society and income inequality, if we do not know how high earners themselves think about their pay and its effect on society? Changing behaviour is always tough, but in this case will be particularly difficult without a better understanding of how high earners see the world and their place in it.

To shed more light on this, the High Pay Commission, an independent inquiry into top pay in the private sector, commissioned Ipsos MORI to talk to a group of top earners - people in the top 1 per cent of the UK's income distribution.

The research shows that the taboo around discussing your pay inhibits rational debate on the subject and distorts the way top earners see their salaries.

First, hardly anyone who took part in the study considered themselves to be rich. High earners feel closer to the "squeezed middle" than the "super rich". They considered that their costs of living were too high for them to be more than "comfortably off". For them, "rich" means Bill Gates rich - having too much to be realistically able to spend.

Transparency around pay is not a cultural norm in the UK. There is a culture of secrecy over pay for many high earners. Some have little basis for comparison, aside from occasional conversations with headhunters. And the more senior they get, the more difficult it is to discuss pay.

They are not immune to the current media commentary on pay and discussions of bankers' bonuses. Compared to a similar sample of high earners in 2008, these high earners are more thoughtful about the way society values them and less likely to claim that they deserve their pay purely through their own hard work and skills.

So, satisfaction with pay is based on a sense of entitlement - if that is what the industry pays, that is what I should be getting. They do not justify their high pay by claiming that they work harder than everyone else or have more specialist skills. Some told us that they bring value to their companies which exceed their salary cost. But at the same time, they acknowledge that an individual's contribution to corporate success is hard to quantify and so pay does not always reflect individual performance.

Instead, the people who are paid most are those who are best at pay negotiations and "selling" themselves effectively.

Overall, they recognise that there is income inequality and they are to a great extent fortunate to earn what they do. They feel some industries simply pay high and there is a hefty dose of luck involved.

Here lies the tricky issue. High earners believe high pay is an institutional, global and systemic phenomenon. They also mention a number of social benefits coming from having high earners in our midst - for example, they believe in the trickle-down effect of high salaries to the rest of society.

There may be potential to communicate with high earners about changing the way society values different incomes, but they do not have faith that any local interventions around equalising pay would work.

Those in the City felt that asking the City in particular to behave differently is unlikely to work - as it only answers to its own rules.

So where does this leave public policy on the issue?

In a world where high earners do not talk about their pay and underestimate how close to the top they are, something is needed to get high earners out of their "bubble" - to take high pay out of the shadows and make it clear how different the top 1 per cent are from the other 99 per cent.

Ministers have urged companies to publish salaries voluntarily. It seems unlikely that many companies will accept the invitation. But however it is achieved, greater transparency about salaries might help high earners themselves understand the challenges of income inequality - and get on board with an agenda to reduce it.

Sarah Castell is Head of Qualitative Methods at Ipsos MORI

ELLIE FOREMAN-PECK FOR NEW STATESMAN
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The triumph of Misbah-ul-Haq, the quiet grafter

How Misbah redeemed Pakistani cricket.

It was an incongruous sight: the entire Pakistani cricket team doing press-ups on the revered pitch at Lord’s, led by its captain, Misbah-ul-Haq. This unusual celebration marked not merely a Test match victory over England on Sunday but something greater: the rehabilitation of Pakistani cricket.

Seven years earlier, the Sri Lankan team bus was en route to the cricket stadium in Lahore for the third day of a Test match against Pakistan when it was attacked by Islamist militants. Gunfire killed six police officers and a driver; several Sri Lankan cricketers were also injured. That was the last Test match played in Pakistan, which, despite protestations, opponents consider too dangerous to visit.

A year later, Pakistan toured England for a Test series. The News of the World alleged that in the final match at Lord’s three Pakistani cricketers had conspired to bowl no-balls in exchange for money. All three received bans of five years or more for corruption. The entire squad was lampooned; police had to shield its members from abuse as they arrived home.

Misbah was on the periphery of all of this. Aged 36 at the time, he was dropped from the squad before the English tour and seemed unlikely to play international cricket again. But the turbulence engulfing Pakistani cricket forced the selectors to reassess. Not only was Misbah recalled but he was made captain. “You have to ask yourself,” he later said: “‘Have I been the captain because they supported me, or because they had no alternatives?’”

Pakistani cricket prizes and mythologises teenage talent plucked from obscurity and brought into the international side. During his decade as captain, Imran Khan picked 11 teenagers to make their debuts, often simply on the basis of being wowed by their performance in the nets. Misbah shows that another way is possible. He grew up in Mianwali, a city that was so remote that: “The culture there wasn’t such that you thought about playing for Pakistan.”

At the behest of his parents, he devoted his early twenties not to his promising batting but to gaining an MBA. Only at 24 did he make his first-class debut, strikingly late in an age when professional sportsmen are expected to dedicate all their energy to the game from their teenage years.

Pakistani cricket has always been “a little blip of chaos to the straight lines of order”, Osman Samiuddin writes in The Unquiet Ones. Misbah has created order out of chaos. He is unflappable and methodical, both as a captain and as a batsman. His mood seems impervious to results. More than anything, he is resilient.

He has led Pakistan to 21 Test victories – seven more than any other captain. He has done this with a bowling attack ravaged by the 2010 corruption scandal and without playing a single match at home. Because of security concerns, Pakistan now play in the United Arab Emirates, sometimes in front of fewer than a hundred supporters.

Misbah has developed a team that marries professionalism with the self-expression and flair for which his country’s cricket is renowned. And he has scored runs – lots of them. Over his 43 Tests as captain, he has averaged at 56.68. Few have been so empowered by responsibility, or as selfless. He often fields at short leg, the most dangerous position in the game and one usually reserved for the team’s junior player.

Misbah has retained his capacity to surprise. As a batsman, he has a reputation for stoic defence. Yet, in November 2014 he reached a century against Australia in just 56 balls, equalling the previous record for the fastest ever Test innings, held by Viv Richards. The tuk-tuk had become a Ferrari.

Late in 2015, Misbah tried to retire. He was 41 and had helped to keep Pakistani cricket alive during some of its darkest days. But the selectors pressured him to stay on, arguing that the team would need him during its arduous tours to England and Australia.

They were right. His crowning glory was still to come. The team arrived in England following weeks of training with the national army in Abbottabad. “The army people are not getting much salaries, but for this flag and for the Pakistani nation, they want to sacrifice their lives,” Misbah said. “That’s a big motivation for all of us. Everyone is really putting effort in for that flag and the nation.”

Now 42, almost a decade older than any cricketer in England’s side, Misbah fulfilled a lifetime’s ambition by playing in a Test match at Lord’s. In Pakistan’s first innings, he scored a century and celebrated with push-ups on the outfield, in homage to the army’s fitness regime and those who had had the temerity to mock his age.

When Pakistan secured victory a little after 6pm on the fourth evening of the game, the entire team imitated the captain’s push-ups, then saluted the national flag. The applause for them reverberated far beyond St John’s Wood.

“It’s been a remarkable turnaround after the 2010 incident,” Misbah-ul-Haq said, ever undemonstrative.

He would never say as much, but he has done more than anyone else to lead Pakistan back to glory. 

Tim Wigmore is a contributing writer to the New Statesman and the author of Second XI: Cricket In Its Outposts.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt