Bankers' pay is high because there's too much money in the finance sector

The EU's attempt to cap banker's bonuses trundles on. But it's misdirected, writes Alex Hern.

As predicted, George Osborne made a last-ditch attempt yesterday to prevent the EU's cap on banker's bonuses being institutedtelling the convention of finance ministers that he "cannot support the proposal on the table". Despite the suggestion from Germany of a minor tweak to the proposals, apparently to give Osborne the chance to claim he'd won concessions, the Chancellor continued with his opposition, and so Britain remains the only EU nation not in favour of the cap.

There is still some fine detail left to be negotiated over the next few weeks, so if Osborne doesn't want to make the politically significant choice of being explicitly out-voted by the EU for the first time on this issue he could change his stance; but, as the Guardian's Ian Traynor writes, "there was no doubt that the central decision, to clamp down on bonuses, was irreversible".

Now that victory is within their grasp, some in Europe are looking to the next battle. The Telegraph's Louise Armitstead and Bruno Waterfield report that Spain's finance minister, Luis de Guindos, is looking at applying the same rules to salaries overall:

“We are very much in favour of the limitation on variable remuneration but that’s not the only issue,” he said. “The question is also the entirety of remuneration, which is sometimes more important. And Spain’s position is that shareholders’ meetings must have a major involvement and should decide the overall remuneration of bankers.”

De Guindos' plan hints at the real aim of the bonus cap. As I wrote last week, there are a number of possible targets, and the cap is flawed at achieving any of them. It will do little to affect the balance of risk in the system; little to affect the overall remuneration of bankers; and, since bonuses are more of a historical artefact than a considered motivation to action, there's not really any reason to think that they actually have any effect from the start.

It's clear from de Guindos' words that at least some of the support for capping bonuses comes because it's seen as an easy way to reduce the pay of bankers; and that now that that's done, the salaries should be next in line.

But as the Guardian's Zoe Williams discovered, the money has to go somewhere. Tim Simons, "who works in operations for a government-owned investment bank", makes the point to her:

"When a bank makes money, it either pays to its employees; or it pays to its shareholders – the wealthy, I call them."
"But aren't the employees wealthy too?"
"No, traders aren't wealthy, they're just well-paid."

For similar reasons, I've heard bankers refer to their profession—with tongue firmly in cheek—as the ultimate victory of Marxism. It is, after all, an industry in which the workers have successfully captured nearly all the surplus value they create.

Simons seems correct that the trade-off the banks face is between handing money to employees or shareholders. Take this, from 2005 but still relevant:

During in the past four years, securities firms in the US paid $7bn more in bonuses than they made in profits, $3bn more in 2004 alone… And compensation stays high even when profits are down. When J.P. Morgan admitted to bad bets last month, it slashed its net income for the second quarter. But during the same period, it paid employees more than $4bn, as it has in each of the past four quarters. On average, shareholders got just one dollar $1 for every $4 paid to employees.

But what that highlights the real problem for people who feel that bankers' pay is inequitable, distortionary, or in some other way problematic: ultimately, the pay is just a symptom of the fact that banking is an extraordinarily profitable industry.

In the US, finance accounts for just 8 per cent of GDP, but almost 30 per cent of corporate profits:

Noah Smith, examining why that might be, suggests that banking as a sector has naturally enormous economies of scale, and very few diseconomies. Put them together, and the tendency toward monopoly in finance is even greater than it is in capitalism generally. And so banks gain monopoly (or, more accurately, oligopoly) status, and can extract monopoly profits.

That even fits with what Simons told Williams. His dichotomy— "money goes to the employees or the shareholders"—misses the fact that banks could use that money sloshing around to boost the amount they pay savers, lower the interest rate they charge on loans, or reduce the fees and charges they levy on customers. (That applies just as much to investment banking as conventional retail banking). In a competitive industry, that's what would happen; but finance isn't a competitive industry.

The vast sums of money floating around the system have to exit it somewhere. High pay—and high pay in the city particularly—has a corrosive effect on the nation, but to tackle it without addressing the anticompetitive nature of the finance sector overall is prescribing painkillers to heal a broken arm.

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

Getty.
Show Hide image

Andy Burnham and Sadiq Khan are both slippery self-mythologisers – so why do we rate one more than the other?

Their obsessions with their childhoods have both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

Andy Burnham is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s widely seen as an unprincipled flip-flopper.

Sadiq Khan is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s the hugely popular mayor of London, the voice of those who’d be proud to think of themselves as the metropolitan liberal elite, and is even talked of as a possible future leader of the Labour party.

Oh, and also they were both born in 1970. So that’s a thing they have in common, too.

Why it is this approach to politics should have worked so much better for the mayor of London than the would-be mayor of Manchester is something I’ve been trying to work out for a while. There are definite parallels between Burnham’s attempts to present himself as a normal northern bloke who likes normal things like football, and Sadiq’s endless reminders that he’s a sarf London geezer whose dad drove a bus. They’ve both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

And yes, Burnham apparent tendency to switch sides, on everything from NHS privatisation to the 2015 welfare vote to the leadership of Jeremy Corbyn, has given him a reputation for slipperiness. But Sadiq’s core campaign pledge was to freeze London transport fares; everyone said it was nonsense, and true to form it was, and you’d be hard pressed to find an observer who thought this an atypical lapse on the mayor’s part. (Khan, too, has switched sides on the matter of Jeremy Corbyn.)

 And yet, he seems to get away with this, in a way that Burnham doesn’t. His low-level duplicity is factored in, and it’s hard to judge him for it because, well, it’s just what he’s like, isn’t it? For a long time, the Tory leadership’s line on London’s last mayor was “Boris is Boris”, meaning, look, we don’t trust him either, but what you gonna do? Well: Sadiq is Sadiq.

Even the names we refer to them by suggest that one of these two guys is viewed very differently from the other. I’ve instinctively slipped into referring to the mayor of London by his first name: he’s always Sadiq, not Khan, just as his predecessors were Boris and Ken. But, despite Eoin Clarke’s brief attempt to promote his 2015 leadership campaign with a twitter feed called “Labour Andy”, Burnham is still Burnham: formal, not familiar. 

I’ve a few theories to explain all this, though I’ve no idea which is correct. For a while I’ve assumed it’s about sincerity. When Sadiq Khan mentions his dad’s bus for the 257th time in a day, he does it with a wink to the audience, making a crack about the fact he won’t stop going on about it. That way, the message gets through to the punters at home who are only half listening, but the bored lobby hacks who’ve heard this routine two dozen times before feel they’re in the joke.

Burnham, it seems to me, lacks this lightness of touch: when he won’t stop banging on about the fact he grew up in the north, it feels uncomfortably like he means it. And to take yourself seriously in politics is sometimes to invite others to make jokes at your expense.

Then again, perhaps the problem is that Burnham isn’t quite sincere enough. Sadiq Khan genuinely is the son of a bus-driving immigrant: he may keep going on about it, but it is at least true. Burnham’s “just a northern lad” narrative is true, too, but excludes some crucial facts: that he went to Cambridge, and was working in Parliament aged 24. Perhaps that shouldn’t change how we interpret his story; but I fear, nonetheless, it does.

Maybe that’s not it, though: maybe I’m just another London media snob. Because Burnham did grow up at the disadvantaged end of the country, a region where, for too many people, chasing opportunities means leaving. The idea London is a city where the son of a bus driver can become mayor flatters our metropolitan self-image; the idea that a northerner who wants to build a career in politics has to head south at the earliest opportunity does the opposite. 

So if we roll our eyes when Burnham talks about the north, perhaps that reflects badly on us, not him: the opposite of northern chippiness is southern snobbery.

There’s one last possibility for why we may rate Sadiq Khan more highly than Andy Burnham: Sadiq Khan won. We can titter a little at the jokes and the fibs but he is, nonetheless, mayor of London. Andy Burnham is just the bloke who lost two Labour leadership campaigns.

At least – for now. In six weeks time, he’s highly likely to the first mayor of Greater Manchester. Slipperiness is not the worst quality in a mayor; and so much of the job will be about banging the drum for the city, and the region, that Burnham’s tendency to wear his northernness on his sleeve will be a positive boon.

Sadiq Khan’s stature has grown because the fact he became London’s mayor seems to say something, about the kind of city London is and the kind we want it to be. Perhaps, after May, Andy Burnham can do the same for the north – and the north can do the same for Andy Burnham.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.