So you think some salaries are too high? Just how high is too high, then?

I am not suggesting that £3m a year is not a lot of money..

I’d like to start this piece with two disclaimers. First, this is not intended as a justification of large remuneration packages for executives. Second, nor is it an article saying it’s right that someone earns 100 times what someone else does. But this is an article attempting to look at the other side of the debate. And it is written from a personal perspective, as an observer of the debate. This is not a headhunter trying to curry favour with their client base, or justify fee increases

We have to make a choice in this country. We either pay market-rate salaries and give ourselves the best chance of employing superb people, or we rely on extraordinary people deciding to do a job for far less than they could earn somewhere else. The only other option is to accept that paying below market rate gets us the equivalent employees. Large shareholders are comfortable with the first option.

I wrote the above in 2012. It was for an article defending Stephen Hester’s right to take a bonus where the criteria attached to it had been set three years before, where he had hit the criteria needed to trigger a bonus and where he was not receiving a full bonus because he had not hit every criteria. But people in positions of mass influence decided that this was unacceptable and we all know what happened then.

Yes, I am a headhunter writing in support of people being paid large salaries, and I know how it might look. But that does not change the fact that the first paragraph holds true. It might be worth me explaining why I believe this is so high profile now, and why taking an insular view will impact our competitiveness in the future.

I think anyone earning £1m a year or more is earning a very large amount of money. These sums are not trivial. I’m also conscious of the other argument against large salaries, namely how a banker compares with a nurse in terms of earnings and impact on society. I write this as the son of a teacher.

The challenge is that a vocational role will always be rewarded on the basis that most people doing it will do it for the bare minimum. In a capitalist world, if you can’t show the financial effect of your work, you can’t argue for a percentage of it. Again, this is an oversimplification but worth bearing in mind.

People leading businesses have always earned substantial sums of money. While there have been grumbles about this over the years, there has never been the sort of public outcry we are seeing now. So why is this? Well, I am reminded of an episode of Have I Got News For You several years ago. There was, for the time, the usual piece about MPs’ expenses.

One of the guests was Reginald D Hunter, the American comedian. After listening to the four British people on the panel for ages, he asked a few questions – the gist of which was “has this just started or has it been happening for ages?”.

Upon hearing that it had been happening for ages, he questioned whether the public outrage was a recent development. When the answer was “yes”, he basically said: “So, what you are telling me is that when everyone had enough money no-one cared about what the MPs were doing, but now the economy is in trouble, and people have less money, everyone cares?”

I feel the argument about remuneration does the same. If we are not careful we will start to hurt this county’s ability to ensure the finest people globally are running our enterprises. And that can’t be good for everyone.

But it’s when you turn to the numbers themselves that you hit an issue. Simplistically, how do you define what number is too big? You can look at multiples of the average national salary, or the average salary within an organisation. You can look at what feels morally like too big a number. Or you can make a comparison to what the prime minister earns. Or, as one Sunday paper did, to what the Archbishop of Canterbury earns. These are all arbitrary parallels. And none of them factor in that we work within a global context that continues to feel far smaller.

If we want the UK corporate world to play on a global stage and win, and offer an environment that global enterprise wants to trade with and work within, then we have to operate on that basis. That means we need a tax structure that the world is comfortable with, an employment environment businesses can work under and a remuneration system that encourages the world’s best talent to view the UK as a good place to do business in.

If you are a business person able to work globally and you are sought after, you can choose where you work and which organisation get the benefit of your experience and ability. Your first choice is likely to be a business based in the US. If you deliver, you can earn £200m over five years and be feted as a wonderful human. Your second choice is a UK-based business. If you deliver you can earn £15m over five years and be vilified in the press on an annual basis.

To be clear, I am not suggesting that £3m a year is not a lot of money. It’s a fortune. But when taken in context, against the global market place businesses work in, in the competitive world we all work in, factoring in the rewards paid to other executives in different countries, it does not look quite so outrageous.

If the large shareholders are comfortable paying global market-rate salaries, maybe its time the press and the public were, too.

Mark Freebairn is partner and head of the Financial Management practice at Odgers Berndtson

This article first appeared on economia

Photograph: Getty Images

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue