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

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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.