Why aren't there more lawyers on boards?

The UK should follow the US's example.

A report studying the rise of so-called "lawyer directors" in the USA Today came to my attention recently. The academic study found that lawyers have become increasingly prevalent on corporate boards; as of 2009, 43 per cent of US companies had lawyer directors on their boards; rising from 24 per cent back in 2000. Indeed the authors of the paper opine that a company with a lawyer on its board has a corporate value typically 9.5 per cent higher than a company without and empirically performs better.

Appointing lawyers onto boards helps to reduce external legal risks whilst also improving internal corporate governance. In the USA there is a dawning realisation that lawyers make valuable board-level directors, as the statistics attest, and a cultural shift is well and truly underway.

In the UK however the boardroom narrative is markedly different. There are only 14 lawyers acting in any capacity on the boards of the FTSE 100 and only 20 qualified lawyers currently on boards of the FTSE 250. Very few general counsels or partners of law firms are making the step up to boardroom level and it begs the question, why this disparity between the US and UK? It is clear that there is a negative mindset amongst CEOs and chairmen of public companies in the UK concerning lawyers serving as executive or non-executive directors on boards. Part of this apprehension stems from the notion that lawyers are skilled craftsmen but not capable of managing businesses nor bringing anything other than endless polemic to boardroom discussions. There also exists a misconception that Limited Liability Partnerships (LLPs) are run as siloed businesses, but in today’s globalised business world large law firms are increasingly run in a form very similar to those of public companies, therefore partners are increasingly required to possess managerial skills to run an LLP successfully. Take my own career as a prime example; as Co-Chief Executive of DLA Piper I have not practiced law for years – my role is strategic and managerial, focussed on the day to day business of developing a global law firm.

The notion that lawyers do not possess the requisite skill set to sit on boards is a patent farce.  I would argue that lawyers have a lot to offer beyond their self-evident legal expertise (whilst not denigrating this offering). Most lawyers generally have the vitally important ability to absorb vast reams of complicated and granular information. Not only does this enable he or she to then précis this information into a clear 'big' picture, it is an essential skill for any board level non-executive (or executive) if he or she is to offer any value-enhancing interpretation of the business.

However at present, deconstructive analysis and corporate governance scrutiny is not always what a UK CEO looks for when considering the makeup of his or her board. Perhaps it is time that public companies started to consider more carefully the benefits of appointing analytical thinkers with a risk-averse and best practice approach to corporate governance. A lot of companies could do with a little more probity of that ilk. Lawyers seeking board level appointments must for their part look to expand their exposure to boards of all kinds, be they businesses, schools, local councils or charities, in order to gain more people management experience and learn to think less like a lawyer and more like a business person. Perhaps then we shall see more lawyers on boards and a cultural shift akin to the US will manifest itself here in the UK.

Photograph: Getty Images

Co-CEO of DLA Piper

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This week, a top tip to save on washing powder (just don’t stand too near the window)

I write this, at 3.04pm on a sticky Thursday afternoon, in the state in which Adam, before his shame, strolled in the Garden of Eden.

Well, in the end I didn’t have to go to Ikea (see last week’s column). I got out of it on the grounds that I was obviously on the verge of a tantrum, always distressing to witness in a man in his early-to-mid-fifties, and because I am going to Switzerland.

“Why Switzerland?” I hear you ask. For the usual reason: because someone is paying for me. I don’t think I’m going to be earning any money there, but at least I’ll be getting a flight to Zurich and a scenic train ride to Bellinzona, which I learn is virtually in Italy, and has three castles that, according to one website, are considered to be “amongst the finest examples of medieval fortification in Switzerland”.

I’m not sure what I’m meant to be doing there. It’s all about a literary festival generally devoted to literature in translation, and specifically this year to London-based writers. The organiser, who rejoices in the first name of Nausikaa, says that all I have to do is “attend a short meeting . . . and be part of the festival”. Does this mean I can go off on a stroll around an Alp and when someone asks me what I’m doing, I can say “Oh, I’m part of the festival”? Or do I have to stay within the fortifications, wearing a lanyard or something?

It’s all rather worrying, if I think about it too hard, but then I can plausibly claim to be from London and, moreover, it’ll give me a couple of days in which to shake off my creditors, who are making the city a bit hot for me at the moment.

And gosh, as I write, the city is hot. When I worked at British Telecom in the late Eighties, there was a rudimentary interoffice communication system on which people could relay one-line messages from their own computer terminal to another’s, or everyone else’s at once. (This was cutting-edge tech at the time.) The snag with this – or the opportunity, if you will – was that if you were not at your desk and someone mischievous, such as Gideon from Accounts (he didn’t work in Accounts; I’m protecting his true identity), walked past he would pause briefly to type in the message “I’m naked” on your machine and fire it off to everyone in the building.

For some reason, the news that either Geoff, the senior team leader, or Helen, the unloved HR manager, was working in the nude – even if we knew, deep down, that they weren’t, and that this was another one of Gideon’s jeux d’esprit – never failed to break the monotony.

It always amused us, though we were once treated to a terrifying mise en abîme moment when a message, again pertaining to personal nudity, came from Gideon’s very own terminal, and, for one awful moment, for it was a very warm day, about 200 white-collar employees of BT’s Ebury Bridge Road direct marketing division suddenly entertained the appalling possibility, and the vision it summoned, that Gideon had indeed removed every stitch of his clothing, and fired off his status quo update while genuinely in the nip. He was, after all, entirely capable of it. (We still meet up from time to time, we BT stalwarts, and Gideon is largely unchanged, except that he’s now a history lecturer.)

I digress in this fashion in order to build up to the declaration – whose veracity you can judge for yourselves – that as I write this, at 3.04pm on a sticky Thursday afternoon, I, too, am in the state in which Adam, before his shame, strolled in the Garden of Eden.

There are practical reasons for this. For one thing, it is punishingly hot, and I am beginning, even after a morning shower, to smell like a tin of oxtail soup (to borrow an unforgettable phrase first coined by Julie Burchill). I am also anxious not to transfer any of this odour to any of my clothes, for I will be needing them in Switzerland, and I am running low on washing powder, as well as money to buy more washing powder.

For another thing, I am fairly sure that I am alone in the Hovel. I am not certain. To be certain, I would have to call out my housemate’s name, and that would only be the beginning of our problems. “Yes, I’m here,” she would reply from her room. “Why?” “Um . . .” You see?

So here I lie on my bed, laptop in lap, every window as wide open as can be, and looking for all the world like a hog roast with glasses.

If I step too near the window I could get arrested. At least they don’t mind that kind of thing in Switzerland: they strip off at the drop of a hat. Oh no, wait, that’s Germany.

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times