Paying Charity CEOs large amounts isn't as bad as it looks

A turn-off, but not a scandal.

The Charity Commission warns that spiralling levels of chief executive pay risk bringing organisations and the wider charitable sector into disrepute, following news in the Telegraph that 30 charity chiefs are paid more than £100,000.

High levels of pay and administration costs can be a real turn off. This comes from a natural desire to ensure that money is well-spent, which for a number of people means as much money as possible goes directly to the front-line, to helping people most in need.

To begin with, if all the money goes to the frontline, but staff at the front-line are being ineffective because the strategy’s poor, then that money’s been badly spent. For us, there isn’t a level at which pay in the charity sector becomes too high; charities are trying to solve some of our most stubborn social problems and they need to attract talent to be able to do that.

Pay in charities is a much more finely balanced argument than is usually supposed. We’ve put together some advice on how donors can think about whether or not giving to a charity with high salaries should be a cause for concern:

First, and most importantly, it’s all about impact. Knowing that children have been sponsored or that schools have been built isn’t enough: you need to know exactly what difference the charity is making, and how this is happening. Action on Hearing Loss’s annual report provides a summary of what it has achieved against its aims, which helps donors decide whether the organisation spends their money well.

Second, you need to consider the complexity of the charity. The CEO of Oxfam is paid £120,000, and is responsible for a £360 million budget, 700 shops in the UK and 5,000 employees and 20,000 volunteers who work in over 90 countries across the world—some of them very risky places to be. £120,000 doesn’t feel like a lot in the context of that job description. The CEO of Next also runs 700 shops (but no humanitarian aid) and gets nearly £1.5m. Of course, this is all proportionate to the task and budget at hand: you don’t want a £500,000 income charity to spend £100,000 on its CEO’s salary.

Third, although its difficult to tell from the outside, what value is the CEO bringing? Have they increased the charity’s profile and fundraising? Have they devised a good strategy? If the case is that you need to pay up for talent, then supporters should be able to see the fruits of that talent.

Finally, it’s worth thinking about the quality of the staff throughout the organisation. If the charity is making an argument that they need to pay well to attract the best staff at the top, then you want them to apply the same logic to front-line staff. Medicins Sans Frontières has a rule that the chief executive can’t be paid more than three times the pay of the lowest paid member of staff.

By making the judgement call based on these factors — and not on gut feelings about pay — more money will be well spent. We’d like to see the impact of the UK’s leading aid charities make the headlines, instead of six-figure salaries that really say nothing on their own.

Angela Kail is head of Funder Effectiveness at New Philanthropy Capital, which helps donors choose effective charities

This piece first appeared on Spear's.

Photograph: Getty Images

This is a story from the team at Spears magazine.

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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

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 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war