Are MPs underpaid? The key numbers

MPs' current salary of £66,396 puts them in the top 5 per cent of earners but they are paid significantly less than parliamentarians in other countries.

In a proposal seemingly drawn from the Louis XVI school of public relations, the Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority (IPSA) will recommend today that MPs receive a pay rise of around 11 per cent (£8,604) to £75,000 after 2015. The increase will be tempered by the replacement of MPs' final salary pension scheme with one based on a career average, cuts to evening meal allowances (a payment of up to £15 when the Commons sits beyond 7:30pm) and transport expenses, and lower "resttlement grants" or "golden goodbyes" (currently worth up to £33,000) for MPs who retire or lose their seat, but will still represent a net gain. 

While few are likely to publicly defend the salary increase, at a time when public sector pay rises have been capped at 1 per cent until 2015-16 (following a two-year pay freeze), most MPs do believe they are underpaid. A survey of 100 MPs conducted by YouGov on IPSA's behalf found that 69 per cent thought they were underpaid, with an average salary of £86,250 proposed. On average, Tory MPs proposed a salary of £96,740, the Lib Dems £78,361 and Labour £77,322. A fifth suggested that they should be paid £95,000 or more. But are they right to believe they get a raw deal? Here are some of the key metrics for answering that question. 

Do they earn more than the average wage?

Yes, the median full-time salary is £26,500, so MPs' current pay of £66,396 puts them comfortably in the top 5 per cent of earners. 

Are they paid less than other major professions?

Yes, council chief executives (£134,528), GPs (£88,920), senior civil servants (£88,000), army colonels (£85,359), headteachers (£78,298) and police chief superintendents (£72,649) all earn significantly more. 

Do they earn less now than in the past?

No, by historical standards, the current regime is generous. In 1979, MPs were paid £9,450, the equivalent of £40,490 in real terms. Their pay has since risen by more than 50 per cent, compared to an average increase of 37 per cent.

Are they poorly paid for the hours they work?

Here, MPs are on a stronger footing. A survey by The Hansard Society found that new MPs work an average of 69 hours a week, excluding travel, with constituency casework representing the largest share of their time (28 per cent), followed by constituency meetings and events (21 per cent) and debates in the Commons Chamber (21 per cent).

The poll also found that more than half (56 per cent) took a salary cut on entering parliament. 

Are they paid less than parliamentarians in other countries?

In short, yes. 

Japan £165,945

Australia £120,875

Italy £112,898

US £108,032

Canada £99,322

EU MEPs £75,114

Ireland £74,495

Germany £73,953

UK £66,396

France £53,186

Spain £27,130

Do the public think they should be paid more?

Unsurprisingly, they do not. A YouGov survey found that 17 per cent believe MPs should receive the proposed pay rise of around £10,000, with 68 per cent opposed.

Fifty per cent believe thay are paid too much already, 35 per cent that their pay is "about right" and 9 per cent that they are paid too little. 

Some of the 232 new MPs pose after the 2010 general election in Westminster Hall. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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The decline of the north's sporting powerhouse

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Now, things are different.

On a drive between Sheffield and Barnsley, I spotted a striking painting of the Kes poster. Billy Casper’s two-fingered salute covered the wall of a once-popular pub that is now boarded up.

It is almost 50 years since the late Barry Hines wrote A Kestrel for a Knave, the novel that inspired Ken Loach’s 1969 film, and it seems that the defiant, us-against-the-world, stick-it-to-the-man Yorkshireness he commemorated still resonates here. Almost two-thirds of the people of south Yorkshire voted to leave the EU, flicking two fingers up at what they saw as a London-based establishment, detached from life beyond the capital.

But whatever happened to Billy the unlikely lad, and the myriad other northern characters who were once the stars of stage and screen? Like the pitheads that dominated Casper’s tightly knit neighbourhood, they have disappeared from the landscape. The rot set in during the 1980s, when industries were destroyed and communities collapsed, a point eloquently made in Melvyn Bragg’s excellent radio series The Matter of the North.

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Yet today, we rarely get to hear the voices of Barnsley, Sheffield, Doncaster and Rotherham. And the Yorkshire sporting powerhouse is no more – at least, not as we once knew it.

This should be a matter of national concern. The White Rose county is, after all, the home of the world’s oldest registered football club – Sheffield FC, formed in 1857 – and the first English team to win three successive League titles, Huddersfield Town, in the mid-1920s. Hull City are now Yorkshire’s lone representative in the Premier League.

Howard Wilkinson, the manager of Leeds United when they were crowned champions in 1992, the season before the Premier League was founded, lamented the passing of a less money-obsessed era. “My dad worked at Orgreave,” he said, “the scene of Mrs Thatcher’s greatest hour, bless her. You paid for putting an axe through what is a very strong culture of community and joint responsibility.”

The best-known scene in Loach’s film shows a football match in which Mr Sugden, the PE teacher, played by Brian Glover, comically assumes the role of Bobby Charlton. It was played out on the muddy school fields of Barnsley’s run-down Athersley estate. On a visit to his alma mater a few years ago, David Bradley, who played the scrawny 15-year-old Billy, showed me the goalposts that he had swung from as a reluctant goalkeeper. “You can still see the dint in the crossbar,” he said. When I spoke to him recently, Bradley enthused about his lifelong support for Barnsley FC. “But I’ve not been to the ground over the last season and a half,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Bradley is not alone. Many long-standing fans have been priced out. Barnsley is only a Championship side, but for their home encounter with Newcastle last October, their fans had to pay £30 for a ticket.

The English game is rooted in the northern, working-class communities that have borne the brunt of austerity over the past six years. The top leagues – like the EU – are perceived to be out of touch and skewed in favour of the moneyed elites.

Bradley, an ardent Remainer, despaired after the Brexit vote. “They did not know what they were doing. But I can understand why. There’s still a lot of neglect, a lot of deprivation in parts of Barnsley. They feel left behind because they have been left behind.”

It is true that there has been a feel-good factor in Yorkshire following the Rio Olympics; if the county were a country, it would have finished 17th in the international medals table. Yet while millions have been invested in “podium-level athletes”, in the team games that are most relevant to the lives of most Yorkshire folk – football, cricket and rugby league – there is a clear division between sport’s elites and its grass roots. While lucrative TV deals have enriched ruling bodies and top clubs, there has been a large decrease in the number of adults playing any sport in the four years since London staged the Games.

According to figures from Sport England, there are now 67,000 fewer people in Yorkshire involved in sport than there were in 2012. In Doncaster, to take a typical post-industrial White Rose town, there has been a 13 per cent drop in participation – compared with a 0.4 per cent decline nationally.

Attendances at rugby league, the region’s “national sport”, are falling. But cricket, in theory, is thriving, with Yorkshire winning the County Championship in 2014 and 2015. Yet Joe Root, the batsman and poster boy for this renaissance, plays far more games for his country than for his county and was rested from Yorkshire’s 2016 title decider against Middlesex.

“Root’s almost not a Yorkshire player nowadays,” said Stuart Rayner, whose book The War of the White Roses chronicles the club’s fortunes between 1968 and 1986. As a fan back then, I frequently watched Geoffrey Boycott and other local stars at Headingley. My favourite was the England bowler Chris Old, a gritty, defiant, unsung anti-hero in the Billy Casper mould.

When Old made his debut, 13 of the 17-strong Yorkshire squad were registered as working-class professionals. Half a century later, three of the five Yorkshiremen selec­ted for the last Ashes series – Root, Jonny Bairstow and Gary Ballance – were privately educated. “The game of cricket now is played in public schools,” Old told me. “Top players are getting huge amounts of money, but the grass-roots game doesn’t seem to have benefited in any way.”

“In ten years’ time you won’t get a Joe Root,” Rayner said. “If you haven’t seen these top Yorkshire cricketers playing in your backyard and you haven’t got Sky, it will be difficult to get the whole cricket bug. So where is the next generation of Roots going to come from?” Or the next generation of Jessica Ennis-Hills? Three years ago, the Sheffield stadium where she trained and first discovered athletics was closed after cuts to local services.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era