So four Google executives are paying themselves $15m in bonuses, despite the company's bad behaviour...

But we should all calm down. This isn't as bad as it seems.

Arguably, the two business metrics that capture most public attention in the post-2008 media climate are the value of fines levied for bad behaviour, and the bonuses paid to top executives.

The cathartic element in seeing a big company charged for wrongdoing, and the commensurate outrage of sums on a similar scale being offered to individuals as a reward for business conducted during the same period, are always bound to resonate in a climate where people feel they have been impoverished by greed on an epic scale.

So how has the world reacted to fine and bonus figures released by Google, as the web giant reported $15 million in bonuses paid to four executives, and $7m in fines to 38 US states over invasion of privacy through Google Street View?

Understandably, commentators have been quick to jump on the latter. A $7m fine is hilariously small for a company with a market cap of $274bn and latest annual profits of $2.89bn: a typo in the first draft of this article had the fine set at $7, which it might as well have been, for all the difference it makes.

The fine is far more interesting in terms of reputation than financial impact, especially when associated clauses are considered. As well as binning the contested Street View data, Google has been required to run a ten year employee training program on privacy, and launch a public service advertising campaign on securing wireless networks.

If Microsoft had been considering canning its “Scroogled” smear campaign on Google’s privacy attitudes, as some speculated earlier this month, it is likely to have reconsidered in light of the Street View fines.

But even though Google’s bonuses more than double what it has been fined, I am yet to find any censure online for the $15m payout offered to bosses. After all, even though the smallest bonus – chief business officer Nikesh Arora’s $2.8m – is dream money for most of us disgruntled mortals, it hardly seems berserk against the backdrop of such gargantuan revenues and profits.

This is certainly not news when compared with RBS, a company with a market cap of $33bn compared to Google’s $274, handing over more than $600m in payouts to executives at the same time as being fined $400m over the LIBOR scandal - in itself arguably a drop in the ocean.

If anything, the fact that Google co-founders Larry Page and Sergey Brin are not to receive bonuses at all seems positively saintly, and goes some way to negating any reputational damage over the Street View incident.

The reason for this, however, is that both men are already worth over $20bn, making even RBS executives look like the rest of us by comparison.  With figures like that floating around, I’m surprised anyone reported on Google’s bonus payments and snooping fines at all.

Photograph: Getty Images

By day, Fred Crawley is editor of Credit Today and Insolvency Today. By night, he reviews graphic novels for the New Statesman.

Photo: Getty
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We argue over Charlie Gard, but forget those spending whole lives caring for a disabled child

The everyday misery of care work is hidden behind abstract arguments over life and death.

“Sometimes,” says the mother, “I wish we’d let him go. Or that he’d just been allowed to slip away.” The father agrees, sometimes. So too does the child, who is not a child any more.

On good days, nobody thinks this way, but not all days are good. There have been bright spots during the course of the past four decades, occasional moments of real hope, but now everyone is tired, everyone is old and the mundane work of loving takes a ferocious toll.

When we talk about caring for sick children, we usually mean minors. It’s easiest that way. That for some parents, the exhaustion and intensity of those first days with a newborn never, ever ends – that you can be in your fifties, sixties, seventies, caring for a child in their twenties, thirties, forties – is not something the rest of us want to think about.

It’s hard to romanticise devotion strung out over that many hopeless, sleepless nights. Better to imagine the tragic mother holding on to the infant who still fits in her loving arms, not the son who’s now twice her size, himself edging towards middle-age and the cliff edge that comes when mummy’s no longer around.

Writing on the tragic case of Charlie Gard, the Guardian’s Giles Fraser claims that he would “rain fire on the whole world to hold my child for a day longer”. The Gard case, he argues, has “set the cool rational compassion of judicial judgement and clinical expertise against the passion of parental love”: “Which is why those who have never smelled the specific perfume of Charlie’s neck, those who have never held him tight or wept and prayed over his welfare, are deemed better placed to determine how he is to live and die.”

This may be true. It may also be true that right now, countless parents who have smelled their own child’s specific perfume, held them tightly, wept for them, loved them beyond all measure, are wishing only for that child’s suffering to end. What of their love? What of their reluctance to set the world aflame for one day more? And what of their need for a life of their own, away from the fantasies of those who’ll passionately defend a parent’s right to keep their child alive but won’t be there at 5am, night after night, cleaning out feeding tubes and mopping up shit?

Parental – in particular, maternal – devotion is seen as an endlessly renewable resource. A real parent never gets tired of loving. A real parent never wonders whether actually, all things considered, it might have caused less suffering for a child never to have been born at all. Such thoughts are impermissible, not least because they’re dangerous. Everyone’s life matters. Nonetheless, there are parents who have these thoughts, not because they don’t love their children, but because they do.

Reporting on the Gard case reminds me of the sanitised image we have of what constitutes the life of a parent of a sick child. It’s impossible not to feel enormous compassion for Charlie’s parents. As the mother of a toddler, I know that in a similar situation I’d have been torn apart. It’s not difficult to look at photos of Charlie and imagine one’s own child in his place. All babies are small and helpless; all babies cry out to be held.

But attitudes change as children get older. In the case of my own family, I noticed a real dropping away of support for my parents and disabled brother as the latter moved into adulthood. There were people who briefly picked him up as a kind of project and then, upon realising that there would be no schmaltzy ending to the story, dropped him again. Love and compassion don’t conquer all, patience runs out and dignity is clearly best respected from a distance.

All too often, the everyday misery of care work is hidden behind abstract arguments over who gets the right to decide whether an individual lives or dies. I don’t know any parents who truly want that right. Not only would it be morally untenable, it’s also a misrepresentation of what their struggles really are and mean.

What many parents who remain lifelong carers need is adequate respite support, a space in which to talk honestly, and the recognition that actually, sometimes loving is a grim and hopeless pursuit. Those who romanticise parental love – who, like Fraser, wallow in heroic portrayals of “battling, devoted parents” – do nothing to alleviate the suffering of those whose love mingles with resentment, exhaustion and sheer loneliness.

There are parents out there who, just occasionally, would be willing to set the world on fire to have a day’s respite from loving. But regardless of whether your child lives or dies, love never ends. 

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.