I often, in my various board roles, use the saying about turkeys not voting for Christmas. Generally, I use the metaphor when talking about an organisation’s appetite, or otherwise, for making hard calls amidst the pressure from various stakeholder groups. The metaphor points out the fact that those who benefit from a particular status quo are unlikely to change that status quo, regardless of whether or not it’s the right thing to do.
I’ve been thinking about my favourite metaphor recently, but in this case, I am the proverbial turkey. The topic du jour is around Crown Entity board fees and the fact that they have recently been increased to around 80% of what a similar role in a similarly sized entity in the private sector might be likely to be paid.
A contact of mine opined about this increase on LinkedIn. He characterised it as an elite class of individuals who don’t do much work and are living off the toil of the proletariat, further feathering their own already warm nests. I found myself defending myself and, by extension, all my public sector governor colleagues.
But here’s the uncomfortable truth: I find myself standing against a rising tide of snark and suspicion toward people like me, board members who, according to recent headlines and social media musings, are feathering our nests while the rest of the country is fighting to keep the heat on.
Yes, the government has quietly moved to increase Crown Entity board fees by up to 80%. Yes, it’s caused a stir among those who see directors as fat cats sipping Central Otago Pinot on the taxpayer’s dime. But the caricature of the lazy, overpaid director is about as useful as a chocolate teapot. It completely ignores the complexity, risk, and time commitment modern governance entails.
I sit on multiple boards – public, private, non-profit – and here’s the truth: public sector board roles are often harder than their private sector equivalents. There’s more scrutiny. There’s more paperwork. There’s more politics. And often there’s far less resourcing. You don’t get a platoon of consultants or a 10-person board secretariat to back you up.
The reality is a constant stream of reading materials that would make a law student weep. Board papers for a single meeting can run to hundreds of pages of complex policy analysis, financial projections, risk assessments, and regulatory compliance reports. Between meetings, there are strategy sessions, stakeholder consultations, site visits, and endless emails requiring immediate attention on matters ranging from operational crises to media management.
But it’s the legal liability that really concentrates the mind. As a director, I’m personally liable for the decisions we make. If the organisation fails to meet its statutory obligations, if there’s a health and safety incident, if financial controls prove inadequate – guess who gets sued? Generally speaking, not the staff who implemented the decisions, certainly not the ministers who set the policy direction, but the directors who were supposed to provide oversight.
When something goes wrong, it’s not the executives who face the first grilling – it’s the board. Missteps in governance don’t just damage reputations. They lead to court proceedings, disqualification from future governance roles, and sometimes, personal financial risk. What’s often less reported is the work done by good boards that prevent these disasters in the first place.
Modern boards are on the hook for everything from cybersecurity to climate reporting, from Treaty obligations to workforce wellbeing. Our jobs have expanded exponentially, but for years, public sector board fees stayed flat. This latest adjustment isn’t indulgence, it’s catch-up.
Of course, it’s fair to ask whether higher pay guarantees better governance. It doesn’t. But low pay definitely doesn’t either. When you underpay board roles, you skew the pool toward those who can afford to do the job for free, usually wealthy, older, retired professionals. That kills diversity. It sidelines Māori, Pacific, younger directors, working professionals, and people from the community being served. That’s not equity. That’s elitism masquerading as frugality.
The “80% of private sector rates” benchmark reflects a hard reality about talent markets. The skills required for effective governance aren’t common. We need people who understand complex financial structures, regulatory environments, risk management, and stakeholder relations. These people have choices about where to deploy their expertise.
When we systematically underpay public sector roles, we don’t get altruistic saints – we get people who can afford to work for below-market rates. Is that really the diversity of perspective we want overseeing public assets worth billions of dollars?
Could the increase have been communicated better? Absolutely. Transparency helps build trust. But the increase itself? Long overdue. It brings Crown fees closer to private sector norms – not equal, but closer. That’s not a scandal. That’s a policy correction.
When we underpay Crown Entity directors, we don’t save money – we transfer costs. Poor governance leads to project overruns, regulatory failures, operational disasters, and political crises that cost taxpayers far more than appropriate director fees ever could.
I don’t buy the idea that this is just another chapter in the chumocracy playbook. If anything, underpaying public governance roles was what allowed board seats to be dominated by the same narrow group of old mates. Paying fairly opens the door to new voices.
Yes, this turkey is voting for Christmas. Not because I want the feast, but because I know what’s on the line if we pretend good governance is cheap. We get what we pay for, and that’s a truth we ignore at our peril.
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