“Where was the board?” It’s a question we hear whenever something – anything – goes wrong at a public company. The question has been asked in all sorts of circumstances, ranging from failing jet systems, to networks being hacked, to harassment allegations, and so on.
Don’t get me wrong – there are most assuredly cases in which the question needs to be asked. Without naming names, there have been numerous instances where it seems apparent (and in some cases has been proven) that the board elected not to see or hear evil and thus hadn’t a clue that there was a problem, and other cases where the board created or fostered a rotten culture that seemed to beg for problems. However, what concerns me is that society at large seems to think that the board is or should be responsible for every sin of commission or omission by the company. And that just seems wrong.
Boards are charged with oversight. And while the definition of that word can be difficult to pin down, it seems clear that the board was never supposed to be a guarantor. Yet that’s precisely where we are headed – or perhaps where we’ve arrived. You even see it in articles and treatises by governance nerds who should know better: “The board should ensure that…”. Boards cannot “ensure” anything. They are part-time consultants, and even the best boards cannot possibly know everything that a company does.
As a result, we’ve seen an upswing in suggestions as to how to help boards, including the following:
Continue Reading The board is dead! Long live the [to be provided]!
Four years ago, I commented on the then-recent announcement that Jamie Dimon, Chairman and CEO of JP Morgan Chase, was battling cancer. At the time, Dimon noted that he had struggled with whether the company should disclose his illness.
There probably aren’t too many subjects nerdier than corporate minutes. Lawyers (among others) tend to focus on exciting (dare I say sexy?) matters like M&A, activism, and bet-the-company litigation. Those and other topics are surely exciting, but failing to pay attention to minutes can cost big time. Like it or not, minutes are among the few pieces of evidence – sometimes the only evidence – that boards and committees have properly executed their fiduciary duties. Did the board give a matter due consideration? Did the directors ask the right questions? Any questions? Did they consider the risks as well as the benefits of an action or of inaction? If these and other questions are not answered by reading the minutes, they may not be answerable at all.
As our readers know, I am irritated by Congress’s penchant for naming bills so as to create nifty acronyms. And for including provisions that have nothing to do with the name or the acronym. However, I can better put up with these irritants when the legislation – and SEC regulations implementing the legislation – create a good result.
As securities lawyers know, disclosure is generally regarded as the best disinfectant. However, in
In case you think that corporate minutes and other corporate formalities are for sissies, think again.
Each January, I depart from my admittedly nerdy focus on SEC and governance matters to communicate with you on one of my other admittedly nerdy pursuits – reading – by providing a list of my 10 favorite books of the prior year, five works of fiction and five of non-fiction. As always, the list is comprised of books I read during the year gone by, rather than books published during the year.
Lest you think that the SEC’s focus on the use of non-GAAP financial metrics is so, well, 2018, think again. On December 26, the SEC issued a
As we approach the end of 2018, it’s only natural to look back on some of the year’s events – and some non-events. For my money, one of the most significant non-events was the inauguration of CEO pay ratio disclosure, one of the evil spawn of Dodd-Frank.
A while back – March 2017, to be exact – I posted a piece entitled