Optimal tax rate for top one per cent may be as high as 83%

Paper suggests cutting taxes may divert attention to wasteful bargaining

Via Daniel Elton, a new(ish) paper (pdf) by economists Thomas Piketty, Emmanuel Saez and Stefanie Stantcheva makes the case for the optimal tax rate of the richest one per cent could be as high as 83 per cent.

The authors look at three possible ways in which top incomes respond to marginal tax rates.

The first is the "supply side" channel cited by Arthur Laffer when he developed his concept of the Laffer curve. Under this channel, marginal tax rates that are too high result in people doing less work than they otherwise would. Lower tax rates thus respond to more economic activity, and greater growth and higher tax revenue. Laffer's work was used by the Reagan administration to justify cutting the top rate in the US, from 70 per cent down to 28 per cent.

The second is the "tax avoidance" channel. This is the model cited by the Chancellor when he made the decision to cut the tax rate for top earners in Britain from 50 per cent to 45 per cent. The argument is that high tax rates increase tax avoidance, but the authors argue – in common with many of the Chancellors critics – that tax avoidance can be dealt with directly, writing that:

A better policy would be to first close loopholes so as to eliminate most tax avoidance opportunities and only then increase top tax rates.

The third is the "compensation bargaining" channel. The authors argue that:

While standard economic models assume that pay reflects productivity, there are strong reasons to be sceptical, especially at the top of the income distribution where the actual economic contribution of managers working in complex organisations is particularly difficult to measure.

As a result, top workers have ample opportunity to set their own pay, through bargaining harder or influencing compensation committees. The incentives for this economically wasteful activity are higher the lower tax rates are. Just as with the supply side model, tax cuts increase the wealth of the richest in society, but unlike that model they do not also increase growth; rather, the extra money for the rich comes from those poorer than them.

The authors, using their estimates of the elasticity of the various channels (that is, the magnitude of the effect), then calculate what the optimum rates would be. Under the first model, they find it to be roughly 57 per cent – 5 per cent higher than the top British tax rate is until the cut takes effect (National Insurance for top earners is 2per cent). Assessing the second model (Osborne's preferred argument), they find that the optimal tax rate would be 62 per cent, but argue that if the correct anti-avoidance and simplification measures were put in place, it would be 71 per cent.

The third model, however, outputs an optimal rate of 83 per cent. The authors still assume a minor supply-side effect, making up 40 per cent of the total elasticity, which is why it isn't higher. That is, they still assume that high tax rates will encourage the rich to work less, but they also assume that they will encourage the rich to put more of their effort into actual work, and less of it into "compensation bargaining".

How to decide between models one and three (the authors assume that once anti-avoidance measures are put in place, model two is the same as model one)? The former predicts that lower tax leads to more work, the latter that it merely leads to higher pay. As a result, tax cuts should be correlated with higher growth. Are they? Well, no:

As a result, the bargaining model can at least be said to be as realistic as the supply-side model; and if that's the case, the optimal top tax rate for most nations is likely to be far in excess of where it is set now.

For more, see the authors in the Boston Review, VoxEU, or their original paper (pdf).

Pictured: Laffer. No, wait, laughers. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war