The way out of the housing crisis

Local planning, local tax autonomy

The empirical evidence from around the world is as clear as it gets: In the long run, housing costs are mostly determined by the severity of planning restrictions (see here, pp. 17-19). Those who are emotionally attached to the British planning system try their best not to see this connection by looking for explanations, however implausible, outside of the planning system. What they do not realise is that most of the research tests alternative explanations, and carefully controls for a wide range of other potential factors. But the bottom line is that other factors, while not irrelevant, are ultimately sideshows when looking at a sufficiently long period. The first and foremost reason why housing is so expensive in the UK is that the planning system does not allow enough homes to be built. We only need to look at the number of dwellings completed over the past thirty years, and compare it to any other country for which data is available (p. 14).

But if planning restrictions drive house prices – what is it that drives planning restrictions? Or in other words, why would the electorate deliberately and permanently deprive itself of housing space?

Part of the answer is that while restrictive planning is damaging on the whole, some people do benefit, and the benefits are concentrated and tangible. For landlords as well as homeowners living close to undeveloped land, the benefits of planning restrictions are obvious: The former can charge much higher rents than they otherwise could, and the latter enjoy greater housing wealth and open space nearby. Less intuitively, corporate developers can also be counted among the beneficiaries. The system raises the fixed costs of development, leading to a heavily concentrated market structure dominated big players. In most of continental Europe, corporate developers play a much smaller role than in the UK.

Meanwhile, the cost of the system is much more dispersed and opaque. The result of this asymmetry is that the beneficiaries of planning restrictions are much more likely to be politically organised, and voice their interest in the political arena. Organisations like the Council to Protect Rural England can always be counted on to be active on the anti-development side. But there is no obvious lobby representing those who cannot get a foot on the housing ladder, those who struggle with high rents, or those who are trapped in social housing. Not to mention those who are stuck in the endless waiting lists.

Some of those frustrated with the current system have resorted to attacking ‘nimbys’ as selfish snobs, but what we have to realise is that the current system makes nimbyism entirely rational. In principle, development brings costs as well as benefits to a community. Yes, it is a nuisance to residents, and it does lead to a loss of open space. But it also enlarges the local tax basis, which could enable either better local public services, or lower local taxes. The key problem is that the tax structure in the UK has become so overly centralised that this latter consideration plays virtually no role at all anymore. Local tax revenue in the UK represents a risible 1.7% of GDP. For comparison: Even in France, which has traditionally been considered the textbook model of super-centralised governance, the share is 5.2%.  

What this means is that the downsides of development are felt by local people, while the advantages of development are collectivised at the national level. Should we be surprised if people act ‘nimbyistic’ under these conditions?

The way out of the housing affordability crisis is to get the incentive structure right. Local authorities should become self-funding. They should finance their own expenditure from locally raised taxes, be it a local income tax, a local property tax, or whatever they see fit. They should then also obtain full control over planning decisions in their surrounding. Local residents would finally be able to reap the benefits from development, instead of just bearing the cost. Nimbysim would not disappear, but it would greatly reduce, because it would simply become too expensive to be nimbyist.

Photograph: Getty Images

Kristian Niemietz joined the IEA in 2008 as Poverty Research Fellow.

Kristian is currently a PhD student in Public Policy at King's College London, where he also teaches economics. He is the author of the recent IEA Discussion Paper on planning reform, Abundance of Land, Shortage of Housing.

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Byron burgers and bacon sandwiches: can any politician get away with eating on camera?

Memo to aspirant world leaders: eating in public is a political minefield.

Miliband’s sandwich. Cameron’s hot dog. Osborne’s burger. The other Miliband’s banana. As well as excellent names for up-and-coming indie bands, these are just a few examples of now infamous food faux pas committed by British politicians.

During his entire mayoral campaign, Sadiq Khan refused to eat anything in public. When journalist Simon Hattenstone met him in his local curry house for the Guardian, the now-mayor didn’t eat a single bite despite “dish after dish” arriving at the table. Who can blame him? Though Ed Miliband had been pictured blunderingly eating a bacon sandwich an entire year earlier, the national furore around the incident had not yet died down. “He can make me look Clooneyesque or make me look like Ed eating a bacon sandwich,” Khan said of the photographer at the time.

Miliband’s bacon sandwich is now so infamous that I need offer no explanation for the event other than those words. There is an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to the photograph of Ed, lips curled and eyes rolling, as he tucks into that fateful sarnie. Yet politicians frequently bite off more than they can chew – why did Ed’s mishap inspire multiple headlines and an entire front page of The Sun?

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“The momentum got behind the bacon sandwich story because he was awkward, it showed him in a light which was true - he was an awkward candidate in that election,” says Paul Baines, a professor of political marketing at Cranfield University. “He didn’t come across right.”

The photograph of Miliband fit neatly within a pre-existing image of the politician – that he was bumbling, incompetent, and unable to take control. Similarly, when David Cameron was pictured eating a hot dog with a knife and fork months later, the story reinforced popular notions of him as a posh, out-of-touch, champagne-swilling old Etonian. Though Oxford-educated, two-kitchen Miliband is nearly as privileged as Cameron, and Brexit-inducing Dave equally as incompetent as Ed, the pictures would not gain the same popularity in reverse. There are many, many less-than-flattering pictures of Cameron eating, but they didn’t fit into a workable narrative.

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No one, for example, focused on the price of Ed’s sandwich. Purchased at New Covenant Garden Market, it was undoubtedly more expensive than Greggs’ £1.75 bacon roll – but no one cared. When George Osborne was pictured eating an £8 Byron burger whilst cutting £11.5 million from the British budget, however, the picture spoke to many. The then-chancellor was forced to explain that “McDonalds doesn't deliver”, although, as it turned out, Byron didn’t either.

“The idea was to try and display him in a good light – here's a guy eating a burger just like everyone else. The only problem was it was a posh burger and of course he didn't look like everyone else because he was spending ten quid on a burger,” explains Baines.

But Dave, Ed, and George are just the latest in a long, long line of politicians who have been mocked for their eating habits. Across the ocean, Donald Trump has been lambasted for liking his steak well done, while in 1976, Gerald Ford was mocked after biting into the inedible corn husk of a tamale. Why then, do politicians not copy Khan, and avoid being pictured around food altogether?

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“Food connects everybody, food is essentially a connection to culture and the 'every person',” explains Baines. “[Nigel] Farage's appearance in the pub has definitely had a positive impact on how he's perceived by a big chunk of the working class electorate which is an important, sizeable group.” Though Cameron, too, has been pictured with pints, his undeniably weird grasp on the glass make the pictures seem inauthentic, compared to Farage whose pints are clearly at home in his hands. In America, Joe Biden managed to capture the same authenticity with an ice-cream cone.

“I think when it comes across badly is when it comes across as inauthentic,” says Baines. “If I were advising, I certainly wouldn't advise Theresa May to be seen in the pub having a pint, that would not shine with her particular character or style. But could Tim Farron come across better in that way? Possibly but it does have to be authentic.”

Food, then, can instantly make a politician seem in or out of touch. This is especially true when food connects to national identity. Tony Blair, for example, publicly claimed his favourite dish was fish and chips despite earlier saying it was fettuccine with olive oil, sundried tomatoes and capers. In the 1980s, Lord Mandelson allegedly mistook mushy peas for guacamole, insulting us all. In the States, you’d be hard pressed to find a politician who hasn’t been pictured with a hot dog, and there are entire articles dedicated to US politicians who eat pizza with a knife and fork. Again, the food fits a narrative – politicians out of touch with the common person.  

Then again, sometimes, just sometimes, no narrative is needed. We’d advise any candidate who seriously wants a shot in the 2017 General Election to not, under any circumstances, be pictured casually feeding a Solero to an unidentified young woman. 

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.

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