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.

Getty
Show Hide image

Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

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 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times