These tax cut whispers are about to get louder

Bizarrely, abolishing the 50p rate remains top of the Chancellor's list.

With summer over, the skies are darkening in more ways than one. Economic forecasts, previously strong for this autumn, have long been heading south. Last week sharpened the sense of impending crisis. The FTSE has been shaken more violently than at any time since the paroxysms of early 2009. On Wednesday, unemployment stats took their biggest quarter-on-quarter leap since March 2009. The US and German economies are flat-lining.

Whatever your favoured explanation for our worsening economic plight, one thing is increasingly clear: the UK economy is propped up on pillows, in desperate need of a shot in the arm. It may not be fashionable to say it, but that shot needs to involve a pickup in consumption and domestic consumer confidence. Yes, that jars with the consensus narrative about the need to rebalance our economy towards exports and investment, away from domestic consumption. But in times like these there's no escape from the cold hard reality: household consumption still makes up two thirds of UK GDP. Whatever our need for medium-term rebalancing, domestic consumption will play the star role in either lifting the UK economy out of danger or pushing it over the edge.

You only have to look at the periods following previous recessions to see how far we are now wavering from the 'normal' path to recovery. Figure 2 in this recent blog post compares the four major recessions that have hit the UK in recent decades, looking at the path of household consumption from their onset. In each case, it was at around this point - 10 quarters on from the start of contraction - that the spark of consumer spending re-ignited. As would be expected following a "balance sheet recession"', our current path to recovery looks decidedly different. Today, consumer spending is not a rocket booster but a millstone.

This economic misery is being driven by the coincidence of two things: households are seeing their disposable incomes fall steadily in real terms at the same time as they continue to carry a massive burden of debt. That leaves them facing a stark choice. Either falling incomes mean less spending or households will have to eat into their savings or take on yet more debt. (New research from the Resolution Foundation out this week will confirm the startlingly poor savings position of Britain's low-to-middle incomes households and reinforces just how vulnerable millions of households are to any future rise in interest rates). Only a pick-up in real disposable incomes will gradually free us from this bind.

So how is this harsh economic reality set to play out in our politics? Amidst all the unpredictability, we can be confident about one thing: in the coming months the current Westminster chatter about tax cuts will become louder and more volatile. Expect arguments over timing, over who to target, the potential impact on consumer confidence and spending, and perhaps loudest of all, over how any cut could be paid for.

In macroeconomic terms, of course, any plausible move on tax will pale in comparison to the decisions the Bank of England makes on further quantitative easing. But in the context of a long squeeze on living standards, all political parties have long realised that the lure of a targeted reduction in taxes for at least some groups would eventually become irresistible. Deteriorating economic news may expedite this.

So what's on the agenda? Bizarrely, given the economic context, the abolition of the 50p rate remains top of the chancellor's list, with a review set to report in the autumn as cover for a move. Even leaving aside the glaring question of equity, there will be grave doubts about the economic wisdom of trying to stimulate the economy - however modestly - with a tax cut for the very richest. Whatever you think of the 50p rate (and polls show that the public think quite a lot of it) cutting taxes for those at the very top is more likely to see money flowing into high-end savings accounts and central London property. By contrast, tax cuts for the bottom half of the working population - in particular those low income households who are now spending every penny they earn - are far more likely to help the high street.

Of course, the chancellor must know full well that, on its own, a tax cut for the richest 1 per cent would be the final nail in the coffin of his claim that "we're all in this together". If that is Labour's hope, there is a good chance they will be disappointed. It's no surprise, then, to see recent Lib Dem briefings talking up the idea of reintroducing the 10p rate of tax, backed by a clear message that they want to support those struggling on low and middle incomes.

Such a move may seem far-fetched but it has a powerful political logic. Many Labour backbenchers would retch at the prospect of Tories jeering from across the benches, hollering that they have put right the injustice of Brown's 10p abolition. The Lib Dems would of course revel at the prospect of claiming that it is they who have dragged the government's tax strategy in a more progressive direction.

Could it prove possible to make any sort of move on both 10p and 50p? That would be a significant fiscal stretch. It will depend in large part on the state of the economy; though paradoxically, if things suddently get worse, measures that currently sound implausible could gain a new respectability. It will also depend on whether the Coalition is willing to raise compensating tax revenue in a way that doesn't tilt the economy downwards. For that reason it's significant that some Lib Dems are now briefing aggressively in favour of a wealth tax (as well as green taxes) - and that prominent Tories are pitching in their penny's worth, from outright hostility from some cabinet ministers to more thoughtful support from commentators.

Of course, as the debate heats up, other options will also rise to the surface. For all its economic and political superiority over a tax-cut for the very richest, there are reasons to question the reintroduction of the 10p rate. Some will argue, for example, that reversing cuts to tax credits would better target money to those most in need. The fiscal position, combined with an unwillingness to raise other taxes, may in the end scupper any move in the near future in any case. But wherever the debate ends up, one thing is already becoming clear as the summer wanes: this game of Westminster whispers is set to get a whole lot louder.

Gavin Kelly is Chief Executive of the Resolution Foundation. James Plunkett (twitter.com/#!/jamestplunkett) leads the Foundation's Commission on Living standards.

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What it’s like to fall victim to the Mail Online’s aggregation machine

I recently travelled to Iraq at my own expense to write a piece about war graves. Within five hours of the story's publication by the Times, huge chunks of it appeared on Mail Online – under someone else's byline.

I recently returned from a trip to Iraq, and wrote an article for the Times on the desecration of Commonwealth war cemeteries in the southern cities of Amara and Basra. It appeared in Monday’s paper, and began:

“‘Their name liveth for evermore’, the engraving reads, but the words ring hollow. The stone on which they appear lies shattered in a foreign field that should forever be England, but patently is anything but.”

By 6am, less than five hours after the Times put it online, a remarkably similar story had appeared on Mail Online, the world’s biggest and most successful English-language website with 200 million unique visitors a month.

It began: “Despite being etched with the immortal line: ‘Their name liveth for evermore’, the truth could not be further from the sentiment for the memorials in the Commonwealth War Cemetery in Amara.”

The article ran under the byline of someone called Euan McLelland, who describes himself on his personal website as a “driven, proactive and reliable multi-media reporter”. Alas, he was not driven or proactive enough to visit Iraq himself. His story was lifted straight from mine – every fact, every quote, every observation, the only significant difference being the introduction of a few errors and some lyrical flights of fancy. McLelland’s journalistic research extended to discovering the name of a Victoria Cross winner buried in one of the cemeteries – then getting it wrong.

Within the trade, lifting quotes and other material without proper acknowledgement is called plagiarism. In the wider world it is called theft. As a freelance, I had financed my trip to Iraq (though I should eventually recoup my expenses of nearly £1,000). I had arranged a guide and transport. I had expended considerable time and energy on the travel and research, and had taken the risk of visiting a notoriously unstable country. Yet McLelland had seen fit not only to filch my work but put his name on it. In doing so, he also precluded the possibility of me selling the story to any other publication.

I’m being unfair, of course. McLelland is merely a lackey. His job is to repackage and regurgitate. He has no time to do what proper journalists do – investigate, find things out, speak to real people, check facts. As the astute media blog SubScribe pointed out, on the same day that he “exposed” the state of Iraq’s cemeteries McLelland also wrote stories about the junior doctors’ strike, British special forces fighting Isis in Iraq, a policeman’s killer enjoying supervised outings from prison, methods of teaching children to read, the development of odourless garlic, a book by Lee Rigby’s mother serialised in the rival Mirror, and Michael Gove’s warning of an immigration free-for-all if Britain brexits. That’s some workload.

Last year James King published a damning insider’s account of working at Mail Online for the website Gawker. “I saw basic journalism standards and ethics casually and routinely ignored. I saw other publications’ work lifted wholesale. I watched editors...publish information they knew to be inaccurate,” he wrote. “The Mail’s editorial model depends on little more than dishonesty, theft of copyrighted material, and sensationalism so absurd that it crosses into fabrication.”

Mail Online strenuously denied the charges, but there is plenty of evidence to support them. In 2014, for example, it was famously forced to apologise to George Clooney for publishing what the actor described as a bogus, baseless and “premeditated lie” about his future mother-in-law opposing his marriage to Amal Alamuddin.

That same year it had to pay a “sizeable amount” to a freelance journalist named Jonathan Krohn for stealing his exclusive account in the Sunday Telegraph of being besieged with the Yazidis on northern Iraq’s Mount Sinjar by Islamic State fighters. It had to compensate another freelance, Ali Kefford, for ripping off her exclusive interview for the Mirror with Sarah West, the first female commander of a Navy warship.

Incensed by the theft of my own story, I emailed Martin Clarke, publisher of Mail Online, attaching an invoice for several hundred pounds. I heard nothing, so emailed McLelland to ask if he intended to pay me for using my work. Again I heard nothing, so I posted both emails on Facebook and Twitter.

I was astonished by the support I received, especially from my fellow journalists, some of them household names, including several victims of Mail Online themselves. They clearly loathed the website and the way it tarnishes and debases their profession. “Keep pestering and shaming them till you get a response,” one urged me. Take legal action, others exhorted me. “Could a groundswell from working journalists develop into a concerted effort to stop the theft?” SubScribe asked hopefully.

Then, as pressure from social media grew, Mail Online capitulated. Scott Langham, its deputy managing editor, emailed to say it would pay my invoice – but “with no admission of liability”. He even asked if it could keep the offending article up online, only with my byline instead of McLelland’s. I declined that generous offer and demanded its removal.

When I announced my little victory on Facebook some journalistic colleagues expressed disappointment, not satisfaction. They had hoped this would be a test case, they said. They wanted Mail Online’s brand of “journalism” exposed for what it is. “I was spoiling for a long war of attrition,” one well-known television correspondent lamented. Instead, they complained, a website widely seen as the model for future online journalism had simply bought off yet another of its victims.