The taxman vs the prostitutes

Prostitutes have to pay tax on their earnings, so why isn't their business entitled to same protections as everyone else?

This week’s news regarding Donna Asutaits, who was jailed after earning more than £300,000 in two years and failing to declare tax, is a reminder that prostitution is taxable. Well, more taxable than Goldman Sachs or Vodafone, at least.

The story of how the trade came onto HM Revenue and Customs’ somewhat hit-and-miss radar gives an interesting little insight into its relationship with the state. I decided to talk to a man who could tell me more. While he doesn’t want to give his name, he goes by the online moniker of Jolyon K Jolyon (he’s a fan of The Forsyte Saga), and he’s now a retiree, living in the West Country.

Some years ago, he was running an accountancy practice. He found himself acting for a lady who told him she was a dental technician, but the more he looked into her records, the less they stacked up. Why, for example, was she always paid in cash? He held a meeting with her, and she admitted she was a prostitute. Undaunted, he decided to continue working for her, and soon she introduced him to more women working in the same industry.

Jolyon is rather knowledgeable on the history of this issue. He tells me it was resolved back in the 1980s, when the famous madam Lindi St Clair underwent a series of investigations after she refused a discount to a cross-dressing tax inspector. Jolyon’s website tells the story in full, but a précis runs thus. 

After the first investigation Lindi appointed a proper firm of Certified Accountants to act for her, and they recommended forming a limited company as a way of saving tax. The following year the Attorney General successfully applied to the High Court for the registration to be quashed. A series of legal battles were then waged between St Clair and the Revenue, in which she drew attention to what she felt was the hypocrisy of the state.

You could argue she had a point. During one police raid, the Vice Squad discovered Lindi sitting quietly in the lounge, with a vicar in a gas mask handcuffed to a wall, a straitjacketed member of the House of Lords shut up in a cupboard and an MP chained up to a dog kennel in the garden. At one point she appeared before the Appeal Court judges dressed in fish net tights, a low-cut shiny PVC dress, and a steel-studded belt from which handcuffs dangled: “I felt that if I were to be taxed as a tart, I would appear as one.”

Lindi’s barrister argued that although prostitution is lawful it can’t be considered a trade because a prostitute cannot do things such as advertise, go into partnership, form a limited company, employ people, rent premises or sue for debts. She lost the case and her subsequent appeal at the Court of Appeal. The judges said: "[Prostitution] consists in the supply of services for reward on a commercial basis. Although the bargains made between the prostitute and her clients are unenforceable as being contra bonos mores neither the bargains made nor the services supplied are illegal in the sense of being prohibited…" In English – what you’re doing isn’t illegal even if everything surrounding it is, so pay up.

The case is cited by HMRC as the judgement that confirms prostitution is taxable. “But even today, there’s a huge misconception about what the law is,” says Jolyon. He feels that the big problem lies with the legislation on brothel keeping. This – unlike prostitution, is considered a crime. Common sense dictates two fairly simple things: one, prostitution won’t go away any time soon (something about that whole "oldest profession" thing), and two; the women doing it are safer working indoors with a maid, rather than working on the street.

There’s neither rhyme nor reason to this law, besides the rule that for every outraged Daily Mail headline there’s an equally cowardly political reaction. This could be seen in action a few years ago, when Labour announced it was looking into allowing small groups of women to work together, the Mail newsdesk editors had to be mopped down with a moist towelette, and the idea was quietly junked.

The common argument against is that there’s an epidemic of trafficking which requires the police to clamp down on brothels as and when they choose. The problem is, the last time an MP tried to cite data to support it, it turned out they were drawing on statistics drawn up by that well-respected institute of independent research, the Daily Mirror (as a side note, it's never a good idea to cite this as a source in Parliament and then go on Newsnight, on the off-chance Jeremy Paxman rips you a new one - see below).

Jolyon says: "The women for whom I worked simply made a hard decision and did the work with their eyes open. If people are paying taxes on their business they should be entitled to the same protection as anyone else. There are already laws to protect from trafficking and slave labour – what makes the sex industry different?”

I tell Jolyon I know of one case where the officers who closed down a brothel had, for a period prior to the closure, been making use of its services – and have described another case at length, where the police’s behaviour could best be seen as reprehensible. It’s an inconvenient truth that the cops get a share of the frozen assets when they close a brothel down.

Jolyon tells me the authorities make it impossible for brothels to function above ground: “Accountants are part of the regulated sector – they’re bound by money laundering regulations, so if they come across a brothel they’re obliged to tell the Serious Organised Crime Agency, and can’t tell the client that that’s what they’ve done. Similarly, no accountant wants to take on a client which at any time could be closed down under the Proceeds of Crime Act. That’s why I only worked for women working on their own.”

As I wrote last month, the authorities have been quietly trying to “clean up” the Olympic boroughs. In that case it was a police-lead exercise – but Jolyon tells me about another operation I hadn’t noticed. According to a press release Operation Vermont, was “a multi-agency exercise which ran for six weeks in May and June. During this time 31 businesses were suspected to be underpaying workers, or were considered a significant risk requiring further HMRC investigation.”

Jolyon concludes: “It’s interesting that they targeted things like fast food outlets and mini cab offices, rather than brothels – you’d think they’d be the first port of call, if the industry is as sordid as they make out.” Donna Asutaits claimed in her defence that she was simply naive in not paying tax. One might raise an eyebrow at the idea she could earn so much money and assume it wasn’t taxable. But given the long-standing stigma that has emanated from government on this issue, she might well have been telling the truth.

 

A Soho prostitute waits for some custom. Photograph: Getty Images

Alan White's work has appeared in the Observer, Times, Private Eye, The National and the TLS. As John Heale, he is the author of One Blood: Inside Britain's Gang Culture.

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The triumph of Misbah-ul-Haq, the quiet grafter

How Misbah redeemed Pakistani cricket.

It was an incongruous sight: the entire Pakistani cricket team doing press-ups on the revered pitch at Lord’s, led by its captain, Misbah-ul-Haq. This unusual celebration marked not merely a Test match victory over England on Sunday but something greater: the rehabilitation of Pakistani cricket.

Seven years earlier, the Sri Lankan team bus was en route to the cricket stadium in Lahore for the third day of a Test match against Pakistan when it was attacked by Islamist militants. Gunfire killed six police officers and a driver; several Sri Lankan cricketers were also injured. That was the last Test match played in Pakistan, which, despite protestations, opponents consider too dangerous to visit.

A year later, Pakistan toured England for a Test series. The News of the World alleged that in the final match at Lord’s three Pakistani cricketers had conspired to bowl no-balls in exchange for money. All three received bans of five years or more for corruption. The entire squad was lampooned; police had to shield its members from abuse as they arrived home.

Misbah was on the periphery of all of this. Aged 36 at the time, he was dropped from the squad before the English tour and seemed unlikely to play international cricket again. But the turbulence engulfing Pakistani cricket forced the selectors to reassess. Not only was Misbah recalled but he was made captain. “You have to ask yourself,” he later said: “‘Have I been the captain because they supported me, or because they had no alternatives?’”

Pakistani cricket prizes and mythologises teenage talent plucked from obscurity and brought into the international side. During his decade as captain, Imran Khan picked 11 teenagers to make their debuts, often simply on the basis of being wowed by their performance in the nets. Misbah shows that another way is possible. He grew up in Mianwali, a city that was so remote that: “The culture there wasn’t such that you thought about playing for Pakistan.”

At the behest of his parents, he devoted his early twenties not to his promising batting but to gaining an MBA. Only at 24 did he make his first-class debut, strikingly late in an age when professional sportsmen are expected to dedicate all their energy to the game from their teenage years.

Pakistani cricket has always been “a little blip of chaos to the straight lines of order”, Osman Samiuddin writes in The Unquiet Ones. Misbah has created order out of chaos. He is unflappable and methodical, both as a captain and as a batsman. His mood seems impervious to results. More than anything, he is resilient.

He has led Pakistan to 21 Test victories – seven more than any other captain. He has done this with a bowling attack ravaged by the 2010 corruption scandal and without playing a single match at home. Because of security concerns, Pakistan now play in the United Arab Emirates, sometimes in front of fewer than a hundred supporters.

Misbah has developed a team that marries professionalism with the self-expression and flair for which his country’s cricket is renowned. And he has scored runs – lots of them. Over his 43 Tests as captain, he has averaged at 56.68. Few have been so empowered by responsibility, or as selfless. He often fields at short leg, the most dangerous position in the game and one usually reserved for the team’s junior player.

Misbah has retained his capacity to surprise. As a batsman, he has a reputation for stoic defence. Yet, in November 2014 he reached a century against Australia in just 56 balls, equalling the previous record for the fastest ever Test innings, held by Viv Richards. The tuk-tuk had become a Ferrari.

Late in 2015, Misbah tried to retire. He was 41 and had helped to keep Pakistani cricket alive during some of its darkest days. But the selectors pressured him to stay on, arguing that the team would need him during its arduous tours to England and Australia.

They were right. His crowning glory was still to come. The team arrived in England following weeks of training with the national army in Abbottabad. “The army people are not getting much salaries, but for this flag and for the Pakistani nation, they want to sacrifice their lives,” Misbah said. “That’s a big motivation for all of us. Everyone is really putting effort in for that flag and the nation.”

Now 42, almost a decade older than any cricketer in England’s side, Misbah fulfilled a lifetime’s ambition by playing in a Test match at Lord’s. In Pakistan’s first innings, he scored a century and celebrated with push-ups on the outfield, in homage to the army’s fitness regime and those who had had the temerity to mock his age.

When Pakistan secured victory a little after 6pm on the fourth evening of the game, the entire team imitated the captain’s push-ups, then saluted the national flag. The applause for them reverberated far beyond St John’s Wood.

“It’s been a remarkable turnaround after the 2010 incident,” Misbah-ul-Haq said, ever undemonstrative.

He would never say as much, but he has done more than anyone else to lead Pakistan back to glory. 

Tim Wigmore is a contributing writer to the New Statesman and the author of Second XI: Cricket In Its Outposts.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt