Forget VAT -- why did they rule out a rise in income tax?

New Labour is not dead. It lives. Shame.

Who says "New Labour" is dead? Gordon Brown used the phrase seven times in his speech this morning in Birmingham, where he launched the party's general election manifesto.

The papers speculated on the Blairite tone of the document ahead of its publication -- including the Times, which predicted that the former leader's legacy would "flavour almost every page of Labour's manifesto".

And, lo and behold, the Ed Miliband-drafted document is indeed sprinkled with copious references to so-called public-service reform, from "personalised" welfare to "more responsive" police to "direct control" over services.

But it is on taxation that the Labour manifesto sounds so frustratingly conservative, cautious and, yes, Blairite. "We will not raise the basic, higher and new top rates of tax in the next parliament," it proudly proclaims, echoing the 1997, 2001 and 2005 pledges.

Hmm. Why not?

Isn't the Budget deficit £167bn? And doesn't the first of the manifesto's "50 steps to a future fair for all" pledge to employ "fair taxes" to help "halve the deficit by 2014"? Is there a fairer tax than income tax?

If there is, it ain't VAT -- which, in the words of the leading tax accountant Richard Murphy, "is intently regressive -- meaning that the burden of the tax falls much more heavily on low-earnings households than it does on those with higher income".

Modern social democracy has to revolve around progressive, not regressive, taxation. Income tax is at the heart of progressive taxation, but you might not have guessed it from Labour's period in office. For 12 years, the government refused to touch the top rate of tax -- until, that is, the financial crisis and ballooning national debt forced Alistair Darling to introduce a new top-rate tax of 50p on the 300,000 people who earn in excess of £150,000 per annum. And as I wrote back in October, in the magazine:

It is conveniently forgotten that Thatcher only cut the top rate of tax, from 60 per cent to the current 40 per cent, in 1988; for nine of her 11 years in power, the darling of the Tory right, the Mother Thatcherite, presided over a higher top rate of tax than the one now being introduced by the "socialist" Brown.

In fact, the basic rate was cut, not raised, during Labour's 13-year period in office to its current (low) level of 20p, a move paid for by the abolition of the 10p tax band on low earners -- which is thought to have contributed to the party's disastrous by-election defeat in Crewe and Nantwich in 2008.

So I'm disappointed to see Brown, Darling, Miliband et al pledging not to deviate from the old, outdated and cautious New Labour orthodoxy on income tax, while refusing to rule out a rise in regressive VAT. Have they learned nothing? The 50p top-rate tax has been hugely popular with voters; the abolition of the 10p rate has been unpopular and electorally damaging.

Times have changed. This is not the Seventies, nor even the Eighties. In the wake of the worst financial crisis in living memory, caused by bonus-hungry bankers and financiers, the public, in effect, wants the pips to squeak. Haunted by its demons and deferring to a right-wing media echo chamber, Labour -- or, should I say, "New Labour" -- has missed an open goal.

 

UPDATE: On the subject of progressive taxation, I forgot to add that the Lib Dems today launched a blistering but slightly disingenuous attack on Labour's "unfair" tax record, publishing an analysis of Treasury figures which shows that the amount of tax paid by the poorest has gone up over the past 13 years.

The Fabians' Sunder Katwala has issued a rejoinder here. And the economists Stuart Adam and Mike Brewer, from the Institute for Fiscal Studies, have responded thus:

The Liberal Democrats have, once again, claimed that the poor pay more of their income in tax than the rich, and that this gap has got larger under Labour. But, by ignoring the fact that the poor get most of this income from the state in benefit and tax credit payments, and by overstating the extent to which indirect taxes are paid by the poor, this comparison is meaningless at best and misleading at worst.

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Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

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The World Cup you’ve never heard of, where the teams have no state

At the Conifa world cup – this year hosted by the Autonomous Republic of Abkhazia – ethnic groups, diaspora communities and disputed territories will battle for footballing glory.

Football's European Championship and the Olympics are set to dominate the back pages over the next few months. How will Team GB fare in Rio? Will the zika virus stop the tournament even going ahead? Will the WAGS prove to be a distraction for the Three Lions? And can Roy Hodgson guide England to a long-awaited trophy?

But before the sprinters are in their blocks or a ball has been kicked, there's a world cup taking place.

Only this world cup is, well, a bit different. There's no Brazil, no damaged metatarsals to speak of, and no Germany to break hearts in a penalty shootout.  There’s been no sign of football’s rotten underbelly rearing its head at this world cup either. No murmurs of the ugly corruption which has plagued Fifa in recent years. Nor any suggestion that handbags have been exchanged for hosting rights.

This biennial, unsung world cup is not being overseen by Fifa however, but rather by Conifa (Confederation of Independent Football Associations), the governing body for those nations discredited by Fifa. Among its member nations are ethnic groups, diaspora communities or disputed territories with varying degrees of autonomy. Due to their contested status, many of the nations are unable to gain recognition from Fifa. As a consequence they cannot compete in tournaments sanctioned by the best-known footballing governing body, and that’s where Conifa provides a raison d’être.

“We give a voice to the unheard”, says Conifa’s General Secretary, Sascha Düerkop, whose world cup kicks off in the Autonomous Republic of Abkhazia at the end of this week.

“We are proud to give our members a forum where they can put themselves on the map.

“From that we hope to give back in the long run and invest in the football infrastructure in our member nations to help them grow.”

The two week footballing celebration starts with an opening ceremony before Kurdistan and Székely Land kick off the tournament. It follows on from 2014’s maiden competition which saw The County of Nice avenging a group stage defeat to Ellan Vannin from the Isle of Man, to take the spoils in the final via a penalty shoot-out.  There were some blowout scores of note however, with South Ossetia smashing Darfur 20-0 and Kurdistan beating the Tamils 9-0 at the event which took place in Östersund, Sweden. Neither of the finalists will be returning to the tournament – throwing down the gauntlet to another twelve teams. 

This, the second Conifa world cup, is testament to the ever-expanding global footprint of the tournament. Abkhazia will welcome sides from four continents – including Western Armenia, the Chagos Islands, United Koreans in Japan and Somaliland.

Despite the “minor” status of the countries taking part, a smattering of professional talent lends credibility to the event. Panjab can call on the experience of ex-Accrington Stanley man Rikki Bains at the heart of their defence, and the coaching savoir-faire of former Tranmere star Reuben Hazell from the dugout. Morten Gamst Pedersen, who turned out for Blackburn Rovers over 300 times and was once a Norwegian international, will lead the Sapmi people. The hosts complete the list of teams to aiming to get their hands on silverware along with Padania, Northern Cyprus, and Raetia.

A quick glance down said list, and it’s hard to ignore the fact that most of the nations competing have strong political associations – be that through war, genocide, displacement or discrimination. The Chagos Islands is one such example. An archipelago in the Indian Ocean, Chagos’ indigenous population was uprooted by the British government in the 1960s to make way for one of the United States' most strategically important military bases – Diego Garcia.

Ever since, they've been campaigning for the right to return. Their side, based in Crawley, has crowdfunded the trip to the tournament. Yet most of its members have never stepped foot on the islands they call home, and which they will now represent. Kurdistan’s efforts to establish an independent state have been well-highlighted, even more so given the last few years of conflict in the Middle East. The hosts too, broke away from Georgia in the 1990s and depend on the financial clout of Russia to prop up their government.

Despite that, Düerkop insists that the event is one which focuses on action on the pitch rather than off it. 

“Many of the nations are politically interested, but we are non-political,” he says. 

“Some of our members are less well-known in the modern world. They have been forgotten, excluded from the global community or simply are ‘unpopular’ for their political positions.

“We are humanitarians and the sides play football to show their existence – nothing more, nothing less.”

The unknown and almost novel status of the tournament flatters to deceive as Conifa’s world cup boasts a broadcast deal, two large stadiums and a plush opening ceremony. Its aim in the long run, however, is to develop into a global competition, and one which is content to sit below Fifa.

“We are happy to be the second biggest football organisation,” admits Düerkop.

“In the future we hope to have women’s and youth tournaments as well as futsal and beach soccer.”

“Our aim is to advertise the beauty and uniqueness of each nation.”

“But the most important purpose is to give those nations that are not members of the global football community a home.”

George Weah, the first African winner of Fifa World Player of the Year award remarked how “football gives a suffering people joy”.

And after speaking to Düerkop there’s certainly a feeling that for those on the game’s periphery, Conifa’s world cup has an allure which offers a shared sense of belonging.

It certainly seems light years away from the glitz and glamour of WAGs and corruption scandals. And that's because it is.

But maybe in a small way, this little-known tournament might restore some of beauty lost by the once “beautiful game”.