Rather than "shaming" tax avoiders, the coalition should stop them

The latest "crackdown" on tax avoidance is nothing of the sort.

In these austere times, tax avoidance, as Ken Livingstone and Jimmy Carr learned to their cost, is a toxic practice. In view of this, the government is preparing to announce a new "crackdown" on avoiders today. Treasury minister David Gauke will tell Policy Exchange that scheme operators may be forced to hand over client lists to inspectors, and will be "named and shamed" for not sticking to the rules.

Gauke will say:

We are building on the work we have already done to make life difficult for those who artificially and aggressively reduce their tax bill.

These schemes damage our ability to fund public services and provide support to those who need it.

They harm businesses by distorting competition. They damage public confidence.

And they undermine the actions of the vast majority of taxpayers, who pay more in tax as a consequence of others enjoying a free ride.

Laudable words, you may think. But Gauke's suggestion that "naming and shaming" tax avoiders will reduce the practice is either extremely optimistic or extremely disingenuous. Were negative publicity enough to dissuade avoidance, men like Philip Green, hired by the government to advise on its spending cuts (the need them for them partly derived from his and others' avoidance) would have paid up long ago. Rather than merely "shaming" avoiders, the government needs to stop them. Yet there is nothing in today's announcement to suggest it will do so.

As Richard Murphy noted on The Staggers last month, the coalition's much-vaunted "anti-avoidance rule" will do little to end the cat-and-mouse game between HM Revenue and avoiders. As the government closes one scheme, another opens. Only an anti-avoidance principle, which looks at intent as well as practice, would significantly reduce avoidance. As Murphy explained:

A principle is something quite different. It looks at intent. It is not about box ticking, as rules are (which is why they are so easy to get round - general anti-avoidance rules included). It is about looking at what you did and using that evidence to assess on the balance of probabilities what your intentions were.

On this point, George Osborne, who memorably described tax avoidance as "morally repugnant", and his Treasury colleagues remain mute.

Finally, one might ask why, if the coalition is so opposed to avoidance, its Budget rewarded it. The stated reason for the abolition of the 50p tax rate was that high-earners were avoiding it. As Osborne stated in the Budget

HMRC find that an astonishing £16 billion of income was deliberately shifted [emphasis mine] into the previous tax year - at a cost to the taxpayer of £1 billion, something that the previous Government's figures made no allowance for.

But this was an argument for reducing tax avoidance, not for cutting taxes for the one per cent. While the rich avoided the 50p rate in the first year of its existence (by bringing forward income from 2010/11 to 2009/10 in order to pay the 40p rate), this was not a trick they could have repeated. Yet Osborne cut the rate all the same. It was as if he had rewarded welfare cheats by increasing their benefits. Seen in this light, the government's new fondness for moralising against avoiders is merely an attempt to change the subject. We should ensure it cannot.

Jimmy Carr recently said he made a "terrible error of judgment" in using a tax avoidance scheme. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear