Vouchers: a third way for financing political parties

You got your public funding in my private donations! No, you got your private donations in my public funding!

The debate around financing of political parties is caught up between two alternatives, each of which possess seemingly intractable problems, but a third way might be surfacing in the US.

On the one hand, the status quo – of uncapped donations – has terrible consequences. It leads to capture by interest groups (stereotypically Labour by the unions and the Conservatives by big business, and like many stereotypes, there is an element of truth), is anti-democratic (contrary to what the US Supreme Court proclaims, money is not speech, yet if you have more money than I do, it's not hard to imagine which of us gets more say in policy) and has ended up in outright corruption (witness, amongst other things, "I'm like a cab for hire", "premier league" donors, or cash for honours).

Unfortunately, the major alternative model has its own problems. State funding of political parties runs the risk of creating an unaccountable political class, paid from the pocket of general taxation while owing nothing in return. It also entrenches the existing trio of parties in their roles, rendering our already distortionary electoral system immune, to all intents and purposes, to change. And, of course, it would be expensive.

The purported "middle ground" of capping donations, meanwhile, seems unworkable politically, while solving none of the problems. If unions are counted singly, Labour won't sign up. If they aren't, the Tories won't. The cap won't be low enough to prevent some donors still having  outsized influence, and yet it won't be high enough to prevent some or all of the parties suffering major financial hardship.

But a number of American campaign finance experts, including Yale's Bruce Ackerman and Harvard's Lawrence Lessig, support a third way. The idea is that every voter is given a voucher for $50, to donate to a political actor as they see fit – it can go to parties or candidates, mainstream or independents, and it doesn't have to be used at all. In exchange, candidates who want to accept the money must agree to stricter rules. Ackerman suggests mandatory donor anonymity (to prevent "influence peddling"), while Lessig suggests a cap on any individual donation of just $100.

WonkBlog's Dylan Matthews reports that the idea has just been given a boost. John Sarbanes (son of the Sarbanes-Oxley Act's Paul Sarbanes) is planning on introducing the Grassroots Democracy Act to Congress:

The bill has three components. The first is a voucher of the kind Ackerman, Ayres and Lessig endorse, implemented as a $50 refundable tax credit for congressional donations, so even people who do not make enough to pay income taxes are eligible. The second is a matching system, where campaigns that reject PAC money will get $5 from a public fund for every private donation of $1, and those that agree to collect only small contributions receive $10 from the public fund for every private dollar. The third is a fund to provide support to candidates who are facing heavy third-party expenditures from super PACs and other groups, to make sure they aren’t drowned out.

Some of the side-effects of such a reform would be positive, as well. Most interestingly, it introduces a form of PR into the electoral system. Every "vote" using a voucher has the same effect, whether it goes to Labour or the Monster Raving Loony Party, and it is impossible to "waste" it. And depending how widely the vouchers can be used, it could allow people to donate to issue groups as well as parties, meaning that organisations like the Electoral Reform Society could see a boost in their funding.

Of course, the one thing it doesn't ensure is that the balance of power is conserved. For that, parties would be advised to look elsewhere. But MPs who are serious about party funding reform may want to consider a similar move.

Barack Obama. The president elected not to take public funding because he had so many private donations. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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One Day Without Us reveals the spectre of Britain without immigration

Imagine a country without its NHS workers, its artists and even its consumers. That's why immigrants are striking today. 

What’s the best way of making yourself heard in politics? Protesting in the street, or contacting the media? Writing to politicians? A badge?

One option, of course, is to walk out - and give people a chance to recognise what they’d be missing if you weren’t there. In the labour movement, that’s long been an option – a last-case option, but an option nevertheless – when your contribution isn't being recognised.

A strike is a tit-for-tat negotiation and a warning shot. “I’ll work properly when you employ me properly”, it says, but simultaneously: “Here’s what you’d lose if I stopped”. Done right, the worker’s absence can shift the power balance in their favour.

Normally, people strike according to their role, in pursuit of certain conditions – the tube strikes, or last year’s teacher's strike.

Yet there is also a long and rich history of walk-outs whose terms are broader and boundaries hazier. One of the most famous is surely the 1975 Women's Strike, in Iceland, during which 90 per cent of the country's women refused to participate in either paid or unpaid work.

In 2016, the formula was repeated in Poland, where women went on strike to protest against a draconian change being proposed to the country's already-strict abortion laws. (It worked.)

Immigrant strikes, too, have a history. In 2006, for instance, a coalition of Los Angeles Catholic groups, unions and immigration reform groups proposed a boycott in opposition to a bill which, among other things, called for new border security fences to be built between America and Mexico. (Ahem.)

The action grew to become a national event, and on May 1, the “Great American Boycott” took place, with immigrants from Latin America and elsewhere leaving work, skipping school and refusing to buy or sell goods.

Now, with Donald Trump in the White House and Brexit looming, some have decided it’s time for another strike. Enter “One Day Without Us”.

Today, immigrants here in Britain will strike not for pay conditions or holiday allowances, but for basic recognition and respect. Across the country, businesses will close and immigrants will leave work, many of them to take place in alternative actions like rallies or letter-writing campaigns.

The name of the protest pulls no punches. This, it says, is what it would be like if we all went away. (Subtext: “like some of you want”.)

Because – and let’s be honest here – it’d be bad. In hospital this summer, I was treated by migrants. After 24 hours in NHS, I took a count, and found that only about one in five of the staff who had treated me were identifiably English. Around 4.6 per cent of NHS staff nationally are from the EU, including 9 per cent of doctors. Immigrants clean buildings, make our food, and provide a whole host of other vital services.

One Day Without Us, then, could do Britain a huge favour - it provides us with a quick preview function before anyone ups and leaves for good, taking the heart of our health service, or our food supplies, with them.

In recognition of this, some businesses are actively giving their workers the day off. One 36-year-old owner of a support services company, for instance, is giving her staff a paid holiday.

“Not all my colleagues are taking up the offer not to come in”, she explained. “Some, both British and foreign-born, would prefer to work. That’s fine, I wanted to give colleagues the freedom to choose.

 “It will cause some inconvenience and I’ve had to explain to clients why we aren’t offering all our services for one day, but I feel doing this is the only way to show how much this country relies on migrants. I may be a businesswoman, but I’m a human being first, and it hurts my heart to see how foreign-born colleagues are being treated by some people in the current political climate."

The woman, whose staff is 65 per cent foreign born, has asked her company not to be identified. She’s heard her staff being abused for speaking Polish.

Of course, not everyone is able to walk out of work. I write this from Chicago, Illinois, where last week activists participated in an American predecessor to One Day Without Us called “Day Without Immigrants”. Type “Day Without Immigrants" into Google followed by the word "Chicago" and you will find reports of restaurants closing down and citizens marching together through the city.

But search for just "Day Without Immigrants", and the top stories are all about participants being fired.

One Day Without Us, then, encourages any form of engagement. From human chains to sessions during which participants can write to their MP, these events allow immigrants, and supporters, to make themselves known across the country.

Businesses and museums, too, are involved. The Tate, for instance, is offering free tours showing visitors artworks created or influenced by migrants, showing Londoners which of the paintings that they’ve seen a dozen times only exist because of immigration.

Because paintings, like people, come from everywhere, whether or not you remember. Britain is a mongrel country, and so its art and culture are as mongrel as its workforce: a persistent thread through the country’s history.

We risk a lot forgetting this. At its best, assimilation provides a way of integrating without forgetting one’s own unique identity. In a world where immigrants risk threats or violence, however, invisibility can be the best option. For some, it is better not to be recognized as an immigrant than be abused as one.

Those of us who don’t risk threats have a duty to recognise this. I dislike the glibness of “we are all migrants” – maybe, technically, but we’re not all getting slurs shouted at us in the high street, are we? Still, I also don’t like anyone forgetting the fact that their existence, in all probably, is contingent on someone once being given clemency in a place that was their own. The movement of people is woven into the fabric of society.

Of course, it is impossible to say how successful One Day Without Us will be, or how many people’s lives will be directly affected. But I hope that, even as a gesture, it works: that people think of what would be missing from their lives without immigration.

We ignore it at our peril.

You can view all the One Day Without Us events on the organisers’ website, or contribute to a fund to support businesses which are closing for the day here.

Stephanie Boland is digital assistant at the New Statesman. She tweets at @stephanieboland