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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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war