Clegg's wealth tax deserves a fair hearing

A wealth tax would be progressive and economically beneficial.

In his relaunch interview in today's Guardian, Nick Clegg calls for a new wealth tax, declaring that "if we want to remain cohesive and prosperous as a society" those of "very considerable" wealth should make an "extra contribution". To which Labour has replied: why did you vote to abolish the 50p tax rate, then? It's a reasonable debating point (the decision to scrap the 50p rate was both politically and fiscally foolish) but it's also rather disingenuous. As anyone who has read any of Clegg or Vince Cable's speeches will know, the Lib Dems have long argued that the burden of taxation should be shifted from income towards wealth (as, indeed, has the New Statesman). There is nothing inconsistent in Clegg calling for a wealth tax while also supporting the reduction in the 50p rate to 45p. You could argue that new taxes on wealth should complement, rather than replace, those on high incomes (and you'd be right), but this shouldn't blind the left to the merits of Clegg's intervention.

In Britain, wealth is concentrated in even fewer hands than income and represents a huge untapped source of government revenue. If taxes on income are to be reduced, as they must be (if one includes National Insurance, the effective starting rate is 32%), either through a significantly higher personal allowance or through a reduction in the basic rate, then taxes on wealth should be increased. As Clegg states:

In addition to our standing policy on things like the mansion tax, is there a time-limited contribution you can ask in some way or another from people of considerable wealth so they feel they are making a contribution to the national effort? What we are embarked on is in some senses a longer economic war rather than a short economic battle.

Taking their cue from John Stuart Mill, the Lib Dems rightly argue that the tax system should do more to reward merit, enterprise and innovation. As Cable put it in his essay for the New Statesman on reclaiming Keynes, taxation should be diverted away from "profitable, productive investment" and towards "unproductive asset accumulation". Wealth taxes are harder to avoid than those on income and, as a recent OECD report noted, they benefit the economy by shifting investment away from housing and into wealth-creating industries.

For now, Clegg's proposal raises more questions than it answers. Most obviously, at what rate and threshold would a wealth tax be set? But the details, we are promised, will be filled in by the time of the Lib Dem conference next month. What one can say with certainty is that, as Jonathan Portes puts it, it is both "good economics and fiscally progressive" to sharply increases taxes on the wealthy. By all means assail Clegg for his support for the government's disastrous economic strategy and its punitive welfare cuts, but don't ignore the fact that the most creative thinking on taxation is taking place in his party.

Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg said that those of "very considerable" wealth should make an "extra contribution". Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Byron burgers and bacon sandwiches: can any politician get away with eating on camera?

Memo to aspirant world leaders: eating in public is a political minefield.

Miliband’s sandwich. Cameron’s hot dog. Osborne’s burger. The other Miliband’s banana. As well as excellent names for up-and-coming indie bands, these are just a few examples of now infamous food faux pas committed by British politicians.

During his entire mayoral campaign, Sadiq Khan refused to eat anything in public. When journalist Simon Hattenstone met him in his local curry house for the Guardian, the now-mayor didn’t eat a single bite despite “dish after dish” arriving at the table. Who can blame him? Though Ed Miliband had been pictured blunderingly eating a bacon sandwich an entire year earlier, the national furore around the incident had not yet died down. “He can make me look Clooneyesque or make me look like Ed eating a bacon sandwich,” Khan said of the photographer at the time.

Miliband’s bacon sandwich is now so infamous that I need offer no explanation for the event other than those words. There is an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to the photograph of Ed, lips curled and eyes rolling, as he tucks into that fateful sarnie. Yet politicians frequently bite off more than they can chew – why did Ed’s mishap inspire multiple headlines and an entire front page of The Sun?

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“The momentum got behind the bacon sandwich story because he was awkward, it showed him in a light which was true - he was an awkward candidate in that election,” says Paul Baines, a professor of political marketing at Cranfield University. “He didn’t come across right.”

The photograph of Miliband fit neatly within a pre-existing image of the politician – that he was bumbling, incompetent, and unable to take control. Similarly, when David Cameron was pictured eating a hot dog with a knife and fork months later, the story reinforced popular notions of him as a posh, out-of-touch, champagne-swilling old Etonian. Though Oxford-educated, two-kitchen Miliband is nearly as privileged as Cameron, and Brexit-inducing Dave equally as incompetent as Ed, the pictures would not gain the same popularity in reverse. There are many, many less-than-flattering pictures of Cameron eating, but they didn’t fit into a workable narrative.

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No one, for example, focused on the price of Ed’s sandwich. Purchased at New Covenant Garden Market, it was undoubtedly more expensive than Greggs’ £1.75 bacon roll – but no one cared. When George Osborne was pictured eating an £8 Byron burger whilst cutting £11.5 million from the British budget, however, the picture spoke to many. The then-chancellor was forced to explain that “McDonalds doesn't deliver”, although, as it turned out, Byron didn’t either.

“The idea was to try and display him in a good light – here's a guy eating a burger just like everyone else. The only problem was it was a posh burger and of course he didn't look like everyone else because he was spending ten quid on a burger,” explains Baines.

But Dave, Ed, and George are just the latest in a long, long line of politicians who have been mocked for their eating habits. Across the ocean, Donald Trump has been lambasted for liking his steak well done, while in 1976, Gerald Ford was mocked after biting into the inedible corn husk of a tamale. Why then, do politicians not copy Khan, and avoid being pictured around food altogether?

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“Food connects everybody, food is essentially a connection to culture and the 'every person',” explains Baines. “[Nigel] Farage's appearance in the pub has definitely had a positive impact on how he's perceived by a big chunk of the working class electorate which is an important, sizeable group.” Though Cameron, too, has been pictured with pints, his undeniably weird grasp on the glass make the pictures seem inauthentic, compared to Farage whose pints are clearly at home in his hands. In America, Joe Biden managed to capture the same authenticity with an ice-cream cone.

“I think when it comes across badly is when it comes across as inauthentic,” says Baines. “If I were advising, I certainly wouldn't advise Theresa May to be seen in the pub having a pint, that would not shine with her particular character or style. But could Tim Farron come across better in that way? Possibly but it does have to be authentic.”

Food, then, can instantly make a politician seem in or out of touch. This is especially true when food connects to national identity. Tony Blair, for example, publicly claimed his favourite dish was fish and chips despite earlier saying it was fettuccine with olive oil, sundried tomatoes and capers. In the 1980s, Lord Mandelson allegedly mistook mushy peas for guacamole, insulting us all. In the States, you’d be hard pressed to find a politician who hasn’t been pictured with a hot dog, and there are entire articles dedicated to US politicians who eat pizza with a knife and fork. Again, the food fits a narrative – politicians out of touch with the common person.  

Then again, sometimes, just sometimes, no narrative is needed. We’d advise any candidate who seriously wants a shot in the 2017 General Election to not, under any circumstances, be pictured casually feeding a Solero to an unidentified young woman. 

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.

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