Voters want Cameron to come clean on the 50p tax cut

Sixty two per cent of voters want the PM to say whether he will benefit from the abolition of the 50p tax rate, private polling by Labour shows.

On the eve of the Labour conference, the Conservatives sought to unsettle Ed Miliband by releasing private polling showing that most voters believed David Miliband would have made a better leader and that Miliband lacked the qualities required of a prime minister. Now, as the Tories head to Birmingham for their annual gathering, Labour has released its own mischevious poll.

After Miliband alleged in his conference speech that David Cameron would receive the "millionaire’s tax cut", a private poll for the party by ICM (sample size: 2,009) has shown that a majority of voters want Cameron to say whether he will benefit from the abolition of the 50p rate. Asked whether the Prime Minister should "come clean and tell people honestly whether he is personally benefitting from this" or whether it was "a matter only for him", 62% said the former and 22% the latter. Among Conservative voters, 46% wanted Cameron to "come clean", while 40% agreed it was a private matter.

Aware of how much damage the Tories inflicted on Ken Livingstone over his tax arrangements (and with an eye to how the Obama campaign forced Mitt Romney onto the defensive over his tax bill), Labour is out for revenge. Miliband used the final PMQs before the conference season to challenge Cameron on whether he would benefit from the 50p tax cut, describing it as "a question he would have to answer between now and April" (when the tax cut is formally introduced). Cameron has so far refused to give an answer (unlike George Osborne, who said he would not benefit from the move) and, under ever-greater pressure from Labour, the Tories will need to decide whether this strategy is sustainable.

The poll also reminds us just how unpopular the decision to abolish the top rate is. The survey, conducted on Wednesday and Thursday this week, found that 71% of voters think the coalition should abandon the tax cut. Asked whether, "with government borrowing coming in higher than expected", the government should "cancel plans to cut tax for people on £150,000 a year", 45% strongly agreed it should, while 25% somewhat agreed. Seven per cent strongly disagreed that it should and 10% somewhat disagreed. By 65% to 26%, Conservative voters also opposed the tax cut going ahead. 

Were this not a private poll, it's unlikely that the question would have appeared in that form ("with government borrowing coming in higher than expected" is designed to lead voters to the desired answer) but it's worth remembering that previous polls have shown widespread opposition to the abolition of the 50p rate. An ICM survey for the Guardian in March found that 67% of voters wanted to keep the top rate. More than any other single measure, it was the abolition of the 50p rate, juxtaposed with tax rises on pensioners, pasties, caravans, churches and charities, that retoxified the Tory brand.

Sixty two per cent of voters said Cameron should "tell people honestly whether he is personally benefitting from this". Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Pexel
Show Hide image

This week, a top tip to save on washing powder (just don’t stand too near the window)

I write this, at 3.04pm on a sticky Thursday afternoon, in the state in which Adam, before his shame, strolled in the Garden of Eden.

Well, in the end I didn’t have to go to Ikea (see last week’s column). I got out of it on the grounds that I was obviously on the verge of a tantrum, always distressing to witness in a man in his early-to-mid-fifties, and because I am going to Switzerland.

“Why Switzerland?” I hear you ask. For the usual reason: because someone is paying for me. I don’t think I’m going to be earning any money there, but at least I’ll be getting a flight to Zurich and a scenic train ride to Bellinzona, which I learn is virtually in Italy, and has three castles that, according to one website, are considered to be “amongst the finest examples of medieval fortification in Switzerland”.

I’m not sure what I’m meant to be doing there. It’s all about a literary festival generally devoted to literature in translation, and specifically this year to London-based writers. The organiser, who rejoices in the first name of Nausikaa, says that all I have to do is “attend a short meeting . . . and be part of the festival”. Does this mean I can go off on a stroll around an Alp and when someone asks me what I’m doing, I can say “Oh, I’m part of the festival”? Or do I have to stay within the fortifications, wearing a lanyard or something?

It’s all rather worrying, if I think about it too hard, but then I can plausibly claim to be from London and, moreover, it’ll give me a couple of days in which to shake off my creditors, who are making the city a bit hot for me at the moment.

And gosh, as I write, the city is hot. When I worked at British Telecom in the late Eighties, there was a rudimentary interoffice communication system on which people could relay one-line messages from their own computer terminal to another’s, or everyone else’s at once. (This was cutting-edge tech at the time.) The snag with this – or the opportunity, if you will – was that if you were not at your desk and someone mischievous, such as Gideon from Accounts (he didn’t work in Accounts; I’m protecting his true identity), walked past he would pause briefly to type in the message “I’m naked” on your machine and fire it off to everyone in the building.

For some reason, the news that either Geoff, the senior team leader, or Helen, the unloved HR manager, was working in the nude – even if we knew, deep down, that they weren’t, and that this was another one of Gideon’s jeux d’esprit – never failed to break the monotony.

It always amused us, though we were once treated to a terrifying mise en abîme moment when a message, again pertaining to personal nudity, came from Gideon’s very own terminal, and, for one awful moment, for it was a very warm day, about 200 white-collar employees of BT’s Ebury Bridge Road direct marketing division suddenly entertained the appalling possibility, and the vision it summoned, that Gideon had indeed removed every stitch of his clothing, and fired off his status quo update while genuinely in the nip. He was, after all, entirely capable of it. (We still meet up from time to time, we BT stalwarts, and Gideon is largely unchanged, except that he’s now a history lecturer.)

I digress in this fashion in order to build up to the declaration – whose veracity you can judge for yourselves – that as I write this, at 3.04pm on a sticky Thursday afternoon, I, too, am in the state in which Adam, before his shame, strolled in the Garden of Eden.

There are practical reasons for this. For one thing, it is punishingly hot, and I am beginning, even after a morning shower, to smell like a tin of oxtail soup (to borrow an unforgettable phrase first coined by Julie Burchill). I am also anxious not to transfer any of this odour to any of my clothes, for I will be needing them in Switzerland, and I am running low on washing powder, as well as money to buy more washing powder.

For another thing, I am fairly sure that I am alone in the Hovel. I am not certain. To be certain, I would have to call out my housemate’s name, and that would only be the beginning of our problems. “Yes, I’m here,” she would reply from her room. “Why?” “Um . . .” You see?

So here I lie on my bed, laptop in lap, every window as wide open as can be, and looking for all the world like a hog roast with glasses.

If I step too near the window I could get arrested. At least they don’t mind that kind of thing in Switzerland: they strip off at the drop of a hat. Oh no, wait, that’s Germany.

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times