Osborne's dynamic plan

How a technical change in Treasury forecasting could help scrap the 45p tax rate.

At the Treasury Select Committee yesterday, in between being quizzed by MPs angry at the extent of the pre-budget leaks, George Osborne revealed that he was planning to enable the OBR to make greater use of so-called "dynamic scoring" when they prepare their economic forecasts – but only when examining tax plans. It may not sound it, but if he made that change, it would be a huge coup for the right.

Dynamic scoring is the practice of including behavioural changes in economic forecasts. Without it, in a static model, changes to revenue after something like a tax hike are facile to calculate. If VAT at 17.5 per cent takes in (say) £175bn, then VAT at 20 per cent will take in £200bn. Similarly, if you are trying to calculate the effects on government revenues of spending £100m buying new trains for the east coast main line, then you can conclude that it will cost £100m – you buy the new trains, everyone carries on riding the line, and nothing changes.

What a static model says is that people are blind to the effect that government actions have when they are choosing what to do. Clearly, that is untrue. But it is also very easy to calculate, which is why it has stuck around for so long.

Dynamic models include all these changes of behaviour. So when looking at a dynamic model for rail investment, you can take into account the fact that nicer trains will make people more likely to travel, boosting ticket revenue; and when looking at a dynamic model for VAT rises, you bear in mind the fact that as prices rise, people buy fewer things, so that an 11 per cent rise in VAT won't lead to an 11 per cent rise in VAT revenue.

The problem for economists is that dynamic models are a lot harder to calculate. Not only are there far more variables to take into account, but you open yourself up to more avenues of attack from political opponents. The combined effect of all the assumptions you must make means that your conclusions can be deeply flawed if you get too many wrong, and, as the IFS says (pdf), can "[open] the door to large controversies if these guesses are made – or perceived to be made – in a politically biased way." While static models contain assumptions that are obviously false, dynamic models still contain assumptions, which can still be just as false. And unlike static models, we can't know which ones these are until it is too late.

So why does George Osborne want to introduce dynamic scoring into OBR models? Does he believe that the government's economists have uncovered a breakthrough understanding in behavioural responses to government intervention?

A clue can be found in HMRC's report into the 50p tax rate, which found that dropping the rate down to 45p would cost far less than expected, because of expected behavioural changes. Indeed, this sort of dynamic thinking is the cornerstone of the Laffer curve, the economic theory that, past a certain point, increasing tax rates reduces revenues.

What Osborne will be hoping is that allowing the OBR to make its models more dynamic still will strengthen the rationale for scrapping the 45p rate entirely, as well as for cutting corporation tax all the way down to 20p by the end of parliament.

Yet while the OBR will be "informed" by these new dynamic models when it comes to tax policy, they won't be taking account of the same information when examining the justification for government investment, where, far from strengthening Osborne's preferred policy, it would weaken it. If dynamic scoring is indeed implemented in this narrow fashion, Osborne will have scored a stealth victory for future Tory policy.

Money on the mind: A 19th century phrenology chart. Credit: Getty

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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Britain has built a national myth on winning the Second World War, but it’s distorting our politics

The impending humiliation of Brexit is going to have a lot more in common with Suez.

The Crown, Peter Morgan’s epic drama covering the reign of Elizabeth II, ended its first series with a nemesis waiting just off-stage to shake up its court politics. In the final episode, Egyptian president Gamal Nasser gives a rip-roaringly anti-imperialist – and anti-British – speech. The scene is set for the Suez Crisis to be a big plot point in Season 2.

Suez has gone down in history as the great foreign policy debacle of postwar Britain. The 1956 crisis – which saw Israel, France and Britain jointly invade Egypt to take control of the Suez Canal, only to slink off again, nine days later, once it became clear the US wasn’t having any of it – is seen as the point at which it became clear that even the bigger states of Europe were no longer great powers in the world. “President Eisenhower’s humiliation of Britain,” Jack Straw wrote in his 2012 memoir, “had been total.”

This was, though, a fairly limited sort of humiliation. Britain was not invaded or occupied; there was no sudden collapse in living standards, let alone a significant body count. Our greatest national debacle is nothing more than the realisation that Britain could no longer do whatever it wanted without fear of reprisal. As humiliations go, this one’s up there with the loss of status men have faced from the rise of feminism: suddenly, Britain could do what it wanted a mere 80 per cent of the time.

The Crown begins in 1947, when Prince Philip gives up his Greek and Danish royal titles and becomes a British subject, so that he can marry Princess Elizabeth. That year saw another British foreign policy debacle, one on which the show remains oddly silent. In the partition which followed India’s independence from the British Empire, 70 years ago this week, upwards of a million people died; in the decades since, the borders drawn up at that time have been the site of numerous wars, and Kashmir remains a flashpoint.

All this, one might think, might count as a far bigger regret than Suez – yet it doesn’t feature in the national narrative in the same way. Perhaps because partition was about the withdrawal of British forces, rather than their deployment; perhaps it’s simply that it all happened a very long way away. Or perhaps we just care less about a body count than we do about looking bad in front of the Americans.

I think, though, there’s another reason we don’t talk about this stuff: the end of empire is hidden behind a much bigger part of our national myth. In the Second World War, Britain is undeniably one of the good guys; for 12 months, indeed, Britain was the only good guy. Never mind that it still had the largest empire the world had ever seen to fall back on: Britain stood alone.

The centrality of the Second World War to the national myth warps our view of history and our place in the world in all sorts of ways. For starters, it means we’ve never had to take an honest account of the consequences of empire. In a tale about British heroes defeating Nazi villains, British mistakes or British atrocities just don’t fit. (Winston Churchill’s role in the 1943 Bengal famine – death toll: three million – by ordering the export of Indian grain to Britain rarely comes up in biopics.) In this dominant version of the national story, the end of empire is just the price we pay to defeat fascism.

More than that, our obsession with the Second World War creates the bizarre impression that failure is not just heroic, but a necessary precursor to success. Two of the most discussed elements of Britain’s war – the evacuation of Dunkirk, and the Blitz – are not about victory at all, but about survival against the odds. The lesson we take is that, with a touch of British grit and an ability to improvise, we can accomplish anything. It’s hard not to see this reflected in Brexit secretary David Davis’s lack of notes, but it’s nonsense: had the Russians and Americans not arrived to bail us out, Britain would have been stuffed.

Most obviously, being one of the winners of the Second World War infects our attitude to Europe. It’s probably not a coincidence that Britain has always been both one of the most eurosceptic EU countries, and one of the tiny number not to have been trampled by a foreign army at some point in recent history: we don’t instinctively grasp why European unity matters.

Once again, Suez is instructive. The lesson postwar France took from the discovery that the imperial age was over was that it should lead a strong and unified Europe. The lesson Britain took was that, so long as we cosied up to the US – Athens to their Rome, to quote Harold Macmillan – we could still bask in reflected superpower.

Until recently, Britain’s Second World War obsession and national ignorance about empire didn’t really seem to affect contemporary politics. They were embarrassing; but they were also irrelevant, so we could cope. Brexit, though, means that hubris is about to run headlong into nemesis, and the widespread assumption that Britain is a rich, powerful and much-loved country is unlikely to survive contact with reality. India will not offer a trade deal for sentimental reasons; Ireland is not a junior partner that will meekly follow us out of the door or police its borders on our behalf. The discovery that Britain is now a mid-ranking power that – excepting the over-heated south-east of England – isn’t even that rich is likely to mean a loss of status to rival Suez.

Morgan says he has planned six seasons of The Crown. (This looks entertainingly like a bet the Queen will be dead by 2021; if not, like Game of Thrones before it, he might well run out of text to adapt.) It’ll be interesting to see how the show handles Brexit. It began with the royal family facing up to a vertiginous decline in British power. As things stand, it may have to end the same way. 

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Brexit. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.

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