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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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue