Going cap in hand to the charities

How to change the tax relief cap to help charities and the government get value for money.

The Chancellor’s budget decision to cap income tax relief has caused a hullabaloo. Wealthy donors and their beneficiaries are in open revolt, saying that charities will be hit hard by the measure. And a lobbying alliance of the wealthy and the charity sector is not something that politicians are likely to defy.

That there will be some cap seems certain. But in the face of this firestorm the government has been curiously reticent in defending its plan. Pointing to the need to curb the minor problem of fraudulent charity giving understandably angered many. There are good arguments for capping donations tax relief, which tend to get less of a hearing. A look at the evidence also points to some ways in which the Chancellor could appease the charity sector while keeping most of his savings.

So what possible justification could there be for cutting tax breaks on giving?

First it’s worth asking the question of how much charities actually benefit from tax relief on donations. This depends how donors respond. If they aim to give a fixed amount of their post-tax income, regardless of government policy, then the charity can expect to get the full value of any tax break that applies.

But what if donors want the charity to get a fixed amount – say a round million pounds? In this case, the availability of a tax top-up might cause them to cut their net donation from what it would otherwise have been. Here the donor benefits but the charity does not. Cutting relief in the first case would hit the charity, but in the second, the total received would be unchanged.

Which of these effects dominates is an empirical question. Several studies suggest that charities get significantly less than £1 for every £1 of tax relief paid out, because people reduce the amount they give in response to the top-up. The evidence isn’t conclusive but a reasonable approximation would be that perhaps two-thirds of tax relief gets to the charity. The residual ends up in the pockets of donors.

So since charities get less than the government spends on tax relief, the state has a dilemma. The cap is expected to save the Treasury up to £100m per year from charity donors. So should it spend that extra £100m on schools or the NHS, services that the electorate as a whole (not just wealthy donors) want to see provided? Or should it reverse its policy and spend that money on tax relief for only £66m to go to privately favoured charities, ranging from famine relief to donkey sanctuaries? The case for doing the latter is perhaps weaker at a time when public services being cut to the bone and ministers lose sleep about the government’s creditworthiness.

Nevertheless, the growing clamour now looks very likely to force some kind of concession from the Treasury. And here the evidence has interesting things to say about how the Chancellor could recast his cap to make sure that government saves some cash and charities maximise giving.

Recent research shows that how tax relief is offered really matters to maximising donations. Where the charity directly claims the tax rebate on behalf of the donor, as with Gift Aid, the scheme looks more like a matching proposition. You give £1 and the government will match it with a further 25p. Under Gift Aid for higher rate taxpayers, the basic rate half of their tax break goes straight to the charity in this way. But they reclaim their rebate on the other 20% - the gap between basic and higher rate income tax - through self assessment.

Field experiments indicate (pdf) that the matching design can wring up to three times as much in donations for every pound spent on the match as the tax rebate version. And this is in spite of the fact that economic theory would suggest that how the tax relief is delivered should have no impact on donor behaviour.

Yet under the government’s current proposal both parts of the donors’ tax relief will be subject to the cap. This makes little sense. The smart move for Mr Osborne would be to un-cap the tax relief that boosts giving while screwing down the cap on the rebate. Both the Big Society and the broke state would be the winners.

Please sir, if you give me 10 per cent more the government will top it up by another 2.5 points while returning between 20 and 30 percent of the increase back to you. Credit: Getty

Ian Mulheirn is the director of the Social Market Foundation.

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In the 1980s, I went to a rally where Labour Party speakers shared the stage with men in balaclavas

The links between the Labour left and Irish republicanism are worth investigating.

A spat between Jeremy Corbyn’s henchfolk and Conor McGinn, the MP for St Helens North, caught my ear the other evening. McGinn was a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Westminster Hour, and he obligingly revisited the brouhaha for the listeners at home. Apparently, following an interview in May, in which McGinn called for Corbyn to “reach out beyond his comfort zone”, he was first threatened obliquely with the sack, then asked for a retraction (which he refused to give) and finally learned – from someone in the whips’ office – that his party leader was considering phoning up McGinn’s father to whip the errant whipper-in into line. On the programme, McGinn said: “The modus operandi that he [Corbyn] and the people around him were trying to do [sic], involving my family, was to isolate and ostracise me from them and from the community I am very proud to come from – which is an Irish nationalist community in south Armagh.”

Needless to say, the Labour leader’s office has continued to deny any such thing, but while we may nurture some suspicions about his behaviour, McGinn was also indulging in a little airbrushing when he described south Armagh as an “Irish ­nationalist community”. In the most recent elections, Newry and Armagh returned three Sinn Fein members to the Northern Ireland Assembly (as against one Social Democratic and Labour Party member) and one Sinn Fein MP to Westminster. When I last looked, Sinn Fein was still a republican, rather than a nationalist, party – something that McGinn should only be too well aware of, as the paternal hand that was putatively to have been lain on him belongs to Pat McGinn, the former Sinn Fein mayor of Newry and Armagh.

According to the Irish News, a “close friend” of the McGinns poured this cold water on the mini-conflagration: “Anybody who knows the McGinn family knows that Pat is very proud of Conor and that they remain very close.” The friend went on to opine: “He [Pat McGinn] found the whole notion of Corbyn phoning him totally ridiculous – as if Pat is going to criticise his son to save Jeremy Corbyn’s face. They would laugh about it were it not so sinister.”

“Sinister” does seem the mot juste. McGinn, Jr grew up in Bessbrook during the Troubles. I visited the village in the early 1990s on assignment. The skies were full of the chattering of British army Chinooks, and there were fake road signs in the hedgerows bearing pictograms of rifles and captioned: “Sniper at work”. South Armagh had been known for years as “bandit country”. There were army watchtowers standing sentinel in the dinky, green fields and checkpoints everywhere, manned by some of the thousands of the troops who had been deployed to fight what was, in effect, a low-level counter-insurgency war. Nationalist community, my foot.

What lies beneath the Corbyn-McGinn spat is the queered problematics of the ­relationship between the far left wing of the Labour Party and physical-force Irish republicanism. I also recall, during the hunger strikes of the early 1980s, going to a “Smash the H-Blocks” rally in Kilburn, north London, at which Labour Party speakers shared the stage with representatives from Sinn Fein, some of whom wore balaclavas and dark glasses to evade the telephoto lenses of the Met’s anti-terrorist squad.

The shape-shifting relationship between the “political wing” of the IRA and the men with sniper rifles in the south Armagh bocage was always of the essence of the conflict, allowing both sides a convenient fiction around which to posture publicly and privately negotiate. In choosing to appear on platforms with people who might or might not be terrorists, Labour leftists also sprinkled a little of their stardust on themselves: the “stardust” being the implication that they, too, under the right circumstances, might be capable of violence in pursuit of their political ends.

On the far right of British politics, Her Majesty’s Government and its apparatus are referred to derisively as “state”. There were various attempts in the 1970s and 1980s by far-right groupuscules to link up with the Ulster Freedom Fighters and other loyalist paramilitary organisations in their battle against “state”. All foundered on the obvious incompetence of the fascists. The situation on the far left was different. The socialist credentials of Sinn Fein/IRA were too threadbare for genuine expressions of solidarity, but there was a sort of tacit confidence-and-supply arrangement between these factions. The Labour far left provided the republicans with the confidence that, should an appropriately radical government be elected to Westminster, “state” would withdraw from Northern Ireland. What the republicans did for the mainland militants was to cloak them in their penumbra of darkness: without needing to call down on themselves the armed might of “state”, they could imply that they were willing to take it on, should the opportunity arise.

I don’t for a second believe that Corbyn was summoning up these ghosts of the insurrectionary dead when he either did or did not threaten to phone McGinn, Sr. But his supporters need to ask themselves what they’re getting into. Their leader, if he was to have remained true to the positions that he has espoused over many years, should have refused to sit as privy counsellor upon assuming his party office, and refused all the other mummery associated with the monarchical “state”. That he didn’t do so was surely a strategic decision. Such a position would make him utterly unelectable.

The snipers may not be at work in south Armagh just now – but there are rifles out there that could yet be dug up. I wouldn’t be surprised if some in Sinn Fein knew where they are, but one thing’s for certain: Corbyn hasn’t got a clue, bloody or otherwise. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser