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.

Qusai Al Shidi/Flickr
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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

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 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war