Denise Van Outen holds a cheque for Great Ormond Street Hospital. But can she claim back the tax? Credit: Getty
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How charitable tax deductions work

We've heard Osborne's plans to crack down on tax dodgers/ philanthropists (delete as appropriate), but what about higher rate payers and their charitable deductions?

The Financial Times is reporting that George Osborne is set to back down over proposals to limit the tax-deductability of charitable donations. The chancellor's planned cap on tax relief limited deductibles to the higher of 25 per cent of annual income or £50,000 per person, but the inclusion of relief given due to charitable donations in that cap sparked condemnation from all three parties and many charities.

As a result, Osborne is considering two new possibilities:

One plan is to have a separate limit on charitable donations of 50 per cent of a person’s income, allowing charities to claim tens of millions of pounds more in reliefs than under the current plan. Another is to let donors roll over any unused tax reliefs into future years if they are used for donations.

Treasury officials are locked in talks with representatives from the voluntary sector, and expect to make final decisions on how best to mitigate the effects of the planned cap in a few months. But they estimate raising the ceiling for charitable donations to 50 per cent would cost £40m, taking the overall savings from capping charities tax relief down to just £20m.

It is worth clarifying what the proposed changes are. Most of us are only aware of the most basic level of interaction between the tax system and charitable donations: gift-aid.

If a basic-rate taxpayer makes a donation, then a charity can claim back the tax paid on the money donated, boosting the value of the donation by 25 per cent (if the donor gives 80p, then the charity gets £1, which is the amount the donor had to earn to receive 80p post-tax income). There are no current plans to change that, and it has been an invaluable source of revenue for many charities.

If the donor is a higher- or top-rate taxpayer, however, tax relief kicks in for them as well as the charity. In addition to the 20 per cent gift aid, the donor can claim back the 20 or 30 per cent they paid on top of that, and count it against taxable income at the end of the year. So that 80p donation still earns the charity £1, but when the time comes to fill in their tax return, the donor won't have to pay more than basic rate tax on the money donated – they get 20 or 30p back. For a top rate taxpayer, that means that they are out-of-pocket by 50p, while the charity gets £1.

It is important to note that no-one makes money by donating to charity in this way. If the charity is a real one - and this whole affair was sparked because some people are apparently donating to bogus charities, which really is tax dodging - then the donor will always lose at least 50p in every pound the charity receives. It will indeed reduce the total tax they pay, but that reduction will necessarily be less than the amount they donate.

Despite that, there will be people using donations to avoid tax. It won't be rational, and it won't make them richer, but sometimes dodgers go to ludicrous lengths to not pay tax. Willard Foxton reported people "dodging VAT on cars by having them flown in at more cost than the tax". It is certainly believable that those who think like that would donate £2m to avoid paying £1m in tax; but it isn't going to be many.

Even for those who aren't donating out of blind desire to reduce their tax take, the cap will hit hard. Combined with other tax deductions, charitable donations may be enough to push the total tax-rate of a wealthy individual to less than 25 per cent. That is what is concerning charities. Under the proposed rules, the cost of donations to philanthropists with an already low tax rate will rise by 37.5 per cent. If donors react to that rise by donating less, then charities will be sorely hit.

The core issue at stake is whether or not charitable giving abdicates one's responsibility to pay for the machinery of state. On the one hand is the belief exemplified by Clement Atlee:

If a rich man wants to help the poor, he should pay his taxes gladly, not dole out money at a whim.

On the other hand is the belief that by donating to charity, one has fulfilled their responsibility to pay a "fair share".

In the real world the argument hasn't touched upon this morality much, if at all. Instead, the matter is presented in far starker terms; either a focus on "total tax rate" to the exclusion of the reasons why that rate might be low, or a focus on the total income of charities, to the exclusion of the source of that money.

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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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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