Tax transparency treats the symptom not the cause

If we worry about politicians dodging taxes, attack the dodging, not the privacy, writes the TPA's M

Do we really want to live in a country where politicians have to hand out their tax returns, medical history and birth certificate to the press, like they do in the United States? I don’t think voters want to make disclosing all that a part of the price of running for office in Britain. But the legitimacy of the tax and benefit system has been undermined by its complexity and too many stories of people breaking the rules, or twisting them out of all recognition.

We could respond to that by demanding more and more intrusions on people’s privacy. Polly Toynbee is already talking about forcing everyone to make the same kind of disclosure that the mayoral candidates just have. That might mean some people who are in the public eye pay more.  Others will ignore it though, because they won’t be scrutinised or don’t care what we all think of them.  Do you really think Ryanair boss Michael O’Leary would care if anyone called him a tax dodger? (Just a hypothetical example, I don’t have any reason to think he doesn’t pay his taxes). We would have a tax system that discriminates against those who care if the Guardian calls them names.

It won’t just be an issue for the fortunate either.  If we all have to disclose the taxes we pay, then we’re one headline away from having to disclose any benefits we receive too. Benefit fraud upsets the median voter as much as tax dodging.

Instead of descending into an Athenian pit of mistrust, it would be much better to reform the tax and benefit system, so we can again trust that people will pay their fair share. That means simpler, lower taxes so that there are fewer loopholes and there is less of an incentive to spend time and money looking for them. It means treating income from capital and labour the same – taxing each stream of income once – so that we don’t have to care whether Ken Livingstone sets up a business or not. Hopefully, that’s the kind of tax system we will outline in the forthcoming report of the 2020 Tax Commission, which we have been working on at the TaxPayers’ Alliance with the Institute of Directors.

If Britain’s tax code remains as dysfunctional as it is now, then voters and the press will rightly demand that politicians prove they aren’t taking advantage of its idiosyncrasies. If they want their privacy, they need to stop putting sticking plasters on the gaping wound that is tax avoidance and evasion – inadvertently hitting charities in the process – and instead address the fundamental problems with a tax system that has lost its legitimacy.

A nightmarish future: Compelled to post your tax return on Instagram. (Getty)

Matthew is the director of the TaxPayers' Alliance

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war