Why Indian tax evasion costs the UK

Though increased tax justice could help both developed and developing nations, it is unlikely we can

The UK Uncut protests have put tax justice on the agenda as never before. But, while we tend to see this as a problem of domestic policy -- equating amounts dodged in corporate tax to amounts cut from the public sector -- could it also hold the answer to reducing our aid budget, as well as decreasing developing nations' reliance on charity?

The UK's decision to continue aid to India, recently confirmed in its 2011 bilateral aid review by International Development Secretary Andrew Mitchell, has been controversial to say the least, especially given that other areas face deep spending cuts.

In these straitened financial times, countries across the spectrum are having their aid stopped, from incredibly poor nations such as Burundi, Niger, and Lesotho, to burgeoning economic powerhouses China and Russia. So why will aid continue to India at a cost of around £280m a year to the UK?

India has nuclear and space programmes, and has enjoyed above 8 per cent growth over the last four quarters. However, the argument for continued aid goes that poverty in India is clearly endemic, and is not improving despite the country's continued economic growth. The Multidimensional Poverty Index shows that of its population of roughly 1.1bn, there are still around 645m people living in poverty in India, 421m of whom live in the eight northern states alone.

In a sense, the UK could be seen as morally obliged to continue aid to India as a result of the effects of its colonial legacy. However, at the G20 Finance Ministers summit which took place in Paris on the 18th and 19th of February, the Indian minister Pranab Mukherjee pointed out that if tax evasion could be clamped down on, developing countries could begin to take full responsibility for their own affairs without the need for aid.

The extent of India's tax problem -- and the similarities it bears to that in the UK -- are illustrated by Vodafone. The company, targeted by UK Uncut protestors for dodging up to £4.8bn of taxes here, is also charged with evading £1.7bn of tax in India.

In a recent report entitled Illicit Financial Flows from Developing Countries: 2000-2009, Global Financial Integrity (GFI) estimated that India had lost a reported $104bn in tax evasion between 2000 and 2008. In another report, The Drivers and Dynamics of Illicit Financial Flows from India: 1948-2008, the GFI estimated that India had lost a total of $462 billion in tax evasion from independence in 1948 till 2008.

In an attempt to close this gap, India recently joined the Task Force on Financial Integrity and Economic Development. The Task Force advocates improved transparency and accountability in the global financial system, and the halting of actions like capital flight and transfer mispricing, which are developing countries' main problems with tax. India is now also pushing for a removal of the distinction between 'tax evasion' and 'tax fraud' which facilitates the evasion of tax, and impedes effective exchange of tax information between countries.

Nonetheless, India and many other developing countries still need the help of other G20 members in getting tax information exchange agreements, which would help in countering tax evasion. This would include pressuring the International Accounting Standards Board to act seriously on tax dodging. Such actions could then eventually lead to a reduction in the amount of aid required, halting charity and helping developing nations to become financially independent.

The UK itself seems to be unsure where it stands on tax evasion. Furthermore, with George Monbiot's claims that the government are making obscure changes to tax laws to benefit the rich, and Nicholas Shaxon's exposure of the UK's tax haven in the guise of the City of London Corporation, it is hard to imagine that developing nations, including India, will ever see their tax evasion rates decrease.

Liam McLaughlin is a freelance journalist who has also written for Prospect and the Huffington Post. He tweets irregularly @LiamMc108.

Getty.
Show Hide image

Andy Burnham and Sadiq Khan are both slippery self-mythologisers – so why do we rate one more than the other?

Their obsessions with their childhoods have both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

Andy Burnham is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s widely seen as an unprincipled flip-flopper.

Sadiq Khan is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s the hugely popular mayor of London, the voice of those who’d be proud to think of themselves as the metropolitan liberal elite, and is even talked of as a possible future leader of the Labour party.

Oh, and also they were both born in 1970. So that’s a thing they have in common, too.

Why it is this approach to politics should have worked so much better for the mayor of London than the would-be mayor of Manchester is something I’ve been trying to work out for a while. There are definite parallels between Burnham’s attempts to present himself as a normal northern bloke who likes normal things like football, and Sadiq’s endless reminders that he’s a sarf London geezer whose dad drove a bus. They’ve both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

And yes, Burnham apparent tendency to switch sides, on everything from NHS privatisation to the 2015 welfare vote to the leadership of Jeremy Corbyn, has given him a reputation for slipperiness. But Sadiq’s core campaign pledge was to freeze London transport fares; everyone said it was nonsense, and true to form it was, and you’d be hard pressed to find an observer who thought this an atypical lapse on the mayor’s part. (Khan, too, has switched sides on the matter of Jeremy Corbyn.)

 And yet, he seems to get away with this, in a way that Burnham doesn’t. His low-level duplicity is factored in, and it’s hard to judge him for it because, well, it’s just what he’s like, isn’t it? For a long time, the Tory leadership’s line on London’s last mayor was “Boris is Boris”, meaning, look, we don’t trust him either, but what you gonna do? Well: Sadiq is Sadiq.

Even the names we refer to them by suggest that one of these two guys is viewed very differently from the other. I’ve instinctively slipped into referring to the mayor of London by his first name: he’s always Sadiq, not Khan, just as his predecessors were Boris and Ken. But, despite Eoin Clarke’s brief attempt to promote his 2015 leadership campaign with a twitter feed called “Labour Andy”, Burnham is still Burnham: formal, not familiar. 

I’ve a few theories to explain all this, though I’ve no idea which is correct. For a while I’ve assumed it’s about sincerity. When Sadiq Khan mentions his dad’s bus for the 257th time in a day, he does it with a wink to the audience, making a crack about the fact he won’t stop going on about it. That way, the message gets through to the punters at home who are only half listening, but the bored lobby hacks who’ve heard this routine two dozen times before feel they’re in the joke.

Burnham, it seems to me, lacks this lightness of touch: when he won’t stop banging on about the fact he grew up in the north, it feels uncomfortably like he means it. And to take yourself seriously in politics is sometimes to invite others to make jokes at your expense.

Then again, perhaps the problem is that Burnham isn’t quite sincere enough. Sadiq Khan genuinely is the son of a bus-driving immigrant: he may keep going on about it, but it is at least true. Burnham’s “just a northern lad” narrative is true, too, but excludes some crucial facts: that he went to Cambridge, and was working in Parliament aged 24. Perhaps that shouldn’t change how we interpret his story; but I fear, nonetheless, it does.

Maybe that’s not it, though: maybe I’m just another London media snob. Because Burnham did grow up at the disadvantaged end of the country, a region where, for too many people, chasing opportunities means leaving. The idea London is a city where the son of a bus driver can become mayor flatters our metropolitan self-image; the idea that a northerner who wants to build a career in politics has to head south at the earliest opportunity does the opposite. 

So if we roll our eyes when Burnham talks about the north, perhaps that reflects badly on us, not him: the opposite of northern chippiness is southern snobbery.

There’s one last possibility for why we may rate Sadiq Khan more highly than Andy Burnham: Sadiq Khan won. We can titter a little at the jokes and the fibs but he is, nonetheless, mayor of London. Andy Burnham is just the bloke who lost two Labour leadership campaigns.

At least – for now. In six weeks time, he’s highly likely to the first mayor of Greater Manchester. Slipperiness is not the worst quality in a mayor; and so much of the job will be about banging the drum for the city, and the region, that Burnham’s tendency to wear his northernness on his sleeve will be a positive boon.

Sadiq Khan’s stature has grown because the fact he became London’s mayor seems to say something, about the kind of city London is and the kind we want it to be. Perhaps, after May, Andy Burnham can do the same for the north – and the north can do the same for Andy Burnham.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.