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.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear