The Lib Dems' new property tax plan

Clegg and Cable push for a new tax on profits from first homes above £1m.

George Osborne has long made it clear that he regards the 50p tax rate as a "temporary" measure that will be abolished as soon as politically possible. As I noted earlier this year, Osborne has pencilled in 2013 as the earliest opportunity to remove the top rate. One of the most interesting debates in the coalition at the moment is on what (if anything) should replace it.

Both Nick Clegg and Vince Cable believe that the 50p rate should be replaced with a range of new property taxes and details of their plans are beginning to emerge. As today's Daily Mail reports, rather than a version of Cable's "mansion tax", the Lib Dems are now pushing for the introduction of capital gains tax on profits from first homes above £1m. Alongside this, they plan to reduce VAT on home improvements to 5 per cent (to encourage owners to renovate rather than to sell) and scrap stamp duty for low earners.

The move is part of a distinctly liberal attempt to shift the burden of taxation from earned income to unearned wealth (property, inheritance and land). Taking their cue from John Stuart Mill, the Lib Dems believe that the tax system should do more to reward merit, enterprise and innovation. As Vince Cable put it in his essay for the New Statesman on reclaiming Keynes, taxation should be diverted away from "profitable, productive investment" and towards "unproductive asset accumulation".

The NS has long argued that there are strong, principled and pragmatic arguments for higher taxes on property. As a recent editorial noted:

These automatically apply to largely untaxed foreign owners, target the source of much unearned wealth and are harder to avoid than taxes on income. In addition, they reduce the distorting effect that property speculation has on the economy.

On taxation at least, the Lib Dems can now claim to be exerting serious influence on the Tories. Osborne has embraced their plan to raise the personal allowance to £10,000 by the end of this parliament and is now set to restructure the taxation of top earners along liberal lines.

It remains unclear what stance Labour will take on this issue. During the leadership contest, Ed Miliband consistently argued for a "permanent" 50p rate but he has since modified his stance. He now merely says that abolishing the top rate is not a "priority" for him and that he will not take decisions on taxation this early in the parliament.

But having fought so long for a new top rate, many in Labour, including Miliband, will be reluctant to change course now. The tax is an important symbol of the party's commitment to a more equal society and pollsl show that it is popular with the voters. A recent Sunday Times/YouGov survey, for instance, found that 33 per cent think the top rate should eventually be brought down, 49 per cent think it should be made permanent and 51 per cent would like to see the threshold brought down to £100,000, with 29 per cent opposed. But electoral considerations aside, there is little doubt that the Lib Dems' bold agenda will require a more intellectually rigorous approach from Labour.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Bertie Carvel's diary: What would the French think about infidelity to Doctor Foster?

The joy of debuting a new series, Rupert Murdoch's squeamishness and a sting in the tail.

According to the adage, the first thing an actor does when he gets a job is to go on holiday. And so, having finished our sold-out run of James Graham’s Ink at the Almeida and with the show (in which I play a young Rupert Murdoch) about to transfer into the West End, I’m packing my bags.

But before I can skip town, I’ve one more professional engagement: the press launch of series two of the BBC drama Doctor Foster, which we finished filming at Christmas. I’ve now seen the final cut of all five episodes, and I’m excited to share it with an audience. There’s no substitute for seeing other people’s reactions at first hand, especially with a show that got people talking so much first time around, and it’s electric to sit in a cinema full of expectant journalists and commentators and feel the room respond. Nothing beats this: to put so much into making a thing and then experience an audience’s unmediated, reflexive reaction. When it goes well, you feel that you’ve shared something, that you’ve all recognised something together about how things are. It’s a unifying feeling. A sort of bond.

Cheating spouses

Handling the interviews has been tricky, when there’s so little one can say without giving the plot away. (The first series began with Suranne Jones’s character Gemma, a GP, suspecting her husband Simon of having an affair.) What’s more, lots of the questions invite moral judgements that I’ve tried my best to avoid; I always think it’s really important not to judge the characters I play from outside, but simply to work out how they feel about themselves, to zero in on their point of view. There’s a sort of moral bloodlust around this show: it’s extraordinary. People seem to want to hear that I’ve been pilloried in the street, or expect me to put distance between myself and my character, to hang him out to dry as a pariah.

While I’m not in the business of defending Simon Foster any more than I’m in the business of attacking him, I am intrigued by this queer mixture of sensationalism and prurience that seems to surface again and again.

Shock horror

Oddly enough, it’s something that comes up in Ink: many people have been surprised to find that, in a story about the re-launch of the Sun newspaper in 1969 as a buccaneering tabloid, it’s the proprietor who considers dropping anchor when the spirit of free enterprise threatens to set his moral compass spinning.

I’ve never given it much thought before, but I suppose that sensationalism relies on a fairly rigid worldview for its oxygen – the SHOCKERS! that scream at us in tabloid headlines are deviations from a conventional idea of the norm. But what’s behind the appetite for this sort of story? Do we tell tales of transgression to reinforce our collective boundaries or to challenge them?

For me there’s a close kinship between good journalism and good drama. I’m reminded of the words of John Galsworthy, who wrote Strife, the play I directed last summer, and who felt that the writer should aim “to set before the public no cut-and-dried codes, but the phenomena of life and character, selected and combined, but not distorted, by the dramatist’s outlook, set down without fear, favour, or prejudice, leaving the public to draw such poor moral as nature may afford”.

So when it comes to promoting the thing we’ve made, I’m faced with a real conundrum: on the one hand I want it to reach a wide audience, and I’m flattered that there’s an appetite to hear about my contribution to the process of making it; but on the other hand I think the really interesting thing about the work is contained in the work itself. I’m always struck, in art galleries, by how much more time people spend reading the notes next to the paintings than looking at the paintings themselves. I’m sure that’s the wrong way around.

Insouciant remake

En route to the airport the next morning I read that Doctor Foster is to be adapted into a new French version. It’s a cliché verging on racism, but I can’t help wondering whether the French will have a different attitude to a story about marital infidelity, and whether the tone of the press coverage will differ. I wonder, too, whether, in the home of Roland Barthes, there is as much space given to artists to talk about what they’ve made – in his 1967 essay, “The Death of the Author”, Barthes wrote that “a text’s unity lies not in its origin but in its destination”.

No stone unturned

Touring the villages of Gigondas, Sablet and Séguret later that evening, I’m struck by the provision of espaces culturels in seemingly every commune, however small. The French certainly give space to the work itself. But I also notice a sign warning of a chat lunatique, so decide to beat a hasty retreat. Arriving at the house where I’m staying, I’ve been told that the key will be under a flowerpot. Lifting each tub in turn, and finally a large flat stone by the door, I find a small scorpion, but no key. I’m writing this at a table less than a yard away so let’s hope there won’t be a sting in this tale.

Ink opens at the Duke of York Theatre, London, on 9 September. More details: almeida.co.uk

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