The living wage and tax

Does the living wage provide an argument for ending tax on the lowest paid?

Forbes blogger Tim Worstall writes, on his personal site:

Note, and nota bene, that the Living Wage is a pre-tax number. This is before the income tax and NI that is charged to these wages. If you take those off (and I’ve not done it for this year’s number but I have for previous years) you find that the living wage of £7.20 (or whatever) an hour is within pennies of the minimum wage of £6.19 (or whatever) an hour.

We don't actually know what the living wage will be this year (it's announced on 5 November), but I thought I'd re-run Worstall's calculations with last year's numbers anyway.

The living wage is calculated based on a full-time worker working for 38.5 hours a week. It's also calculated first for London, then downrated for the rest of the country according to cost of living differences, so we'll do the same. The London living wage is currently £8.30 an hour, and the living wage for the rest of the UK is £7.20 an hour. The national minimum wage when these rates were set was £5.93, but is now £6.19.

A full-time worker in London on the living wage earns £319.55 a week. A full-time worker out of London on the living wage earns £277.20 a week. A full-time worker on the 2012 minimum wage earns £238.32 a week, and a full-time worker on the 2010 minimum wage earned £228.31 a week.

To assess Tim's point, we subtract the basic income tax and NI charged on those wages. Someone on the London living wage pays £35.11 tax and £20.83 NI, leaving them with £263.61 a week. Someone on the non-London living wage pays £26.64 tax and £15.74 NI, leaving them with £234.82 a week.

So if you are out of London and paid the living wage, your income if you paid full NI and tax would be slightly lower than than the pre-tax value of the minimum wage – and even after the amount is uprated next month, it would only be a few pounds higher.

Does this then mean Worstall is right when he says:

It is not that wages are too low. The minimum wage is almost exactly what they say that poverty level is. It is that taxes on the poor are too high. Which is an easy problem to solve, something well within the government’s power. Stop taxing the poor so much.

Well, there's a few more stats to look at first. For one thing, the minimum wage is itself a pre-tax figure. Post income tax and NI, the minimum wage is £208.37, a solid £26 a week lower than the living wage. It's perfectly reasonable to think that, if the living wage could be lower without taxes, the minimum wage could be too.

Secondly, if there's one thing the whole comparison really highlights, it's that while the minimum wage may be acceptable in most of the country, in London it's grossly low. £55 a week, post-tax, is the difference between what it takes to live out of poverty in London and what you actually earn working 38.5 hours a week on the minimum wage.

But thirdly, and most important, the Living wage isn't actually calculated pre-tax. The Greater London Authority, the body responsible for calculating the London living wage, writes (pdf):

If means-tested benefits were not taken into account (that is, tax credits, housing benefits and council tax benefits) the Living Wage would be approximately £10.40 per hour.

Even with all means tested benefits taken into account, the total tax rate for many on the London living wage is likely to be positive; and it's certainly true that there are likely to be inefficiencies involved in taking money in the form of NI while at the same time giving it back as housing benefit. But simply arguing that ending tax on the minimum wage would make it into a living wage seems incorrect. Few, if any, on the living wage pay the maximum amount of tax as calculated above, for the very good reason that that would be a terrible idea.

This doesn't mean that there isn't still a valuable argument to be made about taking the lowest paid out of the taxation system; and it doesn't mean that it isn't deeply strange that people on the minimum wage have to pay money to the government and then ask for it back in kind; but the living wage doesn't really help us make those arguments.

Campaigners for a living wage in 1972. Photograph: Getty Images.

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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The decline of the north's sporting powerhouse

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Now, things are different.

On a drive between Sheffield and Barnsley, I spotted a striking painting of the Kes poster. Billy Casper’s two-fingered salute covered the wall of a once-popular pub that is now boarded up.

It is almost 50 years since the late Barry Hines wrote A Kestrel for a Knave, the novel that inspired Ken Loach’s 1969 film, and it seems that the defiant, us-against-the-world, stick-it-to-the-man Yorkshireness he commemorated still resonates here. Almost two-thirds of the people of south Yorkshire voted to leave the EU, flicking two fingers up at what they saw as a London-based establishment, detached from life beyond the capital.

But whatever happened to Billy the unlikely lad, and the myriad other northern characters who were once the stars of stage and screen? Like the pitheads that dominated Casper’s tightly knit neighbourhood, they have disappeared from the landscape. The rot set in during the 1980s, when industries were destroyed and communities collapsed, a point eloquently made in Melvyn Bragg’s excellent radio series The Matter of the North.

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Yet today, we rarely get to hear the voices of Barnsley, Sheffield, Doncaster and Rotherham. And the Yorkshire sporting powerhouse is no more – at least, not as we once knew it.

This should be a matter of national concern. The White Rose county is, after all, the home of the world’s oldest registered football club – Sheffield FC, formed in 1857 – and the first English team to win three successive League titles, Huddersfield Town, in the mid-1920s. Hull City are now Yorkshire’s lone representative in the Premier League.

Howard Wilkinson, the manager of Leeds United when they were crowned champions in 1992, the season before the Premier League was founded, lamented the passing of a less money-obsessed era. “My dad worked at Orgreave,” he said, “the scene of Mrs Thatcher’s greatest hour, bless her. You paid for putting an axe through what is a very strong culture of community and joint responsibility.”

The best-known scene in Loach’s film shows a football match in which Mr Sugden, the PE teacher, played by Brian Glover, comically assumes the role of Bobby Charlton. It was played out on the muddy school fields of Barnsley’s run-down Athersley estate. On a visit to his alma mater a few years ago, David Bradley, who played the scrawny 15-year-old Billy, showed me the goalposts that he had swung from as a reluctant goalkeeper. “You can still see the dint in the crossbar,” he said. When I spoke to him recently, Bradley enthused about his lifelong support for Barnsley FC. “But I’ve not been to the ground over the last season and a half,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Bradley is not alone. Many long-standing fans have been priced out. Barnsley is only a Championship side, but for their home encounter with Newcastle last October, their fans had to pay £30 for a ticket.

The English game is rooted in the northern, working-class communities that have borne the brunt of austerity over the past six years. The top leagues – like the EU – are perceived to be out of touch and skewed in favour of the moneyed elites.

Bradley, an ardent Remainer, despaired after the Brexit vote. “They did not know what they were doing. But I can understand why. There’s still a lot of neglect, a lot of deprivation in parts of Barnsley. They feel left behind because they have been left behind.”

It is true that there has been a feel-good factor in Yorkshire following the Rio Olympics; if the county were a country, it would have finished 17th in the international medals table. Yet while millions have been invested in “podium-level athletes”, in the team games that are most relevant to the lives of most Yorkshire folk – football, cricket and rugby league – there is a clear division between sport’s elites and its grass roots. While lucrative TV deals have enriched ruling bodies and top clubs, there has been a large decrease in the number of adults playing any sport in the four years since London staged the Games.

According to figures from Sport England, there are now 67,000 fewer people in Yorkshire involved in sport than there were in 2012. In Doncaster, to take a typical post-industrial White Rose town, there has been a 13 per cent drop in participation – compared with a 0.4 per cent decline nationally.

Attendances at rugby league, the region’s “national sport”, are falling. But cricket, in theory, is thriving, with Yorkshire winning the County Championship in 2014 and 2015. Yet Joe Root, the batsman and poster boy for this renaissance, plays far more games for his country than for his county and was rested from Yorkshire’s 2016 title decider against Middlesex.

“Root’s almost not a Yorkshire player nowadays,” said Stuart Rayner, whose book The War of the White Roses chronicles the club’s fortunes between 1968 and 1986. As a fan back then, I frequently watched Geoffrey Boycott and other local stars at Headingley. My favourite was the England bowler Chris Old, a gritty, defiant, unsung anti-hero in the Billy Casper mould.

When Old made his debut, 13 of the 17-strong Yorkshire squad were registered as working-class professionals. Half a century later, three of the five Yorkshiremen selec­ted for the last Ashes series – Root, Jonny Bairstow and Gary Ballance – were privately educated. “The game of cricket now is played in public schools,” Old told me. “Top players are getting huge amounts of money, but the grass-roots game doesn’t seem to have benefited in any way.”

“In ten years’ time you won’t get a Joe Root,” Rayner said. “If you haven’t seen these top Yorkshire cricketers playing in your backyard and you haven’t got Sky, it will be difficult to get the whole cricket bug. So where is the next generation of Roots going to come from?” Or the next generation of Jessica Ennis-Hills? Three years ago, the Sheffield stadium where she trained and first discovered athletics was closed after cuts to local services.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era