Is tax Britain’s problem? No – it’s housing

In obsessing over the mansion tax we risk ignoring the real issue.

Amid talk of mansion and jewelry taxes, it’s interesting to reflect on The New York Times’ recent piece "The Myth of the Rich Who Flee From Taxes".

Rather than moving to avoid tax, the paper reports that:

A large majority of people move for far more compelling reasons, like jobs, the cost of housing, family ties or a warmer climate. At least three recent academic studies have demonstrated that the number of people who move for tax reasons is negligible, even among the wealthy.

One of those studies, "Tax Flight Is a Myth", is particularly notable. It finds that, although there are huge discrepancies between tax rates in different US states, under a third of US citizens change their state of residence over their lifetime.

Some people certainly do move for financial reasons – only not the ones that we might assume. New Jersey introduced an annual additional tax on those with incomes over $500,000 in 2004; by the end of 2007, no more than 70 tax filers had left the state and New Jersey was a net $3.75bn better off than under the old tax system.

It is property prices that are much more important. Consider the case of Florida: with no state income tax, you might expect the state to be flooded with those wishing to escape taxes. Except, in the late 2000s, Florida’s population actually declined. Lack of state income taxation might have been appealing, but it couldn’t make up for Florida’s rapidly rising housing prices.

What can the UK learn from these studies? Retaining the 50p tax rate probably wouldn’t have led to the wealth exodus that George Osborne feared. And for something labelled “socialist” the proposed mansion tax is striking in its caution: someone with a house worth £3m would pay only £10,000 extra a year. It wouldn’t raise the redistributive sums the left hopes, and nor would it punish successful businessmen as the right fears.

In obsessing over the mansion tax we risk ignoring the real issue. As in the case of Florida, Britain’s economy is undermined by the exorbitant cost of housing. According to Halifax, the average age of first-time house buyers is now 30, and it is 32 in London (pdf). Rather than debate the morals of taxing houses, we need to focus on how to make housing more affordable.

Taxing homes like this wouldn't have the impact either the left or right predict Photograph: Getty Images

Tim Wigmore is a contributing writer to the New Statesman and the author of Second XI: Cricket In Its Outposts.

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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