Farage admits offshore tax fund was a mistake: "I'm not rich enough"

A bad day for UKIP as Farage's tax avoidance is exposed and the party loses its deposit in the Aberdeen Donside by-election.

Has Nigel Farage's seemingly inexorable rise finally come to an end? It feels that way this morning. The UKIP leader is on the defensive after the Daily Mirror revealed that he opened an offshore trust fund on the Isle of Man "for inheritance purposes", while in last night's Scottish by-election in Aberdeen Donside his party finished a disappointing fifth and lost its deposit after winning only 4.8 per cent of the vote. 

Farage wisely responded to the tax story by immediately admitting that it was "a mistake", although his declaration that he's "not rich enough to need one" is unlikely elicit much sympathy from voters. He said: "My financial advisers recommended I did it, to have a trust really for inheritance purposes and I took the advice and I set it up.

"It was a mistake. I was a completely unsuitable person for it. I am not blaming them, it was my fault.

"It's a vehicle that you chuck things in through your life that you don't need and you build up a trust fund for your children or grandchildren.

"It was called an educational trust and could have been used for grandchildren's schools fees, things like that.

"It was a mistake for three reasons. Firstly, I’m not rich enough to need one and I am never going to be.

"Secondly, frankly, the world has changed. Things that we thought were absolutely fair practice 10 years, 20 years ago, 30 years ago aren’t any more.

"Thirdly, it was a mistake because it cost me money. I sent a cheque off to set it up."

The story is all the more damaging for Farage because he also stands accused of hypocrisy. In a speech last month in the European Parliament, he told MEPs that they had a "common enemy – rich people, successful companies evading tax". Farage, of course, is guilty of legal tax avoidance, not illegal tax evasion, but it's the shared motive that counts. 

As for the by-election, while UKIP's share of 4.8 per cent might be considered impressive given that it had no previous presence in the seat, its prediction that it would keep its deposit (by polling at least 5 per cent) means it must be regarded as a failure. Lord Monckton, the party's Scottish leader, declared before the result: "We have made a breakthrough. It's clear now we'll keep our deposit".

Alex Salmond (interviewed in this week's NS) said: "They have never saved a single deposit in Scotland, which once again demonstrates a clear divergence between Scottish and Westminster politics."

Here's the result in full

  • Mark McDonald (SNP): 9,814 - 42% (-13.4%)
  • Willie Young (Labour): 7,789 - 33.3% (+5.5%)
  • Christine Jardine (Lib Dem)1,940 - 8.3% (+2.3%)
  • Ross Thomson (Conservative): 1,791 - 7.7% (-0.4%)
  • Otto Inglis (UKIP): 1,128 - 4.8% (+4.8)
  • Rhonda Reekie (Scottish Greens): 410 - 1.8% (+1.8%)
  • Dave MacDonald (Scottish National Front): 249 - 1.1% (+0.3%)
  • Tom Morrow (Scottish Christian Party "Proclaiming Christ's Lordship"): 222 - 0.9% (+0.9%)
  • James Trolland (Scottish Democratic Alliance): 35 - 0.1% (+0.1%)

Update: Labour has just issued its response to the tax story. John Spellar MP said: "I know Nigel Farage wants to appeal to disaffected Tories, but copying some of the Tories' biggest donors by using offshore trusts to avoid tax is taking things too far. It's typical of UKIP - they talk about how much they love this country, but they don't even bank here – it’s just hypocritical."

UKIP leader Nigel Farage addresses the media in London on May 3, 2013. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism