Why is tax avoidance a reason for letting people off tax?

Tax dodging, the Laffer curve, and the 50p rate

The reason given for cutting the 50p rate of tax to 45p was avoidance. It wasn't clearly phrased as such – most of the talk was about how it had raised less money than expected, or had changed behaviour in ways that harmed growth – but that is what it was nonetheless. To many, this will seem strange. "You avoided tax, so we will make you pay less". But it is an integral part of the line of thought that lies behind the cut.

Art Laffer first made the argument that cutting tax rates could boost revenue. The reasoning is broadly that, when the marginal tax rate (the amount you pay on each extra pound earned) gets too high, people start doing things to reduce their taxable income.

The palatable version is that they work less, because an extra hour of work no longer pays as well as it did, and this is probably true; there are certainly anecdotal tales of highly paid consultants turning down work later on in the year to spend more time at home.

The less palatable version is that they avoid more tax, because spending the money and effort required to set up a limited company, be paid "overseas", or funnel your income through a Swiss bank account in the name of your dog becomes more worthwhile the more it saves you.

Both of these "behavioural changes" are factored in to the Laffer curve, the rough prediction of how much revenue will be gained at various marginal tax rates. HMRC produced three such curves, each based around a different "taxable income elasticity" (TIE), a measure of how much an individual's behaviour changes given the tax rate:

They based their analysis around a TIE of 0.45 (a figure basically plucked from thin air – HMRC admit the evidence to choose is "extremely limited", and the studies they cite range from -0.6 to 2.75), which showed a peak of revenue at around 48 per cent. Quite why this then led the Chancellor to cut the rate to three per cent below that is unclear. If he wanted to raise revenue, his own analysis is showing that he's done it wrong.

The problem is, one thing which affects the TIE is the ease with which one can avoid tax. Make tax avoidance harder, TIE goes up, and the peak revenue rate increases. In fact, given the anti-avoidance measures announced at the budget yesterday, TIE will already be higher than it was at the time of the analysis, boosting the argument for keeping the 50p rate.

There is one massive category of avoidance which can't be cited as a reason for cutting the rate, however. The HMRC's stats show that £6.6bn less income was declared in 2010-11 due to it being "forestalled" – paid the year before, so as to take advantage of the lower rate. This is avoidance on a massive scale (Richard Murphy points out that it is £1.6bn more than the estimation for all tax avoidance in 2011), yet, contra Tim Worstall, it has no bearing on the decision on whether or not to cut the rate, because it can only ever be done once. 

By cutting the tax so early in its life, Osborne has ensured that we make the decision unable to know the full effect of cutting it. We can guess at how much will have been raised for the 2011-12 tax year, when forestalling was harder (although not impossible, and HMRC warn that it "continues to reduce revenues in 2011-12 and beyond"), but by the time we know for sure, it will be too late. The 45p tax will be in, and there won't be a "normal" year of the 50p rate to compare it to.

Tax dodging is an emotive issue. Credit: Getty

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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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times