Sunday, 9 October 2022

This Means Testing my patience

 

Means testing 

Means testing is often suggested as a way to get the best out of a government programme: to provide targeted help, without wasting money. It crops up everywhere, for almost any new bit of expenditure. Should we cap energy bills – and can we do it only for the poor? Should we cut student loans – or can we pay fees only for the poor?

There is a legitimate fear of wasting money; no-one thinks that we should extract money from the less well-off and give it to the wealthier. Except Conservative loons, that is, who dress it up in a fog of incoherent twaddle that hides the effect of their beliefs, even from themselves. Trickle-down economics, tax cuts to incentivise investment, government support to pay businesses to do the right thing, oil and gas tax reliefs… these all give money to the wealthier.

But why should a government programme do everything at once? If we’re worried about whether government distribution is regressive, we have the perfect system for changing how much money people have: taxes. We use our tax system to set the wealth distribution; we use other policies to do other things.

It’s not hard to invent a few analogies. Imagine a cricket team which realises that it is weak at batting. Should the coach keep the line-up that is all bowlers from the squad and tell them all to do some batting practice? That seems an ideal way to lose and probably get himself fired. You get batsmen to do batting, and bowlers to do bowling, and welcome the occasional player who’s decent at both, but rarely as good as your specialists.

The same is true in rugby. If you’re losing at the ruck because you don’t have enough weight and driving power in the team, you can feed up your backs so that they’re a bit heavier and slower, but then you lose their speed in open play. You need to train up your forwards and keep the backs as good as they can be.

I know less about football, but there are strikers and defenders just the same. In a team with only one good striker you play a formation and tactics to get that player the opportunities. You don’t keep your striker in midfield and give everyone a go at playing upfield.

Back to running a country, the tax system is how we redistribute: it’s our perfect tool for this and we need no other. Making other policies try to redistribute wealth just makes them worse policies, which is helpful for those who oppose them, but entirely unnecessary.

If a policy helps the rich or high-income people (not the same thing: plenty of high income people have yet to reach the dizzying heights of the phenomenally wealthy) we could fiddle with the policy, changing it from a simple concept to a complex web of rules and regulations that define who gets how much. Or we could accept that the wealthy get that benefit and tax them more as a consequence.

For example, we might decide that we want public transport to be free. This might help poor people who need it to access jobs and other services, and it might help take cars off the road and reduce time spent paying, speeding up buses even more and reducing pollution. This would give rich people free public transport and that might seem wrong: we might want someone to deserve our help before getting it.

So we could introduce means-testing: we could ask people to show an ‘I-deserve-it’ card, a student card, or proof of being under 18, or over 65 (although plenty of rich people have been and are children, and live to be over 65); or we could issue free-travel passes and only give them to people who meet a raft of criteria, and we could employ a few clerks to process it all, and we’d not pay them much and the rules would be complex and poor people would have to spend time and effort applying through this process when they have little attention spare (if they didn’t, they probably wouldn’t be poor) and we’d have people moaning about faceless bureaucrats denying obviously needy people their rights and people moaning about cheats scamming the system because the bureaucrats aren’t checking things properly and ensuring everyone ticks all the boxes…

In the grand scheme of things, all this bureaucracy wouldn’t cost that much money. Civil servants are cheap. Free travel really adds up, just like free television licences for the elderly, or any population-wide scheme. One clerk can process a lot of applications, and each application represents dozens or hundreds of uses of the benefit. But it does still cost money, and it costs time and aggravation for people, none of whom really wants to be filling in forms. It’s important to remember that administrative cost of policies is rarely the major cost (Covid testing apps being an obvious exception); complexity is, however, a good source of fraud and error as well as being a burden on the population.

It makes far more sense to decide that good public transport is just a benefit and feature of civilised societies, and make it free for everyone. Then we don’t need to check passes when people use it; buses remain fast, a whole pointless industry is lost, and people have something to be proud of: a benefit provided to citizens, all of whom are of equal moral worth and all of whom deserve and get good services… If we believe that public transport should be free: it’s just an example.

To pay for this free service, we need money. How does government raise money? It taxes people. So we raise taxes in one way or another, and any sensible tax system taxes the rich much more than the poor, so the end result is the same: the rich pay and the poor get free transport.

Of course, you might not trust the current tax system, and therefore not want to rely on it. You might think that corporation tax should be higher, or you might think that tax on high incomes is not high enough. You might be outraged at the endless list of loopholes (‘reliefs’) that mostly rich people can use to avoid tax. Adding means testing to other policies doesn’t help. If the tax system is broken, fix it. If your batsmen are pathetic, get or train better ones: don’t ask your bowlers to give up on bowling and train to bat.

I think the logic is clear. But on top of these arguments we encounter many problems with multiple means-tested benefits, which is that the system becomes complex and has perverse effects. For example, a few years ago someone calculated that there was an earnings threshold for some couples above which they lost money because the withdrawal of a range of means-tested benefits created an effective 120% tax rate.

That was for relatively normal incomes. We see similarly silly effects for very high incomes, where the range of tax reliefs is so broad that most high earners manage to claim a few, giving them lower effective tax rates than far poorer people. People might argue that many reliefs are incentives for productive behaviour (a debateable point: many are poorly-conceived with no evidence of benefit), but if these opportunities are only available for rich people, it’s not a fair society. I will bet that £6bn of entrepreneurs’ relief would encourage more innovation if it were given out as research grants via the research councils, since the evidence suggests that it has no effect at all on start-ups. At the moment all research funding totals about £2.5bn: this is all that we dedicate to improving the lot of mankind forever. A lot of low-paid people would happily be a research technician and advance humanity if we provided an incentive (i.e. a salary).

 

Targeted subsidy

If people are struggling to pay energy bills it’s not actually the case that they had a pot of ‘energy money’ which they can’t change. If they had the money spare, they could use other money to pay their bills. If their energy bills came in lower, they could use their spare money on other things. The rising cost of energy has pushed their total costs above their ability to pay because they were so close to the threshold already. People are still paying other bills.

So if someone’s total cost for a basic life is too high, why would we target one of those bills in particular? It’s the total that’s the problem. We teach children that 2+2=4 ; and if you can only afford 3, you don’t blame the second 2 alone. It’s the total of four that’s too high.

I’ve already discussed making your benefit universal, using the great example of public transport. But why pick one specific benefit at all? In some cases, such as public transport, there are valid reasons: payment takes time, slowing buses down. But with energy price subsidies, there is no reason for a price limit. Why throw money at energy companies when you could give it directly to the people?

Maybe some of us could use very little energy with just a little more money to spend on jumpers, or gym membership. Other people might guzzle vast amounts of energy. A targeted subsidy helps the wasteful people the most (who tend to be the richest) and punishes anyone already being frugal: frugal people use less, and so there is less price reduction on their expenditure.

If we just gave people money – and the £100bn energy price relief announced recently translates to about £3,570 for every one of our 28m households – they could choose what to do with it. They might want to buy a few cakes from coffee shops, now able to afford the coffee shop’s higher prices. They might want to stay at home and overheat the house to tropical temperatures. Whatever it is, they get to choose, and everyone gets the relief. By choosing to make it energy-specific, we target the help to the greatest spenders, who are the people we most want to encourage to change their behaviour.

My energy bills will be about £1,000 this year. The £3,500 subsidy for every household won’t make me a profit. Even if we gave the subsidy per person (including children), it’d be over £1,000. I won’t pay £0. Who will get all that money that isn’t helping me? It won’t be the poor. It’ll be rich people burning vastly more energy than I can comprehend needing: their £10,000 bills will drop a bit more. But even if it were the poor, that’d be a silly way to redistribute wealth, as we’ve already seen: we should use taxes to redistribute.

 

Tax and spend should be a simple cash transfer

              Overall, instead of means-testing benefits, we should give all citizens extra money and let them decide how to balance their own budgets – a free society gives people control over their own lives rather than dictating decisions to them. There will be a few exceptions, such as with buses, where removing payment entirely makes the service more efficient by saving time, or when trying to help those who can’t make decisions for themselves, such as children, as we cannot guarantee that others will prioritise the child’s interest over their own.

              Every time we see an announcement of new help, and a new debate over whether it should be means-tested, everyone is wrong. There should be a universal payment to all citizens, balanced by the tax system, and set to ensure that all sources of hardship can be covered. A citizens’ dividend, we could call it. Or a universal basic income. Or negative tax rates for the poor. It is the only sane and logical approach, once you remove politicians’ need to be seen to be doing something about something and think only of what would be the best policy.

              There should be no help for energy, no petrol price subsidy. Just money and taxes. Someone who uses a lot but who is poor will break even. Someone who uses little but is rich will break even. Someone who uses little and is poor will get, and deserve, some benefit. And someone who is rich and wasteful will pay more. All achieved simply, easily and fairly.

Friday, 9 September 2022

The Queen: a ritual sharing-of-thoughts on her death

 

As the nation is subjected to enforced mourning, I want to discuss what the queen means to me [spoiler alert: not very much, but she is a useful angle to touch on important subjects].

Personal sorrow

              Her public façade was carefully maintained so that she appeared to be a constant, apolitical figure. This ensured that I have no insight into her true character: I feel no personal connection, even in the not-actually-real way that people do with celebrities who do not know them in return. She made sure that she was simply a formal, characterless institution.

Death is tragic

              Any mourning cannot be because of the loss of a personal connection. All death is tragic, so celebrating her death would also be wrong. But 550,000 people die every year in the country, almost all of them younger than the queen was. Maybe 1% of people are decent, wonderful people who deserve to be celebrated, so even if we assume that the queen’s life of service and wealth qualify her as such a person, a few other amazing people probably died on the exact same day in the UK. Of course, many people quite reasonably believe that all death is tragic even if a person wasn’t virtuous and deserving, but I think that’s a better criterion than whether the person was a child or popular (‘well-liked’), which are common labels attached to other news reports about deaths. If we mourn her death because deaths are bad, we must mourn every day for the tragedies unfolding all around us.           

              I can’t mourn her death either through personal attachment or out of respect for death in general. It doesn’t make sense.

Monarchs are special

              I never enjoyed the idea of being reigned over. I cannot grieve the loss of a monarch because she was my queen. I perceive myself as living in one of the freer countries in the world, and that freedom is a good thing. I feel no attachment or dedication to those in exalted positions in life. I know that they deserve no such position above me; that the existence of such positions is an affront to all that is good and decent. No man is my master, nor even any god. I regard the monarchy as a ceremonial institution; a relic of history.

              I can’t mourn the queen’s death because of some sort of worship of superior beings. I have equal moral worth, and so do all the other dying people. The monarchy as a religion is nonsensical.

 An institution gone

              She was, however, an institution in another sense. People feel a sense of constancy from seeing the same figures in public life, and the number of figures providing this constancy have shrunk during the information age, with people viewing and participating in all sorts of different media, churning through different sections of the great bubbling pot of celebrity.

              My impression is that the queen, like a secular religion, provided people with a durable figure that reassured them of stability in a changing world: that the turbulent future need not be feared, because some things stay constant; the era has not really shifted to something entirely new and unintelligible; that it is possible to endure.

              This stability gives people a connection to the past and a sense of identity and safety. All entirely false.

               

              Some people, who crave stability, and who fear the unknown; who struggle to understand everything in the world, which makes it all the more worrying, might legitimately feel a new emotion as the queen dies. It is the emotion they should have been feeling all along. The queen did not actually protect them from Tzar Putin, from SARS-CoV-2, from Emperor Xi, from polio, poverty, petrol prices, cancer, new ideas or changing culture. The reassurance that everything was alright was false: they should have been as lost as they now feel, and they should have been voting and acting to address these fears.

              The world does change. Culture moves on, and you’re still a bigot even if the imagery around you is still similar to the imagery from when bigotry was normal. Culture moves on, and you still come across as weird even if people did meet at a pub in front of the same imagery that is now the background to lives lived by text message and short videos.

              Diseases rise, booms and busts happen, and they need to be faced. A feeling of safety that comes from anything other than good governance, good research and good friends simply is a vice: an opiate of the masses that kills the pain without addressing the cause.

              So although I think that this is the truth behind what genuine sorrow there is in the population, I still can’t mourn the queen’s death because of the loss of stability.

A remarkable life

              The queen’s life spanned a period of enormous change, and the contrasts between the world when she was crowned and the world when she died are remarkable. That’s what people seem to mean when assessing her ‘remarkable life’: a look back over her life is a chance to look at recent history and see how much has happened.

              This wonder at change in the world is legitimate, and there will always be a certain wistfulness about all the people she met who have also faded into history and all the fun or exciting events that we forgot until now. That’s the nature of time and our limited lifespans and attention spans. It is a source of sorrow that we can’t remember every great thing in our lives all the time, and that some things fade, and great achievements come to be regarded as mere bricks in the great edifice of history.

              These are all good reasons to feel a sort of sorrow, but her death is a mere reminder of the state of things. We can feel sad about this, but mourning her specifically for these reasons is wildly inappropriate. Many lives spanned these decades, all experiencing the changing world.

 

Ritual bonding

              For many people, ceremonies are a source of connection. Shared experience is the basis of this, although of course people experience the same event very differently. People crave ritual not just for the false feelings of comfort and safety it provides but also because joint activities bond people together. Some people, at least. I never went to a club and found the dancing bonded me to anything except the sticky floor. It was the chatting over drinks that made nights out for me.

              I did attend church in the past (with my mother), and despite sitting behind the same couple every fortnight for years I never felt bonded to them because of shared ritual.

              I feel no joy from joining in with activities I didn’t want to do in the first place: ‘joining in’ is not, in itself, a joyful thing. Losing my individuality is, in fact, unpleasant, and losing my independence unthinkable. I do not like conformity and I never feel part of a crowd except in the purely physical sense. I will go so far as to assert that the almost religious fervour some people feel about ‘atmosphere’ at events is as objectively true as religions: i.e. not at all. It is a false belief about connection with everyone else, just like taking ecstasy.

              But to people who have this attitude towards ritual and conformity, those of us who are more sane seem wayward. It looks to them like we are rejecting them: there is an opportunity to bond joyfully in glorious total conformity and we are pulling the rug out from under it, undermining that sense of shared experience that is vital for their good feelings.

              I think I understand (vaguely) their irrationality, but the fact that their pleasure depends on my behaviour does not mean that I must make them happy, even at the expense of my own happiness. I am an independent being, not part of their collective. In so far as we are a collective by virtue of being part of the same society, I get as much right to define its nature as they do.
              Talk of uniting as a country is as self-serving as it was when it was about uniting behind Brexit. It means ‘forget what you want and do what I want, and don’t make me feel bad about forcing it on you by daring to act as if you didn’t want it’. Any feeling of unity that arises from that is false and comes at the expense of a great mass of hidden unhappiness.

              So I can’t mourn the queen for the sake of ritual. Although not all rituals will feel like an imposition on me, so I might participate in some of them, such as a bank holiday, or writing up one’s own personal feelings about her death.

 

              Beyond that, I simply can’t find any reason to mourn her death, beyond it being one of another few thousand deaths every day that are all sad.

Taking stock of a public figure: market-maker or made by market failure?

       I’m torn over whether Gary’s Economics, and Gary Stevenson himself, are a good thing for or a symptom of the problems society faces...