‘Tax is not a four-letter word’: Why this matters for health inequalities, and why health professionals and researchers must take it to heart

The title of this post is not at all original.  Rather, it is the title of a book co-edited with his son by the thoughtful former head of Canada’s public service, Alex Himelfarb (after his retirement).  In a newspaper column published at the time, Dr. Himelfarb described the book as an effort to correct the ‘dangerously distorted’ discourse surrounding tax policy, as a result of ‘the neo-liberal economic policy that began to dominate American and British politics in the early 1980s, and emerged more slowly and subtly in Canada at around the same time’.  Almost a decade on, the discourse remains distorted throughout much of the world, with increasingly serious consequences for inequality and quite probably for social stability. 

Exhibit A is the dire state of Canada’s and the United Kingdom’s tax-financed health systems.  (Although the National Health Service and Canada’s multiple provincial and territorial health systems are financed from general tax revenues and are mostly free at the point of use, they are otherwise quite different.)  That similarity is arguably why both countries are facing a crisis in access to care, worsened by the effects of Covid-19, that has demonstrably had fatal consequences.   Whilst users quite rightly and understandably want health systems to provide necessary care in a safe and timely fashion, resistance to the taxes necessary to finance not only the direct provision of care but also such strategically critical activities as training doctors and nurses has generated political paralysis. 

The explanation was succinctly stated around the same time the Himelfarbs’ book appeared by Robert Evans, the magnificently acerbic dean of Canadian health economists: ‘[A] well-functioning modern health system requires the transfer, through taxation, of a very significant amount of money from the healthy and wealthy to the care of the unhealthy and unwealthy’.  When we hear arguments that the NHS or Canada’s systems of health finance are ‘unsustainable’, this is code for saying that the richest members of those societies do not want to pay for the care of those presumptively undeserving others.  This problem is especially acute in the UK, where the rich have the option of buying private insurance or paying directly for care – something not available within Canadian borders outside the renegade province of Québec.  By 2017, HM Government was conceding the inadequacy of the NHS for treating the great and the good (see below).

Such problems are compounded by what is perhaps best described as a lack of policy literacy among the health care and public health community, who often remain unfamiliar with such basic concepts as progressive and regressive tax and spending patterns (and in public finance these terms have a technical, not a normative meaning).  Chapter 6 of David Byrne’s recent book Inequality in a Context of Climate Crisis after COVID provides a superb overview, and it – or something like it – ought to be a required part of all university public health and health policy curricula.

On, then, to Exhibit B: the catastrophic inadequacy of actual and proposed responses to the energy price crisis created by Putin’s weaponisation of Russian energy exports.  Like the equitable financing of a health system, responding to the crisis will require a substantial redistribution of resources from Mr. and Mrs. Range Rover and the corporate treasuries that have been swollen by windfall gains to the majority of UK households that will, based on estimates by the University of York’s authoritative Social Policy Research Unit, be pushed into fuel poverty by the start of the New Year.  At this writing, the silence of the public health community has been deafening.  Unfortunately, those who will be least hurt by energy price inflation, or who will actually benefit from it, can probably exercise an effective political veto over the degree of redistribution that will be necessary to avoid a humanitarian catastrophe.  In this case, the problem is compounded by a tongue-tied political class unwilling to state the obvious:  liberal democratic Europe is at war with Russia, and wartime situations demand wartime sacrifices.  But that is a posting for another day.

Hating to have been right

In the slightly less frantic period of university activity that precedes my pending retirement and actually offers time to think, I am prompted to look back at some of the predictions I made about the pandemic and the UK’s social and economic future well over a year ago – notably, that post-pandemic economic contraction would mean that ‘the United Kingdom is over as a desirable place to live and work, for a very long time, except for those living in gated communities or behind castle walls’.  Although the contraction does not (yet) approximate the ‘post-Soviet style economic and health collapse’ that I anticipated in January 2021, it was reported on 22 August that the UK economy contracted by 11 percent in 2020 – the largest year-on-year decline in GDP since 1709.  Please note that this reflects only the first year of the pandemic, and neither the short-lived post-lockdown recovery nor the cataclysmic geopolitical events of 2022.  (Proponents of ‘degrowth’ might nevertheless reflect on how well 2020 turned out, and for whom.)

Ongoing uncertainties and supply chain disruptions associated with the pandemic have now been compounded by the inflationary effects of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine; its weaponisation of natural gas trade and, at least temporarily, further disruption of agricultural exports; and a domestic political vacuum that sees the probable next prime minister characterised (accurately) as on ‘holiday from reality’ by a senior Cabinet colleague.  Average real (inflation adjusted) earnings in the second quarter of 2022 fell at a record rate, whilst one forecast was that under existing institutional arrangements, the ‘capped’ amount a British household will pay for energy could rise to more than £6,000 by April 2023, from less than a third of that in August 2022.   This will be a minor inconvenience for Mr. and Mrs. Range Rover, but on one estimate – based on a lower assumed energy price than what is in the latest forecasts at this writing – 45 million people will experience ‘fuel poverty’ on a standard definition.

These impacts are, of course, attributable not only to the pandemic but also to geopolitics, and it is plausible to argue that the impacts I’ve described would be much less severe had the Russian invasion not taken place.  But the world is as it is, not as we might wish it to be.  Further, I was wrong – I am thoroughly delighted to say – about some things, especially the prospects for what turned out to be a relatively successful UK vaccine rollout.  Nevertheless, according to The Economist’s (paywalled) tracking of excess deaths from all causes – the most meaningful measure of successful pandemic response – Britain’s figure of 253 excess deaths per 100,000 people between the start of the pandemic and 23 August is comparable to Chile, Guatemala and Lebanon; almost twice as high as Sweden; and roughly three times as high as Norway, Denmark and Canada.  So the glass is definitely only half full, and the British figure may well deteriorate further against the background of an already fragile and under-resourced health system; a social safety net stretched to the breaking point; and a political leadership seemingly bent on emulating the captain of the Titanic in its response to the economic emergency.  Those castle walls will look awfully attractive to those for whom they are available.