A land value tax should pay for London's new Garden Bridge

The proposed garden bridge. Image: Heatherwick Studios.

By 2018, you should be able to leave London’s Garden Bridge to the north onto Arundel Street. As you leave behind the tourists having a nice day out, or turn away disappointed because the bridge is closed for a private corporate event, you should remember that the biggest winners from the £60m of public funding will be the developers and owners of places like the brand new Arundel Great Court.

This £351m development will feature a new five-star hotel and 151 luxury flats, and could be completed around the same time as the bridge. In their summary of the business case for the Garden Bridge, Transport for London (TfL) notes that projects of this kind usually make the local area more desirable, and so drive up land and property values. TfL estimates that the value of the Arundel Great Court development could rise by 5 per cent if it’s built.

Consider, too, all the people who already own land in property in the area. They should be able to charge even higher rents to tenants, and command a higher price if they choose to sell their office space or flat, all without lifting a finger.

TfL reckon the total one-off uplift in land and property values for businesses and residents brought about by the new bridge will be in the order of £84m. That’s more than the public money that TfL and the Treasury are contributing. Their £60m, drawn from transport budgets, will help a charitable trust build a bridge with little transport value and no public right of way, and which results in a £84m windfall to private interests.

(As an aside, in the midst of a desperate housing crisis, on page 97 of this document, TfL describes this windfall to wealthy land and property owners as a “large positive”. They add this windfall to the positives in their cost-benefit analysis. Given the mayor’s declared concern about high house prices, shouldn’t his transport agency be looking at rising land and property prices as a negative?)


Why can’t the Mayor capture this windfall gain to offset the public subsidy for the bridge? TfL hope to use planning obligations on new development to capture some of it – but that won’t go very far.

City Hall and TfL have been looking at Tax Increment Financing for regeneration in nearby Vauxhall and Nine Elms. This mechanism enables them to borrow money from the government to invest in regeneration: once the scheme is completed, it will result in greater tax revenues, which the government can use to paying off the borrowing. There’s no suggestion of that being used here.

But there is another option: land value tax. If the mayor would back those campaigners calling for such a tax, he could use it to capture much more of the gain, potentially even reclaiming the £60m in full.

One simple way to do this would be to tax all land owners based on the rental income from their land, as used to happen. If the land owner is occupying, not renting, the space (as with a home owner for example), you can instead tax the “imputed rent”: that is, the amount they could theoretically charge if they did let it out.

Because the bridge will increase its neighbours’ potential rents then, were such a scheme to be implemented, they would have to pay more in tax. In return for the taxpayer’s contribution to the construction of a fancy new bridge on their doorstep, they would have to chip a little more back into the public purse.

A land value tax wouldn’t only help TfL finance this scheme. It could also act as a disincentive to investors looking to speculate on land and property, and encourage investors hoarding development sites to get on and build something. This could all help stabilise or even reduce house prices in an area of London where they are beyond ridiculous.

City Hall could use the revenue to build more social housing along the South Bank, or to build a much more useful pedestrian and cycling bridge from Canary Wharf to Surrey Quays, where a new crossing is actually needed.

If the mayor’s principal aim is to build his legacy, TfL’s plans will probably do the trick. But if he wants to build a better transport network and a more affordable city, he should seriously consider backing the campaign for a land value tax.

 
 
 
 

On Walter Benjamin, and the “Arcades Project”

Passage Verdue, Paris. Image: LPLT/Wikimedia Commons.

In 1940 a small group of refugees were turned away at the French-Spanish border. Having fled the Nazi invasion of France, they hoped to find safety in Spain. One of their number, a German-Jewish philosopher and writer, intended to have travelled onwards to America, where he would certainly be safe. So distraught was he by the refusal he met at the border that he took his own life.

The writer in question was Walter Benjamin, the prominent critical theorist who has contributed so much to our understanding of urban society, and he died with a manuscript close at hand. When asked previously if the briefcase of notes was really necessary to a man fleeing for his life he had replied, “I cannot risk losing it. It must be saved. It is more important than I am.”

The work that Benjamin died protecting was the Arcades Project. It was to be his magnus opus, intended by the author to illuminate the contradictions of modern city life. But it was never finished.

To Benjamin, the subject of the work, the arcades of Paris, were relics of a past social order, where consumerism ruled. The arcades were a precursor to the modern mall, lined with all sorts of shops, cafes and other establishments where visitors could buy into the good life. The area between these two lines of businesses was covered with glass and metal roofs, much like a conservatory: it gave visitors the high street feel in an intimate, sheltered and well-lit setting. You can still find examples of such places in modern London in the Burlington and Piccadilly arcades, both off Piccadilly.

Such arcades proved hugely popular, spreading across Europe’s capitals as the 19th century progressed. By Benjamin’s time, though, his type of shopping area was losing custom to the fancy department stores, and in Paris many of them had been obliterated in Haussmann’s city reforms of the 1850s and ‘60s. Whereas Parisians could once visit 300 arcades, now only 30 remain.

Through his research Benjamin started to see the arcades as representative of a pivotal moment in social history: the point when society became focused on consumption over production. Buying the latest fad product was just an opium, he thought, dulling senses to the true nature of the world. By bringing light to this, he hoped to wake people up from the consumerism of the 19th Century and bring forth some kind of socialist utopia.


He also warned that this shiny veneer of progress was hiding the true state of things. Instead, he revered crusty old cities like contemporary Marseilles and Moscow, where social life was more honest. In this way, Benjamin contributed to the intellectual movement focused on stripping away the excess of revivalism, standing alongside architects such as Le Corbusier. 

Through his newspaper essays throughout the first half of the 20th Century, Benjamin also became one of the first thinkers to focus on urban isolation. His suggestion that we can be most alone when among such a dense mass of other people is something many in modern cities would sympathise with. His work wasn’t all doom and gloom, however, as he saw cities as our salvation, too: laboratories from where society’s problems can be worked out.

It was 2000 before an English translation of the unfinished the Arcades Project was published, but by then the work had already had a significant impact. Just as he stood on the shoulders of giants such as Baudelaire and the Surrealists, modern thinkers have drawn on his work. Benjamin's concerns about common architectural forms can be seen to inspire modern architects such as Laurie Hawkinson, Steven Holl, Tod Williams and Billie Tsien.

The city of Paris itself was as much a part of the Arcade Project’s inspiration for Benjamin as was his intellectual predecessors. In his letters he repeats that it felt “more like home” than Berlin, and his days were spent marvelling at how the old and the modern exist together on the Parisian streets.

How groundbreaking the Arcades Project really was is hard to say. The fact it wasn’t finished certainly scuppered Benjamin’s plans to wake society up from its consumerist slumber, but that doesn’t make the work inconsequential. His fairytale of steel and glass is as much about the relationship between its author and Paris as it is a theoretical work. By putting the city as the main subject in human’s social history he laid the groundwork for future generations of thinkers.

Benjamin was lost to the tragic tide of the 20th century history, and his death marked the end of the project which could have changed the way we think of the urban landscape. Even if you shy away from the grandiose or don’t buy into his promises of socialist utopia, reading the work can still offer some eclectic factoids about 19th century France. At any rate, it must be acknowledged that the man gave his life to the betterment of society and the cities in which we live.