or all the progress we’ve made in designing institutions that serve us, our approach to personal taxation is still haunted by its feudal past. “Tax” began life as something extracted by the powerful from those with no say in the matter. The word still carries that legacy. To be “taxed” is to be burdened, drained, weighed down. Little wonder most of us experience tax as a necessary evil rather than as our most reliable contribution to society and humanity. In brand terms, tax desperately needs a new brief.
Consider three very different models: Denmark, the United States, and Singapore. Denmark couples one of the world’s highest tax–to–GDP ratios (around 43–46%) with a top marginal personal income tax rate close to 56%. Yet it consistently ranks near the top of the World Happiness Report, currently second only to Finland. The United States and Singapore, by contrast, are low–tax societies by rich–country standards: U.S. tax revenues are about 25% of GDP, well below the OECD average, while Singapore’s are closer to 14%. Their top personal rates (around 37% federal in the U.S., 24% in Singapore) are far below Denmark’s. Yet on happiness, the U.S. has slipped to 23rd and Singapore sits around 30th. High tax does not doom a society to misery, nor does low tax guarantee flourishing. Now overlay generosity. The World Giving Index 2024 places Singapore third and the United States sixth among the most generous nations on earth, with Indonesia first. In Singapore, 75% of people report helping a stranger in the past month, 68% donated money, and 40% volunteered. The Charities Aid Foundation’s analysis also notes that some of the happiest countries, including Denmark, sit in the top tier for donating money. In other words, even where the state takes a relatively small share, citizens in the U.S. and Singapore willingly give again when they feel a sense of choice and connection to the causes they care about.
These comparatives raise a provocative question for the institutions that serve us: What if paying tax felt more like giving? Imagine a system where governments still set overall rates and priorities, but citizens had genuine agency over a small, clearly defined slice of their tax bill—say 5–10%—to direct towards accredited public goods: early years education, climate resilience, local arts, and global health. Pair that with radically improved transparency. Envision personalized “tax dashboards,” facilitated by AI compilation, showing, in plain language how your contributions translate into hospital beds, school places, carbon reductions, or social housing units. Waste concerns don’t vanish, but they become visible, arguable and, crucially, fixable.
Recognition matters too. Philanthropy already celebrates major donors; the tax system could quietly honor “societal contributors” based on the percentage of income they contribute, not the absolute amount, and without disclosing anyone’s earnings. Think of it as a civic honors list rooted in fairness rather than wealth. For many, especially ordinary earners who will never have a building named after them, such acknowledgement could reframe tax from an invisible deduction to a visible badge of solidarity.
None of this requires a revolutionary overhaul of fiscal policy. It is, fundamentally, a design and communication challenge. If we want institutions that truly serve us, we should stop treating tax as a blunt instrument of extraction and start treating it as our baseline act of collective care—one that, like the best charities, gives us clarity, agency, and a sense of shared purpose. Tax doesn’t just need a better PR agency; it needs a better story about who we are when we pay it.
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From feudal dues to future good: Updating the ‘brand’ of tax
Photo by frank mckenna on Unsplash
December 9, 2025
Tax still carries a feudal stigma, but redesigning choice, transparency, and recognition could transform it from invisible coercion to an honored act of collective care, writes John Goodwin.
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or all the progress we’ve made in designing institutions that serve us, our approach to personal taxation is still haunted by its feudal past. “Tax” began life as something extracted by the powerful from those with no say in the matter. The word still carries that legacy. To be “taxed” is to be burdened, drained, weighed down. Little wonder most of us experience tax as a necessary evil rather than as our most reliable contribution to society and humanity. In brand terms, tax desperately needs a new brief.
Consider three very different models: Denmark, the United States, and Singapore. Denmark couples one of the world’s highest tax–to–GDP ratios (around 43–46%) with a top marginal personal income tax rate close to 56%. Yet it consistently ranks near the top of the World Happiness Report, currently second only to Finland. The United States and Singapore, by contrast, are low–tax societies by rich–country standards: U.S. tax revenues are about 25% of GDP, well below the OECD average, while Singapore’s are closer to 14%. Their top personal rates (around 37% federal in the U.S., 24% in Singapore) are far below Denmark’s. Yet on happiness, the U.S. has slipped to 23rd and Singapore sits around 30th. High tax does not doom a society to misery, nor does low tax guarantee flourishing. Now overlay generosity. The World Giving Index 2024 places Singapore third and the United States sixth among the most generous nations on earth, with Indonesia first. In Singapore, 75% of people report helping a stranger in the past month, 68% donated money, and 40% volunteered. The Charities Aid Foundation’s analysis also notes that some of the happiest countries, including Denmark, sit in the top tier for donating money. In other words, even where the state takes a relatively small share, citizens in the U.S. and Singapore willingly give again when they feel a sense of choice and connection to the causes they care about.
These comparatives raise a provocative question for the institutions that serve us: What if paying tax felt more like giving? Imagine a system where governments still set overall rates and priorities, but citizens had genuine agency over a small, clearly defined slice of their tax bill—say 5–10%—to direct towards accredited public goods: early years education, climate resilience, local arts, and global health. Pair that with radically improved transparency. Envision personalized “tax dashboards,” facilitated by AI compilation, showing, in plain language how your contributions translate into hospital beds, school places, carbon reductions, or social housing units. Waste concerns don’t vanish, but they become visible, arguable and, crucially, fixable.
Recognition matters too. Philanthropy already celebrates major donors; the tax system could quietly honor “societal contributors” based on the percentage of income they contribute, not the absolute amount, and without disclosing anyone’s earnings. Think of it as a civic honors list rooted in fairness rather than wealth. For many, especially ordinary earners who will never have a building named after them, such acknowledgement could reframe tax from an invisible deduction to a visible badge of solidarity.
None of this requires a revolutionary overhaul of fiscal policy. It is, fundamentally, a design and communication challenge. If we want institutions that truly serve us, we should stop treating tax as a blunt instrument of extraction and start treating it as our baseline act of collective care—one that, like the best charities, gives us clarity, agency, and a sense of shared purpose. Tax doesn’t just need a better PR agency; it needs a better story about who we are when we pay it.
