Gary Stevenson’s inequality crusade: a critical examination
4th April 2025
We've thus-far held off on commenting too much on this, but here goes!
Gary Stevenson – a former Citi trader turned self-styled “inequality economist” – has recently surged into the public spotlight. As the author of The Trading Game and a prominent media commentator, Stevenson champions a simple but radical prescription to fix inequality: heavily tax the wealthy. However, behind the viral headlines and best-selling book, his proposals invite scrutiny. This analysis takes a critical look at Stevenson’s arguments and credentials, evaluating the economic evidence and incentives at play.
Gary Stevenson – a former Citi trader turned self-styled “inequality economist” – has recently surged into the public spotlight. As the author of The Trading Game and a prominent media commentator, Stevenson champions a simple but radical prescription to fix inequality: heavily tax the wealthy. However, behind the viral headlines and best-selling book, his proposals invite scrutiny. This analysis takes a critical look at Stevenson’s arguments and credentials, evaluating the economic evidence and incentives at play.
From trading floor to media spotlight
Stevenson’s profile has risen sharply in the past year, fuelled by a flurry of publicity, book promotion, and high-profile interviews. His memoir The Trading Game: A Confession (Penguin, 2024) shot to the top of the Sunday Times bestseller list. To promote it, Stevenson has appeared across mainstream media – from podcasts to television. For example, he was featured on LBC’s Full Disclosure podcast with James O’Brien in March 2024, and even sparred with pundits on Piers Morgan’s show in a segment that went viral. The ex-trader also maintains a rapidly growing YouTube channel explaining economics to the public. All told, he has become “one of the country’s most ubiquitous media commentators,” as Jacobin magazine observes. This dramatic pivot – from a quiet retirement in 2014 to the limelight by 2024 – underlines how compelling his personal story is to audiences and the media.
Stevenson’s narrative is undeniably captivating. A working-class East Londoner who became a millionaire trader in his 20s, he quit finance out of moral concern and now “whistle blows” on inequality. It’s the kind of underdog-turned-crusader storyline that media outlets love – an insider exposing the system. His book itself is framed as an epic journey from council estate to Citibank, culminating in a moral awakening. This relatable narrative has helped Stevenson secure numerous interviews and features. In short, he sells an idea as much as a persona: the trader with a conscience. But as we examine next, the ideas he’s selling deserve careful scrutiny beyond the buzz.
Stevenson’s profile has risen sharply in the past year, fuelled by a flurry of publicity, book promotion, and high-profile interviews. His memoir The Trading Game: A Confession (Penguin, 2024) shot to the top of the Sunday Times bestseller list. To promote it, Stevenson has appeared across mainstream media – from podcasts to television. For example, he was featured on LBC’s Full Disclosure podcast with James O’Brien in March 2024, and even sparred with pundits on Piers Morgan’s show in a segment that went viral. The ex-trader also maintains a rapidly growing YouTube channel explaining economics to the public. All told, he has become “one of the country’s most ubiquitous media commentators,” as Jacobin magazine observes. This dramatic pivot – from a quiet retirement in 2014 to the limelight by 2024 – underlines how compelling his personal story is to audiences and the media.
Stevenson’s narrative is undeniably captivating. A working-class East Londoner who became a millionaire trader in his 20s, he quit finance out of moral concern and now “whistle blows” on inequality. It’s the kind of underdog-turned-crusader storyline that media outlets love – an insider exposing the system. His book itself is framed as an epic journey from council estate to Citibank, culminating in a moral awakening. This relatable narrative has helped Stevenson secure numerous interviews and features. In short, he sells an idea as much as a persona: the trader with a conscience. But as we examine next, the ideas he’s selling deserve careful scrutiny beyond the buzz.
Taxing the rich: Stevenson’s cure for inequality
At the core of Stevenson’s platform is a bold claim: that inequality can be solved by aggressively taxing the wealthy. He argues that extreme wealth accumulation is the root of economic imbalance, and only heavy redistribution from the richest can rebalance society. “Increasing tax on the wealthy is the only answer,” Stevenson has said bluntly. In his view, rich individuals save most of their income (rather than spend it), which means their wealth doesn’t circulate back into the economy. By contrast, ordinary people spend a larger share of their income, driving demand and growth. Thus, Stevenson contends, shifting resources from the very rich to everyone else via taxation would boost consumption and broadly benefit the economy.
Stevenson’s tax-the-rich prescription specifically targets the ultra-wealthy, especially dynastic fortunes. “I’m not talking about huge taxes on high earners like doctors or lawyers,” he explains, “I’m talking about going after the families who have been keeping their money forever… hundreds of millions of pounds”. For example, he points out that while he paid 45% income tax as a trader, some billionaires (like the Duke of Westminster’s heirs) pay effectively nothing on inherited wealth. To Stevenson, this isn’t just unfair – it’s economically destructive. Extreme wealth concentration, he argues, hollows out consumer demand because money “makes money” for the rich without being spent. His proposed remedy is steep wealth taxes on multimillionaires and billionaires, as well as closing loopholes that allow fortunes to escape taxation (e.g. via trusts or inheritance exemptions).
This rhetoric resonates with a public frustrated by rising inequality. Stevenson often cites the stark outcomes of recent years: trillions added to billionaire wealth during the pandemic, soaring asset prices that lock out the young, and stagnant living standards for working families. His solution – “tax the super-rich” – has a populist appeal in an era of economic anger. Notably, Stevenson is a member of “Patriotic Millionaires,” a group of wealthy individuals campaigning for higher taxes on people like themselves. The idea of millionaires demanding to be taxed more is an attention-grabber in itself. It lends Stevenson an aura of moral authority (he’s ostensibly willing to pay more tax personally) and bolsters his central argument that only systemic redistribution can level the playing field.
Yet for all its emotional appeal, the notion that simply taxing the rich will painlessly fix inequality is highly debatable. Economies are complex, and history provides many cautionary tales about punitive taxation backfiring. Stevenson’s single-minded focus raises the question: would his heavy tax prescription work as intended? To answer that, we need to consider evidence from past experiments with soaking the rich.
At the core of Stevenson’s platform is a bold claim: that inequality can be solved by aggressively taxing the wealthy. He argues that extreme wealth accumulation is the root of economic imbalance, and only heavy redistribution from the richest can rebalance society. “Increasing tax on the wealthy is the only answer,” Stevenson has said bluntly. In his view, rich individuals save most of their income (rather than spend it), which means their wealth doesn’t circulate back into the economy. By contrast, ordinary people spend a larger share of their income, driving demand and growth. Thus, Stevenson contends, shifting resources from the very rich to everyone else via taxation would boost consumption and broadly benefit the economy.
Stevenson’s tax-the-rich prescription specifically targets the ultra-wealthy, especially dynastic fortunes. “I’m not talking about huge taxes on high earners like doctors or lawyers,” he explains, “I’m talking about going after the families who have been keeping their money forever… hundreds of millions of pounds”. For example, he points out that while he paid 45% income tax as a trader, some billionaires (like the Duke of Westminster’s heirs) pay effectively nothing on inherited wealth. To Stevenson, this isn’t just unfair – it’s economically destructive. Extreme wealth concentration, he argues, hollows out consumer demand because money “makes money” for the rich without being spent. His proposed remedy is steep wealth taxes on multimillionaires and billionaires, as well as closing loopholes that allow fortunes to escape taxation (e.g. via trusts or inheritance exemptions).
This rhetoric resonates with a public frustrated by rising inequality. Stevenson often cites the stark outcomes of recent years: trillions added to billionaire wealth during the pandemic, soaring asset prices that lock out the young, and stagnant living standards for working families. His solution – “tax the super-rich” – has a populist appeal in an era of economic anger. Notably, Stevenson is a member of “Patriotic Millionaires,” a group of wealthy individuals campaigning for higher taxes on people like themselves. The idea of millionaires demanding to be taxed more is an attention-grabber in itself. It lends Stevenson an aura of moral authority (he’s ostensibly willing to pay more tax personally) and bolsters his central argument that only systemic redistribution can level the playing field.
Yet for all its emotional appeal, the notion that simply taxing the rich will painlessly fix inequality is highly debatable. Economies are complex, and history provides many cautionary tales about punitive taxation backfiring. Stevenson’s single-minded focus raises the question: would his heavy tax prescription work as intended? To answer that, we need to consider evidence from past experiments with soaking the rich.
When taxing the wealthy backfires: historical lessons
Stevenson’s call for hefty wealth taxes is not without precedent – and past experiences suggest serious pitfalls. In fact, many countries that tried wealth taxes found they did more harm than good. Over the past few decades, numerous European nations implemented annual taxes on net wealth, only to repeal them after disappointing results. By 1990, a dozen OECD countries had wealth taxes; by recent years, nearly all had abolished them (leaving only a few holdouts like Norway, Spain, and Switzerland). The reason? These taxes tended to raise surprisingly little revenue – typically around just 0.2% of GDP on average – while triggering high administrative costs and unintended economic side effects.
One major issue is that wealth is highly mobile and easily shielded. When a country raises taxes on large fortunes, the wealthy can often respond by moving assets (or themselves) abroad, exploiting loopholes, or reclassifying income. The net effect is a much smaller tax base than anticipated. As far back as the 1970s, Britain learned this the hard way: the Labour government of Denis Healey explored a wealth tax but abandoned the plan when they “found it impossible to draft one which would yield enough revenue to be worth the administrative cost and political hassle”. In other words, even a committed pro-tax Chancellor concluded the game wasn’t worth the candle.
Economic theory and empirical studies similarly warn that excessive taxation of capital can undermine growth. Capital (money for investment) is a key driver of innovation and job creation. If heavy taxes chase away investors or disincentivise entrepreneurs, the broader economy can suffer. Policymakers have recognised that steep taxes on wealth and the income from that wealth may double-tax savings and discourage productive risk-taking. In extreme cases, a wealth tax combined with other taxes can mean the entire return on an investment gets taxed away. Faced with that prospect, wealthy individuals often choose to invest less, or elsewhere – hurting not only the rich, but also workers and consumers in the home country. As the Tax Foundation summarises, wealth taxes in practice tend to “raise little revenue, create high administrative costs, and induce an outflow of wealthy individuals and their money,” while also potentially damaging economic growth.
None of this is to say that taxing the rich is always counterproductive – moderate, well-designed taxes can redistribute income without major downsides. But the historical evidence on very onerous wealth taxes is largely cautionary. Countries that attempted to significantly soak the rich often saw their tax base erode as the rich found ways to avoid the hit. These lessons highlight a core challenge in Stevenson’s proposal: it might sound simple to extract heaps of money from “people who won’t miss it,” but ensuring the money actually gets collected (and doesn’t shrink the economy in the process) is far more complicated.
Stevenson’s call for hefty wealth taxes is not without precedent – and past experiences suggest serious pitfalls. In fact, many countries that tried wealth taxes found they did more harm than good. Over the past few decades, numerous European nations implemented annual taxes on net wealth, only to repeal them after disappointing results. By 1990, a dozen OECD countries had wealth taxes; by recent years, nearly all had abolished them (leaving only a few holdouts like Norway, Spain, and Switzerland). The reason? These taxes tended to raise surprisingly little revenue – typically around just 0.2% of GDP on average – while triggering high administrative costs and unintended economic side effects.
One major issue is that wealth is highly mobile and easily shielded. When a country raises taxes on large fortunes, the wealthy can often respond by moving assets (or themselves) abroad, exploiting loopholes, or reclassifying income. The net effect is a much smaller tax base than anticipated. As far back as the 1970s, Britain learned this the hard way: the Labour government of Denis Healey explored a wealth tax but abandoned the plan when they “found it impossible to draft one which would yield enough revenue to be worth the administrative cost and political hassle”. In other words, even a committed pro-tax Chancellor concluded the game wasn’t worth the candle.
Economic theory and empirical studies similarly warn that excessive taxation of capital can undermine growth. Capital (money for investment) is a key driver of innovation and job creation. If heavy taxes chase away investors or disincentivise entrepreneurs, the broader economy can suffer. Policymakers have recognised that steep taxes on wealth and the income from that wealth may double-tax savings and discourage productive risk-taking. In extreme cases, a wealth tax combined with other taxes can mean the entire return on an investment gets taxed away. Faced with that prospect, wealthy individuals often choose to invest less, or elsewhere – hurting not only the rich, but also workers and consumers in the home country. As the Tax Foundation summarises, wealth taxes in practice tend to “raise little revenue, create high administrative costs, and induce an outflow of wealthy individuals and their money,” while also potentially damaging economic growth.
None of this is to say that taxing the rich is always counterproductive – moderate, well-designed taxes can redistribute income without major downsides. But the historical evidence on very onerous wealth taxes is largely cautionary. Countries that attempted to significantly soak the rich often saw their tax base erode as the rich found ways to avoid the hit. These lessons highlight a core challenge in Stevenson’s proposal: it might sound simple to extract heaps of money from “people who won’t miss it,” but ensuring the money actually gets collected (and doesn’t shrink the economy in the process) is far more complicated.
The Laffer Curve: tax rates vs. tax revenue
The Laffer Curve illustrates that beyond a certain point, higher tax rates can reduce total revenue. At 0% tax there is no revenue, and at 100% tax (far right) revenue also falls to zero because people stop earning or find ways to avoid taxes. Somewhere in between lies an optimal rate (t) that maximises revenue.*
A useful concept in this context is the Laffer Curve – the idea that there is an optimal tax rate that maximises government revenue, and beyond that point, increasing tax rates becomes counterproductive. Named after economist Arthur Laffer, this curve (see above) shows that at a 0% tax rate, the government collects zero revenue (obviously), and at a 100% tax rate, it would also collect zero revenue. The latter is because if the government tried to take all income or wealth, people would simply stop producing taxable income (no one works for free) or hide their wealth entirely. Thus, between 0% and 100%, there’s a peak point where revenue is highest; pushing tax rates past that peak causes revenues to decline as the tax base (economic activity) collapses.
The relevance of the Laffer Curve to Stevenson’s thesis is that it cautions against assuming that ever-higher tax rates on the rich will yield ever-higher revenues. In reality, if tax rates become too punitive, the rich may alter their behaviour – by investing less, emigrating, or exploiting loopholes – such that the tax collected falls. Stevenson’s proposal to heavily tax multimillionaires and billionaires could risk entering that adverse zone of the Laffer Curve. Indeed, many economists would argue that some European wealth taxes failed because they went past the revenue-maximising point: higher rates simply drove away the tax base, resulting in less money collected. The concept doesn’t mean all tax cuts pay for themselves (a common misinterpretation), but it does remind us that there is a trade-off between tax rates and the size of the taxable pie. Good tax policy seeks a balance where the wealthy pay their fair share without destroying wealth creation or incentive. Stevenson’s one-note policy of “tax them more, then even more” gives little indication of where he would stop on this curve. It’s an open question whether his plan would live on the left side of the Laffer Curve (where raising rates increases revenue) or overshoot to the right side (where raising rates backfires).
“Best trader in the world”? Scrutinising Stevenson’s claim
Part of Gary Stevenson’s credibility in the public eye comes from his success as a trader – he often mentions that he was exceptionally good at making money in markets. In fact, Stevenson has claimed that at one point he was “Citibank’s most profitable trader, in the whole world,” achieving a $35 million profit for the bank in 2011. This eye-popping claim, implying he was perhaps the best trader in the world that year, is central to the legend of Stevenson as someone who uniquely understands the financial system. However, upon closer examination, this assertion appears to rest mostly on Stevenson’s own recollection and has been disputed by others at Citibank.
A 2024 Financial Times investigation spoke with eight of Stevenson’s former Citi colleagues, who challenged the idea that he was definitively the top global trader. They pointed out that there was never an official global ranking of trader profitability at Citibank – so it would have been impossible to know for sure who was “number one” in any given year. In other words, Stevenson may well have been very profitable, but calling himself the best in the world is likely an exaggeration or misinterpretation. Citibank is a huge institution with many trading desks; unless management announced league tables (which they didn’t), any such title would be unofficial. When pressed on this inconsistency, Stevenson stood by his story and said he has “nothing further to add” beyond what he wrote in his book.
It’s worth noting that traders are not shy about touting their wins, and Stevenson is no exception. But from a critical perspective, one should treat the “best trader” claim with skepticism in the absence of third-party verification. Citibank did confirm that Stevenson was a successful junior trader – reportedly earning millions in bonuses by correctly betting on interest rates remaining low after the 2008 crisis. That is an impressive achievement on its own. Yet several of his peers have hinted that Stevenson’s narrative might exaggerate his standing in order to bolster his authority when he speaks on economic issues. After all, “former Citi trader who did well for a few years” is a less spectacular headline than “the best trader in the world who walked away from millions.” The latter makes for great storytelling, but it appears to be at least partly self-appointed. For our purposes, Stevenson’s trading prowess should be acknowledged (he did make a personal fortune by his mid-20s), but also kept in perspective – extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, and in this case the evidence is anecdotal.
The Laffer Curve illustrates that beyond a certain point, higher tax rates can reduce total revenue. At 0% tax there is no revenue, and at 100% tax (far right) revenue also falls to zero because people stop earning or find ways to avoid taxes. Somewhere in between lies an optimal rate (t) that maximises revenue.*
A useful concept in this context is the Laffer Curve – the idea that there is an optimal tax rate that maximises government revenue, and beyond that point, increasing tax rates becomes counterproductive. Named after economist Arthur Laffer, this curve (see above) shows that at a 0% tax rate, the government collects zero revenue (obviously), and at a 100% tax rate, it would also collect zero revenue. The latter is because if the government tried to take all income or wealth, people would simply stop producing taxable income (no one works for free) or hide their wealth entirely. Thus, between 0% and 100%, there’s a peak point where revenue is highest; pushing tax rates past that peak causes revenues to decline as the tax base (economic activity) collapses.
The relevance of the Laffer Curve to Stevenson’s thesis is that it cautions against assuming that ever-higher tax rates on the rich will yield ever-higher revenues. In reality, if tax rates become too punitive, the rich may alter their behaviour – by investing less, emigrating, or exploiting loopholes – such that the tax collected falls. Stevenson’s proposal to heavily tax multimillionaires and billionaires could risk entering that adverse zone of the Laffer Curve. Indeed, many economists would argue that some European wealth taxes failed because they went past the revenue-maximising point: higher rates simply drove away the tax base, resulting in less money collected. The concept doesn’t mean all tax cuts pay for themselves (a common misinterpretation), but it does remind us that there is a trade-off between tax rates and the size of the taxable pie. Good tax policy seeks a balance where the wealthy pay their fair share without destroying wealth creation or incentive. Stevenson’s one-note policy of “tax them more, then even more” gives little indication of where he would stop on this curve. It’s an open question whether his plan would live on the left side of the Laffer Curve (where raising rates increases revenue) or overshoot to the right side (where raising rates backfires).
“Best trader in the world”? Scrutinising Stevenson’s claim
Part of Gary Stevenson’s credibility in the public eye comes from his success as a trader – he often mentions that he was exceptionally good at making money in markets. In fact, Stevenson has claimed that at one point he was “Citibank’s most profitable trader, in the whole world,” achieving a $35 million profit for the bank in 2011. This eye-popping claim, implying he was perhaps the best trader in the world that year, is central to the legend of Stevenson as someone who uniquely understands the financial system. However, upon closer examination, this assertion appears to rest mostly on Stevenson’s own recollection and has been disputed by others at Citibank.
A 2024 Financial Times investigation spoke with eight of Stevenson’s former Citi colleagues, who challenged the idea that he was definitively the top global trader. They pointed out that there was never an official global ranking of trader profitability at Citibank – so it would have been impossible to know for sure who was “number one” in any given year. In other words, Stevenson may well have been very profitable, but calling himself the best in the world is likely an exaggeration or misinterpretation. Citibank is a huge institution with many trading desks; unless management announced league tables (which they didn’t), any such title would be unofficial. When pressed on this inconsistency, Stevenson stood by his story and said he has “nothing further to add” beyond what he wrote in his book.
It’s worth noting that traders are not shy about touting their wins, and Stevenson is no exception. But from a critical perspective, one should treat the “best trader” claim with skepticism in the absence of third-party verification. Citibank did confirm that Stevenson was a successful junior trader – reportedly earning millions in bonuses by correctly betting on interest rates remaining low after the 2008 crisis. That is an impressive achievement on its own. Yet several of his peers have hinted that Stevenson’s narrative might exaggerate his standing in order to bolster his authority when he speaks on economic issues. After all, “former Citi trader who did well for a few years” is a less spectacular headline than “the best trader in the world who walked away from millions.” The latter makes for great storytelling, but it appears to be at least partly self-appointed. For our purposes, Stevenson’s trading prowess should be acknowledged (he did make a personal fortune by his mid-20s), but also kept in perspective – extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, and in this case the evidence is anecdotal.
Behind the message: Patriotic Millionaires and missing disclaimers
It is important to understand that Stevenson is not a lone voice in the wilderness – he is part of an organised movement advocating for higher taxes on the wealthy. In the UK, he is a founding member of Patriotic Millionaires UK, a network of affluent individuals who lobby for policies to reduce inequality. This affiliation aligns perfectly with his message: the group explicitly campaigns for measures like a wealth tax on multi-millionaires, arguing that extreme wealth is socially harmful. Stevenson’s media appearances often echo the Patriotic Millionaires’ talking points (for instance, emphasising how the rich have gotten richer in recent years and should contribute more). In fact, Jacobin notes that his advocacy for wealth taxes is conducted “via a group called Patriotic Millionaires,” indicating that his current role is very much as a spokesperson for that cause.
However, what is notable is the lack of transparent disclosure of this context in many interviews and articles featuring Stevenson. When he is introduced on talk shows or podcasts, he’s typically described as a former Citi trader or an “inequality economist,” rather than as a Patriotic Millionaires representative. To a casual viewer, Stevenson might appear to be an independent expert who arrived at his tax-the-rich views purely from personal conviction and analysis. In reality, he is also an activist working within a coordinated effort to push those views into the mainstream. There is nothing inherently wrong with being an activist – but full transparency matters, especially if one is presenting financial opinions to the public. Viewers or readers should know that Stevenson isn’t just a maverick ex-trader; he’s part of a lobby (albeit a somewhat unusual lobby of wealthy people arguing against their own immediate financial interest).
Why might this disclosure gap matter? It speaks to the incentives and narrative framing behind Stevenson’s media presence. Patriotic Millionaires UK, by design, seeks out eloquent members like Stevenson to make the case that taxing the rich is morally and economically right. It’s a savvy strategy: a message can be more persuasive coming from a millionaire insider than from a career politician or academic. But when consuming Stevenson’s commentary, one should keep in mind that he has a campaigner’s agenda. His bold proposals are not neutral academic ideas; they are the rallying cries of a movement. If media segments fail to mention this, audiences might not fully appreciate the lens through which he is speaking. In an era where think-tanks and advocacy groups regularly put forth “experts” to advance particular policies, understanding those affiliations is crucial. Stevenson’s affiliation with Patriotic Millionaires certainly doesn’t invalidate his arguments, but it casts them in a particular light – one of ideological commitment to a wealth-tax crusade. For a wealth management audience, recognising this affiliation is part of critically assessing the advice or opinions being offered.
It is important to understand that Stevenson is not a lone voice in the wilderness – he is part of an organised movement advocating for higher taxes on the wealthy. In the UK, he is a founding member of Patriotic Millionaires UK, a network of affluent individuals who lobby for policies to reduce inequality. This affiliation aligns perfectly with his message: the group explicitly campaigns for measures like a wealth tax on multi-millionaires, arguing that extreme wealth is socially harmful. Stevenson’s media appearances often echo the Patriotic Millionaires’ talking points (for instance, emphasising how the rich have gotten richer in recent years and should contribute more). In fact, Jacobin notes that his advocacy for wealth taxes is conducted “via a group called Patriotic Millionaires,” indicating that his current role is very much as a spokesperson for that cause.
However, what is notable is the lack of transparent disclosure of this context in many interviews and articles featuring Stevenson. When he is introduced on talk shows or podcasts, he’s typically described as a former Citi trader or an “inequality economist,” rather than as a Patriotic Millionaires representative. To a casual viewer, Stevenson might appear to be an independent expert who arrived at his tax-the-rich views purely from personal conviction and analysis. In reality, he is also an activist working within a coordinated effort to push those views into the mainstream. There is nothing inherently wrong with being an activist – but full transparency matters, especially if one is presenting financial opinions to the public. Viewers or readers should know that Stevenson isn’t just a maverick ex-trader; he’s part of a lobby (albeit a somewhat unusual lobby of wealthy people arguing against their own immediate financial interest).
Why might this disclosure gap matter? It speaks to the incentives and narrative framing behind Stevenson’s media presence. Patriotic Millionaires UK, by design, seeks out eloquent members like Stevenson to make the case that taxing the rich is morally and economically right. It’s a savvy strategy: a message can be more persuasive coming from a millionaire insider than from a career politician or academic. But when consuming Stevenson’s commentary, one should keep in mind that he has a campaigner’s agenda. His bold proposals are not neutral academic ideas; they are the rallying cries of a movement. If media segments fail to mention this, audiences might not fully appreciate the lens through which he is speaking. In an era where think-tanks and advocacy groups regularly put forth “experts” to advance particular policies, understanding those affiliations is crucial. Stevenson’s affiliation with Patriotic Millionaires certainly doesn’t invalidate his arguments, but it casts them in a particular light – one of ideological commitment to a wealth-tax crusade. For a wealth management audience, recognising this affiliation is part of critically assessing the advice or opinions being offered.
Wealth tax experiments: capital flight and unintended consequences
Stevenson’s vision of soaking the richest tier of society must contend with real-world case studies. Around the world, several countries have tried wealth taxes or similar measures on the rich, often with disappointing results. These examples illustrate how well-intended populist tax policies can lead to capital flight, reduced innovation, or simply far lower tax receipts than expected:
Other countries echo similar themes. Germany’s wealth tax was struck down in the 1990s (partly for taxing some assets and not others), and political appetite to revive it remains low. The UK flirted with a wealth tax in the 1970s and again more recently, but shelved the idea in favor of more targeted measures – cognizant that London’s status as a financial capital could be jeopardised if the super-rich fled en masse. Even the United States, despite frequent discussions of “Ultra-Millionaire Taxes,” has so far held back, with policymakers pointing to Europe’s reversals as a warning.
The takeaway from these global experiments is that implementation matters enormously. A heavy wealth tax in theory might raise revenue to fund social programs; in practice it often meets evasive action. Stevenson tends to downplay these practical challenges in his populist messaging. But a policy that causes a net outflow of wealth or drives top innovators out of the country could end up hurting the very people it’s meant to help (through a weaker economy or lower tax resources for public services). Wealth taxes also tend to be complex to enforce – requiring valuations of illiquid assets and global cooperation to track wealth hidden abroad. These are not insurmountable issues, but history shows they are serious obstacles. Any proposal to “make the rich pay” must reckon with the fact that the rich may simply pay by leaving. Stevenson’s public addresses seldom grapple with these messy realities; they remain crucial considerations for any policymaker.
Stevenson’s vision of soaking the richest tier of society must contend with real-world case studies. Around the world, several countries have tried wealth taxes or similar measures on the rich, often with disappointing results. These examples illustrate how well-intended populist tax policies can lead to capital flight, reduced innovation, or simply far lower tax receipts than expected:
- France: France’s solidarity wealth tax (ISF) stands as a cautionary tale. Imposed in the 1980s, it led to an exodus of wealthy residents over the years. An estimated 42,000 millionaires left France between 2000 and 2012 in part to avoid the wealth tax. High-profile departures – from actor Gérard Depardieu to business owners – became routine. The flight of capital and talent got so severe that by 2017 France abolished the broad wealth tax (replacing it with a narrower tax on real estate only). The government acknowledged that the tax had driven away investors and cost more in lost economic activity than it generated in revenue. One French Prime Minister estimated 10,000 people with €35 billion in assets left France in 15 years due to wealth taxes. French economists calculated that the wealth tax was raising about €3.5 billion a year, but causing an annual revenue loss of around €7 billion due to its wider economic effects. In short, France “tried soaking the rich. It didn’t go well,” as one Bloomberg piece put it. This underscores how a policy aligned with Stevenson’s ideas played out in practice: the richest simply packed up and moved, and France ended up scrapping the policy.
- Sweden: Sweden once had a wealth tax, but it was repealed in 2007 after decades of problems. The Swedish wealth tax prompted large outflows of capital and the expatriation of well-known business people, such as IKEA founder Ingvar Kamprad who moved to Switzerland. The tax became nearly voluntary – savvy wealthy Swedes could “with impunity evade the tax by taking appropriate measures,” including increasing their debt or shifting assets into exempt categories. In the end, the wealth tax contributed so little to Sweden’s budget (around 0.2% of GDP) yet threatened the country’s status as a hub for entrepreneurs and investors, that lawmakers decided it was not worth keeping. Abolishing it was bipartisan; even social democrats conceded that the tax had backfired by driving innovation and capital offshore. Today Sweden funds its generous welfare state through other taxes (like high income and consumption taxes), but no longer taxes net wealth – a telling outcome for the argument that wealth taxes are a panacea.
- Norway: Even modest increases in wealth taxes can trigger outsized responses. In Norway, which still levies an annual wealth tax, the center-left government raised the rate slightly (to 1.1% for the largest fortunes) in 2022. The result was a record wave of wealthy Norwegians leaving the country. More than 30 billionaires and multi-millionaires emigrated in 2022 alone – a number greater than the previous 13 years combined. Many headed to low-tax Switzerland. This sudden rich exodus “came as a shock” to Norwegians and is expected to cost the government tens of millions in lost tax receipts annually. Notably, one of those who left was Norway’s fourth-richest man, who had been the country’s single largest taxpayer; his departure deprives the state of an estimated 175 million NOK (£13 million) each year. The Norwegian case demonstrates how sensitive the wealthy are to tax changes – even a small hike prompted a big reaction. It also shows that the rich contribute to the public finances in multiple ways (through various taxes on their income, investments, businesses, etc.), all of which can be lost if they relocate. This example aligns with Laffer Curve logic: push the rate too far, and the tax base melts away.
Other countries echo similar themes. Germany’s wealth tax was struck down in the 1990s (partly for taxing some assets and not others), and political appetite to revive it remains low. The UK flirted with a wealth tax in the 1970s and again more recently, but shelved the idea in favor of more targeted measures – cognizant that London’s status as a financial capital could be jeopardised if the super-rich fled en masse. Even the United States, despite frequent discussions of “Ultra-Millionaire Taxes,” has so far held back, with policymakers pointing to Europe’s reversals as a warning.
The takeaway from these global experiments is that implementation matters enormously. A heavy wealth tax in theory might raise revenue to fund social programs; in practice it often meets evasive action. Stevenson tends to downplay these practical challenges in his populist messaging. But a policy that causes a net outflow of wealth or drives top innovators out of the country could end up hurting the very people it’s meant to help (through a weaker economy or lower tax resources for public services). Wealth taxes also tend to be complex to enforce – requiring valuations of illiquid assets and global cooperation to track wealth hidden abroad. These are not insurmountable issues, but history shows they are serious obstacles. Any proposal to “make the rich pay” must reckon with the fact that the rich may simply pay by leaving. Stevenson’s public addresses seldom grapple with these messy realities; they remain crucial considerations for any policymaker.
Populist appeal vs. sound policy: the importance of incentives
Gary Stevenson’s rise illustrates the power – and peril – of populist financial narratives in today’s media environment. His message ticks all the boxes for virality: a dramatic personal story, a clear villain (the billionaire class), and a straightforward solution (“tax them, it’s easy”). It’s an emotionally charged narrative that taps into public anger and offers a sense of moral righteousness. However, as with many viral ideas, there is a risk that simplicity and spectacle trump nuance and accuracy. It is here that investors and thoughtful observers should be especially cautious.
Why do Stevenson’s ideas gain such traction? One reason is the media’s incentive structure. Outlets compete for attention, and a story like Stevenson’s is highly clickable and shareable. A millionaire ex-trader saying “tax me more” is counterintuitive and intriguing – it generates engagement. Furthermore, Stevenson is adept at playing the media game: he weaves his “boy-made-good backstory” into every discussion, making the issue about personal drama as much as policy. As one commentator noted, he has a knack for keeping himself at the centre of the narrative (the humble trader-hero), which makes the content more relatable and “monetizable” in terms of audience interest. At the same time, he focuses narrowly on a single policy demand – wealth taxes – without delving into a broader economic program that might complicate the story. This narrow focus makes his message punchy and digestible, albeit less comprehensive. It’s tailor-made for the soundbite era: one big problem, one big solution, delivered by one charismatic messenger.
However, real economics is rarely so neat. Populist narratives often gloss over trade-offs and counterarguments. In Stevenson’s media appearances, there is usually less airtime given to opposing views or inconvenient data (such as the wealth tax failures noted above). That imbalance can create a distorted perception that “all economists” or “all evidence” agree that taxing the rich heavily has no downsides – which is far from true. The virality of an idea is not a guarantee of its validity. Plenty of bad or impractical ideas have gone viral because they tap into popular sentiment or because they make for good entertainment on a debate stage.
For those of us in wealth management and economic analysis, Stevenson’s popularity serves as a reminder to always consider the incentives behind financial opinions. Is someone promoting a view because it’s genuinely sound, or because it’s likely to win followers and book sales? In Stevenson’s case, he genuinely seems passionate about fighting inequality – but he is also benefiting from the attention (his book sales, YouTube views, and public profile have all skyrocketed). Meanwhile, the media benefits from platforming a viral sensation, and audiences enjoy the compelling narrative. Every actor in this ecosystem has incentives that might not align with rigorous policy truth-testing. It doesn’t mean Stevenson is wrong about everything; it means his arguments should be fact-checked and stress-tested, not just cheerfully amplified.
Conclusion: weigh the message and the messenger
Gary Stevenson’s journey from City trader to inequality crusader is fascinating and thought-provoking. He has raised public awareness about wealth inequality and challenged complacency around the status quo. His calls to tax the ultra-rich strike a chord with many who feel the economic system is rigged. Yet, as we have seen, there are strong reasons to question the feasibility and prudence of his flagship proposal to “fix” inequality via heavy wealth taxation. History and economics suggest that such policies, if not carefully designed, can misfire – whether by driving away capital, failing to raise the hoped-for revenue, or undermining growth. Stevenson’s claim to extraordinary trading acumen, while part of his mystique, does not automatically make him an authority on macroeconomic policy (especially when that claim is contested). And his role as a Patriotic Millionaire activist means he approaches these issues with a particular agenda, one that isn’t always transparently disclosed.
For readers and investors, the central takeaway is this: always consider the incentives and context behind financial opinions. A viral idea often succeeds not because it is entirely correct, but because it is catchy and resonates emotionally. Stevenson’s media success is a case in point – it owes much to narrative craft and timing. Before restructuring tax policy (or one’s portfolio) around any popular new thesis, one should dig into the data, examine counterexamples, and think through unintended consequences. The notion of radically taxing the wealthy may have populist appeal and moral urgency, but effective policy requires pragmatism and balance. As stewards of wealth – whether personal or clients’ – we must separate the signal from the noise. Stevenson’s opinions add to the debate, but they are by no means the final word. In a world where outrage and simplicity often drive engagement, critical analysis is key. Viral ideas should earn our attention, but only sound ideas should earn our assent.
Gary Stevenson’s rise illustrates the power – and peril – of populist financial narratives in today’s media environment. His message ticks all the boxes for virality: a dramatic personal story, a clear villain (the billionaire class), and a straightforward solution (“tax them, it’s easy”). It’s an emotionally charged narrative that taps into public anger and offers a sense of moral righteousness. However, as with many viral ideas, there is a risk that simplicity and spectacle trump nuance and accuracy. It is here that investors and thoughtful observers should be especially cautious.
Why do Stevenson’s ideas gain such traction? One reason is the media’s incentive structure. Outlets compete for attention, and a story like Stevenson’s is highly clickable and shareable. A millionaire ex-trader saying “tax me more” is counterintuitive and intriguing – it generates engagement. Furthermore, Stevenson is adept at playing the media game: he weaves his “boy-made-good backstory” into every discussion, making the issue about personal drama as much as policy. As one commentator noted, he has a knack for keeping himself at the centre of the narrative (the humble trader-hero), which makes the content more relatable and “monetizable” in terms of audience interest. At the same time, he focuses narrowly on a single policy demand – wealth taxes – without delving into a broader economic program that might complicate the story. This narrow focus makes his message punchy and digestible, albeit less comprehensive. It’s tailor-made for the soundbite era: one big problem, one big solution, delivered by one charismatic messenger.
However, real economics is rarely so neat. Populist narratives often gloss over trade-offs and counterarguments. In Stevenson’s media appearances, there is usually less airtime given to opposing views or inconvenient data (such as the wealth tax failures noted above). That imbalance can create a distorted perception that “all economists” or “all evidence” agree that taxing the rich heavily has no downsides – which is far from true. The virality of an idea is not a guarantee of its validity. Plenty of bad or impractical ideas have gone viral because they tap into popular sentiment or because they make for good entertainment on a debate stage.
For those of us in wealth management and economic analysis, Stevenson’s popularity serves as a reminder to always consider the incentives behind financial opinions. Is someone promoting a view because it’s genuinely sound, or because it’s likely to win followers and book sales? In Stevenson’s case, he genuinely seems passionate about fighting inequality – but he is also benefiting from the attention (his book sales, YouTube views, and public profile have all skyrocketed). Meanwhile, the media benefits from platforming a viral sensation, and audiences enjoy the compelling narrative. Every actor in this ecosystem has incentives that might not align with rigorous policy truth-testing. It doesn’t mean Stevenson is wrong about everything; it means his arguments should be fact-checked and stress-tested, not just cheerfully amplified.
Conclusion: weigh the message and the messenger
Gary Stevenson’s journey from City trader to inequality crusader is fascinating and thought-provoking. He has raised public awareness about wealth inequality and challenged complacency around the status quo. His calls to tax the ultra-rich strike a chord with many who feel the economic system is rigged. Yet, as we have seen, there are strong reasons to question the feasibility and prudence of his flagship proposal to “fix” inequality via heavy wealth taxation. History and economics suggest that such policies, if not carefully designed, can misfire – whether by driving away capital, failing to raise the hoped-for revenue, or undermining growth. Stevenson’s claim to extraordinary trading acumen, while part of his mystique, does not automatically make him an authority on macroeconomic policy (especially when that claim is contested). And his role as a Patriotic Millionaire activist means he approaches these issues with a particular agenda, one that isn’t always transparently disclosed.
For readers and investors, the central takeaway is this: always consider the incentives and context behind financial opinions. A viral idea often succeeds not because it is entirely correct, but because it is catchy and resonates emotionally. Stevenson’s media success is a case in point – it owes much to narrative craft and timing. Before restructuring tax policy (or one’s portfolio) around any popular new thesis, one should dig into the data, examine counterexamples, and think through unintended consequences. The notion of radically taxing the wealthy may have populist appeal and moral urgency, but effective policy requires pragmatism and balance. As stewards of wealth – whether personal or clients’ – we must separate the signal from the noise. Stevenson’s opinions add to the debate, but they are by no means the final word. In a world where outrage and simplicity often drive engagement, critical analysis is key. Viral ideas should earn our attention, but only sound ideas should earn our assent.