Published: Wednesday, April 2, 2008
BBC networks survive on a TV tax; collecting it is serious business
TOTTON, England -- Colin Smith says he's not a technophobe -- and definitely not a criminal.
He's a law-abiding taxpayer who works in the office of his local legislator, watches classic comedies and political thrillers on his new DVD projector -- and doesn't own a television set.
For this, he says, the British authorities are persecuting him.
Smith's TV-free status has brought him into conflict with a venerable but unloved British institution: the television license.
"As far as I'm concerned, it's harassment," Smith said, brandishing a folder containing 80 letters he has received over the last seven years, variously suggesting, requesting and demanding that he buy a TV license, at an annual cost of $274. "I've done nothing wrong. I don't see why I have to answer to anybody."
If you want to watch television in Britain -- and even if, like Smith, you don't -- you have to answer to TV Licensing, the collective name for a group of companies that collects the fee on behalf of the British Broadcasting Corp.
Since 1946, the TV license has been levied on every British household with a television and used to pay for the state-owned, commercial-free BBC. It's backed up by a formidable enforcement apparatus that includes TV Licensing's database of 30 million residential addresses, an army of inspectors and a fleet of television-detecting vans. These vehicles are considered so crucial to catching evaders that authorities refuse to reveal how many there are, or how they work.
Every few weeks a new letter from the TV taxman pops through the mailbox of Smith's semidetached red brick house.
Many look like utility bills, stamped "payment due immediately." One threatens a "full investigation," another mentions a "potential court appearance," and yet another warns "a prosecution has serious consequences."
"My postman must think, 'Crikey, this guy's in trouble,' " said Smith.
Besides the letters, Smith, 57, has had three visits from inspectors, one of whom threatened to come back with a search warrant when Smith would not let him in. That inspector has not returned.
"It's an outrage," Smith said. "They just assume that you're breaking the law."
TV Licensing denies its tactics are heavy-handed.
"We don't presume that everyone is guilty of committing an offense, and we do try to ensure that nonviewers are not overly troubled by our inquiries, and that we don't cause unnecessary upset," a spokesman said on condition of anonymity in line with company policy.
TV Licensing points out that many people who claim not to have a television are lying -- the authority caught 400,000 fee-dodgers last year. License fee evaders can be fined up to $2,000, although the top penalty is rarely imposed.
While many in Britain grumble about the expense of the license fee, legal challenges have failed.
Former journalist Jonathan Miller waged a campaign to abolish the TV license that led to a prosecution in 2003 for failing to pay. He made headlines, but lost the case. Miller was convicted and fined.
He says the upside of his experience is that he is no longer harassed by TV license inspectors.
"They leave me alone now," he said. "I caused them a lot of trouble last time."
Last year, the government agreed to continue the license fee until 2013, but its long-term future is uncertain.
He's a law-abiding taxpayer who works in the office of his local legislator, watches classic comedies and political thrillers on his new DVD projector -- and doesn't own a television set.
For this, he says, the British authorities are persecuting him.
Smith's TV-free status has brought him into conflict with a venerable but unloved British institution: the television license.
"As far as I'm concerned, it's harassment," Smith said, brandishing a folder containing 80 letters he has received over the last seven years, variously suggesting, requesting and demanding that he buy a TV license, at an annual cost of $274. "I've done nothing wrong. I don't see why I have to answer to anybody."
If you want to watch television in Britain -- and even if, like Smith, you don't -- you have to answer to TV Licensing, the collective name for a group of companies that collects the fee on behalf of the British Broadcasting Corp.
Since 1946, the TV license has been levied on every British household with a television and used to pay for the state-owned, commercial-free BBC. It's backed up by a formidable enforcement apparatus that includes TV Licensing's database of 30 million residential addresses, an army of inspectors and a fleet of television-detecting vans. These vehicles are considered so crucial to catching evaders that authorities refuse to reveal how many there are, or how they work.
Every few weeks a new letter from the TV taxman pops through the mailbox of Smith's semidetached red brick house.
Many look like utility bills, stamped "payment due immediately." One threatens a "full investigation," another mentions a "potential court appearance," and yet another warns "a prosecution has serious consequences."
"My postman must think, 'Crikey, this guy's in trouble,' " said Smith.
Besides the letters, Smith, 57, has had three visits from inspectors, one of whom threatened to come back with a search warrant when Smith would not let him in. That inspector has not returned.
"It's an outrage," Smith said. "They just assume that you're breaking the law."
TV Licensing denies its tactics are heavy-handed.
"We don't presume that everyone is guilty of committing an offense, and we do try to ensure that nonviewers are not overly troubled by our inquiries, and that we don't cause unnecessary upset," a spokesman said on condition of anonymity in line with company policy.
TV Licensing points out that many people who claim not to have a television are lying -- the authority caught 400,000 fee-dodgers last year. License fee evaders can be fined up to $2,000, although the top penalty is rarely imposed.
While many in Britain grumble about the expense of the license fee, legal challenges have failed.
Former journalist Jonathan Miller waged a campaign to abolish the TV license that led to a prosecution in 2003 for failing to pay. He made headlines, but lost the case. Miller was convicted and fined.
He says the upside of his experience is that he is no longer harassed by TV license inspectors.
"They leave me alone now," he said. "I caused them a lot of trouble last time."
Last year, the government agreed to continue the license fee until 2013, but its long-term future is uncertain.
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