The VAT on Private Schools Isn’t the Crisis the Headlines Claim — But the Cost May Still Be High

A personal perspective on the real-life impact of Labour’s VAT policy on education.

I wasn’t the typical private school pupil.

I was dyslexic, far behind in reading and writing, and raised by a single parent, my mum, a solicitor who ran her own law firm. She wasn’t poor. She worked hard, earned a respectable middle income, and built a career while raising me on her own. But like many parents in that position, she didn’t have the time to do everything. And when it came to supporting my learning needs, she knew she couldn’t do it alone.

So she chose to send me to a private school, not for status, but for survival.

It’s why I’ve been watching the recent VAT debate unfold with more than professional interest.

The legal case is over but the real debate isn't

A group of families and schools recently challenged the government's plans in court, arguing that the 20% VAT on private school fees would unfairly impact children with autism, developmental trauma, and other special needs.

The case was dismissed. But the questions it raised still matter.

As someone who works with numbers and grew up in the margins of this exact system, I think we need to look deeper. Because the impact of this policy won’t be confined to courtrooms or headlines. It will be felt in real homes, by real families, making impossible choices.

The “exodus” that wasn’t — yet

A recent Telegraph headline declared that Labour’s VAT plans may “trigger an exodus that swamps the state sector.” But, as one of my LinkedIn connections pointed out, councils are currently reporting little change in applications for state school places.

He’s right, and the calm is real, for now.

But let’s be honest: the press often leans toward catastrophe. Panic sells papers. Extreme headlines drive traffic. Reality, however, tends to move slower and with far less drama.

As an accountant, I know change doesn’t always show up on a spreadsheet straight away. Families often plan a term or two ahead. They may hold on until exams are finished or until a sibling reaches a transition point, which can take years. They may stretch to make the numbers work temporarily. Quiet decisions happen behind closed doors, with ripple effects we won’t fully see until later.

The “exodus” might not arrive in a single wave. But that doesn’t mean there’s no cost.

This is about more than money — it’s about time

In my book, The Science of Business, I mention the word “time” over 200 times. I didn’t realise it until afterwards. Time is the most valuable commodity we have. You can earn more money. You can’t earn more time.

When my mum sent me to private school, she was making a decision rooted in exactly that trade-off. She didn’t have the time to sit with me every evening and support my dyslexia. The state system didn’t have the resources either. So she used money to buy what she couldn’t create: time, structure, and the right environment for me to thrive.

That’s what’s often missing from the VAT debate. It assumes private education is a luxury for the wealthy. But for many families, especially middle-income households, single parents, or those raising children with complex needs, it’s a lifeline. A practical, values-based decision.

And when we tax that decision, we don’t just raise revenue. We shift the burden of time and support back onto families who may not have either to spare.

Fairness isn’t always flat

The government’s argument is clear: this VAT increase raises £1.8 billion and removes an unfair tax break. I get it. I want state education to be properly funded, and every child deserves a great education.

But fairness isn’t just about everyone paying the same. It’s about understanding the different starting points. My mum wasn’t trying to opt out of society. She was trying to help me catch up. She paid her taxes, worked long hours, and then paid extra so I could go to a school that could support me.

She didn’t do it because she could; she did it because she had to.

There are still thousands of families like mine. Quietly making sacrifices, not for status, but for survival. It’s a mistake to ignore them in this conversation.

What I’ve learned — and what I’d ask

As a parent and a business owner, I’ve shaped my life around time. I work a four-day week. I structure my days around my kids. I know how precious and how limited that time is. And I know how often we use money to create more of it: hiring help, outsourcing admin, buying flexibility.

But for some families, that’s not optional. It’s essential. Especially when the system doesn’t have the capacity to meet every child’s needs.

So, before we write this policy off as fair and final, I’d just ask one thing:

Are we taxing privilege, or are we taxing parents who are trying to do the best they can with what they’ve got?

The courts will rule on the legal arguments. But the rest of us voters, parents, and professionals should keep asking questions about the practical ones.

Because the effects of this policy won’t just be measured in VAT receipts or newspaper headlines.

They’ll be measured in lost opportunities, quiet compromises, and the time some parents no longer have to give.

I understand the rationale from both the government and the families affected; each side is acting on a version of fairness. But we need the humility to accept that either camp could be right or wrong. The bigger question is whether we can view education, whether private or state, through a lens that is politically agnostic.

Can we step back from party lines and ask, simply: what works best for children?

Will any politician ever have the courage to say: we may have got this one wrong?

Only time will tell.