The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

Mr McLeish said Scottish Labour […] should be taking on the SNP by developing policies and an outlook “embracing pride and patriotism and wrapping them in the Saltire”.

The Herald, May 2011

Come, old broomstick, you are needed,
Take these rags and wrap them round you!

Goethe, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

Would it not be easier to cast a spell? To mutter some dark phrase, right there on stage in front of the remaining members, that sends everything back to a time when things were as they should be? The headline speakers at Scottish Labour conference wrestled with ancient, archaic incantations, political formulae handed down through generations. Gathered around the cauldron, Khan, Kez and Corbyn tossed in the traditional ingredients: “There’s no difference,” intoned Khan, “between those who try to divide us on the basis of whether we’re English or Scottish, and those who try to divide us on the basis of our background, race or religion.” Here was the old “patriotic” twist on Labour’s so-called “internationalism”. The secret of real magic is concealment, and the hidden signifier of the word “us” is the core of the spell, an example of what Michael Billig calls “banal nationalism”: what could “us” mean but Britain, that famous force for unity-by-gunboat? Kez was more explicit: “the Labour Party I lead will never support independence,” – her party would instead stand up for the workers at Faslane, in the financial services sector, and on the oil rigs in the north-east. Bombs, banks and black gold form the crux of the party’s last-gasp British nationalism, the final desperate linkage of class and nation that allows Labourism to continue its ritual procession between the two with whatever intellectual dignity it has left. Corbyn, priestly as ever, aimed for spiritual uplift: it is not nation but class that divides us, he pronounced. But the faint outline of Keir Hardie’s ghost was left fumbling with the keys to the conference centre, unnoticed by the scrum around Khan.

Scottish Labour’s spells do not work any more. There are far darker forms of magic in play now, and the cheap constitutional tricks which the party has been pulling in Scotland since the 1970s have lost their charm. The latest idea, a ‘People’s Constitutional Convention’, is a perfect example of the extent of the crisis. By the time you’ve finished reading the name, the whole proposal has collapsed in on itself. It begins with a crashing, unavoidable admission of failure: the last ‘Constitutional Convention’, the one whose proposals shaped The Scottish Parliament, was manifestly not ‘of the people’. In the words of Convention participant John McAllion: “The Scottish Constitutional Convention claimed at the time that it was open, inclusive, and broadly-based, but in fact it was none of those things. It was self-appointed, it was elitist, and it was ultimately unrepresentative.”

Within the parliament’s first few years, historians and political scientists were scrambling for answers about why high expectations had been so radically disappointed. Lindsay Paterson identified a “utopian” tendency amongst the Scottish electorate, the inevitable pathology of a small country with big ideas that could never be satisfied by reality. But whose expectations were these? Had anybody seriously believed that a chamber stuffed with sneering debate-club chums, overexcited local councillors and jaded Westminster veterans would be anything other than a disappointment? In a 1978 diary for the short-lived socialist newspaper 7 Days, Donald Dewar wrote that “an assembly controlling education, health, social work may be a talking shop but what it says will be really important.” Over two decades there was little improvement on such paltry ambitions.

And yet now the Scottish Parliament, and Scottish ‘representative’ politics in general, enjoys a legitimacy – or at the very least an extraordinary lack of popular dissent – which far outstrips its equivalents elsewhere. The SNP can bear much of the credit. They seized upon Scottish Labour’s vacuity and complacency, and articulated a distinctively ‘national’ populism that lifted theme after theme from the Scottish Labour playbook: Scottish-accented managerialism, a bolshy and defensive approach to the all-encompassing other of ‘Westminster’, and a rhetorical obsession with vaguely social-democratic ‘Scottish values’. They upstaged Scottish Labour’s dated performance of precisely the same lines, despite their unpopular constitutional politics and coming back from a dire showing in 2003. In spite of all of this, Scottish Labour still thinks that the best route to resurrection is to dress up the same old boring technocracy with a newer, smarter position on constitutional change.

All the most powerful constitutional proposals have a clear sense of who ‘the people’ are, be it Brexit’s Anglified Britons or the cosmopolitan Scots of independence (see, for instance, the smart-casual everyman holding a cup of coffee and gazing from the balcony of his nice, ‘Yes’-stickered flat in the SNP’s recent TV spot). Devolution, on the other hand, has always reflected the fundamental uncertainty of the Scottish labour movement on this question. One of its finest devolutionist thinkers, John P. Mackintosh, sought a twinned British-Scottish identity, but the politics of the British state from the 1970s onwards made such a fusion inherently unstable.

‘Scottish and British’ hovered between two poles, drawn towards whichever element offered the greatest strategic benefit in any given conflict. In almost every case – with the mid-late ‘90s as a possible exception – Scotland had the upper hand. In the 1960s and 1970s, industrial struggles pitted Scottish workers against British economic planners and multinational capital, and the STUC developed a potent rhetorical cocktail of class and national identity which drew an ever-wider spectrum of Scottish civil society towards it. Thatcher’s indifference towards Scottish politics in the 1980s alienated much of the Scottish elite, and by the time of Major and Forsyth’s limp, tartan tokenism there was a near-unstoppable consensus behind a bizarre sort of solution: a retrospective political settlement that supposedly would have stopped it all from happening in the first place, but offered little hope for a genuine reversal of the damage done.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice is about hubris. The apprentice confuses power with wisdom, and in his master’s absence enchants a broom to do his chores for him. But once the broom has begun fetching pails of water, the apprentice has no idea how to stop it; he hacks at it with an axe, but only produces more brooms. Only the master’s timely return rescues the apprentice from the ensuing flood. Several scholars have offered persuasive accounts of the ways in which Scottish Labour, caught between Scottish predominance and British collapse, adopted an enthusiastic anti-Tory Scottish nationalism in the 1980s and laid the ideological groundwork for the big-N Nationalist deluge of the new millennium. But while Scottish Labour makes a fittingly farcical apprentice, few of these accounts ever consider the sorcerer. Some on the left believe that only independence, against which Labour’s “tartanisation” was pitched, can halt the saltire-bearing enchanted brooms which have overwhelmed the Scottish public sphere. Once we answer “the national question” for good (the logic goes), we can ask new, more important questions about class power, imperialism, and so on.

That’s exactly what Labour thought they were doing with devolution. It was supposed to “dish the nats” and kill nationalism “stone dead”. Scottish Labour still believe that they need only offer a clear position on the constitution, combine it with an appealing programme of UK-wide economic transformation, and suddenly the people (which people?) will come flocking back. The problem is that Scottish nationalism has never been about constitutions, or ‘civic’ institutions, or the democratic deficit of an unevenly balanced multinational union; like every nationalism, it stems from the contradiction between on the one hand, an unavoidably ‘national’ articulation of raw human identity, and on the other the inhumane experience of life under a state and economic system that does not care about human beings. The constitution, the institutions, the parties and so on force the boundless, uncommodifiable substance of human life into bordered forms of discipline and control, making people comparable and exchangeable as subjects of this or that political-economic regime. To retain popular legitimacy these static forms must offer a kind of ethno-cultural palliative – a decent, incorruptible ‘homeland’ in which people can still grasp at some memory of the togetherness and commonality robbed from them by the generalised violence of commodification. Is this not the twinkle in the eyes of every punter with a ‘Yes’ badge? As if national independence will stop people being nationalist! But this gives us an idea about the true sorcerer in question, who ought to return and stop the brooms from marching: surely it’s the labour movement itself?

It was Labour, after all, who cast the spell at its most powerful. Labour was the force that managed to fully integrate the British working class into a nation-state that has always been resolutely opposed to working class interests. Did the British left cease to be nationalist when they finally ran a state of “their own”, in 1945? On the contrary: they doubled down, wrapping themselves in the Union Flag, left-chauvinism reaching fever-pitch in 1968’s Commonwealth Immigration Act. And when the hostility of the British state to the left became all too obvious, Labour found a new one: Scotland, Keir Hardie’s birthplace and his faltering party’s chosen retirement home. But Scottish Labour never had the same integrating skill of the master. Populated by a new class of professionals and technocrats, with its connection to the working class left threadbare under the pressures of postmodernity, the party formulated a laboratory nationalism which could never survive sustained conflict with the real thing. Those advocates of a more popular, dissenting nationalism like Dennis Canavan and Jim Sillars either got shunted aside or left in frustration. All that was left was Dewar, ready to say “really important” things in his tartan talking shop.

The smugness that Labour brought to the new parliament in 1999 is still there in its defeat. There is something profoundly self-satisfied about the condemnations of nationalism that echo through the increasingly empty stalls of conference after conference, as if the party’s internationalism is confirmed by every further chunk that nationalism takes out of its poll ratings. On the contrary, it is precisely Labour’s nationalism that has made it so easy for nationalism to defeat it, and which still makes Labour so clueless about how to fight back. This is in the DNA of nationalism itself: it is powerful because it always fails, always leads you to the next false summit but offers just enough hope of the real thing to carry on trudging upwards (Camus wrote that “one must imagine Sisyphus happy”). It is simultaneously utopian, fusing personal and national liberation together, and resigned to its fate: a white flag raised against capital becomes a blank canvas to be filled in with whatever national colours you like.

The real horror of it all is this: the SNP’s ‘civic’ nationalism will fail too. They are reproducing all the worst aspects of Blairism: technocracy, bland identitarianism, corporate capture and the total subordination of politics to marketing. Sturgeon’s latest posturing as saviour of the liberal establishment will leave her shaky coalition in an extremely tight spot when the international wave of populist reaction inevitably reaches Scotland.

All of which brings us to the furious debate over Khan’s remarks comparing Scottish nationalism to racism. Many are offended that support for independence is being equated with racism, and are reacting angrily to a recent article exploring the darker racial undertones of Scotland’s myth of progressiveness. Both accusers and accused are, I think, failing to distinguish between the vast sweep of Scottish national identity and the narrower field of constitutional politics. It’s worth remembering that Scottish independence and the SNP are in fact highly partial expressions of Scottish national identity. There are huge numbers of people for whom ‘Scotland’ is a powerful signifier, but who do not support independence or vote SNP. Nationalism is not just about making territorial national borders match political ones; it also means aligning a contested, constructed ideal of what it means to be (eg) Scottish with the political priorities of the state.

It is highly likely that in the coming years as Brexit, austerity, and Scotland’s dire economic state all continue, the focus of this deeper ‘national question’ will slowly shift: this time towards the identities of those who feel left out of Scotland’s cosy liberal ‘consensus’. A new referendum may serve as a rallying point, though post-independence their fury may be even more severe, and they will find new recruits from SNP deserters frustrated by yet another constitutional flop. There is already a political party ready to take up their claim, and it’ll be too late by the time we realise that the Tories aren’t as alien to Scottish political culture as we’ve been led to believe. What if the sorcerer, when they return, isn’t on our side?

Rory Scothorne (@shirkerism)

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Why ‘anyone but Labour’ sets back the Home Rule cause

er11 postbox

An old destructive impulse of Scottish nationalism spurred kilt-clad die-hards to blow up red pillar-boxes in the 1950s. Our radical independence generation has a new kind of pillar-box in its sights: between four and six foot tall, clad in Red, bearing the letters Rt Hon MP, with large operating costs and imperial designs, offering working people a declining service.

Since the Yes campaign’s defeat last week, lots of people have channelled their wrath with Westminster and the No campaign towards Labour and its Scottish MPs. A Facebook group aiming to ‘get Labour out of Scotland’ in the General Election has accrued 19,000 likes in a matter of days. There’s growing determination to eject long-standing Labour members from Yes-voting Glasgow. Tens of thousands of former Labour members and supporters have joined the SNP. The spinners at SNP HQ are quietly fuelling the flames with press releases about Labour’s hypocrisy.

In its response, Labour’s conduct at its conference has hardly been deserving of acclaim or new respect. Margaret Curran’s idea to hold surgeries for Yes-voting Labour supporters gave the impression she thinks voting Yes is a nasty problem she can cure, a symptom of the nationalist virus Johann Lamont described a year ago. The tone of Johann Lamont’s speech was ridiculous; she insisted that Labour is the party to ‘change the world’. Meanwhile, having said the NHS is safe with a No vote, Labour are now claiming the NHS is still in peril.  These notes all strike a dissonant chord with thousands who believed a Yes vote would have brought real change, and they do nothing to suggest the Labour party will learn much from the referendum.

Only Len McCluskey’s speech sought to draw lessons from the vote. “Let the Scottish referendum be the tombstone on twenty years of our party’s indifference to the interest of the working class”, he said. “For a generation there have been pundits including people in our own party saying we can forget about class. they’ve said the working class aren’t interested in politics. Well go up to Scotland and see.” Alas, Len is not in charge of Labour and is unlikely to sway many Scottish people to return to the Labour party.

But whatever you think of Labour, the left should stem the tide of hate towards the party, not fuel it as some activists have done. For while Labour-bashing is compulsive, this narrow-minded, juvenile reaction breeds the wrong kind of sentiment – it is part of the ‘45’ craze which is concerned with building a bitter identity among frustrated Yes-voters, and it only bolsters a wave of anti-establishment fury which is not a helpful feeling for a wounded left to nurture.

Last night I attended a meeting called by Glasgow West Radical Independence to discuss where the organisation should go. Many of the speeches focussed on opposing Labour, instead of talking about renewed demands for power or policies that would bring us closer to the aspirations we had for independence. Some are reluctant to work with trade unions and trades unionists which are affiliated to Labour, whereas they should be looking to the likes of Unite and Unison, as well as the STUC, to lead a demand for meaningful economic power. They are gleeful about the SNP’s surging membership, when they should be making plans to unseat its members in 2016.

When it comes to the General Election, the campaign against Labour is not progressive. Its priority rejects the realities of a No-vote: the Yes campaign lost, so crucial powers remain controlled by Westminster. The campaign for further powers in Scotland is going to have to stretch beyond bitterness towards Labour to be decisive and effective. The desire for more powers may be fierce, but the actual power to determine further devolution lies at Westminster – where there’s a choice of a Tory and a Labour government. Only the latter could conceivably deliver deep economic power to Scotland.

A Labour majority at Westminster will be the best result for Scotland because it is the only feasible way for Scottish working class interests to be reflected in a Westminster government. A cross-society Home Rule campaign can work with MSPs and trade unions, building pressure on Scottish Labour MPs to transfer powers to Scotland and to those areas like Glasgow, Lanarkshire and other urban areas which have voted to take economic and social power into the people’s control. If the left is right that working class votes are crucial for Labour MPs to hold their seats, then Labour will have to address their demands. On the other hand, if you replace Scottish Labour MPs with SNP members, what route do you see for the delivery of Home Rule?

The ‘radical’ alternative for 2015 is to replace Labour MPs with SNP MPs and hope they hold the balance of power – making the transfer of significant powers to Scotland one of their central demands. A Parliament with no overall majority, where the SNP holds some of the balance of power, seems attractive to the people that believe Westminster does not function and cannot be made to work for the people of Scotland. But given last week’s vote, this tactic really is old-style nationalism: defy Westminster, play no part in its affairs except when they bear directly on Scotland and the Scottish people, and stand up for the interests of Scotland whatever it takes. So much for solidarity or the interests of workers in England. So much for rebalancing Britain’s economy. Power will be jealously guarded by the Tories, and our movement will be effectively ignored.

There is another peril in working for a hung parliament. The last time it happened, SNP votes were decisive in bringing down Labour in 1979 and ushering in a long, long term of Tory government. The same could happen again: Scottish votes could help Cameron to form the government or leave Labour short of a majority. So if you’re tempted to join this bandwagon, ask yourself the question this way: if you thought that more SNP MPs would make a Tory government more likely, would you still vote SNP? Some nationalists would, no doubt, on the grounds that the SNP could represent Scotland’s interests, that Labour and the Tories are pretty much the same, and even because bringing about another ‘Tory government we didn’t vote for’ would accelerate a new call for independence – and another referendum in 5 years.

But here’s the thing: it’s the height of hypocrisy to be content with a Tory government in the next election. If you campaigned with Yes Scotland this was one of your key arguments – we must end Tory rule, so we should vote Yes. If now you say that is anything other than your priority, it betrays your real politics: you want revenge on the No-backing traitors, and you will say anything to get people to back independence, including burdening them with more Tory rule.

The biggest losers are those who can’t accept defeat. Going in a huff will turn off thousands of people who are not yet sure about the left’s maturity and who doubt its credibility in mainstream politics, let alone government. The reaction smacks of myopia and obsession. If you are intent on smashing Labour because they betrayed the working class by backing No, your destructive impulse is the sign of your great weakness – which you share with nationalists. You say you want social justice, but when it comes to action, you fight your former opponents above all else. Your ends are determined more by your reaction and emotion than by concrete aims. Your ambitions are unclear and you seek votes on the basis of a vague promise of a better nation. The demand for Anyone but Labour comes from a motivation to sustain a losing independence campaign, and the refocused socialist programme that should follow defeat is blurred, because radical activists can see nothing but red.

Cailean Gallagher

After The Roch Wind

I’m not sure where it’s from, but I vaguely remember a moment in an old cartoon when a large, burly character yawns widely and a fly buzzes determinedly into their mouth. The burly character, having closed their mouth and discovered what’s inside it, starts to choke, all wide eyes and flailing hands. It’s a funny moment, and a triumphant one – what was once an arrogant, lazy beast is transformed into a spectacle of panicked indignity by the coincidence of their yawning mouth with an inquisitive insect’s flight path.

But it’s also, ultimately, a moment of tragedy. The beast finally succeeds in swallowing the noble fly and, we presume, digesting it. They might be humbled and quiescent for a while, or maybe angry, but eventually the old swagger returns, and they remember to yawn with caution from then on.

Open Wide…

Nationalism yawns. The mouth opens: Nairn argues that 19th-century European nationalist politics, formulated by a narrow, educated elite, granted the masses a large but fleeting sense of power – or, if not power per se, it ensured that “the whole people becomes part of society, really, for the first time”. Reacting against the chaos and dislocation of a ballooning industrial capitalism which replaced local powers with foreign financiers and industrialists, peripheral elites rallied their people – many of whom had never been engaged in politics at such a level before – to defend a new, romantic notion of the Volk.

But the mouth, having opened almost as wide as it can go, has to shut. Mass politics is forced back into an institutional and ideological framework designed by and for the nationalist elite, and a fire kindled to ward off a foreign ruling class is stamped out before it consumes the indigenous equivalent. After yawning, nationalism grits its teeth. Either in defeat or in victory, every sin of the leadership is justified and every complaint suppressed by the overriding priority of the nation and its elite architects.

Despite Nairn’s efforts to distinguish between them, his formulation of Scottish “neo-nationalism” resembles his functionalist analysis of its 19th-century ancestor rather too closely, and it’s tempting to suspect that he has projected his own (sympathetic) impression of modern nationalism backwards. Scottish nationalism is about to finish yawning. It is clearly a reaction against the profound uncertainties of a globalised economy. It offers a reassertion of community and locality, but also the hope of a resurrected social democratic settlement for people struggling in low-pay, precarious and undignified work, those out of work, or for small businesses and consumers who feel helpless against multinational corporations.

For many of its most enthusiastic supporters, most visibly students and young people, it offers intellectual and practical stimuli that are hard to find in the increasingly unrewarding worlds of work and education – a chance to meet new and interesting people, think new and interesting things, and gain the attention and respect of one’s peers. It promises democracy in a world we are told is controlled by the market. In this way it has generated a substantial amount of support and activity amongst people with little political or economic power who were and remain willing to fight for a more humane, open and democratic society.

The Roch Wind

Somewhere in this tumult we identified a rough wind; something elemental and raw that could upset the delicate balance on which modern Scottish nationalism was constructed. Nationalism’s elite architects – primarily the SNP, but also figures in think tanks, business and whatever passes for a Scottish intelligentsia – were forced by the limits of their own position to encourage the development of a mass, spontaneous movement, full of contradiction and crudity, but nevertheless with the potential to incubate something beyond the kind of defensive civic-nationalism on which it was built.

The “Roch Wind” argument for independence was rooted in this specific set of circumstances. The referendum itself was a strange fluke, a result of the SNP’s unexpected majority in 2011, and this flash of lightning just happened to strike a fireworks factory. Neither Scotland’s nor Britain’s elites were properly prepared for the terrifying opportunities of a Yes vote – the management of fundamental conflicts of interest between classes and interest groups which had hitherto been sunken into a stagnant political binary at Westminster, the enormous pressure to keep at least some of their impossible promises, and so on. This, combined with the raw energy of the Yes campaign and the experience of a post-independence labour movement, could have opened the door to genuinely radical possibilities for dissent and disobedience in an independent Scotland.

We also identified something sinister in the “Team Scotland” or “all of us first” attitudes of the SNP and the Common Weal, which emerged not only from the nationalist and cross-class basis of those organisations but also the nature of devolution itself – devolution in Scotland has always been innately defensive, concerned with mediating between competing interests rather than taking sides, with key economic powers and conflicts obscured by the bogeyman of “Westminster”. The SNP are experts at this, sublimating their own sectional divisions, and Scotland’s, into the overriding goal of independence. This allows them to achieve both internal unity and a consistent, competent and compromising approach to government.

We foresaw an initial strengthening of the social-nationalist project after independence followed by a long, drawn-out weakening as its contradictions unravelled. The civic basis of this nationalism, necessitated by the politically weak cultural basis of Scottish national identity, means it cannot marshal sufficient popular support with the national question alone – it must consistently offer material benefits to its supporters. We expected this material base to become unsustainable after independence, buckling under the pressures of separation, the competing interests in the social-nationalist coalition, and the state-level influence those interests would be competing for.

We believe that this unravelling would have created significant opportunities for socialists and the labour movement in Scotland, who could be bolstered by the more general popular energy unleashed by the possibilities of independence. There could, in short, have finally been more than a rough wind. The yawning nationalist beast could have choked on the fly as it closed its mouth, and its grip on Scottish politics could have been loosened for good.

It might also have swallowed us, of course, and this is what our No-voting comrades predicted. But we felt that Scottish nationalism was weaker than they believed, ultimately incapable of overcoming its internal contradictions should independence be won.

The expected closeness of the vote was crucial, for an easy Yes win would have implied an unstoppable nationalism and an easy, unproblematic transition for the nation’s elites. But there were, as Gordon Brown identified, real risks – to jobs, pensions, currency and more, problems to which we believed only socialists and the labour movement had workable and popular solutions. The weakness of the nationalist case for independence was, for us, inextricable from the opportunity for a truly radical “Yes”.

Our main efforts, then, were threefold: first, we sought to persuade the pro-independence left to maintain a critical distance from nationalists in the SNP and the Common Weal. Second, we hoped to encourage the sceptical or No-supporting members of the labour movement to consider the possibilities of independence. Finally, we pressed both of those vague groupings – pro-indy left and sceptical labour left – to develop a more thorough critique of social democracy in both its nationalist and unionist forms.

Jaws of Defeat

Alas, we’ll never find out if we would have been swallowed or not. Mainstream nationalism could offer no sufficiently convincing rebuttal to those real risks, and so the Scottish people placed their electoral hand over the nation’s yawning mouth before the fly could even begin to taste the celebratory buckfast on the beast’s breath. Now, Scottish nationalism is gritting its teeth.

One side of the nationalist jaws is the doctrine of “One Scotland”. This is the civic nationalism of an elite that must re-engage with the majority who voted No in order to restore some degree of nationwide legitimacy. Nationalist leaders have retreated to the safer ground of “further powers”, but they will be perfectly comfortable under the present devolution settlement too.

The other, accompanying side of Scottish nationalism is summed up by the social media slogan of “we are the 45%”, which takes the earlier, exclusive message of Salmond’s clumsy “Team Scotland” to logic-defying extremes. Scotland’s new ‘45ers hold up the nation – “all of us,” as the Common Weal put it – as the basis of their politics, but they openly exclude a majority of the nation’s people by mistaking the minority who voted Yes for the nation’s entire stock of progressives.

This is the hidden exclusivity of Scotland’s supposedly “inclusive” nationalism laid bare. In the final instance, its acolytes view Scottish statehood as the primary condition for all possible progress, and refuse to subordinate this to any politics rooted in class, gender, sexuality or any other nexus of oppression and exclusion. Jim McColl, Brian Soutar, Bill Walker and Stuart Campbell are welcome participants (they must be, for they are part of the 45%, whether you like it or not), but socialist No-voters like Neil Findlay are emphatically not, despite their obvious commitment to radical politics.

Having been rejected by the majority of Scottish people, the “45%” – united, ultimately, by nothing other than Scottish independence – is still seen by nationalists as the only plausible basis of “progressive” change. Anybody who seeks the same kind of changes without independence must either retrospectively “join” the 45% (and thus, by implication, apologise for the treacherous way they voted), or simply wait until the next referendum.

“The 45%” is an explicit example – a regressive beacon, even – of narrow nationalism. “We” lost, and Scottish nationalism is stronger and far more sinister today than it was on the 18th of September. The circumstances which justified our support for independence – particularly its immediate possibility at a time when nationalists seemed incapable of fully controlling it – are no longer present. Critical participation in a nationalist movement or nationalist discourse is no longer a useful priority and is now, more than ever, a danger for the Scottish radical left.

What Next?

Roch Wind will carry on, in some form or another and with the same personnel, but through the post-referendum fallout we hope to reconnect with any comrades, regardless of how they voted, who want to work together for socialism and the labour movement in Scotland, the United Kingdom and beyond. We’re also happy to work with people from all left-leaning parties. But just as we fought for a Yes while criticising the movement’s nationalism and reformism, we will be fighting for Labour governments in 2015 and 2016 while condemning the nationalism and reformism of the Labour party, with a renewed focus on the limits of “One Nation” ideology.

Rory Scothorne (@shirkerism)

If you’re interested in getting involved, please send an email to roryscothorne AT gmail DOT com, tweet us at @Roch_Wind, or send us a message on Facebook. We genuinely don’t care which way you voted.

Review: David Torrance – Britain Rebooted: Scotland in a Federal Union

Britain Rebooted

There are two main themes of David Torrance’s short book on UK federalism, one negative, one positive. The first, the negative, is a critique – sometimes implicit, often explicit – of the common argument that federalism should not be taken seriously because it’s not going to happen any time soon. Let’s call this argument, for the sake of brevity, “impossibilism”. The impossibilist dogma is pervasive in the Yes campaign, inspiring sneers and eye-rolls whenever the federalist option is suggested. The SNP are actively complicit in perpetuating impossibilism, with Salmond reminding Scots at every opportunity that the UK government refused to allow a third “devo max” option on the referendum ballot paper. This, goes the typical argument, is evidence of unionist dishonesty over “more powers”. If they really wanted further devolution, they’d let us vote on it.

It’s an argument that requires more than a few intellectual contortions, and Torrance dismisses it with relative ease. It is, he writes, an “inherently conservative argument”, for it assumes that a state which has permitted universal suffrage, devolution and even a binding independence referendum is incapable of codifying, expanding and consolidating what is already a vaguely federal constitutional setup. But these common-sense rebuttals form the limits of Torrance’s persuasiveness, for his proposals detailing precisely how federalism might triumph fall far short of what would be required for a federal programme to command the popular support necessary to make it work, and, crucially, to outpace its nationalist counterpart on questions of economic and social change.

The second, “positive” theme of the book is a coherent, if somewhat veiled, statement of Torrance’s own political philosophy, in which he outlines how federalism could empower federated nations and regions of the UK to innovate new ways of promoting social mobility and reducing inequality across a “rebooted” union. Here he strikes a notably similar political pose to that of one Richard M. Nixon, whose “New Federalism” sought to fuse a classically liberal emphasis on meritocracy and personal freedom with a nuanced subsidiarity. Under Nixon, welfare was centralised, but distributed in cash payments to be freely spent rather than through specific services (a basic minimum income was even proposed) and local authority block grants were generally freed of conditionality, while affirmative action was advocated for African Americans in the construction industry and small business, and segregated schools were forcibly integrated. Torrance retreads many of the ideological principles underpinning these reforms in his own proposals, and for those who, like me, have been intrigued by his hitherto inscrutable ideological prerogatives, the result makes for an interesting and often surprising read.

On Nationalist Coat-tails

The opening chapter of the book is devoted to a potted history of British federalism, an idea “as old as Britain”, in which he seeks to demonstrate that the terrain of British constitutional politics has been far from inhospitable to federalist ambitions. However, this history does suggest that most serious high-level proposals for UK federalism have come from politicians and intellectuals with their backs against the wall: late-19th and early-20th century supporters saw it as a possible answer to the Irish Question, but it was only taken “much more seriously” when the question had become “louder and therefore more urgent,” both immediately before the first world war and immediately after it. These proposals were undermined by what had quickly become a critical mass of Irish nationalist sentiment, and the focus of federalist attention shifted to Stormont. In the postwar era, even Tories were comfortable describing Northern Ireland in federal terms, but fearful of extending the arrangement to Scotland or Wales. It fell to the Liberals to advocate “Home Rule All Round,” but – again – only in reaction to breakthroughs for the SNP and Plaid Cymru in the 1960s. The Liberals and their successors in the Liberal Democrats remained the most committed and proactive supporters of federalism throughout the rest of the century, but persistent minority status meant that their constitutional ambitions made little headway with a political class all too happy to drag its feet.

The Royal Commission on the Constitution, appointed by Harold Wilson in 1969 in response to Nationalist successes, argued that federalism was “foreign to our own tradition of unitary government”, reasserting the old orthodoxy of constitutional theorist A.V. Dicey. Dicey’s preoccupation with the overriding sovereignty of the British (or, for the anglocentric Dicey, essentially English) parliament is subject to plenty of critique by Torrance, who rightly notes its growing irrelevance in light of the various constitutional transformations of the late-20th and early-21st centuries. Wilson and many others in the Labour Party shared Dicey’s conservative views on the constitution, caricaturing federalism as over-complex and “artificial” and glorying in the supposed perfection of the existing system. That said, Labour’s position here should not be over-simplified; the party’s half-hearted support for Scottish and Welsh assemblies in 1976 was not only a response to nationalist advances, but also grew from a long-standing Home Rule tradition in the Labour Party, particularly on its left (the crucial relationship between socialism and federalism will be discussed further below).

The failure of devolution in the 1970s didn’t mean the demand had dried up entirely, however, and Labour’s devolutionary current resurfaced again with New Labour, this time taking English regions into account as well as the nations. The resounding No vote in the 2004 referendum on a North East Assembly may have “stymied…any prospect of a federal UK” under that government, but the vote itself still represented – alongside devolution in Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and London – some degree of progress towards UK federalism throughout the post-68 era. The eagerness with which impossibilists seize on 2004’s result as evidence against federalism misses the point; a federalism including the nations and regions of the UK is more imaginable today than it has been for most of the country’s history. Labour’s latest proposal – under consideration for their 2015 manifesto – to transform the House of Lords into an “indirectly elected” senate giving equal representation to the nations and regions is the continuation of this trend.

But if federalists have made progress, they haven’t done it under their own steam. Federalism has remained largely reactive, not because its advocates are unwilling – the Liberals and Liberal Democrats, and elements of Labour and the labour movement, have advocated federalism or home rule on its own merits for decades – but because UK-wide federalism has been incapable of marshalling popular will in the way that nationalism has. Where federalism by itself appears to many as an expensive sideshow of constitutional tinkering (particularly obvious in 2004’s “white elephant” campaign against the North East Assembly), nationalism mobilises people – often from a strong working-class base – behind a relatively holistic programme of promised economic, social and political change. Nationalism has offered a cure, however illusory, for the various maladies of capitalist development and crisis which federalists have been unable or – due in large part to vested class and political interests – unwilling to match. Torrance makes little effort to grapple with this problem, particularly given that his vision for a transition to federalism is driven not by the collective efforts of working people but by well-intentioned politicians and civil servants, a point we will come back to later.

A Southern Problem or a British One?

Torrance does make some effort to deal with the argument that English people “don’t want” a federal England, but this is limited to observations about English unhappiness with the present constitutional setup. There remains no groundswell of federalist politics in England, or indeed in Scotland. Polls may show a Scottish preference for “devo max”-style federalism and an English discontent with the status quo, but that doesn’t mean people will get out and knock doors to that end. But when nationalists (or “not-nationalists-but…”) criticise federalism for its lack of popular support, they rarely try to explain why such support is absent or, indeed, why this matters. Occasionally they fall back on the New Left arguments of Perry Anderson and Tom Nairn, themselves a kind of haunted-mirror inversion of Dicey’s, about the innate conservatism of the British state. But if the British state is so conservative that it cannot reform itself, how have devolution and a legally-binding independence referendum been tolerated?

Idealism is a funny thing. Not “idealism” in the vague, optimistic sense, defined as a politics of hope and change and “making the world a better place”, but idealism as the philosophical tradition which posits ideas rather than real, material forces as possessing a determining agency in human history. The prevalence of both in the Yes campaign is not coincidental. One of vulgar idealism’s most peculiar attributes is that, while idealists condemn materialists for downplaying the role of human agency and free will in history, they have a tendency to place an inordinate amount of faith in the agency of institutions. In this crude, popular form, little nuance is permitted; just as “Scotland” means “us”, so too must “Westminster” be “them”, and there can be no internally contradictory tendencies in either of these things. The logic is, supposedly, that because institutions set the parameters of what is (at least legally) possible in politics, institutions determine the ideas with which law-abiding humans, and therefore citizens, shape the world.

Dicey’s fetishisation of English parliamentary sovereignty as the basis of British political life is a fine example of this. In impossibilism, Dicey’s fragile and aging parliamentary ideal is kept alive only thanks to the daily sacrifice of every idea which falls outside its miniscule parameters: yesterday the union, tomorrow federalism; and its high priests are the impossibilists. Anthropomorphised by the black magic of neo-Diceyan idealism, the palace of Westminster and huge swathes of Whitehall lift themselves up onto hitherto unseen legs and, sending chunks of masonry and scaffolding splashing into the Thames and crashing through shopfronts, these institutional titans make obscene demands of British politicians: You, puny humans, must deny Scotland the governments “it” votes for. You must lie about your desire for “more powers”. You must remain forever preoccupied with “neoliberal dogma”. You may never change, for we are The Institutions, we are immortal, and we are in charge!

For example, Iain Macwhirter’s recent critique of federalism asserted that there is “no scintilla of a chance of federalism being introduced by Westminster of its own volition.” Later in the same article, “Westminster has not the slightest intention…” and so on, and so on. “England” and “Scotland” are spoken of in a similarly clumsy, simplistic way; when you make up the units of analysis as you go along, it’s easy to meet a print deadline. Throughout impossibilist rhetoric there is a persistent desire to obscure what is really meant by “Westminster,” but Macwhirter lets the cat out of the bag: the problem with “Westminster” is, in the final instance, that “Scotland really isn’t on England’s radar…English people really don’t care [about the Barnett formula and the West Lothian Question]”. The trouble, in short, is with the way English people vote. There is no room here for differences or shifts of opinion within England, not to mention the continuing direction of Labour (via Adonis) and even the Conservatives (via Heseltine) towards English regional devolution.

The idealism that pervades a great deal of Scottish constitutional thinking, even in its more radical forms and particularly amongst supporters of independence, tends to close down any serious questions about the possibilities of popular constitutional change. A fetishisation of British institutions is used to obscure a blanket pessimism about English people and British parties, while a simplistic homogenisation of “Scotland” threatens to contain demands for a transfer of powers in the hands of those who claim to speak for the nation, halting whatever progress devolution or independence might entail before it can reach the majority.

Radical Federalism

Furthermore, there’s no clear effort by Macwhirter and his ilk to actually consider how federalism might be implemented. It might seem obvious during a constitutional referendum that all major constitutional changes come from referenda, or at least from popular support, but that’s not necessarily the case. If a party was interested enough in federalism – as Labour increasingly are, for all nations and regions of the UK – and offered a programme of economic and social reform alongside it in a manifesto which could gather popular support, a majority government could win an election on non-constitutional issues before simply imposing a federal system, regardless of the enthusiasm or lack thereof amongst certain sections of the electorate. Most English voters at least aren’t hostile to federalism, and there’s growing evidence that many are unhappy with their present constitutional status.

This unhappiness doesn’t translate into English constitutional demands because constitutional change in itself is boring. The appeal and ferment of the independence debate lies in the economic, social and political opportunities it presents, not the prospect of constitutional change alone. Things are no different for federalism, and that’s why constitutional change holds relatively little power in England. For English voters there is no alternate state, dressed up in promises of social citizenship and national renewal, which they can grab onto as many Scots do. The impossibilists – those who profess a mild interest in federalism but believe that it could not happen – believe that a federalist programme, if possible, would deliver much the same agenda as a nationalist programme. But this conflation is the reason that federalism seems impossible – the impossibilists think that the only thing that could deliver constitutional change is national sentiment, whereas what could actually deliver federalism is a far-reaching programme of social, economic and political change. A successful federalism must be a radical, federal socialism.

Torrance’s “New Federalism”

This is where Torrance’s argument is weakest, which is strange, because he does in fact smuggle several chapters of fairly far-reaching policy proposals – ranging from tax rises on the rich to affirmative action for state-educated people in higher education and beyond – into a book which is ostensibly about constitutional change. But these proposals all exist within a fairly technocratic framework. The goal of progressive policy for Torrance is not the radical transformation of society, or even greater equality per se, but the old-fashioned liberal dream of meritocracy. Private education is bad, not because it reproduces ruling class unity, but because it inhibits social mobility. The distinction between social mobility and social justice is not discussed, but a preoccupation with the former suggests a degree of comfort with the existence of class society just so long as everyone has the opportunity to be in a higher class.

Particularly revealing is his uncritical acceptance of Will Hutton’s assertion that “socialism and neo-liberalism have demonstrably failed,” and that we are now faced with the Quixotic mission of “making capitalism work”. Change is to be made by moderate but “bold” politicians and experts – he draws extensively on the policy recommendations and research of both – rather than popular movements or, perish the thought, an empowered and self-serving class. Tories and Liberal Democrats are oddly over-represented in his discussions of traditionally left-wing issues like challenging private school dominance and reducing income inequality, and it is tempting to suspect that for all his progressive suggestions, Torrance still struggles to escape his past entanglements with the Scottish right.

When it comes to the implementation of federalism itself, his policy proposals are justifications for constitutional change rather than, as suggested above, vehicles for it. This federalism will come about through “baby steps,” as he believes it has throughout British history. More significantly, it will require “cross-party agreement,” essentially guaranteeing that any radical potential is sucked out by the vicissitudes of compromise. Torrance here succumbs to the temptation of gradualism: just as the SNP, facing public scepticism over independence, sought to moderate and minimise the impact of what should have been a profound societal transformation, so too does Torrance hope to convince the haters with a relatively smooth, simple transition to a constitutional arrangement that will subsequently do little to help resolve the overlapping economic, social and political crises of modern Britain.

Federal Possibilities

The most important question for advocates of a federal union is not whether federalism can be achieved, but by whom and for whom; a possible Tory or liberal federalism may promote a race to the bottom between constituent states on wages, taxation and working standards; a possible Labour federalism, as hinted at by Powers for a Purpose, might create a nationwide “base” below which tax, welfare and wages may not be lowered, but with the ability to raise them, as well as flexibility over other aspects of industrial policy; but it could also be a technocratic, regressive federalism, hinted at in the Adonis review, which focuses on handing local powers and wealth to business rather than workers.

The overriding problem with all of these is that they remain federalisms-from-above, not from below. If Miliband’s Labour was able to command the same degree of popular enthusiasm as the Yes campaign, it would at least find itself in power under a substantial weight of progressive expectation. But as things stand, One Nation Labour may win a small majority simply because it’s less awful than the Tories. Thus the only force in the UK which seems ready to implement something approaching federalism will most likely do so in a managerial and broadly conservative fashion, just as it did with devolution.

The second most important question for Scottish federalists is whether this, or the hope of overturning it in favour of a more radical federal system of the possible future, is worth supporting over another “constitutional” change which already has a rough wind of economic, social and political demands in its sails.

Torrance has secured himself a prominent position in the referendum debate, partly through the strategic use of nice jumpers and expertly crafted hair, but largely on merit. His much-maligned scepticism about Scotland’s “progressive” consensus is welcome, and places him in a broad but often silent (or silenced) third camp of cynics, sceptics and grumblers of which we are also a part. Britain Rebooted is a thoughtful, nuanced (and generously short) work which deserves far better than the lazy impossibilist critiques to which the author’s proposals have been subjected, but it falls short where it could be at its most innovative; a couple of pages dedicated to the actual forces which might produce a federal UK is simply not enough for such an important topic, particularly given the nature of the critiques ranged against it. What is particularly evident is that there remains a pressing need for sharp, radical thinking in Scotland about the nature and direction of not only Scottish but also British politics that evades the reductionism of “Westminster vs Scotland”, but which can also break free of a dependence on expert-led and top-down tinkering to move towards an informed, intelligent popular radicalism.

Rory Scothorne

Review of “Now’s the Hour”

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In Now’s the Hour, a Scottish Youth Theatre production, a troupe of twenty-or-so young actors asked a simple question: How do we make the right decision in the independence referendum?

The play featured head scratching, loud exchanges, and satirical dismissals of arguments and counter-arguments. The stage itself suggested back-and-forth engagement: a saltire-shaped podium left spaces on either side in which Yes and No teams were variously encamped. And even if the subject’s weight was occasionally deflated by game-show themed exploration of currency options, Trident’s fate, and Scottish stereotypes, the play managed to express what few have managed: that the basis for political decision should be a sense of what’s right, which comes through actively pursuing truth, not casually perusing facts.

To get at what’s right, they started where most people do, with everyday social wrongs. Their humoured illustration of things wrong with Scotland – bad food, excess drink, sexism, gang-culture – cut through much that is abstract in the debate. The political aspirations were for respect, personal fulfilment, and less poverty.

They portrayed contradictions as signs of injustice. Why do we have some of the best food, but stuff our faces with chips? The best landscape, but some of the worst housing? A proud nationhood, but the sense we cannot express it without self-mocking? The contradiction between the wealth of the nation and the real life of people was simply described – a perspective neither campaign has managed to capture.

The actors voiced their questions about whether independence would change Scotland for the better. They gave gravity to these questions – and asked whether their future self would be glad with their decision. This approach mocked political decisions based on self interest, and mocked the herd-like way we ‘go to the polls’. In this play, the ballot box, glowing with light, was brought to the voter, placed in her hands as a burden to carry, a responsibility to uphold.

The play emphasised that the referendum requires action and deeds from the citizen: of inquiry, looking, thinking. And it requires what we seldom aspire to our nation: political thought, economic consideration, and individual reflection. As the strapline declared: “the hour is now – to seek, to ask, to find”.

The main inquiring part of the play amounted to looking at the vote as one based on understanding, not one based on the view of the herd or the polls; it is not a measure of public opinion, but must return to an older and wiser form of democracy, with a citizen engaged in asking what matters in life. A young voter, whom the rigmarole of parties courting the public has not yet affected, is uniquely placed to understand the importance of political choice.

The script was also clear, almost too insistent, that the history of Scotland is the right context for our decision. Social context, nationality, history and culture; the landscape and geography, mores and customs, prejudices and sectarianisms of the country: these, taken together, are the basis for patriotism, that sentiment that grounds both sides. Before the show the audience were asked, ‘what do you love about Scotland’? It was the first question, the first political sentiment, and the right context or state of mind for considering the future of the nation.

The awakening of this sentiment, and its connection to history, was expressed in their physical representation of moments in history: Bruce, industrial revolution, Enlightenment. The strongest lesson was a pacifist one, through a powerful depiction of Abu Gharab prison torturing, and Thatcher’s message that we need to be an assertive, domineering nation. These young people believe it is politically relevant to invoke the clearances, the Union of Parliaments as a parcel of rogues, Faslane, Thatcher, the War on Terror, to the recent financial crash and the implications for Scotland’s banks.

The play ended with the song Caledonia, leading the audience into a patriotic reverie; tempered by Let it Be, a gesture to unionism. So the play posited that a national historic exploration is a legitimate starting point and end-point of our decision – and that this indicates not undue influence from sentiment or emotion, but an intelligent stance in a civic decision. For citizens are citizens of a particular country; and the decision, whether this country should assume its own state, requires thought and reflection more than economic calculation.

The young tend to agree more than most, that a sense of right is the basis for political decision and action. Just as the young preacher or Christian writer is the forgotten figure of widespread Enlightenment, the young Scottish citizen is the best model for a new political revival, of folk who take care and time to seek, to ask, to find the right answers and to ask the right questions.

Cailean Gallagher

To Constitute the People

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In an earlier article on Mair Nor a Roch wind, entitled “Smout Leading the People”, we advocated a Scottish nationalism that looks to the values of the Enlightenment, invoking Liberty, Equality and Fraternity as the values of a new Scotland. One of the most tangible political results of the period of Liberalism was the constitution – a covenant that enshrined the political rights of a people. An opportunity may arise in Scotland to create such an entity. Not only may the people of Scotland be newly constituted as citizens, but this change would develop from a British unwritten constitution which, as we have argued, is in crisis.

But while the country ponders huge constitutional change, at a time of European and British crisis, the constitution itself catches the attention of only a few. It has been pointed out by Andrew Tickell that Scotland’s constitutional question avoids the idea of a new sovereign – it is presented, for safety’s sake, as a kind of devo-doubleplusgood, a particularly big transfer of powers. The idea of the foundation of a country is far from everyone’s minds, as the hopeful state-formers rush to persuade everybody that very little would change. Excitement about the constitution is real among a few academics, but, as one republican journalist said, the great worry is that all things constitutional just become a dripping roast for constitutional lawyers. The people of the constitution, the people of Scotland, mostly couldn’t care less.

A few active democrats hope for something more than this. They recognise that independence is a constitutional question for a reason – that the British constitution is not serving the people of Britain or Scotland, and that there is potential for re-democratisation.

But their attempts to engage people in the idea of the formation of a Scottish state have not resulted in the political excitement or sense of ownership that they hope for. Things that we are told might capture the public imagination – citizens assemblies, ‘crowd-sourcing’ based on the Icelandic constitution-forming model, community action – are contrived to tap into a public that already has a  relation to a state, and experience of active participation; but no such public or form of democracy exists. Meanwhile the organisers complain that people don’t understand what a written constitution is (why should we, we’ve never had one?), let alone its great value as a basis for democratic demands.

These ‘participatory’ forms of engagement lack a basis in our public sentiment, and the Scottish Government does not have the incentive to create it. Thus the question arises of how to enthuse this uninterested population, in order to create a constitution that is of the people, and recognised as a democratic basis for our nation. The answer lies in an understanding of how the people of Scotland are currently constituted, where their loyalties lie, and what it means to them to be a citizen in Scotland and in Britain.

To understand the constitution of Scotland, many look to the “constitution of institutions” in Scotland: a stateless nation has formed an institutional framework, by which it is defined, consisting of law, church and education, and more recently devolved institutions such as the parliament or the NHS. Yet this is not the state as political science recognises it: it cannot act as a universal reference point for the individual, only for people as they interact with these institutions. Neither, however, can the British state be this reference point, both because it is in crisis, and because we are subject to Scots law and institutions. Thus a terrible circularity arises, where we have no public to appeal to, no peculiarly national political sentiment to drum up into a frenzy. How can we escape from this confusion, in such a way that at the point Scotland realises a new constitution, it also creates a new national and sovereign public, rather than replicating tired institutional forms?

The current quasi-constitution of Scotland creates a sort of distorted benevolent bourgeois class who have political clout through particular organisations.  This class is itself a barrier to the creation of a popular constitution. Known as institutional or ‘civic’ Scotland, it forms the most exclusive and bureaucratic sphere that makes up Scotland’s social system. Its members include religious leaders, public service managers, voluntary sector organisers and so on, people who will have a voice in forming Scotland’s constitution, yet who, if they are to create it in their own image, will create something aligned to the British constitution, a constitution created on the assumption that the creator-class will be there to uphold it, divorced from the people to whom it is meant to apply. The current political climate in Scotland dictates that the movement to form a constitution will be institutional rather than political, seeing the subjects of a constitution as people who engage with the institutions of state, rather than democratic citizens.

The other group to whom we might turn in wishing to form a constitution of the public, are the lawyers of Scotland. In America, at the time of the forming of the constitution, a respected and professional legal class, that was accessible to a range of social classes, was key to creating a sense of ownership of and respect for the legal documents said to constitute the people. If only we had the same in Scotland, to give the citizens confidence in the making of their politics! Unfortunately when the law is invoked in Scotland, such as for minimum alcohol pricing, or anti-sectarian laws, it is seen as a rather despotic intrusion into civil society. Scots law is already established in public matters, and so new laws tend to be concerned with ‘private’ or ‘civil society’ matters. We are facing the challenge of the creation of a new constitution alongside a well-developed legal system, a legal system that tends to be in the news for being restrictive.  A democratic and liberatory understanding of the legal documents that will form the constitution can be achieved only if law is invoked politically rather than institutionally, as something that people do, rather than something that happens to people. This is far from current public consciousness.

So where are radical constitutionalists to turn when those shaping the constitution seem devoid of ideas, and the public is devoid of the right political sentiments or mores? How can a stateless nation become a state; how can a new constitution breathe life into fading political forms, when the political classes play to voters regardless of whether they are fighting to win an election or a new state?

The answer is to bring a little political vigour to Scotland. The constitution and the law are rarely invoked politically, they are seen as utilitarian, rational questions, and any decisions refer to “bean counting” rather than sentiment, as Smout aptly put it. There must be a real political rather than institutional movement, which talks about democracy, active citizenship, and public law in terms of the constitution, so that when the constitution comes to be formed it is seen as a political statement, and the establishment of levels of democracy as the embodiment of ideals, rather than bureaucratic institutional forms.

To invoke concepts politically, we used to turn to political parties. Perhaps once again, in a moment of constitutional formation, they will be able to argue based on ideologies and values, from their position as representatives of the people. But as the SNP concertedly ignore the idea that the constitution requires any ideological debate, and while Labour deny that there might be one at all, the only obvious party to assert their particular constitutional ideology are the Green Party, who have been silent for a while on the constitutional question. Given the lack of public constitutional divergence, the Greens would be heard were they to call for particular democratic forms, types of economic, social or refugee rights, or even just new concepts for debate. They are the party of localism, which has constitutional implications, and their localism challenges a government that is seen by elements of civil society, left parties, and the Labour Party as over-centralising . The Greens could create a spectrum of debate within those in favour of constitutional reform.

Whether or not the Greens are the best party to promote left constitutionalism, it falls to all those who speak of this abstract entity to make it real, and to make it political in an engaging and radical way, rather than something created from and designed to perpetuate Scotland’s shallow political sphere.

Amy Westwell