In defence of Louise Mensch (or maybe not)

There was a rather predictable gnashing of teeth from many of my fellow travellers this morning with the announcement that the rather unlovely UKIP would be included in the leaders debates for next year’s General Election, whereas our own SNP would not, despite being the UK’s third biggest party. I failed to be moved, not by the unjustness of the decision, but by its predictability.

All that I’ve resolved to do is ponder what a party with almost 50 years continuous representation at Westminster, consistent representation in Holyrood and Brussels, and with the UK’s only working parliamentary majority, needs to do to get a spot in these debates: a seat in the Lords maybe? That’s about the only level where they are represented, and we are not.

New York-based Tory pantomime dame Louise Mensch came up with a seemingly novel solution this morning – getting the SNP to stand in every seat in England, an opinion for which she was predictably heckled. The fact that this has been mooted in the past notwithstanding, or the fact that it is in many ways an easy way to piss £266,500 up the wall, it did get me thinking.

During the referendum, there emerged the tentative voice of some on the English left, Billy Bragg most notably, who expressed a wish to see a Yes vote, and expressed an admiration for SNP policies. I personally know many English friends, mainly Northerners, who have either voted SNP or expressed a wish that they could do in English elections – and even among those who wouldn’t go as far as expressing support for a Yes vote, there is a wish that a new left party could somehow take Labour away from the ‘Red Tories’ tag. Could the SNP take votes from Labour in England just as it will take votes from them in Scotland?

I’m not going totally mad – and I’m willing to give Ms Mensch the benefit of the doubt, because she may have been given inspiration from a recent precedent. The candidate who finished third in this summer’s Turkish Presidential election, with almost 10% of the vote did so on an ostensibly left-wing, secular ticket which sought to build on last year’s Gezi Park protests – offering a home to many Turks disaffected by the politics of the established parties.

However, Selahattin Demirtaş, and the People’s Democratic Party (HDP) both have their origins in the more exclusively Kurdish Democratic Regions Party (DBP), and while they naturally find most of their support in the Kurdish regions of the South East, they drew many votes from both the Kurdish diaspora and sympathetic Turks of other backgrounds, including less-heralded minorities like the Alevi (Alawite) religious community (which includes, confusingly, both Kurds and Turks). Indeed, in the Turkish parliament, they have 3 MPs from Istanbul, elected thanks to the super-proportional Party List system, which we partly use at Holyrood.

Now, I don’t think that the SNP should follow an HDP-style policy: but that doesn’t mean that those less-versed in Turkish politics shouldn’t know of a clear precedent for this sort of thing. As with the idea of a Yes alliance in next year’s election, I remain unconvinced by the idea of broad-based collations of the left, and have a feeling that it would become something more akin to the barmy, directionless Italian Five Star Movement (M5S) than the HDP – but I’d be happy to be proven wrong.

As for Selahattin Demirtaş and his party – anyone interested in the plight of Kobane, and plight of the Kurdish areas of Northern Syria could do worse than listen to what they have been saying on the subject over the last couple of weeks: and as it appears the issue could be having effects both in Turkey and in the wider Middle East, you’ll probably be hearing more from him soon.


Always be a Poet, Even in Prose

Ah! You want to know why I hate you today…

An interesting opening gambit – though one unrelated to how I am dealing with the rejection of an idea very close to my heart by the Scottish electorate. Instead, in honour of National Poetry Day, I use this by way of rejecting an idea we often hear in politics, and one I heard a lot over the campaign. ‘Campaign in poetry, govern in prose’ it goes. Sounds about right – until you meet a sad person like myself who happens to know a bit about prose poetry, seen in the opening line by Charles Baudelaire.

The campaign aftermath, to extend another unnecessary literary metaphor, has been a bit like a gritty detective novel for Yes people of a forensic disposition. The Edinburgh results looked like something Rebus should be investigating (not in the sense they were rigged,mind) . Reading the breakdown of Fife and other parts of Central Scotland was like reading one of these torture scenes from a Val McDermid novel – and the less said about the blood on the walls in rural Scotland, the better.

Did we somehow mistake what people in these parts of Scotland wanted? The poetry (more the metaphorical rather than literal) of the Yes campaign may have stirred us into action, and allowed many people to dream – but while you cannot shoot butterflies, you can catch them in a net composed of a million questions, and woven with the thick fibres of uncertainty. Project Fear will now be calling themselves Project Butterfly Net.

The opening line of this piece is from Baudelaire’s Les Yeux des Pauvres – a jaunty morality tale, set in Baron Hausmann’s rapidly transforming 19th century Paris, where the medieval streets which had for ended the revolution were giving way to the modern city of broad avenues, famously devoid of public squares in which to protest. A couple sit at in a new café, lit by the wonder of electric light. Their view of the future is somewhat spoiled, however, when a wretchedly poor family comes to gawp at the beauty from outside the glass, causing the partner of the narrator to ask the maitre du café to move them on – incurring the wrath of the narrator, as witnessed by the opening line.

Now, my moral is not quite the same as Baudelare’s: just as modern Scotland is not as unequal as 19th century Paris – but you’d not know it from listening to those critical of No voters on September the 18th. ‘One Scotland’ should be one in which everyone benefits – and where we realise that independence is not once-size-fits-all. Gerry Hassan recognised this last week: ‘The politics of Scotland’s future has to entail getting into the heads and hearts of the middles classes, with all their varieties and different sub-parts.

Could it be that these middle classes, with so much to gain from independence – in terms of jobs, opportunities and status – were put off by the radical sales pitch? Was a 19th century approach to class outdated in a Scotland where 50% of school leavers go onto university, and ‘working with your hands’ means clicking a mouse? The natural allies of the Yes campaign, as has been explained to me many times, are the people in the ‘bought hooses’ of middle Scotland, the type of people who, like myself, find their roots in the working class, but not themselves. How do we get into the heads of these people?

This is where the point about prose poetry comes in. We must gain their trust, not through beautiful words, but through our deeds as a government: using the powers of the Scottish Parliament (whatever they may be, whenever they come) to continue to make the case, that a Scottish Parliament in Edinburgh is the one that will make the best decisions for Scotland: let’s be radically competent, and revolutionarily good at getting things done – this is the way we will build on the very real victories won two weeks ago.

It’s a view put forward by Marco Biagi: ‘Such a view can inform and guide the decisions we take with the limited powers we have, as well as giving the public a clear idea of who we are’. Or, as Baudelaire might put it ‘Sois toujours poète, même en prose’ (‘Always be a poet, even in prose’).

Beyond a government in Holyrood continuing to forge a radically competent path, we must do our bit too. We have to make sure the energy created in the debate does not fizzle out: as Lesley Riddoch said in her podcast this week, we must go out and continue to be the change we want to be: start our community projects, make our alternatives work: achieve through deeds what the beautiful words of the campaign could not.

Finally: the Baudelaire prose poem ends in a way which underlines the imperative all in the Yes movement now have – to reach out to those who voted No, many of whom are our family, friends and even partners, and to try and understand why they did so. If it is indeed true that 47% of No voters voted so because of the fears of what independence could bring, then we must listen to these fears.

How difficult understanding is, my angel, and how thought is incommunicable, even between lovers.

The People’s Postcode Lottery

Seemingly innocuous drop-down menus can be cause for a lot of head-scratching. I grew up in a place called Netherlee. The postcode and telephone number put it in Glasgow, but it isn’t. I should technically pay a boundary charge of 33% when I get a black cab home after a night out because its actually in East Renfrewshire, and my parents’ house is about 500m over the boundary. So, most of the time I have to render my address online as [City] GLASGOW, [Region] EAST RENFREWSHIRE, which really makes no sense as the town is bigger than the region. It’s even more annoying when occasionally confronted with a website that doesn’t recognise the almost 20 year old existence of unitary authorities in Scotland, and gives instead only the dreaded LANARKSHIRE. Netherlee, and indeed Glasgow haven’t been in Lanarkshire since when William Wallace was a lad, and for the last 300 years Lanark has been in Glasgowshire if anything.

Netherlee isn’t the only example – people in Cumbernauld, for example, have a Glasgow postcode despite being in North Lanarkshire Council (HQ in Motherwell, ML 01334) They are represented at Westminster and (more reliably by Jamie Hepburn) at Holyrood by the same people who represent Kilsyth, in the East Dumbartsonshire council area. You see where this is going – Scotland is a mish-mash of health boards, postcodes, Fire Brigades and councils, a rich tapestry. The current devolved Government is getting round to dealing with the worst anomalies, and it doesn’t really matter. We get by. Even if no one, from the man on the street to the MEP/MP/MEP they write a complaint to is always entirely sure who does what and why.

I first started to realise that my little hang up about Glasgow not being in Lanarkshire wasn’t that daft after all when I lived in France. I lived in the 10th arrondissement of the commune of Marseille, in the département of Bouches du Rhône, in the région of Provences-Alpes-Côtes d’Azur. Each unit was related the others in a way which, for example, East Renfrewshire Council is not linked to Greater Glasgow Health Board. While the last two can quibble over allocation of, say, the care of mental health patients in the community, because the provisions are all wrapped up in an act of parliament (or even worse, they aren’t). France gets round all of this by having a constitution which sets out exactly who does what, and who you can make an angry phone call to when they don’t. Further, these territorial units have existed pretty much unchanged since 1792 – French governments don’t often talk about local government reorganisation.

This may seem a bit facile – we didn’t have a revolution, and the Gallic need for bureaucratic order can often create entities that exist only on paper, and stamp all over local and regional identities that our relatively asymmetric system has protected. There is no reason to say that we can’t continue to get rid of the worst excesses with devolution, whether it be creating a single Police force, or letting some local councils pool resources to make efficiency savings. And Westminster has allowed Scotland to do as it sees fit in the past in terms of local government (even if that meant cutting two of its largest cities off at the knees through the removal of their respective tax bases).

Except it not really facile. The dogs dinner that is the provision of our local services speaks not only to the death rattle of the British Empire, but to a much deeper problem – that of a deeply centralised British state that (in all of the UK) never seems unduly bothered about a lack of engagement in local democracy, because it knows the prospect of reorganising it would be too gargantuan a task to even consider. I accept that France too is, for different reasons, over centralised, but institutionally there exists the mechanism for power to be moved away from the centre.

Pre-devolution, the passive-aggressive relationship between (Labour and Tory) Scotland Offices and (soft nationalist) Labour councils led to the formation of a local government system that was already fairly different to the one in the rest of the UK. Holyrood came along in 1999 and added 129 politicians often drawn from the ranks of local government, who have succeeded not only in allowing the most cunning and idle of our 72 MPs to fade into half-cut obscurity, but also further confused any idea we had of who did what.

Many people have pointed out that MSPs are doing things that would be much better done at a local level without proposing exactly what could be done about it – so indulge me for a moment: the simplest and most efficient way to stop this happening would be writing down what the jobs of each respective layer of government are on a piece of paper and calling it a constitution. The UK doesn’t have anything to do with such things, so if you’re like me and get peevish about inconsistent information about Scotland contained online, you’re most likely to get it in 2016, after a yes vote.

So, indulge me even further: why don’t we make this constitution split Scotland up into 8 regions. (Let’s just make them the Scottish Parliament regions for now, that’s easiest) Each of these regions would be split up into Burghs (many of which still exist if you know where to look) and then these into Districts. (for which a catchier Scots or Gaelic word must surely exist) The Constitution would deal with which jobs each would have have, and make sure the relations with each were as rational as possible. I could draw a diagram, but I’m sure you get the picture.

Districts would be administered by voluntary, Community Councils, for which there exist some encouraging models; and the Burghs and Regions by directly elected members, who would be paid a bit more than out existing councillors in order to fulfil a dual mandate.

Each would know its relation to the other, and also to the national parliament at Holyrood – real democracy would come closer to the people, and I’d never get annoyed by another drop-down menu again. All from one piece of paper – Quality.

This piece first appeared on the 2016 Wish Tree blog in October 2013