Who owns the Scottish independence referendum?

Only one party has a mandate to hold a vote, and it's not the Conservatives.

According to recent reports, David Cameron is again exploring the possibility of staging a pre-emptive, Westminster-led referendum on Scotland's secession from the United Kingdom. At the same time, one of the country's leading authorities on the British constitution, Professor Adam Tomkins of Glasgow University, has claimed that the Scottish Parliament does not have the "legal competence" to hold a vote of its own, and that the UK government should call one "as expeditiously as possible".

The developments will be welcomed by the most zealous opponents of independence. Hardened Unionists like Lord George Foulkes and Tom Harris MP, currently a candidate in the race to be the next leader of the Scottish Labour Party, have been arguing since May that London should assume control of the referendum process in order to prevent the nationalists from "rigging" it in their favour.

Events over the last couple of weeks may have encouraged other, more moderate Unionists to move toward this position, too. Alex Salmond's assertion that any kind of majority for full Scottish sovereignty would be binding - even if in a two or three option ballot it is delivered alongside a larger majority for, say, full fiscal autonomy - has re-enforced the No camp's suspicion that the SNP cannot be trusted to play fair when it comes to Scotland's constitutional future.

But can anyone? The Unionist parties accuse the Scottish government of being incapable of running an impartial ballot because it has an interest in the outcome. Yet there is no reason to believe the UK government - which, of course, also has an interest in the outcome - would be any more objective in determining the timing of the vote or the wording of the question. London's track record on the management of Scottish elections provides little reassurance. In 1979, Jim Callaghan's Labour administration manipulated the first devolution referendum by packing it with legislative provisions - like the infamous 40 per cent rule - designed to secure its preferred result.

Another, equally limp, Unionist complaint is that the SNP won't let the Electoral Commission (EC) oversee the voting procedure. Well, why should it? The last time the EC directly ran a Scottish election - in 2007 - it caused an unholy mess, with as many as 140,000 votes eventually discarded. At any rate, the question of impartiality has already been addressed by the Scottish Government. In its Draft Referendum Consultation Paper published last year, it pledged to establish a Scottish Referendum Commission to regulate both the campaign and the ballot. This Commission would, "with limited exceptions, be completely independent of the Scottish Parliament and Government in the conduct of its affairs".

Then there's the endlessly discussed matter of "mandates" - who has one and who doesn't? Tom Harris insists that the SNP, having campaigned on a platform to break-up Britain and not to turn it into a federation, has no mandate for a referendum on anything other than straight-forward independence. Perhaps he has a point. But then the rule works both ways. Neither Labour, the Conservatives nor the Liberal Democrats campaigned for an independence referendum in 2010 or in 2011 (or ever), so by Harris's logic none has any democratic right to hold one.

The UK parties also need to consider the likely political consequence of hijacking Scotland's referendum. Does Scottish Labour, which is in the process of trying to develop a more distinct Scottish identity, really want to be seen to be colluding with a hugely unpopular Conservative-led government to undermine the clear choice of the Scottish people? Do the Liberal Democrats - already a federalist party - want to risk full oblivion for the sake of a crumbling Union?

The personal credibility of the Prime Minister and the Secretary of State for Scotland are at stake, too. Both David Cameron ("The SNP has won the right to hold an independence referendum") and Michael Moore ("I firmly believe the Scottish Parliament, if it so decides, can proceed with a referendum") have stated at different times over the course of the last seven months that Holyrood is in the driving seat on this issue. This weekend, George Osborne also appeared to agree that the "ball is in [Salmond's] court". A sudden, coordinated u-turn would look like - and in fact be - an act of breathtaking cynicism.

In the coming months, the Scottish government is going to bring forward a motion at Holyrood which invites MSPs from across the chamber to affirm the "democratic authority" of the Scottish people. This 'Claim of Right' - first agreed on a cross-party basis in 1988 - will assert unambiguously that ordinary Scots should determine "the form of government best suited to their needs". Legally, of course, the motion will be worthless: Edinburgh doesn't have the power the challenge Westminster's sovereignty. But it is a typically astute piece of political manoeuvring from the First Minister. When it comes to a referendum on Scottish self-government, it seems, the people have the SNP's backing and the SNP can say with some confidence that it has the people's.

James Maxwell is a Scottish political journalist. He is based between Scotland and London.

Getty
Show Hide image

The decline of the north's sporting powerhouse

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Now, things are different.

On a drive between Sheffield and Barnsley, I spotted a striking painting of the Kes poster. Billy Casper’s two-fingered salute covered the wall of a once-popular pub that is now boarded up.

It is almost 50 years since the late Barry Hines wrote A Kestrel for a Knave, the novel that inspired Ken Loach’s 1969 film, and it seems that the defiant, us-against-the-world, stick-it-to-the-man Yorkshireness he commemorated still resonates here. Almost two-thirds of the people of south Yorkshire voted to leave the EU, flicking two fingers up at what they saw as a London-based establishment, detached from life beyond the capital.

But whatever happened to Billy the unlikely lad, and the myriad other northern characters who were once the stars of stage and screen? Like the pitheads that dominated Casper’s tightly knit neighbourhood, they have disappeared from the landscape. The rot set in during the 1980s, when industries were destroyed and communities collapsed, a point eloquently made in Melvyn Bragg’s excellent radio series The Matter of the North.

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Yet today, we rarely get to hear the voices of Barnsley, Sheffield, Doncaster and Rotherham. And the Yorkshire sporting powerhouse is no more – at least, not as we once knew it.

This should be a matter of national concern. The White Rose county is, after all, the home of the world’s oldest registered football club – Sheffield FC, formed in 1857 – and the first English team to win three successive League titles, Huddersfield Town, in the mid-1920s. Hull City are now Yorkshire’s lone representative in the Premier League.

Howard Wilkinson, the manager of Leeds United when they were crowned champions in 1992, the season before the Premier League was founded, lamented the passing of a less money-obsessed era. “My dad worked at Orgreave,” he said, “the scene of Mrs Thatcher’s greatest hour, bless her. You paid for putting an axe through what is a very strong culture of community and joint responsibility.”

The best-known scene in Loach’s film shows a football match in which Mr Sugden, the PE teacher, played by Brian Glover, comically assumes the role of Bobby Charlton. It was played out on the muddy school fields of Barnsley’s run-down Athersley estate. On a visit to his alma mater a few years ago, David Bradley, who played the scrawny 15-year-old Billy, showed me the goalposts that he had swung from as a reluctant goalkeeper. “You can still see the dint in the crossbar,” he said. When I spoke to him recently, Bradley enthused about his lifelong support for Barnsley FC. “But I’ve not been to the ground over the last season and a half,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Bradley is not alone. Many long-standing fans have been priced out. Barnsley is only a Championship side, but for their home encounter with Newcastle last October, their fans had to pay £30 for a ticket.

The English game is rooted in the northern, working-class communities that have borne the brunt of austerity over the past six years. The top leagues – like the EU – are perceived to be out of touch and skewed in favour of the moneyed elites.

Bradley, an ardent Remainer, despaired after the Brexit vote. “They did not know what they were doing. But I can understand why. There’s still a lot of neglect, a lot of deprivation in parts of Barnsley. They feel left behind because they have been left behind.”

It is true that there has been a feel-good factor in Yorkshire following the Rio Olympics; if the county were a country, it would have finished 17th in the international medals table. Yet while millions have been invested in “podium-level athletes”, in the team games that are most relevant to the lives of most Yorkshire folk – football, cricket and rugby league – there is a clear division between sport’s elites and its grass roots. While lucrative TV deals have enriched ruling bodies and top clubs, there has been a large decrease in the number of adults playing any sport in the four years since London staged the Games.

According to figures from Sport England, there are now 67,000 fewer people in Yorkshire involved in sport than there were in 2012. In Doncaster, to take a typical post-industrial White Rose town, there has been a 13 per cent drop in participation – compared with a 0.4 per cent decline nationally.

Attendances at rugby league, the region’s “national sport”, are falling. But cricket, in theory, is thriving, with Yorkshire winning the County Championship in 2014 and 2015. Yet Joe Root, the batsman and poster boy for this renaissance, plays far more games for his country than for his county and was rested from Yorkshire’s 2016 title decider against Middlesex.

“Root’s almost not a Yorkshire player nowadays,” said Stuart Rayner, whose book The War of the White Roses chronicles the club’s fortunes between 1968 and 1986. As a fan back then, I frequently watched Geoffrey Boycott and other local stars at Headingley. My favourite was the England bowler Chris Old, a gritty, defiant, unsung anti-hero in the Billy Casper mould.

When Old made his debut, 13 of the 17-strong Yorkshire squad were registered as working-class professionals. Half a century later, three of the five Yorkshiremen selec­ted for the last Ashes series – Root, Jonny Bairstow and Gary Ballance – were privately educated. “The game of cricket now is played in public schools,” Old told me. “Top players are getting huge amounts of money, but the grass-roots game doesn’t seem to have benefited in any way.”

“In ten years’ time you won’t get a Joe Root,” Rayner said. “If you haven’t seen these top Yorkshire cricketers playing in your backyard and you haven’t got Sky, it will be difficult to get the whole cricket bug. So where is the next generation of Roots going to come from?” Or the next generation of Jessica Ennis-Hills? Three years ago, the Sheffield stadium where she trained and first discovered athletics was closed after cuts to local services.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era