Why federalism won’t save the Union

More devolution will only further weaken the ties which bind the UK together.

During his trip to Edinburgh last week, David Cameron rather unexpectedly announced that he supported an increase in the powers of the Scottish Parliament. The current devolutionary settlement, he said, did not have to be the "end of the road" and, provided Scots vote to reject independence at the referendum in 2014, he would be willing to examine ways in which it could be "improved further". Over the weekend, both Michael Moore and Alistair Darling expressed similar sentiments, although, like the prime minister, they refused to say how they thought Holyrood's legislative remit should be enhanced.
 
As Tim Montgomerie explained in the Guardian on Monday, there is a clear political rationale to this new "progressive unionism". The reality is that most Scots support greater fiscal autonomy and, so far, attempts to draw a line in the sand at the status quo - or, worse still, the Scotland Bill - have only played into the hands of the SNP. It makes sense, then, for unionists to seize the initiative by embracing federalism - or some variant of it - and handing Scots responsibility over the bulk of their financial and economic affairs. This would undermine the drive toward separation by sating the Scottish appetite for more self-government.
 
But would it? A federal UK would mean Scotland was only just shy of out-right economic independence. It would see Holyrood take charge of, among other things, Scottish income and corporation taxes, national insurance and - in all likelihood - North Sea oil revenues, while foreign affairs, VAT and monetary policy remained reserved to London. Further devolution for Scotland would have to be met with some form of devolution for England. This would almost certainly involve prohibiting Scottish MPs from voting on English-only matters. Under these conditions, the Union would amount to little more than a kind of glorified defence alliance, with Westminster's UK-wide role being restricted to that of conducting Britain's external relations.
 
The difficulty, though, from a unionist perspective, is that the case for Scotland to determine its own foreign and defence policies is at least as strong as that for it to determine its own economic policies.
 
For instance, an independent Scotland could cut its defence expenditure from the £3.1bn it currently contributes to the British defence budget to around £1.8bn in line with the Nordic average. This would represent a significant saving at a time when public finances were under considerable pressure. It could also force the removal of the hugely dangerous yet strategically redundant Trident nuclear missile system from its waters, thereby substantially improving its security situation. Finally, it could fashion a new role for itself in international politics which reflected its status as a small, northern European social democracy, rather than remain anchored to the UK as it struggles against the decline of its global influence.

Currently, these arguments do not chime with majority opinion in Scotland. But then, a decade ago, the idea that the Scottish Parliament should raise most or all of the money it spends didn't chime with majority opinion either. What changed was Scots' sense that they were capable of governing themselves: the more they did it, the more they wanted to do it. This bears out the "slippery slope" theory advanced by people like Tam Daylell and Michael Forsyth, the most staunch defenders of the UK's unitary political structure. They warned that, as Ian Macwhirter puts it, "independence is a process, not an event" which will occur incrementally over a number of years and through a series of different devolutionary stages, whether people vote for it directly or not. In light of recent events, it is becoming increasingly difficult to say they were wrong.

So, although Cameron, Darling and Moore may view federalism - or devo-max - as the best way to preserve the Union, there is a strong chance it actually represents another step along the road to Scottish independence. Devolution has a logic and a momentum of its own. So far it only seems to be weakening the ties which hold the UK together.

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

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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