Are Scotland’s expectations still oil-fired?

Scots are not engaged, as they were in the 1970s, in a debate about how best to utilise North Sea assets.

The discovery of oil and gas in the North Sea in the late 1960s and early ‘70s had a transformative effect on Scottish political debate. Where previously the SNP had been expected to demonstrate that Scotland’s economy could function independently of the United Kingdom, suddenly unionists faced pressure to explain why it couldn’t thrive under Scottish control.  

In his introduction to The Red Paper on Scotland, published in 1975, Gordon Brown - then student rector of Edinburgh University - acknowledged how radically developments in the North Sea had altered the Scottish political landscape: "Modern Scottish nationalism is less an assertion of Scotland’s permanence as a nation than a response to Scotland’s uneven development - in particular to the gap between people’s experiences as part of an increasingly demoralised Great Britain and their (oil-fired) expectations at a Scottish-level."

By the time he had become Chancellor of the Exchequer two decades later, Brown’s analysis of nationalism had reversed. In a pamphlet, New Scotland, New Britain, written ahead of the first Scottish parliamentary elections, he dismissed "the cause of separation" as little more than a "misguided retreat from … modern forces of change".

Nonetheless, oil remained central to the SNP’s argument that Scotland could be a richer, fairer and more dynamic society outside the UK. But to what extent are Scottish expectations still "oil-fired"? Certainly, strategists on both sides of the independence referendum continue to view the issue as pivotal.

The most recent clash centred on an OBR report, seized on by Better Together, that predicted oil revenues would fall sharply from 2017, leaving Scotland with a larger fiscal deficit than the UK as a whole. Nationalists responded by highlighting the industry’s optimism over future rates of production and citing the work of Alex Kemp, professor of petro-economics at Aberdeen University, which estimates oil could generate between £50bn and £100bn in tax over the next 10 years alone.

When the debate becomes counterfactual, the unionist case weakens. Opponents of independence insist that, as a separate state, any benefit Scotland might have secured from control of the oil would have been offset by large fluctuations in annual revenues. Yet, between 1976 and 2011, total North Sea royalty and tax receipts amounted to £285bn (at 2009/10 prices), of which Scotland’s share - according to a median line division of North Sea territory - was £257bn. The focus on annual revenue flows is deceptive for the obvious reason that low revenues one year can be (and have been) compensated by high revenues the next.

Against these numbers, Scotsman columnist and former Labour MP Brian Wilson claims an independent Scotland run by the SNP would simply have mismanaged the oil industry. Again, the evidence suggests otherwise. As Chris Harvie explains in his book Fools Gold: the story of North Sea oil, SNP oil policy in the ‘70s and ‘80s drew heavily on the Norwegian model, with commitments to hold the oil as the property of the Scottish state, limit output to between 70 and 100 million tons per year and establish a Scottish state oil company with a 50 per cent stake in as yet undeveloped fields.

Few deny that Norway’s stewardship of its oil resources has been vastly superior to that of Britain’s. Norway’s oil fund, established in 1990, is currently worth more than £450bn, while the country’s GDP, once 9 per cent lower than that of the UK’s, is now 71 per cent higher. By contrast, throughout the 1980s, successive Conservative administrations at Westminster wasted record oil tax returns on rising welfare and unemployment bills caused by Mrs Thatcher’s monetarist experiments. Moreover, Thatcher used her oil tax windfall to disguise the growing deficit in the UK’s trade in general goods and services - a deficit compounded by her deliberate erosion of Britain’s manufacturing base.

It is difficult to believe that an oil-rich, independent Scotland would have allowed its industrial sector to decline as rapidly and as relentlessly as it has under the direction of UK policy-makers. More likely, Scotland would have pursued a programme of long-term industrial restructuring, with the possible benefit of avoiding the growth in unfettered financial capitalism that has proved so damaging to the British and Scottish economiesof late.

However, legitimate historical grievances notwithstanding, there doesn’t seem to be a great deal of political capital to be made from agonising over London’s failure, so far at least, to grasp the developmental opportunities presented by North Sea oil. Scots are not engaged, as they were in the 1970s, in a public conversation about how best to utilise Scottish oil assets in Scotland’s interests, nor do they seem particularly animated by the SNP’s talk of another boom in oil investment over the coming years.

It’s possible this sense of disengagement is symptomatic of the broader lack of public enthusiasm for the referendum campaign routinely noted by commentators. But perhaps its roots lie in a deeper collective memory of how cruelly the hopes raised by Scotland’s first oil boom were dashed, first by the defeat of devolution in 1979 and then by the decade of economic and political stagnation that followed. It would be a frustrating irony for nationalists if the defensive habits Scottish voters developed during the Thatcher era proved the undoing of the independence project. 

A tanker taking on oil from a loading bay at the Statfjord A-platform in the North Sea. Photograph: Getty Images.

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

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At Labour conference, activists and politicians can't avoid each other – but try their best to "unsee"

My week, from havoc in the Labour family to a sublime act of real-life trolling – via a shopping centre.

I like to take a favourite novel with me to party conference for when it all gets too much, and this year I took China Miéville’s The City & the City. It takes place in the fictional cities of Besžel and Ul Qoma, two metropolises that exist in the same geographic space but must dutifully “unsee” one another or risk the sanction of Breach, the secret police force. It turned out to be a better allegory for what was going on outside my hotel than I had expected.

Labour, as I don’t need to tell you, is badly split on almost everything. Now that the acrid leadership race has reached its inevitable conclusion, activists and politicians on both sides are operating as if they had a standing duty to “unsee” each other. The atmosphere feels a bit like a family dinner after a blazing row: everyone is aware that things have been said that will take years to be forgiven, if they ever will be, so the conversation is largely banal and superficial.

The exception is the conference floor, the only place where Corbynites and Corbynsceptics cannot unsee each other, which was therefore the scene of several acrimonious confrontations after tricky votes. It’s difficult to predict where Labour goes from here. The Parliamentary Labour Party (PLP) is largely against a split, but its members surely can’t spend the next four years dutifully pretending not to see one another,or their activists?

 

Chaos and confusion

Would it have been better for Jeremy Corbyn if his defeated challenger, Owen Smith, had done a little bit better against him – not just in the final vote but throughout the contest? All summer, Smith distinguished himself only through his frequent gaffes, to the point where it felt more appropriate to describe him as a participant in the leadership race rather than a combatant.

The difficulty for both Corbyn and his critics is that his opponents in the PLP have no clear leader. As a result, their dissatisfaction is amorphous, rather than being productively channelled into a set of specific demands or criticisms, which Corbyn could then reject or accept. The overwhelming feeling about his leadership among the PLP is that “something must be done”. So whenever an MP embarks on a freelance assault – Margaret Hodge’s no-confidence motion, say, or Clive Betts’s attempt to bring back elections to the shadow cabinet – the majority leaps on the scheme. Corbyn’s critics reason that at least it’s something.

Although fractious Labour MPs might not see it that way, the decision not to restore shadow cabinet elections helps their cause. Taking away the leader’s ability to choose his ministerial team was a recipe for chaos – chaos that would, rightly, have been blamed on them.

 

Custody rights

If the Labour family would be, as I suspect, better off seeking a divorce, there is an irony that one of the things that they all agree on is the fate of the kids. The party is entirely united behind its leader in his opposition to grammar schools – as is almost every serious thinker on education policy, from Policy Exchange on the right through to Melissa Benn on the left.

Still, Labour will encounter a visceral type of resistance to its stance from the alumni of grammars, who, regardless of what the studies show, attribute their success to their attendance at selective schools. I can understand that. Although I went to a comprehensive, the emotional pull of one’s upbringing is hard to escape. I can, for example, read all the studies that show that children in single-parent families do worse – but I find it hard to experience it as anything other than an awful attack on my mother, to whom I owe everything.

Winning the argument over schooling will require a sensitive ear to those for whom the argument against the schools seems like an attack on their parents.

 

Pudding and pie

One of the nice things about being from a single-parent family is that I don’t have to admit to flaws – merely to unresolved kinks that would have been ironed out had my absent father stuck around. One such kink is my capacity for procrastination, which
results in my making decisions too often at the last minute.

This always comes back to bite me at party conference. At dinner events, I frequently put off picking my meal options to the point that I have to eat whatever the kitchen has left. At one meal this year, I was lucky enough to have three courses of pudding, but at another, my hastily cobbled-together starter seemed to consist entirely of pesto, taramasalata and rocket.

 

Too late

The best thing about party conference is sharing a panel with a politician you don’t know very much about who turns out to be highly impressive. It’s particularly cheering now, when my optimism about politics is at a low ebb. I try to meet them properly for coffee afterwards, although because of my capacity for putting things off, that doesn’t always happen.

Last year, I was chairing a particularly testy fringe on the Israel-Palestine conflict. The then shadow foreign secretary, Hilary Benn, was running late and an MP from the 2015 intake had to field all the questions on her own. She did this with immense poise and knowledge, while clearly having a sense of how unhelpful some of the louder, angrier voices were – during one lengthy monologue from the floor, she turned and rolled her eyes at me. Her name was Jo Cox.

I kept meaning to get to know her, but I never got around to ringing her office, and now I never will.

 

Banter and bargains

A colleague alerts me to a sublime act of real-life trolling. When Everton opened a second branch of its team store in Liverpool’s shopping centre, it picked an innocuous name: Everton Two. Innocuous, that is, until you realise that the shopping centre is called Liverpool One. 

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. He usually writes about politics. 

This article first appeared in the 29 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, May’s new Tories