George Osborne delivering his speech on Scotland and the pound at the Point Hotel on February 13, 2014 in Edinburgh. Photograph: Getty Images.
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The flaw in Osborne’s pre-emptive strike against a currency union

The Chancellor may think he is a realist playing hard politics. But these are tactics the Scottish government could also successfully employ.

Recently, misleading presumptions about what international law requires and seeming indifference to the necessity of negotiations following a possible pro-independence vote in Scotland on 18 September have framed the referendum debate.  Politicians can always craft arguments around faulty presumptions and then make a dire outcome sound eminently plausible.  But the fate of Scotland cannot be so easily disposed of by George Osborne.

The Chancellor’s 13 February speech in Edinburgh, in which he rejected any currency union between Scotland and the remainder of the United Kingdom (rUK) in the event that Scotland’s voters approve independence, was partly based on the presumption that the rUK would be the “continuator” state of the existing United Kingdom.  This means that the United Kingdom would continue as essentially the country it currently is (shorn of Scottish territory), oblivious to any equitable claims by Scotland and dictating that Scotland start from scratch, or with a “clean slate”, to establish a resurrected independent nation. 

The alternative to the antiquated continuator argument would be to view both Scotland and the rUK as two co-equal successor states (even though the rUK is obviously the larger of the two) whose fates are tied to an amicably negotiated transition from one nation to two nations following a “yes” vote on the referendum. International law recognises that possibility of a negotiated outcome, one that can be easily embraced by both Holyrood and Westminster if their mutual intent is to facilitate a smooth transition, rather than one seeking to sabotage it.

By laying down the gauntlet of rejecting any currency union with Scotland even before any referendum vote has taken place, and promising to “punish” the Scottish people if they vote for independence, Osborne overlooked an inconvenient truth.  His entire argument rests on the presumption that no workable currency union is plausibly negotiable between Scotland and the rUK in the aftermath of a vote for independence. He simply assumes nothing can or would be negotiated in terms of the character or functioning of a currency union that would work to the benefit of both the rUK and Scotland. 

Yet there will be negotiations following a pro-independence vote. Otherwise, the rUK would have far too much to lose on other fronts that also require negotiations, talks London will be keen to take up but which the Scottish government, if it follows Osborne’s punitive example, could refuse to negotiate about at all.  Scotland need not negotiate sharing the UK debt and could simply let Westminster shoulder the entire estimated UK debt of £1.6trn in 2016/17. That is certainly the logic of the rUK being a continuator state.  Nothing in international law requires Scotland to pay one sterling pound of UK debt if the rUK is deemed the continuator state.  Nonetheless, the Scottish government has already  offered to accept the liability of an estimated £100-£130bn as an independent Scotland’s share of the overall UK debt, but only as the end point of post-referendum negotiations. 

Dire warnings that Scotland’s credibility in the markets would somehow nosedive if this transfer of debt were to happen overlook two simple facts. First, the UK Treasury already has agreed to cover all UK gilts in the event of independence, a point Osborne made in his speech.  So there is no default on the horizon to panic investors. Second, Scotland would start afresh as a debt-free nation with the apparent agreement, indeed blessing, of the rUK.  Perhaps Westminster really has decided to absorb completely the UK debt and thus not negotiate, but rUK taxpayers may wonder about the wisdom of such folly, particularly by a Conservative government.  Creditors and investors might view the Scottish position – one of willing to pay, in good faith, its fair share of the UK debt but reluctantly avoiding that financial burden if London insists on being a continuator state and rejecting negotiations – as a sign of financial strength and political acume,  rather than weakness or naivety in Edinburgh. 

If Osborne’s pre-emptive rejection of a currency union stands, Scotland could sit back in the aftermath of a pro-independence vote and watch the rUK potentially lose a permanent seat on the UN Security Council, impose extremely onerous conditions on removal of the entire British nuclear submarine fleet from Faslane by Independence Day, force the rUK into a much more difficult relationship with the European Union that may accelerate British withdrawal, and, perhaps most importantly, refuse to negotiate a reasonable division of UK assets in a manner that would hurt the rUK more than Scotland.

None of this silly face-off has to happen. The logical outcome of a pro-independence vote is negotiations to facilitate a smooth transition with the goal of advancing the best interests of the citizens of each nation. Indeed that is exactly what was indicated in Clause 30 of the Edinburgh Agreement signed in October 2012 and which is internationally admired as a model of consensual deal-making. 

Instead, Osborne launched a pre-emptive strike to kill post-referendum negotiations.  He may think he is a realist playing hard politics to bring Scotland to heel, but these are tactics the Scottish government could also successfully employ but smartly has rejected - at least for now.

David Scheffer is a law professor and director of the Center for International Human Rights at Northwestern University School of Law in Chicago.

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue