No matter the political situation, it's always the economics that triumphs in the end. Photo: Getty
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The best currency for an independent Scotland would be Norway’s kronor

If Scotland votes for independence, it will create a completely different economic context for the two new countries that emerge.

Scotland’s referendum debate has so far centred mainly on practical issues and medium-term choices like currency, new entities' share of public debt, and membership of the EU.

Far less has been said about how the different players influenced by the outcome will be affected in the longer term. It is well worth considering how independence would eventually affect the Scottish and UK economies, particularly in relation to North Sea oil. The reality is that this constitutional change could alter the macroeconomic foundations of the political map of Europe.

Aside from the UK, Norway and Denmark are the two other countries which now explore the North Sea. In 2013 the total proportions of North Sea oil produced by these three countries were 27%, 66% and 7% of the total respectively. By my estimates, Denmark’s oil sector provided around 5% of the country’s GDP, once you include petroleum production and dependent industries such as petroleum services, pipelines, refineries and so forth. For the UK it was somewhere approaching 20%, while for Norway it was 23%.

Oil and European integration

There is a strong correlation between these oil sector figures and each country’s economic and political choices. Norway stays out of both the EU and European monetary union. It has its own independent currency, whose rate of exchange is determined by the market.

At the other end of the spectrum Denmark is a member of the EU and is part of European Exchange Mechanism II (ERM II). The Danish krone’s exchange rate is tied to the euro, making it practically another form of euro. The UK is in the middle: a member of the EU but not in ERM II or the euro.

If Scotland votes for independence, it will create a completely different economic context for the two new countries that emerge. This new macroeconomic framework will work against the currently declared goals of both countries' governments.

The economy of an independent Scotland would of course be much smaller than the economy of the new UK. This means that with the same absolute oil extraction, you can estimate that the sector would contribute more than one-third of Scotland’s GDP. In the new smaller UK, on the other hand, it would only contribute something like 1% (coming from the mainly gas fields off east England).

Future choices for Scotland and the UK

This suggests that it would suit the two countries to make completely different economic and political choices. If North Sea oil dominates the Scottish economy to an even greater degree than in the case of Norway, it would suggest that it would be even less inclined towards the EU and euro than the latter country.

The logic behind this point is that oil changes the economic cycle of a country. The easiest way to think about this is to reflect on the effect of the oil price. If the oil price is high, a country that heavily relies on oil production does well and non-producers tend to do less well, because they are paying higher prices for their fuel. When oil prices are low, this reverses.

Anyone who had a passing interest in the eurozone crisis will know that the problems between the Mediterranean periphery countries and their northern neighbours were partly caused by the fact that they needed different levels of interest rates to suit their economies. An independent Scotland would suffer a similar fate, albeit for different reasons. The more that oil dominates an economy, the less well suited it is to European integration.

For the same reason, the rest of the UK would be inclined much more towards these European institutions than beforehand. The Danish experience suggests that it might lead not only to membership of ERM II but also even to adoption of the euro.

In turn, this would also lead to changes in the EU. The sheer size of the new UK would enhance the core of EU international member states, greatly increasing GDP for example. At the same time, the relative strength of socialist-inclined France would be reduced, raising the prospect of a more Atlanticist free-market approach to European unification.

On the other hand, Scotland and Norway would be naturally pushed closer to each other. They might be joined by Sweden and Iceland – Iceland and Norway share fishing interests, while Sweden and Norway’s economies are closely aligned. This could lead to much closer political co-operation between these countries, plus a kind of monetary co-ordination, if not monetary union.

Some might dismiss these arguments, pointing out that Scotland has aspirations towards the EU and that England is increasingly eurosceptic. But such people should remember the example of the UK’s brief membership in the first European Exchange Mechanism in 1990-91. The lesson was that no matter the political will, the economics will be fundamental in determining how situation evolves.

In view of these observations, it is hard not to reach several final conclusions. The Scots are not making a choice in September that is fully informed in economic terms. And the UK and EU do not seem to be fully aware of the possible long-term consequences either.

The ConversationPiotr Marek Jaworski does not work for, consult to, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has no relevant affiliations.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear