The surge of the SNP could tip Labour into losing many of its seats in Scotland in next year’s election. Photo: Getty
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Leader: Labour’s Scotland problem

The idea that a new Scottish Labour leader might be a panacea for the party, as some suggest, is nonsense. Labour’s Scottish problem is deep and structural.

A few weeks before the 2011 Scottish general election, a perplexed Ed Miliband asked a New Statesman staff member why we had published a leader about Scotland in which we warned of the consequences of a victory for the Scottish National Party. His bafflement reflected a fundamental truth: for too long, Labour had been complacent about Scotland and seemed not to have understood the forces that were powering the rise of the SNP and the wider independence movement. It was deservedly routed in that election, which set us on the path to where we are today, with the SNP established as the natural party of government in Scotland.

Labour’s troubles are many in Scotland. It has long since lost the support and respect of the intelligentsia – the writers, commentators, musicians and artists who create a climate and culture. Worse, it has given the impression of neglecting its core vote. This is not just a Scotland-specific phenomenon. In 2010, there was a turnout of just 58.9 per cent in the 100 safest Labour seats.

Labour’s Scottish problem, then, is perhaps less one of policy than of tone and perception. The party has allowed a chasm to grow between itself and the electorate. Too many in Labour regarded Scotland as home territory, where easy wins could be recorded. Devolution was seen as an end, rather than the beginning of a process that would lead to Scotland gaining even greater autonomy.

The surge of the SNP, whose membership has risen from 25,000 to 92,000 in the three months since the referendum, could tip Labour into losing many of its seats in Scotland in next year’s election. (It holds 41 out of 59 in total.) In 2010 the SNP won six seats at Westminster; even conservative estimates predict that the figure could treble next May. And it is not only the SNP which is rising: the Scottish Green Party now has 8,000 members. (Scottish Labour is believed to have no more than 10,000.)

The resignation of Johann Lamont, and the resulting leadership election, offers Scottish Labour an opportunity to reinvigorate itself. After decades of treating Scotland as little more than a one-party state, it faces the urgent task of rebuilding its movement and making itself relevant again for the people whom it was established to represent.

Jim Murphy is expected to win the leadership of Scottish Labour on 13 December. He would be a sensible choice. He is a former cabinet minister and an independent thinker, and he would have the authority to challenge the party at Westminster. [Editor's note: Jim Murphy did win the leadership contest.]

In his 100-day tour to save the Union during the referendum campaign, Mr Murphy showed an admirable relish for the fight and a gift for popular communication. With the exception of Gordon Brown, he was the most impressive of the Westminster politicians who fought to defend the Union. Over recent weeks, Mr Murphy has run an energetic and pragmatic campaign. Unfairly caricatured as a “Blairite”, he has come belatedly to support greater devolution. He has shown skill in explaining what connects his challenging upbringing in Glasgow to his commitment to Labour.

His supporters hope that his election as leader will herald an era of renewal for Labour as well as demonstrating that a politician of ambition need not leave Scotland in order to have an influential and fulfilling career.

However, the idea that a new Scottish Labour leader might be a panacea for the party, as some suggest, is nonsense. Labour’s Scottish problem is deep and structural. Many on the left have given up on the party altogether. Radical pro-independence groupings are flourishing. And Alex Salmond, the former SNP leader, is intent on returning to Westminster. For too long complacent, Labour now understands the strength of the opposition to it in Scotland. If it cannot win here, its chances of ever governing again as a majority party in Westminster are bleak indeed.

This article first appeared in the 09 December 2014 issue of the New Statesman, How Isis hijacked the revolution

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Why relations between Theresa May and Philip Hammond became tense so quickly

The political imperative of controlling immigration is clashing with the economic imperative of maintaining growth. 

There is no relationship in government more important than that between the prime minister and the chancellor. When Theresa May entered No.10, she chose Philip Hammond, a dependable technocrat and long-standing ally who she had known since Oxford University. 

But relations between the pair have proved far tenser than anticipated. On Wednesday, Hammond suggested that students could be excluded from the net migration target. "We are having conversations within government about the most appropriate way to record and address net migration," he told the Treasury select committee. The Chancellor, in common with many others, has long regarded the inclusion of students as an obstacle to growth. 

The following day Hammond was publicly rebuked by No.10. "Our position on who is included in the figures has not changed, and we are categorically not reviewing whether or not students are included," a spokesman said (as I reported in advance, May believes that the public would see this move as "a fix"). 

This is not the only clash in May's first 100 days. Hammond was aggrieved by the Prime Minister's criticisms of loose monetary policy (which forced No.10 to state that it "respects the independence of the Bank of England") and is resisting tougher controls on foreign takeovers. The Chancellor has also struck a more sceptical tone on the UK's economic prospects. "It is clear to me that the British people did not vote on June 23 to become poorer," he declared in his conference speech, a signal that national prosperity must come before control of immigration. 

May and Hammond's relationship was never going to match the remarkable bond between David Cameron and George Osborne. But should relations worsen it risks becoming closer to that beween Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling. Like Hammond, Darling entered the Treasury as a calm technocrat and an ally of the PM. But the extraordinary circumstances of the financial crisis transformed him into a far more assertive figure.

In times of turmoil, there is an inevitable clash between political and economic priorities. As prime minister, Brown resisted talk of cuts for fear of the electoral consequences. But as chancellor, Darling was more concerned with the bottom line (backing a rise in VAT). By analogy, May is focused on the political imperative of controlling immigration, while Hammond is focused on the economic imperative of maintaining growth. If their relationship is to endure far tougher times they will soon need to find a middle way. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.