Italian premier Matteo Renzi is central to the maneuvering for the European Commission presidency. Photo: Getty
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Don't overlook Italy's PM in the European Commission power struggle

The tussle for the European Commission top-spot isn't just Cameron vs Juncker's supporters; Matteo Renzi, the Italian prime minister, is a key broker.

The hubbub and soap opera of who gets the European Commission presidency may have centred on a power struggle between David Cameron and the supporters of Jean-Claude Juncker, but it would be a mistake to overlook the rise of another man – Italian prime minister Matteo Renzi.

Renzi has only been in post since April, but by tying his support for a Juncker presidency to whether the conservative spitzenkandidat will agree to loosen the EU’s budgetary rules, he has emerged as a key broker.

He also has a strong hand to play. Renzi’s Democratic party scored a decisive victory in May’s European election poll, taking 31 of Italy’s 73 MEP seats, and he has strong support among public opinion and his government.

The EU’s stability and growth pact requires governments to keep budget deficits below 3 percent and debt levels to 60 percent. But despite years of austerity most EU countries have barely managed the 3 percent deficit limit, while average debt ratios have soared to over 90 percent of GDP.

It is unclear whether Renzi will demand a re-write or merely a generous reinterpretation of how the rules are applied, but the direction of travel is clear.

And it is gaining support.

Earlier this week, German economy minister and social democrat party leader Sigmar Gabriel, called on the implementation of the deficit rules to be relaxed, commenting that “countries that are embarking on reforms must have more time to cut their deficits, but it has to be binding.”

“This is what we intend to put up for debate in the weeks and months ahead as part of a reorganization of European policy,” he added.

Gabriel was quickly slapped down by Angela Merkel, and his boss in the finance ministry Wolfgang Schaueble, who insisted that 3 percent limit offers enough flexibility.

Meanwhile, Herman van Rompuy’s office were forced to scotch rumours that the European Council president was preparing a joint paper with Renzi on the issue.

But for all that, there is also sympathy among some EU officials with the difficulties faced by Italy and other countries, who are forcing through unpopular labour market reforms but are strait-jacketed by the pact’s rules from targeted stimulus measures.

As a result, both countries are locked into vicious spirals. Despite keeping within the EU’s deficit rules, a two year recession has pushed Italy’s debt burden to an eye-watering 130 percent, second in size only to Greece. There is also an awareness that as the bloc’s second and third largest economies, France and Italy fall into the ‘too big to fail’ category of countries in the eurozone.

But it was inevitable that the issue would be returned to. In 2010 and 2011, when the eurozone debt crisis was at its bleakest, many politicians were prepared to commit themselves to anything that made them look tough on deficits and tough on the causes of deficits.

The main ideological battle that was waged on these reforms, and ultimately won by Europe’s right back in 2011 and 2012, was on whether to give preferential treatment to public investment targeted at education, research and infrastructure projects.

Critics say that this so-called ‘golden rule’, encourages creative accounting and that the 3 percent threshold gives governments sufficient flexibility.

In contrast, the Keynesian school of thought argues that the 3 percent deficit limit enshrines austerity that, in many cases, will cause an economic recession to be deeper than need be. In the short-term spending cuts may help balance the books, but without investment they won’t lead to recovery.

But it is not just centre-left politicians who are clamouring to re-write the rules, or at least reinterpret the way they are applied. Conservatives in much of southern Europe find that years of pushing through painful austerity programmes have done little to improve their economic prospects.

That Renzi is spearheading this campaign alone is also indicative of France’s decline. When Francois Hollande became only France’s second Socialist president to be elected since the Fifth republic began, it was expected that he would become a badly needed figurehead for the European left, and a counterbalance to Berlin.

It has not happened. Instead Hollande has lurched between domestic election defeats and ever declining personal ratings. Struggling to meet its budget targets despite being given a two year extension, France would be one of the main beneficiaries from a loosening of the EU’s fiscal rules. But its voice post-European elections has been silenced.

Renzi’s gambit may not secure an immediate policy change, but it highlights his status as the leading centre-left politician on the EU stage, and is an important mark in the sand ahead of Italy’s six month presidency. His timing could hardly be better.

A pro-union march in 2014. Photo: Getty
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The legacy of sectarianism is still poisoning the air of Scotland

Ruth Davidson has reinstated two Stirling councillors who posted anti-Catholic and racist messages on social media. That this kind of cretinous guff still goes on in my hometown in 2017 raises my hackles.

Kenny Dalglish was a bluenose: as a boy in the mid-60s, he and his father would make the short journey to Ibrox to cheer on Rangers, then Scotland’s most successful team. With the football allegiance came a cultural one, too. Or, probably, the other way round.

Wee Kenny could play a bit, obviously, and dreamed that his beloved Gers would sign him up. But, as Richard T Kelly writes in Keegan and Dalglish, his enjoyable new double biography of the two footballing greats, "Rangers had a certain preference for big lads, or else lads with an obvious turn of pace; and Dalglish, despite his promise, had neither of those easy attributes."

Rangers’ loss was Celtic’s gain, but it took some effort. The former, writes Kelly, "was the club of the Queen, the Union, Scotland’s Protestant majority… founded by Freemasons and members of the Orange Order, strongly tied to the shipyards of Govan. Glasgow Celtic was the team of Irish Catholic patriots, revolutionary Fenians and Home Rulers, begun as a charitable organisation… a means to bolster the faith and keep the flock out of the clutches of Protestant soup kitchens. It was going to be a serious step across a threshold for Dalglish to accept the overtures of Celtic."

In the end, Jock Stein dispatched his number two, the unhelpfully named Sean Fallon, to meet the young starlet’s family. "Fallon entered a domestic environment he felt to be 'a bit tense' -  a Rangers house, a lion’s den, if you will. Fallon even picked up the sense that Bill [Dalglish’s father] might rather his son pursue [an] apprenticeship in joinery."

The deal was done ("My dream was to become a professional footballer – the location was just a detail," Dalglish would later say) and the most gifted player Scotland has ever produced went on to make his reputation kitted out in green and white stripes rather than royal blue -  a quirk of those difficult times for which those of us classed as Fenian bastards rather than Orange bastards will be forever grateful.

Growing up in west and central Scotland, it was hard to avoid being designated as one type of bastard or the other, even if you supported a team outwith the Old Firm or had no interest in football at all. Thanks to 19th century immigration, the terrible religio-political divide of Ulster was the dominant cultural force even in Stirling, the town around 25 miles from Glasgow where I grew up and where I now live again. If you went to the Catholic school, as I did, you were a Fenian; if you went to the Proddy (officially, non-demominational) school, you were a Hun. You mostly hung around with your own, and youthful animosity and occasional violence was largely directed across the religious barricades. We knew the IRA slogans and the words to the Irish rebel songs; they had the UVF and the Red Hand of Ulster. We went to the Cubs, they went to the Boys’ Brigade. We got used to the Orange Walks delivering an extra-loud thump on the drums as they passed the chapel inside which we were performing our obligatory Sunday observance.

At the time – around the early and mid 80s – such pursuit of identity might not have been much more than a juvenile game, but it was part of something more serious. It was still the case that Catholics were unemployable in significant Scottish industries – "which school did you got to, son?" was the killer interview question if your answer began with "Saint". This included the media: in the late 90s, when I joined the Daily Record – the "Daily Ranger" to Celtic fans (its Sunday sister, the Sunday Mail, was known to Rangers fans as the "Sunday Liam") – vestiges of this prejudice, and the anecdotes that proved it, were still in the air.

The climate is undoubtedly better now. Secularisation has played its part - my own daughters attend non-denominational schools – even if, as the sportswriter Simon Kuper has observed, many are "not about to give up their ancient traditions just because they no longer believe in God". The peace process in Northern Ireland and important gestures such as the late public friendship between Ian Paisley Sr and Martin McGuinness have made a difference. And I suppose the collapse of Rangers as a footballing force, amid financial corruption that saw them dumped into the bottom tier of Scottish football, helped.

But the sensitivity remains. The 2014 Scottish independence referendum broke down in part across tribal lines, with many Celtic supporters, once Labour, now SNP, loudly backing a Yes vote, while Rangers fans were on the No side. The prospect of Brexit creating a significant border between the north and south of Ireland, which could inflame recently and shallowly buried tensions, makes one shudder. And even locally, the old enmities continue to raise their grubby heads. Ruth Davidson, leader of the Scottish Tories, is currently taking flak for allowing the reinstatement of two Stirling councillors who had posted anti-Catholic and racist messages on social media prior to their election. The pair have apologised and agreed to take part in diversity training, but I confess that this kind of cretinous guff still goes on in my hometown in 2017 raises my hackles. The rawness remains.

That this is so was brought to me a few years ago when I filed a column containing the word ‘sectarianism’ to a Scottish newspaper. Though the context had nothing to do with Catholic/Protestant or Celtic/Rangers, the editor asked me to remove it. "It’ll be deliberately misunderstood by one side or the other, and probably both," he said. "It’s not worth the hassle. In Scotland I’m afraid it never is."

Chris Deerin is the New Statesman's contributing editor (Scotland).