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Play it again, Salmond

Time and again, Scotland’s First Minister has taken on the naysayers and won. He is a keen gambler b

Late on the evening of 6 May, Alex Salmond took to the stage of a nightclub in Edinburgh's New Town and performed the kind of routine of which a professional stand-up comic would have been proud. A few hours earlier he had learned that he'd been re-elected First Minister of Scotland. That in itself was cause aplenty for celebration. But Salmond's and the crowd's unconfined jubilation was enhanced because the Scottish National Party (SNP) had not only gained the most MSPs, it now had an overall majority. Under the byzantine electoral system promoted by the Labour Party this was never supposed to happen. Now, amazingly, it had. In a parliament of 129 MSPs, the Nationalists had 69. Salmond's joy was overflowing.

Salmond was introduced by Angus Robertson, the SNP's leader at Westminster. As he drove that morning from Glasgow to Edinburgh across the Central Belt, it had occurred to Robertson that every constituency he was passing through was now held by the Nationalists. But, as ever, Salmond was able to trump his campaign director. Affecting a broad Scottish accent, which comes and goes depending on who he is talking to, Salmond said that a similar thought had occurred to him as he flew south from his own count in Aberdeen. "I was thinking that a' the seats I flew o'er in ma helicopter were yellow."

He had also realised, he added, that every seat in which Ed Miliband had campaigned had been lost by Labour. To raucous cheering, he said: "If you chart every stop on the trail of doom of Ed Miliband's individual constituency visits to inspire Labour activists who were somewhere on the streets of Scotland, the SNP won every one of the seats. Mind you, we won all the seats that weren't paid visits as well."

No one does hubris with more barefaced cheek than Salmond. When things are going well, his confidence, of which he has a surfeit, overflows. It is not blood that courses through his veins, a pundit once opined, but optimism. Keen gambler that he is, Salmond exudes hope, but it is born of pragmatism, not delusion. As a backer of horses, he studies form with the same intensity as he does the ramifications of the Barnett formula. Once upon a time, he and the late Robin Cook were rival newspaper tipsters. Cook may have known how to groom horses, Salmond claimed, but he knew better - as the racing records apparently showed - how to spot a winner.

His competitiveness is legendary. The only election he has ever lost occurred in the late 1970s, when he stood for the student presidency of St Andrews University - then, as now, as Conservative-inclined as the Monday Club. Ask Salmond by how many votes he was defeated and he reels the figure off with the chagrin of someone whose grief knows no bounds. His main opponent was called Bainbridge and throughout the campaign Salmond could not resist calling him Braindamage, something which, he later conceded, may not have helped his cause. Nor was he a generous loser When this was pointed out to him he quoted the racing driver Jackie Stewart: "Show me a gracious loser, and I'll show you a loser."

Some view his pugnaciousness as arrogance, others as archetypically Scottish. It is probably a mixture of both. In person, he is affable, engaged, witty, feisty, occasionally peppery, always eager to offer an anecdote. The worst a recent biographer could find to say about him was that he sometimes shouted at civil servants. His memory of facts and statistics is geekish. As a fan of Heart of Midlothian FC (Hearts), he can reel off the names of who played in what cup tie back to the days when footballs were made of leather and Bovril was the half-time drink of choice. As a golfer, he knows not only who won the Open championship where and in which year, but what they scored in each round. It is odd, therefore, that one of the criticisms levelled at him is his lack of attention to detail. Like Winston Churchill, he has a desire to win arguments and swat opponents with rhetoric and that tends to obscure his interest in the nitty-gritty of policy.

Fight on three fronts

What cannot be gainsaid, however, is that Sal­mond is - as much as any other political leader in a western democracy - the unchallenged and acknowledged star of his bailiwick. Moreover, he is popular. Polls consistently put him ahead of his party in terms of public approval and he is far more popular than the Nats' avowed aim of independence. Love him or loathe him, he cannot be ignored.

Opponents in other parties attempt to use his ubiquity to the SNP's detriment. Salmond, they insist, is a one-man band, the only soloist in the orchestra. A few years ago this was perhaps true. Today it smacks of desperation or, worse, complacency and denial. Were Salmond to fall under a bus, those lining up to become his successor might not be legion, but they would be several and serious, and would include his deputy, Nicola Sturgeon, and others such as Michael Russell, the education secretary, and the justice secretary, Kenny MacAskill - on whose say-so Abdelbaset Ali Mohmed al-Megrahi, the only person to have been convicted of the Lockerbie bombing, was released from prison in 2009.

Nor is Salmond unaware of this. At the outset of this year's election campaign, he said that the SNP proposed to fight it on three fronts: its record in government, its vision for Scotland and the quality of its "team". It was a gauntlet the other parties, most notably Labour, chose to disregard. Instead, the Scottish Labour leader, Iain Gray, preferred to concentrate his attack on the Tories at Westminster and the Cameron-Clegg coalition, even though it was pointed out repeatedly that they were not standing for election in Scotland. It was a huge tactical error. As the six-week-long campaign unfolded, the Nats moved from a distant second in the polls to command an insurmountable lead.

Time and again, it appeared it was Salmond, as much as his party, that the public supported; he was a gilt-edged asset in whom countless Scots were prepared to place their faith. In contrast to other party leaders in Scotland, he has the notable advantage of not having to look over his shoulder whenever he wants to say or do anything. When Labour is in need of ­succour in Scotland it sends for so-called big beasts such as Gordon Brown, Alistair Darling and Douglas Alexander. If Annabel Goldie, the erstwhile Conservative leader, wanted a shoulder to cry on, she could always depend on David Cam­eron, who is even less appealing to Scots than Margaret Thatcher. Meanwhile, the Lib Dem leader, Tavish Scott, tried desperately to distance himself from Nick Clegg, but to no avail. For his pains and for the loss of 11 of his 16 MSPs, he had no option but to resign. Was he, like Gray and Goldie, told by his southern masters that enough was enough?

For Scots, who perceive such interference as patronising, the signals that these moves send out are not reassuring. Salmond is far too savvy not to use this to his advantage. On BBC2's Newsnight recently, he asked Jeremy Paxman to allow him to finish his answer, after which Paxman would be free to patronise him. Such quick thinking endears him to Scots, who are constantly told they are not capable of managing their own affairs though other, even smaller nations appear perfectly able to do.

Similarly, the sight of expat Scots, such as the novelist Andrew O'Hagan, the historian Niall Ferguson or the professor of media Tim Luckhurst, denouncing the SNP and bemoaning the idea of independence only plays to Salmond's advantage. As he is well aware, nothing irks Scots so much as compatriots who've gone elsewhere telling those who stayed at home how they must vote. Salmond is happy with such adversaries, knowing that their influence achieves the opposite of what they intend.

Politics has been a way of life for Alex Salmond virtually since he was born nearly 57 years ago in Linlithgow, West Lothian - where, as he once told me, his putative biographer, "much of Scottish history was made and unmade". His parents were both civil servants, but the chief influence on his childhood was his grandfather, the town's plumber, who took him on tours spiced with tales from Walter Scott and Blind Harry. "For example, he showed me the ground where Edward I had camped before the Battle of Falkirk; he showed me the window from where the Regent Moray [James Stewart, 1st Earl of Moray] was shot dead in the street."

At primary school he savoured his first election victory after promising a free ice cream to those who voted for him. It is, say his critics, the kind of carrot he continues to offer without explaining fully how he intends to pay for it. As a schoolboy, he was unable to participate as much as he would have liked in sport because he was asthmatic. He made his biggest impact as a boy soprano. Singing the title role in Gian Carlo Menotti's Amahl and the Night Visitors, he received a warm review in the local newspaper and, had his voice not broken at the wrong moment, might have gone on to pursue a professional singing career. A novelty CD, released in 1999 to raise funds for the SNP, shows what a loss he was to the performing arts.

It was at St Andrews - long the most anglicised of the Scottish universities - where he studied medieval history and economics, that he joined the SNP after having an argument with a Labour-supporting girlfriend. On leaving university, he joined the department for agriculture and fisheries for Scotland and then worked for the Royal Bank of Scotland as an assistant to its chief economist. In 1981, he married Moira, who is 17 years his senior and who had been his boss in the civil service; the couple have no children. Then, in 1987, he ousted the incumbent Conservative MP for Banff and Buchan, Albert McQuarrie.

Back to Holyrood

It was the beginning of an enduring love affair with Westminster that he has never disguised, while attempting to disengage his country from it. Three years later he became SNP leader and a decade thereafter, having seen Scotland's parliament reconvened following a hiatus of 300 years, he stood down. At the time the decision was viewed with suspicion and fed rumours, which he revelled in acknowledging. He was, he told me on the day he announced his resignation, supposed to be terminally ill or have accumulated mountainous gambling debts or be having an affair with Sturgeon.

None was true. Salmond had always vowed to serve ten years as leader and, having done that, he intended to spend time reducing his golf handicap. In 2004, however, following John Swinney's resignation from the SNP leadership, he was back and determined to make the SNP the party of government. First, however, he had to win a seat that was far down the Nats' winnable list. His victory in Gordon, in north-east Scotland, with just over 2,000 votes to spare was symbolic, inspiring and typical, coming from behind in the polls to ease ahead in the final straight and romp lengths clear as the finishing line drew near.

It was a gamble that might have ended his career, had it not paid off. But it is at the root of Salmond's success, and those opposed to independence overlook it at their peril. These are the same people with the same tired and negative arguments who said a Scottish parliament would never work and that, if it did, there would never be a Nationalist government and that, if ever that came to pass, it would never in its wildest dreams have a majority of MSPs.

One by one, Salmond has overcome the odds to make all of these a reality. Who, four or five years hence and irrespective of what the pollscurrently predict, would bet against him delivering independence?

Alan Taylor edits the Scottish Review of Books

This article first appeared in the 23 May 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Obama 2.0

Picture: SÉBASTIEN THIBAULT
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Jeremy Corbyn, Emmanuel Macron and the age of volatility

The rise of populism in Britain and France is the result of a restless “crowd electorate”. Both countries' future stability depends on their changing relationship with the EU.

Britain seems to have joined the rest of the democratic world in the volatility of its politics. Electorates are no longer armies, but crowds. Identities shaped by religion, class, region, ideology and tradition weaken. Conventional parties are hollowed out, and disoriented and angry voters turn to single-issue campaigns or insurgent populism. In every country this takes diverse forms shaped by political institutions and political cultures – Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders in America, Marine Le Pen and Emmanuel Macron in France, Beppe Grillo and the Five Star Movement in Italy, Nigel Farage’s Ukip and now Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour Party.

The trend, noticeable from the 1990s, was analysed in a now classic work by Peter Mair, Ruling the Void: the Hollowing of Western Democracy, which was published in 2013, two years after the author’s death. Elected governments had conceded powers to non-elected agencies such as the IMF, the World Bank, the World Trade Organisation (WTO), and above all the EU. Politicians had become professionals, largely detached from civil society and operating increasingly within these international institutions, “safe from the demands of voters”. Citizens were decreasingly willing to join professionalised political parties financed by large donors or public funds, or to identify strongly with them.

Membership fell across Europe and beyond, and among the sharpest falls were those in France and Britain, where levels of political participation had previously been high. Electoral turnout fell too.

As Mair saw it, “hand in hand with indifference goes inconsistency”, as low levels of participation were paralleled by rising levels of volatility. People who did vote for mainstream parties often changed allegiances at random, and made up their minds at the last minute in response to short-term factors. Others flooded into new movements, or even old ones that reinvented themselves as enemies of the system.

The political effects of the 2007-08 banking crisis are still being felt everywhere and subsequent policy failures have aggravated the discrediting of elites. Naturally, the most volatile element has been the young. Youthful radicalism is hardly new. In my youth, inspiration came from Mao, Che Guevara and even the Khmer Rouge. Now it comes from elderly white males such as Bernie Sanders, Jeremy Corbyn and Jean-Luc Mélenchon, who seem able to present old remedies as new revelations to those inevitably lacking political memory. Historians are perhaps tempted to seek precedents. My own choice is the 18th-century radical John Wilkes. His brilliantly provocative tactics made fools of successive governments and appealed to a largely London-based electorate.

Wilkes’s secret – apart from barefaced cheek – was that he was not seeking office. It has been liberating for Sanders, Corbyn and Mélenchon that they were not expected, and did not expect, to win, and hence were free to run election campaigns that were not programmes of government but protest movements aimed at generating maximum support and momentum. Brexit seems to have further liberated the British left. Only the hardest of Brexits would give free rein to a radical programme of nationalisation and support to industry, which would contravene EU legislation on equal competition and restrictions on state aids.

This kind of populism is a new phenomenon in modern British politics, because never has a major party entered a campaign with such an absolute conviction that it would lose. And never has the Labour Party been so dominated by the ideas and campaigning style of the hard Left: the ubiquitous rent-a-crowd, the conspiracy theories, the violence of language (especially online), the ruthless and immediate politicisation of national tragedies. This old recipe has been given unprecedented dynamism by social media. It is populism in its purest form: a movement purporting to represent “the many” against a corrupt and remote system.

Populism is unlikely to come to power in normal circumstances because of its evident risks. However, volatility is now “normal” and accidents happen.

The two most successful populists are Donald Trump and Emmanuel Macron. Both won only with the help of a chapter of accidents. The divisions in the Democratic Party, the peculiarities of the American voting system and the accusations directed at Hilary Clinton’s email system were crucial for Trump. The collapse of François Hollande’s Socialist presidency and the meltdown of the Parti Socialiste following Mélenchon’s populist challenge from the left, along with the “Penelopegate” scandal enveloping the conservative presidential favourite, François Fillon, have delivered both the presidency and a huge parliamentary majority to Macron. What might have resulted in Britain had the Grenfell Tower tragedy happened a few days before the poll?

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Macron’s extraordinary victory in France, which some hail as a defeat of populism, is its most brilliant success. Macron came from outside politics, set up a new movement, and pledged to “renew” and “moralise” politics by recruiting half his party candidates from civil society and half from women, and excluding all with criminal records. His La République En Marche! has crushed the other parties. Unlike Trump, he has moved smoothly into power as if born to it.

The Fifth Republic is a “republican monarchy” and Macron seems to be pushing the system as far as it will go. His inauguration ceremonies equalled or exceeded the regal style of his loftiest predecessors, Charles de Gaulle, Valéry Giscard d’Estaing and François Mitterrand. He has been dubbed “Jupiter in the Elysée”, above the public fray, refusing to speak to journalists except in circumstances of his own choosing, and tightly muzzling his aides and ministers. Macron has ensconced himself in his palace with a tiny number of trusted young advisers – perhaps, as with Trump, a direct consequence of a populism that rejects established political elites. He has also begun an intensive centralisation and politicisation of the civil service, assuming the power to decide the reappointment or replacement of several hundred top officials.

However, Jupiter has an Achilles heel. The solidity of his support in the country is uncertain, and hence much depends on his cunning and charisma. This may seem paradoxical for the leader of a populist movement, but perhaps it is a fundamental feature of a politics that bypasses intermediaries and relies on the volatile support of the crowd-electorate: Trump, Macron, Corbyn, Farage, Mélenchon, Grillo – all one-man bands.


Emmanuel Macron’s success represents a populist eruption from the centre. Photo: Getty

In France’s recent legislative elections only 43 per cent of the electorate voted –probably the lowest turnout in a national election in its democratic history – due to uncertainty or suspicion. One survey puts the level of Macron’s positive support at only 11 per cent. His left-wing opponents have announced their intention of shifting the contest from the ballot box to the street, and Mélenchon has called for a “civic general strike”. Macron’s slick middle-class populism might have to confront the tough populism of the old left. I wouldn’t care to bet on the outcome.

How French and British politics develop in this time of volatility depends on the countries’ changing relationship with the European Union. France has chronic youth unemployment and its economic performance has long been sluggish. Some of its wounds are self-inflicted, but underlying them is the problem of the eurozone and the disparity of economic behaviour between France (and southern Europe) and Germany.

As long as the eurozone is managed as at present, this problem is insoluble. Germany is permanently in surplus and presses austerity on the laggards. France, while a less extreme case than Italy, needs Germany to agree to expand state borrowing by setting up eurobonds backed by the EU (that is, by Germany) and with an EU finance minister to control national budgets – hence, removing another core function of democratic governments. France’s future rests on Macron’s success. If his bold attempt to change France and the EU fails, it is hard to see where the country can go next.

Brexit may prove an easier prospect than that facing Macron, but its successful management – not least because of its centrality in the national debate – is equally crucial to our political stability. A crisis here could mean the wreckage of the Conservative Party, Jeremy Corbyn in Downing Street, turmoil in Northern Ireland and the breakaway of Scotland. Readers may regard some or all of these outcomes with favour.

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Theresa May’s failure to secure a majority has revived doubts about how resolved the British really are. Labour’s side-stepping of the issue – accepting Brexit but not the Prime Minister’s version of it – was electorally clever but adds to the uncertainty. Adopting David Cameron’s approach to negotiation, Corbyn declares that “there is no such thing as ‘no deal’”. This inevitably encourages those in the EU who wish Brexit to be damaging enough to deter others: there have already been provocative statements from Jean-Claude Juncker and Guy Verhofstadt. Macron recently declared that “the door is always open” to Britain dropping Brexit; reversing national electoral choices is something the EU has past form on.

Quasi-Remainers of all parties are trying to strip the issue of everything except “jobs and the economy”, blithely denying the importance of democratic legitimacy, national sovereignty, immigration, strategic security and the future of the EU itself. Imagine the divisive effects on British politics and British society if a future government were forced to apologise for the referendum and asked to be readmitted to the EU: bitter recrimination, national humiliation, evaporation of international influence – all far beyond anything we are experiencing today

It would deliver a death blow to any attempt to reassert democratic choice over bureaucratic and financial power within Europe, and would mark the effective eclipse of national sovereignty for the foreseeable future. Nor would it make sense in the long run: the eurozone, if it is to survive, must create greater central control, which hardly anyone in Britain accepts; so we would in any case find ourselves on the outside.

The effort to restrict debate to “jobs and the economy” is based on reiteration of the dogma that Brexit threatens economic disaster. This revives the narrative created during the referendum campaign, whose most influential element was the official report produced by George Osborne’s Treasury. The IMF and the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development naturally followed Whitehall’s lead: that is how such bodies operate. The Treasury predicted that a “no deal” Brexit would cost around 7.5 per cent of GDP by 2030, an average loss of £6,600 per family. Even some Remainers were alarmed at what seemed a politicisation of the civil service. The former governor of the Bank of England Mervyn King has since described the report as “not an objective presentation of the facts”.

Nevertheless, the report had a huge impact on the referendum (most Remain voters said they were motivated mainly by economic fears) and its pessimism continues to overshadow the Brexit negotiations and provide grist to the mill of anti-Brexit groups in the UK and beyond: “we didn’t vote to become poorer”.

Significantly, the Treasury refuses to discuss with academics how it arrived at its forecast. However, a group of economists based in Cambridge, led by Graham Gudgin and Ken Coutts, has for the first time applied the standard scientific method of verification by trying to reproduce the Treasury’s results using the same economic models. Their findings, now accessible through Policy Exchange (“A Critique of Estimates of the Economic Impact of Brexit”), are startling.

Astonishingly (or perhaps not) the Treasury did not produce an estimate of the effects on UK trade of leaving the EU. Instead, it worked out the average importance of EU trade for all 28 member states, including the new eastern European states that do most of their trade within the EU. It also adopted a long time-scale, rather than focusing on the years since the creation of the euro – which have seen a slowing of intra-EU trade generally, and for the UK particularly.

This approach greatly magnifies the importance of EU trade for Britain, which is less than for any other EU country, and which has been declining in importance for years. Finally, the Treasury made the extraordinary assumption that if Britain did less trade with the EU, it would not be able to compensate significantly by embarking on more trade outside the EU – even though its non-EU trade has been growing and shows a favourable balance. In consequence of these methods, the Treasury prediction of the results of a “hard Brexit” was a considerable exaggeration.

Using the same methods as the Treasury, but applying data relating specifically to the UK rather than to the EU as a whole, the Cambridge researchers reach a very different conclusion. Even if it proved impossible to reach a free trade agreement and the UK reverted to trading under WTO rules (“falling off a cliff”, as some express it) there would be “only a minor loss” in overall GDP by 2030, as tariffs in 90 per cent of products have already been more than compensated for by the fall in a previously over-valued sterling. As for per capita GDP – that is, average living standards – they predict that this could actually rise if the rate of immigration were reduced.

So no deal is clearly better than a bad deal, including the “soft Brexit” advocated by Corbyn and others: to leave the single market but stay in the customs union. This would mean being unable to trade freely either inside or outside the EU or to influence EU policies from within.

In short, we have no reason to be frightened by the Brexit negotiations. Being inside or outside the EU has made no difference to our economic fortunes: our national wealth has increased at exactly the same rate as that of the US for the period since 1945. We are not facing economic disaster. It is not the case, as Nick Clegg recently asserted, that we face a choice between “painful concessions” and “economic disruption”.

Moreover, Britain is a major power independently of its ties with the EU. The international relations specialist and New Statesman contributing writer Brendan Simms estimates that it is the third power in the world after the US and China because of its wealth, size, “soft power”, military potency, and its relative internal cohesion and long-term political stability. A good relationship with Britain is important for the security, stability and prosperity of the whole European continent. Unless we play our hand extraordinarily badly in these negotiations, the outcome should reduce the potential of that volatile populism of which we are presently feeling the shock: volatility, after all, is a two-way process.

Peter Mair feared the democratic world was losing control of its political institutions, and thought it “not at all clear how that control might be regained”. Brexit should, as many of us hope, provide the beginning of an answer.

Robert Tombs is the author of “The English and their History” (Penguin) 

This article first appeared in the 23 May 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Obama 2.0