It is all getting a bit fraught. It was always going to, but you can feel it, the pot simmering as we get close. It has never been more important for folk on all sides to keep the heid, but also, perhaps, to remember a human faculty which has sometimes been neglected in this process and is most at risk in its dying days: empathy.
Put away the caricaturist’s sketch. Don’t be tempted by the grand generalisation. Yes or No, win or lose, in the course of this campaign I've met countless good people of goodwill on both sides, explaining the world as best they understand it, balancing complex values, doing what they think best.
We've got to keep hold of that, as the temperature rises, and our perspective wobbles. If there is one lesson of the narrowing polls, it is that the boundaries between us are porous. This isn't a moment in which you're going to hear a lot of ambivalence articulated on the airwaves and on telly, but many of the folk I've met, out and about this weekend, embody this swithering sense precisely: even those who've made up their minds to vote Yes and No.
“The independence referendum: my journey into indecision.”
The confessional has arguably become the characteristic genre of referendum literature as we hurtle down the slope towards Thursday’s final big decision. In a religious sense, confession is an opportunity to own up to your weaknesses. In Scottish politics, however, this superabundance of confessions characteristically explain unexpected conclusions, often reached by Damascene routes, often in convoluted archaeologies of self, unearthing surprising discoveries and ambivalent feelings. They have more in common with the psychiatrist’s couch than the cleric’s box. Most of these confessions are written with a certain sense of surprise about their contents. This appeals to me.
In the street last week, I bumped into an acquaintance, a lady from a working class background in Leeds who has, with considerable reluctance and surprise, finally hopped into the Yes column: someone who never imagined that she’d participate in a vote on Scottish self-determination, never mind endorsing it. In Glasgow, I encountered the Spectator’s Fraser Nelson, in newsboy’s jaikit, dishing out free copies of his magazine, calling on Scots to reject independence. The gaucheness and sincerity of the scene made me feel quite fond of him, despite our political differences. It’s a funny old referendum.
The poll, in a public sense, represents an attempt at a major conversation about public and political goods in Scotland and the UK. But for many folk, it has been a public process driving a personal dialogue – and private process of clarification – about their own feelings, commitments and priorities. If there is one lesson to be taken from the
Guardian’s recent polling, the two campaigns have
to a great extent talked past one another, peddling their preferred frames of political reference.
For many, I know this has sometimes felt like hard, uncertain digger’s work, trowelling away in the murk, slowly clearing away the sediment, till you strike home hard on a point, till you snag on something solid. I’ve seen these processes at work in my own family, all Yessers, but the sense of conviction has undoubtedly intensified, as the day approaches. I’m reluctant to describe this as being radicalised, given the problematic freight that term now carries, but it represents a gradual and unexpected realisation about what your political priorities are and the intensity of your feelings about them.
Clarified may be a better way of putting it. My friends have swithered. Like most folk’s friendship circles, there are sceptical folk inclined to vote Yes and No, hardened proponents and opponents of independence, whether on grounds of identity or politics or perceived economics. But the referendum process has undoubtedly focussed minds, the doing of it gradually illuminating what folk care about, and why.
Many have found themselves swayed towards independence, quietly, despite themselves, by the character of the campaign and the quality of its arguments. The No campaign and its new wave of advocates are still talking about Scots needing to “wake up”. They allege that the impulse to vote Yes is an expression of “anti-politics” rather than clear-sighted understanding, that it is rooted in a flip or childish reaction, rather than a well-considered conviction, born of political self-education, consciousness of the risks, challenges and opportunities of independence. That's not my experience.
And most of us are large enough to contain multitudes, to see some of the logic and feeling on the other side, and share in some of their ideas and affections. Massie gets this precisely right in his
recent affirmation of his intention to vote against independence on the 18th, surprised by how much Britain means to him, moved by sentiments sloshing around, unclarified once, once undetected, suspected perhaps, but never brought out full out into the open – until now.
Yes, it is also about perceptions of risk and opportunities, political, economic and social, about doability and desirability. But without sounding too much like an economist, in reaching a decision, for most folk, it is about which compromise to strike. Yes, I feel a bit British, but how do I want to be governed? Is there any realistic chance of realising the politics I want to see within the current constitutional set up? Sure, the way the UK works at the moment is dismal, but I want to stay part of it, somehow. Shouldn’t we give it another chance? I don’t want to be governed by the Tories, but is an independent Scotland going to be able to pay its way? Which sets of values and concerns should I privilege, come the day? For some folk, one or other of these views with have a diamond hardness. Over the weekend, I met another old soldier who was a British patriot to his bootstraps, and not to be persuaded. I didn't try. But most folk I encounter see far more shades of grey.
It may be difficult to detect in Better Together’s final deluge of negativity, attempting to relitigate the tried and tested question of whether an independent Scotland is even viable economically, but this commonness gives me great hope for us after the millions of ballots are assembled and counted on the night of the 18th of September. Much has been made about the referendum’s divisive and polarising effects. Some folk, notably the Scottish Labour Party, have felt this more keenly than most. I'm sure it has been difficult for some. But for me, the lesson of the last few years is that most of us have much in common, but we divide sharply on the means by which these common concerns should be addressed.
Although we will make a binary choice on Thursday, it is an incomplete story. Much distinguishes the many folk endorsing independence both tepidly and enthusiastically, and much unites those who will find themselves voting Yes and No on the 18th of September. For me, to vote No is unthinkable, and as a consequence, in a funny way, only thinkable. Unlike many folk, over the last four years, I’ve made no real constitutional journey. Because my ballot was cast in principle long ago, and I’d never seriously consider voting against independence, this campaign has been an opportunity, more than anything else, to consider the boundaries of this conviction. To try to work out why, beyond the rhetoric and the sloganising, the slick cases and the accepted terminology, I feel like I must etch an X in the Yes box on Thursday.
And here, my heresies begin. As I have
written before on the blog, I have a weight of family inheritance on the independence question. My ancient old great-grandfather pulled our family into the SNP from the party’s origins. The loyalty stuck. My granny went to her grave with an SNP symbol on the order of service. But that’s an ambivalent inheritance, and by no means a binding one. The dead have no say in tomorrow, however honourable or sincere their political feelings were, however much we benefit from their forgotten agitation and effort. We must make our own choices, today.
Intellectually, I'm sympathetic to the achievement of a multi-national state. The old
Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, even the Union: the principle that folk
with different identities can cooperate strikes me as an attractive one,
and a principle perhaps worth preserving. Some folk on my side of the
constitutional fence argue that the “natural” state of a nation is
independence, as if the stitchwork of the United Kingdom was Dr
Frankenstein’s work: I disagree. There is nothing natural or inevitable
about nations, or the desirability of their independence. Yes, Britain is a muddle, but I'm yet to hear a persuasive indictment of that muddlement, which doesn't amount to a Jetsonist tendency to laud some vague "modernity" for Scotland. I can't endorse independence on that prospectus.
We
build nations. They are socially constructed. I don’t mean that in the
flippant way in which the phrase is often used – that nations are a
delusion, an illusion which sensible people have no truck with – but in
the sense that we build and sustain them through social action and
cognition: they don’t spring from our flesh and blood. We imagine them
into life, generating their boundaries, porous or otherwise. They can do good and bad things, and all have brighter and darker sides and potential.
Some
folk on the No side have argued that Scottish nationalism is a unique
pathology, pushing the country along the road to authoritarian
government and heaven knows what. This too is codswallop, elegantly nailed by
Fintan O’Toole last week.
The Yes campaign is normal, in the narrow sense that it articulates a
basic, respectable desire for self-government and responsibility, a
desire rooted in an idea of democratic decision-making and political self-organisation. It respects the
fact that political ideologies are important, and can (and perhaps ought
to) diverge, and those divergence could and (perhaps) should be given
institutional expression.
This insight
is also the kernel of the 1980s Claim of Right. The Yes campaign may
amplify its logic further than some proponents of Scottish devolution
are comfortable with, but the arguments for independence are cognate with
those agitating for greater powers for Scottish democratic
institutions. Yes voters take them a stage further – no quibbles from me on
that score – but they spring from a similar place in principle. Yet in
this campaign, the Labour Party have, very unsystematically, been laying
political powderkegs beneath their own increasingly incoherent thinking
on devolution. Indeed, the party have been stoking up a rich
store of political problems which will outlast the result, come what may
next week, but it has been striking how vigorously its key proponents have junked and scorned thinking central to the devolution project.
In
their rush to toss around damning epithets, the No campaign often miss
out the positive potential of nationalism’s Janus faces, playing the
lawyer’s trick of relabeling that positive dimension “British
patriotism”, and sinking the potentially unattractive dimensions of British nationalism into
the permafrost of the unconscious. I have friends who are
thoroughgoing anti-nationalists who reject any political thinking
premised on nationalist concepts. I respect the coherence of that. What I
cannot respect, however, is the refusal to reckon with what has become the No
campaign’s primary positive case for the Union – British nationalism.
Some folk will think that messy combination of identities
is worth preserving. In some ways, it appeals to me too – though I’ve never
really felt British, and like my Irish pals, seemed to get on fine
during the many years I lived in England being a plain Scotsman from the
already-near-abroad, without sharing Westminster government and all that entails. But
disguising this British nationalism as a sort of internationalism-in-one-country lacks any credibility. It is a neat trick, to conflate the
multi-stranded identity Massie articulates with internationalism, but it
isn’t a convincing one. It tries to get out of the conceptual bind
which anyone making nationalist arguments ought to face up to: all
nationalisms are integrative and disintegrative, premised both on
inclusion and an exclusion. That’s unavoidable. For the selective
anti-nationalists, Britishness is only redemptive and civic, while Scot
Nattery represents only the bum end of nationalist thinking.
As the force has gone out of the Labour-dominated Better Together campaign's instrumental case for the Union, this is what we're left with: with talk of foreigners. For me, a vote for independence isn't a vote against complexity, but for a different kind of complexity. It isn't about separatism but finding new, more functional, more satisfactory ways to work together. It isn't about a hard, self-contained conception of sovereignty, but about refashioning those valuable bonds and ties between us, on a more equal footing.
I've come to realise that I support independence with some regrets. Part of me wishes Britain was reformable and rescueable, but I'm profoundly pessimistic. It is, no doubt, an overstatement to say that its capacity to reinvent itself is "spent", but the omens don't look good. A radical renovation of the UK from the inside would put me in a sticky place, but there are few serious indications that such a transformation is attainable or desired without independence.
While you can understand the longing lying behind the Guardian and Scotland on Sunday editorials against independence last week, they have an deep air of unreality, preferring the magic primrose path to candyfloss castle, to any serious engagement with the realistically attainable and the possible. Federalism is not an idea whose time has come, but a proposition without advocates, without support, with shallow political roots in a moment of panic.
It was difficult to explain, to English friends in Oxford, that it was nothing personal – quite the opposite. Alex Massie is happy to have that inchoate, beguiling feeling of muddled togetherness trump concerns about how Scotland and the UK is governed, and which parts of our society it serves. I am not, but I can understand where he’s coming from. In voting Yes, and voting No, we’re striking a different compromise.
The porousness of the boundary between the two has both confused and put the fear of God up Westminster, but it shouldn’t be surprising to folk who’ve been paying attention to this process in recent years. The two choices aren’t a million miles apart, but the either/or nature of the poll doesn’t admit of such subtleties. In these last few days of this campaign, we shouldn’t be overwhelmed by that simplicity, and forget the wider commonalities of sentiment and aspiration which this referendum has identified.
I can’t in good conscience say that sacrifices won’t have to be made if we vote Yes (and by some folk more than others). Part of me will feel profoundly sad for folk like Chris Deerin, Adam Tomkins and other articulate proponents of Union, if Scotland does vote Yes next week. No legerdemain about Britain being a geographical concept can or should soften the initial blow. We Nationalists should at least reckon with, and recognise that.
The other day, when YouGov first reported a Yes lead, I was on the cusp of texting a Unionist pal telling him to “chin up” before realising how misplaced and odd that sentiment would be. The text went unset. Yes, the idea of Britain isn’t exhausted by our shared political
institutions, but nor is it entirely separable in the way some advocates
of independence have suggested. The concept of the social union expresses an important and credible
sense of how much we have in common with the other nations of Britain, and how little that is imperilled by independence.
But we need to reckon with the loss some of
our citizens will feel. Nothing in that loss inhibits me for a moment,
from urging folk to support independence for a better kind of democracy,
winning the powers to tack our own course and set our own priorities, a
responsible state and a politics capable of reflecting our ideals. The
people will speak on that question, and have ample opportunity, if they
wish, to strike a different compromise between their competing values.
I never thought we would win this referendum. In my gloomier moments, I wondered if we’d even come close. Now and then, there have been flashes of optimism, as the No campaign let golden opportunities fly by, neglected critical lines of argument, even when the first clutch of Yes posters sprouted in windows across the south side of Glasgow. Silly, I know, but that visible sense of political comeradeship affords a wee lift. My pessimism throughout the
campaign has been pretty overwhelming. To burst into the final, fretful
week more or less eeksy-peaksy always struck me as improbable, yet here
we are. We can do it. That's thrilling, and it is anxiety-pinching.
I’ve spent much of my life in institutions and environments, where support for Scottish independence was unthinkable, even ridiculous, a minority pursuit easily and unsympathetically caricatured. I know some folk on the No side are smarting right now, gripped by a sense of mortal dread. In that bewilderment, as the old certainties collapse, hard things will be said. Don't take them to heart. They're understandable.
But it isn’t our fault that the old music isn’t what it once was. It isn’t our fault that you’ve struggled to make the old sang shine, and all too frequently, can only remember a few attenuated bars. Nobody’s been stopping you from making that case; nobody has silenced you. You’ve clearly found your own authentic voice difficult to find, but that’s your problem, nor ours. I’m sorry you feel this way, but I tell you this: things aren’t as gloomy as you think they are, folk aren't nearly so far apart.
