An even-tempered, “even-handed” sort of piece, by my standards at least, to break me in to the task of writing about a campaign that already looks a bit predictable. I hope I’m wrong.
At any rate, the broader topic involves a little bee in my bonnet, and a bad habit common to all of Scotland’s parties. The insight isn’t original, but the problem persists after almost 12 years of Holyrood. The SNP get picked on (slightly) only because their manifesto was the most recently published at the time of writing.
The Sunday Herald, April 17.
When the unlovely nature of the Westminster coalition began to emerge, a few exasperated people made a suggestion. As the Tories and the Liberal Democrats discarded long-held policies, embraced policies they had previously denounced, or introduced – like rabbits from the partnership hat – policies they had never once mentioned during the campaign, the suggestion was this: why not make manifestoes legally binding?
In other words, why not oblige politicians to mean what they say, or say what they mean, or at least stop scattering ludicrous promises like so much cheap confetti? Above all, why not put a stop to “pledges”?
You’ll recognise those. If things are going well, they count as party-political vows, achieved against all comers. When luck flees, they wind up as mere “aspirations”. Often enough, they are proposals politicians know fine well they cannot or will not bring into law. In the most egregious cases – Nick Clegg could offer testimony – there was never the slightest intention to legislate.
So politicians fib: what’s new? If you harboured any sympathy towards those Lib Dems and Tories, you could moderate the statement, and say that coalition was a whole new ballgame. Give and take was “inevitable” for the sake of stable – no kidding? – government. Besides, isn’t it the case the voters like – or say they like – the sight of rivals attempting to settle their differences?
Does that mean political parties should be entitled to offer a shoddy bill of goods? Doesn’t it mean that if public cynicism is ever to be cured a politician should be obliged only to promise what he knows he can, if elected, deliver?
Any attempt to make a manifesto legally-binding would be tricky, for fairly obvious reasons. Parties would never cease to claim that every pledge was offered in good faith, that unforeseen circumstances arose, that political argument should not be subject to the whims of nit-picking lawyers. In any case, no Westminster party would ever legislate to restrict the use of outrageous fairy tales.
Besides, coalitions are exceptions to the Westminster rule. For most of the time, there’s one winner. When Tories and Lib Dems blame extraordinary circumstances for shamelessly expedient or deceitful behaviour, they have – and you can believe them if you like – an excuse. So what’s the excuse in Scotland?
The 21st century is well-advanced and the Scottish Parliament is well-established. We’ve had our “new politics” since May 12, 1999. Central to that idea, and to the institution, is that the chances of one party achieving an outright majority are as remote as the chance of the Water of Leith flowing with milk and honey. Everyone is forced to live with the fact, like it – and they don’t, much – or not.
Labour and the Lib Dems have enjoyed and endured partnerships. They have cut deals, granted concessions, traded horses, and attempted – publicly at least – the “consensus” supposedly adored by punters. Short of pretend friends, the SNP have since tried the alternative route, minority government. But they too, lacking any other choice, have made their deals. Each of these parties claims success for its spell in office.
More than a few promises have been broken, however, for the sake of the new politics. Perhaps, if such is your taste, that’s as it should be, and perhaps it amounts to better representation than is ever achieved by first past the post. But has that ever prevented an opposition party from accusing the government of the day of the foul crime of breaking promises? And has it stopped any of them campaigning with a fistful of pledges and the solemn statement, “If elected we will...”?
Another statement, a simple one: it doesn’t work like that, not any more. And they know it. In each Scottish election since 1999, the intelligent question has not been “Who won?” but “What follows?” A minor Holyrood sport, in a pre-election year, is attempting to spot who might be amenable to an approach from whom, who is stating the price for a deal, and what might be the kind of deal at stake if no one means to “go it alone”.
How to read a manifesto, then, should the prospect ever appeal? Do you dismiss every page as so much recycled paper? Do you cast aside pledges X, Y and Z as merely impossible? Do you wonder which policies are simple (or cynical) post-election bargaining chips? Or do you wonder why each and every party persists in defying Holyrood reality with the ancient ritual of the campaign promise?
Alex Salmond is proud of the fact that his SNP government got through its term in office with 80-odd of its 90-odd – the numbers are disputed, predictably – election commitments preserved. On balance, he’s right to boast. There was a time when many believed the Nationalists would be obstructed at every turn. Salmond was one jump ahead, with a crushing question: did his opponents really want to force an early election?
As he campaigns now, however, the First Minister overlooks a detail: some promises are bigger than others. His biggest pledge of all was to move Scotland towards an independence referendum. As of last Thursday, and the publication of the SNP’s latest manifesto, that remains the case: the promise is renewed. Is it a promise the First Minister truly believes he can keep simply because his opponents would lack the “moral authority” to get in his way?
This trait isn’t distinctive to the SNP. Iain Gray of Labour says he would drop the need for corroboration in rape cases. Just how would he enact that nonsense, exactly? The Tories and Lib Dems, equally, have their lists of pledges. In their case, given a coming hiding at the polls, what they really mean – and all they can truly “promise” – is an intention to vote against anything that fails to match their own proposals, or to trade their support, come the day.
There’s no choice in the matter. The Holyrood system is so constructed, in fact, that one or two individuals, Greens or independent, could easily have a more decisive influence after May 5 than a larger grouping. You could ask yourself what’s so very democratic about that. What’s not in doubt is that the old rites of the manifesto and the campaign are at odds with our new politics. They have ceased to resemble reality.
Salmond says he intends to freeze the council tax for fully five years. It’s a terrific headline. In reality, he calculates that rival parties would hesitate to prevent such a move, that squeezed councils could be persuaded to accept it, and that the budgets allowed to Holyrood by a London Treasury obsessed with cuts would be sufficient, year after year, to allow it. He may be right, in each particular. But how does that amount to a promise?
Each of the top ten commitments in the SNP manifesto is prefaced with those two little words, “We will”. As with the other parties attempting election under the Scottish system, that should probably read “We would dearly like...” These days the fine documents can never be more than statements of principle, and those hard-fought tribal campaigns can never be more than political theatre.
It’s better to know what you might actually be voting for, I’d have said, than not. The alternative is on daily display in a museum named Westminster.
