Scottish independence: momentum is with yes but country is divided
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Version 0 of 1. The battered boozer taking an occasional swig from his bottle of Whyte and Mackay on the late Inverness-to-Glasgow train shares an ambition with the progressive lawyer nursing a glass of red Burgundy in his lovely north Edinburgh home. Both will vote in the 18 September referendum for an independent Scotland. “I’ll definitely be voting for a free Scotland,” confirms the tipsy traveller as the train reaches Stirling, scene of Robert the Bruce’s underdog victory over Edward II’s army at Bannockburn in 1314. As for the English-born lawyer, he has come to the conclusion (“I’m a romantic”) that his long-adopted country can only benefit from ending the “dependency culture” which has evolved over 307 years of union with its bigger neighbour. Among Edinburgh’s chattering classes he is far from alone, though spouses often disagree. One veteran Labour ex-minister privately admits to “swithering” (wavering) because: “I have always been a ‘small n’ nationalist at heart.” His wife remains on the “no” side. Diehard nationalists and visionary poets are one thing, but add swithering professionals, a slice of disaffected, de-aligned working class voters and those going to the ballot for the first time and it becomes a formidable coalition, eating into no’s lead – now just six points. Little wonder that two weeks from decision day pollsters confirm that the momentum is now with the yes campaign, though their remarks are hedged with the usual caveats: the weather, turnout, late gaffes and “September surprises” or a last minute rush of cold feet to reverse August’s emotional surge, as happened in Quebec’s last independence vote in 1995. But the unknown no supporter who placed a record £800,000 bet with William Hill should be worried. Unless pro-union big guns can hit the panic button more effectively, a postimperial upset of historic proportions may be about to fracture the British state. The spectacle of a former Scottish secretary, Labour’s Jim Murphy, saying publicly “I am confident we can win” merely reflects growing doubts in the once-dominant no camp. It is not quite true that everyone is obsessed with the referendum. Life and football go on and last week’s edition of the West Lothian Courier – in the Labour heart of Scotland’s central belt – carried not a word about it. One scornful voter has even tried to sell his vote on eBay. But the standard of engagement is impressively high so that most people stopped in the street and asked “yes or no?” give rapid, robust replies. “Yes,” says Yvonne Meechan, nursery nurse and mother of two, as she emerges from Aldi in the industrial town of Bathgate. “I came off the fence two weeks ago when a leaflet from the yes campaign came through the letterbox. Perfect! No big words I couldn’t understand.” With a rare realism not always evident among yes voters, Meechan adds: “Lots of mistakes will be made, they’ll need to be rectified.” Walking his dogs nearby, retired factory worker Robert Henderson, 67, has reached the opposite conclusion. “We get no information from the yes campaign. It’s a case of: ‘We’ll tell you the rules after the game.’ Salmond’s a clever man on an ego trip, dangling a carrot and saying ‘jam, jam and more jam’. But he’s a piper leading us over the cliff.” Shopping with his daughter, Siobhan, and grandson, Ellis, retired plasterer Donald Youill says: “We’re safer in the union.” Siobhan disagrees. So do two other young people, David James Colman, 21, and Bethany McPherson, 16, who are jobless and hanging out by Poundland. “We hope yes will bring more jobs,’’ says David. The cross-party yes campaign – which includes Greens, independents and leftwingers as well as the governing SNP – knows that Glasgow’s Labour voters are the key to victory and have tailored their message accordingly. More than most, Salmond, once expelled from his party for ultra-leftism, knows how to press Labour buttons on fairness or tax – though his record since 2007 says otherwise. Older voters still resist him. “Our canvassing shows 65% for no,” confides Labour councillor Allan Stewart as he waits for his Scottish party leader, Johann Lamont, to address pensioners at Springburn’s “Alive and Kicking Project”. It sits amid north Glasgow’s famous Red Road tower blocks, shrouded and still awaiting demolition since organisers had second thoughts about blowing them up to mark the Commonwealth Games. Some elderly voters are confused. “No disrespect to Mr Salmond, but leave [us] well alone,” one doughty old lady tells the Guardian before declaring herself an undecided. “I’ll be voting Labour,” others tell canvassers though Labour will not be on the ballot paper. It adds to the uncertainty. But the young – like the poor – seem more open to a yes persuasion. On Glasgow’s bustling Buchanan Street, 30-something debt collector Kasam Murtaza said: “Definitely a no, I feel British.” But a teenage woman said: “Yes. We won’t have to be involved in illegal wars.” On every issue, from Scotland’s choice of currency to pensions and defence, both sides marshall experts. Better Together’s are generally weightier as they list the risks of independence and instead promise modest reform, known as devo max (no details yet). Yet it can never hope to match yes campaigners’ vision, their powerful elixir of hope for a better future, which can spark feelings that are almost religious in their fervour, like the rapture of old Christian belief. When Murphy resumed his 100-town tour off Edinburgh’s Princes Street on Tuesday he was energetic and courteous, praising both sides for their patriotism: “No one in this debate is a traitor, no one is a quisling.” The remark was directed at angry, even threatening hecklers (he posted the evidence on YouTube) who had called Murphy both and forced him to suspend the tour temporarily. His message was: “We can vote out Cameron and Salmond, but independence is forever.” It goes down well with a distinctly middle-class crowd, including the Anglo-Scottish McMicking family, whose student daughter Izzy, 20, has wrapped herself in a rare union flag. “The no campaign is losing it through a lack of passion,” explains her mother, Diana. The no campaign is also a fragile coalition that includes Liberal Democrats and the widely hated Tories. “Cameron and Osborne are its real leaders,” yes campaigners claim. For every Gordon Brown, George Galloway or Charles Kennedy saying otherwise there is a powerful tide to blame London – not Salmond’s seven-year rule at Holyrood – for Scotland’s ills. Murphy thinks the “quiet patriotism” of the majority will save the day. But his words cut little ice with care worker Lorraine Allan, an ex-Labour activist now managing a host of chronic conditions for four family members. She took time off to “speak up for the poor and disadvantaged who have no voice” by asking him why Ed Miliband is not promising to restore coalition benefit cuts. Though late for a TV date Murphy talked to her as he walked, but failed to impress. “The yes campaign has plans, we know their dream. Vote yes and we can sort it all out later, get the Greens in and create a fairer society,” Allan told the Guardian. It is such desperate, insouciant optimism about the consequences of unbundling the UK which the Alistair Darling-led Better Together campaign struggles to disabuse. As slogans go, “no thanks” lacks the affirmative resonance of “yes” stickers seen in so many windows. Why so few “no thanks” posters or union flags? “Because we don’t want our windows smashed or tyres slashed,” some no voters reply. The undertone of fear should not be exaggerated, but it is there in lowered voices and glances. In a now deeply divided country it may get worse – whoever wins – after 18 September. Not all Scots have Scots accents, but accents have become a test of patriotism. A woman talks of a canvasser “being taken by the throat and called an effing traitor” on the doorstep. “Because of my accent I am treated like a tourist in my home town,” admits Perth insurance broker Fraser Niven, 30, who was a no, but is now leaning towards yes. But it seems nothing can match the blunt appeal of the placard on Salmond’s platform at Perth’s Salutation hotel on Monday night. It asks: “What do you say to living in one of the world’s wealthiest nations?” Hard to say “no thanks” to that. Then, in the course of a two-hour session with a largely loyal audience, the first minister is fluent and folksy, unhesitant in his assurances that all will be well and Scotland, with its latent creativity and 100 million-strong diaspora, a force for good in the world. Small can be beautiful is the message and it is delivered with humour and a bounce that bears comparison with Harold Wilson or Tony Blair in their prime. Not every listener is impressed, for mistrust of Salmond runs strongly in both camps. Plenty of yes voters want him out once he has delivered victory, including the Whyte and Mackay tippler and the Edinburgh lawyer who fears his authoritarian streak. “The man’s a comedian,’’ said a man leaving the Salutation. Nearby the Mulholland family, Alison and son Alex, a Gaelic language student, were thrilled by “the whole positiveness of it compared with Alistair Darling banging on with the same question over and over again”. Niven found himself disturbed by some glib answers from Salmond, but he’s still swithering. “My pencil will be hovering in the voting booth.” It won’t be the only one. |