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Scottish referendum underscores Labour's decline as an electoral force Scottish referendum underscores Labour's decline as an electoral force
(35 minutes later)
In Robert Muirhead's spotlessly tidy home on the Hallglen estate outside Falkirk, the turned-down TV is churning through images of the latest walkabout by Alex Salmond, while we talk animatedly about what might happen on Thursday. Muirhead, 65, is a classic example of one of the demographic categories that will decide the outcome: older voters, whom polling suggests are not just against independence by a ratio of two to one, but more likely to stick to their guns – and, unlike younger people, definitely cast their votes.In Robert Muirhead's spotlessly tidy home on the Hallglen estate outside Falkirk, the turned-down TV is churning through images of the latest walkabout by Alex Salmond, while we talk animatedly about what might happen on Thursday. Muirhead, 65, is a classic example of one of the demographic categories that will decide the outcome: older voters, whom polling suggests are not just against independence by a ratio of two to one, but more likely to stick to their guns – and, unlike younger people, definitely cast their votes.
But age is only one of only several axes in the Scottish story. Thanks to allegations about the Unite union's activities in an apparently moribund local Labour party, Falkirk recently became a byword for Labour's forlorn position in Scotland. And like many people I meet here, Muirhead's take on what is happening only underlines claims that the party has lost its way, with clear effects on the referendum campaign.But age is only one of only several axes in the Scottish story. Thanks to allegations about the Unite union's activities in an apparently moribund local Labour party, Falkirk recently became a byword for Labour's forlorn position in Scotland. And like many people I meet here, Muirhead's take on what is happening only underlines claims that the party has lost its way, with clear effects on the referendum campaign.
At the end of last week, the latest Guardian/ICM poll suggested that 42% of the Scots who voted Labour in the 2010 general election were now minded to vote yes. And in front of me is a one-man story of what might be going on. Last night, he was at a packed "yes" meeting in the estate's sports centre, and was impressed; today, he talks about moving from being undecided to voting for independence, and describes a pained pulling-away from deep aspects of his own identity, both politically and nationally. At the end of last week, the latest Guardian/ICM poll suggested that 42% of the Scots who voted Labour in the 2010 general election were minded to vote yes. And in front of me is a one-man story of what may be going on. Last night, he was at a packed yes meeting in the estate's sports centre, and was impressed; today, he talks about moving from being undecided to voting for independence, and describes a pained pulling-away from deep aspects of his own identity, both politically and nationally.
Among the sub-plots of what has been happening in Scotland is an obvious enough phenomenon: yet another chapter in the decline of orthodox two-party politics, and a sense that the electorate is more volatile than ever before. This story is not just being played out north of the border: UK-wide polling shows the Tories and Labour scoring some of their lowest-ever combined shares of the vote, the inconclusive result of the last general election suggested a very significant juncture had been reached – and the fact that next year's result is anyone's guess only underlines the point. As in so much of Europe, there is nothing solid about politics any more – not least when it comes to ordinary voters, who often find themselves drawn to possibilities that might once have been unthinkable. Among the subplots of what has been happening in Scotland is an obvious enough phenomenon: yet another chapter in the decline of orthodox two-party politics, and a sense that the electorate is more volatile than ever before. This story is not just being played out north of the border: UK-wide polling shows the Tories and Labour scoring some of their lowest-ever combined shares of the vote, the inconclusive result of the last general election suggested a very significant juncture had been reached – and the fact that next year's result is anyone's guess only underlines the point. As in so much of Europe, there is nothing solid about politics any more – not least when it comes to ordinary voters, who often find themselves drawn to possibilities that might once have been unthinkable.
In Falkirk, Robert Muirhead says he has a deep emotional affinity with the idea of Britain. "I'm a unionist at heart," he says. "My grandfather was in the first world war, in the Somme … we opposed Hitler and his regime. Are we not proud of that?" But he also has a keen sense of what he calls "social and moral responsibility", and talks movingly about how developments he traces to Westminster have offended against it: the demise of neighbourliness and community spirit, the fate of local industry. He also expresses dismay about two aspects of the politics of England he finds very difficult to swallow – not least, the rise of Ukip, something so distasteful that he can barely find words to talk about it.In Falkirk, Robert Muirhead says he has a deep emotional affinity with the idea of Britain. "I'm a unionist at heart," he says. "My grandfather was in the first world war, in the Somme … we opposed Hitler and his regime. Are we not proud of that?" But he also has a keen sense of what he calls "social and moral responsibility", and talks movingly about how developments he traces to Westminster have offended against it: the demise of neighbourliness and community spirit, the fate of local industry. He also expresses dismay about two aspects of the politics of England he finds very difficult to swallow – not least, the rise of Ukip, something so distasteful that he can barely find words to talk about it.
Four hundred and eighty-two miles south of Falkirk is the English constituency where Nigel Farage's party are working harder than ever. In the coastal town of Clacton-on-Sea, Douglas Carswell's exit from the Conservative party and resignation as an MP has triggered the byelection that will happen three weeks after the Scots vote on independence. What Farage calls his "Clacton battalion" clearly think their almost-certain victory will represent a huge watershed. Four hundred and eighty-two miles south of Falkirk is the English constituency where Nigel Farage's party is working harder than ever. In the coastal town of Clacton-on-Sea, Douglas Carswell's exit from the Conservative party and resignation as an MP has triggered a byelection that will happen three weeks after the Scots vote on independence. What Farage calls his "Clacton battalion" clearly think their almost-certain victory will represent a huge watershed.
Superficially, the town is replete with cultural signifiers that suggest a completely different universe from central-belt Scotland: Essex, the cockney diaspora, St George's flags. But there are similarities, too: more than 10,000 Labour voters at the last election (the Harwich constituency Clacton partly replaced was a razor's-edge Labour/Tory marginal), and an array of social problems. Superficially, the town is replete with cultural signifiers of a completely different universe from central-belt Scotland: Essex, the cockney diaspora, St George's flags. But there are similarities, too: more than 10,000 Labour voters at the last election (the Harwich constituency Clacton partly replaced was a razor's-edge Labour/Tory marginal), and an array of social problems.
On the western edge of the town is Jaywick – which, when the government last published its so-called Indices of Multiple Deprivation in 2011, emerged as the poorest council ward in England. Here, even urban Scotland's most pinched neighbourhoods look like embodiments of order and optimism. The place first took shape as a resort for vacationing Londoners, before its hastily built chalets and bungalows offered a permanent refuge for people from the capital and beyond. Now, with patchy street-lighting, half-tarmaced streets and a smattering of abandoned homes, its most threadbare end suggests the more blighted parts of the American deep south. It also seems to be a rock-solid redoubt for Ukip: of the fifteen or so people I talk to, only one says they will not be voting for Carswell in October, and that's because she has never voted at all. On the western edge of the town is Jaywick – which, when the government last published its so-called Indices of Multiple Deprivation in 2011, emerged as the poorest council ward in England. Here, even urban Scotland's most pinched neighbourhoods look like embodiments of order and optimism. The place first took shape as a resort for vacationing Londoners, before its hastily built chalets and bungalows offered a permanent refuge for people from the capital and beyond. Now, with patchy street-lighting, half-tarmaced streets and a smattering of abandoned homes, its most threadbare end suggests the more blighted parts of the American deep south. It also seems to be a rock-solid redoubt for Ukip: of the 15 or so people I talk to, only one says they will not be voting for Carswell in October, and that's because she has never voted at all.
Unlike the people I meet in Scotland, plenty of residents talk animatedly about immigration – not so much in terms of the Essex coast, but the places they left behind. Not least, such edgelands of the capital as Barking and Dagenham, from where people once flocked here on holiday. But they also have fears and grievances that chime with what people talk about north of the border.Unlike the people I meet in Scotland, plenty of residents talk animatedly about immigration – not so much in terms of the Essex coast, but the places they left behind. Not least, such edgelands of the capital as Barking and Dagenham, from where people once flocked here on holiday. But they also have fears and grievances that chime with what people talk about north of the border.
Outside one of the houses facing the beach, a 40-something man who works as a chef in Colchester looks out to sea, and takes 10 minutes to explain why he's minded to vote Ukip. "We've got to give the others a shakeup," he says. "They don't give a monkey's what happens down here … Labour's the same as the Conservatives … There's no working-class people in Labour any more." Outside one of the houses facing the beach, a 40-something man who works as a chef in Colchester looks out to sea, and takes 10 minutes to explain why he's minded to vote Ukip. "We've got to give the others a shakeup," he says. "They don't give a monkey's what happens down here … Labour's the same as the Conservatives … There's no working-class people in Labour any more."
There are other parallels with Scotland. People here talk about being English rather than British, and say their identity is somehow not allowed: too "politically incorrect", frowned on by those people in London, theirs and theirs alone. There is also a similar sense of something having gone terribly wrong over the past 30 or 40 years, which is sometimes made explicit.There are other parallels with Scotland. People here talk about being English rather than British, and say their identity is somehow not allowed: too "politically incorrect", frowned on by those people in London, theirs and theirs alone. There is also a similar sense of something having gone terribly wrong over the past 30 or 40 years, which is sometimes made explicit.
One man I meet – like Robert Muirhead, a lifelong trade unionist and Labour voter, who lived in the East End and worked on the railways before retiring here – says that Margaret Thatcher was bad enough ("she did the working class over, didn't she?"), and Tony Blair turned out to be the same: "More Tory than the Tories, and now he's making millions." In vain, I point out the topsy-turviness of the fact that he's now supporting the neo-Thatcherites in Ukip: that's not how people with his politics should vote, is it? "Yeah," he shoots back. "'Course they should." One man I meet – like Robert Muirhead, a lifelong trade unionist and Labour voter, who lived in the East End of London and worked on the railways before retiring here – says that Margaret Thatcher was bad enough ("she did the working class over, didn't she?"), and Tony Blair turned out to be the same: "More Tory than the Tories, and now he's making millions." In vain, I point out the topsy-turviness of the fact that he's now supporting the neo-Thatcherites in Ukip: that's not how people with his politics should vote, is it? "Yeah," he shoots back. "'Course they should."
In Wales, echoes of what's happening in Scotland are superficially harder to find. Here, the pro-independence party of Wales, Plaid Cymru, scored just under 20% of the vote at the last assembly elections. It was in coalition with Labour in Cardiff between 2007 and 2011, but support for independence has long stood stubbornly at no more than 15%. If it's to have any chance of pushing that figure any higher, Plaid will have to make serious inroads into post-industrial South Wales, where Labour still dominates politics – but by way of announcing that it takes this challenge more seriously than ever, its 2012 leadership election resulted in the election of Leanne Wood: a daughter of the Valleys from a once-Labour family, whose belief in leaving the UK is borne of what she sees as economic necessity, rather than any orthodox nationalism. In Wales, echoes of what's happening in Scotland are superficially harder to find. Here, the pro-independence party of Wales, Plaid Cymru, scored just under 20% of the vote at the last assembly elections. It was in coalition with Labour in Cardiff between 2007 and 2011, but support for independence has long stood stubbornly at no more than 15%. If it's to have any chance of pushing that figure higher, Plaid will have to make serious inroads into post-industrial south Wales, where Labour still dominates politics – but by way of announcing that it takes this challenge more seriously than ever, its 2012 leadership election resulted in the election of Leanne Wood: a daughter of the Valleys from a once-Labour family, whose belief in leaving the UK is borne of what she sees as economic necessity, rather than any orthodox nationalism.
I speak to her on a hillside overlooking her home village of Penygraig, in the Rhondda Valley. "We're on a downward spiral, and the evidence would suggest we need to do something radically different," she tells me. She talks about being "dependent on a system that doesn't act on our interests", and the misplaced imperatives forced on Wales by the economically dominant English south-east. "The only way for us to be able to truly shape our lives, our country, the economy – is to be independent," she says. "Doing that tomorrow would be difficult, but it's not impossible."I speak to her on a hillside overlooking her home village of Penygraig, in the Rhondda Valley. "We're on a downward spiral, and the evidence would suggest we need to do something radically different," she tells me. She talks about being "dependent on a system that doesn't act on our interests", and the misplaced imperatives forced on Wales by the economically dominant English south-east. "The only way for us to be able to truly shape our lives, our country, the economy – is to be independent," she says. "Doing that tomorrow would be difficult, but it's not impossible."
In Wood's home turf, as elsewhere in Wales, what's most striking is Labour's quiet slide. In the Rhondda constituency, the party got 74.5% of the vote in 1997's Westminster elections, 68.3% in 2001, 68.1% in 2005, and a comparatively underwhelming 55.3% in 2010. Over the same period, Labour's majority fell from 61% to 37%, and it mislaid around 13,000 votes. The same trend is reflected in seats across a great swathe of south Wales that runs from Newport in the east to Llanelli in the west. On Wood's home turf, as elsewhere in Wales, what's most striking is Labour's quiet slide. In the Rhondda constituency, the party got 74.5% of the vote in 1997's Westminster elections, 68.3% in 2001, 68.1% in 2005, and a comparatively underwhelming 55.3% in 2010. Over the same period, Labour's majority fell from 61% to 37%, and it mislaid about 13,000 votes. The same trend is reflected in seats across a great swathe of south Wales that runs from Newport in the east to Llanelli in the west.
This does not yet speak of any great surge to another party – or parties – but it underlines Labour's decline as an electoral force, and meaningful presence in society. Time spent here begins to give words such as "stronghold" and "heartland" a hollow ring. And as with Scotland, whether fairly or not, there is a widely shared idea of the party keeping its post-industrial core vote in a state of subsistence-level dependency, while never giving any serious thought to how politics and economics might be reinvented in their interests.This does not yet speak of any great surge to another party – or parties – but it underlines Labour's decline as an electoral force, and meaningful presence in society. Time spent here begins to give words such as "stronghold" and "heartland" a hollow ring. And as with Scotland, whether fairly or not, there is a widely shared idea of the party keeping its post-industrial core vote in a state of subsistence-level dependency, while never giving any serious thought to how politics and economics might be reinvented in their interests.
Over three days in south Wales, I talk to droves of people, but the most I can get by way of an endorsement of Labour is sighing acknowledgements that people vote for the party thanks to family traditions, or simple habit. In Penygraig, one woman casts her eyes towards the village's huge Labour club, and talks about the bedrock of the clientele: "Older men who don't listen to anything." She once voted Labour because her grandfather did; now, though she seems horrified by the idea of Scotland going independent and Wales one day following suit, she says she votes for Plaid Cymru. Over three days in south Wales, I talk to droves of people, but the most I can get by way of an endorsement of Labour is sighing acknowledgements that people vote for the party thanks to family traditions, or simple habit. In Penygraig, one woman casts her eyes towards the village's huge Labour club, and talks about the bedrock of the clientele: "Older men who don't listen to anything." She once voted Labour because her grandfather did; now, although she seems horrified by the idea of Scotland going independent and Wales one day following suit, she says she votes for Plaid Cymru.
That may not make sense, but modern British politics – as it's lived, rather than played out in Westminster – often does not. After a month on the road, all I can say for sure is that the certainties of the second half of the 20th century are dying in front of our eyes. Viewed from the ground up, if the outcome in Scotland has recently looked impossible to call, so does every just about every aspect of our political future. That may not make sense, but modern British politics – as it's lived, rather than played out in Westminster – often does not. After a month on the road, all I can say for sure is that the certainties of the second half of the 20th century are dying in front of our eyes. Viewed from the ground up, if the outcome in Scotland has looked impossible to call, so does every just about every aspect of our political future.