Niall Ferguson: is he really Scottish?
I overheard an interesting snippet of conversation between two women earlier this year while waiting for Andrew O’Hagan to appear on stage at the Edinburgh International Book Festival. The Baillie Gifford main theatre was roughly two-thirds full for the event so strictly speaking there was no need to be sitting close enough to fellow audience members to be overhearing their conversations. The main bank of seats in front of the stage were almost crowded, with the wings more sparsely populated, and it was in this central section that I had taken up position alongside the two women.
With the writer and essayist due on stage to discuss his new novel ‘The Illuminations’, I heard one of the women mention a previous appearance he had made at the festival. On that occasion, she recounted, O’Hagan had received a hard time from what she referred to as ‘a Glasgow crowd’. She went on to mention that the source of friction was the fact O’Hagan was based in London. It is possible that I misheard the conversation, but I remember thinking that such an encounter sounded plausible.
The setting lent itself to this conclusion: why was one of Scotland’s most accomplished writers about to be greeted by so many empty seats at the premier book festival in his home country? With the exception of Teddy Jamieson from the Herald, media figures also appeared to be absent. Yet at that point in late August, O’Hagan was sitting on the longlist for the Man Booker Prize, the latest achievement in a career that has garnered awards on both sides of the Atlantic and led to his appointment as editor-at-large of the London Review of Books. O’Hagan can hardly be considered ten-a-penny among Scottish cultural figures, and the tickets for the book festival event were not extravagantly priced. For the record, he was enthusiastically received and questioned impeccably.
O’Hagan is one of a number of figures who occupy a peculiarly diminished role in Scottish public life despite formidable success elsewhere. The first point is partly explained by the second. By consciously aiming for a place in a bigger firmament (typically the Anglo-American world of letters and media) and leaving Scotland in order to do so, a sense of both geographical and psychological distance is inevitable. But complicating factors can come into play.
Brave is the figure who leaves his or her place of birth to find new lodgings from which to criticise it: not everyone is equipped to play the role of Gore Vidal brooding at Ravello. Even the act of questioning widely held assumptions based on new perspectives can risk an uncharitable hearing from those sensing rejection in the motivation. O’Hagan has long seemed less than enthusiastic about the nationalist project, a stance that puts him at odds, seemingly, with most writers and artists in Scotland. As Alan Bissett wrote recently: ‘Many of us felt it necessary to use our stories, images and poetry to agitate and motivate’. At the book festival, O’Hagan questioned the wisdom of cultural figures aligning themselves so closely with a political objective but otherwise avoided the issue – not that it was pressed during questioning.
Niall Ferguson has often been far less circumspect on the issue. Like O’Hagan, he enjoys a transatlantic reputation and his base at Harvard and prodigious work rate allow him to project his opinions across a wide range of media outlets. He has recently been near-unavoidable as he publicises the first volume of his life of Henry Kissinger. Ferguson has produced a book that draws sustenance from its subject’s remarkable life, rather than being cowed by it. It has variously been described as ‘huge and irresistible’ (Prospect), ‘meticulous’ (Standpoint) and ‘magnificent’ (Spectator). The Literary Review concluded, possibly with tongue in cheek: ‘In so far as any biographer can know the truth of another’s soul, Ferguson succeeds’. There have been the usual questions about the space given to certain subjects or the framing of certain arguments but given the controversy attached to Kissinger, the book has enjoyed a soft landing. Speaking to the Guardian, Ferguson seemed to have anticipated a negative reaction not only because of his subject but because of his own reputation as an outspoken right-wing commentator.
Quite apart from his working life in the United States, it is perhaps his political opinions that do most to remove Ferguson from the affections of Scotland. His views on economics and international affairs, for example, are strikingly at odds with what passes for acceptable opinion in consensus-ridden Scotland. They also partly inform his views on the constitutional question.
Ferguson could not reasonably be described as a recent convert to the cause of Scottish unionism. Back in 2006, this regrettably led him to make sensationalist remarks describing Scotland as a ‘small, sparsely-populated appendage of England’. He also called for the Scottish Parliament building to be turned into a multiplex cinema and for the Old Firm to move to the English Premier League. The most memorable remark, however, was that in most respects Scotland was ‘the Belarus of the West’. A Scotsman report described Ferguson as having ‘long been an arch critic of Scotland’ but it considered his ‘latest tirade’ to represent a ‘new level of hostility towards the country’. Tom Devine justifiably called the comments ‘tripe’ and, in a question laced with ambiguity asked: ‘Is this really the standard of academic analysis at Harvard?’
But lest it be assumed that Ferguson has ripped up his Scottish roots in order to become some sort of Anglo-American mercenary or Atlantic buccaneer, it should be noted that he continues to acknowledge his Scottish-British identities. Despite working and living in the United States, he has apparently not applied for American citizenship. His Scottish identity was emphasised in a number of media appearances before the referendum, as though he felt some credentials were required. Appearing on Newsnight, he was introduced by Emily Maitlis as ‘a Scot and a passionate unionist’ and he proceeded to declare that he still felt himself every inch the Scotsman.
One area of ambiguity seems to be over his football allegiance. Once reported to have grown up a Rangers fan, he recently said his ideal day would include a trip to the Emirates Stadium to see Arsenal beat Tottenham Hotspur. Perhaps he has shifted his allegiances, as Adam Tomkins has done in reverse. But a serious point lies submerged: why should one of our most distinguished intellectual exports feel the need to stress his identity when commenting on Scottish affairs? Does criticism, even disproportionate criticism, from afar require a form of perpetual justification?
Strange attitudes sometimes manifest themselves unintentionally. Christopher Harvie, in an article for Bella Caledonia which was republished in the New Statesman, said of Ferguson (or Fergy as he rather disparagingly referred to him): ‘The man seems to have overtaken Donald Trump as the Scots-American we can do without’. Scots-American? Says who? And as a rule, Scottish public life can use all the Harvard professors and editors of international literary magazines it can lay its hand on.
By Alasdair McKillop | November 2015