A city with a Hindu caste system. Photograph by Islay McLeod
Just as individuals can develop a self-image that is somewhat at odds with reality, so countries can construct a picture of national identity that is not fully supported by the evidence.
The prospect of next year’s referendum should give Scots an opportunity to reflect on some of our cherished myths and consider the extent to which aspiration falls short of achievement. This is not an easy task, however, not just because it may reveal some uncomfortable truths, but also because the spirit of the age encourages self-promotion rather than hard-headed appraisal. Political and institutional spokespersons prefer to deal in ‘good news’ and ignore, or try to suppress, anything that might tell a different story.
Take the subject of class, a term that has largely dropped out of political discourse, all the major parties now preferring to talk about ‘social inclusion’. The popular myth in Scotland is that, compared to England, class distinctions are less evident. Contrast that view with a recent comment by the poet and novelist, Kate Clanchy: ‘One of the things that worries me about the independence debate is that it stops people acknowledging the class differences. That thing of “we’re all socialist in Scotland and we’re all terribly equal”. It’s not true. Edinburgh has a Hindu caste system. I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s the lawyers and the doctors and the civil servants, generation after generation. It’s extraordinary.’
What is also extraordinary is that nobody seems prepared to investigate it, gather the evidence about the maintenance of middle-class advantage through the Edinburgh private schools and dynastic entry to high-status professions, consolidated through formal and informal social networks. Moreover, there is real work to be done in tracing links between legal and accountancy firms, major businesses, management consultants and PR companies (which often have strong lines of communication to politicians). But, of course, none of the insiders are going to put the advantages they enjoy at risk by spilling the beans on how the system works.
The political sympathies of the Scotsman newspaper mean that its journalists are unlikely to get the go-ahead for the kind of investigative reporting that is needed. The result is that elite Edinburgh can continue as before, safe in the knowledge that the precise mechanisms of the ‘caste system’ will remain hidden from public view.
Consider too our self-image as a people with strong reserves of warmth and humanity. Coming immediately after a reference to Edinburgh this may sound a little dubious, but even if we associate these qualities with other parts of Scotland, just how convincing is the attribution? Does the rosy view owe as much to the maudlin sentimentality of Hogmanay and the vicarious associations which surface on 25 January when the poetry of Burns is celebrated? That Burns was a great poet is not in question, but the way in which his work has sometimes been mobilised in support of a rather complacent view of our national character deserves to be subject to critical scrutiny.
When it comes to some contemporary literature, I detect a different form of sentimentality. Scottish authors have long rejected the ‘kailyard’ school of writing, prominent at the end of the 19th century, which offered a romantic view of rural life, with village worthies representing solid virtues, all contained within a simplistic pastoral morality.
Instead we have gritty urban ‘realism’, peopled with deeply flawed characters caught up in a scary world of crime, drugs and mental illness. The intention behind this focus is to give a voice to people who had previously not featured to any extent in imaginative writing – the marginalised, the dispossessed, the inarticulate. That is an entirely worthy aim. What is less worthy is the implication which sometimes accompanies it – that only such characters have something ‘authentic’ to say, that all other perspectives are mistaken or compromised or hypocritical. The very best writers manage to convey the complexity of the human condition, its immense variety of experience and its resistance to easy judgement.
Gerry Hassan (9 April) has drawn attention to the national tendency to construct misleading narratives about the kind of society we have: ‘In Scotland, we have chosen to tell ourselves that we are a progressive, warm, caring social democracy, and have covered our ears to any inconvenient truths that might challenge that state of affairs’. He questions the ‘left-wing, radical, social democratic credentials’ of many of those who exercise various forms of power. Sometimes these are people who have enjoyed a measure of upward social mobility, who like to think that they have not forgotten their modest backgrounds, but who are happy to take advantage of all the usual perks associated with their new status.
Instead of challenging existing structures and practices, their priority is to become assimilated without displaying social gaucherie. Witness the eager exploitation of the expenses system by some Labour MPs who manage to make the transition from egalitarian rhetoric to self-interested positioning without experiencing the slightest twinge of guilt.
The run-up to the referendum should be a time of thoughtful analysis, not only of the policy implications of the alternative futures that are on offer, but also of the social and cultural values which Scotland claims to represent. Three of the country’s leading businessmen – Sir Tom Hunter, Jim McColl and Sir Tom Farmer – have recently complained about what they see as inadequate information from both the Yes Scotland and Better Together camps. They allege that both sides have failed to provide clear answers to key questions. But as well as more factual detail on topics such as currency, defence, border control and Europe, there is a need for sharp interrogation of dominant versions of our national identity and the values we claim to espouse.
Do I think this will actually happen? If it does, it is unlikely to come from mainstream politicians, partly because they are unused to the kind of inquiry that would involve, and partly because such an exercise might raise disturbing questions about the quality of leadership they have displayed over many years.
Walter Humes held professorships at the universities of Aberdeen, Strathclyde and West of Scotland and is now a visiting professor of education at the University of Stirling
