The Scottish Independence Referendum Question

By Dr Alexandra Kelso, Politics & International Relations

The Electoral Commission yesterday published its report on the wording of the referendum question that will be put to the people of Scotland in 2014 on the seismic issue of independence. While much attention has been focused on the relative merits of the arguments for and against independence, the detailed work undertaken to actually design an agreeable referendum question highlights the inherent complexity of constitutional policy-making in the UK.

The Scottish Government launched its own consultation process early last year – Your Scotland, Your Referendum – which asked respondents a range of questions about how the referendum should be run – should 16-17 year olds be allowed to participate for example, and what should the question look like? The original proposed wording was  ‘Do you agree that Scotland should be an independent country?’ The Electoral Commission conducted a lengthy inquiry into how different forms of wording might affect responses, testing out various questions on people around Scotland, and concluded that this question might lead people to vote yes, simply because there is often a tendency to agree when asked to (obviously there couldn’t have been any academics amongst those tested). The new wording is the far more straightforward ‘Should Scotland be an independent country?’ The Scottish Government immediately indicated its acceptance of this new wording, and yet another significant issue in the referendum process has thus been successfully resolved.

Both the Electoral Commission report and the preceding consultation process held by the Scottish Government are well worth some close examination, if only to discover how intriguing and complicated are the mechanisms that lie at the heart of constitutional policy-making and reform. These are issues we are about to explore in detail in my undergraduate Constitutional Politics in Britain class, and it’s good to know that there is no shortage of material for us to look at.

Cameron’s EU referendum plans

By Dr Kamil Zwolski, Politics & International Relations

Recently I was asked by the Wave 105 radio to comment on David Cameron’s plans to hold a yes/no referendum on UK’s EU membership, if Tories win the next general election. That referendum would take place no later than 2017. In principle, there is nothing wrong with the idea of a referendum provided that people are able and willing to make an informed decision. But where is it that Brits are learning about the EU and the consequences of leaving it? Even if Cameron himself promises to campaign for Britain to stay in the EU, are people going to listen to him? Is Cameron going to speak for himself or for the whole Tory party? Isn’t it the case that most people learn about the EU from euro-hostile, unreliable tabloid media?  British membership in the EU is a complex or even complicated matter with implications going far beyond economic matters, on which the debates in the UK mostly focus on. For example, the UK is playing an active, even if often sceptical role in the EU’s Common Security and Defence Policy. It can play an even bigger role. It also cooperates closely with other EU states on counter-terrorism and other internal security matters through the EU’s Area of Freedom, Security and Justice. What are the implications for the position of the UK vis-à-vis the United States? Recently Washington voiced its concerns about Britain’s influence in Washington if it leaves the EU. These are some important questions that hopefully will be raised by those in favour of the referendum.

Hannah Arendt – a film by Margarethe von Trotta

By Professor David Owen

Margarethe von Trotta’s impressive oeuvre attests to her fascination with great women of all kinds, from twelfth-century Christian mystic Hildegard von Bingen to Marxist firebrand Rosa Luxemburg. With her new film about the German-Jewish philosopher and political theorist Hannah Arendt (1906–75), von Trotta’s film focuses on one of the crucial moments in Arendt’s life and career: her visit to Jerusalem in 1961 to cover the trial of Adolf Eichmann, one of the architects of the Nazis’ genocidal “Final Solution” during World War II.

The opening scene of the film shows the organised abduction of an ordinary-looking older man on a country road before cutting to a woman, obviously European in her movements, listening to classical music in a room whose decor is clearly American. These people are, of course, Adolf Eichmann and Hannah Arendt – and thus the film signals its central focus, namely, Arendt’s relationship to the event of Eichmann’s Trial in Jerusalem and the questions that Arendt’s report and the reactions to it raise concerning the relations of the private and the public, the personal and the political, and, more specifically, the conditions (and wisdom) of a philosopher speaking philosophically about politics in public.

The film’s portrayal of Arendt is unfolded through her relationships, most notably with her husband Heinrich Blücher, her friend Mary McCarthy, her once class-mate and now friend and colleague Hans Jonas, her old political mentor and friend the Zionist Kurt Blumenfeld, the editor of the New Yorker William Shawn, and her former teacher and lover Martin Heidegger. All except the last of these are played out within a linear dramatic narrative that tracks Arendt’s circle from the capture of Eichmann through the trail in Jerusalem to the composition and publication of, and reaction to, Arendt’s New Yorker articles. The relationship to Heidegger is interspersed into the narrative through flashback’s that are Arendt’s memories of her relationship with Heidegger and his disastrous foray into public political speech in the Rectoral Address of May 27th 1933, a public act which he later spoke of privately as ‘die größte Dummheit seines Lebens’ but which he never publicly renounced. This figuring of her relationship to Heidegger within the dramatic structure of the film is unfortunate in a number of ways, not least the portrayal of Heidegger as a clownish naïf, but primarily because through the use and positioning of these flashbacks within the film, von Trotta offers an open-ended analogy between Heidegger’s and Arendt’s acts of public speech. Even if von Trotta means only to raise the suggestion, since these flashbacks are Arendt’s, that Arendt reflects on her Report on the Eichmann Trial through the prism of her personal relationship to Heidegger and his own abrogated stress on the necessity of thinking, it gets in the way of the rest of the film which is a beautifully shot and compelling piece of narrative drama with a strong ensemble cast, not least in the sensitive use of documentary footage in the reconstruction of the Eichmann trial.

In different respects, Blücher and McCarthy are presented as Arendt’s supports. Blücher’s wandering eye and philandering (which Arendt is portrayed as accepting as a fact about which it would be hopeless to rail) are offset by his role as loving companion and sounding board for her thoughts. McCarthy is the female confidant, a blousy American whose insecurity in her personal life and work contrasts with and highlights Arendt’s European roots and location in an older tradition. By contrast, the relationships with Hans Jonas and Kurt Blumenfeld are offered as both deep but also, finally broken, by Arendt’s writing on Eichmann. This is given early expression in, first, an argument between Jonas and Blücher about Eichmann’s  abduction to be placed on trial in Israel which foreshadows the more dramatic rupture between Jonas and Arendt – and, second, Arendt’s visit to Blumenfeld’s family in Jerusalem (on her way to cover the Eichmann trial) in awkwardness and already emerging disagreement are covered over by the depth of their friendship. Later, after the report is published, Arendt will dash to Jerusalem to visit a seriously ill Blumenfeld in his sickbed only for him to turn his back to her. The issue von Trotta raises here concerns not so much whether Arendt’s arguments are right or wrong but rather how much one can reasonably ask one’s friends to bear in respect of one’s own commitment to intellectual integrity. For Blumenfeld, Arendt’s remarks on the role of the Jewish leaders in co-operating with the Nazis organization run by Eichmann and hence facilitating the Shoah are a betrayal of the Jewish people – to which Arendt’s response that she does not think of herself as having such an obligation adds only insult to injury. For Jonas, Arendt’s fault is arrogance – and certainly the portrayal of her relationship to William Shawn, an editor overwhelmed by awe at Arendt which she shows no compunction in exploiting, is given as testimony to this side of her character. This issue is raised for us acutely by the climax of the film to which I’ll come shortly but there are two other features that deserve comment first.

The first is the presentation of the charge made against Arendt by her public critics that she is cold, without feeling, and McCarthy’s defense of her as simply having a courage that her critics lack, in the context of a portrayal of Arendt among students and friends as a caring and humorous person who, at one point, privately breaks down in the face of the reaction to her report. The second is the portrayal of the process of composing her writing of Eichmann which combines two elements: the engagement with a vast mass of empirical material, piles of folders of paper (court transcripts, etc.) are arranged around the study and apartment, and the difficulty of writing: Arendt sits reading and is haunted by voices from the trial, she spends a lot of time lying down on a divan smoking endless cigarettes, she types in a controlled frenzy. Here it seems to me that the film is linking these features in a way that is insightful and important, namely, that Arendt had to steel herself to write her report at all, that she had to set aside her own feelings and relationships to others in order to be able to try to serve truth, that intellectual conscience (redlichkeit) makes demands that are hard to bear. In this sense, the film suggests that the critics (who remind me of Martha Nussbaum on tragedy) are right to see her writing as cold and without feeling but quite wrong in their judgment of the significance of this fact and the courage that the writing required of her. At the same time, her response to William Shawn that her writing about the Jewish leaders was purely factual raises for the viewer the question of whether she has lost the ability to discriminate between her judgment and facts in this process. In making this point, the film does not attempt to adjudicate the question of whether Arendt was right or wrong to write the report that she composed, rather it tries, I think compellingly, to make intelligible how she could come to speak in the way that she did (it may also explain why she was entirely unconcerned that Eichmann was hanged).

Let me now turn to the climax. As the drama following the publication of her report unfolds, Arendt is presented as treating from public space and, against McCarthy’s advice, refusing to engage publically with the criticisms directed at her work by critics for whom she has no intellectual respect (echoes of Heidegger’s postwar silence are raised here). When she returns to The New School, at that time almost entirely a Jewish institution, her colleagues shun her and she is asked to resign from teaching her classes which she refuses to do – but she does acknowledge an obligation to the students, who have supported her (and whom the film portrays her as feeling responsible to, for example, in the scene where McCarthy arrives at her class to tell her that Blücher has had a heart attack and is in hospital, and her first shocked reaction is to return to finish her class). When she has offered her explanation to a lecture hall packed with students and the three staff before whom she was hauled for dressing down and discipline, she rebuts – albeit not wholly convincingly – the charge by a staff member that she is blaming the victims for their own victimhood and is given rapturous applause by the students. As they leave, she sees that Hans Jonas is also in the audience. His face, in a bravura piece of acting by Ulrich Noethen, gives us no clue as to what is to come next but seems to express a process of internal struggle. Arendt goes to him, hopeful that her explanation will have healed the rupture of their friendship, but far from it – Jonas rejects her account, she has gone too far, and, in a bitter expression of the end of their friendship, refers to her as “Heidegger’s little darling”.

The question raised by this film is that of ‘thoughtlessness’. Arendt presents Eichmann as a creature who cannot think, for has abdicated the realm of thinking, and at the same time she sees Heidegger as a philosopher whose movement into the public realm is marked by a shift to thoughtlessness (a view that allows her to continue to engage Heidegger’s philosophical work after 1933 in contrast to Jonas). Is Arendt similarly ‘thoughtless’ is her reflections on the Jewish leaders? The film asks us to consider this question but not, I think, quite in Arendt’s sense of thoughtlessness but in the broader sense that underlies it. Her commitment to understanding, to making intelligible, to truthfulness is given clear expression as too are the demands this makes on her – but what about the demands that this makes on her friends, is there not a kind of thoughtlessness here? Is there not a kind of thoughtlessness in her failure to anticipate the entirely predictable response to her moralized interpretation of the role of the Jewish leaders as one which will strike Jews as the darkest episode of a dark chapter of human action? I don’t think that the film ultimately takes a stance on this issue – rather it raises for us the question of the relationship of Arendt’s sense of thoughtlessness to our ordinary sense of that word. And it must be noted that while Arendt’s thesis concerning the banality of evil is a fundamental insight for moral philosophy, she is almost certainly wrong about Eichmann. As David Cesarani and, more recently, Bettina Stangneth have compellingly argued, Arendt was – like almost everyone else – taken in by Eichmann’s strategy of self-presentation in the trial as a nobody, a mere functionary, a bureaucratic machine. Yet the evidence of Eichmann’s commitment to Nazism and, contra Arendt, his commitment to anti-Semitism that has emerged in more recent years, especially well-documented by Stangneth’s study Eichmann vor Jerusalem, suggests that Jonas was right – Eichmann was a monster who hated Jews. The film is composed in a context in which we, and von Trotta, know this – and I think the film’s refusal to resolve the issues that it raises is precisely an acknowledgement of this context. In this respect, Thomas Assheuer’s review in Die Zeit which suggests that Arendt’s reading of Eichmann was directed against that of the Israeli Prime Minster David Ben Gurion who represented him as a monster of evil for ideological purposes may have some force but not against the film. Rather the film leaves us with questions concerning the relationship between friendship and the service of truth, of emotional life and the conditions of writing truthfully, and of the conditions and costs of public speech.

MP’s Pay: a sensitive subject

By Dr Will Jennings

In a survey of MP’s released today, it is revealed that a majority of MP’s (some 69%) thought they were underpaid, with the average suggested amount £86,251. Notably there were clear party differences in the numbers. Conservatives thought, on average, their salary should be £96,741, while their coalition partners the Lib Dems put this at £78,361, and Labour just below this on £77,322.

This is in complete contrast to what the British public think, reflecting the underlying schism that remains at the heart of British politics and distrust in political institutions. In another YouGov survey in August last year, 60% of people said MPs are paid too much and just 5%, that is one in twenty, thought they were paid too little. At a time of cuts to welfare and public services, and with the average MP’s household wage sitting above about 96% of the population, now is probably not the time for MP’s to be asking for a pay rise – whether or not there is a case that British MP’s earn comparatively less than their counterparts in other countries.

Aside from this, the survey itself raises some interesting questions about how survey respondents who are public figures — such as MP’s — might respond to questions in the knowledge that their collective responses could potentially affect them as a group. In this case, while MP’s might have a private preference (as most of us indeed would) for a higher income, one might expect that certain democratic pressures (what Hood and Lodge call ‘Tocquevillian pressures’) would lead them to reduce their claims in the face of the potential media and public outcry. On the one hand, the anonymity of the survey offers respondents a venue to express their personal preference without fear of repercussions, but any MP in this situation must be aware that the aggregate figures could have political consequences for MP’s more widely. The question one must ask, then, is could this number have been even higher?