Elites, experts and narratives

Continuing the ongoing theme of the anti-democratic nature of much of Scotland's public and political processes, an interesting recent article from Walter Humes in the Scottish Review is well worth reading. In the context of the education system and policy development he says: "My investigation led me to question the 'received wisdom', which invoked reassuring concepts such as partnership, consultation and consensus, and sought to convey the impression that those who made decisions exercised benign stewardship in the public interest."

As regards membership of the various bodies involved, he states: "...the system was carefully managed, through the use of patronage, to ensure that only those likely to conform to the unwritten rules of the game were likely to join the upper levels of the educational policy community. A measure of ability was important, but deference and trust were more important."

And regarding how the whole thing interfaces with political and public opinion, Professor Hume says:

Later I developed the concept of 'narrative privilege' to describe one of the most powerful ways which helped to ensure the perpetuation of a form of elitism disguised as democratic engagement. 'Narrative privilege' derives from the right of key players of decision-making bodies to write the official versions of events which gain currency as 'objective' accounts of what has taken place. It is expressed through the minutes and records of meetings, and embodied in annual reports of public bodies and official reviews of policy. It is also evident in press releases, in ministerial statements and on the websites of educational agencies. The discourse of these accounts generally conveys a favourable impression of those who have constructed the narrative.

A related issue is the credence afforded to so-called 'experts' in public policy narratives, and their relationship with politicians, who of course are normally anything but experts in the particular field under examination, and thus to a large extent rely on the 'real' experts in constructing their political discourse.

All this comes to mind in relation to a couple of this week's more prominent news stories. First, the ongoing spat over the medical evidence which was instrumental in the release on compassionate grounds of the Lockerbie bomber. Second, the Edinburgh trams fiasco.

In both cases the politicians have relied on experts to justify their actions. In the first example the justice secretary relied on medical professionals to assess al-Megrahi's life expectancy. In the second councillors relied on engineers and accountants to make the technical and business case for the tram line.

Thus perhaps illustrative of Professor Humes' 'narrative privilege', but of course in both these cases the expert evidence has transpired to be fundamentally wanting. Thus his 'counter-narratives' have to a degree won out, but only when the damage has been done.

Another topical example perhaps relates to Scotland's ongoing 'unhealthy relationship' with alcohol, and in particular the fairly wide support among the elites in the area of policy development for minimum pricing as an antidote.

But this particular narrative largely ignores issues like light touch policing of drunken behaviour and the lack of restraint from on-sales licensees, preferring instead to shift the blame onto the off-licence sector, and to large supermarkets in particular.

Thus even the experts who mathematically model the benefits associated with minimum pricing (marginal, as it happens) ignore these issues. And what precise insight into matters like policing and liquor licensing do the so-called experts in the medical profession provide? Of course, these people are experts at treating the medical consequences of excessive alcohol consumption, but asking their opinion on controlling consumption per se seems as relevant as asking an A&E doctor their opinion on driving and road safety.

In Dundee, for example, a handful of years ago councillors granted an ultra-late licence to a new large-scale drinking establishment. This leads to a mass exodus from the established nightclub scene before their traditional closing time, thus affecting profits.

A nightclub applied for an additional extension so it could retain its existing customer base. This was objected to by Tayside Police on the basis that it would stretch resources. Councillors agreed and the extension was rejected, but it seems unlikely that granting it would have changed things fundamentally. The damage had already been done by granting the ultra-late licence to the new establishment, and affording existing licensed premises a similar extension would have merely rearranged the patronage deckchairs.

But of course as with minimum pricing nationally, the dominant narrative here was unchallenged. Perhaps the powers that be realised that they had create an additional problem, but naturally the narrative constructed did not acknowledge that.

And indeed despite copious political objection to minimum pricing nationally, none of it really gets to the nitty gritty, such as the further liberalisation of licensing hours - and thus consumption - in Dundee even while debate was raging about the nation's alcohol problem. Instead it's essentially born of crude 'oppositionalism', thus providing little real counter-narrative to challenge the dominant one.

And locally the lack of a minimum pricing policy is conveniently regarded as the problem as well, with Dundee's licensing convener ludicrously suggesting implementing one unilaterally, despite such a move having been struck down by the courts a few years previously.

Included in this narrative and as part of the elite is a body called the Tayside Council on Alcohol, which pops up in the local press every so often urging implementation of minimum pricing. Hardly surprising that the organisation's director - a "leading expert on alcohol abuse" - is a former senior officer with Tayside Police, thus neatly illustrating things like the perpetuation of the elites, the 'narrative privilege' and the associated revolving door in terms of employment in Scottish public life.