Tag Archive for: conflict

The drums of war revisited

On 25 April 2021, I published an internal all-staff Anzac Day message. I did so as the Secretary of the Department of Home Affairs, which is responsible for Australia’s civil defence, and its resilience in wartime. The message was titled ‘The Longing for Peace, the Curse of War’.

I warned that while we rightly lament the folly of war, the greater folly would be to seek to wish it away, while others are still prepared to wage it in order to achieve their ends. I wrote of hearing the ‘drums of war’. I observed that free nations have to work for peace, while preparing for war. These observations attracted some interest, locally and internationally, including in The Times, The Washington Post, The Economist, and the Global Times. The Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs called me ‘a real troublemaker’. I must have hit a nerve.

In the four years that have since passed, war has broken out in Europe, Israel has been attacked by Iran and its proxies, commercial shipping has come under attack in the Red Sea, China has begun to conduct rehearsals for a military attack on Taiwan, and North Korea has intensified its threats against South Korea. Despite all of this, in Australia, as we rightly commemorate on Anzac Day the tragedy of past war, we remain indifferent to the risk of future war in our ‘sheltered land’.

This complacency is not unique to Australia. Preparing for war requires deliberate and collective discourse, and concerted national action. Free nations are becoming less able to execute this foundational function of state. Our societies are turning increasingly inwards, and are becoming atomised. Social media, fractured political communication, and the breakdown of traditional party systems are generating and accelerating these trends. Free peoples are increasingly focused on personal fulfilment or personal anxiety, or both. We pay less and less heed to the dangers of the real world, in favour of the pleasures and conveniences of the curated world. Unless an invader looms, there is an active aversion to thinking and speaking about war.

The governments of free nations are increasingly seen not as economic stewards and national protectors, but as service delivery organisations, whose task is to provide social benefits and supplement household budgets. Some might cynically see advantage in this state of affairs. It is easier to provide benefits than to demand sacrifices.

In Australia, in the absence of resources such as an inter-generational report on defence and national security (that would look out, say, 20 to 40 years) and independent bodies such as a defence equivalent of the Productivity Commission, there are no processes or structures to enable citizens to become properly informed. Political leaders have, with some notable exceptions, limited expertise or experience in defence or national security affairs, while military and civilian leaders in the field are invisible, unlike the governor of the Reserve Bank, whose pronouncements on the economy are carefully assessed and interpreted.

For all of that, there is no justification for engaging in a moral panic over whether Australians today still possess the ‘Anzac character’, where in the face of danger one simply gets on with doing with what needs to be done. If Australians had to fight for our liberty, sovereignty, and way of life, we would once again turn up. That includes the Zoomers of Gen Z. However, there’s the rub. Turning up would not be in issue. The problem would be the lack of preparation. If Australians turned up to fight untrained and unprepared, and lacking adequate arms, many would perish that needn’t, and the day might yet be lost, but not for lack of valour.

In these ever-darkening days, we need a modern-day John Curtin. A socialist, he wanted to lead on social reform and improve the lives of the working class and the poor. However, history set him a different task. As prime minister, he had to meet the challenge of mobilising a nation and fighting a war. He knew that government would have to lead and set the direction, and address the particulars, while the people would have to serve and make sacrifices. He also knew that in order to rally the nation, he had to speak of war in sober, precise and often technical terms, and at length.

In 1941, Curtin was intellectually and morally equipped to undertake this task because he had not waited for the storm to break. In the 1930s, as Labor leader, he had spoken honestly, grimly and presciently about what needed to be done. He had mastered the detail, and thought about the contingencies.

Ninety years on, the drums are beating once again. Lest we forget.

Another Munich crisis? Understanding the limits of policymaking by analogy

We see it often enough. A democracy deals with an authoritarian state, and those who oppose concessions cite the lesson of Munich 1938: make none to dictators; take a firm stand.

And so we hear those voices today as US President Donald Trump proposes that Ukraine sacrifice territory for peace with Russia.

This is not to say that those who cite the lesson of Munich are always wrong, or even wrong in this case. It’s just that they may not always be right. More generally, we need to understand the limits of historical analogies. Use them with caution.

Historical reasoning, as former US defense secretary Ashton Carter put it, is ‘the dominant mental methodology of real policymakers’. The use of historical analogy has deep roots in the way humans think, to the point where it’s more unreasonable to expect it not to influence policymaking. Political scientists identify four sources of analogies—study, tradition, memory, and experience.

It is well-documented that president John F Kennedy’s approach to the Cuban Missile Crisis was informed by Barbara Tuchman’s account of the outbreak of World War I. This deeper study is also exceptional; given the demands of policy work, officials are rarely able to develop historical awareness beyond what they passively develop through cultural or institutional tradition.

This is why a small number of well-worn analogies get the most airtime. Few who refer to the Munich Agreement know it in fine detail. Even fewer have first-hand experience with it, as Anthony Eden did when confronting General Nasser in 1956. Yet personal experience and vicarious memory are by far the most common sources of analogy.

But historical analogies are persuasive: a study published in February shows that appeal to historical analogy in public messaging can swing opinion in favour of a given foreign policy action by about 7 percent. It’s not that we misuse historical analogies in a motivated or biased way, but rather that historical analogies are typically used by those who are already motivated reasoners.

Also, foreign policy issues generally aren’t compatible with scientific method, let alone mathematical certainty. What we refer to as ‘international order’ is a way of coping with this by artificially introducing regularity and predictability into a domain that, by nature, has none. Successes have here been modest at the best of times, and in moments of crisis, history is all that’s left to inform our actions. Thus, as order frays and crisis becomes persistent, analogies—to Athens and Sparta, to 1930s Europe, to the Cold War—become more relevant.

But the flaw in reasoning by historical analogy is more intrinsic. What historian Yuen Foong Khong called analogical explanation—drawing analogies with historical examples to grasp and evaluate new situations and forecast likely outcomes of action—has the same logical structure, and the same weaknesses, whether it’s being used to decide where to take a new date for dinner or if a country should invade Iraq.

Consider how critics have drawn on the Munich analogy in recent weeks. If, they analogise, the Trump administration allows Russia’s seizure of eastern Ukraine as the Allies allowed Nazi Germany’s seizure of the Sudetenland, then Russia’s assurances of ‘peace in our time’ are no more trustworthy than Germany’s.

The circumstances of Ukraine today and Czechoslovakia in September 1938 resemble each other on some points but differ on countless others. To draw the analogy is to decide that determining factors in the present are held in common with the past, while the points of difference are unimportant: that Nazi Germany did not possess nuclear weapons, for instance.

This view is defensible, but that isn’t the point. The point is that this view is, on its face, much harder to defend than the view that we are today simply in a Munich-like situation in Ukraine.

This leads to a core insight from Richard Neustadt and Ernest May. Policymakers are going to analogise from history regardless, so we must improve how they do it, and try to avoid disaster.

To Neustadt and May, there’s no substitute for historical awareness, and using a wider range of historical analogies often leads to more productive consideration of an issue than fixating on a single, hackneyed one. But those who use these analogies must understand that, in doing so, they are committing to definite claims about what is and isn’t causally effective, morally relevant, or both, in the course of history. Without this understanding, any number of historical analogies could be misused.

A more disciplined approach can be as complex as convening a panel of historians to give advice, or as simple as asking: what new evidence would I need to consider this historical analogy implausible?

Predicting global conflicts

There’s a wealth of data on the history of military conflicts, which have caused many millions of deaths in the past century, but there’s comparatively little quantitative research forecasting the frequency and severity of wars.

As an investor in global financial markets, our firm is constantly grappling with the prediction business. Last year we created worldwide Covid-19 forecasting models that enabled us to anticipate a much earlier than expected peak in the first wave of infections in April 2020.

We have now developed research that can be used to assess the empirical likelihood of different types of conflicts occurring.

For the past decade, the biggest risk we have sought to understand is the spectre of war between the United States and China. The probability of such a conflict appears to have accelerated under the hardline presidency of Xi Jinping. Many experts, including John Lee, Oriana Skylar Mastro, Rory Medcalf and Ross Babbage, who consult to us, have put the risk of a lower-intensity conflict at around 50%.

Our quantitative research supports that.

A team of Kai Lin, Nathan Giang, James Yang and me has spent 12 months drawing on 160 years of conflict data and using a range of techniques to predict the probability of different types of conflicts of varying severity.

The goal of our research is to stimulate further academic study and inject greater objectivity into public debates about the risk of military conflicts. Such debates almost always involve highly subjective opinions that often lack a data-centric, evidentiary basis and empirical testing.

The conclusions focus on horizons of 12 months, five years and 10 years. This research, covering most countries, is outlined in a technical paper and a summary (both available here).

Military acts by a nation directed towards the government, officials, forces, property or territory of another state are known in the academic literature as ‘militarised interstate disputes’, or MIDs. In our forecasting models, we classify MIDs into increasing tiers of severity: a threat to use force; an actual use of force; an attack, clash or raid; and an all-out war with a minimum number of deaths.

To tackle the forecasting problem that warfare represents, we applied scientific, statistical and machine-learning techniques to data on MIDs.

Significantly, our research implies that the likelihood of a low-intensity military conflict between Taiwan and China over the next 10 years has trended higher over time towards a probability of around 75%.

Probability of low-intensity conflict between Taiwan and China 

Source: War Lab.

Accounting for global alliance networks in our modelling, the probability of a low-intensity military conflict over the next decade between the US and China is also elevated, at around 46%, which reconciles with the estimates offered by the more hawkish analysts.

Over that period, the modelling indicates that the likelihood of low-intensity conflict between the US and Russia is also high, at 30%; between China and Russia, 44%; between China and Japan, 46%; and between China and India, 55%.

When we raise the conflict-intensity threshold from small-scale attacks to outright war, the probabilities decline noticeably, although they remain material. Our modelling suggests, for instance, that China and India have a 22% likelihood of engaging in a war in the next 10 years.

The likelihood of outright war between China and the US is 12%; between China and Taiwan, 11%; and between China and Japan, 10%. Any such war would have potentially cataclysmic consequences.

The risk of outright war between the US and Russia is, interestingly, much lower, at 2%.

These models have many potential applications, including strategic planning, government foreign policymaking, political decision-making and financial risk management.

And beyond providing a better understanding of the threats we face, disclosing the real empirical probability of conflict could help decision-makers convince communities not to undervalue defence spending and the catastrophe insurance it provides.

To facilitate discussion and education about the risks of conflicts, we have developed an interactive graphical user interface that is publicly available. It houses one of our simpler forecasting models and provides data visualisations of the historical probabilities of conflict between individual nations or entities, and animations of the shifts in national military capabilities over hundreds of years.

In a 2012 paper, the Swiss academic Thomas Chadefaux observed:

Unfortunately, the prediction of war has been the subject of surprisingly little interest in the literature, in marked difference to a wide range of fields, from finance to geology, which devote much of their attention to the prediction of extraordinary—black swan—events such as financial crises or earthquakes.

It’s beyond time to introduce more advanced quantitative methods to inform the debate about the conflict risks we face.

Humanitarian responses need to change as wars get longer

In Afghanistan, the milestones of Sheringul’s life have been marred by conflict. There are weddings and birthdays marking the passage of time—but also injuries, deaths and displacement against a backdrop of conflict spanning decades. Sheringul married in 1979, the first year of the Soviet–Afghan War. In 1992, she fled to Pakistan. She lost a daughter due to limited medical access. Her son lost a leg to a suicide attack. Eventually, she returned home. Forty years on, she now works as a vocational trainer for the International Committee of the Red Cross. The people of Afghanistan still live in conflict.

Sheringul’s story reflects a troubling feature of contemporary conflict. Wars are longer. They are increasingly ever-changing, complex and intractable. As an organisation that helps people caught in conflict, the ICRC has spent an average of 42 years in each of its 10 largest operations—from Yemen to South Sudan. We have worked in Afghanistan since Sheringul married in 1979. Next year will mark a decade of conflict in Syria.

More than two-thirds of the ICRC’s operating budget goes towards helping people caught in long-running wars. Our work in protracted conflict now represents the bulk of our humanitarian efforts around the world. The nature of this challenge requires us to rethink how we approach our work.

In the latest edition of the International Review of the Red Cross, the impact of protracted conflict on communities—and on the humanitarians who help them—is put under the spotlight.

Protracted conflicts are strange beasts, unique and varied in character. They have no precise legal definition. The term can be traced back to political scientist Edward Azar, who framed it around tensions between social identities. Yet humanitarian organisations like the ICRC witness the impact of this abstract term in very real ways every day. Protracted conflicts can be episodic, cyclical, ‘frozen’ or long-lived insurgencies. They can be longstanding occupations or wars at low simmer, oscillating between resolution and relapse. Their defining characteristic is gradual devastation.

The recent flare-up in the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict is just one example. Protracted conflicts also require humanitarians to work according to twin timelines: providing urgent relief, alongside meeting longer-term needs. They require us to rethink how we fit into the ‘triple nexus’ of humanitarian, development and peacekeeping work at the local and global levels. The conflict requiring this response is almost Sisyphean in scale.

To understand the devastation caused by protracted conflict, examine its impact in cities. This is where the human cost of drawn-out wars is felt most acutely. In the grips of protracted conflict, a city’s essential services begin to deteriorate. The people who rely on them suffer. Education, infrastructure, health care and hygiene all feel the constricting effects of constant conflict. For those among the civilian population who are already especially vulnerable to the effects of violence, protracted conflict only exacerbates the risks. Children may miss years of school. People living with disability may not have access to the opportunities they need to thrive. If wars should be exceptional, the risk with protracted conflicts is that they become normalised—lasting not just years but generations. They become a tragic part of life.

The effects of protracted conflict are cumulative. Fallout from consecutive attacks compounds over time. This sort of ‘fast and slow’ violence hits civilians hardest. In a report last year looking at the challenges facing international humanitarian law—or the law of war—the ICRC identified the needs of civilians caught in increasingly long conflicts as a priority issue. And it’s not limited to those in cities. People who are detained can be the most vulnerable to the effects of conflict in any society.

Wars seemingly without end can lead to detention that appears indefinite. Likewise, as a conflict becomes protracted so does displacement. Temporary camps for people displaced by conflict can turn into ad hoc cities, where thousands of people may end up living for years. At the end of 2019, there were more than 50 million internally displaced people worldwide. Of these, close to 46 million were displaced due to conflict—the highest figure ever recorded. Durable solutions to displacement, including voluntary returns or local integration and resettlement, should be prioritised. But conflict without end only makes this task harder.

Protracted conflict demands a paradigm shift in how we approach our humanitarian work. For the ICRC, longer wars mean longer periods of time spent on the ground providing humanitarian assistance. Being uniquely situated as humanitarians in drawn-out conflicts means we need to strive for coherence and complementarity with other members of the ‘triple nexus’.

The idea of sustainable humanitarian action is how the ICRC encapsulates its response to these new realities of conflict. This is humanitarian action that is both smart and adaptable, where relief operations can also serve as launch-pads for longer-term programs. It encourages us to strengthen and diversify the way we work with partners and highlights the need for sustained and predictable programming as well as multi-year financing. As warfare continues to change, this is how we ensure humanitarian action remains effective and relevant. This is how we ensure we can work with communities—like Sheringul’s—to help those who need it most.

What happens when the laws of war meet a pandemic?

International humanitarian law is designed for the exceptional situation of armed conflict. It remains relevant even in the face of this exceptional pandemic.

In March, UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres appealed for a global ceasefire because of  the Covid-19 pandemic, pleading for a halt to hostilities to create corridors for life-saving aid and to open precious windows for diplomacy.

His call has had some positive results. The Southern Cameroons Defence Forces, an armed wing of the African People’s Liberation Movement, announced a temporary ceasefire, and there have been encouraging signals from warring parties in the Central African Republic.

However, in most areas in which the International Committee of the Red Cross is operating, our delegates have not seen any fundamental change. In South Sudan over the past three weeks the ICRC treated more than 180 people wounded in war. Facilities are at their maximum capacity and are now obliged to focus on the most critical cases. Meanwhile, the Islamic State group has used its media channels to urge its members to exploit the chaos created by the pandemic and step up their attacks.

ICRC President Peter Maurer recently observed: ‘Combat operations go on.’

In these theatres of conflict, international humanitarian law provides crucial safeguards for victims of hostilities. This is the body of law which is lex specialis in armed conflict—the specific body of rules that apply in war and continue to apply even as countries adopt special measures to combat Covid-19.

Indeed, a number of provisions of international humanitarian law are particularly relevant during this pandemic and have the potential to greatly assist in ensuring a better protective response for affected populations around the world.

This pandemic has highlighted the essential role of healthcare workers and health facilities. These personnel and facilities are our front line, and they are already under massive strain. To scale up capacity, authorities are variously mobilising military medical units or nationalising private medical facilities.

As an example of what can be done by a developed nation, in Australia the ACT government is building a temporary emergency department dedicated to Covid-19.

The laws of armed conflict have long recognised the importance of healthcare. International humanitarian law specifically protects medical personnel, units and transportation because the direct and indirect consequences of not doing so can be catastrophic.

Respect for these protections will be crucial in the coming months. We must ensure that the few places and people that can help with the effects of both Covid-19 and the horrors of war don’t come under attack. And we must do so not only in relation to physical attacks, but also when it comes to attacks in the cyber domain.

Protections under humanitarian law apply equally to kinetic operations and to cyber operations during armed conflict. The ICRC has recently warned that the healthcare sector is particularly vulnerable to cyberattacks because of its extensive digitisation and connectivity. In the past month, various countries have reported a number of cyber incidents against the healthcare sector.

International humanitarian law also contains the possibility of setting up hospital and safety zones, either in war or in peacetime as a preparedness measure. These provisions could be used to address the current crisis. In contrast to the ‘safe corridors’ or ‘safe areas’ established by UN Security Council resolutions in the 1990s, under humanitarian law such zones are based on voluntariness and consent from parties to a conflict. They have rarely been used, but in these unprecedented times states may consider unprecedented measures.

In addition to access to healthcare, international humanitarian law contains rules safeguarding humanitarian assistance. These requirements cannot be displaced by health regulations and other measures that may be implemented to combat the spread of Covid-19. First and foremost, it’s the responsibility of each party to a conflict to meet the basic needs of the population under its control. However, with the daunting scale of the Covid-19 pandemic, national authorities may become overwhelmed and unable to discharge this responsibility. In these cases, the legal framework provides for relief activities to be undertaken by others, including humanitarian organisations like the ICRC.

This supplementary capacity is already helping governments to respond to the pandemic. In Iraq, the ICRC is supporting primary healthcare centres, hospitals and physical rehabilitation centres, providing infection prevention control items and delivering Covid-19 awareness sessions to staff. In Lebanon, the ICRC runs an emergency ward treating Covid-19 cases, and with the Lebanese Red Cross and health authorities we’re working to ensure the population can continue to access services.

Humanitarian organisations must still seek consent from the authorities for these operations. But this consent cannot be arbitrarily withheld. In particular, while states are entitled to prescribe measures of control or regulation over relief activities, they cannot withhold consent on an argument that it is necessary to counter the spread of Covid-19.

So, as more governments act to contain the virus through travel or import restrictions, it’s imperative that measures remain consistent with states’ obligations to allow and facilitate relief operations. Possible safeguards may include designating the work of impartial humanitarian organisations as an essential service and humanitarian personnel as essential workers with waivers from restrictions on movement. Or it may be necessary to exempt humanitarian flights from bans or to expedite customs procedures and prioritise consignments of humanitarian supplies.

Sadly, warfare has not ceased because of Covid-19, and so international humanitarian law remains highly relevant as the lex specialis in many conflicts. This doesn’t mean that governments are necessarily prevented from taking steps to combat the virus in these areas.

International humanitarian law is a pragmatic and flexible body of law. Its provisions are designed for exceptional circumstances, and the obligations that it imposes take into account what is feasible and reasonable. Accordingly, it shouldn’t be seen as a barrier or impediment in the fight against Covid-19 in war-torn countries. Rather, it has the potential to complement action, and to bring better outcomes for populations affected by the dual threats of coronavirus and conflict.

Humanity in armed conflict: Can Islamic laws protect civilians?

With conflicts in so many parts of the Muslim world, the Islamic law of war is indispensable for the protection of civilians. But is it compatible with international humanitarian law?

Armed conflict brings untold human suffering, and no one understands its impact as do those caught in the middle of it. Ask a parent, a child, a spouse or a sibling about their dead, missing, detained or abducted loved ones and you will appreciate only a tiny part of their pain.

An Egyptian proverb tells us that: ‘The one whose hands are in blood is not as the one whose hands are in water.’ In other words, the amount of pain and suffering of a person affected by a calamity cannot be felt or sometimes even understood by those not personally affected by it. Trying to walk all possible roads to save lives and alleviate the suffering caused by armed conflict or natural disasters is vital if we are to remain truly human, let alone humanitarian.

After almost two decades in academia, I’m proud to be part of a humanitarian organisation that has been walking this road for a long time. During armed conflict, it’s not only adversaries that fight. Our humanity also fights against our own barbarism. We must fight for humanity with all available means—legal frameworks, formal and informal norms, and local cultures and traditions. We also need to employ all possible traditional and innovative venues and tools such as education, training, workshops, meetings and modern technology. If we don’t, human suffering will increase and our barbarism will defeat us.

Right now, two-thirds of the operations and budget of the International Committee of the Red Cross are focused in Muslim contexts. It’s therefore unrealistic to expect the international humanitarian law and principles that underpin our work to be respected if we ignore the role Islamic law plays in influencing the behaviour of Islamic non-state armed groups or state armed forces.

Apart from the fact that humanitarian law isn’t adequately taught in legal and non-legal education, it’s still often viewed as a Western concept or a foreign product. But one of the inherent dangers in the view that it’s a Western product is the myth that its principles are foreign, unknown or in contradiction to other, non-Western civilisations and cultures. This is a real threat to the goal of making humanitarian law universal. For it to be truly universal, all cultures must relate to its principles. A sense of global belonging to its noble, yet pragmatic, objectives must not be discouraged.

Localising the core principles at the heart of international humanitarian law is the doorway to making it universal, which will help strengthen respect for it.

Around the world, the ICRC is working to show similar traditional norms that regulate the use of force. It assigned a group of law students from the University of the South Pacific to research traditional warfare practices in the Pacific. Their research, which was published in 2009, established that prior to European contact there were a number of practices during armed conflict in the Pacific that imposed clear limits on warfare.

The ICRC also found similar norms in the local customs of Indonesia and Somalia. An ICRC delegation in Jakarta is developing a program called ‘Principles of Humanity’ where 10 principles in international law will be complemented by reference to relevant Indonesian customs and norms in Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism and Christianity. But in working to make humanitarian principles universal, we need to educate ourselves and inform others about such values that have long existed locally.

As early as 624 AD, Islamic legal sources and authorities started to develop rules intended to regulate the use of force by Muslims and to alleviate the suffering of people affected by armed conflict.

Rules of war that 7th- and 8th-century Muslim jurists developed address some of the challenges and violations facing humanitarian law in contemporary armed conflict. But more importantly, it is very rewarding to see unanimity among Islamic law professors and Islamic non-state armed groups in Indonesia, the Philippines, Nigeria, Niger, Iran, Amman, Egypt, Bosnia and Herzegovina and other parts of the world on the overall compatibility of international humanitarian law and Islamic law.

Humanitarian law and Islamic law agree on the protection of civilians and their property and infrastructure in war, the protection of humanitarian organisations, the prohibition on indiscriminate means and methods of warfare, humane treatment of prisoners of war, special protection of children and proper and dignified management of the dead, as well as the protection of the environment.

There are many operational challenges facing these humanitarian principles in contemporary armed conflicts in the Muslim world. Addressing these challenges in a way that shows how humanitarian principles are shared across cultures, legal schools, war and history is necessary to sustain life and alleviate suffering. It’s a practical and pragmatic approach that we have adopted to preserve even a bare minimum of humanity in armed conflict. It is an approach that seeks to safeguard not just life, but also human dignity.

Why Scotland’s ‘no’ to independence is good news for peace in the Asia-Pacific

Referendum Day IIThe independence referendum in my native land has attracted more attention on this side of the world than I would have imagined. Separatist movements in the region are studying the Scottish example to see what can be learned, while Indonesian commentators have lauded the UK’s ability to cope with separatist movements peacefully and democratically. But there’s another lesson Scotland offers the region, and it’s not as obvious as the above.

The French used to have a saying ‘fier comme un ecossais’—‘proud like a Scotsman’—and there’s no question that had the referendum been purely about national pride, the ‘yes’ campaign would’ve won handily. According to the Scottish Social Attitudes survey, 49% of Scots self-identify as either exclusively or predominantly Scottish, whereas a mere 11% self-identify as either exclusively or predominantly British. Recognizing that, the ‘no’ campaign made little attempt to stress British identity as a reason to vote against independence.

But the Scots did vote against independence, and convincingly so. Why? Well, the clue lies in another Scottish Social Attitudes study. That study asked groups of voters whether they’d be in favour of Scottish independence if it made them better or worse off by £500 (approximately AU$920). This relatively small amount of money was sufficient to produce a whopping 70% majority against independence in the ‘worse off’ case versus a 52% majority in favour of independence in the ‘better off’ case. Read more