Social Movements and Referendums from Below: Direct Democracy in the Neoliberal Crisis 9781447333425

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SOCIAL MOVEMENTS AND REFERENDUMS FROM BELOW Direct democracy in the neoliberal crisis

Donatella della Porta Francis O’Connor Martin Portos Anna Subirats Ribas

SOCIAL MOVEMENTS AND REFERENDUMS FROM BELOW Direct democracy in the neoliberal crisis Donatella della Porta, Francis O’Connor, Martín Portos and Anna Subirats Ribas

First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Policy Press North America office: University of Bristol Policy Press 1-9 Old Park Hill c/o The University of Chicago Press Bristol 1427 East 60th Street BS2 8BB Chicago, IL 60637, USA UK t: +1 773 702 7700 t: +44 (0)117 954 5940 f: +1 773-702-9756 [email protected] [email protected] www.policypress.co.uk www.press.uchicago.edu © Policy Press 2017 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 978-1-4473-3341-8 hardcover ISBN 978-1-4473-3343-2 ePub ISBN 978-1-4473-3344-9 Mobi ISBN 978-1-4473-3342-5 ePdf The right of Donatella della Porta, Francis O’Connor, Martín Portos and Anna Subirats Ribas to be identified as authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of Policy Press. The statements and opinions contained within this publication are solely those of the authors and not of the University of Bristol or Policy Press. The University of Bristol and Policy Press disclaim responsibility for any injury to persons or property resulting from any material published in this publication. Policy Press works to counter discrimination on grounds of gender, race, disability, age and sexuality. Cover design by Policy Press Front cover image: www.alamy.com Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY Policy Press uses environmentally responsible print partners

Contents Notes on contributors v Acknowledgements vii one two three four five six

Referendums from below: an introduction 1 The context of the referendums from below: 39 a tale of three crises The organisational strategies of movements 69 in referendums from below Framing strategies in referendums from below 99 Expanding the comparison: the water referendum in Italy 129 Referendums from below: some reflections 157

List of interviewees Notes References Index

183 185 191 217

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Notes on contributors Donatella della Porta is Professor of Political Science and Dean of

the Institute for Humanities and the Social Sciences at the Scuola Normale Superiore in Florence, where she directs the PhD programme in Political Science and sociology as well as the Centre on Social Movement Studies (Cosmos). She directs among others, a major European Research Council project, ‘Mobilizing for Democracy’, on civil society participation in democratisation processes in Europe, the Middle East, Asia and Latin America. Among her most recent publications are: Social movements in times of austerity (Polity, 2014); Methodological practices in social movement research (Oxford University Press, 2014); Spreading protest (with Alice Mattoni, ECPR Press, 2014); Participatory democracy in Southern Europe (with Joan Font and Yves Sintomer, Rowman & Littlefield, 2014); Mobilizing for democracy (Oxford University Press, 2014); Can democracy be saved? (Polity Press, 2013); Clandestine political violence (Cambridge University Press, 2013); Blackwell encyclopaedia on social and political movements (edited with D. Snow, B. Klandermans and D. McAdam, Blackwell, 2013); Mobilizing on the extreme right (with M. Caiani and C. Wagemann, Oxford University Press, 2012); Meeting democracy (edited with D. Rucht, Cambridge University Press, 2012); The hidden order of corruption (with A. Vannucci, Ashgate, 2012). In 2011, she was the recipient of the Mattei Dogan Prize for distinguished achievements in the field of political sociology and PhD honoris causa from the universities of Lausanne, Bucharest and Goteborg. Francis O’Connor is a post-doctoral researcher at Aarhus University

working on the PRIME project focusing on Lone Actor Extremism. His broad research interests are civil wars and contentious politics, along with a particular interest in the overlap between social movements and political violence. He completed his PhD at the European University Institute in Florence in 2014 with a thesis titled, ‘Armed social movements and insurgency. The PKK and its communities of support’. He has published articles on the PKK, anti-austerity politics in Europe, and trade union mobilisation in South Africa.

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Social movements and referendums from below

Martín Portos is a postdoctoral Research Fellow at the Centre on

Social Movements (Cosmos), Scuola Normale Superiore (Florence). He completed a PhD in Political and Social Sciences at the European University Institute (EUI) in February 2017, with a thesis focused on anti-austerity protests in southern Europe. His research interests include political participation, social movements, democratic attitudes, institutions and nationalism. He holds a BA (Hons) in Political Science from the University of Santiago de Compostela (Regional and National Award for Excellence in Academic Performance, 2011), an MSc in Politics Research from the University of Oxford and an MRes from the EUI. He has participated in different international projects and his contributions have featured in various international outlets. Anna Subirats Ribas is a PhD candidate at the European University

Institute and member of the Centre on Social Movements Studies (Cosmos). She holds a degree in Geography from Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, an MSc in Urban Studies from University College London, and an MRes from the European University Institute. Her research focuses on the themes of social movements, urban governance and contentious politics in processes of urban transformation. She has collaborated on the ERC project Mobilizing for Democracy directed by Donatella della Porta and recently published in The Oxford handbook of social movements (2016) edited by Donatella della Porta and Mario Diani.

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Acknowledgements The research project reported in this volume sprang from a theoretical and an empirical interest. From the theoretical point of view, we aimed at bridging a gap between social movement studies and studies of direct democracy, which seemed to us a most urgent task at a time when disappointment with existing representative institutions motivated increased demands for political participation. From the empirical point of view, within our research on contentious politics in times of austerity, we had noted that on several occasions the politics of the streets had been accompanied by a deep transformation in electoral politics. The Advanced Scholars’ grant from the European Research Council for Donatella della Porta’s project on ‘Mobilizing for Democracy’ has offered the resources required to carry out empirical research. We would like to express our sincere appreciation to the many people who helped in various ways with the Scottish and the Catalan research for the book. Special thanks to Angela Daly and all her friends, Mario Diani, Emmanuel Dalle Mulle and all of our interviewees who were so generous with their time. On the Italian case, we have learned a lot from Matteo Cernison and Tommaso Fattori. We also want to thank Javier Alcalde, Daniela Chironi and Diego Muro for their helpful suggestions in different chapters. Our work was stimulated by our colleagues and friends in the vibrant environment of the Centre on Social Movement Studies (Cosmos), which, at the time of the research, moved from the European University Institute to the Scuola Normale Superiore in Florence. Some ideas for the introduction developed during a stay by Donatella della Porta at the Hertie School of Governance in Berlin. As on many previous occasions, Sarah Tarrow has helped us in the communication of our thoughts and of the research results.

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ONE

Referendums from below: an introduction

Social movements and referendums: an introduction The Great Recession that hit Europe in 2008 can be seen as a critical juncture, triggering not only socioeconomic but also political transformations. In the area hardest hit by the financial crisis, particularly in the European periphery, waves of protest challenged the austerity policies adopted by national governments, under heavy pressure from lending institutions including the European Central Bank, the European Union (EU) and the International Monetary Fund. These protest waves – often defined as indignados or occupy movements – simultaneously reflected and strengthened a legitimacy crisis, triggered by the manifest lack of responsibility taken by political institutions for the suffering of their citizens (della Porta, 2015). Protests took different forms in different countries, influenced as they were by the specific timing and characteristics of the financial crisis as well as the domestic political opportunities and threats for social movements (della Porta et al, 2016). These protests also had immediate and often dramatic effects on the party systems, fuelling not only the breakdown of mainstream parties but also the rapid (and unexpected) development of movement parties (della Porta et al, 2017). This political tumult affected not only local, but also national and European elections. Social movements also exploited windows of opportunity offered by institutions of direct democracy, in particular through referendums that were sponsored or infiltrated ‘from below’. Several of these ‘referendums from below’ took place in Europe during the Great Recession. Nationalism became a particular focus of discussion, with the referendums on Scottish independence as well as the pseudo-referendum for Catalonian independence. Notwithstanding their very different institutional settings, the processes had several characteristics in common. Both showed that late neoliberalism had challenged citizens’ loyalty to representative institutions, but also that dissatisfaction triggered political activism rather than apathy. In particular, in both cases, we observe a trade-off between political elites

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and social movement actors that sought to exploit the campaigns to advance their aspirations. While Scottish political elites called for the referendum, social movement organisations appropriated the campaign in order to promote their vision of a more socially just and democratic society. In Catalonia, social movement actors launched a campaign on self-determination and independence. As it unfolded, it brought institutional actors and political elites together with other civil society actors. Movements’ participation in referendum campaigns broadened the repertoires of action in addition to introducing innovative forms of organisation. At the same time, other referendums were triggered by social movements that had mobilised against austerity and/or were infiltrated by anti-austerity actors in order to oppose neoliberal policies such as bank bailouts (in Iceland), international treaties imposing austerity (as in Greece), or the privatisation of the water supply (in Italy). In these cases, referendum campaigns took on particular dynamics, with enlarged participation ‘from below’, that is, from civil society and social movements mobilising from the bottom up. In light of the political and social consequences of the Great Recession in Europe, this volume focuses on these referendums from below. We have defined them as referendums that are promoted or at least see a large commitment by civil society actors – other than the traditional intermediary institutions of representation (for example, unions, parties, church and so on) or governments. In this endeavour, the book aims at bridging social movement studies with research in the field of direct democracy which, although of great relevance for contentious politics, has nonetheless developed quite separately until now. Abrogative referendums and citizens’ initiatives are the most common forms of referendums from below, but our definition also extends to include instances in which other types of referendum campaigns instituted by institutional actors are appropriated and/or subverted by civil society and social movement organisations. Typically, these include a strong commitment to inclusivity and deliberation, encouraging mass participation. In particular, a strong connection has to be made between research on social movements and research on referendums. Before delving deeper into this linkage, three points should be raised. First, a terminological clarification is needed. Even though the term ‘plebiscite’ has traditionally been used to refer to a popular vote addressing sovereignty disputes over territories, it might lead to terminological confusion as it has been ‘too often used to refer to some kind of popular vote in authoritarian and non-democratic settings

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Referendums from below: an introduction

where there is no free and real competition’ (Uleri, 1996: 2–4; see also Panebianco, 1991). Hence, we stick to the term referendum throughout. The referendum phenomenon ‘is characterized by the opportunity for electors to participate in a decision-making process by voting on an issue more or less specific and determined’ (Uleri, 1996: 2). While there are very different types of referendums, some used as an instrument of the elites rather than of the challengers, there are also several potential linkages between referendum politics and contentious politics. A second observation is that the legal status and configuration of constitutional provisions in the context in which a referendum takes place are important for understanding what type of mobilisation, campaigns, claims, actors, interactions and organisational settings may develop around them. There is a great deal of variation in terms of constitutional provisions across Western democracies (for an overview, see Gallagher, 1996: 226–9; Qvortrup, 2014c: 44–51). While some countries have constitutional provisions for citizen-initiated referendums (for example, Italy) and, even further, citizen-initiated legislation (for example, Liechtenstein), others do not have any provisions at all (for example, Belgium). In general terms, neither Spain nor the United Kingdom (UK) ranks among the top countries in terms of the total number of referendums and initiatives historically organised within democratic settings, with 11 and 10, respectively. Countries such as Italy and Luxembourg had held 76 and 99 referendums and initiatives by 2013, respectively, while the number in Switzerland reached almost 600, making direct democracy a defining feature of the Swiss political system (see Trechsel and Kriesi, 1996; Qvortrup, 2014c: 44–6; Serdült, 2014).1 At the same time, there are different logics behind different types of initiatives and referendums, as Qvortrup (2014c: 52–6; see also Uleri, 1996) has observed. Hence, the nature of the context and its impact on referendums largely depends on the type of popular vote that takes place. First, referendums in democratic countries are often called to resolve momentous political gridlock. In particular, they can be called to face a given difficult situation in order to gain a new mandate, as a safeguard against an unpopular decision – for instance, when Icelandic President Ólafur R. Grimsson refused to enact the so-called Icesave bill, forcing a referendum on the parliament’s decision to approve the loan agreement obtained by the Landsbanki bank in 2010 (and then again in 2011), which was refused by a majority of Icelanders. Second, facultative referendums typically take place for tactical reasons, in order to resolve internal tensions within the governing party or coalition. Thus, facultative referendums are more likely to take place when

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elites are divided (as was the case for the Brexit referendum). Third, constitutional referendums, depending on the legal provisions, are called with a view to implementing a constitutional change. Fourth, initiatives and citizen-initiated referendums are the result of massive pressures built up outside – and within – the political system, which push for a change in the established order (see Qvortrup, 2014c: 52–6). Last but not least, a third observation is indeed that referendums, and especially those promoted by citizens, have increased in number, spreading beyond the traditional countries considered as champions of direct democracy. As de Vreese (2007a: 1) noted, ‘Direct democracy is popular. Across the world referendums and citizen initiatives are an increasingly important means of enacting or preventing legislation.’ As for national referendums, half of the 800 counted between 1793 and 1994 were held after 1970; a similar evolution has been noted for sub-national referendums (Bjørklund, 2009). In parallel, half of the 543 national referendums in Switzerland between 1848 and 2006 have taken place since the 1970s (Kriesi and Bernhard, 2014). A high frequency of constitutional issues has been noted in the former Communist countries as a consequence of the fall of the Soviet Union and allied regimes (Qvortrup, 2014a); a similar trend can be observed with regard to the specific subset of referendums on territorial independence (Qvortrup, 2014d). In the 1990s, there were 596 nationwide referendums in the world. Although the number fell to 440 in the following decade, more referendums have still been held in the first decade of the 21st century than in the 1980s, when only 327 referendums took place (Qvortrup, 2014a: 247). Additionally, the increase in the use of direct democracy is to a large degree voter driven, as direct democratic procedures have often been initiated by demands from voters (Bjørklund, 2009: 120). In sum, ‘the surge in the use of referendums began during the early 1970s. This surge was mainly voter driven’ (Bjørklund, 2009: 132). The increasing use of referendums has been explained by similar structural and environmental conditions to those that affect broader social movement developments. First of all, referendums are more frequent in democracies, and are indeed statistically associated with the degree of democracy (Altman, 2011: 69–70). Their relevance in the last few decades has also been seen, however, as a response to the need for a reconfiguration of government, in light of increasing dissatisfaction with the ways representative institutions work (Altman, 2011). Direct democracy is linked to a search for alternative (or at least additional) channels of legitimation for democratic institutions when electoral accountability has become less convincing. Not by chance, ‘New Politics came into existence at the beginning of the 1970s, just

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as a surge in the number of referendums occurred in some US states, as well as in Switzerland and Italy’ (Bjørklund, 2009: 133). There was, in fact, ‘a connection between the combination of cross-cutting cleavages and voter de-alignment as both New Politics issues and some issues of referendums cut across traditional cleavages’ (Bjørklund, 2009: 133). At the individual level, as well, the supporters of referendums tend to be ‘more numerous within the periphery of politics’ (Bjørklund, 2009), but there is also a larger interest in direct democracy among the more educated. Moreover, research has indicated that while in the past plebiscites were especially sponsored by right-wing parties, ‘the strongest advocates of more direct forms of participation and democracy are mainly to be found among political parties and politicians of the left’ (Michels, 2009: 71–2). There are reasons of principle, as well as of opportunity, that make referendum arenas potentially hospitable for social movement activities. With regard to normative principles, referendums are indeed a main mechanism of direct democracy, having been defined as ‘a public recognized institution wherein citizens decide or emit their opinion on issues – other than through legislative and executive elections – directly at the ballot box through universal and secret suffrage’ (Altman, 2011: 7). As such, they have been praised for allowing citizens to remain important actors between one election and the next, thus being resonant with the conception of participatory democracy promoted by social movements (della Porta, 2013). In fact, social movements have been said to defend an ‘ancient’ conception of democracy, at the core of which is the direct participation of the citizens. Referendums have often been conceived as instruments for a participatory, and under some conditions, even deliberative democratic conception that resonates with the one put forward by progressive movements. Both popular initiatives, oriented to promote new policies, and abrogative referendums give citizens some policy-controlling capacity. They can ‘contribute to transparent and deliberative political processes and to governmental accountability. […] Popular initiatives substitute responsiveness lacking among political elites by articulating issues and proposing innovative or neglected policy options with the threat of a referendum vote’ (Schiller, 2009: 211). Referendums can be all the more relevant given the challenges to other forms of institutional participation. Looking at constitutional referendums, Tierney (2012: 9) noted that ‘a shift in political attitudes has taken place, the effect of which has been to make the citizens either more confident in their ability to make key policy decisions or less confident in the ability of their elected representatives to do so’.

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As Laurent Bernhard (2012: 199) argues, ‘giving people more voice is widely considered a promising remedy against the current crisis of democracy’. Faced with a decline of trust in the political system, referendums have been considered as a mechanism of synchronisation between politicians and citizens (Altman, 2011: 197), thereby helping to fill the gap between an increasing interest in politics and the decline of conventional forms of participation (Tierney, 2012: 302). They serve as ‘institutionalized, sporadic, safety valves of political pressure’ (Altman, 2011: 198). Moreover, ‘it appears – though evidence is difficult to come by – that countries with more referendums have suffered lower levels of political distrust in the political elites’ (Qvortrup, 2014b: 13). This is also the case for citizens’ initiatives that have sometimes been successful in putting pressure on decision makers (Setälä and Schiller, 2012). As Fatke (2015: 99) summarised: The introduction and extension of direct democratic instruments currently enjoy growing interest and enthusiasm in both public and scientific debate. In addition to policy-oriented analyses, more and more positive indirect consequences for citizens are revealed: Direct democracy is supposed to increase electoral participation […], political knowledge […], efficacy […], trust in institutions […], social engagement […], and, in fact, happiness […]. Not surprisingly direct democratic institutions are expected to be a promising remedy against the democratic and political malaise. A more instrumental reason that might attract the attention of challengers towards referendums is the openness of the campaign arena built around them. The importance of the campaigns for referendums has in fact often been stressed (see, for example, Kriesi, 2012a). By focusing attention on political decisions, referendums can provide opportunities for the articulation of new ideas. The reception of arguments is influenced by the degree of awareness (Zaller, 1992; Alvarez and Brehm, 2002). Hence, the acceptance of an argument is related to the extent that citizens are knowledgeable about political affairs (Zaller, 1992). At the same time, political awareness is influenced by individual predispositions, contextual intensity and issue familiarity. Moreover, issue-specific awareness is influenced by the mobilisation effort by political elites, defined as all actors who contribute to the public debate by speaking in the public sphere (Kriesi, 2005: 9). This definition also encompasses the social

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Referendums from below: an introduction

movements and civil society organisations central to referendums from below. Campaign intensity and issue familiarity increase the relevance of arguments, as voters tend to rely on the arguments themselves rather than on pre-existing political alignments and rivalries. Especially, there is a propensity for intense campaigns that are able to draw attention to the arguments supported by the opposition (Kriesi, 2005: 177), which is traditionally marginalised in the public sphere. Political elites play a crucial role, but when elites are divided, there is an element of unpredictability. As Kriesi (2005: 239) noted: as long as the elite speak with many voices, as long as there is a conflict among the elite, as long as the elite form clearly structured coalitions and provide a diversity of arguments for the diverging points of view, the direct-democratic process does not risk falling into the populist trap. Indeed, as research included in this volume indicates, under some conditions social movements promote referendums or appropriate referendums initiated by the institutional political actors, introducing their specific campaign strategies and issue framing, and thus subverting the initial logic and intention of referendum campaigns. Notwithstanding these potential and actual overlaps, the field of research on referendums has been quite impermeable to social movement studies, and vice versa. Social movement studies have often stressed the importance of political institutions as defining opportunities and constraints for contentious politics. While petitions and referendums have been considered as a potential addition to repertoires of contention and the presence of institutions of direct democracy as an indicator of open opportunities for challengers (for example, Kriesi et al, 1995; Braun and Hutter, 2016), no major work is available in social movement studies on the conditions under which referendums are called, or penetrated, from below. Regarding studies on referendums, this field has largely considered three actors – elites (mainly political parties), media and citizens – usually treating the latter as the dependent variable. Research on communication during referendums has focused on either producers (such as politicians, institutions, journalists) or receivers (citizens) (Kriesi, 2012a), but little to no attention has been paid to citizens as producers of messages. Much research on referendums follows Zaller (1992; cited in Sciarini et al, 2007: 235) in expecting that ‘the formation and change of individual opinions are driven by the political messages delivered by the elite’, as ‘political awareness (or attentiveness), that is,

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the degree of a citizen’s knowledge of or information about politics, plays the key role in the reception and acceptance of communications from the political elite’. The salience of the issue at stake has in fact been considered as a strong predictor of participation (affecting especially the marginally committed), related as it is to political elites’ commitment to mobilisation in the campaign. Kriesi (2007: 126), in particular, has observed that it is in fact exactly the enduring role of the elites that is supposed to placate the anxiety of those who are afraid that referendums as occasions for participation give too much leverage to ignorant citizens. So, he notes: As far as the sceptics are concerned, we first note that they seem to underestimate the role of the elites. […] In other words, it is somewhat misplaced to deplore the lack of civism on the part of the citizens, if most of them do not participate in a vote. It is, as our results show, up to the elites to mobilize the citizens. If the elites do not mobilize, the citizens will not participate, because they lack awareness and motivation to do so. (Kriesi, 2007: 137) With regard to the intensity of the political messages delivered by the elites, it is expected that, no matter its direction, it: has important consequences for the cognitive strategies used by voters. In short, intense campaigns increase both the quantity of information delivered to voters and the incentives to search for information. […] [W]hen the level of campaign intensity is low, information about the election is scarce and voters have little incentive to make complicated judgments. (Sciarini et al, 2007: 236) Moreover, self-selection is expected to reduce the participation of those who are less competent and interested (usually, the least educated), as interest remains the strongest predictor of participation in direct democracy at the individual level. In referendums, as in other electoral behaviour, the main individual characteristics which influence participation are the political capacities or resources and the political motivation or interest (Kriesi, 2007). In particular, party attachment and institutional trust in government tend to increase participation in direct democratic forms (Mottier, 1993: 126). Yet, as party membership

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Referendums from below: an introduction

continues its dramatic decline, the number of referendums continues to grow across the Western world. Without addressing the democratic qualities of the entire (and heterogeneous) varieties of referendums, in this volume, we shall focus on the role that social movements (as missing players in research on referendums) have played in some specific referendums, and on the effects of their participation. As mentioned, our focus will be in particular on the institutional transformations linked to the Great Recession in Europe. Consequently, we show that a cross-fertilisation between referendums and social movement studies could be fruitful at both the theoretical and empirical levels. In particular, rooting our analysis within studies of contention, we suggest that research on referendums can be enriched if, using the toolkit of social movement studies, we analyse appropriation of opportunities and resource mobilisation, as well as their framing, as important mechanisms in (some) referendum campaigns. From research on referendums, social movement scholars interested in direct democracy can learn about the normative trade-offs of direct democracy, but also, empirically, about the different legal opportunities for referendum politics, the strategic use of referendums by the elites and the motivations for participation at the micro level. In what follows, we discuss the potential, from a normative point of view, of social movements’ involvement in referendum campaigns. Using concepts from social movement studies, we will then reflect on the campaign repertoires as well as framing in ‘referendums from below’.

Normative conceptions of democracy, social movements and referendums According to the optimistic scenario, referendums supplement parliamentary accountability because they allow people to challenge representative decision making on an issue-by-issue basis. In particular, referendums held as ex post checks on parliamentary decision making (abrogative and rejective referendums) as well as popular initiatives may provide extra opportunities for citizens to challenge the decisions made and the justifications given by the representatives. However, according to the pessimistic scenario, referendums undermine the accountability of representatives. Referendums initiated by governmental authorities are, in particular, sometimes used to avoid

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electoral accountability by removing an inconvenient issue from the electoral agenda. […] [R]eferendums may weaken accountability understood in the deliberative sense because the representatives may evade the responsibility of giving public justifications for decisions by going along with the result of a referendum. (Setälä, 2009: 9–10) As Setälä noted in the quote above, direct democracy, as put forward in referendums, resonates with some aspects of democratic norms as promoted by progressive social movements. Normative theories of democracy have emphasised the significance of principles of equality in the capacity to influence decision makers, as well as the importance of autonomy in opinion formation among citizens. Some degree of equality is considered as an important precondition for the participation of the demos. Regarding the movements of the 1970s, Herbert Kitschelt noted that: the struggle of the left libertarian movements thus invoke[s] an ancient element of democratic theory that calls for an organisation of collective decision-making referred to in varying ways as classical, populist, communitarian, strong, grassroots or direct democracy, against a democratic practice in contemporary democracies labeled as realist, liberal, elitist, republican, or representative democracy. (1993: 15) Against a liberal democracy based on delegation to representatives who may be periodically controlled only at elections, but legitimated to take decisions between one election and the next, progressive social movements have affirmed that citizens, naturally interested in politics, must directly assume the task of intervening in political decisions. As carriers of a participatory conception of democracy, movements also criticise the monopoly of mediation through mass parties and a ‘strong’ structuration of interests, aiming to shift policy making towards more visible and controllable places. Democracy as self-management has been much discussed among social movements in various historical periods (della Porta, 2013). Investigating recent movements, Francesca Polletta stressed that activists: expected each other to provide legitimate reasons for preferring one option to another. They strove to recognize the merits of each other’s reasons for favouring a particular option […] the goal was not unanimity, so much as

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Referendums from below: an introduction

discourse. But it was a particular kind of discourse, governed by norms of openness and mutual respect. (2002: 7) As instruments of participation and, potentially, of deliberation, referendums could be considered as resonant with progressive social movements’ conceptions and practices (della Porta, 2013). In particular, anti-austerity protests have elaborated a specific vision of the participatory and deliberative conception of democracy that has been epitomised by the so-called acampadas. In the protest camps, a very horizontal and egalitarian model of participation aimed at the inclusion of the large part of the population (the ‘99%’), through the transformation of the occupied squares into open-air (open to all and transparent) arenas for deliberation (della Porta, 2015). While referendums, as mechanisms of direct democracy, should fit this model, there are several caveats. There is indeed an open debate on the empirical capacity of referendums to improve democratic quality, and empirical research is inconclusive in its results. A first question refers to the participatory quality of referendums. Defining direct democracy as a sort of umbrella term that includes various forms through which ordinary citizens vote directly on policy matters, Hobolt (2009) observed that while those who promote direct democracy often stress citizen engagement, scholars of voting behaviour point out that voters lack the type of interest and knowledge which are needed in order to make reasoned decisions in elections. A main argument against citizens’ participation is that citizens are poorly informed, lack the qualifications to make important decisions and are cognitively incompetent. Additionally, citizens might use referendums as secondary elections to express their opinions about the government. According to Mark Franklin (2002: 756), ‘on matters of low saliency to voters, a referendum called by government and opposed by opposition parties should generally be seen as a test of the standing of that government rather than as a test of support for the policy nominally at issue’. In partial contrast, a populist paradox has been cited, with referendum results influenced especially by the wealthy – who are more likely not only to take part as electors in referendums, but also to fund campaigns and therefore to influence the results. As Thomas E. Cronin (1989: 226) bluntly puts it in his study on direct democracy in the United States, ‘the side with more money too often gets to define the issue and structure the debate in an unbalanced way’. Additionally, scholars have feared the ‘tyranny of the majority’, as responsiveness to the preferences of the majority can reduce the quality of deliberation. In fact, theorists of deliberative democracy

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have at times been critical of direct democracy, pointing at the difficulty in reconciling mass participation and deliberation (Setälä, 2009). Furthermore, citizens might have little incentive to invest in informing themselves, and the deliberative quality of referendum campaigns is constrained by the limited access to the public sphere, especially the media (Setälä, 2009). Polarisation rather than deliberation might also emerge from very heated campaigns. The majoritarian forms of decision making in referendums have also been considered more consonant with a conservative than with a progressive vision of democracy. Finally, as the act of casting a vote in a referendum is secret, voters would not need to publicly justify their choices, as required of MPs. In short: direct democracy processes have not brought about rule by the common people. […] Direct democracy devices occasionally permit those who are motivated and interested in public policy issues to have a direct personal input by recording their vote, but this is a long way from claiming that direct democracy gives a significant voice to ordinary citizens on a regular basis. That early claim was considerably overstated. (Cronin, 1989: 225) Notwithstanding these caveats, empirical research on referendums has suggested a more optimistic, or at least varied, scenario. Confronted with the fear that referendums might be hijacked by the most powerful, Maduz (2010) recalled that research indicated that voters are quite competent and the relationship between money and power is not as strong as it is often suggested. Direct democracy might even enhance citizens’ political interest and their competence. First and foremost, referendums challenge arguments by Schumpeter (1943) and others that citizens are unable to understand political complexities and formulate sound opinions, building instead on the idea that participation and deliberation have to be (at least) added to representative and majoritarian institutions (Barber, 1984; Fishkin, 1997). In fact, this conclusion has fuelled the expectation by participatory and deliberative theorists that ‘people may become more competent and responsible if they are allowed to participate in public deliberation and actual decision making’ (Setälä, 2009: 3). On these issues, literature on referendums has stressed the trade-offs between different democratic qualities, and therefore also the opportunities and risks that referendums provide. Direct forms of democracy are said to empower the citizens

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Referendums from below: an introduction

by increasing their sense of civic duty as well as their political efficacy (Smith and Tolbert, 2004: 33), in addition to providing for ‘education in democratic citizenship’ (Dyck, 2009: 540). It has been argued that citizens are indeed interested and capable of casting a well-reasoned vote. Additionally, public debates are formative and, therefore, participation produces better citizens. Some research has also indicated beneficial consequences for the many, as well as better macroeconomic performances, better public services, lower public debt. What is more, research has stressed the legitimising capacity and integrative functions of referendums (Caciagli and Uleri, 1994; Ranney, 1994; Uleri, 1994; Papadopoulos, 2001). Referendums would indeed serve as a laboratory of democracy, as: Endowed with the possibility and responsibility of direct law-making, citizens internalize the civic duty to participate in politics. In that process, they experience their efficacy and become active citizens. Besides, citizens in direct democracies are frequently and immediately exposed to political information since politics is constantly (and not only during election season) on the agenda. (Fatke, 2015: 103) Turnout in referendums is explained by a set of variables similar to the one that explains turnout in normal elections – demographic (education, income, age, length of residence in a community, ethnicity) as well as political variables (such as political interest, knowledge and competence) – being the two forms of electoral participation indeed highly correlated with each other (Neijens et al, 2007). Much research has noted that, even if electors at times use referendums as secondary elections in order to punish their governments (Franklin, 2002), they tend to be able to make well informed, or at least reasonable, choices (Hobolt, 2009). Referendums have been presented as potential second-order elections. Voters tend indeed to vote following their ideological beliefs and are also capable of distinguishing between propaganda and information (Bernhard, 2012), being ‘smarter than they are often given credit for’. In summary, as Hobolt (2009: ch. 6) noted, citizens vote in a competent way, by taking cues from parties and relying on available information. Similarly, Mendelsohn and Cutler (2000: 698) concluded that: 1. Citizens learn as referendum campaigns progress; this learning is limited, but takes place even among the most

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poorly informed segments of the electorate. 2. Voters do not claim to be more politicized as the campaign progresses; however, they do pay closer attention to the media. This behaviour, which suggests increased interest, contributed to the observed learning. 3. Referendums do little (but not nothing) to combat low political efficacy. […] 4. Referendum campaigns do not provoke an increase in intolerant attitudes. Referendums have also been said to improve the quality of decisions. There is in fact some empirical evidence that ‘direct democratic procedures lead to public policy that is more responsive to voter preferences’ (Maduz, 2010: 10). With regard to responsiveness, referendums work on the ideal of popular self-government, helping to ‘correct misrepresentations of the majority will on individual issues’ (Setälä, 2009: 7). The presence of the referendum device increases the checks and balances in institutional arrangements, allowing representative and direct democracy to combine. In doing so, they: can help to increase accountability as well as responsiveness: the opportunity to articulate preferences on different single issues helps to attenuate possible misrepresentation resulting from elections. Furthermore, the representatives can be held even more accountable when there is a possibility of ‘correcting’ decisions on issues that do not match the citizens’ preferences. (Sager and Bühlmann, 2009) Given that the influence of political parties is reduced, referendums can thus offer ex-post accountability checks, through discursive challenge (Sager and Bühlmann, 2009: 202). Referendums are expected to give citizens a direct influence on public decisions, as: [I]n a multi-party parliamentary democracy, a voter may vote for a party because he or she agrees with a number of opinions in its programme, but the voter will never know whether the party in question will enter government and whether it will be able to transform these opinions into policy. The different steps in the process of representation make it impossible for voters to have a real influence on decision making. (Michels, 2009: 71)

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Referendums from below: an introduction

Participation through referendums has often been praised as a way to increase accountability, especially with the weakening of other channels of institutional access. In particular, it has been noted that, faced with the challenges to representative democracy, direct democracy might respond to citizens’ demands for more participatory forms of citizen action, via referendums or popular initiatives. In fact, ‘There are hopes that these kinds of instruments could compensate for the loss of democratic accountability – and, consequently, democratic selfgovernment in modern political systems’ (Setälä, 2009: 4). Additionally, since in many instances the franchise is extended to younger voters and non-citizen residents – as was the case in both Scotland and Catalonia – referendums can be viewed as more democratic and accountable. Referendums are praised as increasing legitimacy in the face of declining trust in institutions but also changes in society, because ‘in a modern society with highly educated and well-informed citizens, citizens should be taken more seriously and given more direct influence’ (Michels, 2009: 71). Deliberative democracy has been seen as a way to overcome the problems of a (simply) majoritarian form of preference aggregation through the debate, based on justification of arguments and positions. In this perspective, referendums can be seen as opportunities: When it comes to the ideal of public deliberation, the optimistic scenario is based on the view that referendum campaigns are forums for public deliberation on political issues. Indeed, referendum campaigns may encourage public deliberation on policy alternatives more than electoral campaigns because they are, by their nature, more focused on political issues than on political actors (parties and candidates) and their images. […] From this perspective, referendums could be used as supplementary representative systems by activating public debate on contested issues. In particular, referendums initiated by citizens (popular initiatives and citizen-initiated abrogative and rejective referendums) have the potentiality to instigate deliberation on those issues that are contested among the citizens. (Setälä, 2009: 7, 9) The pros and cons of referendums are often discussed, by scholars as well as by the public. Empirically, it has been noted that referendum campaigns often imply a meta-debate on the advantages and disadvantages of direct democracy. On the positive side, referendum

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supporters see it ‘as an instrument by which citizens can recall decisions made by politicians. As such, it forces politicians to listen to the people and take their opinions into account, and thus could bridge the gap between politicians and citizens’ (Michels, 2009: 71). Others believe that the referendum undermines representative democracy, as it challenges the knowledge of politicians; according to this view, holding a referendum is a sign of the incompetence of politicians, favouring populism. Moreover, critics fear that rather than balancing preferences, referendum campaigns will have a polarising impact. In fact, as research has highlighted, the qualities of each referendum vary with the institutional design but also with the political and social dynamics in which it is embedded (see, for example, Gallagher, 1996; Uleri, 1996; Qvortrup, 2014b). It is therefore particularly interesting to examine to what extent and through what mechanisms social movements can affect, through their participation, both the participatory and the deliberative qualities of referendums, or the lack thereof.

Referendums as opportunities for movements In a referendum, the campaign itself is frequently more important than in ordinary partisan or candidate elections. The dynamics of a referendum campaign can be harder to anticipate than those of an election and the participation of the electorate varies more widely. Context is all important. The political and economic circumstances in which the vote takes place, the images that voters hold of the groups and individuals involved and their reactions to the specific discourse of the campaign, can be as important to the voting decision as opinions on the actual ballot question. While longer-term factors such as partisanship or ideology can also be of considerable importance to the voting decision, the short-term impact of campaign strategies and tactics is often critical in determining the outcome, especially where, as in the case of the EU Constitution, the issue(s) of the referendum are new or unfamiliar to most voters (LeDuc, 2007: 29). The openness of referendum campaigns is indeed very important for social movements that need to challenge existing institutions, producing cracks (or turning points) in the system. Research on social movement studies has focused on political opportunities, understood as both the contingent availability of potential allies (their dispositions and strength) and more stable channels of access to political institutions (mainly functional and territorial divisions of power) (see della Porta and Diani, 2006: ch. 7, for a review). The main assumption has been that the opening of political opportunities influences collective

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Referendums from below: an introduction

mobilisation and its forms, as rational activists tend to invest in collective action when their effort seems worthwhile. Broadly tested in cross-national (for example, della Porta, 1995; Kriesi et al, 1995) and cross-time (for example, Tarrow, 1989) perspectives, the political opportunity approach has suggested that protest is, by and large, more frequent and less radical when stable and/or contingent channels of access to institutions by outsiders are open. In fact, even in the face of economic crises and structural weakness of the economy affecting the lower classes, scholars have cited open political opportunities to explain the emergence of protest as well as its success (Tarrow, 2011). Mechanisms of direct democracy have been considered as additional channels of access to institutions, which contribute to moderate forms of contentious politics. However, research, mainly conducted in Switzerland and the United States, has questioned the idea that referendums increase the chances of movements’ success, as campaigns often appeared dominated by the actors with the most resources rather than by the ‘powerless’ (Kriesi, 2005). More recently, within a more dynamic perspective, research on the political context for contentious activities has moved from a consideration of opportunities as structurally derived, to a focus on the ways in which protest itself can create opportunities by challenging existing routines and destabilising elite coalitions. In this sense, during referendum campaigns, social movement actors can appropriate opportunities that are endogenously created if the status quo tends to be hostile to challengers. To varying extents, referendums break (or might break) with routines, opening new discursive spaces with the potential to challenge power relations. While not suggesting that all referendum campaigns are open to the participation of social movements, we will in this volume investigate what happens when there is an irruption of the unexpected and movements appropriate the opportunities offered by institutions of direct democracy. Research on referendums indicates that this type of consultation tends to be more open ended than normal elections, and therefore more influenced by developments in the referendum campaign. In fact, differently from normal electoral campaigns, in which political parties offer quite clear information cues to the voters, those provided for referendum campaigns are often more ambivalent, as they could be internally divided over the issue at stake, which can even restructure the party system. So, ‘while longer-term factors such as partisanship or ideology have been found to be important in national elections, the short-term impact of campaign strategies and tactics can make a

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substantial difference in determining the outcomes of referendums’ (de Vreese, 2007a: 1). However, both institutional design and political systems determine the extent to which referendums give power to the people or to the powerful (Altman, 2011: 191). First, different legal requirements for referendums can bring about different dynamics. As Setälä (2009: 4) has observed, even though referendums share the feature that citizens are called to vote on specific questions, ‘the concept of referendum refers to a wide range of institutions that give rise to a variety of political interactions. The most important factors in the design of referendum institutions are who initiates the referendum and who defines the issue to be voted upon.’ In fact, the holding of a referendum may be determined by a legal requirement or may be initiated by governments or other actors. Referendums have in fact been distinguished according to who the promoters are (the citizens through signatures, the political establishment, or legal regulations), as well as by their purposes (maintaining the status quo or changing it) and their effects (binding or not) (Altman, 2011: 9). Looking at the Swiss experience, Papadopoulos has noted two forms of referendums from below, abrogative referendums and popular initiatives: Optional referendums close the legislative process and thus seek to correct ‘sins of commission’, whereas initiatives open the process, attempting to correct the parliamentary majority’s ‘sins of omission’. Referendums result in ‘votes of control’, and initiatives result in ‘votes of promotion’. Besides their binding legal effects, the presence of these instruments has been shown to have an effect by influencing the elites to anticipate the referendums by negotiating, either ex-ante or ex-post, with potential opponents. (Papadopoulos, 2001: 36) Therefore, the strategies the different actors follow are important. While referendums initiated by governmental authorities are decisionpromoting, oriented for example to circumvent parliamentary procedures, there are also citizen-initiated referendum procedures, for example in the form of popular initiatives, as citizens develop a proposal that is submitted to a referendum vote, within a decisionpromoting logic. In fact: [A]lthough the referendum is commonly considered a majoritarian instrument, it can also serve as an instrument

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Referendums from below: an introduction

that limits the ability of the majority of the elected representatives to exercise power. It may serve both as a sword in the hands of a majority that seeks to push through or legitimize a particular policy initiative and as a shield that makes it more difficult to pass legislation. […] Both the sword and the shield logics are particularly appealing on issues that cut across the normal lines of party competition. (Sitter, 2009: 81) It has been suggested, in fact, that referendums may be initiated or followed by actors that address three potential goals: The first is avoidance of the need to make a decision in a certain framework. This may result from the fear that a decision might lead to a split within a unit whose cohesion the initiators and supporters of the referendum wish to sustain, be it a party, a coalition or party voters. The second is the addition of a decision-making forum to legitimize the decision and/or empower the initiator of the referendum. The third is a contradiction: blocking a majority decision or promoting a policy or reform that the majority in government and/or parliament rejects. (Rahat, 2009: 99) Governments also often utilise referendums in order to sow discord among opposition forces or to strengthen cohesion within parties. As Closa has outlined, referendums can serve as a means to ‘stop the erosion of government power’ (2007: 1318), as President Mitterrand did during the Maastricht referendum in 1992. Closa further explains that they can be utilised to achieve the ratification of a bill ‘in the absence of parliamentary majorities’ (2007: 1319). They can also serve to reconcile internal divisions around contentious issues, particularly in relation to issues of EU regulation (Closa, 2007: 1320). Closa’s final observation is the perfect template to understand the recent Brexit referendum in the UK. Conservative Party leader David Cameron, in an effort to win over Eurosceptic tendencies in the party, proposed a referendum on the issue. However, the perils of attempting to resolve intra-party tensions by a national referendum were confirmed when masses of disgruntled voters, many of them not Conservative supporters, chose to leave the EU. An issue of internal party management escalated to change not only the face of future British politics, but also potentially the fate of the entire EU.

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Social movements and referendums from below

Referendum campaigns vary in their capacity to interrupt routine politics, depending on their content, as opinions tend to be more volatile especially on emerging issues with weak party cues (LeDuc, 2007: 31). As mentioned above, the dynamics of the campaign are influenced by the degree of issue complexity and familiarity, the strength of formed opinions and also the degree of party ownership of an issue (Kriesi, 2012b). In fact, when there are strong predispositions and political parties hold clear positions, the decision about how to vote tends to be easier and is made earlier on. Instead, when parties do not take clear-cut positions and/or issues are difficult to address following ideological cues, voters will need more time to decide, the campaign will be more volatile and the decision more unpredictable, changing throughout the campaign, as new information becomes available. As LeDuc noted: Such cases often involve elites taking strong positions at the beginning of the campaign, to which the public gradually begins to react. The potential for volatility in such circumstances is high, because there is little in the way of core beliefs or attitudes to anchor the opinions which are formed. […] Where an issue has been the subject of prior debate, or is clearly linked to larger ideological or value questions, we would expect to find fewer and smaller campaign effects (2007: 41) Therefore, if the campaign just strengthens existing predispositions, referendums resemble normal elections, with party identification or ideological orientation playing a most important role. However, ‘when parties are internally divided, ideological alignments are unclear, or when an issue is new and unfamiliar, voters might be expected to draw more of their information from the campaign discourse. Under these circumstances, the outcome of the contest becomes more unpredictable’ (LeDuc, 2009: 140). Additionally, party recommendations are less important for those who have information (Font and Rodriguez, 2009). The short-term effects of the campaign are more important when there is higher volatility (Bernhard, 2012). Polarisation is also supposed to advantage those who support change, as it increases the pressure on people to be informed and to go to vote (Nai, 2012). The motivations for civil society actors to engage in a referendum campaign are numerous, with the potential of a victory being only one of them. Social movement organisations can enter a campaign with the aim of increasing their present and future resonance. As Kriesi et al

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Referendums from below: an introduction

(2007: 15–16) noted: ‘A challenger’s primary objective may not necessarily be to win the vote in the subsequent referendum, i.e. to block the legislative proposal of the parliamentary majority with the help of the people. Alternative objectives are possible. Thus, a challenger may anticipate a defeat and still decide to launch a campaign.’ A sizeable minority of support could potentially signal to government that a specific issue has a significant degree of importance, albeit not for a majority of the populace. This acknowledgement can result in ‘a procedural success (he may be coopted into the issue-specific political subsystem), or even a partial substantive success (he may obtain concessions in subsequent issue-specific reforms’ (Kriesi et al, 2007: 15–16). Alternatively, challengers might be predominantly concerned with their own constituency rather than with the broader voting public. The pursuit of a particular objective even in the face of almost certain defeat garners credibility, which may result in ulterior payoffs, such as in future elections or potentially in future referendums. This second form of logic is a form of ‘principled, value-oriented action, which does not calculate the costs and benefits of a campaign, but mobilizes independently of such considerations’ (Kriesi et al, 2007: 16). Following social movement studies, we might expect these formal as well as informal political opportunities to influence if and how referendums can be seen as a means of contentious politics. Not only will the formal institutions of the referendum influence the propensity to use it for challenging the government and the elites, but each referendum offers specific conjunctural political opportunities and constraints for actors ‘from below’. In fact, the endogenous and dynamic features of the campaign can be exploited by social movements. The perception of political opportunities will also have an impact on the movements’ strategies in addressing a referendum campaign.

Contentious referendum campaigns Social movement studies has identified the idea of a repertoire of contention. A repertoire of contention comprises what people know they can do when they want to oppose a public decision they consider unjust or threatening. In the definition developed by Charles Tilly, it includes the ‘whole set of means [a group] has for making claims of different types on different individuals’ (1986: 2). ‘Repertoires’ refers to ‘claims making routines that apply to the same claimant–object pairs: bosses and workers, peasants and landlords, rival nationalist factions, and many more’ (Tilly and Tarrow, 2006: 16). A main idea is that, as in its theatrical variant, a repertoire of contention is constrained

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Social movements and referendums from below

in both time and space. In any given period, knowledge concerning ‘what is to be done’ to protest is limited, as ‘far from the image we sometimes hold of mindless crowds, people tend to act within known limits, to innovate at the margins of the existing forms, and to miss many opportunities available to them in principle’ (Tilly, 1986: 390). Rooted in the shared subculture of the activists, repertoires contain the options considered practicable, while excluding others. Usually, forms of action emerge as by-products of everyday experiences: for instance, the barricades derive from the tradition of using chains in order to block access to neighbourhoods at night or in moments of turmoil (Traugott, 1995: 47). While the initial conceptualisation of repertoires of action has been criticised for focusing only on public displays of disruptive action, in his later work, Charles Tilly (2008) discussed broader contentious performances, stressing the constant innovation in the various forms of contentious politics as well as its rootedness in tradition. Traditional forms of action are then handed down to new generations of activists, who tend to adapt them to changing conditions. In fact, ‘the theatrical metaphor calls attention to the clustered, learned, yet improvisational character of people’s interactions as they make and receive each other’s claim’ (Tilly and Tarrow, 2006: 16). Like in the repertoire of commedia dell’arte or jazz, the general rules of performance are constantly varied, with some space for improvisation (Tilly, 1986: 390). The public march developed centuries ago out of the practice of electoral banqueting and survives today, with an adaptation of rituals and structures (such as the closing rally and the stewarding of marches) (Favre, 1990). While the characteristics of protest have often been connected with some contextual opportunities and constraints, recent approaches have moved towards a more relational perspective, by focusing on ‘eventful protest’ (della Porta, 2008). Sewell defines events as a ‘relatively rare subclass of happenings that significantly transform structure’, and an eventful conception of temporality as ‘one that takes into account the transformation of structures by events’ (1996: 271, emphasis added). Especially during cycles of protest, some contingent events tend to affect the given structures by fuelling mechanisms of social change: organisational networks develop; frames are bridged; personal links foster reciprocal trust. In this sense, some protest events constitute processes during which collective experiences develop through the interactions of different individual and collective actors, which take part with different roles and aims. The event has a transformative effect, in that ‘events transform structures largely by constituting and

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Referendums from below: an introduction

empowering new groups of actors or by re-empowering existing groups in new ways’ (Sewell, 1996: 271). Some protest events put in motion social processes that ‘are inherently contingent, discontinuous and open ended’ (Sewell, 1996: 272). The assumption is that protests have cognitive, affective and relational impacts on the very movements that carry them out. Some forms of action or specific campaigns have a particularly high degree of eventfulness (della Porta, 2008). We can address the campaigning during referendums from below in this perspective. Through these events, new tactics are experimented with, signals about the possibility of collective action are sent (Morris, 2000), feelings of solidarity are created and organisational networks are consolidated. As Beissinger observed: Not all historical eras are alike. There are times when change occurs so slowly that time seems almost frozen, though beneath the surface considerable turbulence and evolution may be silently at work. There are other times when change is so compressed, blaring, and fundamental that it is almost impossible to take its measure. (2002: 47) Collective identities sometimes crystallise suddenly rather than developing gradually (Brubaker, 1996), and are to be seen ‘not only as a cause of action, but also as the product of action’ (Beissinger, 2002: 11). Interactions during the mobilisation influenced the frames that emerged from the protest events as, in Beissinger’s words, ‘Thickened history had provided the context for a fundamental transformation of identities which, in “quieter” times, were once believed to be fixed and immutable’ (2002: 148). While in quiet times political entrepreneurs indeed aim at building some structural advantages, these advantages are then put to work in noisy times, when ‘the constraining parameters of politics undergo fundamental challenges, leading to rapidly shifting assumptions about the limits of the possible’ (Beissinger, 2002: 151). Research in the field of practices of direct democracy has stressed that the referendum campaign is often not linear, influenced as it is by contingent events that can have a strong impact on public opinion. While parties might be important, some referendum campaigns are moments of opinion formation, contributing to the resonance of a certain issue (LeDuc, 2002a). Strategic choices during the campaigns include the targeted population (mobilising existing constituencies or chasing the undecided) as well as the building of coalitions (Kriesi, 2012a). Campaigns have often massive effects in reinforcing but also changing positions, thanks to the interaction of arguments and

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predispositions, with the strength of the frames linked to the credibility of the source and their congruence with core cultural themes (Hänggli et al, 2012: 70). The salience of the issue has an important impact on the dynamics of the referendum campaign. In fact, the results of Hobolt’s research on the referendums on European integration (2009: ch. 3) have revealed: the influence of attitudes towards European integration, partisan loyalties and feelings about the government on voters’ decisions. They also highlight that voters differ in their voting behaviour depending on their level of interest in and knowledge of politics. Voters who are more politically aware are more likely to rely on their attitudes towards European integration when deciding in EU referendums compared to voters who pay less attention to politics. Social movements can play a relevant role in referendum campaigns, as they can increase attention to the referendum itself by moving beyond conventional campaigning. In fact, social movement studies could be useful in analysing the ways in which turning points can be created in conventional politics by the use of unconventional means. As research on social movements has indicated, in fact, social movement repertoires are complex, bridging conventional and unconventional means.

Framing issues Following the arguments by participatory democrats, the positive scenario is based on the view that participation in referendums and referendum campaigns increases voters’ capacity to comprehend political issues and different viewpoints related to them, as well as their sense of political responsibility. This may be expected to be beneficial also with respect to the working of representative democracy, because competent and responsible citizens are abler to hold their representatives accountable. […] The development of civic virtues depends, however, on the quality of referendum campaigns and the reasons that voters’ choices are based upon. Contrary to the optimistic scenario, there are also fears that referendum voting can be based on ignorance and prejudice. It has also been suspected that referendums may give rise to adversarial conflicts between

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Referendums from below: an introduction

political factions rather than deliberative styles of policy making (Setälä, 2009: 10) The framing of referendum campaigns is a most relevant issue in assessing their specific democratic quality. Social movement studies has stressed the importance of framing. The frame is a specific concept developed in social movement research to address the symbolic construction of the external reality. Frames can be defined as the dominant worldviews that guide the behaviour of social movement groups. They are very often produced by the organisational leadership, which provides the necessary ideological background within which individual activists can locate their experiences. As is the case for any collective actor, social movement organisations have to motivate individuals to action, providing followers and potential followers with rationales for participating and supporting their organisations. The social science literature on frames has taken two different approaches (Johnston and Noakes, 2005). With a focus on individual cognitive processes, some authors have analysed how normal people try to make sense of what happens by framing events into familiar categories (Gamson, 1988). Looking instead at the meso, organisational level, other scholars have considered the instrumental dimension of the symbolic construction of reality by collective entrepreneurs (Snow and Benford, 1988b). Frame analysis focuses on the process of the attribution of meaning, which lies behind any conflict. There are three stages of this process, corresponding to the recognition of certain occurrences as social problems; the identification of possible strategies to resolve these; and the development of motivations for acting on this knowledge. Snow and Benford (1988b) define these steps as the diagnostic, prognostic and motivational dimensions of framing. Diagnostic frames allow for the conversion of a phenomenon (whose origins were previously attributed to natural factors or to individual responsibility) into a social problem, potentially the object of collective action (Snow et al, 1986; Melucci, 1989). A crucial step in the social construction of a problem consists in the identification of those responsible for the situation in which the aggrieved population finds itself. As della Porta and Diani (2006: 76) have observed: the identification of social problems and those responsible for them is, inevitably, highly selective. […] Cultural development places actors in the position of being able to choose, from among various possible sources of frustration

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Social movements and referendums from below

and revenge, those against which they should direct all their energies and action, not to mention their emotional identification. The process can, in this sense, be seen as a reduction of social complexity. At the same time, however, once solid interpretative frames have been established, the possibility of identifying other potential conflicts becomes limited. Prognostic framing involves the suggestion of potential solutions by identifying new social patterns, new ways of regulating relationships between groups, and new articulations on consensus and the exercise of power. Finally, frames develop motivations for action, as the symbolic elaboration must also aim at producing the motifs and the incentives needed for mobilisation. In order to convince individuals to act, frames must generalize a certain problem or controversy, showing the connections with other events or with the condition of other social groups; and also demonstrate the relevance of a given problem to individual life experiences. Along with the critique of dominant representations of order and of social patterns, interpretative frames must therefore produce new definitions of the foundations of collective solidarity, to transform actors’ identity in a way which favors action. (della Porta and Diani, 2006: 79) Research on referendums has also stressed the importance of the ways in which an issue is framed. Citizens do rely on arguments (Kriesi, 2012c), but also on emotions, especially when the issue is complex (Wirth et al, 2012). The quality of the campaign is most important in defining the effects of each referendum on citizens’ political capacity. The effects of constitutional provisions, but also of practices on the deliberativeness of a campaign have been stressed (Kissane, 2009; Marxer and Pállinger, 2009). Often, referendums are understood as single-issue focused events, but in reality referendum questions are often multifaceted, so that the framing of what is at stake can be very relevant for its results. Issue ownership is also challenged in referendum campaigns – at least, more so than in normal elections. As de Vreese (2007a: 10) has noted, the framing of the issue is a main challenge for parties, as: In national politics, parties are often described as ‘owning’ certain issues, and although this may change over time

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Referendums from below: an introduction

there is predictability in liberals arguing for tax reduction, privatization, and liberalization, while social democrats often campaign more on welfare state values. Issue ownership in referendums, however, is by no means clear. In a referendum campaign, parties are challenged to formulate clear campaign messages and mobilize what is often an internally divided party to stay ‘on message’ during the campaign. A primary strategic goal is to reduce the ambiguity in cues given by a party to its voters, because voters are susceptible to consider other political options when elite cues are unclear or ambiguous. Referendum campaigns might play an important role in informing as well as mobilising the citizens to invest energies on an issue, as more information increases the salience of an issue and thus its exposure and related participation (Hobolt, 2007). Intense referendum campaigns are first of all important to increasing the relevance of an issue: ‘The pro-referendum side will try to persuade the public that the referendum is about something the public feels positive about while the anti-referendum side will explain the referendum in terms they think will provoke negative feelings’ (Marsh, 2007: 63). The framing of the referendum’s question is particularly important, as positions on an issue also explain turnout. As has been noted, for instance, about referendums on EU issues, participation is influenced by the same variables that explain the position on international issue: ‘antiimmigration sentiments, economic evaluations, feelings of national identity, and support for the domestic government. […] the strongest negative predictor was national identity, showing that individuals holding an exclusive national identity were more likely to vote No in a referendum’ (de Vreese and Boomgaarden, 2007: 197–8). The intensity and direction of a campaign has been linked to strategic decisions that actors make, considering some constraints linked to resource availability, the characteristics of issue, and the existing preference among the elite and the public. In particular: The intensity of the campaign depends, first of all, on the extent to which the proposal in question is contested by the political elite. If there is consensus in the political elite with regard to a given proposal, there will be no campaign of any significance at all. If the proposal is contested, the expected success becomes crucial for the intensity of the involvement of strategic actors. […] This implies that

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the intensity of the actors’ participation in the campaign depends on the expected closeness of the outcome of the decision the campaign is designed to influence: the closer the expected outcome, the more intense the mobilization of the actors involved. (Kriesi et al, 2007) In fact, a crucial element for the development of the campaign is the struggle for attention within the political elite, as the shift of attention has important effects on the results of the campaign (Kriesi et al, 2007). The role of framing has been stressed as the issues at stake are multidimensional, touching too many different and relevant aspects for anyone to be able to consider them all. Decision makers and the citizens in general are ‘cognitive misers’, that is: When asked to evaluate a proposal submitted to the vote, people do not consider everything they know, but they consider what comes to their mind. […] This means that strategically minded political actors can have a dramatic impact on public debates by shifting the point of reference of the debate from one aspect to the other. (Kriesi et al, 2007) Especially in ideologically polarised referendums on highly salient and well-known issues, voting behaviour is expected to be more likely structured by factors such as class, party identification and ideological beliefs (LeDuc, 2002a). However, ‘referendums on less polarized issues that do not harmonize well with pre-existing ideological conflicts will, in general, lead to more unstable opinions and make room for larger short-term effects of media exposure, agenda setting, issue framing, campaign events and leaders’ (Oscarsson, 2007: 206-7). Social movement studies can add to the framing analysis, by pointing at the characteristics of framing as contentious strategy. In particular, our research shows the importance of frame bridging between the issue at stake in the referendums and broader topics (Snow and Bedford, 1988b). Frame bridging takes place in particular between the referendum issue and the values and claims traditionally addressed by the leftist and left-libertarian social movements at the substantive level (such as dignity and equality), but also at a procedural one (such as participatory and deliberative democracy). Moreover, when called on typical social movement claims, referendums affect frame intensification, identifying broad norms with non-negotiable aims.

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Referendums from below: an introduction

Case selection and referendums for independence Our research focused, first of all, on the two cases of consultations that involved social movements in austerity Europe: Scotland and Catalonia. The history of ethnonational referendums originated in the French Revolution, when the ideas of nationalism, political self-determination and democracy became intertwined. Nowadays, it is a key principle in international politics that nations have a right to determine their own affairs. As Edward H. Carr argues: self-determination and democracy went hand in hand. Selfdetermination might indeed be regarded as implicit in the idea of democracy; if every man’s right is recognised to be consulted about the affairs of the political unit to which he belongs, he may be assumed to have an equal right to be consulted about the form and extent of the unit. (cited in Qvortrup, 2014d: 147–8) Ethnonational referendums in general, as well as the specific subset of referendums on independence, come in waves (Qvortrup, 2012, 2014d). More than 50 referendums on secession have been held across the world since Virginia, Tennessee and Texas unsuccessfully voted to leave the United States in the 1860s – the Confederate states in America were the first to celebrate referendums on independence (Qvortrup, 2014d). After the American Civil War, referendums on secession fell into disuse in the United States and elsewhere – with the exception of the consultation to Norwegian males on independence from Sweden in 1905, backed by an overwhelming 99% of the votes cast. A few additional referendums have steadily taken place over the decades after the Second World War (for example, Cambodia from France in 1955, Singapore from Malaysia in 1962), with a remarkable upsurge since the 1990s after the breakdown of Communism – in line with the previously mentioned trend for the total number of referendums worldwide. In total, 56 referendums on independence have been held in history, but 50 of them took place after 1944 (39 of them after 1990 – see Qvortrup, 2014d). To begin with, it should be noted that referendums on independence are rare within established democratic regimes, and when they take place, a No vote has often been cast – the exception of Montenegro notwithstanding (Qvortrup, 2012). Moreover, Qvortrup (2014d: 60) argues that ‘perhaps interestingly, the only unsuccessful referendums on independence have been held in countries with established democratic

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traditions’. For instance, in spite of the tight result, Quebec failed to secede from Canada in 1995 (the pro-independence option lost by a larger margin in the first referendum on secession in 1980). Voters in the 1993 multi-option referendum in Puerto Rico chose to remain part of the United States, and people from Nevis in 1998 opted against becoming independent from its parent state, St Kitts and Nevis.2 In other countries with a limited democratic record, inhabitants have endorsed independence (for example, Eritrea in 1993, South Sudan in 2011). In fact, most referendums on independence have been held and succeeded in non-democratic settings. In general terms, to win an independence referendum – albeit not necessarily other types of referendums – one ‘must be able to appeal to the heart-strings, have a strong sense that independence will improve the livelihood of the population as a whole, and show that you are able to count on the support of powerful allies in the international community’ (Qvortrup, 2014d: 60). However, referendums are not required to gain independence. As Qvortrup (2014d) notes, the referendum device was not used for the creation of newly established countries (for example, Yugoslavia or Czechoslovakia). In fact, it was only after the Second World War that referendums began to be recognised politically as legally appropriate devices for areas to secede from their parent states. This was due to three principal reasons. First, referendums are widely regarded as an adequate instrument – probably the most adequate – to give both internal and external legitimacy to independence claims (that is, towards both indigenous civil society and the international community). Second, international pressures from supranational institutions (particularly in the EU) and other states call for the holding of referendums in order to recognise new states. Third, referendums are called as a sort of national celebration of the newly established unity and new-found freedom (see Qvortrup, 2014d: 60). We focus throughout on two main cases, the mobilisation campaigns on the referendums for independence in Scotland and Catalonia, before expanding the comparison to the Italian water referendum. In spite of their differences, our two main cases are illustrative examples of the logic ‘from below’ that we explore throughout: mobilisation campaigns around referendums initiated, appropriated or subverted by a significant proportion of civil society actors and social movement organisations other than the traditional political or judicial institutions, which commit to inclusion and deliberation, and encourage mass participation.

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Referendums from below: an introduction

Although the subset of referendums for independence is arguably limited in size, they are gaining momentum and salience, as various civil society actors in nations without states across Western democracies are pushing for them. Many of these referendums, we contend, are used as means to promote citizen mobilisation and involvement around territorial claims and, eventually, gain independence. While in Catalonia we do not have the outcome (that is, an official and binding referendum), and in Scotland a referendum resulted in a No majority against independence, massive and encompassing mobilisation campaigns developed in both cases. Moreover, we suggest that the Catalan case is a paradigmatic example of a campaign initiated by civil society and social movements that, as it unfolded, brought them together with political elites and institutional actors. By contrast, the Scottish case is a paradigmatic example of a referendum campaign launched by political elites and eventually appropriated by social movement actors. In spite of these differences, we argue these two processes share many traits and are useful to illustrate the many – largely unexplored – points of interaction between the social movement and referendum bodies of literature. The inclusion of the water referendum in Italy will allow us to broaden the scope of the comparison beyond the re-intensification of the territorial cleavage, and analyse how many of the features singled out for the Scottish and Catalan scenarios hold in very different settings. This intersection between social movements and referendums will help us to make sense of mobilisations around tensions generated over the privatisation of the provision of public goods. While they might not be referendums ‘from below’ stricto sensu, we highlight some traits also shared by two additional cases, the Icelandic Icesave and the Greek bailout referendum campaigns.

The research and this volume In this perspective, the volume analyses events as diverse as the referendum on independence in Scotland, the consultation on independence in Catalonia, the referendum on water as a public good in Italy, the referendum on the Troika proposals in Greece and the referendum on debt repayment in Iceland, which have been either promoted or appropriated by social movements. The book will present fieldwork as well as desktop research on these cases, pointing especially at the ways in which the socioeconomic and political crisis of neoliberalism affected the referendums’ dynamics and results, but also at the way in which participation from below had a transformative impact on the organisational strategies as well as the framing of the

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campaigns. Research has included for all cases a secondary analysis of the existing literature as well as of documents related to the referendum campaigns and data on referendum results. These were complemented by in-depth interviews with involved activists as well as experts (see Appendix). After this presentation of the theoretical framework and empirical references, the remainder of the book is structured as follows. Chapter Two seeks to shed light on the context in which the Catalan and Scottish campaigns for independence developed. The authors introduce how the referendum campaigns were initiated and by whom. Although the differences between the two cases are remarkable, the authors argue throughout that they unfold amidst a critical juncture, as the result of a concatenation of three coexisting crises: territorial, democratic and socioeconomic. First, Catalonia and Scotland suffer from a long-term crisis of territorial consolidation, as they are stateless nations that struggle increasingly to reconcile their national aspirations within the context and borders of existing nation states. Second, the Great Recession has brought about austerity policies, tightened government budgets, cuts in public spending, and dramatic increases in unemployment, inequality and poverty, while working conditions have worsened. Third, a crisis of democratic legitimacy has developed hand in hand with the socioeconomic turmoil: corruption scandals, lack of trust in institutions of representation, political dissatisfaction and the like, which have been particularly detrimental to social democratic parties in both cases. These three dimensions have fed into each other, and resulted in two parallel mobilisation campaigns. We contend that this transformation of structural discontent into action is possible due to two crucial mechanisms at play: grievance formation and appropriation of opportunities. The three aforementioned dimensions (territorial, socioeconomic, political) generated discontent, which is the breeding ground for mobilisation. Challengers observed and used these grievances to appeal to broad sectors of the population. Many Scots and Catalans do not feel comfortable in their respective territorial settings, a perception that infiltrates the socioeconomic axis in a context of material deprivation. Through an inclusive narrative of a radically different polity (that is, more pro-distributive and leftwing oriented in its policies), pro-independence actors mobilise many citizens seeking to redress both territorial and socioeconomic faults in the current framework. These grievances are fostered by institutional closure and lack of concessions on the side of authorities – particularly in the Spanish case – from the central state, which reinforce the other

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two dimensions. For mobilisation to take place, it is necessary to have challengers capable of appropriating opportunities in light of the crisis of political legitimacy. More specifically, electoral de-alignment and availability of allies facilitates the transformation of latent potential into concrete actions in the respective referendum campaigns. Chapter Three looks at the organisational aspects of the referendum campaigns and various movements’ participation in them. Practices of temporary cooperation and unlikely alliances are even more pronounced in referendums with strong social movement involvement such as in Scotland and Catalonia. This participation can take the form of formal or informal divisions of labour between political parties and movements that possess differing organisational advantages and scope, better suited to particular social, political and regional demographics. Referendums open windows for short periods, wherein old antagonisms are strategically set aside or indeed reactivated, resulting in the use of chronologically delimited repertoires of contention. Two factors impinge on the nature of the organisational strategies adopted by movements in referendum campaigns. First, the issue of time is critical. The long drawn-out campaign for the right to hold a referendum in Catalonia, as well as the organisation of non-binding consultations from 2009 to 2011 and the pseudo-referendum of 2014, proved a propitious environment for the emergence of internal tensions and squabbles between more right- and left-wing supporters of Catalan independence. Yet the long duration of the campaign also facilitated the forging of unlikely collaborations between the radical left movements and centre-right political actors and parties. In Scotland, the campaign was of a much briefer duration. There was an informal division of labour and of levels of activity between the Scottish National Party (SNP) and pro-independence leftist movements, and this informal alliance remained cohesive throughout. The second major consideration is the prevailing political culture in the respective nations, which has a substantial impact on the repertoires of contention adopted by activists. Recently, Scotland has been characterised by a weakened civil society and a disoriented and fragmented left, while Catalonia has since the 1970s maintained a robust, albeit fractious extra-parliamentary left-wing milieu. Although the respective repertoires were conditioned by the contrasting political opportunity structures – institutional openness in the Scottish case and belligerent institutional hostility in Catalonia – there was continuity with past contentious practices. Chapter Three highlights how these factors intersected and evolved over the duration of the respective campaigns.

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Chapter Four looks at the framing strategies in referendums from below. Framing theory has become central to the study of mobilisation dynamics over the last decades. Within the context of social movements, framing concerns the meaning construction or signifying work engaged in by movement participants, countermovement actors and other relevant agents (for example, media, elites, allies and so on), as meanings are built through interpretive processes mediated by culture. This chapter aims at contributing to the literature on framing and social movements, as we seek to examine the strategic processes through which specific frames evolved, developed and changed in our empirical cases. We will unravel how framing intersects with the issues and processes examined via political opportunities. More specifically, the key argument developed throughout is that the current context of economic austerity, along with the crisis of political legitimacy, have paved the way for the emergence of democratic-emancipatory and social justice frames with higher potential for resonance across audiences (and, therefore, for mobilisation) – to the detriment of other types of frames observed, such as the nation-identity frame. The democratic-emancipatory and social justice frames emphasise the democratic and redistributive axes over traditional nationalist components. Catalan and Scottish movements have strategically avoided the traditional nationalist frame in order to expand the movement and avoid being assimilated with other national European movements. To the detriment of language, culture, traditions, history and so on, Catalan and Scottish rhetoric around the referendums for independence have used, on the one hand, arguments related to democratic values and collective emancipation, such as collective dignity, opening of constituent processes, self-management, popular empowerment, deliberation, participatory democracy and horizontality, among others. On the other hand, in a context of austerity and recession, more instrumental aspects related to social justice, equality, the fight against poverty, growth, progress and improvement of the quality of life have all played a preeminent role in both the Scottish and Catalan cases. Interestingly, these same frames have been contrastingly interpreted elsewhere, as a more instrumentalist ‘nationalism of the rich’ (dalle Mulle, 2015b). There has been, however, some degree of variability in the strategic use of referendums through the mobilisation cycles between the two nationalist cases. These discontinuities go hand in hand with the divergent trajectories that the cycles followed. Within the traditional Scottish nationalist rhetoric, avoiding the use of identity aspects is more common, and the socioeconomic aspects have dominated

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debates around the referendum. By contrast, in Catalonia, because a binding referendum was not agreed with the Spanish authorities, this presented an opportunity for the Catalan master frame to evolve from ‘the right to decide’ to outright independence. This evolution was parallel to and facilitated by the aforementioned resonance of democratic-emancipatory discourses (democratic regeneration, popular empowerment, dignity and so on) Chapter Five broadens the comparison to an important referendum from below that took place during the Great Recession: the 2011 referendum against water privatisation in Italy. It will show that some of the characteristics of the referendums from below that we singled out in the two cases on issues of independence also fit the Italian case. In terms of appropriation of opportunities, the referendum against the privatisation of water was far from a single-issue campaign, instead emerging from long-lasting struggles that made use of a multiple and varied repertoire of contention, including institutional and unconventional forms of action. As in the other cases, the referendum was chosen in a moment of complex opening and closing of political opportunities, in part as a consequence of the financial crisis and the austerity measures implemented to address it. In fact, the closing down of opportunities at the national level – actually the threats presented by new laws that accelerated the push towards privatisation and deregulation of public services – together with the availability of political allies at the local level prompted the use of forms of direct democracy. The provision of water became a symbol of resistance to neoliberalism and austerity policies. The referendum itself then functioned as a coagulator of alliances, first at the local and transnational levels, then also at the national level. Resource mobilisation during the campaign was also characterised by a multiplicity of forms of action which, resonating with the preferences and capacity of various actors involved, were calibrated for the different moments of the campaigns. The campaign started with educational activities oriented to sensitise the public, through the actions of social movement organisations active on issues of global justice. The networks built during the preparation of the first European Social Forum in Florence offered important material and symbolic resources. Expanding to involve other organisations, including trade unions and religious groups but also citizens’ committees and administrations active in local campaigns, new organisations emerged to coordinate the struggle. This was particularly relevant at times when mass protests combined with broad communication campaigns. The organisational repertoires inherited from the global justice movement, adapted in the light of

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the anti-austerity protests that had developed across southern Europe in 2011, provided the normative basis for the inclusive and horizontal format of the campaign, which was capable of combining associational networking with aggregative logics. An intense use of social media as well as offline forms of action resulted from the mobilisation of myriad informal groupings of very creative activists during the final stages of the campaign, up to an incredible victory. Finally, in the Italian case as in the other referendums from below analysed in Chapter Four, a most relevant aspect of the campaign was its capacity to bridge the water issue – a potentially technical issue – with citizens’ concerns and normative values. The focus on water provision has, from the very beginning, possessed a high aggregating capacity, allowing for a stress on fundamental citizens’ rights while singling out the social costs of privatisation that citizens were often directly experiencing in their everyday lives. A growth in generality as well as strong politicisation developed all the way through the campaign, from the networking and aggregation of the various and different groups that supported the campaign – up to the consensus of an almost literal 99%. Human rights and the commons, but also community and democracy represented the main frames around which a coalition was built and the message spread. In particular, the ideas of the commons proved particularly resonant with the views of the public. Allowing the discussion to move beyond public–private dualism, its innovative character was its identification of the specific need for a global protection of the commons (a ‘commonification’) that gave the responsibility to protect to the community at large. Indeed, the discourse around the commons became a most important legacy of the campaign. The concluding chapter points out, in a comparative perspective, the main results of our empirical analysis. After analysing the two proindependence campaigns in detail, we will more briefly introduce the other referendums in Europe during the Great Recession that have been mentioned. In addition, we will show that within the referendum campaign and as the mobilisation process evolved, there is a clear strategic use of frames and development of framing tactics to increase support for the movement. Given the frequent occurrence of coalitions of actors with different ideologies and different priorities, an adequate choice and use of frames is very important for actors to stay together and facilitate enduring collaboration. To conclude, in this chapter we will assess continuities and discontinuities in the referendums from below in Catalonia and Scotland, and expand the comparison to

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Referendums from below: an introduction

other referendums from below that emerged around different tensions between the state and the market, such as those in Greece and Iceland. Three main theoretical points will be discussed. First, normative theories of democracy have emphasised principles of equality in the capacity to influence decision makers, as well as autonomy in the capacity of opinion formation among citizens. As instruments of participation and, potentially, of deliberation, referendums could be considered as resonant with progressive social movements’ conceptions and practices. Social movements need to challenge existing institutions, producing cracks (or at least turning points) in the system. Research carried out on a number of referendums has indicated that they tend to be, in fact, more open ended than normal elections, and therefore more influenced by the developments in the referendum campaigns. However, their participatory and deliberative qualities, as well as the potential to open opportunities, vary according to stable institutional factors but also more contingent political processes, including those promoted by social movements. Following social movement studies, we suggest that these formal as well as informal political opportunities will influence their democratic qualities and how referendums can be appropriated ‘from below’ as arenas of contentious politics. Not only does the formal institutional setting of the referendum influence the propensity to use it for challenging the government and the elites, but each referendum presents specific conjunctural political opportunities and constraints for actors ‘from below’. Our research shows, in fact, that the perception of political opportunities will also have an impact on the movements’ strategies in addressing referendum campaigns. The importance of movements’ appropriation of opportunities emerged clearly in the referendums from below we have analysed. Indeed, movement participation in the referendum campaigns has increased the inclusivity as well as pluralism of the process, with empowering effects. Second, research on referendums has stressed the importance of the ways in which the topic is framed in determining referendums’ outcomes. Seemingly based on a single issue, referendums often address multifaceted questions, so that parallel issues can be decisive in referendum outcomes. Issue ownership is also challenged in referendum campaigns, at least more so than in normal elections. Third, research in the field of practices of direct democracy has stressed that referendum campaigns are often not linear, as they are influenced by contingent events that can have a strong impact on public opinion. Social movements can play a relevant role in referendum campaigns as they can attract attention to the referendum itself by

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moving beyond conventional campaigning. In fact, social movement studies appears useful in analysing the ways in which turning points towards contentious politics can be created in conventional politics by the use of unconventional means. Our research has addressed the analysis of the campaigns, showing the ways in which the use of social movement repertoires affects the dynamics of the referendum campaigns. In particular, we have shown that social movements tend to conceive of referendums within a processual logic, looking at their potential to fuel citizens’ participation even more than at their concrete legislative effects.

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TWO

The context of the referendums from below: a tale of three crises In September 2014, the Scottish National Party (SNP)-led government reached an agreement with the United Kingdom (UK) Conservative government and held a referendum on independence from the UK. Despite the unionist win, a relevant 44.7% of Scots opted for secession. Catalan authorities, by contrast, strove to introduce an official referendum on secession, but faced outright opposition from the Spanish government and the Constitutional Court (Álvarez Pereira et al, 2017). Instead, with the collaboration of the Catalan regional government, almost 2.3 million people symbolically cast their votes in a massive – non-binding, unofficial – voting performance led by civil society organisations in November 2014. In this chapter we will provide a comprehensive account of the context in which our main cases took place, presenting how the referendum campaigns were initiated and by whom. More specifically, we will argue that grievances were formed and opportunities opened up and were appropriated by relevant actors in relation to three (intertwined) crises: territorial, socioeconomic and political. These three latent dimensions, which concatenated and reinforced one another, lie beneath the emergence and development of the mobilisations for the referendums. We contend throughout that two crucial mechanisms link these three crises to actions favouring holding a referendum: grievance formation and appropriation of opportunities. By grievances we refer to ‘troublesome matters or conditions’ that often push individuals to collectively challenge authorities via social movements, and the ‘feelings associated with them – such as dissatisfaction, fear, indignation, resentment, and moral shock’ (Snow, 2013). Appropriation of opportunities stresses the need for observing windows of opportunity – that is, opportunities do not invite launching and mobilising around referendum campaigns unless they are visible and are perceived as such. Also, as McAdam et al (2001; see also della Porta, 2014: ch. 6) suggest, appropriation emphasises the importance of challengers seizing political opportunities and acting upon them.

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Both Scottish and Catalan campaigns took place in a moment of complex opening and closing of political opportunities. Although concessions from officeholders and institutional facilitation are often regarded as opportunities for mobilisation (Tarrow, 2011), the direction of the effect is contested. On the one hand, these might signal how likely the government is to hear the claims of challengers and incorporate them into policy making. If authorities’ feedback in light of mobilisation is positive, it may enhance rewards from involvement, inviting further actions. On the other hand, concessions might fulfil the aspirations of some challengers and thus prevent them from staying mobilised, fostering internal divisions among activists. While both Westminster and Spanish political elites were initially reluctant to hold referendums on independence for Scotland and Catalonia, they reacted very differently in light of increasing political polarisation. Ultimately, Westminster elites ceded to pro-independence pressure to organise a binding referendum on independence for Scotland, while asserting control over the exact phrasing of the question posed. In Catalonia, however, the pro-independence movement was confronted with institutional closure on the part of the Spanish authorities. Nevertheless, Westminster’s unwillingness to agree to middle-path alternatives to independence on the Scottish side, and the failed reform of the Statute of Autonomy, together with the legalist discourse and apathetic-stagnating attitudes of the conservative government on the Catalan side, fuelled grievances and territorial uneasiness. In stark contrast with the positioning of the central Spanish and UK executives, both Catalan and Scottish movements found allies in their respective devolved governments (CiU1- and SNP2- led). The availability of allies is a classic window of opportunity for movement actors. Some civil society actors – for example, some radical trade unions and opposition political parties – backed the movements, especially in the Catalan case (for example the ERC3 and CUP4). Note that in both Scotland and Catalonia, the positions taken by political elites were not static, and underwent substantial changes over the course of the campaigns. For instance, some Catalan regional elites – notably the ruling CiU coalition at the time – abandoned their pragmatic devolutionist position in favour of an outright pro-independence stance. In the UK, by contrast, as support for independence gained momentum, Westminster elites introduced an informal concession in the form of the promise of Devo Max. A major difference between the Catalan and Scottish process concerns the legal format of the referendum device. While the Scottish was a legal and fully fledged referendum, the Catalan popular vote was an act

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The context of the referendums from below: a tale of three crises

of political protest in the face of the refusal by the Spanish government to grant a binding referendum. The arguments were based on two key tenets. First, according to the constitutional framework in force since 1978, just a portion of the Spaniards (that is, Catalans) are not entitled to vote on independence unilaterally, as ‘national sovereignty belongs to the Spanish people’ (Preliminary Title, section 1, art. 2, Spanish Constitution of 1978). Second, the Constitution ‘recognizes and guarantees the right to self-government of the nationalities and regions of which it is composed and the solidarity among them all’ (Preliminary Title, section 2, Spanish Constitution of 1978), but it does not recognise the multinational character of the state. Moreover, ‘the Constitution is based on the indissoluble unity of the Spanish Nation, the common and indivisible homeland of all Spaniards’ (Preliminary Title, section 2, Spanish Constitution of 1978). Notwithstanding their very different institutional settings, the referendum in Scotland and the pseudo-referendum in Catalonia have several characteristics in common. First, both mobilisation campaigns were associated with a rise of claims for independence and/or enhanced territorial autonomy. These demands are linked to a problem of territorial accommodation in a context where nation states’ sovereignty is threatened from different angles. Holding a referendum on independence emerges as the ultimate – de facto, unique – mechanism to give internal and external legitimacy to claims for independence. Second, the upsurge of pro-independence movements in a context of recession, austerity, fiscal retrenchment and generalised crisis of neoliberal democracies is certainly not accidental. Mobilisations around the referendums happened amid one of the most important neoliberal critical junctures in recent times, which is a period when institutions and the socio-political order are in general amenable to change (see Collier and Collier, 1991; Roberts, 1998, 2015). Finally, the abovementioned territorial and economic crises concatenate with a generalised crisis of political legitimacy. Levels of trust in traditional intermediary institutions of representation such as political parties have been low in recent years in the cases analysed (for example, in 2015, 86% of Spaniards and 81% of those in the UK claimed that they tended not to trust political parties, according to Standard Eurobarometer 84 [2016] data), with important levels of electoral volatility and ongoing changes in the party systems. Similarly, claims about the lack of accountability and elites’ inability to channel citizens’ demands are widespread. Mobilisations around territorial demands have been able to channel generalised socioeconomic and political discontent, popular uneasiness

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and widely shared hopes for change. As grievances are formed, various political actors have been able to appropriate opportunities for mobilisation across Europe in general, and in Spain in particular, such as the 15-M/indignados or, more recently, institutional alternatives (for example, Podemos, local-level candidacies – Barcelona en Comú, Ahora Madrid and so on). However, the fact that Scottish movements availed themselves of a political opening that came about from elite parliamentary bargaining renders it qualitatively very different from other movements to which they have been compared – either the Arab Spring (The Scotsman, 2013) or the indignados mobilisations across southern Europe (Kerevan, 2014) – which emerged precisely to challenge the political status quo and institutional closure. The logic of the Catalan mobilisations differed, as most elites joined them only after civil organisations had made great strides in mobilising a large constituency, thus following a more bottom-up trajectory. Next, we present the Scottish and Catalan cases, and how the campaigns developed towards, respectively, a referendum and pseudoreferendum on independence. The chapter is then structured in two sections. The first is devoted to the three main impasses that lie beneath mobilisations around the referendums from below in Scotland and Catalonia. In this section, divided in three parts – devoted to the territorial, economic and political crises – we shed light on how grievances emerged, political opportunities for mobilisation developed and how relevant actors managed to appropriate them. The second section will focus on the Scottish and Catalan campaigns and will identify the specific factors accounting for their trajectories of mobilisation. We conclude by reflecting on the critical juncture created by the combination of the three crises and by analysing its implications – for mobilisations around these referendums on territorial disputes as well as beyond, on other referendums from below in Greece, Italy and Iceland.

The three main crises: territorial, socioeconomic and political The territorial crisis Contrary to what one might have expected, nationalism in Europe did not vanish into thin air following the barbarism of the two world wars. The reinforcement of ethnonational communities contributed to the collapse of the Soviet state (Beissinger, 2002). It increased popular legitimacy of nationalist claims, as it showed that these might

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The context of the referendums from below: a tale of three crises

also channel democratic aspirations and collective liberties. In fact, the European map was reconfigured according to existing ethnonational tensions. Moreover, recent upsurges of mobilisation in ‘nations without states’,5 such as in the Scottish and Catalan cases, question not only the imminent disappearance of nationalism but even its decline (Keating, 2001a, 2001b; Smith, 2004: 146–7). On the contrary, nationalism6 is a phenomenon that spread all around the world (de la Calle, 2010: 5). The number of new secessionist movements across the world has seen a more than five-fold increase since the Second World War (Griffiths, 2014). Modern societies are unquestionably and implicitly nationalist (Gellner, 1983). Their size and complexity requires a sense of loyalty and identification among the population, a special link between citizens and the state. A common cultural heritage and equal status before the law are preconditions for the functioning of complex industrial societies. Moreover, as globalisation unfolded, an integration– demarcation cleavage developed and contributed to structure political conflict (Hutter, 2014). A large portion of citizens felt attracted by discourses attached to national sovereignty as a response to the process of increasing convergence, integration and interdependence, especially after the global financial crisis. In the European context, while national governments had limited capacity to cope with the recession and its consequences, the European institutions exerted pressure to keep national policies under control. Therefore, adverse effects of the recession and individuals’ discontent with the European Union’s (EU’s) handling of the crisis are major factors in explaining defection from mainstream pro-European to Eurosceptic parties in Western Europe, as Hobolt and de Vries (2016) show. As a consequence, broad sectors of the population become more sympathetic towards nationalist options – it must be noted though that, while strong criticisms against austerity policies and the broad socioeconomic-political situation were advanced, neither the Catalan nor the Scottish campaigns for independence have been driven by anti-European arguments. Nations? The term nation is probably one of the most biased, contested and disconcerting in the political lexicon (McCrone, 1992: 26). Etymologically, it comes from the Latinism nation, understood as ‘a group of foreigners’ (Greenfeld, 1993). This concept only became associated with race and class in medieval times, and with the whole

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population in the 19th century (Carr, 1945, cited in Keating, 2001b: 29). There is no single agreed upon definition of ‘nation’. For instance, David D. Laitin (2007: 40–1) understands that a nation is a ‘population with a coordinated set of beliefs about their cultural identities […] whose representatives claim ownership of a state (or at least an autonomous region within a state) for them by dint of that coordination either through separation, or amalgamation, or return’. Luis Moreno (1995: 237) emphasises the ‘self-defined political character of the ethnic group’. In fact, the politicised ethnie or ethnic group is the basis of a nation (see Gellner, 1983). Yet transition from an ethnic to a national community is not mechanical. Following Guibernau (2004: 7; see also Muro, 2015), by nation we refer throughout to ‘the human group conscious of forming a community, sharing a common culture, attached to a clearly demarcated territory, having a common past and a common project for the future and claiming the right to rule itself ’. We use this definition because it encompasses the five key dimensions of a nation: historical, territorial, cultural, socio-psychological and political. First, both the Scottish and Catalan collective imaginaries include subjective beliefs in a shared ancestry, a common past and a myth of descent. For example, William Wallace, Robert the Bruce, the battle of Bannockburn and the Declaration of Arbroath are landmarks and key figures for the making of the Scottish shared identity. Similarly, for many Catalans, the war of the Reapers (‘Guerra dels Segadors’), the anti-Franco resistance and Josep Tarradellas are historical icons that reflect the Catalan’s long-standing will for liberty. Second, we can find continuous references to a homeland, to their own territory. While both Scotland and Catalonia historically had stable and well-defined borders, a good portion of Catalan nationalists have always sought the joint self-rule of the whole Països Catalans, the boundaries being set according to the Catalan-speaking community (which would include the Valencian Community, the Balearic Islands, plus some territories in the south of France). Third, in both cases the existence of a shared cultural heritage that is the basis of group identity is widely assumed. Despite cultural and anthropological differences between Highlands and Lowlands, centuries-old dispersion of clans, and religious encounters between Catholics and Protestants in Scotland, and the historical salience of class and urban–rural cleavages in Catalonia, shared cultural traits prevail in both cases. However, differences exist between our cases. For instance, nearly 75% of Catalans are able to speak their vernacular language.7 Scots Gaelic is only a minority language.

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As for the socio-psychological dimension, the vast majority of Catalans and Scots have the self-consciousness of forming a group: they are aware of and choose to belong to a different community. Yet, this does not preclude the possibility of having multiple identities, as Catalans and Scots tend to feel, with varying degrees of strength, also Spanish and British (Keating, 2009). Empirical evidence seems to back such claims: although the primary sources of identification are Scotland and Catalonia respectively, people in both communities tend to have multiple identities. In relation to this, there is an additional attribute of nations, which is the political dimension. Nations are not just cultural-ethnic communities but also socio-political entities with a shared political identity; they enjoy some degree of autonomy and have distinctive social and political institutions. Scottish civil society’s distinctive traits rest upon three pillars: their own educational systems, legal systems and church. The roots of the Catalan Generalitat (government) and the Corts (parliament) date back to medieval times. However, Scottish and Catalan long-term status within their respective unions differs. Scotland is a historical nation, with an increasingly problematic relationship to the UK in recent decades (Keating, 2009). The UK, contrary to its homogenising counterparts such as France, Germany and Spain in mainland Europe, never engaged in nation building. Great Britain served as a form of union of unions (Mitchell, 2006). As Keating (2009: 21) explains, Britain was ‘underpinned by a unionist ideology, which differs from its continental counterparts in accepting the plurinational nature of the polity, sustaining a sense of Scottish distinctiveness while channelling it to the institutions of the central state’. In the Catalan case, after the death of General Franco in 1975, one of the major issues at stake in the process of transition from a dictatorial military to a democratic regime was the territorial organisation of Spain. The 1978 Constitution tried to combine a unitary state model with recognition of the diversity of regions and nationalities of which it is composed. Thus, the 1978 Spanish Constitution recognises that there is ‘only one indivisible nation’ (art. 2), but presents a unique framework of territorial administration known as the ‘State of Autonomies’ (title 8). The text is deliberately flexible and ambiguous, as it does not set out a complete territorial model. This openness allowed different – barely reconcilable – positions to accept the same constitutional text: most Spanish nationalists-unionists, peripheral nationalists and autonomists-federalists did so. Over 91% of Catalans supported the 1978 Constitution (turnout: 64.6%).8

45

46

1992 1997 1999 2000 2001 2003 2005 2006 2007 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014

Sources: Scottish Election Study, 1992, 1997 and Scottish Social Atittudes, 1999–2014.

0

5

10

15

20

25

30

35

40

More British than Scottish

British not Scottish

Scottish not British

More Scottish than British

Equally Scottish and British

Figure 1: Evolution of Scots’ national identity. ‘Moreno’ question: ‘Which best describes you of the following?’ Y = percentage (no multiple choices allowed), X = time (years).

Social movements and referendums from below

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1984

1988

1992

1995

2003

2006

Sources: Centro de Investigaciones Sociológicas’s pre-electoral barometers, 1984–2015.

0

10

20

30

40

50

2010

2012

2015

Spanish not Catalan

More Spanish than Catalan

Equally Spanish and Catalan

More Catalan than Spanish

Catalan not Spanish

Figure 2: Evolution of Catalans’ national identity. ‘Moreno’ question: ‘Which best describes you of the following?’ Y = percentage (no multiple choices allowed), X = time (years). The context of the referendums from below: a tale of three crises

Social movements and referendums from below

Yet a mismatch between the aspirations of many Catalans and Scots and the recognition they think they receive as a nation has been a long time in the making (see Chapter Four). Discontent in light of territorial misfit grew and began to be organised; some actors were able to take advantage of the grievances emerging in relation to the territorial crisis and mobilised various sections of the population. In turn, this contributed to the deepening of the territorial conflict and its political salience, with the claims put forward resonating with the aspirations of a broad constituency. The referendum device was used as a mechanism to empower people, exercise democratic rights and to legitimise the goal of independence in the eyes of the civil society at large, the state in which it is embedded and the international community. Although our cases seem to meet the five defining attributes of a nation, particularly in the Catalan case, it is often problematic recognising these cases as ‘fully fledged nations’ – in the words of Anthony D. Smith (1986: 129). This is so because defining a specific community as a nation entails some important consequences. As Guibernau (2004: 7–8) argues, the recognition of a nation implies some kind of legitimation of the state that claims to represent it, or at least the right of this nation to self-determination. But these nations without states also make explicit the crisis of the dominant actors in the international arena in the last few centuries, that is, the nation states. Most Catalans and Scots do not identify with the single national dimension that matches state boundaries, as Figures 1 and 2 show. This will be addressed in detail next. Nation states: the end of an era? The use of the term ‘nation’ precedes its nexus with the modern state. A nation state claims sovereignty of a territory, being the ultimate authority within given geographical boundaries. Nation states combine the state as system of political action with national identity,9 the community’s entitlement to claim for self-rule. However, very few states are nationally homogeneous. Moreover, the very idea of nation states, where there is a perfect match between national will and state boundaries, is a ‘nostalgic myth’ (Laitin, 2007: 100), as there are very few full nation states, ‘in the sense of being congruent and co-extensive’ (Smith, 1986: 129). The process of national integration is incomplete in most cases. This is evidenced by the need to implement distinctive policies that take into consideration different identity sensitivities (that is, territorial

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management) and by the existence of groups with aspirations that challenge the nation state’s legitimacy and sovereignty. The recent revival of sub-state nations such as Catalonia and Scotland through their referendum campaigns is a recurrent phenomenon. Prominent scholars have in fact reflected on this long-term trend. Nation states are losing their political, cultural and economic integrity in a rapidly changing world, as they simultaneously face centrifugal and centripetal pressures (McCrone et al, 1989). Although nation states are still protagonists of current geopolitics, Michael Keating (2001a: 28; see also Keating and McGarry, 2001) identifies three types of threats that challenge nation states’ sovereignty: from above (for example, global economic change and the rise of supranational institutions that make them lose military, economic, political and other types of power); from below (for example, reinvigoration of sub-state identities); and lateral (for example, new forms of collective identity arising, market mechanisms and individualised social relations and so on). In recent decades, these pressures have been particularly strong in Western Europe, where, in parallel to the greater integration of EU member states, support for greater regional10 autonomy has been rising within these states. We are focusing throughout on the threats from below, which in some cases might lead to the break-up of states or secession11 of regions and the origin of new nation states. The system of European states is historically contingent and nonpredetermined. Yet, their decay does not imply that institutional structures of the same kind will replace them. New actors can perform some of their traditional functions, either at a larger (for example European integration) or smaller scale (for example, the revival of substate nations, such as Catalonia and Scotland). In this sense, Catalonia and Scotland have long undergone ‘stateless nation building’ processes, which have changed territorial, functional, identity and representative relationships (Keating, 2001b). However, these stateless nations neither have state structures on their own nor do they act as political institutions on the international scene. Overall, a number of movement actors have been able to mobilise broad social sectors through territorial uneasiness and popular disquiet that emerged in Catalonia and Scotland within the frameworks of the Treaty of Union in the UK and the Spanish ‘unfulfilled’ federal system (see Beramendi and Máiz, 2004). We shall see next how this happened in the light of a recession-driven scenario and an underlying crisis of political legitimacy.

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The economic crisis As a recent piece of research reminds us, in order to properly understand the main facets of mobilisation in terms of repertoires, organisational structures, framing strategies and so on, we should look at the specific characteristics of the socioeconomic context in which they developed (della Porta, 2015). Currently, the social pact between low- and moderate-income classes that enabled the building of the welfare state seems to have collapsed following the financial crises and austerity programmes. Material shortages, rising levels of unemployment, deepening of inequality and the impoverishment of much of the middle classes have occurred in Scotland and Catalonia. In parallel to the intensification of claims for redistribution, they were confronted with recentralisation impulses from central government. In a similar way to anti-austerity protests across southern Europe, the pro-independence mobilisations in Scotland and Catalonia have involved a heterogeneous mix of actors. According to Guy Standing (2011), the neoliberal framework has led to three main transformations: (1) distribution of power within the capitalist class, as financial capitalism took the lead; (2) decreasing power of the middle class, with proletarianisation of the petit bourgeoisie, civil servants, liberal professionals and so on; and (3) impoverishment of workers, especially those in the manufacturing and tertiary sectors of the economy. Therefore, precarity affects not only the vulnerable young workers in the job market, but ‘the 99%’ of the population, including civil servants and pensioners. Although precarious and highly educated youth are present in the mobilisations, della Porta’s (2015) research signals the presence of a coalition of various social actors who tend to identify themselves as belonging to lower classes and share frames around austerity. As a starting point, both Catalonia and Scotland are rich regions. However, their relative economic status within their respective unions differs: while Scotland is an average territory within the Union, Catalonia is a relatively rich autonomous community that disproportionately contributes to the state funds. Within the Spanish autonomous communities, Catalonia ranks fourth in terms of per capita income. Recession, which was especially acute in southern European countries, has led to rising standards of inequality, poverty and unemployment (for example, unemployment in Catalonia rose from 6.5% in the second semester of 2007 to 24.4% in the first semester of 2014), higher deficits, stricter conditions for access to social benefits and so on. Pressing circumstances have led to cuts in public spending

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(especially in education, the public health system and social welfare), which have worsened socioeconomic conditions to dramatic levels. The Catalan government, in order to guarantee stability and public services, had to borrow money from the central state through the socalled Autonomic Liquidity Funds (‘Fondo de Liquidez Autonómica’). Additionally, Catalans perceive that they disproportionately contribute to the central Spanish budget. Catalan governments historically failed to negotiate a solution to fix their ‘structural fiscal deficit’, which is set around 6–8% of the Catalan GDP on average in the last decade. According to estimates by the Catalan regional government, this deficit translates into €11.8–15 million for the year 2011 alone. Furthermore, Catalonia is the third highest autonomous community in terms of contributions to the system of autonomic funding, but eleventh in per capita income after redistributive measures are implemented. The long-term experience of economic strain and mistreatment derived from redistributive policies of the Spanish government became more pressing in a recession-driven scenario. Some claims associated with economic injustice have been at the core of this cycle – for example, that Catalonia is subject to ‘fiscal despoliation’ (‘l’espoli fiscal’), or ‘Spain is stealing from us’ (‘Espanya ens roba’), as we will see in Chapter Four. In contrast with the Catalan situation, ‘Scotland was neither an underprivileged nor an over-privileged periphery but had a GDP per capita nearer to the mean than any other nation or region of the UK (96 per cent)’ (Keating, 2010: 371). However, Thatcher’s defeat of the miners in the 1980s led to the closing of mines and massive unemployment in areas like Fife and Lanarkshire (Finlay, 2005: 222). Unemployment in Scotland remained consistently higher than the UK average and peaked at 14% in 1986 (Dalle Mulle, 2015b: 250). It was most intensely felt in the Glasgow area, where much of the labour force had been employed in heavy industry, generating catastrophic rates of long-term male unemployment (Lee, 1995: 68). Besides peaks of unemployment, the country also has areas of remarkable social and economic disadvantage, with the worst male life expectancy in Western Europe (Hassan and Ilett, 2011: 18–19). Life expectancy for males in Glasgow is seven years below the UK average, but it is radically worse in particular neighbourhoods: men in Shettleston and Calton can expect to live 14 and 24 years less than the national average, respectively (Gillan, 2006; Davidson, 2014c: 24). At first glance, the fortunes of Scottish nationalism might seem closely linked to economic circumstances. First, the discovery of vast oil fields off the coast of Scotland in 1971 provided a timely political windfall, as it served to rebut questions about the economic viability

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of independence (Marr, 1992: 132). Territorial tension and demands re-emerged in post-industrial Scotland in the 1980s and 1990s, and the recent referendum processes took place in the midst of socioeconomic depression and austerity measures. Contrary to what one might expect, however, traditionally support for Scottish nationalism has been greater in periods of economic growth than depression (Keating, 2009). This tendency was borne out in the survey data, which showed support for Scottish independence declining from a high of 35% in 2005 to only 23% in 2010.12 Yet, Keating (2009: 103) neatly sums up the crux of the territorial crisis in the UK: ‘the entrenchment of neo-liberal economic policies and the Thatcherite doctrine of the small state at UK government level has undermined the functional basis of the union’, thus rendering Scottish independence a much more attractive proposition. Something similar happened with Catalonia, especially after the acceptance of European institutions’ neoliberal dictates by the Spanish governments. For instance, the social democratic PSOE13 government implemented the harshest (until that date) package of pro-austerity measures in Spanish democratic history in May 2010. This implied cutting child benefits and pensions, slashing the salaries of public servants by up to 15%, raising the retirement age from 65 to 67, lifting bans on employing workers indefinitely on temporary labour contracts and so on (Portos, 2016). In both cases, movement actors have been able to mobilise a great proportion of society to advance their pro-independence and proredistributive aspirations on the grounds of grievances stemming from the concatenation of territorial and economic crises. In a way, both campaigns were not only for an independent Scotland or Catalonia but for a radically different Scotland or Catalonia based on enhanced democracy, and a rejection of austerity politics and growing socioeconomic inequality in Britain and Spain. As we shall see in Chapter Four, these mobilisation campaigns have been framed (for some parts of the electorate) by casting austerity and neoliberalism along national lines, as an English or Spanish phenomenon opposed to Scotland or Catalonia’s purported more left-wing values. In fact, YouGov surveys have confirmed that Scots tend to lean more towards the left on a range of social issues than does the rest of Britain (Jordan, 2015). However, such a calculation of leftist commitment is purely in relation to the rest of the UK. Data from the British Social Attitudes survey has shown that since devolution Scotland has, like England, become less social democratic, and that while it ‘is more social democratic in outlook than England, the differences are modest

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The context of the referendums from below: a tale of three crises

at best’ (Curtice and Ormston, 2011b: 1). Furthermore, Scots seem to share a similar social democratic outlook with the north of Britain, tending to diverge only upon inclusion of the more right-wing south (Keating, 2010: 371). On the other hand, self-placement on the right side of the ideological spectrum is highly unpopular among Catalans – only one in 10 Catalans see themselves as right-wingers. According to most recent barometers from the Centro de Investigaciones Sociológicas, they consistently regard themselves as more left-wing compared to the Spanish average (see Grasso, 2014). However, this apparent leftward orientation is more a matter of outward projection than genuine convictions (Orriols, 2014). Although they do generally feel more comfortable with the left-wing label, they do not really agree with some of the most basic principles of the left. For instance, when Catalans are asked whether they would be happy with raising tax to improve quality of public services and prioritising the defence of the welfare state, they tend to be more conservative, even falling towards the right wing relative to the Spanish average (Orriols, 2014). This mismatch between selfperceived and ideological attitudes might be due to nationalism, which has penetrated the traditional left–right cleavage. As Elias Dinas (2012) argues, contrary to the left, the right has been treated as the opponent of regional devolution and, therefore, many consider self-defining as right-wing to necessarily imply a negative stance towards Catalanism and territorial decentralisation. In Catalonia, self-positioning on the right side is socially stigmatised, associated with unionism, territorial insensitivity and stagnation – these often being regarded as the remainders of Francoism. Having said this, pro-independence actors in Catalonia tend to lean leftwards. Thus, polls preceding the non-binding consultation in 9 November 2014 indicated that 84% of self-declared communists, 54% of social democrats, 57% of ecologists and 71% of anarchists would vote for independence (see Palà and Picazo, 2014). The outright No option was chosen only by 8%, 28%, 31% and 0% of respondents within the abovementioned categories, respectively (according to the ‘Baròmetre d’Opinió Política I’; see BOP, 2014). Ostensibly, the movements for independence in Scotland and Catalonia have – at least thus far – failed to fulfil their two main goals: achieving independence and the contingent objective of creating a more equitable and inclusive Scotland and Catalonia, based on an alternative economic model that would have rejected austerity and neoliberalism. However, they succeeded in awakening Scottish and Catalan civil societies, mobilising and strengthening a vast array of movements and

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parties on the basis of better prospects. For many of the sectors involved in the processes, independence is therefore not an end in itself, but a democratic means to the realisation of greater social equality which is unobtainable within the existing institutional structures (see Chapter Four). Yet, the channelling of territorial uneasiness and grievances stemming from increasing deprivation, material hardship and rising standards of inequality through mobilisation was possible only because a third critical dimension came into existence: a political crisis, which presented opportunities that were appropriated by the challengers. The political crisis The strengthening of neoliberal policies, the financial crisis, the inability to ease and meet the aspirations of stateless nations have contributed to challenge traditional conceptions of representative democracy. However, times of turmoil also present new opportunities to propose, embody and envision alternative conceptions for the future of democracy (della Porta, 2013). Some of the social movements, through their participatory and inclusive mechanisms and demands, advance these visions. According to Hannah Pitkin (1972: 209), conflicts between representatives and citizens should not normally take place. The former must act in such a way to avoid them and, when they occur, an explanation is called for. Political parties play a crucial role in democratic settings, as intermediary institutions of political representation (della Porta, 2009a). They are meant to link constituencies and elites, channelling citizens’ needs and demands and translating them into policies. In democratic contexts, citizens tend to voice discontent whenever these channels are malfunctioning or ineffective (Piven and Cloward, 1977: 15). For many individuals, political parties and elites have not been performing according to their own declared values and standards. The political crisis has been a long time in the making, but it has reached a critical point due to the inability of political elites to satisfy citizens’ basic expectations. This fosters political disaffection, one of the core dimensions of Easton’s (1975) diffuse support, which consists of a generalised suspicion and a distrustful view of political life and the mechanisms and institutions of representation (Gunther and Montero, 2006: 49).14 Empirically, we can observe a sharp decline in political trust in intermediary institutions of representation (for example, parties), a general trend across southern European countries, particularly steep

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The context of the referendums from below: a tale of three crises

in Spain (Pérez-Nievas et al, 2013; della Porta, 2014). Confidence in political parties fell dramatically from 40% in 2008 to 5% in 2014 in Spain (and Catalonia followed the trend closely), according to Eurobarometer (2008, 2014) data. The level of political confidence in the UK and Scotland remained very low during the 2008-2015 period. Only 15% of Scots declared they trusted political parties in 2005 (see Mahendran and Cook, 2007); exactly the same percentage of UK inhabitants trusted parties in 2015.15 Although the relationship between political trust and mobilisation is contested, in general mistrust tends to favour elite-challenging and extra-conventional participation but is detrimental to elite-oriented and institutional options (Braun and Hutter, 2016). However, the crisis of political confidence has not resulted in a general process of apathy and alienation from politics (Mahendran and Cook, 2007; Lobera and Ferrándiz, 2013; Orriols and Rico, 2014: 77–8). While political (institutional) disaffection increased recently, so did citizen involvement in politics (Orriols and Rico, 2014: 77). Widespread lack of trust in the two major parties in Spain and the UK has led to a weakening of party loyalties, a general feature of austerityridden scenarios (della Porta, 2014). Many citizens did not believe traditional parties were fulfilling their aspirations. Conversely, the long cycle of anti-austerity protests likewise facilitated the breakdown of bipartisan loyalties. The crisis of legitimacy has been especially acute for social democratic parties. Following the financial meltdown, social democratic parties did poorly in various national elections across Western Europe. Moreover, left-wing incumbents were more likely to suffer severe electoral punishments than were their right-wing counterparts (Bartels, 2014).16 One central reason behind these electoral failures was their inability to implement leftward policies to cope with the crisis (active fiscal policies, public works, new pro-welfare state programmes and so on) as they did in the 1930s (see Lindvall, 2014). In Spain, the major political parties have faced a crisis of legitimacy during the recession, which opened an opportunity for the emergence of other institutional (and extra-institutional) alternatives (Subirats, 2015). Political dissatisfaction with democratic performance and mal(functioning) intermediary institutions of representation led to discontent. Especially after 2012, participation beyond traditional parties and through civil society-led mobilisations converged with the quest for the right to decide over the territorial accommodation in Catalonia. The PSOE underwent a U-turn in their economic policies, embracing a neoliberal agenda under pressure from European institutions. In addition, disoriented due to internal battles, the

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PSC-PSOE17 did not take a clear stance on the territorial issue. Also, corruption scandals contributed to a distancing of the electorate from the main parties in Spain and Catalonia, aggravating the negative perception of political responsiveness of representative institutions (see Torcal, 2014). A number of corruption scandals came under the spotlight during the Great Recession in the country. Importantly, the conservative Partido Popular and Mariano Rajoy’s government had their credibility undermined by ‘the exposure of a parallel accounting system and illegal slush fund for prominent party officials’ in 2013, following the publication of the ‘handwritten account ledgers by former party treasurer, Luis Bárcenas’ (Miley, 2016: 5). On the Catalan side, a major scandal erupted in July 2014, involving the CiU’s founder and former Catalan President Jordi Pujol. He conceded that for 34 years, including 23 when he served as the President of Catalonia, he had secret foreign bank accounts. Together with other family members, he is currently being investigated on the grounds of trafficking of influence, bribery, tax evasion, money laundering and public corruption, among other criminal activities. Also, suspicions over the CDC’s party funding proliferated over recent years.18 As for the PSOE, the Junta de Andalucía allegedly set up a fraudulent slush fund with public money from European bodies and the central state. Meant to support struggling companies lay off workers, these funds were allegedly used ‘as kickbacks and to feather the nests of Junta executives and their families’ (Horgan, 2015). Corruption has thus not only affected centre-right and right-wing parties, but also the public image of the social democratic PSOE. Similarly, the Labour Party19 in Scotland was ideologically distanced from its support base, a factor that, along with its incompetence and perceived corruption (Hassan, 2004: 4), left a large rump of the electorate open to a left-of-centre alternative. The Labour Party in Scotland suffered from the same travails of its counterparts south of the border: the inability to reconcile its identity as the party of the working classes with the reality of the decoupling of labour and territory and endemic de-industrialisation. It is difficult to ascertain how significantly the actions of the SNP contributed to Labour’s disintegration or if the SNP simply profited from its collapse, which would have occurred anyway. It is clear that the Labour Party was profoundly ill prepared and unable to formulate changed strategies and discourses in light of a serious competitor, especially one like the SNP, which presented itself as a more credible leftist alternative. On top of problems faced by the centre-left European mainstream parties in general and British Labour in particular, Scottish Labour ‘learned to govern the country

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by an unattractive, unimaginative administrative politics of cronyism, patronage and self-interest’ (Hassan, 2015). Suspicions of corruption scandals, such as the one involving allegedly multi-million-pound inflated public contracts in North Lanarkshire that is currently under investigation, did little to improve the perception of Scottish Labour. A general crisis of traditional intermediary institutions of representation made many citizens, particularly those on the left of the ideological spectrum, feel bereft of institutional representation, which bred discontent. However, movement actors were able to observe, seize, act upon and contribute to transforming this growing political discontent into political opportunities for mobilisation. In fact, electoral de-alignment is one of the classic opportunities for extrainstitutional mobilisation (Tarrow, 2011). Given the crisis of legitimacy of institutional forces, especially on the side of social democratic parties, movement actors have been able to mobilise many people who feel orphans of institutional representation based on a radically different and more left-wing oriented polity. Both the additional supply of outrage that comes from the political arena – which contributes to the existing stock of territorial and socioeconomic grievances – and the ability of challengers to appropriate opportunities derived from the political crisis lie beneath mobilisations around Scottish and Catalan referendums for independence. We will analyse the trajectory of these campaigns in the next section.

Scottish and Catalan mobilisation campaigns Pasqual Maragall (PSC-PSOE) was elected president of the Catalan Generalitat in 2003 and, one year later, PSOE’s candidate José Luis R. Zapatero unexpectedly became the president of the Spanish government. Given partisan and ideological harmony between the central and Catalan governments, Maragall, who was a Catalanist leader committed to a project of the institutional reorganisation of Spain as a whole in a federal sense, launched a reform of the Catalan Statute of Autonomy. The aim was to give Catalonia a special status within Spain that would safeguard its self-government and power. Zapatero promised that his party would ‘accept the Statute of Autonomy as approved by the Catalan Corts’ without amending it. A new Statute of Autonomy was approved in Catalonia, with only the conservative PP opposing it.20 However, the Statute suffered serious modifications in the Spanish Parliament. Notwithstanding this, the Catalan Corts and 73.2% of Catalans backed the amended version of the Statute in a referendum in 2005 (turnout: 48.9%).

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In 2006, however, the PP (and governments from other autonomous communities) appealed against the Catalan Statute of Autonomy on the grounds of unconstitutionality amid growing polarisation. Whereas most Catalans felt aggrieved, anti-Catalanist positions emerged among Spanish media and public opinion, especially on the right of the political spectrum. By then, a relevant part of the Catalan society had started to feel that the federal option that ensured a deeper devolution settlement was no longer possible, and that the traditional institutional strategies based on political agreements and pacts were no longer useful in solving the territorial tensions. In this context, while political elites were still focused on the negotiation of the reform of the Statute of Autonomy21 to delve deeper into devolution, discontent in Catalonia gradually started to become organised from below. Several civil society organisations converged in a new platform, the PDD,22 and coordinated – together with other organisations, such as the AMI23 – two big demonstrations and more than 500 non-binding consultations on independence across Catalonia. In 2006, the PDD’s first protest event was organised under the slogan ‘We are a Nation and we have the Right to Decide’ and, according to the organisers, it involved 700,000 demonstrators (police records report the significantly lower figure of 125,000). Participants claimed that the Statute of Autonomy as approved by the Catalan Corts should be respected. The large numbers legitimised and reinforced the role played by the PDD, and hundreds of individuals and associations joined the organisation over the subsequent months. In December 2007, the PDD organised a second major demonstration under the banner ‘We are a nation and we say this is ENOUGH!’, which again attracted up to 700,000 participants. Most Catalanist and pro-independence parties supported this event, such as the ERC, ICV24 and CiU. The Spanish Constitution does not allow for the organisation of any sub-state referendums on independence. This stance has been reinforced by the declaration of the Spanish Constitutional Court in 2008, which explicitly rejected such a claim on the part of some Basque authorities (Muñoz and Guinjoan, 2013: 44). Contending with this ban, some pro-independence (or at least in favour of self-determination) municipal councils symbolically organised consultations on independence at the local level. Arenys de Munt, a small (8,000 people) town not far from Barcelona held the first municipal referendum on Catalan independence in 2009. This town is a stronghold of pro-independence forces, thus the local infrastructural resources and political will necessary to organise such an endeavour were available. A number of activists (part of the CUP networks) created an organisation, the Moviment

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Arenyenc per a l’Autodeterminació (Arenyenc Movement for Selfdetermination). They filed a consultation proposal in the city town hall, where it was supported by the representatives of the CUP, AM2000,25 ERC and CiU. Only the local councillors of the PSOE opposed it – as an indication of the overall political sympathies of the town, more centrist parties such as the PP or Cs,26 had no representatives. The consultation was held on 13 September 2009. An overwhelmingly majority of voters (96%, with a turnout of 41%) answered Yes to the question on independence, which was formulated as follows: Do you agree with Catalonia becoming an independent, democratic and social state under the rule of law, integrated in the European Union? (Muñoz and Guinjoan, 2013: 45). Interestingly, the first municipal referendum took place before the final ruling by the Constitutional Court on the Catalan Corts’ proposed new Statute in 2010. The practice of non-binding referendums rapidly diffused across Catalan municipalities. In December 2009, 167 other towns held similar consultations. In total, referendums were held in 552 municipalities across Catalonia between 2009 and 2011. This means that 58% of the Catalan municipalities organised a referendum, encompassing 77.5% of the total population (Muñoz and Guinjoan, 2013: 45). Voters in these consultations overwhelmingly supported an independent Catalan state with a Yes vote of 91.7% (Muñoz and Guinjoan, 2013: 52). While the overall turnout was low at 18.1%, we have to consider that these consultations were unofficial and non-binding. Levels of participation were uneven across Catalonia, though. Although turnout amounted to 95% in certain municipalities, it was as low as 5% in some others (Muñoz and Guinjoan, 2013: 45). On a number of occasions, these consultations were confronted by far right groups like the small fascist party, ‘Falange de las JONS’ in Arenys de Munt in September 2009 (El País, 2009). In June 2010, four years after the appeal, the Constitutional Court made its verdict on the Statute of Autonomy public. It ruled some of its core components unconstitutional (for example, the definition of Catalonia as a nation, the fiscal system, the power to call for binding referendums and so on). At the institutional level, the verdict meant the end of the government coalition (led by José Montilla, PSCPSOE, with the support of the eco-socialist ICV and the left-wing nationalist ERC), internal divisions within the PSC-PSOE and a new peak of support for CiU. As regards civil society mobilisation, it fostered contestation and the organisation of dissent. In July 2010, 1.5 million protesters, according to the organisers (1 million according to police records), took the streets under the slogan ‘We are a Nation,

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We Decide’. This demonstration had an extraordinary symbolic power because of its transversal character, bringing together different political orientations. A few months later, a key actor within the cycle of mobilisation, the ANC27 would emerge. This platform, an (indirect) evolution of the PDD, reflected – and contributed to – the increasing support for independence. Only a few weeks before the 2012 Catalan parliamentary election, the ANC (supported by a number of civil society actors, such as Òmnium Cultural) launched its first mass demonstration headed by the banner ‘Catalonia, new state of Europe’. It gathered 1.5 million participants (according to the Generalitat and police records; data from the Spanish government estimated 600,000 attendees) and forced the nationalist parties to commit to holding a referendum if they won the election. In 2012, the CiU and ERC signed the ‘Agreement for Freedom’, which was a declaration of the willingness of the two parties to give voice to Catalan citizens through a referendum. Also, a motion demanding a referendum on independence in Catalonia was passed in the Corts (supported by all the Catalan political forces except from PSC-PSOE, PP and Cs). By January 2013, parties in favour of self-determination had a large majority in the Catalan Parliament (CiU, ERC, ICV and CUP had together 87 out of 135 seats). Also, popular support for holding a referendum on independence in the short term was dramatically growing. In this context, the position of CiU and its leader, the Catalan president Artur Mas, gradually evolved from their traditional pragmatic devolutionism to an outright pro-independence stance. Also, the ANC, together with Òmnium Cultural, organised a second mass demonstration under the slogan ‘My place in history. Catalan Way towards Independence’. The general pro-independence turn reached its peak in September 2014,28 with a massive protest involving almost 2 million people under the slogan ‘Now is the time, united for the new country’. Protesters lined up along the streets of Barcelona in alternate colourful rows wearing the commemorative red and yellow T-shirts to form a huge ‘V’ for ‘vote’, representing the senyera (Catalan flag). They demanded a fully binding referendum on independence. In spite of the Catalan pro-independence movement’s huge capacity for mobilisation, the central government was very passive towards it, underestimating (and even disregarding) its strength. Institutional closure on the part of Spanish authorities reinforced the perception of a democratic deficit that has strengthened the movement’s claims. After the PP won an absolute majority in the 2011 general election and Mariano Rajoy was appointed president, a counterproductive

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strategy based on a mix of apathy and pure legalism followed. For instance, following the human chain performance during the 2013 Diada,29 the government conveyed two messages. On the one hand, the well-known legalist argument: ‘The Constitution is above all… it is the framework we should all respect’ (in EcoDiario, 2013). On the other hand, Soraya Sáenz advocated for “a Diada for everybody”, because it is not fair “to make citizens stand divided” (in Huffington Post, 2013). This summarises the central government’s understanding of mobilisations: they were driven by the Catalan elites in general, and the Generalitat in particular, in an attempt to separate society by widening the territorial cleavage and using the mobilisations of the radicalised sectors for their electoral interests. In December 2013, despite central government denial and cautionary suspension from the Constitutional Court, the Generalitat announced the call for a referendum on independence to take place on 9 November 2014 (known as 9-N). The announcement was interpreted as defiance towards the rule of law by the central government: “the referendum is not going to take place because it is unconstitutional. There is no democracy without law. Sovereignty lies in the Spanish peoples as a whole. No government is above the will of Spaniards and the law’, declared the vice-president and spokeswoman of the Spanish government, Soraya Sáenz (La Voz de Galicia, 2014). The Spanish government appealed to the Constitutional Court, which suspended the consultation. Despite initial uncertainty, the Catalan government decided to set out a popular non-binding consultation instead of a referendum, delegating the organisation to civil society actors, while using the regional government’s resources. The 9-N mobilisation was a massive act of protest held in public facilities with a Commission of Control appointed by the Generalitat and polling booths staffed by volunteers. Despite difficulties (there was no list of registered voters, polling stations were not the usual ones, there were no home-delivered ballots, some threats and so on), over 2.3 million valid votes were casted in a peaceful, non-binding voting performance. In a nutshell, the cycle of mobilisations followed a bottom-up logic in Catalonia. As one founder of the PDD interviewed pointed out: ‘the crisis of the Statute has come to convince citizenry that national affirmation and vindication of our historical, political and economic rights were not [the] private terrain of politicians. We, as civil society, had to take a step forward, and become protagonists of this story. No one [among

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political parties and institutional forces] was to take the lead on our behalf.’ (Interview CT1) Civil society polarised as events unfolded, especially the crisis of the failed reformed Statute of Autonomy and the inability of central state elites to respond to the territorial demands of many increasingly aggrieved Catalans. This move was parallel to the evolution of local elites, particularly the CiU ruling coalition, towards pro-independence stances. In sharp contrast, the Scottish referendum was initially a top-down endeavour within the realm of institutional politics. It was the result of an agreement between Scottish and UK political elites. The SNP committed to hold a referendum on independence in the manifesto for the 2007 Scottish Parliament election. Following the SNP victory with 44% of the popular vote only four years later, it became clear that a referendum on independence would be held, whether an informal public consultation or a constitutionally endorsed one (Scully, 2013). The former option would have reinforced a perception of a democratic deficit in Scotland and strengthened the SNP’s hand. After a period of bargaining over procedural issues, on 15 October 2012, the UK Prime Minister David Cameron and the Scottish First Minister Alex Salmond signed the Edinburgh Agreement, which provided for an official referendum concerning the Scotland’s territorial and institutional relationship with the rest of the UK in September 2014. Its terms were dictated by Westminster and, contrary to the wishes of the Scottish Parliament (and the will of many of the SNP at that moment), the referendum was phrased as an in/out question with no compromise third option that involved the devolution of further powers to the Scottish Parliament – known as the Devo Max alternative (Curtice and Ormston, 2011a). In light of the National Conversation the SNP had launched in 2007 (a series of public forums wherein various institutional futures for Scotland were proposed and discussed – see Curtice and Ormston, 2011a: 25–7), it became clear that a significant portion of Scottish society was not entirely sold on independence but in favour of further powers for Holyrood that went beyond those advised by the Calman Report (Commission on Scottish Devolution, 2009).30 The SNP, unsure of the likelihood of a successful outcome, argued for the inclusion of Devo Max on the ballot as it would have allowed it to present a rejection of outright independence but an endorsement of enhanced autonomy as a nationalist victory. However, as polls at the time showed that support for independence was around 20% (Curtice,

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2013), Westminster discarded this option and pushed for polarisation when opting for an exclusively in/out question for the referendum. In March 2013, the Scottish government announced that the referendum would be held on 18 September 2014, marking the official start of the campaign. The timing of the referendum was premature, but the SNP were under both time and political constraints. The British general election and Scottish Parliament elections were pencilled in for 2015–16, meaning that the referendum had to be held before then (Interview SC7). The SNP were also under provocative pressure from pro-Union parties, especially Scottish Labour, to hold the referendum, as pro-Union parties were confident that any imminent referendum would be easily defeated, thus weakening the SNP (Interview SC9). Although the polls were inauspicious and even many of the SNP’s own strategists did not believe that they would actually win, it had to be organised. As one interviewee explained: ‘So, this was not taken on the basis of this is the best time to win anything. This was taken on the basis that this could be the only time ever we get a chance to do this, so we’ve got to. They didn’t really have an option. And once you are in that position you’ve got to make the best of it.’ (Interview SC 7) In the autumn of 2012, Alex Salmond set the target of 1 million signatures to the ‘Independence for Scotland’ petition, a figure that was reached on 22 August, almost four weeks before the referendum. The official pro-independence campaign had been set up by 2012, but Yes Scotland was running a very uninspired campaign until it was given a huge boost by the emergence of the grassroots movements around 18 months before the actual vote. Yes Scotland was led and dominated by the SNP, and the two SNP representatives on Yes Scotland’s board were renowned for their more centrist orientation, but the more leftist oriented Nicola Sturgeon replaced one of them after it became apparent that the overall campaign had swung away from the centre (Foley and Ramand, 2014: 79). However, Yes Scotland also included radical left-wing parties and platforms such as the SSP31 or the Radical Independence Campaign (RIC).32 In practice, it functioned more as an umbrella platform of local and theme-based groups rather than a centrally driven project. After a period of the campaign trundling along and having little impact on the polls, at a certain point sometime in 2013, the grassroots movements emerged and reinvigorated the campaign, imbuing the

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campaign with creativity, enthusiasm and new ideas. This led to the incremental rise of the pro-independence side in the polls, which continued until the holding of the actual referendum. The genesis of this momentum is not entirely clear. Most likely, it took newly formed organisations such as RIC and Common Weal33 some time to get organised before launching their campaigns but what was arguably more important was the popular fear that a momentous opportunity was being wasted by the limited political horizons of the SNP. In a paradoxical turn of events, the ultimate ‘success’ of the overall campaign inspired by the grassroots, was a result of the pitiful performance of the Yes Scotland organisation at the beginning (Interview SC7). The grassroots mobilisation in Scotland was not ‘characterised by a unified leadership or a single policy programme but by a multitude of independent groupings across the country operating autonomously of both Yes Scotland and one another’ (Swann, 2014a). In Scotland, the overwhelming majority of initiatives were small in scale and there were no mass demonstrations comparable to those in Catalonia. Two demonstrations were organised; they were poorly organised local initiatives, which were only very cautiously endorsed by Yes Scotland after it became clear that they were going ahead. Ultimately they did not attract large numbers of participants. The English leader of the right-wing populist and Eurosceptic UKIP (UK Independence Party), Nigel Farage, was met by small but determined protest when he ventured north of the border. Also, a few hundred people demonstrated twice in front of BBC Scotland’s headquarters in Glasgow to protest against the bias in the coverage of the referendum in July and then again in September 2014 (Herald Scotland, 2014). Notwithstanding the improvised nature of the campaign, it slowly began to win over voters. The Yes vote remained relatively static throughout the campaign, polling at around 30%, until it rose to 40% in the final month. As the polls in the run-up to the referendum showed that momentum was rapidly shifting to the Yes campaign, with one poll on 10 September (with only eight days to go) suggesting an outright Yes majority (51% to 49%), the Westminster establishment informally reintroduced the Devo Max option which it had excluded to begin with. Scottish voters were promised a hastened devolution of powers if Scotland voted to stay within the Union. However, given the lack of time to flesh out in detail what such powers would involve, it was entirely contingent on the goodwill of the Westminster government. And in the immediate aftermath of the vote, Cameron had already begun to downplay the establishment’s pledge by binding any future

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reform for Scotland to an as yet ill-defined programme to enact a system of English votes for English laws (Wintour, 2014). In Scotland, support for independence almost doubled from 23% in 2010 (Curtice, 2014a: 3) to nearly 45% on the day of the poll in 2014, while support for independence in Catalonia rocketed from less than 14% in 2006 (Muñoz and Guinjoan, 2013: 48) to around 50% in 2014. The referendum in Scotland had the highest turnout of all referendums in the UK (Qvortrup, 2015: 39). It was – until that moment – arguably ‘the most important poll in British history’, as it concerned its very territorial framework (Qvortrup, 2015: 36). The pseudo-referendum in Catalonia was the largest non-conventional electoral performance that has ever taken place in the region. Neither process ended in secession, though. Whereas in the Scottish case the campaign was relatively short and intense, running for around two years, the Catalan campaign was part of a much broader political cycle that ran between 2006 and 2014 and was characterised by a more gradual evolution, full of contentious performances. Mobilisations around the referendums and the failure to achieve independence (and even to have a binding referendum in the Catalan case) contributed to reshape the political situation in both cases. Neither Alex Salmond nor Artur Mas are leading the Scottish and Catalan governments, respectively. The former Catalan president, together with other regional ministers (namely Irene Rigau and Joana Ortega) are facing legal charges and disqualifications for having organised the pseudo-referendum in November 2014. Nonetheless, the intention of organising further referendums on independence in both cases remains strong. In Scotland, faced with the intransigence of the Tory government regarding its plans for withdrawal from the EU, Scotland’s First Minister Nicola Sturgeon, called for another referendum before 2019 (Carrell, 2017). However, any such referendum would occur in an even more uncertain context, regarding the status of an independent Scotland vis-à-vis both the EU and the UK. Growing popular support for new left-wing political forces in Catalonia has started to break the equilibrium by putting forward new alternatives on the left, without necessarily entailing an independent state for Catalonia. In fact, proindependence civil society organisations in both places are much weaker now relative to a couple of years ago – and the prospects for unitary campaigns more unlikely. As one interviewed member from the SSP put it, “as of today, the chances of a unified single campaign are zero. There’s no way the left would get involved in a campaign that says we are going to put the EU membership ahead of independence” (Interview SC6). Also, both in Scotland and Catalonia, the movements

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seem to have collapsed into institutional politics, especially into the SNP and ERC/PDC structures.

Conclusion Kenneth M. Roberts (1998, 2015) argues that Latin American politics and society have faced a neoliberal critical juncture since the late 1980s. Structural contradictions grew from economic modernisation, class formation and social mobilisation, on one side, and political and institutional exclusion, on the other. Similarly, in the context of the Great Recession (which brought about austerity policies, a push towards proletarianisation, inequality, unemployment, as well as cuts in public spending and social benefits), a crisis of the political dimension also unfolded (crisis of legitimacy of political parties, social democracy, corruption scandals) across different – particularly southern European – countries. In the two scenarios we have analysed throughout, a third dimension comes into play: a crisis of territorial fitting, as stateless nations do not find accommodation in the context of existing nation states. These three intertwined dimensions (socioeconomic, political, territorial) are the contextual root causes that lie beneath mobilisations around the referendums for independence in Catalonia and Scotland. How are these three crises linked to actions for the referendums on independence? We argue throughout that there is a concatenation of two crucial mechanisms: grievance formation and appropriation of opportunities. The three intertwined dimensions – territorial, socioeconomic, political – generated dissatisfaction and unrest, a breeding ground for mobilisation. These grievances were deepened, perceived and eventually used by challengers to appeal to broad sectors of the population. Many Scots and Catalans do not feel comfortable under their respective territorial settings, a perception that infiltrates the socioeconomic axis in a recession-ridden scenario (that is, where material deprivation, hardship and inequality are on the rise). Through an inclusive narrative of a radically different polity (that is, more pro-distributive and left-wing oriented in their policies), pro-independence actors are able to appeal to and mobilise a broad electorate that seeks to redress both territorial and socioeconomic faults within the current framework. In addition, institutional closure and lack of concessions on the part of authorities fostered popular discontent with the political status quo, which fed back on the other two dimensions. These required potentials notwithstanding, mobilisation only takes place provided challengers are able to appropriate opportunities that develop in light of the crisis

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of political legitimacy: electoral de-alignment (particularly on the left wing of the ideological spectrum) and availability of allies allow the transformation of latent potentials into actions for the referendums around independence. Yet discontinuities in the trajectories and mobilisation campaigns for independence in Scotland and Catalonia were manifold. While the Scottish mobilisation was initially a top-down elite endeavour that subsequently managed to encompass social movement actors, civil society organisations led the Catalan mobilisations and elites gradually embraced more openly pro-independence stances in light of polarisation. While there were many mass contentious activities in the Catalan case, a grassroots campaign based on small-scale, decentralised awareness-raising actions unfolded in Scotland. Importantly, while a fully fledged referendum was held in Scotland, the Catalan one was a symbolic non-binding performance.

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THREE

The organisational strategies of movements in referendums from below Referendums present a rare occasion for movements to have a central role in political developments and emerge from the shadow of the usually more dominant political parties. Tarrow and McAdam have argued that the interaction of parties and movements intensifies around elections: movements can mobilise proactively prior to elections, or reactively to their outcomes (McAdam and Tarrow, 2010: 534). The same can be said for party–movement interactions around referendums, with perhaps a greater emphasis on movements as key participants in campaigns themselves rather than simply reacting to political parties’ initiatives. Indeed, on multiple occasions, campaigns led by movements have defeated referendums introduced and backed by political parties, such as in the Canadian constitutional referendum in 1992 (Pammett and LeDuc, 2001) or the referendum on the first Lisbon Treaty in Ireland (Kissane, 2009). Together with elections, referendums are perhaps the best-established form of mass democratic participation. Although there are many similarities between electoral and referendum campaigns, there are also some significant differences, particularly in terms of the latter’s openness to broader participation. First, elections are by definition characterised by competition between political parties, while movements are limited to endorsing or opposing certain politicians or parties, and thus confined to the margins. Referendums, on the other hand, are more open to movement engagement. Certain states and regions even facilitate referendums triggered by popular initiatives (see Barankay et al, 2003). Second, elections are part of often well-established short-term electoral cycles centred on regular elections at the municipal, regional, national and European levels. Referendums are often the culmination of decades-long mobilisation, particularly those addressing questions of national sovereignty. Yet, the definitive result of these long mobilisations is often the result of a much shorter, more condensed referendum campaign (LeDuc, 2009: 139). Therefore, the timing of both the referendum campaign and the broader mobilisation that preceded the vote is a key element to understanding the dynamics of referendums.

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Third, all votes in referendums generally count equally, resulting in territorially extensive campaigns – in sharp contrast to the strategic concentration of resources on decisive marginal constituencies or party strongholds in elections. Finally, referendum campaigns are often more decisive in determining outcomes than are electoral campaigns because they are usually more volatile, often because of parties’ ambiguous roles (LeDuc, 2002b). As de Vreese has explained: ‘Parties may be internally divided over the referendum issue, political parties from opposite sides of the ideological left–right spectrum may form unusual coalitions in referendums, and referendums may also give rise to new parties or movements and thereby reshaping the party system’ (2007a: 1). Nonetheless, it has been argued that the endogenous change generated in the course of referendum campaigns has been insufficiently examined (Kriesi et al, 2007: 3). This is said to be even more pronounced in referendums on sovereignty, where national dispositions are thought to be entrenched to a greater extent, as in Quebec (LeDuc, 2002b, 2009). Yet, the Catalan and Scottish cases have proven that determined and well-organised campaigns can lead to dramatic re-evaluations of national identity priorities and choices related to sovereignty. Accordingly, based on the premise that referendum campaigns can prove critical to their outcomes (de Vreese, 2007a: 1; LeDuc, 2015), this chapter will analyse the specific role played in the referendum campaigns by social movements in the cases of Scotland and Catalonia, and how the strategies of pro-independence movements were influenced by parties that shared the overall goal of independence but generally hold very different ideological outlooks. More specifically, this chapter will address the tensions within and across movements in terms of tactics and in relation to the institutions and parties, the respective campaigns’ repertoires of contention and how they took concrete shape at the macro and micro levels. We will argue that the greatest similarity in the two broader mobilisations was the adoption of prefigurative practices (see Leach, 2013; Yates, 2015a), which deeply informed much of the movements in both Scotland and Catalonia. Prefigurative politics ‘speaks to a relationship between means and ends that goes both ways: goals must be embodied in means and at the same time means involve reassessing and negotiating goals’ (Swann, 2014a). For the movements involved in both campaigns, the process was much more about reclaiming politics in a broader sense and reincorporating traditionally marginalised figures into an active debate on the best possible society. In that sense, both mobilisations were characterised by a focus on horizontality, democratic decision making and inclusivity. Additionally, both pro-independence

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movements were minded to take a leading and autonomous role in the respective referendum campaigns, rejecting the vertical logic of political parties. In addition, the respective campaigns tended to include initiatives at various levels. On the one hand, the Catalan campaign involved more macro-level events such as the annual Diada and other mass demonstrations numbering in the millions of participants, as argued in Chapter Two. However, this was also bolstered by the organisation at the micro level of local consultations in individual municipalities and the participation of many existing, locally rooted social, political and cultural organisations. In the Scottish case, on the other hand, the only major macro-level event was the referendum itself. Although, a few mass rallies were held, they were dramatically smaller in size and never a key tactic of the broader movement. The run-up to the vote in Scotland was characterised by a plethora of local, micro-level initiatives, which facilitated discussion on what form a future Scotland should take. Also, we will argue that the Scottish referendum campaign witnessed a relatively cohesive mobilisation between pro-independence movements, smaller parties and the Scottish National Party (SNP). This can be attributed to a loose overlap in terms of left or centre-left ideology between the movements and the SNP, the strategic setting aside of past and future rivalries, and the relatively brief referendum campaign. In Catalonia, on the other hand, the campaign has been much more drawn out, extending over 10 years. This has allowed the admittedly more acute political tensions between left-wing movements and right-wing nationalist parties, particularly the Convergència i Unió/Convergence and Union coalition (CiU), to come to the fore and on occasion risk derailing joint efforts. This chapter is structured in three main sections. As an initial step to understanding the political context, the first section will assess the role of pro-independent political parties and their interactions with the relevant movements. The second part will address some of the most significant movement organisations active in campaigns around the issue of referendums in the respective cases. We will focus on their organisational structures and repertoires of contention, analysing processes of diffusion and scale shift. In particular, we will address the Radical Independence Campaign (RIC) and Women for Independence (WFI) in Scotland, and the Plataforma pel Dret a Decidir/Platform for the Right to Decide (PDD), the Assemblea Nacional Catalana/ National Catalan Assembly (ANC), and the Òmnium Cultural in Catalonia. Considering the extensive engagement of a huge gamut of formal and more informal groups and initiatives, it will not be an

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exhaustive treatment of each and every active movement, but it will analyse some of the broader similarities and differences between the two cases. Finally, the third section will be a comparative analysis of the two cases focusing on the interaction between political parties and social movement organisations, and the bolstering of institutionalised political parties after the cycle of mobilisation.

Pro-independence political parties In modern Scotland, the principal pro-independence actor had always been the SNP. Formed in 1934 by the merger of the National Party of Scotland (NPS), which sought self-government, and the right-wing Scottish Party, it failed to make any significant impact on the electorate (Finlay, 2005: 201). The party’s fixation on the national question failed to resonate with the Scottish electorate, especially in light of the tangible improvements that the post-war welfare state brought about for Scotland’s working classes. Real income per capita by the end of the 1950s was 75% higher than it had been in 1934 (Dalle Mulle, 2015b: 242). The SNP had to wait until 1967 for its first breakthrough in a Westminster by-election won by Winnie Ewing (Hassan, 2009a: 1). Although the SNP had begun to refer to itself as social democratic in its 1974 election manifesto, it was riven with internal debate between various ideological factions (Hassan, 2009b: 4; Dalle Mulle, 2015a: 4). Accordingly, unlike the Catalan Esquerra Republican de Catalunya/ Republican Left of Catalonia (ERC) – which has always been identified as a left or centre-left party, even in its name – the SNP has a more ideologically ambivalent heritage, perhaps explaining why it took so long for it to win over Scottish Labour voters. Nonetheless, the 1970s was a period of expansion for the party, and in 1974 the SNP succeeded in electing 11 MPs to Westminster. Following on from the findings of the 1973 Kilbrandon Commission, the governing Labour Party passed the 1978 Scotland Bill, which included provision for the 1979 referendum on Scottish Devolution (McGarvey and Cairney, 2008: 30). However, the SNP was internally divided between factions opposed to any compromise short of full independence and the ‘gradualists’, willing to use self-government as a stepping stone to independence. Unsurprisingly, the party ran a disjointed campaign and, although the motion was passed by a majority of voters, it did not reach the required threshold of 40% of the entire electorate (as opposed to 40% of the actual turnout) (Lynch, 2001: 10). The SNP subsequently backed a Conservative motion of no confidence

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in the government, triggering elections that led to the SNP losing nine of its MPs and 18 years of Conservative government. In the short term, the SNP’s indirect involvement in bringing Thatcher to power proved a strong impediment to its subsequent growth. Yet, in the long term, Thatcher’s decade-long reign was decisive in the SNP’s emergence from its nationalist niche in Scottish politics. Her implementation of sweeping neoliberal economic policies had a deleterious effect on Scotland because of its disproportionate share in Britain’s heavy industry. The Thatcher era also resulted in a heightened sense of collective political disempowerment. In the absence of a devolved parliament or the traditional Scottish voice within the Labour Party, Scotland was deprived of any institutional outlet, “72 MPs went down to Westminster and were completely ignored” (Interview SC9). As a means to carve out a more comprehensive identity beyond independence and attract the ravaged working-class vote, the SNP firmly relocated itself on the political left. This swing to the left was led by an internal party faction known as the 79 group, of which subsequent SNP leader Alex Salmond was a prominent figure (see Torrance, 2009). Although the 1980s was a period of electoral mediocrity for the SNP, its ideological repositioning left it in a stronger place to harness growing discontent, both with political developments in Westminster and with the Labour Party’s inability to protect working-class interests in Scotland. The SNP also benefitted from a number of external developments. The Tories’ economic reforms and sale of nationalised industries had the inevitable consequence of undermining the economic relationship between the British state and Scotland (Stewart, 2005: 54). Additionally, the introduction of the hated ‘poll tax’ in Scotland before other areas in Great Britain (see Hassan and Shaw, 2012) was the perfect incarnation of the democratic deficit that the SNP attributed to Scotland’s relationship with Westminster. The Labour Party remained the overwhelmingly dominant political force in Scotland until 2007, but the SNP eventually reaped the electoral dividends of its adoption of leftist or at least social democratic values. The SNP’s fusion of leftist and nationalist politics coincided with Scotland’s self-identification as left of centre or, in the words of Alex Salmond, its ‘social democratic consensus’ (2013) In Catalonia, there has been no dominant pro-independence political party similar to the SNP in Scotland, in terms of either electoral success or historical continuity. Traditionally, the largest Catalan party has been the Convergència Democràtica de Catalunya/ Democratic Convergence of Catalonia (CDC), which contested

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elections in a bi-party coalition with the smaller Unió Democràtica de Catalunya/Democratic Union of Catalonia (UDC). This coalition, the CiU, under the stewardship of only two leaders, Jordi Pujol and Artur Mas, has ruled Catalonia since 1980 with the exception of the period from 2003 to 2010 (Guibernau, 2013b: 14). The CiU coalition was liberal-conservative in ideology and until recent years favoured greater autonomy but not independence. Pujol described the CDC’s traditional stance on independence as ‘a brand of nationalism that does not renounce the right to self-determination but which has chosen to work towards a progressive increase in political power and institutional recognition within the framework of the Spanish state and the European Union’ (in Guibernau, 2004: 128). In fact, the CDC’s evolution from a devolutionist to a pro-independence position mirrors the broader transformation of pro-independence growth in Catalan society. Divergences between its constituent parties over independence – the UDC favours remaining within the Spanish state – led to the rupture of the coalition in 2015. The CDC was also beset by issues regarding corruption, which involved some of the CDC’s most prominent members (including its former leader Jordi Pujol) and the – ongoing – investigation into alleged irregular financing contributed not only to the CiU alliance but also the CDC party’s dissolution. As of July 2016, the CDC has been re-founded under the name Partit Demòcrata Català (Democratic Catalan Party, PDC). The CiU’s position on independence was always ambiguous, guided by pragmatism rather than deep conviction.1 As a result, its relationship with pro-independence social movements is much weaker; accordingly, the ensuing section will focus on the pro-independence ERC and the Candidatura d’Unitat Popular/Popular Unity Candidacy (CUP), which are closer to the movements analysed in this chapter. Catalonia’s most important pro-independence political party has long been the ERC. Founded by Lluis Companys in 1931 as a merger of three different pro-independence factions – some more committed to independence than others (Conversi, 2000: 38; Guibernau, 2004: 85; Dalle Mulle, 2015b: 49). It enjoyed significant early success, winning an overall majority with 56 seats in the 1932 Catalan Parliament (Keown, 2011: 80). Having briefly declared an independent Catalan Republic in 1934, it was overwhelmed by the Francoist regime, and its surviving members fled into exile. The ERC suffered greatly under Franco and 793 of its members, including Companys, were executed between 1938 and 1943 (Dalle Mulle, 2015b: 50). The ERC fragmented in exile, and its clandestine mobilisation efforts made limited impact in the transition period of the late 1970s. Its ‘lack of resources, the

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dismemberment of the party under Franco and the diversity of trends coexisting within it account for the poor electoral results obtained’ in this period (Guibernau, 2004: 86). In the 1977 Spanish general election it returned only a single deputy to parliament. After more than a decade of electoral mediocrity, the party underwent a generational overhaul in the mid-1980s, when its youth wing seized control of the party. This led to the adoption of a more defined leftist politics in addition to its focus on Catalan nationalism (Dalle Mulle, 2015b). It achieved notable improvements in its electoral fortunes, obtaining 8% of the vote and 11 seats in the 1992 election for the Catalan Generalitat, which had been reinstated in 1977 (Keating, 1992). It maintained this share of the Catalan vote through the 1990s and was a key participant in a progressive coalition – importantly not a pro-independence one – that governed the Catalan Parliament from 2003 until 2010. The other coalition partners were the Partit dels Socialistes de Catalunya/ Socialists’ Party of Catalonia (PSC-PSOE) and Iniciativa per Catalunya Verds/Initiative for Catalonia Greens (ICV)2 (see Davis, 2004). In terms of these central pro-independence parties’ impact on social movements, there are a number of factors to be considered. A key distinction between the SNP and the ERC is that in comparison to the ERC’s modest recent successes, the SNP is an electoral behemoth. The SNP acceded to power in the Scottish Parliament, albeit a minority government, in 2007. It then successfully won an outright majority in the 2011 Scottish election before sweeping to an unprecedented victory in Scotland in the 2015 United Kingdom (UK) general election (Dudley Edwards, 2016). Although the ERC grew to become the second largest party in the Catalan Parliament in 2012, with 21 seats (Burg, 2015), it remains but one of many political parties of fluctuating strength in Catalonia. Accordingly, the SNP sets the political agenda in Scotland, as best evidenced by its successful insistence on organising the referendum; inevitably, all pro- or anti-independence movements are thus reactive to its decisions. The ERC has no such hegemonic capacity in Catalonia. The two parties do, however, share one key characteristic: their commitment to left-of-centre politics is often subordinated to nationalist and pragmatic imperatives. The SNP can be understood as “basically a social democratic party with a pro-business wing” (Interview SC1). On the other hand, the ERC’s president, Oriol Junqueras, declared at the party’s 2011 Congress that ‘between the right and the left, we choose the left, but between the left and the country, we work for the country’ (in Dalle Mulle, 2015b: 53). The ERC offered its external support, seemingly with little compunction, to the conservative pro-

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independence CiU government after the 2012 election (Martí, 2013). This is in contrast to the long, tortuous debates that occurred in the ICV and CUP over backing a right-wing party. Nonetheless, both the ERC and the SNP enjoy non-inimical relationships with a broader spectrum of pro-independence social movements. Many movements such as the RIC in Scotland and the ANC in Catalonia include their party members at national and local levels. The ERC and the SNP frame their nationalism in a non-essentialist and inclusive fashion and espouse generally left-of-centre policies, which is sufficient to facilitate a temporary marriage of convenience with more radical movements as a step along the road towards independence. There are a number of smaller parties whose ideologies and participatory practices ensure a more organic relationship with the pro-independence movements. The CUP draws heavily from the left-wing pro-independence Catalan milieu. It is a coalition of radical, relatively autonomous grassroots assemblies, rather than a party in the traditional sense, and it enjoys support from pre-existing movements such as Endavant, Poble Lliure, Arran and many other leftist entities. The CUP operates on the principles of radical democracy and anticapitalism, and is organised through autonomous local assemblies in towns and neighbourhoods around Catalonia, generally enjoying the strongest support in urban areas. Deeply involved in multiple local struggles regarding housing and feminism, it is thus very much oriented towards the grassroots rather than focusing on its presence in the Generalitat. As ‘it puts the national and the social questions on an equal footing’ (López, 2015: 249), the CUP is in direct opposition to parties like the ERC and the CiU on questions outside of the national issue. It initially participated only in municipal elections before standing for the Catalan elections in 2010, where it obtained no seats; but it performed well in the 2012 elections, obtaining 126,000 votes and winning three seats (Burg, 2015: 305). In 2015, the CUP almost tripled its support, earning 10 seats. It does not participate in general Spain-wide elections. Scotland also has a number of parties with greater natural affinities to the social movement sector. The Scottish Green party and its members have been at the forefront of numerous environmental campaigns and took a prominent role in the independence campaign. Its highpoint was in the 2003 Scottish Parliament election, where it won seven seats (Denver, 2003). It failed to build on this progress and remained on the margins of electoral politics, but it made significant progress in the 2016 Holyrood election, winning six seats and finishing in fourth place ahead of the Liberal Democrats for the first time (Hassan, 2016). For

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a short period after the 2003 Scottish Parliament elections, when it returned six MSPs (Members of the Scottish Parliament), the Scottish Socialist Party (SSP) was the world’s most successful Trotskyist party (Hassan, 2010). It obtained a notable 15.2% of the vote in Glasgow, the country’s largest city (Denver, 2003: 38). However, the SSP failed to expand on this substantial base of support and crumbled in the wake of an acrimonious sex and drugs scandal featuring its charismatic leader Tommy Sheridan, which led to much recrimination in the Scottish far left (see McCombes, 2011; Sangha and Jamieson, 2014). The central pro-independence parties in both cases, the SNP and the ERC, share a commitment to left-of-centre politics – as mentioned earlier, this is often subordinated to national imperatives – frame their nationalism in a non-essentialist and inclusive fashion, and enjoy non-inimical relationships with a broader spectrum of pro-independence social movements. These factors have facilitated temporary alliances with more radical movements as step along the road towards independence. However, a key distinction between the two cases is that while the SNP sets the political agenda in Scotland, the ERC has no such hegemonic capacity and has to share power with many other political forces, especially with CiU, which until recently was the largest Catalan party. In addition, the CUP in Catalonia, and the Green Party and the SSP in Scotland are smaller left-wing parties that have served as key organisational vehicles for the section of the pro-independence population that primarily identifies as leftist and have ensured a more organic relationship with the movement actors.

Pro-independence movements: organisational and action repertoires In the cases studied here, the respective repertoires adopted by the movements reflect the contrasting opportunities and limitations of the structural environment in Scotland and Catalonia. Within organisational and action repertoires, we shall point in particular at the importance of prefigurative politics, a concept first introduced by Carl Boggs in the 1970s. He defined it as ‘the embodiment, within the ongoing political practice of a movement, of those forms of social relations, decision-making, culture, and human experience that are the ultimate goal’ (in Yates, 2015a: 2). In a more simple description, Graeber described it as ‘the idea that the organisational form that an activist group takes should embody the kind of society we wish to create’ (2013: 23). Its core characteristics include a commitment to generating consensus when possible, horizontality and diversity (see

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Maeckelbergh, 2011). And although it has always been closely linked to libertarian strains of leftism closer to the anarchist milieu (Yates, 2015a: 3), through the anti-globalisation movement of the late 1990s and 2000s it has become almost hegemonic in most social movement circles ranging from the Zapatistas in Mexico to the PKK (Kurdistan Workers’ Party) and associated movements in Kurdistan. Accordingly, prefigurative politics deeply informed much of the movements in both Scotland and Catalonia. In both cases, the campaign was more than simply striving for independence as an end in itself; rather, independence was a means to achieve the greater goal of social justice and put into practice the principles of horizontality, participation and inclusivity. In the Catalan case, the prefigurative bent was less surprising, given its roots in social centres and squats, as well as a particular historic resonance dating back to the Spanish Civil War (see Martínez, 2002; Yates, 2015a); but the anarchist scene in Scotland was rather marginal, numbering at most in the hundreds (Swann, 2014b). Of course, this is not to argue that both campaigns can be considered as left-libertarian vehicles of collective emancipation, as the majority of pro-independence actors in both cases come overwhelmingly from the political centre. Nevertheless, the focus on prefigurative politics allows us to understand how horizontal practices and principles shaped movement repertoires in the two cases analysed. Pro-independence movements in Scotland and Catalonia were both committed to engaging in mass mobilisation and served as means by which the campaigns consolidated support in areas and among people that were previously non-politicised. Especially in the Scottish case, the campaign was used to empower previously fragmented, apathetic and non-politically involved sectors of society. Also, both mobilisations evolved on two planes, the national and the local, and both shared a decentralised character, organised with multiple local groups and assemblies that operated autonomously but along similar lines. This approach facilitated participation and allowed the combining of high levels of involvement with flexible and sporadic participation. While the Scottish campaign tended to focus on micro-level initiatives, such as voter registration and canvassing of neighbourhoods, the Catalan campaign tended to organise macro-events, mass demonstrations and symbolic performances that would attract participants form across Catalonia, as a means to communicate, raise awareness and gain salience, employing a more protest-oriented campaign in a context of apathy and defiance of the rule of law by the Spanish elites. In fact, mass street protest is deeply engrained in the recent collective political imagination among the Catalan public. On the other hand,

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street demonstrations have not been an integral part of the repertoire of recent Scottish protest. Restrictions on freedom of assembly dating back to the miners’ protests in the 1980s remain in place and have even been updated to counter football hooliganism, which reduce its viability as a tactic. And of course typical Scottish weather is a further disincentive (Interviews SC7, SC8, SC9). It should also be acknowledged that street demonstrations are alien territory for the SNP and it preferred to avoid them. From its perspective, they were laden with risk. They provided a platform for the more identitarian flag-waving elements to be publicly evident, thus undermining the utilitarian narrative of Scottish independence. There was also the concern that if there was a small turnout this would serve as a basis to ridicule the campaign and that, because of media bias, a large attendance would be under-reported anyway (Interview SC7). Large demonstrations would also allow the possibility of violent clashes with some of the hard-core pro-Union elements, which centred around the Orange Orders and sympathisers with far-right loyalist paramilitary groups in the North of Ireland. In fact, these fears were not totally unfounded; on the night of the referendum these elements did attack Yes supporters in Glasgow city centre (Brooks, 2014c; Green and Cusick, 2014). What the Catalan campaign lacked in formal institutional openings it compensated for with a strong civil society and social movement culture. Although not all the actors support independence, they have ensured a very active and vibrant political culture. A significant disadvantage for Scottish movements was that, notwithstanding the existence of certain Scottish-based initiatives, such as opposition to nuclear weapons stored in Faslane (Faslane Peace Camp, 1984), they were mostly enmeshed in Britain-wide networks and movements. This was particularly true for the Scottish trade union movement. Additionally, the disintegration of the previously hegemonic Labour Party in Scotland and the fragmentation of the parliamentary far left centred around the SSP ensured that the broader left-wing spectrum, parties and movements included were somewhat in disarray. Furthermore, they were mostly located in the urban centres of Scotland, with little rural presence. However, the opportunity to control the destiny of a future independent country spurred the existing movements of the Scottish left into action. Perhaps more importantly, it awoke a political interest among formerly politically apathetic or disengaged Scots: many of them established formal and less formal organisations and ad hoc committees at the local level with the intention of learning from and contributing to the debate on Scotland’s future.

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The two main advantages of the Catalan campaign were its very strong civil society and, unlike Scotland, a robust cultural component to its mobilisation. Traditional cultural practices have allowed urbanbased movements to connect with cultural activists in rural areas in a fashion that did not occur in Scotland. They have also served as an entrance point to more politicised environments for people who might have possessed an interest in particular cultural or folkloric practices, if not necessarily in Catalan independence. They also provided a general thickening of pro-independence mobilisation, creating additional settings where bonds between activists were strengthened. Finally, although it is not an aspect that some pro-independence Catalans would emphasise, distinct linguistic and cultural identities and traditions consolidate the perception of difference from the other peoples of Spain. In this section we will present the RIC and the WFI for the Scottish case and the PDD, ANC and Òmnium Cultural for the Catalan case. They all served as coordinating platforms and infrastructural bases upon which the campaigns were constructed. A key level of their success was their ties with local-level groups, their decentralised structures and their connection with institutional channels. The emergence of these nonparty political and inclusive platforms was key to providing a location where the immense array of territorially diffused pro-independence groups could come together without comprising their own autonomy vis-à-vis a centralised structure. Apart from these main platforms, there was also a plurality of smaller social, political and cultural organisations that played an important role in both campaigns, providing mobilisation resources. In the Catalan case, some of the organisations were the centre for the rights of minorities Ciemen, the cultural non-governmental organisation Platform for the Language, the Emma Collective (which disseminates Catalan-centred news to an international audience), the Spanishspeaking pro-independence civic platform Súmate and so on. In the Scottish case, there were the cultural organisation National Collective and the left-wing think-tank the Jimmy Reid Foundation and its offshoot Common Weal, Academics for Yes, among others.

Radical Independence Campaign The RIC – arguably the most significant pro-independence movement in Scotland – came together in 2012 as a joint vehicle for those who held a more transformative vision of independence than the main Yes Scotland campaign and the SNP. The RIC was initially conceived as a

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conference in November 2012, drawing a wide array of leftist activists and thinkers with the intention of coming up with a more radical vision of an independent Scotland. The event proved massively successful, drawing more than 900 participants and morphed into the RIC as opposed to a one-off conference. RIC’s initial organisers were young activists who had become mobilised through the anti-war campaigns of the early 2000s and many were active in the International Socialist Group (ISG) (Interview SC7). The ISG had a strong emphasis on participatory politics and promoted non-dogmatic unity among the left (Gormal, 2012), two features which subsequently characterised RIC. The planning of the first conference “brought in a number of the older heads of the SSP, the Greens, the SNP, and quite a lot of long-standing campaigners from the peace movement and the antipoverty groups” (Interview SC7). The RIC thus combined some of the organisational experience of seasoned campaigners with the dynamism and innovativeness of the younger members. It differed from previous left coalitions in Scotland because ‘it is not a defensive campaign demanding an end to a war, austerity policies or racist organisations but an offensive campaign laying out a more comprehensive vision of social and economic change’ (Sangha and Jamieson, 2014). As Patrick Harvie, the co-convenor of the Scottish Greens, explained: ‘There is a growing group of people who are not content with the SNP’s version, with the SNP’s policy agenda that they are attaching to the independence cause’ (in Macdonell, 2012). A critique echoed by the RIC’s Cat Boyd (2015): ‘Although they profess social-democratic values, the SNP remains constrained by conventional thinking – including reluctance to reform the regressive council tax; meagre living-wage promises; support for arming the police, [for] NATO and the royal family; and a flaky policy on corporation tax.’ The RIC consisted of around 30 local groups that operated autonomously but along broadly similar lines. Its activities served as the one of the most successful means by which the broader proindependence campaign consolidated support in deprived urban areas, thus complementing the gains made by the SNP in rural Scotland and middle-class areas. The success of the RIC’s efforts was clear from the actual voting patterns of the disadvantaged urban areas. Of voters living in the most deprived 20% neighbourhoods, 65% voted Yes, in contrast to the 36% Yes vote obtained in the most affluent 20% of areas (Curtice, 2014b). Jonathon Shafi, a founding member of the RIC, was explicit about its focus: ‘We’re targeting areas of low voter turnout. We believe such areas have been systematically disengaged

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from formal politics and we see the referendum as the opportunity to re-engage these communities’ (in Carrell and Brooks, 2014). The RIC focused on voter registration, and mass and repeated canvassing of neighbourhoods, targeting Scotland’s so-called ‘missing million’ voters who traditionally never or very rarely vote (Stacey, 2014). The RIC also organised further annual conferences, which attracted ever greater numbers of participants. They drew delegates from across the leftist political spectrum and even from analogous international groups in Quebec and Catalonia (Sangha and Jamieson, 2014). The RIC engaged in systematic canvassing of voters. It organised a series of mass canvasses such as its first national one in June 2014, which mobilised 1,000 activists in 40 localities and interacted with around 10,000 voters, with a focus on disadvantaged neighbourhoods (Sangha and Jamieson, 2014). Yet, such mass coordinated events were not the norm but rather a supplement to diffuse locally organised canvasses (RIC, 2015). However, the quality and consistency of RIC’s canvassing varied according to the capacity and experience of its local organisers. In theory, areas to be canvassed were divided up methodically according to the electoral register; people’s responses were to be detailed by the canvassers, marked on a 10-point scale ranging from 0 (a confirmed No) to 10 (a confirmed Yes). These rankings were then to be used to facilitate a more targeted subsequent canvassing by only re-approaching those that ranked three or above on the scale (Bradley, 2014). However, this did not uniformly occur on the ground. Some of the local groups were using the official Yes Scotland data software YESMO, while others were using the SNP’s own software ACTIVATE and more were gathering data manually on sheets of paper. Accordingly, the accumulated data on voters’ intentions could not be used in a systematic fashion. It was also confined to the larger urban centres and some smaller towns and cities were often not canvassed at all (Interview SC7). Nonetheless, certain groups despite their lack of experience managed to gathered extensive information on local areas. Yes Marchmont, based in the relatively middle-class neighbourhood of Marchmont close to the University of Edinburgh, repeatedly canvassed its area. Using the YESMO software, it hoped to get in contact with around 60% of the local electorate, canvassing some streets up to five times, to reach that figure. They also returned a second time to voters who had been identified as undecided closer to the actual vote (Interview SC8). Yes Marchmont returned their data to the Yes Scotland campaign, highlighting the overlap of efforts on the ground between the formal institutionalised campaign and local efforts.

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Although, in terms of data gathering, these canvasses could not be considered as very successful, they were hugely successful at another level. It has been argued that “Scottish politics kind of revolves around working-class identity. Politics in Scotland doesn’t like being on the other side of the working classes, narratively” (Interview SC7). RIC’s targeting of working-class neighbourhoods was a means to fuse independence with class-based concerns. In turn it could legitmately argue on the basis of these interactions, that “the working classes were rejecting Britain” (Interview SC7). This was borne out in the final results of the poll. Although turnout was lowest overall at 75% in Glasgow (Jeavans, 2014), it showed a remarkable upsurge in turnout from the 2011 Scottish elections, where all nine of Glasgow’s constituencies had turnouts of less than 50% – with some of the city’s more disadvantaged areas having much lower turnouts, such as Provan (34.8%), Maryhill and Springburn (36.3%) and Shettleston (37.9%), all of which voted in favour of independence (Hassan, 2012). Notwithstanding its limitations as a data gathering exercise, the process of canvassing successfully brought the crucial narrative that independence was also about class, not simply a democratic deficit visà-vis Westminster, to disadvantaged areas of Scottish society. Criticisms of the limitations of the canvassing efforts of the grassroots organisations should also be tempered by an acknowledgement of the challenges inherent in stirring the masses from transgenerational disempowerment and political apathy. A journalist from The Guardian who joined an RIC canvass in the impoverished Gorbals areas of Glasgow reported her encounters with ‘mainly older, residents who had little notion that the referendum campaign was even happening as well as mainly younger males who were pretty forceful in their determination not to vote at all’ (Brooks, 2014a). Accordingly, it was thus truly remarkable that 97% of the Scottish electorate was registered to vote, including 109,000 16- and 17-year-olds, summing up to 4,285,323 voters and making it the largest electorate in Scottish history. The intensity of registration efforts was evident in the enrolment of almost 119,000 voters in the month of August (Brooks, 2014b). Although this growth in registered voters was spread across society, it was unprecedented in disadvantaged neighbourhoods. As two RIC organisers explained, the process of canvassing for a one-off national referendum had another significant feature: ‘the main body of its work – door-knocking or canvassing – can only be carried out locally. At the same time votes count identically everywhere in the country – we don’t have to worry about constituency majorities. These two factors pointed in the direction of a campaign that was both truly local and

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truly national’ (Sangha and Jamieson, 2014). The locally organised canvasses were based in pop-up shops or temporary stalls in parks and public areas. These functioned as the spatial bases where previously disconnected independence supporters could congregate and organise. They exemplified the character of the campaign, highlighting ‘its decentralised, mass mobilisation culture and its unorthodox, agitprop style’ (Carrell and Brooks, 2014). They also highlighted the imbrication of the various groups, with extensive cooperation between local Yes and RIC groups, oftentimes with a strong overlap in personnel. These spatial hubs, stalls and shops, were of huge importance to the campaign. They served as hubs of aggregation where would-be activists could just turn up unannounced and offer their services. The informality of these arrangements allowed people to volunteer without feeling the necessity to commit more comprehensively and ensured that there were always sufficient volunteers on the ground. Independence supporters needed simply to wander into their local Yes shop and enquire as to the tasks for which help was required. A firsttime volunteer at Yes Kelvin explained that ‘a guy I work with said at lunchtime that he was going to pop down to his local Yes Scotland office after work and I just thought “I should do that too.” So here I am’ (in Bradley, 2014). In the weeks leading up to the campaign, the Yes Marchmont group had a daily stall. Other activists took unpaid leave or holidays from work to dedicate themselves on an almost full-time basis (Interview SC9). Furthermore, grassroots activists’ contribution was not simply limited to long hours of completely voluntary participation but also extended to financing their own activities. Many activists self-financed the printing costs of much of the materials which they accessed on the various national movements websites. A member of the Yes Marchmont group explained that a book outlining the statistical and logistical arguments for independence called the Wee Blue Book, published by a somewhat marginal figure in the broader campaign, Reverend Stuart Campbell, had become extremely popular with people passing by the stall. On one occasion, the stall had given away all its copies and put out a statement on its Facebook stating that it had run out of copies of the book. Shortly afterwards, a local who was not involved in the running of the stall, went to the local Yes Scotland shop and purchased several copies of the book and deposited them a the stall for further distribution (Interview SC8), thereby highlighting the organic and responsive nature of the campaign, which had evolved beyond the limited parameters of the formal pro-independence campaign.

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Women for Independence The formal Yes Scotland campaign and the SNP were less successful in attracting female support for independence. Referendum polls consistently revealed a significant gender gap in voter intentions and identified women as among the groups that were most undecided and less likely to vote Yes (Ormston, 2014).3 This tendency towards supporting the status quo occurred notwithstanding the role a broad spectrum of women’s groups and feminist movements, under the umbrella of the Scottish Women’s Co-ordination Group, had played in the struggle for Scottish Devolution in the 1990s (Bell and Mackay, 2013). Their efforts resulted in a much higher proportion of women in the higher echelons of Scottish parliamentary politics across all the parties (Mackay and McAllister, 2012). However, as Alonso argued, ‘strong territorial identities seem to align poorly with non-spatial identities such as gender, which are often considered erosive to the nation-building process’ (Alonso, forthcoming). This was particularly prevalent in Catalonia, where Catalan feminist networks were not particularly engaged in its referendum campaign, focusing more on issues regarding reproductive rights and anti-austerity actions (Verge and Alonso, 2015). All of the main actors in the referendum campaign were aware of the disjuncture between male and female preferences and targeted them with specific policy proposals and policies, especially regarding childcare and equal representation (Foley and Ramand, 2014: 118; Alonso, forthcoming). Many of these initiatives were patently designed simply to win over female voters and were either symbolic in nature or viewed to be insufficient in scope (O’Hagan, 2014, 2016). As a consequence, similarly to the grassroots movements’ emphasis on raising awareness in socioeconomically disadvantaged areas, a significant number of feminist activists mobilised in an effort to re-address the dominance of male voices in the campaign and to articulate a vision of independence through a feminist lens, with a more substanive emphasis on gender and feminist concerns. This also occured in a somewhat haphazard fashion, combining autonomous local initiatives with nationally coordinated efforts. Notable outcomes of this included a seminar series titled: Constitutional Futures: Gender Equality Matters in a New Scotland4 at the University of Edinburgh and the WFI. The WFI was founded by an array of women who had been active in political parties and in extra-parliamentary autonomous movements and networks (Alonso, forthcoming). It was publicly launched in September 2012 as an independent body within the framework of the Yes Scotland platform. Its members overlapped with other groups and parties,

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especially the RIC. However, notwithstanding RIC’s commitment to the equal presence of male and female participants on all its platforms, many activists in feminist networks were of the view that the RIC, while including women, did not necessarily promote feminist politics (Morrison, 2015), thereby reinforcing the need for a distinct feminist pro-independence movement. Its two-fold objective was to include women in the political process and help them raise their voices in support of independence. It was determined to transform women from, at best, passive voters into active participants, contributing to shaping their own collective political futures. As one of its activists, expounded: ‘We attracted women who are otherwise invisible. […] These are women who don’t realise their power, and when they got together you could feel the tremors’ (Brooks, 2014d). In spite of the relative success of women in Scottish politics, women remain underrepresented in political activism, especially at the local level, albeit the leaders of the SNP, Scottish Labour and Scottish Conservatives are all women; but some women are more under-represented than others. This is particularly the case for women of immigrant backgrounds, and the WFI was actively self-reflective about this failing common to many mainstream feminist movements. It has accordingly made a concerted effort to harness the capacity of women of colour and diverse backgrounds in Scotland (Nasim Riaz, 2015). The impact of this mobilisation will most likely prove enduring among women since, as one activist asserts, ‘these women are not going back to their sofas’ (Brooks, 2014d). At the national level, the WFI organised conferences and provided publications outlining women’s perspectives on independence. It also provided a roster of speakers that the WFI’s self-organised local groups could choose from to invite to local events. These local branches sprang up quickly and organically across the country, to such an extent that the core group no longer had control over their activities. The WFI was arguably even more concerned with implementing prefigurative politics. It hosted innumerable coffee meetings, social gatherings and debates concerning both urban and rural Scotland (Alonso, forthcoming). As an activist explained, ‘Women for Independence’ deliberately strove to organise events where women with less political experience would feel at ease: We wanted to have conversations rather than debates. We wanted to do it in a way that women could feel comfortable putting their hand up and saying ‘I don’t have a clue about fiscal policy’ and to not feel stupid. Town hall debates are

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good but they can be very male-dominated. (in A. Brown, 2014) This commitment to inclusivity and processes of learning is a central practice in prefigurative politics. Additionally, the WFI organised practical training days for female activists, focusing on public speaking, economics and media training, which would furnish female activists with the skills required for enduring careers in political activism (Gallogly-Swan, 2015). These initiatives continued even after the vote, and it now has numerous branches across the country which, even after the defeat in the referendum, continued to grow to the current figure of more than 60 local organisations (Gallogly-Swan, 2015). It has also generated a range of spin-off movements, such as Little Politics, which caters for parents of young children who have very little flexibility due to the constraints of parenting (Wray, 2014). The WFI was successful in many respects; it played a substantial role in the increase of female support for independence, forced women-centric issues into the debate, and informed and mobilised huge numbers of previously disengaged Scottish women. It also ‘helped shift the overall tone toward a more relentless positivity, [which] combined with wellconstructed arguments by local, articulate, non-party-political female yes volunteers, and a less aggressive tone from yes-supporting men, has made yes a more attractive proposition’ (Riddoch, 2014). However, the WFI did encounter some difficulties because of its strident commitment to prefigurative politics. Its emphasis on intersectionality and its specific discourse made it difficult to communicate with working-class women who were not familiar with contemporary feminist vocabulary. The WFI’s insistence on adhering to these values sometimes made the planning and co-organising of shared events more difficult, ranging from its opposition to top platforms at meetings to what kind of entertainers to invite to fundraisers (Interview SC7). Although, all the campaign groups were new, many of the WFI’s more seasoned activists had been active in more sectional campaigns previously and were thus not well known in the broader activist milieu. Therefore, especially in the early phase, in certain areas they had less developed personal ties with other groups, which rendered collaborative projects less easy to organise on the ground (Interview SC9). Although, the movement has continued to grow since the referendum, it has also experienced significant internal strife with some defections and one of its founding members has since been charged with the embezzlement of the movement’s finances (Garavelli, 2015; Brooks, 2016).

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Plataforma pel Dret de Decidir and Assemblea Nacional Catalana Significant impetus for the Catalan independence originated with the formation of the PDD (Subirats and Vilaregut, 2012) in 2006. Composed of dozens of associations, municipalities and individuals, the PDD was supported by many rank-and-file members of CiU, ERC and ICV. As an ICV member explained, it marked “the beginning of the Catalan sociological independentism, as it was an experience that tried to go beyond the traditional political organisations that used to represent the Catalan independentism” (Interview CT8). This interviewee’s pointed use of “sociological independentism” is a means of distinguishing the contemporary emancipatory Catalan nationalism from the more conventional and conservative waves that preceded it. The PDD served as a unified platform for Catalan national aspirations and existing concrete grievances. It organised the first two big demonstrations, which were a means to visibly affirm popular support for the Statute of Autonomy approved by the Catalan Corts (see Chapter Two for a discussion on the Statute’s approval in the Constitutional Court). The huge turnout attracted a lot of supporters, and the PDD grew rapidly. The choice of mass demonstrations that would attract participants from across Catalonia to express collective demands is entrenched in Catalan political culture because of the Diada, a day of National Culture that is celebrated on 11 September every year. Unlike national holidays in other countries – such as St Patrick’s Day in Ireland, which is thoroughly apolitical – the Diada has become a key setting to express national grievances in recent years. Its celebration was prohibited under the Francoist dictatorship and only reinstated in 1980 (Dowling, 2013: 116). The cultural embeddedness and resonance of certain contentious practices goes somewhat counter to much of the literature on contemporary protest, which emphasises transnational diffusion and innovation. As Stinchcombe pointed out, ‘only rarely is a new type of collective action invented in the heat of the moment. Repertoires instead change by long run evolutionary processes’ (in Tarrow, 1993: 283). Mass street protests are deeply engrained in the recent collective political imagination of the Catalan public and were therefore an option of first recourse when doubts about the capacity of institutional party politics to achieve a recognition of Catalan sovereignty began to emerge. The familiarity of the tactic further ensured that it would engender mass participation, thus creating a virtuous circle whereby participation begets familiarity and vice versa. The PDD also served as a coordinating platform for a series of innovative micro-consultations on Catalan independence between

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2009 and 2011. In the previous paragraph, we emphasised an element of continuity in the pro-independence campaign, but it was also open to innovation. Considering the mass media attention – both national and international – triggered by the first micro-consultation organised in the municipality of Arenys de Munt, the practice of non-binding referendums rapidly diffused across Catalonia. In the face of direct Spanish prohibition this was an act of resistance in itself. The consultations were locally initiated and organised events that concatenated into a Catalonia-wide wave of consultations. The local networks that emerged from them served as the infrastructural basis upon which the huge national mobilisations were subsequently constructed. The particular relevance of these local initiatives is that, in addition to the ideological commitment or political preferences of the participants, they forged the networks of local solidarity and reciprocal commitment that are needed for long-term mobilisations to endure. As Muñoz and Guinjoan (2013: 56) have highlighted, these consultations had a particular impact in smaller municipalities, which returned on average a higher turnout than larger population centres. They attribute this to the relative ease of accessing voters in small towns with equivalent populations: there was greater social pressure on potential voters to actually vote, as well as a greater incentive to vote, as the impact of individual ballots in such small turnouts was immediately evident. Although the PDD had originated as a civil society platform, it became imbricated in inter-party rivalries. More specifically, the ERC and CiU, were both guilty of using it as a means to enhance their own party objectives, which led to its gradual fragmentation and ultimately its dissolution. In March 2012, PDD was replaced by the ANC (see Berlinguer and Salcedo, 2015). Its name was inspired by the Assemblea de Catalunya, which was a Catalan coordinating body of opposition to the fascist regime in the late Franco period (Crameri, 2015: 112). It was founded with the explicit objective of achieving an independent Catalan state in the European Union (Guibernau, 2013a: 390). The founders of the ANC were mindful of the dynamics that had undermined the PDD and protected the ANC from inter-party rivalries. Accordingly, the ANC refused any party funding and detailed strict organisational guidelines with rotating presidencies. It also elected a noted Catalan philologist, Carme Forcadell, as its president. Although linked to ERC, she was not among the party elite and was broadly viewed as a representative of civil society (Crameri, 2015). Interestingly, the formative debate around these protocols developed on an anonymous online platform where participants made use of

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personal avatars rather than their real identities. This served to avoid, or at least to limit, the importation of pre-existing rivalries into the new organisation. The ANC is a vast platform with 500 territorial assemblies, 50 sectoral assemblies and more than 50,000 members. It ‘has an agility and a capacity for flexibility that political parties and institutions do not enjoy. Networks can therefore be used to achieve much faster results, aided by the instant communication and organizational efficiency afforded by forms of “e-mobilization”’ (Crameri, 2015: 115). The ANC continued with the mass-based initiatives of the PDD. Its first action was reputed to be the largest human chain ever, linking 1.6 million people along the 400-kilometre Catalan coastline, following the ancient Vía Augusta from Le Perthus (France) to Vinaroz (Castellón). This event was titled the Catalan Via. Tens of thousands of t-shirts were printed with the logo ‘My place in history. Catalan Via towards Independence’. The participants registered online to take a specific slot in their locality. The event was hugely successful, and it demonstrated the immense organisational capacity of the pro-independence Catalan movement. Such mass demonstrations served as a means for individuals to engage in national-level events, thus engendering ever growing solidarity and a collective self-perception of strength. The ANC continued with such massive demonstrations of its mobilisation power by coordinating the Diada in 2013 and in 2014 as well. In the context of the debate around the holding or not of the November referendum, more than a million demonstrators packed the streets of Barcelona. The theme of the demonstration was ‘Ara és l’hora, units per un país nou’ (‘Now is the time, united for a new country’). The protesters merged to form a huge ‘V’ for Voluntat, Votar and Victòria (‘Will, Vote and Victory’). In a further example of the mass organisational capacity of the ANC and their fellow organisers, the demonstrators formed a huge human Senyera5 which was captured in aerial footage. The images of more than a million Catalans filling the streets, the physical and symbolic representation of nationhood, was a stark reminder of the extent and depth of commitment to Catalan independence.6 Although one could dismiss such mobilisations as symbolic and of themselves unable to bring about constitutional change, this would overlook the endogenous solidarity that such collective events generate. Crameri has argued that: these kinds of actions stimulate vital affective responses: a sense of belonging to the community, a deep emotional

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connection with fellow participants, enjoyment – however brief – of a form of political agency denied by political institutions, and pride in being useful to a national community that is perceived to be under threat. (2015: 115) A key element of the success of the ANC was its strong ties with locallevel groups with a pre-existing engagement in political issues other than Catalan independence (see Cattaneo and Tudela, 2014). Many of the squats and social centres (see Yates, 2015b), Ateneus Popular (see García et al, 2015) community groups, feminist and environmentalist movements that make up the vibrant far left milieu (predominantly anarchist or libertarian left in outlook) do not actively endorse Catalan independence. Many grassroots initiatives are somewhat agnostic on the issue, preferring to concentrate their resources on more tangible social and economic projects at ground level. The mass strength of this milieu can be judged by the fact that an effort to shut down a well-established social centre Can Vies in 2014 was countered with demonstrations numbering in the tens of thousands, eventually forcing the municipality into abandoning its plans (Yates, 2015b: 11; Mumbrú Escofet, 2016). Nevertheless, these grassroots experiences and practices have deeply influenced the broader pro-independence mobilisation, especially in terms of decision making and a strong suspicion of conventional leadership practices. In fact, a number of pro-independence left-wing movements, such as Arran, Poble Lliure and Endavant are connected to these networks. In turn, these groups have coalesced around the more institutionally present CUP, thus serving as a bridge from a radical political milieu to more mainstream pro-independence actors. These strong ties with grassroots networks and communities have ensured that the ANC has not become detached from realities on the ground and has internalised the many of the prefigurative practices implemented in Catalan extra-parliamentary politics. Òmnium Cultural Long established, ostensibly non-political cultural organisations such as Òmnium Cultural (OC) have reinforced the drive towards independence. The OC was formed by progressive members of the Catalan bourgeoisie and intellectuals in the 1960s to encourage Catalan culture (see Balcells, 1995: 149), but it has gradually become a much more radical political actor. However, even after the ANC had become explicitly pro-independence rather than simply demanding the right to decide, the OC struck a more conciliatory note by continuing to

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emphasise the right to decide rather than outright independence. Since 2010, the OC, with its more than 38,000 members, has actively taken up the mantle of organising demonstrations and protests, mostly in concert with the ANC. It was a key co-organiser in most of the Diadas discussed in previous paragraphs. In an example of a strategic division of labour, for the 2013 Diada, OC conceded organisational control of the Via Catalana to the ANC, while it took the lead in organising the ‘Concert for Freedom’ at Camp Nou, which featured dozens of Catalonia’s most renowned musicians (Crameri, 2015: 117). The cultural elements of the Catalan nationalism also extend to promoting and protecting Barcelona’s distinctive architectural heritage of the early 20th century, especially the modernista buildings designed by noted Catalan architects such as Domènech i Montaner, Puig i Cadafalch, and Gaudí (Nogué and Vicente, 2004). Opened in 2013 to commemorate the Bourbon invasion and sacking of the city in the early 18th century, the El Born heritage centre is an example of an effort to institutionalise the distinct historical past of the Catalan nation (Breen et al, 2016). There is a wide array of cultural associations in Catalonia (more than 7,000 according to the Generalitat). Various federations such as the Federació Catalana d’Entitats Corals, the Coordinadora de Colles Castelleres de Catalunya  or the Confederació Sardanista de Catalunya organise and support different activities, such as dance groups performing the Catalan sardanes and castellers, the traditional human towers. Of course, the emphasis on specific cultural practices varies geographically, with a lesser prevalence in large urban centres than in more rural areas. The Catalan government has taken measures to exclude other cultural practices synonymous with Spanish nationalism, such as banning bullfighting in Catalonia in 2012. There is a strong cultural element to Catalan nationalism which is much weaker in the Scottish case. The cultural expressions of Catalan nationalism serve as supplementary locations of politicisation and encounter between pro-independence activists. It thickens the mobilisation, generating further interpersonal bonds between supporters of independence and reinforcing them. In the longer term, it also consolidates Catalan distinctiveness via-à-vis Spain.

Interactions between social movements and political parties Both Scottish and Catalan campaigns have been a mixture of institutionalised and non-institutionalised processes where different

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sorts of actors have engaged with diverse forms of interaction and used various channels and arenas of the political system. However, the Scottish and Catalan independence struggles differ in terms of the roles played by parties and movements in fuelling the drive towards independence. While in the Catalan case, civil society actors generated the momentum to which the parties hitched themselves, in the Scottish case the pro-independent movements were initially reactive to opportunities forged by the SNP. In addition, in Scotland, the relations between institutionalised and non-institutionalised actors remained relatively harmonious throughout the campaign, whereas in Catalonia it led to more tensions. In both cases the left-wing movements managed to extend the reach of the campaign far beyond the limits of conventional politics. At the same time, however, following the referendums there was also a reinvigorated interest in parliamentary politics on the part of the independence movements. In Scotland, the SNP’s mobilisation efforts and relatively competent governance in Holyrood, combined with the failings of the three UKwide parties, consolidated its popularity to such an extent that it could successfully demand the holding of the 2014 referendum. Although the Green Party and the SSP had supported independence for decades, it only became central to their efforts after the SNP had dragged the issue from the political margins to the mainstream. Scotland’s social movements reacted to institutional political developments by coming down strongly on the side of independence, launching an extensive referendum campaign that shared the minimum goal of independence with the SNP but diverged greatly regarding their vision of a future independent Scotland. In Catalonia, the balance between pro-independence parties and social movements is reversed. Notwithstanding its proud history dating back to the Catalan Parliament in the 1930s Spanish Republic, the ERC was a relatively minor party. Able to govern only in coalition (2003–10) with other social democratic parties such as the ICV and the PSC-PSOE, sympathetic towards decentralisation but not in favour of independence outright, the ERC was never in a position to forge institutional political opportunities for independence as the SNP had done. Accordingly, Catalan civil society actors and social movements ploughed ahead with their campaign for independence, gathering such momentum that even traditionally non-pro-independence parties such as the CiU felt that it was in their interest to side with the movements. The transformation of the CiU from pragmatic devolutionists to supporters of independence has been critical for the pro-independence movement, supplementing popular support with electoral heft. The

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CiU was obliged to reconfigure its stance on independence when a substantial chunk of its own grassroots members and supporters had been won over by the arguments in favour of independence between 2010 and 2012. In Scotland, although there was broad complementarity in function (almost an informal division of labour) between the grassroots movements and the formal campaign, and a shared commitment to bringing about independence, there were tensions between them. It is thus apparent that SNP’s local electoral concerns were also a factor in how it ran the campaign. As a leading figure in Common Weal and RIC surmised, “They [SNP/Yes Scotland] didn’t want a movement and when a movement emerged that they didn’t really want, quite quickly, they tried to pretend that they were the movement, that this was all a subset of them” (Interview, SC7). Unsurprisingly, coordination between the two poles was not optimal. In trying to rationalise the lack of support from the upper echelons of the campaign, one Edinburgh activist proposed that “Yes Scotland, for whatever reason, were trying, perhaps trying to save their money or save their powder for the end of the campaign” (Interview SC8). Yet, in light of the enormity of the opportunity, the grassroots generally strategically restrained itself from overt criticism, postponing underlying disputes to the arena of a future independent Scotland (Interviews SC6, SC7). Many of the more centrist elements of Yes Scotland were convinced that the route to victory was winning over the middle classes and its campaign was entirely oriented to this end, in terms of message and means. As a leading SSP politician observed: “the SNP does not favour mass mobilisations on the street. The SNP is a bourgeois neoliberal party” (Interview SC6). While this is somewhat of an exaggeration, there are more centrist elements of the SNP which were opposed to initiatives that were beyond its control. However, in general the Scottish Yes campaign ensured a greater degree of ideological coherence than the pro-referendum Catalan campaign, which was characterised by mutual suspicions between far left parties and movements and moderate centre-right parties such as CiU. The cohesion of the Yes campaign in Scotland was undoubtedly facilitated by the brief duration of the campaign: under conditions of a more protracted mobilisation, it is highly probable that ideological differences between the far and extra-parliamentary left and the SNP would have become more readily apparent. On the other hand, in Catalonia there have been significant tensions between the movements and political parties regarding what strategies to adopt in order to bring about a referendum and deeply contrasting

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political ideologies ranging from the radical left of the CUP to the CiU’s neoliberalism. Relations between the pro-independence leftist milieu and the CiU have been notably more diffident and at times openly hostile. First of all, Catalonia did not have the advantage of a clear, formally sanctioned referendum. Indeed, the early waves of the pro-independence movement were precisely for the right to hold a referendum. On the other hand, in the Scottish case, the campaign took place in a compressed timeframe. Also, in Scotland there were no intervening elections over the course of the campaign. In the current wave of pro-independence agitation in Catalonia, however, there have been multiple elections at the municipal level (2007, 2011 and 2015) and for the Catalan (2006, 2010, 2012 and 2015) and Spanish parliaments (2008, 2011, 2015 and 2016). These elections have been occasions when the political parties competed for the same seats, leading them to attack one another and emphasising ideological inconsistencies and policy differences, making it difficult to maintain or rebuild trust regarding the national question. Third, the Scottish electoral system is also important. In Scotland, because the smaller parties have no real possibility of winning any seats in the UK-wide, first-past-the-post system, UK national elections are in practice fought with a view to the three UK-wide parties and the SNP winning seats. Scottish parliamentary elections utilise a mixed-member proportional (MMP) system, which is a combination of first-past-the-post for 73 constituencies and regional party lists for 56 further seats (see McGarvey and Cairney, 2008: 69). The smaller parties have a greater chance of success in the Scottish parliamentary elections. Finally, the broadly centre-left orientation of the SNP ensured a better relation between more and less radical pro-independence activists. It was certainly a more coherent relationship than the somewhat tortuous interactions between the Catalan far left and pro-independence centre-right parties. Finally, in both contexts there has been a reinvigorated focus on parliamentary politics since the referendum. In the Scottish case, the immense work done on the ground by movements like the RIC in registering voters and broader politicisation in disadvantaged urban areas was key to the exponential growth in support for independence. In the wake of the No vote, pro-independence parties continued to attract new members: the SNP’s membership doubled to 250,000 members by 2016 (Black and Marsden, 2016: 20). The Scottish Greens more than doubled from 2,000 to 5,000 members and the SSP also reported a doubling in membership to 4,000 (Cairney, 2014; McEwen, 2015). This bolstering of institutionalised political parties is not surprising as, in stark contrast to the tactics adopted by their

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Catalan counterparts, which were confined almost entirely to spaces outside the realm and logic of institutional politics, many of the Scottish movement’s repertoires resembled the modus operandi of political parties. Voter registration, use of survey data, door to door canvassing are all techniques used for decades by parties. Nevertheless, in spite of much optimism prior to the 2016 poll, a joint leftist front named RISE (Respect, Independence, Socialism and Environmentalism) (see Davidson, 2015; Shafi, 2015) combining elements of the RIC and the SSP failed to make any impact. RISE eventually finished behind the Solidarity splinter of the SSP, which continued to support the disgraced former SSP leader Tommy Sheridan. It obtained even fewer votes than the marginal Scottish Christian Party (see Maxwell, 2016). The failure of RISE to capitalise on the momentum garnered and networks forged in the independence campaign highlights the distinctive nature of mobilisation in referendum campaigns. In Catalonia, in the wake of the independence movement, there has been a rising popular interest in parliamentary politics, as evidenced during the elections of December 2015 and June 2016, and especially the huge growth of Barcelona en Comú, a Catalan radical left party close to Podemos. In the summer of 2015, OC proposed that all parties put forward a joint pro-sovereignty civic list without any politicians, thus ensuring that the September election of that year could have been utilised as a national referendum rather than as an assessment of relative party strength. This was endorsed by the ANC, and also by the CUP and the ERC, but rejected by the other pro-independence parties (López, 2015: 249). Eventually, the CUP ran a separate list (CUP-Crida Constituent), and the other pro-independence parties along with the ANC and OC put forward a list JxS.7 The momentum leading up to the aborted referendum in November 2014 convinced many of the necessity for Catalan independence and forced institutional political actors to take up the struggle for it. Yet, after the pseudo-referendum in 2014, the tensions between pro-independence movements and the stark differences between much of the far left pro-independence milieu and the pro-independence parliamentary parties have become more apparent over time without the clear objective of a referendum date.

Conclusion Notwithstanding the differing institutional contexts and political cultures, the referendum campaigns bore certain strong similarities – similarities that reflect broader political developments in this era

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of great economic and political crisis. The discourse and practices of inclusivity, horizontalism and a strong suspicion of hierarchical structures characterised the concrete actions of the Catalan and Scottish cases on the ground. Although the dimensions and scale of some of the protest events varied dramatically between them, they were all guided, to a certain extent, by a commitment to prefigurative politics in which the means of mobilisation were valued as much as the ends. In addition, these two instances of referendums from below – along with the other cases discussed in this book – have highlighted the manner in which imaginative campaigns predominantly led by movements can introduce new ideas and through a process of shared learning can reinvigorate civil and political society, even in cases where the ultimate goal of independence has not been yet achieved. Regarding movement involvement, the Scottish campaign was conducted at the micro level, involving organising at the neighbourhood and town levels. Although national-level conferences were organised by the RIC and WFI, the majority of their activities occurred at the grassroots level. In the Catalan case, movements were the key organisers of immense national demonstrations with millions of participants, yet remained connected to micro-level initiatives by the decentralised structure of the ANC and in particular through the overlap in personnel with the pre-existing radical left milieu. Catalan nationalists have been obliged not simply to conduct a referendum campaign but to fight for the right to actually hold one. This has understandably led to a more antagonistic campaign conducted beyond the corridors of institutional power. In the Catalan case, an array of political and cultural movements outflanked the more cautious political parties by demanding the right to hold a referendum, eventually forcing them to participate in the debate on independence on terms outlined by grassroots initiatives rather than the logic of electoral competition. The presence of a specific end point to the campaign in Scotland, unlike in Catalonia, ensured an intense concentration of resources and collective energies for a circumscribed period. This limited duration of the campaign allowed the marriage of convenience between more centrist and leftist supporters of Scottish independence to co-operate more cohesively than in Catalonia. In Scotland, the referendum was a political opportunity that predated much of the pro-independence social movement mobilisation. It served as the catalyst that roused the Scottish left from a period of disorientation and political torpor. Although there was a centralised Yes campaign dominated by the SNP, the mobilisation for independence was much more far reaching than the official campaign. As Blair Jenkins, the Chief Executive of Yes

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Scotland explained in early 2014, ‘We’re no longer able to have an accurate handle on what’s happening, because like a proper grassroots campaign it’s self-generating, it’s autonomous, people are getting on with it’ (in Black and Marsden, 2016: 20). Pro-independence movements have played significant roles in both Catalonia and Scotland. In the former, they have served as the pioneers of the campaign, ploughing ahead and reframing the political discourse to which all other political parties have had to react. In Scotland, social movements were not initiators of the campaign, but they have masterfully seized on the institutional opening forged by the SNP. Scottish movements diffused the campaign into what had been hitherto political wastelands, characterised by local apathy and institutional neglect. Although independence has yet to be achieved in either case, the repertoire of contention introduced and the democratic practices implemented have fundamentally altered the respective nations’ political culture and party practices.

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FOUR

Framing strategies in referendums from below The referendum in Scotland and the non-binding unofficial consultation in Catalonia dominated the two entities’ political agendas in 2013–14. Despite their different natures and legal statuses, the two votes radically changed their respective political debates, triggered massive media and academic interest, and constituted momentous events that have successfully reframed (or even completely altered) understandings of nationalism in ‘quiet times’ (Beissinger, 2002). ‘In both cases, the unexpectedly high participation of civil society in the campaigns propelled territorial issues to the top of the political agenda, causing great polarisation’ (Alonso, forthcoming). This chapter focuses on the framing strategies in the Scottish and Catalan mobilisation campaigns, analysing their content, messages and arguments, and identifying the multiple dimensions of the issue at stake. Although the nature of the referendum vote is often dichotomous (Yes/in favour or No/against), referendum issues nonetheless tend to be multifaceted (de Vreese and Semetko, 2004: 3). As argued in the previous chapters, institutional contexts and political cultures differ remarkably across the two cases. However, there are some similarities between the two referendum campaigns in terms of framing, which seem to derive from the very nature of the mobilisation from below. In both cases, redistributive and democratic issues were emphasised over traditional ethnonationalist concerns. Frame bridging between independence and sovereignty, on the one hand, and social claims such as social justice and the renewal of democracy, on the other, were important in both contexts. Moreover, in both campaigns a general evolution of master frames shifted towards more radical positions, from devolution to independence. More broadly, in historical terms, the main contribution of the two mobilisation campaigns consists of overcoming traditional identity frames and the central role of the democratic-emancipatory discourse, which resonated with expressions of discontent regarding the political and socioeconomic crises. The chapter shows the emergence of this innovative frame linked to self-determination; the importance of frame bridging (Snow and Bedford, 1988a), both at a substantial

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level (between the issue at stake in the referendum and broader values and claims traditionally addressed by left-wing social movements) and at a procedural level (in relation to participation and deliberative democracy); and the role of social movement organisations and citizens, leading the campaign, producing messages from below and developing imaginative initiatives going beyond the logic of electoral competition. The main argument is that, in terms of framing, redistributive and democratic issues have been emphasised over traditional ethnonationalist concerns, producing greater political engagement and increased popular political participation. Social movement organisations and citizens participating from below have played a decisive role in expanding the movement and political participation, and in spreading the discourse about what was at stake, promoting independence not only as an end in itself but also as a means to achieve a more egalitarian and inclusive society. The space in which political and social movement actors operate is structured not only in terms of political institutional design and power distribution, but also in terms of predominant discourses of political culture (Lindekilde, 2014: 209). In fact, referendum campaigns do not take place in a vacuum, they are rather embedded in extended processes and broad political debates that go well beyond the vote itself (Kriesi, 2012a: 13). In the Scottish and Catalan campaigns, the pre-existing predispositions of nationalism and independence – the national-identity frame, the socioeconomic frame and the political frame – constrained the development of collective action frames over the campaign and the political choices at hand of the different actors involved. While claims revolving around a common heritage and the promotion of Catalan language and culture have been always central to Catalan nationalism, Scots have given pre-eminence to pragmatic arguments, for example regarding institutions, or issues of accountability and legitimacy. However, in general both movements have been portrayed as forms of ‘civic nationalism’ and have traditionally used nationalism as a way to channel political disenchantment with the respective central governments. Furthermore, beyond previous organisational cultures and preexisting characteristics of the issue at stake, framing is also highly affected by the course of a campaign (Kriesi et al, 2007: 7). In the campaign, political actors look for strong substantive frames that are capable of steering the attention of the media and the public to their own cause and away from their opponents’ cause. A strong substantive frame is ‘a frame that provokes a defensive reaction by the opponents’ (Koopmans, 2004: 374) and that resonates in the media and with the

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citizen public (Hänggli et al, 2012: 70). The Catalan movement has not only mobilised towards a specific positioning in a referendum campaign but also fought for the right to hold a referendum in the first instance. In that sense, the evolution of master frames and counter-frames as well as the communicative modes of the two campaigns differed. In the Catalan campaign, the largest consensus revolved around the idea of ‘the right to decide’, and as the campaign unfolded, Catalan nationalism increasingly turned towards pro-independence stances. In the Scottish campaign, movements successfully seized the opportunity forged by the Scottish National Party (SNP) to expand the campaign for independence, to frame it as a unique opportunity to change the future of Scotland as a means to achieve a more just and democratic society, radicalising the national rhetoric and moving it closer to values and claims traditionally addressed by left-wing social movement actors. Both campaigns took place amid one of the most important neoliberal critical junctures in recent times, as mentioned in Chapter Two. In that context, the movements tended to bridge narratives on self-determination and sovereignty with broader values related to the territorial, economic and political crises. The general tendency was to downplay the national-identity discourse and shift the focus towards broader political, economic and social issues, and to link nationalism with a narrative around democracy, collective dignity and political regeneration. This rising pro-independence orientation, based on rights and social justice, and linked to democracy, cannot be explained without addressing the role that some social movement organisations played in incorporating their grassroots, inclusive and deliberative culture in the mobilisation, The campaign in Scotland was in general more deliberative, the Yes and No platforms engaged in counter-framing strategies, and there existed various arenas and political spaces at the grassroots levels that facilitated discussions on what form the future Scotland should take. On the one hand, there were the social movement organisations and citizens producing messages from below, developing imaginative strategies and operating in a decentralised way. On the other, there were the media and the logic of political parties. The Catalan campaign was in general more confrontational and less deliberative because of the rejection by the central government of the proposal to hold an official and binding referendum. This chapter is structured in two parts. In the first part, we introduce the overarching discursive fields for independence (national-identity frame, socioeconomic frame and political frame) that have been traditionally employed by the Scottish and Catalan self-determination movements

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and that pre-structured the narrative of the two recent campaigns. In the second part, we will address the two political campaigns as platforms that promoted citizens’ political engagement and participation, and provided the conditions to expand the discourse on independence, bridging self-determination with broader claims traditionally addressed by left-wing social movements. We will argue that there was a development and transformation of nationalist master frames over the campaign, from the ‘right to decide’ to outright independence in the Catalan case, and from devolution to independence in the Scottish case. Also, the two movements strategically used the three frames (the national-identity, the socioeconomic and the political frames) at different times and with different intensities, depending on varying circumstances.

Traditional frames in the Catalan and Scottish nationalist movements According to Guibernau (2004: 10), nationalist movements in nations without states tend to employ two main arguments to legitimise their discourse: a political argument that focuses on endorsing democracy and popular sovereignty, and a cultural argument that refers to the value of cultural and linguistic diversity together with the relevance of different identities. Embedded within these two overarching argumentative strands, frequently highlighted by existing literature on nationalism, we have identified three prominent frames that have been employed as part of Scottish and Catalan nationalist movements: the traditional national-identity frame, which emphasises cultural and linguistic particularities, the socioeconomic frame, which relates to material conditions, social justice and redistribution, and the political frame, which focuses on popular sovereignty and citizen involvement. Both the Scottish and the Catalan cases have been often referred to as paradigms of ‘civic nationalism’, based on common and inclusive values and culture (see Brubaker, 1996; Keating, 2009), and defined in relation to cultural and political aspects rather than ethnic characteristics (Guibernau, 2004). Although both nationalist movements have assumed a shared cultural heritage to strengthen shared sentiments of belonging to – and identification with – a distinctive community, discontinuities between the two cases have been highlighted. Oftentimes, Catalan nationalism has been presented in the literature as having a more essentialist nature than Scottish nationalism, which is understood as a genuinely civic-based form of nationalism, in which residence and personal choice are the core criteria for Scottishness (Leith, 2012: 50).

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While claims revolving around a common heritage and promotion of the vernacular language have been always central to Catalan nationalism and have been associated with the salience of Catalan national identity (Balcells, 2013), Scots have given pre-eminence to pragmatic arguments on institutions, representation, legitimacy and accountability. Although reinforced in the 1990s, Scottish historical and linguistic-cultural aspects have remained rather secondary within the nationalist rhetoric, in sharp contrast with Catalonia. Nagel (2004: 58) explains some of the differences between the two movements’ discourses. First, Scotland has a stronger historical background as a recognisably distinct territorial-political entity than Catalonia does. Moreover, an acceptance of plurinationality is inherent in the very nature of the ‘United Kingdom’ (UK), allowing a sense of Scottish distinctiveness to flourish without (at least in recent times) the threat of cultural domination. The UK as a political entity makes no strong cultural claim over its constituent ‘national’ elements and ‘Scottishness’ and ‘Britishness’ were not considered as irreconcilable. The Spanish government, by contrast, has consistently rejected Catalan demands for self-determination as unconstitutional and has never recognised Catalonia as a political and juridical sovereign subject in its own right. Second, in Scotland the majority of the population was born there, whereas a significant proportion of the Catalan population was either born or has parents who were born in Spain, but outside of the confines of Catalonia. Finally, while Scots Gaelic is very much a minority language in Scotland, Catalan is very widespread; and language is therefore a highly salient issue in Catalonia, where dual cultural frames – Catalan and Spanish – coexist and are often in tension (Nagel, 2004: 58). In Catalonia, people with a Catalan-centric cultural frame of reference have been more permeable to nationalist claims (Fernándezi-Marín and López, 2010). Although people exposed to Spanishcentric cultural frames of reference might have become increasingly sympathetic towards the independence campaigns, Catalan-centric citizens are still keener to support and mobilise for territorial issues. On the other hand, according to John Curtice (cited in Green, 2015), today everyone in Scotland ‘is more or less ubiquitously Scottish – virtually nobody denies it.… One of the things we discovered during the referendum was that it wasn’t how Scottish people felt that mattered to the probability of them voting Yes or No, because virtually everybody feels strongly Scottish.’ Having said this, not only has the Scottish SNP often claimed that membership in the Scottish nation is to be defined by residency

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and voluntary attachment to Scotland, but it has also consistently emphasised the importance of belonging to Scotland as a place rather than any ephemeral sense of Scottishness (Leith, 2008). The SNP’s nationalism has been defined as ‘resolutely civic in […] orientation’ (Hamilton, 2004: 663). SNP manifestoes have continuously emphasised the country’s multiculturalism; its 1997 manifesto endorsed ‘A Scotland that doesn’t ask where you’ve come from, but where we are all going together’ (in Leith, 2008: 88). Oftentimes, Catalan identity has been presented as a matter of free choice (Guibernau, 2004: 67). Jordi Pujol, President of Catalonia between 1980 and 2003, defined a Catalan as ‘anyone who lives and works in Catalonia and who wants to be Catalan’ (Pujol, 1976). Building on this line of reasoning, the former leader of the Esquerra Republican de Catalunya/Republican Left of Catalonia (ERC) between 1996 and 2008, Carod Rovira, argued: We [the Catalans] are not a race, we are a culture with values, referents, shared emotions, and a language. The good thing about the language is that you can learn it! Our project [independence of Catalonia], in contrast to the Spanish state’s enterprise, is not ethnic-essentialist but inclusive and democratic. An identity cannot be inherited; an identity cannot be imposed; you choose your identity. (in Crític, 2015) The socioeconomic frame, on the other hand, has also been traditionally present in both contexts. In both, they have been especially manifested in the argument that Scotland and Catalonia would be economically better off outside the UK and Spain, respectively – or at least emphasising economic mistreatment within their current territorial frameworks. In times of economic crisis and, especially, austerity policies promoted by the central government, this type of frame is often articulated against the cuts that restrain potential economic growth and retrenched social welfare. In this line, in Scotland, in the manifesto for the 2011 Scottish elections, the SNP declared: Independence is about making Scotland more successful, […] and [… to] deliver higher levels of economic growth. […] Instead of a dismal decade of Westminster cuts, we can choose this better way. […] Instead of the Tory government in London deciding how much of our income we get to keep, the Scottish Parliament would make a payment for Scotland’s share of ongoing UK services such as pensions,

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foreign affairs and defence. […] If we take on responsibility for tax and for welfare we can also better protect Scotland from Tory cuts. We can protect families, and protect the most vulnerable members of our community. (SNP, 2011) Also, the SNP’s economic vision of an independent Scotland was based on emulating the success of its small neighbours in Iceland, Ireland and Norway in what had been referred to as the ‘arc of prosperity’. Prior to the economic crisis, the SNP had argued: Off our east coast lies Norway, the second most prosperous country in the world. Off our west coast lies Ireland, the fourth most prosperous country in the world. Off our north coast lies Iceland, the sixth most prosperous country in the world. These independent countries represent an arc of prosperity – and Scotland has every bit as much potential as them. (in Hilson, 2008: 184) In the 2011 Scottish election, the Scottish Socialist Party (SSP) claimed: ‘There is no doubting that many Scots on the make have benefited from the Union. But the people, the ordinary, working people of Scotland, have gained nothing from the Union and lost much’ (SSP, 2011). In Catalonia, the socioeconomic frame has largely been articulated in terms of institutional unfairness. This refers to a long-term feeling of economic strain, injustice, mistreatment and insufficient funding for autonomy (Guibernau, 2004: 92). The argument is that Catalonia has been disproportionally contributing to state funds, and receiving low public investment in return. Catalan media, political parties such as the Convergència i Unió/Convergence and Union (CiU) and the ERC, and the Generalitat de Catalunya have traditionally presented it as an unfairness caused by the redistributive policies of the Spanish government. Associated with this, we find resonant slogans such as ‘We, in Catalonia, have to pay for the poor throughout Spain’, and ‘Spain is stealing from us, the Catalans’. However, the socioeconomic discourse of the two nationalist movements has not only consisted of accusations about the economic disadvantage of the two regions; it has also included ideas about social transformation and provided a way to channel political disenchantment. On the one hand, as we have seen in Chapter Two, a relatively strong left-wing political identity has endured in Scotland, fuelled by the collective memory of early 20th-century labour resistance and opposition to the economic measures imposed by the Thatcher

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governments in the 1980s (Dalle Mulle, 2015a: 5). It has become a pillar of contemporary Scottish nationalism that as a nation the Scots never voted for Thatcher and that they are thereby a de facto left-wing people – characterised by what Alex Salmond, former leader of the SNP, described as ‘Scotland’s social-democratic consensus’ (Salmond, 2013). Although some of the moments of greatest cohesion in the Union were in the 1940s and 1950s when the people of Britain were strongly united by bonds forged in the Second World War and by the tangible benefits of the welfare state.1 The idea of Britishness has been called into question by devolution, decolonisation, immigration and European integration (Gamble, 2003: 9). The Scottish nationalist movement has harnessed growing discontent with political developments in Westminster (from Thatcher, through Blair’s New Labour and the incumbent Conservative regime), opposing neoliberal economic measures and producing a discourse in relation to social justice that attributes to Westminster responsibility for the Scottish socioeconomic situation. The recent rise of Scottish nationalism can be seen, therefore, as the territorialisation of social democratic values, successfully projected by forces of Scottish nationalism and recent Scottish left-wing movements. According to the SNP, ‘the UK government’s actions on welfare have attacked some of the poorest and most vulnerable people in our society. […] Increasing levels of poverty and inequality are a clear sign that the economic and social policies of the UK Government are failing Scotland’ (SNP, 2013). In Catalonia, the pro-independence left-wing forces have also traditionally put forward an alternative, socially just independent Catalonia. Endavant, one of the political organisations that form the Candidatura d’Unitat Popular/Popular Unity Candidacy (CUP), claimed that its final aim is ‘the construction of the independent state that encompasses the whole of the Catalan nation and structures a socialist and feminist society’ (Endavant, 2013). However, prior to 2006, pro-independence stances in Catalonia were limited to the margins and only promoted by small, radical, loosely coordinated organisations and grassroots groups. Mainstream Catalan nationalism has historically been moderate and has generally sought the recognition of Catalonia as a nation within a reconfigured – and more decentralised – Spanish state. Most of the Catalan left-wing political parties and social organisations tended to have difficulty in placing themselves along the territorial axis, distancing themselves from the ‘conservative and folkloric’ type of nationalism (Guibernau, 2004: 105). Political forces such as the social democratic Partit dels Socialistes de Catalunya/Socialists’ Party of Catalonia (PSC-PSOE) and the green

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left-wing Iniciativa per Catalunya Verds/ Initiative for Catalonia Greens (ICV) have traditionally not advocated independence and, instead, have focused on promoting self-government and self-administration to seek further devolution of powers (Guibernau, 2004). They have also tried to avoid using the dichotomy between ‘us’ (Catalans) and ‘them’ (Spaniards). It has only been recently, and after the last cycle of anti-austerity protests in Spain, that left-wing political forces such as Podemos and the new municipal candidacies have started to alter this equilibrium by putting forward new alternatives on the left, openly embracing the right to self-determination – albeit many of these new actors do not openly advocate for independence. With respect to the political frame, the discourses of both Scottish and Catalan nationalists have been prominently structured around the notion that they belong to distinct political communities and therefore are entitled to determine their own political futures. In the UK, the understanding of Scotland as a discrete entity, clearly distinguishable from the rest of the constituent parts of the state, has been recognised from long before the Treaty of Union (1707). Indeed, the idea of Scotland as some form of national community in its own right has long been constitutionally strengthened through, among other institutions, a Scottish legal system that is separate from that of the rest of the UK. The UK Labour Party proposed ‘home rule’ for Scotland as far back as the 1920s, and in 1979 a referendum on the creation of a devolved Scottish Parliament failed to garner the necessary votes in favour of the proposal (Lynch, 2001: 10). In 1997, Tony Blair’s Labour government presented the Scottish people with a further referendum on devolved Scottish powers. That time the population voted in favour of the creation of a Scottish Parliament and the reclaiming of various other powers from Westminster (Mitchell et al, 1998: 179). Yet, Scottish nationalist parties have kept asking for more devolution and recognition of sovereignty. In the 2011 Scottish election, the SSP called for independence ‘as a major democratic advance, a means by which, at last, we can decide who, if at all, we go to war with, how we treat our workers, how we run our welfare state and organise our energy resources’ (SSP, 2011). However, it should be noted that the SNP had taken its focus off independence after the institution of the devolved parliament in Holyrood in 1999. It had concentrated on acquiring a reputation as a sensible managerial party, capable of exercising power. It was thus somewhat ill prepared for an all-out independence campaign. As a key pro-independence campaigner explained: “the simple fact is that when we went into 2011 there was not a single think-tank which ever existed in Scotland which supported independence. There was

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no government which had ever spent so much as five minutes doing any work on the policy question of independence. There was nothing. It was closer to a non-subject as you can imagine” (Interview SC7). The recognition that it is the right of the people of Scotland to democratically decide on their constitutional futures stands in contrast to the position of the Spanish state with reference to Catalonia. Although it has a certain degree of political autonomy under the 1978 constitutional framework, Catalonia is not recognised as a distinct nation with a right to self-determination. Given that the possibility to decide over independence has consistently been denied by the Spanish authorities, the discourse of Catalan nationalist actors has often depicted and portrayed the Spanish institutions as anti-democratic, denying Catalans their right to take control over their political future. Àngel Colom, former leader and ideologist of the ERC, argued that ‘the Spanish state has a very undemocratic basis, because it maintains the political and administrative structures shaped by moderate liberals in the second third of the last [19th] century’ (in Argelaguet et al, 1992: 54). Moreover, the Catalanist movement (ranging from federalist to openly pro-independence positions) has often stated that Catalonia should contribute to the consolidation of democracy in Spain (Guibernau, 2004: 103), reacting against any strong centralist component promoted by the Spanish state, often portrayed as Francoist legacies.

Framing strategies in the Scottish and Catalan campaigns Starting point: the referendum question In Scotland, the referendum question ‘Should Scotland be an independent country?’ was the outcome of a long negotiation between the Scottish and UK administrations. The Scottish government was forced to change the initial wording of the question after receiving criticism from polling experts and opposition parties for its lack of neutrality. The devolved Scottish government also proposed including a second question, on whether Holyrood should have full powers over taxation (‘Devo Max’), which was an option that opinion polls consistently showed as enjoying most popular support. However, the final wording was dictated by Westminster, which pushed for an in/out question, denying the opportunity for maximal devolution. Yet the vague and simple wording might have enabled the movements to project their view of an independent Scotland, which was combined with the SNP emphasis on continuity and stability as important for softening

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the negative economic impact that an eventual secession of Scotland could entail. Catalans, on the other hand, had the chance to vote in a two-question unofficial referendum. They were asked to respond yes or no to the following questions:2 ‘Do you want Catalonia to become a State?’ and, in case of an affirmative answer to the first question, ‘Do you want this State to be independent?’ The (arguably confusing) phrasing was meant to allow voters to choose among three options: status quo, federalism and independence. Although the agreement was the result of the bargaining between the pro-referendum political parties (CiU, ERC, ICV, and CUP [Candidatura d’Unitat Popular/Popular Unity Candidacy]), the PP (Partido Popular/People’s Party), PSC-PSOE and Cs (Ciudadanos/ Citizens) did not recognise it as a legitimate consultation. Consensus among pro-referendum forces on the referendum question was requested and facilitated by social movement organisations and Catalan civil society. In particular, given the non-binding nature of the Catalan vote on self-determination, it was regarded as a protest performance to give visibility to the movement’s claims. However, both events in Scotland and Catalonia were framed as tools to achieve similar goals: putting pressure on the respective central authorities in order to envision new territorial frameworks and empower the secessionist positions in Scotland and Catalonia. Evolution of master frames The campaigns fuelled the development of some shared master frames, in which various arguments were connected. In Catalonia, the ‘right to decide’ as a frame began to be articulated in February 2006, when the platform PDD (Plataforma pel Dret a Decidir/Platform for the Right to Decide) organised its first big demonstration under the slogan ‘We are a Nation and we have the Right to Decide’. This worked as a master frame at the beginning of the mobilisation cycle, becoming a strong substantive claim with the potential to resonate across different sectors of Catalan society. As the campaign unfolded, Catalan nationalism itself was in the process of significant transformation, increasingly turning towards pro-independence stances. On the other hand, Scottish movements successfully seized the opportunity forged by the SNP to expand the campaign for independence and frame it less as a nation fulfilling its sovereign destiny but rather as a means of achieving a more just distribution of wealth, a more democratic and compassionate society. ‘The debate around Scotland’s constitutional future has rarely been in isolation from arguments around the shape and future trajectory

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of social welfare’ (Mooney and Scott, 2016: 243). In fact, social welfare in Scotland played a key role in structuring the debate on what an independent Scotland would be like. As the campaign unfolded, Scottish nationalist rhetoric was increasingly close to values and claims traditionally addressed by left-wing social movements. The ‘right to decide’ frame in Catalonia combined and bridged different discursive elements such as the traditional nationalist discourse on national identity and the political discourse related to a community’s right to determine its own political future. This frame emphasised the democratic narrative embedded in the claim for self-determination, justifying nationalism in utilitarian rather than existential ways (Bell, 2015). The platform PDD adopted this frame strategically to expand the movement and gain increased support, as the goal of the organisation was to become a ‘transversal meeting point […] a broad, plural transversal and cohesive movement that encompasses various sectors of Catalan civil society willing to achieve full sovereignty for our Country’ (Plataforma pel Dret de Decidir, 2016). Indeed, the ‘right to decide’ frame resonated with a more inclusive and democratic discourse, in contrast to the longer-standing, more culturally based secessionism. The use of this master frame led some left-wing political parties and organisations, such as the ICV – which were traditionally ambivalent with respect to Catalan nationalism – to support and participate in the mobilisation. In 2010, Joan Herrera, the national coordinator of ICV, justified the party’s participation to the ‘right to decide’ movement as follows: Inside our party we have federalists and independentists sharing a common project of social transformation. But also, we are Catalanists and think Catalonia has the right to govern itself. The decision of the Constitutional Court breaks the Statute agreement. Then, our plan is to take over the Statute, and establish the mechanisms to make the ‘right to decide’ possible for the people in Catalonia. (ICV, 2010) The ‘right to decide’ symbolically resonated with the 15-M movement against austerity and its general discourse on ‘real democracy’ and ‘democratic regeneration’. The message on the side of challengers was very clear-cut and had simple objectives: ‘We have the right to decide’ and ‘We want to vote in a referendum’. It articulated an assessment of Spanish state structures as anachronistic and non-democratic, arguing that there is a notable democratic deficit in the country, asserting a crisis of representation and the need for political regeneration. As one

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interviewee pointed out, ‘the sovereign movement in Catalonia, 15M and Podemos are different expressions of the same thing, which is a social discontent about the Spain of 1978’3 (Interview CT8). In the demonstration organised by the PDD in December 2007 under the slogan ‘We are a nation and we say this is ENOUGH! We have the right to decide about our infrastructures’, the movement introduced the socioeconomic frame, making reference to the social justice-based discourse relating to the feeling in Catalonia of institutional unfairness with respect to Spanish redistributive policy. As such, ‘the right to decide’ managed to combine and span the different ideas embedded in the three distinct frames (national-identity, socioeconomic and political). The inclusivity of this overarching frame successfully allowed for the participation of many of those who were for the ‘right to decide’ but not necessarily pro-independence (in the sense of a prioritising an institutional break-up from the Spanish central government). After the movement managed to articulate the mobilisation around the ‘right to decide’ claim, in the face of the intransigence of the central Spanish state regarding Catalan demands, the framing evolved towards clearly pro-independence positions. The collective exasperation of the Catalan population at the prohibition against holding such a referendum transformed demands from ‘the right to decide’ to outright calls for independence. This radicalisation of the Catalan campaign for independence, wherein those who had been supportive of a right to decide began to support independence, and Catalans who were content to remain within Spain began to demand at least the right to collectively decide their futures, was connected to the disappearance of the PDD and the emergence of the Assemblea Nacional Catalana/ National Catalan Assembly (ANC) in 2011. In fact, the transition from the ‘right to the decide’ philosophy of the PDD to the outright demand for independence of the ANC is a clear example of the escalation of Catalan demands. The ANC inaugural manifesto launch outlined the following goals: (1) reclaim the political independence of Catalonia though constituting a democratic and social state, (2) achieve the independence of Catalonia through the right to national self-determination, (3) create a majority in the Catalan Parliament that promotes the organisation of a referendum on self-determination and, if the Catalan people voted in favour or if the Spanish state does not allow it to take place, proclaim the independence of Catalonia and constitute a sovereign Catalan state, (4) reach an agreement with the

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European Union on the permanence of the new Catalan state within the Union. (Assamblea Nacional Catalana, 2011) This pro-sovereignty impulse of the movement, underlined by some spectacular events –which had slogans, such as ‘Catalonia, new state of Europe’, ‘My place in history. Catalan Way towards Independence’, and ‘Now is the time, united for the new country’ – led a large part of the Catalan local political elite and many civil society organisations to abandon their former ambiguous positions in favour of proindependence stances. This provoked internal divisions in many of the political parties and led to some unusual strategic alliances between political organisations with deeply contrasting ideologies. Indeed, the pro-independence frame in Catalonia successfully spread beyond the traditional circles, achieving high levels of support among the Catalan society and effectively mobilising large numbers of people. Notwithstanding this general pro-independence turn, the movement’s aim to achieve an official and binding referendum was still presented as the main goal and the largest consensus still revolved around ‘the right to decide’ (with 87 out of 135 members of the Catalan Parliament and 80% of the Catalan population supporting it). For that reason, ‘local platforms were constantly calling for participation in the referendum instead of asking for positive or a negative vote on it. Also, debates were organised in several municipalities with supporters of both alternatives and propaganda explicitly avoided nationalist symbols’ (Muñoz and Guinjoan, 2013: 50). In the Scottish case, after 2011, when the SNP gained an overall majority in the Scottish Parliament, the party officially launched its drive for independence, putting the referendum at the top of its political agenda. From the beginning, the Yes Scotland campaign used a highly inclusive narrative, very much in line with the Catalan ‘right to decide’. The main discourse was about the idea that independence offered a unique opportunity to make the future Scotland a ‘better’ and ‘more just’ place to live (Thiec, 2015; Mooney and Scott, 2016). In the absence of the cultural foundations so present in Catalonia, the need for Scottish independence was framed as a solution to the democratic deficit vis-à-vis Westminster and as a means to oppose the Tories. Its resonance was limited to those already engaged, to some degree, in politics, not to the hundreds of thousands of non-voters and politically disengaged. In short, it was pithily summed up as “we went in to the independence movement with no national story about independence” (Interview SC7).

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The ambiguousness and vagueness of the concept, and the lack of a broad encompassing vision of independence facilitated the coming together of the SNP and grassroots movements and groups from the left to articulate different visions of the future independent Scotland. However, welfare, equality and discontent with Westminster austerity dominated the pro-independence campaign (Boyd and Morrison, 2014; Mooney and Scott, 2016). The SNP was determined to present a ‘narrative of hope’ to oppose the negativity of the case made by the ‘Better Together’ campaign. Consequently, much stress was laid on the idea that the people who lived in Scotland were the best placed to make decisions affecting Scotland and that independence offered enormous opportunities in terms of economic prosperity and social justice. (Thiec, 2015: 7) One of the most popular arguments for independence was that ‘a “Yes” vote could protect Scotland from policies being imposed on it by a coalition government it had not helped bring to power in London’ (Thiec, 2015: 5). The imagining of a new Scotland was very powerful and the Yes vote was seen as an opportunity for change, prompting an extraordinary and extensive political engagement of Scottish society. The Yes Scotland campaign opened the door to debates regarding the future of the region and it was remarkable in its success with respect to encouraging people to talk about what kind of society they wanted Scotland to be (Thiec, 2015: 7). Public discussions ranged from issues such as defence and international affairs to currency and housing. The message that was being conveyed to people in campaigning by grassroots organisations, extra-parliamentary groups and small political parties was that independence was not an end in itself but an opportunity to reform and radically change Scotland, building a front against the neoliberal consensus at Westminster. The general narrative resonated with the socioeconomic and political frames and bridged various ideas, such as: to put Scotland’s future in Scotland’s hands […] to gain the ability to make our own decisions […] to have the opportunity to make our nation a better place to live, [and] to build a greener, fairer and more prosperous society that is stronger and more successful that it is today. (Yes Declaration, 2014)

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The central values contained in the declaration were far removed from any traditional sense of crude ethnically defined nationalism. In August 2014, after the second leaders’ debate, the Yes vote started to gather momentum. Over the campaign, the Yes camp became increasingly skilled at expressing the diversity of opinions included under its umbrella. Although the dominant presentation in mainstream media was that of a campaign led by the SNP, Yes Scotland, persistently attempted to make it clear that a vote for independence was not a vote for the SNP (Thiec, 2015). The announcement of poll results played a clear role during the course of the campaign. The results of the last poll, with only eight days to go, showing that the Yes side had dramatically nudged ahead with a 51% to 49% lead (Dahlgreen, 2014), led to a quick reaction from the British government, with the prime minister promising that in the event of a No vote, greater powers would be transferred to Scotland. In fact: This message was reinforced by former Prime Minister Gordon Brown in a barnstorming speech on the 8th September in which he effectively promised devo-max before St Andrews Day. Brown’s intervention stemmed the tide and the no-campaign regained its lead and went on to win by a ten per cent margin. (Qvortrup, 2015: 38) Until that point, the ‘Better Together’ campaign had unremittingly focused on the negative consequences of Scottish independence, by emphasising ‘economic uncertainty and “the pound in your pocket”’ (Geohegan, 2015). The constant negativity led to the campaign for No being christened ‘Project Fear’ (Davidson, 2014a: 7). In sum, the development of master frames over the course of the Scottish and Catalan campaign shows the important role played by grassroots and social movements. As we will see in the next section, recent Scottish and Catalan national upsurges have been largely shorn of many of the indicators of conventional secessionist campaigns, such as ethnic belonging and linguistic or cultural particularity. To be sure, many of the language policies that the Catalan government has developed to promote the use of Catalan language have become recurrent sources of friction between political elites over the last years: from the exclusive use of Catalan in public media to Catalan becoming the vehicular language in schools (see Miller and Miller, 1996). Many of these conflicts have extrapolated to civil society at large, often inflaming political unrest. However, we contend that a crucial distinctive feature

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of the referendum campaigns on independence is that they have been motivated, rather, by issues of democratic accountability, social justice and the collective wellbeing of all residents, issues which have traditionally been part of the left-wing agenda. The social movement organisations, bottom-up political organisations and grassroots campaigners that participated in the campaigns focused on building highly inclusive narratives in contrast to longer-standing more culturally based secessionist narratives. This led to the mobilisation spreading beyond the traditional circles and achieving high levels of support while mobilising a large number of people. As we have seen in Chapter Three, engagement was one of the main achievements of the campaign. Also, as the campaigns unfolded, both narratives – pushed from the bottom up – evolved and radicalised into discourses increasingly close to values and claims traditionally associated with left-wing social movements. These narratives resonated with broader mobilisations against austerity and pro-democratic regeneration in Europe. In terms of discourses, in both cases formal political parties were required to follow the lead of social movements. The campaigns progressed beyond the calculated institutional logic of vote maximisation to embrace what Elisabeth Wood has called ‘the pleasure of agency’ (2003), the agency of masses of individuals who began to reassert their political voice and power. Strategic use of traditional nationalist frames In the two campaigns, several frames were applied, competing in the public discourse, as movements tended to bridge narratives on self-determination and sovereignty with broader values related to the territorial, economic and political crises. By providing an alternative framework that aspired to redress grievances emerging from the territorial and economic crises, the inclusive narrative of the two mobilisations permitted a broad coalition of groups from across the political spectrum to support the campaigns, notwithstanding ideological differences and contrasting views on the shape to be taken by a putative independent Scotland or Catalonia. The general tendency was to downplay the national-identity discourse, as the movements tended to avoid appealing to differential cultural aspects of the two regions. Rather, the movement tried to widen the scope of the issue at stake, linking nationalism with socioeconomic issues, and a narrative around democracy, collective dignity and political regeneration. This paved the ground for the emergence of a strong substantive frame, the democratic-emancipatory frame. Both Catalan and Scottish movements deliberately avoided the

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historical national-identity frame for a number of reasons. First, it was a way to strategically expand the movements and reach new sectors of society. Second, they wanted to avoid being aligned with other, more traditionally ethnonationalist, European movements, such as the Lega Nord in Italy or the N-VA (Nieuw-Vlaamse Alliantie/New Flemish Alliance) in Flanders. Third, the movements were aware of the importance of updating the nationalist discourse in a changing global context and tried to step away from traditional ethnonationalist stances. As was noted, ‘This expansion of enfranchisement, which often ran counter to the interests of the organisers in terms of turnout figures, was intentionally put in place to illustrate the “radical democracy” agenda adopted by the movement’ (Muñoz and Guinjoan, 2013: 50). Interestingly, the SNP’s cautiousness also extended to the Catalan case. It assiduously avoided any relationship with the struggle in Catalonia, as it feared that any proximity to the Catalans or the Basques could associate the Scottish campaign with what they viewed as cultural nationalism, and give the Spanish government grounds to object to its future EU membership. A key activist recalls that senior figures in Yes Scotland mentioned to him on multiple occasions “Oh, don’t talk about the Catalans, you’ll alienate Madrid” (Interview SC7). In Catalonia, the movement tried to incorporate people not exposed to Catalan-centric cultural frames of reference, particularly secondgeneration immigrants who were traditionally outside the scope of Catalan nationalism. A good example of this was the emergence of the organisation ‘Súmate’ (Join us), which is a Spanish-speaking organisation, explicitly pro-independence, that breaks with the traditional anti-Spanish cliché associated with Catalan nationalism. The organisation’s slogan was ‘origins do not matter, it’s the objective that matters’ and the aims ‘to incorporate all people who share democratic values, defend freedom and are willing to build a better society. Join us, together we will build a new country’ (Súmate, 2016). In fact, the campaign in Catalonia was relatively successful in places where nationalism had previously had low levels of penetration, particularly in neighbourhoods and towns with high levels of immigration from other parts of Spain in the 1960s–1980s, such as the industrial districts on the outskirts of Barcelona. As mentioned before, in order to highlight the non-ethnic aspect of the mobilisation, the referendum in Catalonia was open to everyone over 18 years old living in the region, regardless of their nationality. Notwithstanding that traditional nationalist features were strategically downplayed by the movement, the campaign was deeply rooted in the Catalan culture, which was very present in the cycle of mobilisation,

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with continuous symbolic references to 1714. One of the ideas drawn from traditional nationalism frame was the narrative of a nation dominated by Spain, which worked as a motivational frame and led to emotional claims and statements associated with a self-understanding of accomplishing a historical mission. Claims such as ‘we need to recover the right course of history’, and demands for ‘acting responsibly’ with regard to ‘our legacy and ancestors’ struggle’ are some of the examples. Some (minority and institutional) actors within the movement, such as Solidaritat Catalana per la Independència/Catalan Solidarity for Independence (SI) and Demòcrates de Catalunya/Catalan Democrats (DC), also appealed to this frame. As in the Catalan case, the Scottish government avoided the national-identity frame, trying to highlight the non-ethnic aspects of Scottish identity by denying the right to vote for Scots living in other parts of the UK or the rest of the world, and allowing all EU citizens resident in Scotland to vote regardless of national identity (Cairney, 2014). However, the cycle of mobilisation drew on the creation of a particular national narrative of a distinct Scottish identity. For instance, the Scottish movement cast austerity and neoliberalism along national lines as an English phenomenon, alien to Scotland’s purported socialdemocratic values. In Scotland, however, while we can clearly identify a nationalist framing and reframing of an Independent Scottish welfare state, which speaks to ideas of a nation and social solidarity built on nationalist terms, there is no sense of Scotland, the Scots, as an ethnically bounded national community. In the language deployed by SNP politicians, Scotland is open to all and each and every person migrating to Scotland can be a fully Scottish citizen. (Mooney and Scott, 2016: 249) In fact, the most dominant frame in the Scottish campaign was the socioeconomic one. It was noted that: The economic frame sees the referendum as a decision about the financial future of Scotland. The referendum is presented as being about the wealth and prosperity of the country and about how the economy will be managed if it stays in the United Kingdom and if it becomes independent. It involves a focus on questions like the currency an independent Scotland would use, and how economic policy

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would impact business, investment, taxation, spending and jobs. (Dekavalla, 2016: 802) When the debate was concrete and focused on specific issues of economic and political organisation in Soctland was when division and dissent within the Yes campaign tended to emerge. The SNP depicted ‘independence as an evolution of devolution’ (Foley and Ramand, 2014: 80) and emphasised it as continuity rather than radical change. The SNP proposed a country that was more social democratic but which was nonetheless not radically different from contemporary Scotland; its goal was to achieve broader redistribution through an economic policy based on neoliberal principles. The Scottish Government Economic Strategy, published in 2007, was unambiguous in stating that it favoured ‘a competitive tax regime which incentivises business growth and attracts mobile factors of production’ (in Cuthbert and Cuthbert, 2009: 107). Moreover, it promoted a low rate of Corporation Tax, similar to the strategy adopted by Ireland (Keating, 2009: 103). On the other hand, the Green Party, the SSP and other grassroots, community-based organisations, along with left-wing political groups involved in the Yes campaign, differed considerably with respect to this frame and attempted to frame the mobilisation as not only for an independent Scotland but for a radically different Scotland, based on increased democracy and a reordering of Scottish society. In a popular article, the Scottish folk-singer Karine Polwart decried Yes Scotland’s vision which was that: ‘Scotland won’t be that different post-independence, just a mite more prosperous, and self-determinedly “Scottish”.’ The Yes Scotland website reassures visitors that “on Day 1, an independent Scotland will look pretty much as it does today”. Polwart forcibly argued that ‘what sparks me is the “fairer, greener” bit of the Yes campaign, the possibility of reconfiguring our connection with Scotland as a place in ways that go beyond a new era of profitable industrial exploitation of human or environmental resources’ (Polwart, 2013). It was this proactive vision of Scotland which emerged to bolster Yes Scotland from within and without. Accordingly, the blossoming of a multi-layered movement ranging from the SNP and Yes Scotland, to the veteran activist circles of the Scottish Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, the National Collective of artists, a wide range of socialists and environmentalists, to the informal ad hoc street committees and groups of friends, began in only 2013. Specifically, some of the issues around which dissent emerged included the following: whereas the SNP accepted the status of the monarchy (Torrance, 2013), the other political and grassroots groups

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were in favours of an elected head of state. Also, in 2012 the SNP reversed its long-standing opposition to NATO membership, in apparent contradiction of its pledge to oblige the British Army to remove its Trident nuclear weapons programme from the Firth of Clyde (Davidson, 2014b: 3). The other groups and organisations within Yes, meanwhile, did not want an independent Scotland to apply for membership of NATO (Thiec, 2015). In relationship to currency, whereas the SNP supported the idea of negotiating a currency union, the Green Party, the SSP and other members advocated for a separate Scottish currency. The Greens also distanced themselves from the SNP on the issue of oil, emphasising the urgency of adopting renewable alternatives to fossil fuel energy. Also, although the Tory government had been ravaging the NHS for several years, the SNP was reluctant to bring it up as an issue because health policy was under its remit in Holyrood. It was not until a consultant doctor, Philippa Whitford,4 argued in a newspaper article that the best way to preserve the public health system was through independence that Yes Scotland made it a key pillar of the campaign (Brown, 2014). However, the general argument, which was based on that idea that independence would provide the best conditions for sustainable economic growth, enabling Scotland to protect living standards, reduce poverty and build a better society, was shared by both the SNP and the more radical political actors that joined the campaign. The Scottish First Minister and SNP leader, Alex Salmond argued that an independent Scotland would become a ‘beacon for progressive opinion south of the border’ (BBC News Scotland, 2012, in Mooney and Scott, 2016: 242). The left-wing Scottish groups argued for the rejection of austerity politics and Britain’s ever growing socioeconomic inequality. Their project consisted of a radical socioeconomic change and even voices from the Scottish anarchist scene offered their conditional support (Swann, 2014b). A Radical Independence Campaign (RIC) slogan pithily summed up the egalitarian and non-nationalist nature of the left’s support for independence: ‘Britain is for the rich, Scotland can be ours’ (in Gordon, 2014). With respect to the socioeconomic frame in Catalonia, in a context of recession, the long-term feeling of economic strain, injustice and mistreatment derived from the Spanish system of wealth distribution became more acute. In that environment, the socioeconomic frame was articulated in terms of social justice and institutional mistreatment. The latter frame was initially encouraged by the public administration, presenting Catalonia as a region subject to fiscal plunder and claiming that ‘Catalonia would be richer if it were self-ruled’ (in ARA, 2012).

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However, this economic frame resonated greatly with the much contested ideas of ‘Spain is stealing from us’ and gained a lot of media coverage, “distorting people’s attention” (Interview CT7) and thus raising concerns among some groups of Catalan businesspeople – particularly the owners of some of the region’s largest corporations. For these reasons, in the middle of the campaign, both institutional and non-institutional actors distanced themselves from the economic discourse and avoided making economic statements in official discourse. However, the idea of social justice was still used in a broader way, presenting Catalan independence as a chance to build a more dignified society, more democratic, equal, participatory and inclusive, taking advantage of its alignment with the anti-austerity wave of political contention. The ANC, for instance, have been participating in the 1 May demonstrations under the slogan ‘Catalonia New European State, more just, prosperous and solidary’ since 2012. Further, in the Catalan case, some parties suffered from internal divisions, which often had the effect of sending mixed messages and cues to voters. For instance, the CUP promoted a critical campaign called ‘Independence to change everything’ to emphasise their vision of an independent Catalonia dramatically different from CiU’s model. In both cases, the rhetoric surrounding independence concerned democracy, collective dignity and political regeneration, and was linked to arguments regarding the necessity of breaking away from the existing social, economic and political system. The prominence of this discourse was at the expense of arguments based around language, culture, traditions, history and so on, and the main promoters were social movements and bottom-up political organisations. In addition, in Scotland, and also in Catalonia: a frame which emerged exclusively in the final week […] and especially in the days directly before and after the vote, was the democratic achievement frame. This saw the referendum as a major achievement of the Scottish people, due to the high involvement of citizens in grassroots democracy and debate, the high turnout at the polls and the civility with which the referendum was carried out. (Dekavalla, 2016: 804) The main innovation in both campaigns was the emergence of the democratic-emancipatory discourse, which represented the development and endorsement of the socioeconomic and political frame, and a nationalist political orientation based on rights and social

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justice, and linked to democracy. The success of this innovative frame cannot be explained without addressing the role that some social movement organisations played in incorporating their grassroots, inclusive and deliberative culture in the mobilisation, which had the ability to expand the movement and attract broader participation and support than traditional nationalist mobilisations did before. Terms such as ‘deliberative democracy’, ‘inclusiveness’, ‘civil society’, ‘progress’, ‘empowerment’, ‘social state’ and ‘redistribution’ played a central role in the Catalan campaign (see Palà and Picazo, 2014) and in the Scottish referendum. Many on the Scottish and Catalan left had certain difficulties in accepting the campaigns as nationalist, given all of the negative connotations associated with ‘narrow’ nationalism. However, the involvement of grassroots campaigners in both cases pushed both processes towards a more direct engagement with voters than in ordinary political campaigns, and especially, a more direct engagement from the left. In relation to the political-emancipatory discourse, in Catalonia the corruption frame has been highly relevant. While Catalan nationalist forces have often used major state-wide corruption cases (for example, the Gurtel case)5 as evidence of the rotten and unreformable character of Spanish institutions, Spanish centralist forces have sought to undermine pro-independence claims by associating CiU-related corruption cases (for example, Pujol, Millet/Palau) with the movement. ‘The project of independence is very much a smokescreen to cover the systemic [Catalan] corruption that has gone on for decades’, declared the Communication vice-secretary of PP, Pablo Casado (La Vanguardia, 2017). However, the movements’ promotion of political positions, which varied both between and within the respective cases, all shared a strong emphasis on greater redistribution of wealth and the necessity of transparency and accountability by political representatives. The campaigns acted as platforms that permitted the disillusioned masses, worn down by austerity, to project their broader visions of a more equitable society – thus reinvigorating political debate beyond the rearrangement of institutional and constitutional relationships with the UK and Spain. Deliberative quality and counter-framing strategies While a campaign can be more adversarial or more deliberative in nature, there are theoretical reasons to believe that referendum campaigns are not particularly conducive to debate with a deliberative

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quality (Chambers, 2001). In fact, devices of direct democracy have been considered as particularly at risk of introducing extreme forms of majoritarianism, as ‘even in situations where there is no clear majority referendums invite participants to approach the debate strategically rather than discursively; that is to say that referendums create an incentive to find arguments that will sway only the needed number of votes’ (Kriesi, 2012a: 13). Referendums’ debates have also been considered as facilitating a negative result as: The political advantage in referendum campaigns often seems to rest with the No side. The opposition to a proposal does not necessarily have to make a coherent case against it. Not uncommonly, it is enough merely to raise doubts about it in the minds of voters, question the motives of the proposers, play upon known fears, or attempt to link a proposal to other less popular issues or personalities. (LeDuc, 2007: 36) In general, the Scottish campaign was more deliberative than the Catalan campaign, which was rather confrontational and adversarial. In Scotland, the counter-framing strategies used by the British government and the ‘Better Together’ campaign engaged their opponents’ substantive frame to a much greater extent than in the Spanish case. This was due to the fact that an official and binding Catalan referendum was rejected by the Spanish authorities. In the Scottish case, the diagnostic frame – that the referendum was fair and legal – was shared by the Scottish and the UK elites and by both sides of the campaign. Accordingly, the Scottish referendum had in general multiple opportunities and arenas for face-to-face debates and the two sides engaged in counter-framing strategies. This is one of the reasons why the Scottish campaign focused on micro-level initiatives and decentralised events, which facilitated discussions on what form the future Scotland should take. On the other hand, the Catalan campaign focused on mass demonstrations and macro-level events, which were much more protest-oriented repertoires of action, and were used as symbolic performances and means to communicate in a context of apathy, and of threat to and defiance of the rule of law by the Spanish elites and the Catalan anti-referendum political forces. From the political point of view, Cameron’s acceptance of the SNP administration’s demand for a referendum seemed low risk at the beginning of the process, with opinion polls at that time massively in favour of the status quo (Qvortrup, 2015: 36). Cameron began

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his campaign messaging with a democratic tone, stating: ‘we owe the Scottish people something that is fair, legal and decisive’ (in BBC News, 2012). However, as the opinion polls showed increasing support for the Yes vote, the British government, together with the Better Together campaign, started to adopt clear counter-framing strategies, prominently employing a frame of economic insecurity. In fact, the main factors that facilitated a No vote were the weakness of the Yes campaign’s economic and fiscal policies, which instilled doubt in voters’ minds and led many powerful Scottish and international business figures and corporate interests to cast doubt on the viability of an independent Scottish economy. The socioeconomic frame, and especially the idea of economic insecurity, was a powerful frame to use to raise doubts in the minds of voters and play upon fears about economic wellbeing. ‘The credit crunch enabled Scotland to be portrayed as too small to survive on its own in such troubled seas’ (Cuthbert and Cuthbert, 2009: 115), given that the economic crisis had crushed the Icelandic and Irish economies, while Scotland would not possess oil reserves comparable to those upon which Norwegian economic success has been based. Also, the economic insecurity frame easily connected with the broader European context of economic instability. As Qvortrup (2015: 37–8) noted: In early spring of 2014 the British government issued a number of statements intended to show the consequences of independence. Chancellor of the Exchequer George Osborne suggested – backed up by his opposition counterpart Ed Balls – Scotland would not be allowed to use the Pound in the event of a yes-vote. Later the UK government issued calculations that purported to show that the costs of setting up a new administration would result in costs of £1.5 billion (or one per cent of GNP) The governor of the Bank of England Mark Carney insisted that if Scotland were to remain in a currency union with the UK, it would be conditional on ‘some ceding of national sovereignty’ (in The Economist, 2014). Meanwhile, banks such as the Royal Bank of Scotland and Lloyds promised to relocate their headquarters to London in the event of independence. Oil companies and large employers such as Shell and BP threatened massive job losses. Supermarket chain Asda as well as Marks and Spencer announced that independence would result in hikes in food prices. Many workers in these sectors were also contacted

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by their bosses, who explained that their individual jobs were at risk (Davidson, 2014a: 11). The ‘Better Together’ counter-framing strategy was in general overly reliant on destroying their opponents’ substantive claims, and largely failed to put forward positive messages and ideas. Its strategy was accused of being reactionary and negative (see McMillan, 2013), and of failing to explain why the Union could make Scotland better, rather than why independence would be a terrible thing for Scots (in Sunday Mail, 2013). In that sense, ‘narratives and ideas of social justice and progressive forms of social welfare have also been harnessed by those on the side of Scotland remaining within the UK. Politicians on both sides of the independence debate claimed social justice was a defining feature of Scotland’s future’ (Mooney and Scott, 2016: 243). In fact, the ‘Better Together’ campaign argued that welfare policies were only viable within the framework of the UK (Alonso, forthcoming). Elements of the Scottish left strongly advocated these positions (see Bryan et al, 2013). They were generally close to the Labour Party and the trade unions, which had an organic relationship with it, but although it was vocal and articulate it represented only a tiny fraction of the Scottish left. Also, a key strategy of the ‘Better Together’ campaign was to depict pro-independence actors as thuggish and intimidatory. Accordingly, local groups made a determined effort to present themselves as open to discussion about independence rather than trying to dogmatically convince people of its benefits. As these efforts organically emerged at the local level rather than following a national uniform template, they were better able to adjust their activities and messages to the expectations of the local environment. Local groups used leaflets and publications from national-level groups like RIC and Yes Scotland, but they also designed their own. The Yes Marchmont group recognised that due to the large percentage of non-Scottish residents in the area, “whatever would work for most of Scotland wouldn’t work here so we were keen to put our own, to fit our campaign to what would appeal to local people” (Interview SC 8). The non-imposition of a uniform national campaign allowed the emergence of an overlapping but variegated campaign, which generated locally resonant mobilisation efforts. A canvasser in the Yes Kelvin group described this logic: ‘We got the idea that a lot of people are intimidated by politics and engaged to make it as friendly and as open as possible, not being evangelical about it and bulldozing conversation or being too aggressive. It was more the

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participation in politics which was important as an end rather than really supporting Yes.’ (Interview SC5) In the Catalan case, the positions adopted by the political actors that have been anti-independence and against the ‘right to decide’ in both Catalonia and the rest of Spain have largely been attempts at changing the point of reference of the debate without engaging with the frames presented by the pro-referendum movement. The discourse of the central government in Spain has been a mix of apathy and legalism, presenting the process of mobilising support for a referendum as defiance of the rule of law, and taking a position of passivity that underestimated the scale of the mobilisation (see Chapter Two). The Spanish government did not develop a coherent and sustained positive case against either the ‘right to decide’ or independence; instead it focused on playing upon fears, and threatening prominent individuals with legal procedures. In contrast to the Scottish case, the Spanish government has not often resorted to socioeconomic discourses such as economic instability, even in a context where the majority of Catalan businesspeople were against the idea of independence and much more aligned with ideas for further devolution. However, references to the status of an independent Catalonia outside the European Union (EU), and the economic impact of the uncertainty and changing territorial frameworks, were sometimes stressed by Spanish authorities. The Spanish government also found allies in EU authorities, and the former European Community President Barroso mentioned that an independent Catalonia (and Scotland) would have to leave the EU and ask for readmission (in Euronews, 2014). However, one similarity between the Scottish and the Catalan movements was that both movements had a disadvantageous position in relationship to traditional media and had to develop innovative strategies to convey their message from below. In Scotland, “There was no mainstream media that supported independence, the grassroots had to create their own one” (Interview SC10). In the Catalan case, the state-wide media treatment of the Catalan issue was mostly framed as a consequence of devolutionism. In particular, they often tried to link support for independence with the role of Catalan media and indoctrination at the school level, which, it was claimed, laid the foundations of a Catalan national(ist) hegemony. This helped spread the feeling that ‘Spaniards do not understand our claims’ and ‘there is no room for us under the current Spanish framework’.

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Finally, the alliance making between parties and political organisations in the Catalan and Scottish cases was in general based on short-term strategic considerations rather than on shared beliefs. In both campaigns, however, there were some tensions emerging between institutionalised and non-institutionalised actors in the use and appropriation of frames and in how to approach the debate. Whereas political parties tended to approach the debate more strategically, social movements encouraged discussion and deliberation. In Scotland, for instance, ‘the SNP undoubtedly took advantage of its position as the governing party to rally people behind a “Yes” vote thereby making the “Yes” campaign appear very much as an SNP-led campaign’ (Thiec, 2015: 4). In both cases, the role of civil society organisations was very important in pushing for consensus around common master frames, going beyond party politics and focusing on the substantive issues at stake. Their role was to push for consensus among political elites on the referendum issue and help to overcome both general political dissatisfaction and the image of malfunctioning institutions of representation. Both social movements in the two cases fought for real debate and against electoral strategies. In Catalonia, consensus among ‘right to decide’ political forces was insistently requested and facilitated by social movement organisations, especially the ANC and Òmnium Cultural. The ANC claimed: we give all our support to the government […] but we do not accept any excuse to postpone the participation process. […] After having set up the date and the question, we want CiU and ERC, and if they want, ICV-EUiA [Esquerra Unida i Alternativa/Alternative and United Left] and CUP, to form a ‘national government’ and promote a sovereign candidacy in the European elections in May 2014. If these petitions are not granted, we will call for new mobilisations. (in El Punt Avui, 2013) The overarching frames in Scotland and Catalonia tried to avoid clear ideological cleavages in the movement, allowing nationalist parties to get involved in the mobilisation. The Catalan movement also managed to keep a high level of consensus because all the parties supporting the ‘right to decide’ (including CiU) accepted a discourse traditionally asserted by left-wing social movements and related to inclusiveness, deliberation, empowerment and egalitarianism. As it has been argued in previous chapters, the process was not merely about secessionism but also about radically different, more progressive Catalan (and Scottish) polities.

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Conclusion The campaigns for self-determination in Catalonia and Scotland were deeply affected by some shared contextual conditions, as they unfolded in the midst of a global economic depression and were embedded in a context of social and political crisis. Both campaigns shifted their frames towards broader political, economic and social issues to legitimise their discourses, relating their arguments to three overarching frames: the national-identity frame, the socioeconomic frame and the political frame. These three master frames and their respective resonances in each context offered opportunities and limitations with respect to the framing process in both movements. The contemporary crisis of political representation and legitimacy paved the way for the emergence of a strong substantive frame, the democratic-emancipatory frame, with the potential to resonate across social groups. It represented the main innovation of the recent Scottish and Catalan cycle of mobilisation, as both campaigns worked to establish links between nationalism and left-wing democraticemancipatory discourses, representing an emergent pro-independence orientation based on democratic rights and renewal. The leftist groups in both places (both social movement organisations and political parties) used that frame to relocate themselves in relationship to nationalist discourses, linking the right to build an independent state to the enhancement of democracy. Neither the movement in Scotland nor the one in Catalonia appealed to exclusionary identity characteristics. The movements deliberately avoided the historical national-identity frame and instead addressed the socioeconomic frame, presenting the general idea that Scotland and Catalonia would be wealthier, more egalitarian, less corrupt and, generally speaking, better places to live once they had achieved independence. For many actors in both places, independence was not seen as an end in itself, but a democratic means to the realisation of greater social equality, which was claimed to be unobtainable within existing institutional structures. The alliance making between parties and political organisations was based more on short-term strategic considerations than on shared beliefs. In the Catalan case, the referendum posed important challenges within parties, as their strategic alignments for the campaign generated party divisions and internal tensions in most organisations. In both cases, the role of civil society organisations was very important in pushing for consensus around common master frames, going beyond party politics and focusing on the substantive issues

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at stake. Their role was to push for consensus among political elites on the referendum issue and help overcome both general political dissatisfaction and the image of malfunctioning institutions of representation. They also contributed to the diffusion of the frames beyond the usual limited political circles. They created new political spaces at the grassroots level, helping to increase and consolidate support for independence, providing associative resources and generating a supportive organisational structure. In short, the campaigns relied upon – and, conversely, envisioned, everyday micro-mobilisation structures. With regard to the counter-framing strategies, national elites in both cases were initially reluctant to hold referendums on independence, although they ultimately reacted in very different ways to demands for referendums. The level of attention paid to opponents’ substantive frames was uneven across the two cases. On the one hand, the Spanish government constantly tried to change the point of reference of the debate, transforming a political conflict into a legal one. On the other hand, the UK government engaged with one of the frames used by the movements in order to raise doubts about the economic viability of an independent Scotland. Importantly, the Scottish campaign was more deliberative than the Catalan, with more arenas and opportunities for face-to-face debate and confrontation between the two sides.

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FIVE

Expanding the comparison: the water referendum in Italy On 12 and 13 June 2011, 27 million Italians voted in a national abrogative referendum, the only type of referendum allowed by the Italian Constitution. They represented around 57% of the electorate, significantly beyond the 50% plus 1 threshold required by Italian law for its results to be valid. This threshold had not been reached in any of the 24 referendums held in the country since 1997. Of the four questions on the ballot, two of them addressed privatisation of water. The first question concerned the obligation of public authorities to select the providers of water services by way of bids open to public, private and mixed companies; the second, the inclusion in the water tariff of a quota (fixed by law at 7%) for the remuneration of the capital invested by the company managing the provision of water. The remaining two questions addressed the abrogation of a plan to restart the production of nuclear energy and the so-called ‘legitimate impediment’, which enabled cabinet ministers to avoid criminal prosecution while serving in their posts. The citizens who voted Yes (that is, for abrogation) were 95.4% on the question about the private management of water provision; 95.8% against the fixed remuneration for private investors in water supply; 94% on nuclear energy and on the ‘legitimate impediment’. In the referendum, as many as 25 million Italians voted against the government’s position (Chiaramonte and D’Alimonte, 2012). In order to have a national abrogative referendum called, a coalition of social movements had obtained the support of 1.4 million signatories, almost three times the number required by the Italian law to initiate a citizen-induced referendum. The collection of the signatures has been presented as ‘an incredible sign of vitality of the commons movement, which mobilized tens of thousands of volunteers, collecting nationwide signatures in the most remote corners of the country. People usually skeptical of political collections of signatures actually lined up, sometimes for hours, to sign’ (Bailey and Mattei, 2013). The signatories were subsequently certified one-by-one by a notary or other public official. Admitting the two questions on water issues, the Constitutional Court rejected the claim by the referendum’s opponents

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that the liberalisation of local public services was required by European Union (EU) law. Started by the core organisations of the Italian Forum of the Water Movements, which established the main organisational and legal structural elements, the campaign lasted 18 months. The peculiar characteristics of water management allowed the call for water rights to become a powerful symbol, not only for a growing opposition to the privatisation of water provision but also for a broad call for citizens’ participation, as synthesised in the slogan ‘It is written water, it is read democracy’ (Fantini, 2012: 16). In fact, far from being focused on a single issue, the campaign developed into a call for a definition of nature, culture, labour and education as common goods (Bailey and Mattei, 2013). In this chapter, the analysis of the referendum campaign in Italy – similarly formed within the Great Recession and in opposition to neoliberalism – will be used to establish the generalisability of some of the observations developed in previous chapters beyond the issue of independence, which was common to Scotland and Catalonia. In what follows, we will see in fact that some of the characteristics of the referendums from below on issues of independence that we have just analysed are also present in the case of the Italian referendum against water privatisation. We will consider the appropriation of opportunities and the mobilisation of resources, as well as the framing of the campaign by social movement and civil society organisations. We will conclude with some comments on the outcomes of the campaign.

Contextualising the water referendum Like the campaigns on the referendums for independence in Catalonia and Scotland, the referendum against the privatisation of water came out of pre-existing social struggles situated in an environment replete with a complex series of threats and opportunities. Indeed, the choice of promoting a referendum – in this case originating from civil society – was a way to appropriate opportunities at a time when austerity policies were on the increase, along with related attacks on citizenship rights, especially (but not only) on issues of social protection and public services. The referendum was one of many action strategies, both institutional and non-institutional. The privatisation of the water supply became a symbol for what was perceived as a broader attack on state provision of services, including energy, transport, health and education. Between 1992 and 2000, Italy came second in the world, after the United Kingdom, in terms of the privatisation of its public

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services (worth about €140 billion all told) (Bailey and Mattei, 2013). The Galli Law in 1994 allowed big corporations to become involved in service provision, which had become increasingly difficult for the state to keep under control. Even when water is publicly owned, notwithstanding its character as a fixed natural monopoly, it is regulated by private law and managed by joint-stock companies that earn ‘an equally parasitic and certain income’ (Fattori, 2013: 378). The process of liberalisation of water management has transformed the formerly publicly owned municipal corporations, which now coexist with a variety of different types of water suppliers and the increasing presence of private companies (Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 315). This privatisation of public services as re-commodification has been linked to the specific characteristics of capitalism as constantly needing to expand into the previously non-capitalist domain (territorially and from the point of view of areas of activities) (see Harvey, 2003; della Porta, 2017). The privatisation of public services is therefore a form of commodification of previously de-commodified activities, as: The guaranteed demand for services such as water makes the privatization of these services an attractive investment opportunity for capital, as activists have realized themselves. At times when the global economy is in crisis and other investment opportunities have dried up, investing in the provision of services ultimately guaranteed by the state promises super profits. (Bieler, 2015) Opportunities for the water movement opened up as, in 2007, the centre-left Prodi government (2006–8) established a special commission in the Ministry of Justice with the task of proposing a reform of the Italian Civil Code (which dates to the period of the fascist regime) regarding the definition of public property. In the same year, Stefano Rodotà, former president of the left-wing Partito Democratico della Sinistra (Democratic Party of the Left), was appointed by the Italian Parliament to chair this committee. While the old code distinguished between state property, patrimony of the state and protected goods, and goods that belonged to the state but were not protected, the committee suggested a new taxonomy, oriented to increase the protection of some of these goods and singling out public goods, private goods belonging to the public and commons. The latter were defined as ‘goods belonging to the natural and cultural patrimony of the country (such as rivers, streams, lakes, air, forests, flora, fauna) and goods of archaeological, cultural, and environmental relevance’

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(Quarta and Ferrando, 2015: 269–70). Delivered in February 2008, the report was the basis of a legislative bill; this was never discussed, however, as, after the fall of the Prodi government in May 2008, a right-wing coalition headed by Silvio Berlusconi and his Forza Italia party took power. Although the Piedmont region requested the Senate to deliberate on it, on 26 November 2009 the lower chamber passed a decree stating that by 31 December 2011, local services under control of the public sector, including water supply, had to be placed on the market by a public auction (Bailey and Mattei, 2013). In opposition, a broad array of movements and civil society organisations promoted a national referendum to repeal it, drafting the related questions and collecting the certified signatures to be delivered to the Constitutional Court for verification. The water movement thus developed upon an opening followed by a closing down of political opportunities, which fuelled the search for alternative forms of collective action. This is how Mattei (2013: 369), a protagonist of the referendum campaign and a scholar, summarised the political circumstances under which the referendum took form, after parliament had dismissed discussing the bill proposed by the Rodotà Commission, as an attempt at appropriating new opportunities: The blatant manipulation by the sitting Parliament of this provision generated indignation, and within a few days six law professors, four of whom were already members of the Rodotà commission – Stefano Rodotà, myself, Alberto Lucarelli, Luca Nivarra, Gaetano Azzariti, and Gianni Ferrara – drafted three referendum questions, created a referendum committee, and posted a document on the web calling for the beginning of a referendum procedure articulated on these three questions, challenging the compulsory privatization scheme. As in the other two referendums we analysed, there was a tense alliance between parties and social movement organisations. While building upon some alliances with the institutional left, the water referendum also expressed the tensions with the centre-left parties that, in other historical moments, had channelled progressive social movements’ demands into the system (della Porta, 2009b). As one of the campaign promoters, Tommaso Fattori (2013: 381), stated: This movement born from the defense of the fundamental commons achieved a critical mass, both material and

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symbolic, which was able to sweep away that unique subculture of the Italian Right known as ‘Berlusconismo’, a mixture of ultramodern company culture and neofeudal lordship-bondage relationships. The movement was also able to dismantle the part of the reformist Left that had fallen in love with ‘privatism’ and was no longer able to distinguish between the area of profits for the few and that of the rights of everyone, between the market sphere and the life sphere, between commodities and commons. In sum, confronted with the closure of institutional opportunities, with a centre-right government in power and international (especially European Central Bank [ECB]) pressures for austerity policies, the social movement opposing the privatisation of water management created its own opportunities through the promotion of an abrogative referendum. This case of a civil society-led referendum had specific organisational formats and framing characterised by a commitment to pre-figurative politics, similarly to the referendum campaigns in Scotland and Catalonia.

Organising the campaign As in the other two referendums we analysed, the organisational structure of the campaign was characterised by various organisational forms that allowed for high levels of civil society participation, not simply at the moment of the vote, but also throughout the campaign. Even more than in the other two cases we analysed, the organisation of the campaign was extremely horizontal, building upon a deep and enduring process of networking around a most relevant symbol: water. As Tommaso Fattori (2013: 378) noted: it was not a completely sudden awakening: behind the victory in the referenda was a long molecular process and the steady construction of the largest social coalition ever seen in the country, which brought together thousands of local networks and national organizations, united by a pact to defend water, which became the symbol of the commons. The referendum was just the final stage along a road walked for more than a decade, born at the dawn of the new century, from a double need that arose in the social movements: the specific defense of the commons of water from looming privatization policies and also the need to

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find a weak link in the material and symbolic construction of privatistic globalization. The referendum was in fact a step in a long-lasting struggle launched by a coalition of social movements that, under the banner ‘Water is not for sale’, opposed the conception of water as ‘service with economic value’. A founding moment of the protest against water privatisation was, in 2000, the birth of the Italian Committee for the World Water Contract (Comitato italiano per un Contratto mondiale sull’acqua – CICMA), following a Water Manifesto that had been published in 1998. The committee initially involved some development nongovernmental organisations (NGOs), the cultural association Punto Rosso (‘Red Point’), an Environmental Forum and some members of the Partito della Rifondazione Comunista (Communist Refoundation Party) party. Later on, they were joined by organisations for ‘another globalization’, such as ATTAC1 and Rete Lilliput,2 resulting in a heavy emphasis on the water issue in the first European Social Forum held in Florence in 2002. The topic had indeed already been addressed at the first World Social Forum in 2000, with frequent references to the ‘water war’ in Cochabamba, Bolivia, but also to people struggling for water in Kurdistan and Bosnia. These international origins had important effects on the movement strategies. After a first phase devoted to raising awareness about the right to water through various cultural initiatives, the CICMA, with other groups linked to the Social Forums, decided to shift scale, by networking with the struggles present in various localities against the spreading of a market logic in water management. This entailed ‘the corporatisation of public water utilities of big and medium towns and their merger into water companies run on private-sector operating principles, totally owned by local governments (in-house provision) or accommodating private partners’ (Fantini, 2012: 20). At the local level, various groups had in fact formed to protest the increase in price and decrease in quality that these policies had brought about. The encounter of transnational and local struggles happened thanks to the emergence of various arenas for networking. As Fattori (2013: 379–80) recalls: a fundamental structural element has been that of the network, inherited from the alterglobalization movement, within which the water movement was born. This form of organization and relationships derives from the full awareness that no organization and no single movement

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is today self-sufficient. In order to be able to face the challenges of the present time, it is necessary to form networks among different subjects on various common objectives: networks that must link heterogeneous social entities, characterized by different cultures and identities, in a totally horizontal manner. That is how, starting from the meetings organized at the European Social Forum in Florence in 2002, the patient work of building this network began, which led first to the forming of local coalitions and then to the birth of the Forum Italiano dei Movimenti per l’Acqua (Italian Forum of Water Movements). Since 2006, this forum brought together movements, local committees, social organizations, and trade unions around one campaign: the recognition of water as a commons. A founding moment was the first Alternative World Water Forum in Florence in 2003, following the first European Social Forum the year before. As Matteo Cernison (2014: 65) summarised, the 2011 referendum ‘was part of a broader, long-lasting process, which pitted two distinct and conflicting paradigms against each other: a market-oriented, neoliberal view on resources and services, and an anti-neoliberal view, which considers water as a public resource and a human right’. After the experience of a Tuscan Water Forum, in 2006 a national forum was promoted by groups such as ATTAC Italia, the grassroots union Cobas and the aforementioned CICMA. The participants at the forum were veterans of an array of movements and struggles. The union presence included the Funzione PubblicaCGIL (FP-CGIL), a traditional major left-wing union representing public sector workers, along with both the grassroots Cobas and Unione Sindacalea di Base (USB). On the traditional left, the ARCI (Associazione Ricreativa e Culturale Italiana) also joined in. Large Catholic associations such as the ACLI (Associazioni cristiane dei lavoratori italiani), the scout movement and the pacifist group Beati i costruttori di pace also joined the campaign. Environmental groups, including the World Wildlife Fund Italia and Legambiente, as well as the rising Cinque Stelle Movement (later to become a political party), were among the participants. Likewise, the consumer group Federconsumatori joined, as well as Banca Etica, Botteghe del Mondo and other fair trade cooperatives (Bieler, 2015). Workers in the sector of water provision were also active participants, together with the consumers and some municipalities. Several networks converged in but also were formed during the struggle. Among the latter, in

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2012, the Comitato referendario ‘Due SI per l’acqua bene comune’ (‘Referendum committee: Two Yeses for Water as a Common Good’) was legally recognised. The water movement networked local movements that had developed against increased (up to 300%) water bills and so-called ‘municipal capitalism’ in cities such as Arezzo, Aprilia, Latina and Nola, sometimes in alliance with local administrators (Fantini, 2013). Many municipal governments had in fact reacted to what they saw as the expropriation of their powers, both by privatisation and through technocratic control of knowledge. Local governments, which had felt excluded from important decision making that affected their territories, played an important role. The Associazione Rete Nuovo Municipio, formed in 2008, coordinated more than 200 local governments against privatisation (Bieler, 2015). In the same year, an alliance that included local administrators launched the campaign ‘Salva l’acqua’ and a Coordinamento degli enti locali per l’acqua pubblica (Coordination of local institutions for public water), with the aim of modifying the municipal statutes of cities and provinces by introducing a reference to water as a human right and a common good – something successfully achieved in the Region Valle d’Aosta, the Provincia autonoma di Trento and the towns of Venice, Cuneo and Ancona. Additionally, the campaign mobilised various loosely structured individual networks of activists. Not by chance, 16% of the voters at the referendum asserted having actively participated in it; for 60% of them, it was their first experience of political activism (Fantini, 2013). As Fantini (2012: 18) summarised: ‘Moreover, the movement was supported by the spontaneous and creative mobilisation of sports associations, parishes, scouts groups, student organisations, artists and individual citizens.’ A number of left-wing social centres were prominent in the campaign, particularly Acrobax in Rome. The victory of the centre-left in the spring 2011 administrative election, particularly of some of the referendum supporters, produced an optimistic mood, as having potential institutional allies arguably enhances the opportunities to influence policy making. The Partito Democratico (PD) also became more inclusive of referendum supporters. Especially, many local administrators of some regional party sections as well as party activists and the youth organisation Giovani Democratici opposed water privatisation, even if other leaders of the party promoted a counter-campaign for privatisation, Acqua Libera Tutti. The networking of so many different actors required a flexible structure of coordination. In 2006, the CICMA, with various territorial

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committees, regional social forums, ARCI, FP-CGIL as well as religious groups converged in the Forum italiano dei movimenti per l’acqua (FIMA). As Cernison (2016) summarised: the Italian Forum of Water Movements is the result of the collaboration between organizations and committees characterized by different dimension, scale of action, participation in previous political experiences, and set of goals. National trade unions, spontaneous committees, single issue associations and local branches of opposing political parties entered in contact in the FIMA network, succeeding in giving life to numerous national and regional campaigns. The organisational structure has been flexible and horizontal. The forum was composed of both national associations and local groups, plus ‘individual citizens from a large range of different backgrounds who had become actively involved in the water campaign’ (Bieler, 2015). This implied, first of all, an inclusive attitude towards the several streams of social actors. The normative conception of the commons was reflected in the organisational structure of the campaign in order to hold together a heterogeneous coalition of supporters through: a decentralised and non-professional structure, based on local committees of volunteers and activists; horizontality and equality among all participants, translated in the practice of decisions taken by consensus and in the refusal of charismatic leadership; transparency of the procedures, exemplified for instance by the decision of repaying back the public electoral reimbursement to the private citizens that financially supported the referenda campaign. (Fantini, 2012: 37) The FIMA was in fact organised as a loose network aiming at the coordination of different activities. It included a national assembly, open to all activists, which met about once each year to define the general political line; a small national coordination group, with members from regional committees and national associations continuously active on the water issue, which met about once a month in order to implement the political decisions of the assembly; a coordinator office in Rome, with no power to make decisions, whose role was to coordinate the various activities. Moreover, thematic working groups existed at both

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the national and the local levels. In addition, coordinating bodies existed for the local governments and for the parties supporting the referendum campaigns (Fantini, 2013). Finally, a similar structure of coordination (in particular the assembly, the coordination group and the mailing list) was sometimes reproduced at the regional level, and in phases of intense mobilisation other thematic national committees (for example, on communication) emerged and coordinated their activities through meetings and mailing lists. The FIMA mailing list was a space of debates for activists and remains active and involved in a number of other struggles five years after the referendum. From the organisational point of view, the conception of democracy in the movement has been defined as bridging ideas from the global justice movement; but some elements of similarity have also been noted with the anti-austerity protests, especially in southern European countries. This includes attention to transparency and horizontality, opposition to financial capitalism, as well as attempts to overcome the distinction between left and right via a focus on elites and the people (Fantini, 2013). The participation by Rete Lilliput, ATTAC, CGIL and ARCI testifies to a continuity with the organisational format of the European Social Forum (della Porta et al, 2006) – although somewhat different from that of the local committees, which at times resented what they perceived as attempts to take control by the national coordination group. In order to address these tensions, the FIMA developed four main mechanisms for decision making: First of all, it adopted the consensus decision-making rule in its local and national meetings. Furthermore, when a vote was nonetheless required, the voice of large organizations – such as the national trade unions – counted [the same as] as the voice of smaller associations and committees. Second, the assembly gave the central office of the Forum only logistic tasks, and the local committees constantly monitored its dimension, its internal composition, its relationship with other organizations. On this point, however, differentiated internal views continuously emerged: on one hand, part of the FIMA network aimed at giving a more stable structure to the central office, proposing to increase (or maintain at a stable level) the number of paid professionals and demanding investments in communication; on the other hand, this idea met a growing resistance in the Forum, and the number of professional figures in the office consequently declined. Third, the FIMA explicitly created separated spaces of

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participation for some powerful and resourceful actors, giving life to the committees of support for local authorities and, in particular, political parties. Fourth, but probably most important, the FIMA granted a particular centrality to the local committees, and to the territorial struggles that they represent. (Cernison, 2016) The activists stressed, in fact, the presence of ‘sovereign local committees, but of course with a political commitment to unity’ (Int. 3:15, in Cernison, 2016), comparing the local committees to the roots of a tree but denying the existence of a national level (Int. 6: 8, in Cernison, 2016). Accordingly, a report on one of the meetings of the FIMA national coordination group stated that: a distinction between the ‘territorial’ and the ‘national’ levels does not exist: there is no political body within the national Forum that can decide, rule, or interfere in the decisions of any territorial committee. At the same time, we define ‘committees’ and ‘territorial forums’ [as] those groups that recognize the principles and the method of the Italian Forum of Water Movements: the principles determined in the 2007 national citizens’ initiative and the method of participation and group sharing. (Report del Coordinamento nazionale del 14 dicembre 2010 in Catania, in Cernison, 2016) According to FIMA’s activists, national action had to be deeply rooted at the local level as: the Forum is characterized by the manner in which policy and initiatives emerge as the local nodes share their experiences and proposals. […] Indeed, the key strengths of the movement are its deep roots and diffusion in the territories; its ability to aggregate different experiences and cultures and to connect the local struggles with the national dimension of the mobilization; the dialogue, openness and collaboration with the institutions. (Ciervo, 2009: 159–60, in Cernison, 2016) A very horizontal and decentralised action strategy resulted; at times, communication resources (fliers, web elements, posters) and symbols promoted by the national coordination group were disregarded by the

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activists, who preferred to develop their own symbols and forms of communication (Cernison, 2016). So, especially in the final phase, the central office of the FIMA renounced its attempts at homogenising the campaign messages and increasing coordination, and instead focused on ‘the creation of actions, messages and symbols that the activists could easily readapt and personalise, and in gathering and sharing on the web or at the national level contents independently produced by the local committees’ (Cernison, 2016). The lack of strong coordination is in fact considered by the activists as key to the success of the movement. For example: it was a total mess, which essentially was the richness of the movement, in the sense that we were able to structure and propose to the territory some things, and to construct tools [such] as the posters or, let’s say, the web banner. Yet, then, some of these things were taken, readapted and transformed, we received suggestions from the territories, the territories themselves produced things. […] So, I mean, it was a sort of a creative chaos from this point of view. It’s not by chance that a massive use of the social networks [emerged], probably for the first time in Italy they had the capacity to promote a message in such a viral way. (Int. 6: 2, in Cernison, 2016)

Campaigning repertoires As with the other two referendums, the water referendum campaign in Italy also included several forms of action, from culturally oriented to disruptive repertoires. The referendum was never a stand-alone choice, but rather part of a set of performances, which evolved through learning processes. In the beginning, the movement focused on cultural activities oriented towards the promotion of an alternative water culture through raising awareness about the effects of the lack of access to clean water and of the privatisation of water provision around the world. Grassroots information and educational activities involved schools and parishes, with frequent collaboration with local authorities and various associations. Well-known artists such as Dario Fo, Beppe Grillo and Moni Ovadia participated in various performances. Indeed, ‘These initiatives were built on expertise and practices of development NGOs on education for “global citizenship”, with water issues analysed within the broader analytical notion of sustainable development and the normative framework of international solidarity’ (Fantini, 2012:

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19). Educational activities included the campaign for a sustainable consumption of municipally managed water, and forms of action involved research on the management of water resources. Additionally, the Italian movement was pivotal in the organisation of international events such as the Peoples’ World Water Forum (whose first two encounters were held in Florence in 2003) as counter-summits to the World Water Forum, an event on water usage which opponents claimed was controlled by business. Civic committees also protested against privatisation and the related increase in water tariffs in cities such as Arezzo or Latina. Specific actions also developed inside the companies in charge of water provision. For instance, in Florence, a workers’ committee within Publiacqua, the public–private water company, brought together members of different trade unions, working together with user organisations. In fact: It was here that the first notions of a new model of democracy based on demands for participation by workers and consumers in the running of water companies were developed, with trade unions working together with other organizations, demonstrating what can be possible at the national level. Many activists had entered the movement on the basis of their particular organizational background, but as a result of the struggle they started to broaden their approach and were transformed into water activists, leading to a more homogenous organization. (Bieler, 2015) The FIMA also experimented with various forms of direct democracy. Among the protest activities promoted at the local level was the draft of a law proposing public management for water services in Tuscany and the referendum to repeal the regional water law proposed by activists and local governments in Lombardy. In fact, the Forum toscano dei movimenti per l’acqua (Tuscan Forum of the Movements for Water) in 2004 launched a regional citizens’ initiative for a regional law on water management in Tuscany. It gained the support of local administrators, as well as workers in the water sector, who helped collect 42,932 signatures in support of the regional law proposal. The initiative was eventually dismissed because centre-left parties allied with right-wing parties against it. Subsequently, in 2009, the FIMA proposed a Citizen’s Initiative Bill for a Water Reform Statute which collected more than 400,000 signatures, eight times the required 50,000 – which was however never discussed in parliament. Although the parliament did not approve the proposal, the FIMA asked city councils nationwide to

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recognise water as ‘universal human rights and commons’, with water services as of no economic relevance. These experiences in the massive collection of signatures as well as in the participatory writing of proposed bills constituted important experiences for the referendum campaign. The collaborative creation of two citizens’ bills through bottom-up participation was particularly innovative, as: The social movements and the citizens experienced becoming legislators themselves, and writing their own laws directly, proposing a democratically participative model for managing water, which was commensurate with its nature as a commons and able to change the ‘consumer-users’ not so much and not only into citizens but into commoners. (Fattori, 2011) Faced with the failure of the process of legislating from below, given the perceived uncertainties in the centre-left coalition as well as increasing stress on the privatisation of public services, the referendum emerged as a potential form of action – despite some initial scepticism regarding the movement’s capacity to achieve the necessary quorum. The campaign also included marches as forms of claim making, to indicate broad support. In March 2010, a march was organised in Rome, on the occasion of World Water Day; a similar march was organised a year later. This event launched the collection of the 500,000 signatures required by Italian law to call for a referendum. In particular, ‘the local committees involved in the campaign proved to be very creative, able to independently organize strategies to inform and involve the citizens, and to coordinate their actions between different geographical scales’. Among other efforts, they promoted the ‘H2Ora’, with various initiatives taking place at the same time throughout the country (Cernison, 2014: 92). In December 2010, a campaign for the suspension of the decision regarding water management was called, with 20 coordinated demonstrations, decentralised at the regional level. As the campaign received very limited coverage from the mass media, both public and private, activists were obliged to organise their own communication channels. They mobilised various celebrities including musicians, actors and writers, who even contributed some of their work. A large free concert was organised in Florence on 9 June 2011 to mark the end of the campaign, with a number of performances by famous Italian musicians. The websites www.acquacomune.org and www.referendumacqua.it became super-hubs of a dense and

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cohesive network of organisations. In fact, a ‘low level of centralization testifies to a relatively even knowledge of the network, where no actor recognizes the entire web domain, and relatively few actors send no links’ (Cernison, 2014: 18). Further, the leader of the 5 Star Movement (5SM), Beppe Grillo, had a very popular blog: many future MPs elected in the 5SM were in fact very engaged in the campaign (della Porta et al, 2017). The website www.acquabenecomune.org stored a large number of documents, press releases and various mobilisation resources. Many of these instruments were replicated at the local level. Websites were created which allowed for high levels of participation (including an online poll to choose the campaign logo) or to offer donations (to be returned in case of victory) (Cernison, 2014: 93–4). The awareness of the importance of the online instruments for the campaign is testified by the inclusion in the FIMA secretariat of two activists skilled in computer science and communication. At the same time, activists (especially younger ones) started to focus on social media, creating blogs and Facebook pages; as did sympathetic professionals in the field of communication. They used the web in various ways, either as an instrument of top-down distribution of information or as a space for communication, variously connecting online and offline communication as well as different scales of action. Facebook groups emerged – one of them, called ‘Acqua Pubblica’, reached 600,000 followers by linking to sympathetic Facebook communities (Cernison, 2014: 148). During the last months of the campaign, appeals to vote, also through pictures and videos, went viral (Cernison, 2014: 150). The perception of the web changed during the process. As Matteo Cernison observed, at the beginning there was a mainly instrumental view: Before engaging in the new political task of promoting and sustaining a referendum, most of the water activists and groups tended to perceive online technologies in an instrumental way, as cheap and useful tools that could enable them to achieve numerous distinct goals, the main one of which was the coordination of a dispersed community of activists. The national mailing list and the website www.acquabenecomune.org, which are still the main digital backbone of the movement, were used (and are still partially used) to permit decentralized and horizontal communication among the activists, and to share documents, information and digital resources among them. The use of these online tools was mainly subordinate to

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initiatives regarding the offline reality: the mailing list could help to organize a demonstration, the website could be useful for sharing the documents created during a national assembly. (Cernison, 2014: 151) However, with time, the web itself started to be conceived of as a space of action where Facebook, blog networks, online newspapers and the web in general were ‘territories where the water activists could reach a new public, territories that they could try to “conquer” with their communications efforts’ (Cernison, 2014: 152). So, communities of activists coordinated in order to fill the space of comment threads in online newspapers, developed new online spaces or monitored the websites of opponents. Indeed: together with this generalized tendency of conceiving of the ‘digital’ as an environment, the idea of a sympathetic and alternative online space opposed to the traditional and closed mainstream media emerged. Therefore, militants adopted the web, Facebook and email chains as platforms for alternative communications efforts, to oppose the silence of Italian television and of the main national and local newspapers. In other words, activists perceived digital technologies as ‘their own’ environments of action, a place where their opponents were less prepared to communicate in. (Cernison, 2014: 152–3) A few paid, highly skilled militants organised complex initiatives themselves, but also helped rank-and-file media-oriented activists to develop their own online activities (Cernison, 2014: 158). Not only did Facebook pages such as Acqua Pubblica (Public Water) work as information hubs but they were also pivotal in the final stage of the mobilisation, helping to contact potential voters and mobilising them through personal messages. Images and symbols, such as the official logo of the campaign that had been chosen through an online survey, were included as banners of personal Facebook accounts. Ironic actions included the Vendesi Mamma (Mum for Sale) campaign on YouTube (with 1 million views). To spread the message that ‘privatizing water is like selling one’s mother’, some communications experts: designed a yellow and black template similar to the one used for advertisements selling houses, stating ‘mum for sale’ […]. Through a well-designed Facebook page they

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invited people to download and print the template, to photograph their mother (or a woman similar in appearance to the stereotype of the Italian mother) with the sign, and finally to upload the photo on Facebook. Moreover, they publicized the initiative through the creation of YouTube tutorials, posting fliers on offline public bulletin boards and convincing people on the streets to participate. (Cernison, 2014: 195) Facebook’s ‘event tool’ was also readapted to invite citizens to go to vote, in a campaign called Battiquorum (resonant with batticuore, meaning heartthrob), achieving 450,000 likes on their page (Cernison, 2014: 197), or Taxiquorum, which helped the organisation of the free transport service to go to vote. In sum: activists adopted Facebook for numerous different purposes, giving life to different initiatives, and moving from divergent perceptions towards the platform and its main function for activism. The militants adopted Facebook in order to reach nationwide audiences, or to gather very local communities; they chose this platform in order to publicize an online video, or to invite people to a bicycle ride; they communicated with highly engaged people, or they tried to cross the boundaries of the activism environment in order to reach less-interested citizens. Moreover, in some cases these activists adapted their communications strategies to the new environment, as happened with the group Attivisti in rete per l’acqua and the FIMA press agent, who increasingly appreciated the spontaneous, uncontrolled communication patterns emerging on his page. In other cases, the activists were able to adapt the environment of Facebook to their strategies, as in the case of the virtual appeals to vote battiquorum. (Cernison, 2014: 209–10)

Framing water Besides getting the attention of the public, the framing of the water issue was extremely relevant. As in the other referendums from below we have analysed, an important element of the campaign was the bridging of the water issues with citizens’ broader concerns and normative values. A growth in universality as well as issue bridging fuelled the networking of the various and different groups that supported the campaign. The

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defence of human rights and the creation of the commons, but also the building of community and alternative democracy, were the main frameworks for the coalition that was built and the message it spread. The focus on water had high mobilising capacity, putting citizenship rights in the forefront while denouncing the social costs of privatisation. As has been noted: It was the single issue of water that made the large alliance possible. There had been many concrete examples which showed that privatization had not resulted in more efficiency, lower prices, or higher water quality. The necessary investment in infrastructure had not been made, and prices had gone up. […] Moreover, the theme of water also included symbolic power, as water is understood as a fundamental source of life, a human right, and part of the commons. (Bieler, 2015) This discourse resonated with Catholic Social Doctrine, which facilitated the activation of Catholic groups, but also allowed appeals to ‘human rights, the commons and democracy, against competing frames referring to the technical aspects or to the governance of the water sector’ (Bieler, 2015). The movement used a discourse of human rights, with access to water defined as essential to the right to life for all (for example, the Italian Manifesto for the World Water Contract; see Petrella, 2001). As Fantini (2012: 24–5) noted, with reference to the human right to water: the movement gave voice to widespread popular moral perceptions, putting forward at the same time political claims with legal implications. […] Support for the identification of water as natural human right, inherent to human nature and dignity, stems from widespread moral perceptions and common sense recognising water as essential element for life, recalling that human body is made of water for more than 70%, and acknowledging the central role played by water in the broader material-symbolic domain shaping culture and societies throughout places and times. This claim to a human right to water goes beyond the definition of water as economic good (as in the final declaration of the 1992 International Conference on Water and the Environment), mere human need (as in the Ministerial Declarations of the triennial World

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Water Forum) or basic requirement (as in the final declaration of the Johannesburg Summit on Sustainable Development in 2002). In its Declaration of Rome, in 2003, the Italian water movement asked in fact for the inclusion of the right to water in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, in all national constitutions and in the statutes of local governments. A resolution of the European Parliament asked for the World Water Forum to become a United Nations (UN) event and for the recognition of the human right to water (50 litres per day free of charge for each human being). In 2010, the UN General Assembly and UN Human Rights Council approved two resolutions that acknowledged the human right to water and sanitation (Fantini, 2012: 27–8). In the draft of the popular initiative law in 2006, water was defined as a natural good and a universal human right. In addition to a human right, water was framed as a part of the commons, an innovative concept promoted by the Italian water movement (Fantini, 2012: 31). The notion of the commons – which gained resonance when Elinor Ostrom was nominated Nobel Prize winner for economics in 2009 – went beyond the individualistic conception of human rights. With reference to African, Asian and Latin American experiences, the concept of commons promoted a specific model for the management of natural resources, management characterised by ‘i) the active and direct involvement of local population through decentralised and participatory management, ii) the exploitation of traditional knowledge and customary practices, iii) the emphasis on the cultural dimensions of the management schemes promoting social accountability and harmonic relation with the whole ecosystem’ (Fantini, 2012: 31–2). The definition of the commons was a building block in the campaign. As Quarta and Ferrando (2015: 270) summarised, the Rodotà Commission defined the commons as resources that required special legal protection, which had to be stronger than what is already provided for public goods. Especially: the Commission underlined the non-rivalry and nonexclusive nature of these resources, but above all their role in producing utilities which are functional to the fulfillment of fundamental human rights and the free development of any human being. The aim was, therefore, to introduce rules that may guarantee the maintenance of the resource and of its utilities within the sphere of the collective, but at the same time to guarantee the sustainable and intergenerational preservation of the same, against the risk of overexploitation and exhaustion.

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The conceptualisation of the commons also allowed the dualism between the private and the public to be transcended through a focus on the specific utilities that the good produces and the related possibilities for a community to have access to and benefit from it. Related to this is the notion that these commons are ‘extra commercium’ and under a decentralised protection. They are resources that are put under diffused ownership and there is a widespread responsibility to protect them, as: Any individual, for the sole fact of having an interest in or a contact with the resource, becomes responsible for the way in which it is managed, and holder of a right of action against any form of mala gestio, independently from the fact that the good is under public or private management. (Quarta and Ferrando, 2015: 271) The commission therefore imagined a set of reciprocal controls oriented to protect the beneficiaries from potential abuses by private users but also from abuses by governments. Resonant of Unesco’s concept of a ‘world common heritage’, the reference to water as a ‘common good (or shared resource) of humankind’ is based upon a cosmopolitan vision of a community as ‘reference to the commons inspired also the movement’s self-representation and fostered the sense of belonging among its participants’ (Fantini, 2012: 32). Going beyond dichotomies such as state versus market, the Rodotà Commission singled out the commons as: those goods – natural resources like waters, air, parks, basic social services […] – that are functional to the promotion of fundamental human rights and the free development of peoples. By virtue of their nature, commons’ management and enjoyment is featured [sic] by the principle of inclusion rather than exclusion, going therefore beyond the logics of public and private property. […] the law should therefore guarantee direct, collective and universal enjoyment of these goods, taking into account also future generations’ needs. (Fantini, 2012: 35) The management and delivery of such goods includes local communities and cooperatives of water users, as well as customary governance. Human rights and the commons are then bridged, as:

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at the core of the two notions lies the idea of the defence of human life as the main moral and political imperative of collective action. The goal is pursued through the promotion of universal access to fundamental resources like water, consequently opposing processes of privatisation and exclusion. […] in the discourse and practices of the Italian water movement, both references to human rights and the commons uphold the claim for an assumption of responsibility by public authorities, against their perceived withdrawal in front of economic interests and market logics. Moreover, activists demand the renewal of public institutions towards a more participatory and effective democracy. (Fantini, 2012: 39) Water came to be seen as part of the commons of humanity, a symbol of peace, international cooperation and solidarity, res communes extra commercium (Carrozza and Fantini, 2013). Research indicated that activists were also motivated by a sense of community, as well as by outrage over violated rights, while those who went to vote were inspired by a sense of efficacy as well as feeling directly affected (Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013). The framing of rights violations had a very high mobilising potential, pointing at ‘the importance of the perceived violation of a principle (that is, the right to water) as a specific psychological process underlying activists’ moral motivation to identify with the Water Movement and act on its behalf ’ (Mazzoni, van Zomeren and Cocognani, 2015: 324). Water as a human right means the expectation that everybody is entitled to ‘sufficient, safe, acceptable, physically accessible and affordable water for personal and domestic uses’ (in Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 324). Moral motivation also increased identification, as ‘the right to water (like other human rights) can be viewed as a “sacred value” that individuals seek to defend when threatened. […] Indeed, such sacred values are seen as absolute, nonnegotiable, and inviolable, thus leading individuals to respond strongly to any violation of them’ (Mazzoni et al, 2015: 324). Mobilisation was embedded in the consideration of water as an essential element in people’s lives in order to live with dignity. As an activist noted, ‘water is a fundamental human right. Indeed, it means life. In this sense, like other human rights, it cannot be violated’ (in Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 320). This right would be violated with privatisation, which implies not only growing costs, but even the possibility to suspend access to water in cases of non-payment, thereby depriving water users of a fundamental human right. More

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broadly, entire communities could be cut off from water provision if it was not profitable. The mobilisation implied a new sense of community, which has been defined on the basis of membership (as feeling of belonging), influence (as opportunity to participate in community life), fulfilment of needs (as benefits from membership), shared emotional connection (with a sense of a common history as well as identification) (Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013). An important motivation for preventing water privatisation is the preservation of community ties, regaining a ‘sense of community’ – as an activist phrased it, ‘This is actually the reason, sense of community, and the fact of being able to handle things in common and dealing with them together’ (in Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 321). Water is recognised as an ‘aggregating power’, crossing ‘the fences of political affiliation, party, association and movement, and we just give birth to an initiative where everyone can bring his/her content’ (in Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 321). The struggle allows the creation of a community by increasing ‘friendly relationship[s]’ as ‘being in the street among the people […] allowed everybody (even the elders) to forget their loneliness and stand up for their common rights’ (in Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 321). In fact, ‘the sense of a community spirit and the involvement in the committee’s initiatives produce a nice feeling, such as “just staying with other people”’. The activists talked about a ‘“recovering of vital energy”, thanks to the support and encouragement received from some signers (“yes, well done!”)’ (in Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 322). In the words of an activist, ‘one motive more, which is tightly linked to this particular campaign is not just to try to get back the civic sense but also to join a sense of collectivity, which sometimes may also mean you have some laughs!’ (in Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 322). This once again, as in the Catalan and Scottish cases, highlights the pleasure of agency (Wood, 2003), a key component to maintaining mobilisation over the length of a campaign. Water management was also framed as a question of democracy (Petrella, 2001: 133), re-municipalisation as re-empowering local government. A conception of democracy of the commons emerged from previous social struggles. Indeed, ‘the private management also hinders the ability of citizens to make their voices heard. The use of call centre operators and the lack of a direct relationship with the public will [… interfere with] the opportunity to protest’ (Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 320). Activists mobilised on the assumption that ‘through water, they could present to the rest of the society the ideas of participatory democracy, the common good, alternatives to

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privatization and, in general, a new social paradigm opposed to the dominant neoliberal one’ (Cernison, 2014: 83). Against the previously overly centralised and top-down experiences of public management but also against privatisation, the water movement aims instead to increase the direct participation of citizens. This was stressed by the idea of a commonification of public goods and services that have to be managed by the commoners. In the words of an activist (Fattori, 2013: 384–5, emphasis added): In very general terms, commons is everything we share, gifts of nature and creations of society that belong to all of us equally, and should be maintained for future generations. These are goods that escape the idea of exclusive use and build social bonds. These goods must not allow discrimination in access to them according to individual wealth, but reintroduce the element of equality, as well as a relationship of care – rather than one of domination or subjection – between humanity and the rest of nature of which it is a part. Two additional concepts are those of commoners and commoning: Commoners are all the members of a community or loosely connected group of people who steward and care for the shared goods, adopting a form of self-government based on their capability to give themselves rules (and incentives and sanctions to make them be respected) called commoning. Commoning is an open, participatory, and inclusive form of decision making that produces and reproduces commons in the interest of present and future generations and in the interest of the ecosystem itself, where natural commons are concerned. […] The terrain of the commons can for the most part be identified with a public, nonstate area, such as the ‘global commons’ (the atmosphere, high seas, space) to the digital commons or the Internet itself. Additionally, commonification refers to self-government of common goods by the citizens within public management bodies, with the aim of granting universal access to the good and protection of the resource. The management bodies must be open to the participation of their employees, private citizens, associations and volunteers, restoring to citizens real power to count for something and to make decisions in

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the management of the commons and thus, by so doing, turning them into commoners. The participation of citizens in the management of water has always been at the heart of the proposal put forth by the movements for water as a part of the commons (at the centre of the two citizens’ bills drafted by the movements), together with the guarantee of the supply of the minimum vital quantity of water to all citizens free of charge. The community is therefore redefined as comprised of commoners. The enemy is defined as those ‘“who are doing business” by managing (or “selling”) water’: speculators, entrepreneurs, investors and shareholders of corporations, as well as ‘policy makers at the local and national levels, who could reap the indirect benefits deriving from “collusion” (in a sort of “exchange of favours”)’ (in Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 323). An activist thus phrased his outrage at those making profit with water: ‘What I really hate is the idea of somebody getting richer with water. Personally, thinking that somebody else takes advantages from this situation makes me really angry’ (in Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 323). Privatisation is stigmatised as increasing the costs of water especially for the poor, as well as, immorally, ‘profiting from the sale of an article that should be shared by everyone’ (Mazzoni and Cicognani, 2013: 321). What is more, the claim is against those who steal sovereignty from the people and, therefore, challenge democracy itself. As Tommaso Fattori (2013: 381) noted: ‘The referendum, a fundamental tool of democracy, was hence the final stage of a process that started focused on the subject of water but more generally is trying to recover pieces of a sovereignty that formally belongs to the people but in substance has been hijacked by oligarchies.’

Beyond the referendum: empowering the commons The legacies of the referendum are many, in Italy and beyond. First of all, the referendum results did not end the water struggle in Italy, as its outcomes have not been fully implemented. In fact, immediately after the referendum, the independent national regulatory agency AEEG (Autorità per l’Energia Elettrica e il Gas/Authority for Electric Energy and Gas) was put in charge of setting water tariffs, while the EU Stability Pact of balanced budgets reduced the capacity of municipalities to take the water service back into public hands by buying back private shares (Bieler, 2015). As one of its promoters summarised (Mattei, 2013: 371): ‘The success of the water referendum was a blow to the neoliberal establishment. The reaction did not take long: in the week following the referendum, lawyers and experts representing corporate

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interests quickly attempted to reduce the impact of the vote.’ As the financial crisis unfolded and the European Central Bank demanded that the Italian government implement austerity measures, on 13 August 2011 – just weeks after the referendum – parliament approved a law called ‘Dispositions to adjust the law to the referendum results and to European law’, which revived provisions for privatisation of public services abolished by the referendum, except for water (Mattei, 2013). Moreover, the second question of the referendum, which repealed the right of private companies to a guaranteed profit of 7%, has not been systematically implemented. This resistance in implementing its results notwithstanding, the referendum did have significant consequences. First of all, it was an important constitutional victory: in July 2012, the Italian Constitutional Court declared: for the first time in Italian history, that the will of the people expressed in the form of direct democracy by the referendum could not be overturned by means of representative democracy (that is, by the Parliament) at least for a reasonable period of time. The commons movement celebrated a very significant victory, having saved not only water from compulsory privatization, but all public services. (Mattei, 2013: 372) The struggle for the implementation of the referendum results then continued, as the organisational networks formed during the campaigns remained active online and offline. In particular, since the autumn of 2011, a campaign of civil disobedience invited consumers not to pay the part of the water fees requested on the remuneration of invested capital, as the Renzi government intensified the privatisation trend (Carsetti, 2014). Moreover, on 12 June 2013, 200 MPs founded the Parliamentary Intergroup on Water as Common Good (Carsetti, 2014). The referendum also constituted a critical juncture in terms of party politics. In the words of ATTAC activist Marco Bersani, ‘the result of the referendum accelerates the crisis of the parties, introducing through its social practices the needs to overcome representative democracy, [and to move] towards substantial democracy based on social activism and direct participation’ (cited in Fantini, 2012). Water as a common good became a metaphor for democracy (Carrozza, 2013), expressing the will to participate in decision making (Fantini, 2013). As a protagonist of the water referendum recalls (Fattori, 2013: 378–9): ‘The vote was symptomatic of a strong desire for connections and participation,

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beneath the ashes of social atomization: the attempted absorption of the commons realm into the processes of capitalistic valorization will find ever larger obstacles and social conflicts mounted before it by the efforts of the commons movement.’ Thus, the referendum is presented as: a new starting point from which to construct a counterhegemony and place a spoke in the wheels of the mechanisms for the decommodification of the commons realm. It was a question of planning a specific campaign together, which could produce a tangible and practical result and at the same time start to deconstruct the pensée unique. The risk of the commodification of water – universally seen as the symbol of life and what we all have in common – in effect worked as the trigger for a broader process of rediscovery and defense of the commons, which is still in full swing today. […] Thanks to the powerful symbolism of water, today in Italy a new and wide-ranging debate has developed on the new enclosures of the commons, from culture and knowledge to energy. It is necessary to rediscover and refer to the symbolic dimension, to provide new narratives of the world, moving well beyond the dry notions used in technocratic parlance. (Fattori, 2013: 378–9) The concept of commons also had empowering effects on the movements that followed. The inclusive language of commons would be reproduced in initiatives such as the occupation of public theatres or the Forum italiano dei movimenti per la terra e il paesaggio (Italian Forum of the Movements for the Land and the Landscape). The reference to the commons took over several civic lists in the local administrative elections in 2012, as ‘by virtue of its symbolic power and the success of the referendum, water has come to be considered not merely as one among the commons, but rather as a paradigm for the struggle in defence of democracy and the common good’ (Fantini, 2012: 38). On 14 June 2011, the day after the referendum, a group of precarious workers including actors, musicians and producers occupied the Teatro Valle in Rome under the motto ‘Like water and like air. Let’s free culture’, presenting ‘culture as a commons’. The idea of commons certainly challenges ‘the capitalist focus on commodifying ever more areas and submitting them to the profit logic of the market, implying a move towards a new economic model.  This focus is combined with a new, participatory form of democracy in the running of water

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services’ (Bailey and Mattei, 2013). The referendum was therefore just one component of ‘a larger effort to challenge the neoliberal logic of privatization, which has occupied most of the first decade of the new millennium in Italy’ (Bailey and Mattei, 2013). The success of the Water Referendum has been said to prove the strength of the ‘counterhegemonic force against the neoliberal economic constitutionalism of the international economic institutions’ (Bailey and Mattei, 2013). In fact, ‘The legal and political actions of the beni comuni movement reinvigorated the constitutional debate […] reopening the debate about what ought to be the space for the “public” and the constituent role of the people in the constitution’ (Bailey and Mattei, 2013). The anti-austerity frames, developed within the movements, resonated in the wave of protests during the Great Recession (della Porta et al, 2016). The water movement had, in sum, long-lasting consequences, as: Although financial capitalism and institutional politics move according to the very short time frames of the stock exchange and forthcoming elections, the social movements foster what could be considered as far-reaching thoughts and a vision that is long-term: it takes time and patience to grow roots in local territories, to decide by consensus, and to build truly participatory processes, in which everyone can feel included. The victory in the water referendum is the result of almost ten years’ work: that is why it is such a socially solid victory. (Fattori, 2013: 380) The Italian experience was not an isolated one. In 2011, the European Federation of Public Service Unions (EPSU) launched a European Citizens’ Initiative (ECI) on water as a human right, with the support of a broad network of social movement organisations. By the fall of 2013 the initiative had collected about 1.9 million signatures. Similarly, in 2014 a referendum against water privatisation was organised, and won, in Thessaloniki (Bieler, 2015). At the local level, there are growing efforts to manage water provision according to the principles of the commons.

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Referendums from below: some reflections Social science literature on referendums and other mechanisms of direct democracy has pointed at their increasing use, especially as a result of the malfunctioning – on the input side – of the institutional system and the de-alignment of the party system (Qvortrup, 2014a;, 2014b). Referendums proliferate especially where parties are weaker but, increasingly, they are also supported by the forces of the left (parties and social movements) as an opportunity to promote citizens’ political engagement and participation.1 Referendums have been praised for their capacity to extend constitutional safeguards against the excessive power of politicians (Qvortrup, 2014c) and as the most direct expressions of people’s will (Marxer and Pallinger, 2007). Referendums have been defined as ‘a public recognized institution wherein citizens decide or emit their opinion on issues – other than through legislative and executive elections – directly at the ballot box through universal and secret suffrage’ (Kriesi, 2012d: 7). They enhance citizens’ access to political decision making and voters’ capacity to determine the political agenda (Büchi, 2007) and can improve bargaining capacity (Hug and Schultz, 2007). Direct democracy, in general, has been linked to values such as political and social equality, as well as assumptions about citizens’ capacity of learning the importance of preference formation within deliberative arenas – even though problems of scale have been highlighted when combining deliberative and direct democracy conceptions (Schiller, 2007). Scholars, as well as practitioners, have in fact warned about its potential lack of discursive qualities. Yet, referendums lead to higher levels of politicisation as they shift the initiative to the citizens; campaign dynamics are propitious for identity politics as they reduce the power of parties (Hutter, 2016). In fact, referendums have been said to create more mature, competent, responsible, and self-confident citizens (Büchi, 2007). Empirical research has challenged the three main arguments by the opponents of the referendum, namely that citizens are unable to make considered judgements, that parliaments better defend minorities and that referendums delegitimise representative institutions (Caciagli and

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Uleri, 1994). However, a striking variation in referendum practices has been noted (Qvortrup, 2014a), which shapes their effects on citizens and institutions. Thus institutional designs vary in terms of communicative and deliberative exchanges, increases in collective learning processes, opening of political processes, maximum legitimacy and greater identification with the democratic polity (Gross, 2007). In addition, the importance of communication has often been mentioned in the framing of what is at stake, in particular during campaigns and on issues about which citizens do not have direct experience (Marchinkoski, 2007). Our research has confirmed that referendums from below serve as opportunities that are particularly conducive to broadening participation and enhancing political engagement and understanding among the electorate. We have argued that referendums from below are those that involve a larger degree of extra-institutional mobilisation, either as citizen-initiated referendums or through the wide-scale appropriation of state-endorsed ones. Importantly, they also involve a number of normative commitments, including encouraging mass participation (unlike certain referendums in Italy and Slovakia, 2 where campaigners mobilised to suppress turnout, thus preventing the threshold being reached), and an emphasis on configurative practices and deliberation. Our principal case studies – the campaigns in Scotland and Catalonia, and in lesser detail the Italian water referendum – confirm that referendums offer social movements the chance to make a decisive contribution to issues of substantial political importance. By looking at these movements’ resource mobilisation, appropriation and forging of opportunities, and capacity to develop resonant frames, we have highlighted how movements have successfully changed political debates and, in the Italian case, enacted constitutional reform. We will summarise the main ideas and contributions of the book along these lines in the first part of the conclusion. We will then expand our comparison and briefly show how some of the traits and patterns identified for the three cases hold in two additional settings: the Icelandic Icesave referendum and the Greek consultation on the Troika’s ultimatum. We have selected these additional cases to analyse the broader applicability of our findings in a very different political context and timeframe. Iceland, with its tiny population and history of consensual politics, serves as a useful contrast to the mass mobilisations in significantly larger countries. The Greek case is particularly interesting in relation to the duration of the campaign – only a week – and the fact that it was organised by a leftist government party rather than forced by civil society mobilisation.

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Social movements and referendums from below Appropriation of opportunities Social movement studies have pointed at the relevance of political opportunities in facilitating elements of movement development, but also at the capacity of movements to appropriate, or create, opportunities. In all our cases, referendums emerged within a process of closing and opening of windows of opportunity for the causes promoted by movements. Allies were present at different levels of institutional politics, sometimes even as main promoters of the referendum, which then became a turning point for consolidating broad coalitions. The importance of movements’ appropriation of opportunities emerged clearly in both of the referendums on independence we analysed in depth. As for the political opportunities, in the Scottish case, the Labour Party at the national level had traditionally been more open to devolution than the Conservatives (who were in office during the referendum campaign). After the Cameron government denied the Devo Max option, the opportunities for an alternative solution of enhanced devolution were closed. This situation, together with the decline of the Labour Party, fuelled the mobilisation that bridged independence and social issues. In fact, the polarisation of the debate on Scotland’s destiny was triggered by the hard-line reaction of the Liberal Democratic–Conservative coalition – with partial alignment with them by some Labour factions – and ensuing media campaigns against the Yes vote. If the threat of an economic disaster, with Scotland portrayed as too small to navigate the troubled waters of the financial crisis, had an important influence on a No vote that was dominated by fear, it contributed in turn to more extensive mobilisation by outraging many other Scottish citizens. In fact, the shift from devolution to independence brought about more radical positions than did the initial compromise-oriented positioning of the Scottish National Party (SNP) (with the acceptance of the monarchy, NATO membership, and the Pound as currency). As in the Catalan case, there were diverging configurations of opportunities at the regional and national levels. The historic election of an SNP majority government provided the democratic legitimacy for the calling of a referendum campaign. Although the Tories were arguably more opposed to any territorial concessions, their presence in government during the campaign – subsequent to the government’s authorisation of the poll – was a boost to the pro-independence parties and movements. The Tories in power was a substantial mobilisation

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tool, facilitating a polarisation between the villainous right-wing Westminster government and the reputedly more progressive Scottish population. Thus, the campaign benefited from an outright regional opportunity and the transformation of what could presumably have been a disadvantage, a Conservative United Kingdom (UK) government, into a discrete opportunity as well. In the Catalan case, what triggered the pseudo-referendum campaign was not the opening of opportunities. These had emerged since 2003–4 with the centre-left governments at both the regional and national levels, which were a priori more sympathetic towards territorial demands. Instead, the mobilisation process was triggered by the closing down of opportunities from 2010 – especially under the conservative government that took office in Spain in 2011 – and with the previous deep amendments to the reform project of the Statute of Autonomy. Here as well, the campaign adapted to a complex mix of the closing of political opportunities at the national level and persisting openings at the local level from 2010. But the movement also created its own opportunities by triggering a process of polarisation that pushed the traditionally moderate Catalan nationalist parties to an increasingly radical stance, as claims moved from autonomy to independence. The campaign took place within a cycle of protest against austerity policies – even though Catalonia is a rich region, it was certainly not protected from the economic crisis, with unemployment rising from 6.5% in 2007 to almost 25% in 2014. The compound dynamics of the crisis were indeed reflected in the capacity of supporters of Catalanism to move beyond its traditional stronghold in the middle classes and rural areas and appeal to broader urban and working-class constituencies. In short, a crisis of political legitimacy underpinned mobilisation campaigns in both Scotland and Catalonia. Lack of concessions and institutional closure concatenated with a territorial and socioeconomic crisis at a critical juncture. As many Catalans and Scots did not feel comfortable under the territorial framework, discontent grew and added to grievances related to the recession. Territorial uneasiness infiltrated the socioeconomic axis with the promise of more redistributive policies in a radically reconfigured polity. Challengers used, seized and deepened these grievances, as electoral de-alignment (particularly on the left wing of the ideological spectrum) and availability of allies transformed latent potentials into actions for the referendums around independence. Going beyond referendums on independence claims, the analysis of the referendum against the privatisation of water in Italy has shown similar mechanisms of appropriation of opportunities. The water

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campaign originated in a period of high mobilisation around the global justice movement in general, and the European Social Forum in particular, which had been able to produce openings at the local and international levels. The process had also been favoured by the decision of the centre-left government to form a committee of experts to regulate the protection of public goods. It was indeed around the conception of the commons that various initiatives against the privatisation of water supply developed, forging alliances with various relevant institutional actors at the municipal level, as well as promoting global campaigns that earned important symbolic recognition. Even when opportunities at the national level closed, various forms of direct democracy (including laws on popular initiatives) facilitated the maintenance of high levels of mobilisation up to the victorious referendum campaign. Yet movements in the Italian campaign had a reciprocal and contingent nature. While their ideas and strategies developed through the trying out and testing of various ways to influence public decision making, their courses of action were in turn shaped by political dynamics. Mobilising resources Social movement research has pointed at the importance of existing resources for protest. Both formal associations and informal networks favour processes of block recruitment into various types of protest campaigns that often make use of both conventional and unconventional forms of action. Referendums, as voting devices and tools of direct democracy, are to be located in the movements’ repertoires as a type of mechanism that movements can rely upon to advance their aspirations, compatible with – and often fostering – other complementary forms of action. In recent times, research on protest campaigns has distinguished more formal processes of networking, often involving existing associations, and aggregative forms, often connecting individuals through social media. The campaigns we studied combined both strategies, with the aim of mobilising large numbers but also of advancing prefigurative forms of democracy. They succeeded in creating multiple forums of high discursive quality that empowered their participants well beyond the end of the referendum campaign. In both mobilisation campaigns for independence we studied, the campaigners used a complex organisational repertoire, including conventional and unconventional forms. In Scotland, while the pro-independence campaign had more conventional organisational structures in the Yes campaign led by the SNP, the most innovative

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and influential role was taken over by the networked campaign, which was autonomously organised at the local level by social movement organisations active in different arenas such as environmental issues, women’s rights, immigrant groups, neighbourhood collectives, students, artists and intellectuals. Beyond the formal Yes campaign and more conventional canvassing, the grassroots and multi-layered mobilisation developed by local community groups opened forums for information, debate and political socialisation. Hence, the campaign became highly deliberative, at least in the provision of information and the creation of space for debates. The decision to extend the mobilisation to the most deprived neighbourhoods and the most marginalised social groups worked as a transformative mechanism for Scottish civil society; it contributed to empowering social groups that had long remained at the margins. Mass mobilisation and direct action were also part of the campaign repertoires. Significantly, the Yes vote was influenced by generational divisions (gaining up to 62.5% among the younger voters) and class belonging (being particularly high in the areas with the highest levels of unemployment) (see Curtice, 2014b; Henderson and Mitchell, 2015). In addition, very distinct patterns of intergenerational, regional and class support were crucial in the recent Brexit referendum. In addition to existing civil society traditions on Catalan autonomy (as testified by the territorial distribution of both the non-binding consultations on independence and the results of the referendum itself), the campaign created its own resources, especially in the form of coordination committees. In fact, the analysis of the Catalan case shows the gradual organisation of discontent from below – for example, following the partial rejection of the Statute of Autonomy by the Constitutional Court in 2006, the PDD platform (Plataforma pel Dret de Decidir) and the call for protest activities emerged, culminating in the large demonstration in July 2010. The platform coordinated dozens of associations, municipalities and individuals, allowing the movement to mobilise more traditional organisations – including organisational appropriation of existing associations like Òmnium Cultural, but also of professional and recreational associations. As the campaign unfolded and adopted a more openly pro-independence stance, the ANC (Assemblea Nacional Catalana) took the lead in coordinating mobilisation efforts. Interestingly, the campaign for independence developed through a contentious repertoire of performances relying heavily on a logic of numbers (with massive marches, involving hundreds of thousands) with high deployment of symbols – such as the human chain in September 2013 which, following the example of the Baltic movement

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for independence, covered the entire Catalan coastline of more than 400 kilometres. Additionally, semi-conventional forms of action (for instance, petitions) were complemented by civil disobedience, for example in the performance of non-binding consultations on independence, which the Constitutional Court had declared illegal. The organisational frame was resonant with the horizontal and loosely structured model favoured by the progressive movements – for instance, the ANC was a vast platform that consisted of more than 500 territorial assemblies, 50 sectoral assemblies and 50,000 members. Overall, protest had eventful effects, changing the very dynamics of the campaign. In the Scottish case the transformative power of the referendum campaign is often stressed in the literature as spreading a taste for politics all over the country. Participation in the campaigns had prefigurative effects in terms of self-education in political skills and a stimulus for political learning: although it failed to bring about independence, the Yes campaign was successful in the awakening of the Scottish civil society, with long-lasting effects, having challenged, as many observed, the boundary of Scotland’s political imagination. Similarly, in Catalonia, it was through social movement strategies that the demonstrations in favour of self-determination and independence moved to the left, recruiting participants among the working classes. The situation was quite similar in the other referendum from below we analysed in depth. In the Italian water referendum, a horizontal logic of organisation was adopted, pushed by both instrumental and normative concerns. The need to coordinate a large network of very diverse organisations and individuals helped bring about a loose network configuration, with much autonomy at the periphery. The logic of the social forum interacted with that of the anti-austerity protests in the normative stress on broad participation, managed through consensual methods. The tensions between national and local groups, with their own organisational peculiarities, were addressed through a complex mix of aggregative and networking instruments. The broad network indeed included very different organisational forms: from unions to squatted centres, from formal associations to citizens’ committees, from movement organisations to institutions. Within a process of adaptation to the different needs of the various phases of the campaign, large marches were combined with educational work. The movement’s experiences with forms of direct democracy (including petitions as well as laws promoted from below) favoured the choice of the referendum as a reaction to the formal closing of opportunities in representative institutions at the national level. The new social media acquired a specific function at the peak of the campaign, assisting

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with a massive and decentralised mobilisation that allowed the vote to reach the quorum and win the referendum with more than 95% of voters’ support. Bridging frames Literature on referendums has stressed the relevance of the types of issues at stake (their degree of resonance, technicality, party ownership), but also of the ways in which the issues are presented. Along the same lines, social movement studies has given weight to framing processes as particularly relevant in making certain issues resonant and influencing public opinion and policy makers. Communication has been considered as quintessential in defining not only the results of a referendum campaign but also its democratic quality. In particular, referendum campaigns organised from below are occasions for social movement organisations to bridge the specific referendum question(s) with broader concerns. Politicisation ensues, but not necessarily in terms of pre-existing ideological alignments. Rather, new frames can emerge and consolidate during the campaign. Framing was an important process in the referendum campaigns in Scotland and Catalonia. While losing in the polls, the pro-Yes forces were said to have been successful in changing the Scottish political debates, spreading a vision of austerity and neoliberalism as a stigmatised English belief that remained foreign to the social values of the Scots. In fact, Scottish identity was revitalised through the bridging of nationalist attachments with norms of social justice. Together with the rejection of austerity policies, the vision of an independent Scotland implied enhanced democracy. If traditionally the Scottish collective identity had been quite inclusive (of British but also of migrant belonging), the socioeconomic vision of another Scotland, more just and less unequal, was strengthened during the campaign, which developed in times of austerity and high unemployment. The appeal to social justice went beyond the ambivalent social democratic view of the SNP, creating a broad coalition for democratic accountability, social justice and collective wellbeing. Historical memories of Scotland as the birthplace of the labour movement were revived during the campaign. Eventually, the campaign was indeed ignited by a reconfigured class discourse rather than traditional ethnonationalist arguments – as represented in the slogan of the Radical Independence Campaign, ‘Britain is for the rich, Scotland can be ours’. Framing also evolved during the campaign in Catalonia, with a growing emphasis on self-determination and then on independence. It

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was in fact during the campaign that independence became accepted as a legitimate position, rather than a naïve – and rather marginal – aspiration of a minority. This happened not only in traditional Catalan nationalism, but also, and more innovatively, on the left, which had been historically sceptical about self-determination and independence. During and after the campaign, there was not only a bridging of independence and social justice, but also the normative positions for self-determination became dominant on the left, even among those who did not support independence. ‘Ara es l’hora’ (‘Now is the time’), ‘Voluntat-Votar-Victòria’ (‘Will-Voting-Victory’) and ‘Votarem i guanyarem’ (‘We shall vote and win’) are all slogans that testify for the spreading of hope in change. In fact, together with deliberative democracy, inclusiveness and civil society, terms such as ‘progress’, the ‘social state’ and ‘redistribution’ were most widespread. The bridging with left-wing frames has been so successful that self-ideological positioning on the left became a strong predictor of a Yes-Yes vote on support for independence in general, and the 9-N non-binding unofficial consultation in particular (see BOP, 2014; Palà and Picazo, 2014). While the long history of Catalan struggle for independence was revisited, an innovative framing developed around the connection of sovereignty and social justice. The bridging of nationalist and social claims allowed for a growth of the mobilisation well beyond the traditional Catalan cultural networks to include citizens with migrant backgrounds (particularly appealing to those from other parts of Spain). The framing of the campaign also had a strong motivational capacity – as testified, for example, by the slogan ‘Together we make history’ and the call for a second transition. Frame bridging was also extremely important in the Italian campaign on the water referendum, which was indeed able to convince electors well beyond the left-leaning ones. The management of water provision was successfully redefined as a human right, indispensable to a dignified life. Participation in various transnational campaigns fuelled the development of a discourse around the universal rights of citizens. The concept of the commons was then an important one, elaborated within the movement itself. Beyond the discourse of public goods, the claims regarding the commons helped overcome the dichotomy of public and private, defining new specific goods, establishing a broad public and societal protection of them and, especially, linking them to an emerging discourse around the community. Thus water became a symbol of the struggle against neoliberalism due to capitalist expansion within a previously protected arena. The emphasis on a new vision of community was also a way to stress the importance of citizens’

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participation. Commonification implied a participative and deliberative conception of democracy, with the involvement of workers and citizens in the protection of water. Not by chance, after the referendum, various movements began to refer to the concept of the commons in framing their own struggles.

Expanding the comparison The Greek referendum of the Troika’s ultimatum The Syriza victory in the Greek election of 26 January 2015 meant that a party to the left of social democratic parties won an election for the first time in the history of the EU (Martín, 2016). It was possible, to a great extent, due to the de-alignment of the traditional PASOK (the Panhellenic Socialist Movement) electorate, discontented after its government embraced austerity measures dictated by EU institutions to tackle the financial crisis during the 2009–12 period. Thus, the January 2015 election was not framed merely along the traditional left–right cleavage, but incorporated another dimension of conflict that had unfolded since 2008 in Greece: pro- or anti-memoranda positioning. According to Diani and Kousis (2014: 387), memoranda refer to ‘structural adjustment measures imposed by international lenders and the “Troika” – European Commission (EC), European Central Bank (ECB) and International Monetary Fund (IMF)’, which ‘have placed a heavy toll on the ordinary people’ of Greece – and elsewhere. With the support of the conservative nationalist and anti-memoranda ANEL (Independent Greeks), Syriza was able to form a government. The main aims of the new government led by Alexis Tsipras were to contribute to the end of austerity policies across the Eurozone, limiting the power of the three supervisor institutions (the EC, ECB and IMF) and agreeing on a new plan to restructure debt devolution for the country (see Martín, 2016). As expected, tense negotiations between the new Greek executive and EU authorities and institutions followed, increasing Greece’s liquidity problems and reaching a dramatic level by May–June 2015. Given stagnating negotiations within EU institutions and countries, and in a context of growing polarisation, on 27 June Tsipras decided to call a referendum to take place only a few days later, on 5 July, to consult the Greek population on the last memorandum proposal that had been circulated by the creditors. In doing so, he sought to give legitimacy to his demands and increase his bargaining power vis-à-vis the negotiators. Although not totally unprecedented historically (seven referendums were called between

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1920 and 1974), direct democratic devices are relatively rare in recent democratic Greek history. The very brief campaign, which lasted only eight days, distinguishes this campaign from the others analysed in this book. Accordingly, we argue that the vote mostly coincided with pre-existing political identities rather than ones formed during the campaign. As mentioned, the citizens were asked to decide whether Greece should accept the bailout conditions that had been proposed by the Troika, given the country’s government-debt crisis. Phrased in a technical and complex way, the questions were the following: Should the proposed agreement be accepted, which was submitted by the European Commission, the European Central Bank, and the International Monetary Fund in the Eurogroup of 25.06.2015, and consists of two parts, which constitute their unified proposal? The first document is entitled ‘Reforms for the Completion of the Current Program and Beyond’ and the second ‘Preliminary Debt Sustainability Analysis’. (Peter, 2015) Although this was not strictly a referendum from below, a top-down endeavour can launch dynamics similar to those observed in the other contexts. In this case, the presence in government of a party that had represented the protest claims interacted with both internal and external institutions. Nevertheless, a horizontal and participatory campaign developed, which included prefigurative practices. In the short, one-week campaign, social movements mobilised in a very polarised environment. As della Porta et al (2017: 113) summarise: A huge ‘pro-yes’ campaign was waged by political and business elites, both domestic and international, and the mainstream media, while capital controls were imposed and opinion polls were pointing towards the ‘Yes’. However, the ‘No’ won an impressive 61.3 per cent following a massive grassroots horizontal campaign. All interviewees consider the Referendum as a watershed for the social movements and for Greek politics, as demonstrating a whole people’s resistance against despotism and unfairness. While very short, the Greek referendum campaign was extremely intense. It was linked to the broad and deep wave of anti-austerity protests that had shaken the country since 2011 (see della Porta et al,

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2016: ch. 4). As activists recalled, the mobilisations during the week preceding the July referendum “encapsulated all those years’ struggles” (Interview GR5). The days between 26 June and 5 July saw the peak of what interviewees defined as a class war, as media propaganda peaked, with alleged blackmailing of employees to vote for Yes, and ECB imposed capital controls exacerbating an already frightening state of affairs, while all the opinion polls predicted a neck-and-neck race, or an outright Yes victory (della Porta et al, 2016). As in the Italian water referendum, the unexpected victory of the position supported by the social movements was the result of massive mobilisation from below. In fact, as in the previous cases of referendums from below, the campaign was very horizontally organised, allowing for the development of networking and aggregative dynamics. Rather than the leadership of Syriza, it was organised left-wing and anarchist groups that printed and distributed leaflets in open air markets and in the streets. It was the youth of Syriza campaigned by painting slogans on the walls and talking with people in cafés and shops (della Porta et al, 2017). The campaign developed “in every house … the overwhelming victory cannot have been but the result of endless conversations and debates among families, friends, colleagues” (Interview GR2). Through widespread mobilisation, “people felt responsible for their own fate” (Interview GR4). This was made possible by the activation of the networks built during the long cycle of protest against austerity, which had brought Syriza into power (including, among others, the network of movement organisations and movement activists called ‘Syriza beyond Syriza’). The campaign – during a week “that lasted for ages” (Interview GR3) – brought about a victory all over the country, building upon the structures and ideas of the anti-austerity protests. The No voters had specific generational and social backgrounds. As an interviewee recalled, “Class and age aspects coincide; you cannot be young and privileged any more” (Interview GR1). The dramatic levels of deprivation the Greeks were suffering in the context of recession played a central role in the campaign – note that in only five years, unemployment in Greece had increased from 7.3% (in May 2008) to 27.7% (in May 2013). In fact, there seems to be an association between class and opposition to the memoranda. In the poor neighbourhoods of Athens, No voters amounted to 80%, with reverse results in the rich areas. Young people voted overwhelmingly for No (85% of those between 18 and 24 years; 72.3% of those between 24 and 34 years); in fact, the No vote won 85.2% among students and 72.9% among

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the unemployed.3 Additional predictors of the vote were party clues, interests and attitudes, but also the perception of the outcome (whether a No vote would lead to increasing capacity for negotiating the Greek status and conditions within the EU framework or to Grexit) (Walter et al, 2016). The framing of the No campaign was very resonant with the one of the protests preceding it – moreover, it was ‘fuelled by the massive anti-austerity popular movements already on the rise (from national strikes and mass demonstrations to solidarity movements)’ (Stavrakakis and Katsampekis, 2014: 126). Here, as in the other cases we analysed, the issue of sovereignty was bridged with citizens’ participation. The main demands voiced in the anti-austerity protests as well as in the referendum campaign included a claim for mass participation of people in politics beyond the routinised patterns of parliamentary democracy (della Porta et al, 2017). The campaign was said to have articulated: national sovereignty, national unity, the dignity of the Greek people, national history, and the metaphor of Greece as the birthplace of democracy and the foundation of the European civilisation […] translated into a national cause: the resistance of the Greek people to EU/ECB/IMF proposals and plans of people’s humiliation and subversion of the government’s democratic mandate. (Sygkelos, 2015: 2) The referendum was justifiably criticised as non-deliberative and, eventually, useless. The formulation of the question has been criticised as too lengthy and complex, with references to two long documents which were difficult to find (Sygkelos, 2015). The seven days of the campaign were too short for voters to come to a real understanding of the issue at stake. The extremely short time span marks a dramatic difference relative to the other cases being considered so far, as it strongly limited the evolution of organisational, strategic and framing efforts by movement actors. It may also explain the relatively low turnout of 62% for such a crucial vote with direct financial and political implications for all Greeks. Notwithstanding massive popular rejection of the Troika’s demands, they were imposed regardless. Under strong pressure from the lending institutions and the EU, on 12 July the Greek delegation was forced to accept a new Memorandum of Understanding including strong austerity measures. This triggered a social backlash, and a noteworthy wave of contestation spread in Greece and elsewhere, both offline and online. As the measure was implemented, disillusionment spread among

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the Greek population regarding the futility of both institutional and extra-institutional politics. In contrast, although neither Scottish nor Catalan independence has been achieved, the struggle to bring about independence reinvigorated civil society in both nations and generated continuous mobilisation rather than depressing it. Referendums and the constitutional process from below in Iceland The financial crisis also triggered a complex process of direct democracy in the first of the European countries that had been hit by it, Iceland. Similar to the other cases addressed in more depth in this volume, two referendums were called in response to civil society mobilisation. The referendums varied in the extent of their ‘coming from below’ and their reliance on institutional allies and opportunities. The Icesave referendums in 2011and 2012 came about from the Saucepan Revolution,4 but were triggered by the president’s unprecedented decision to demand that the Icesave bills,5 which essentially upheld collective national responsibility for private banking debts, be put before the people. If the bills had passed, they would have exposed the Icelandic people to the massive losses accrued by mainly Dutch and British banks, which had invested in a local bank that had gone bankrupt in 2008. A second referendum, held in 2011 on an altered arrangement regarding the repayments was likewise rejected. A third, non-binding referendum on a proposed new constitution in 2012 derived directly from mobilisations during the social and political tumult of the winter of 2008–9, even if the contentious nature of the mobilisation had become considerably institutionalised under the centre-left government from 2009 to 2013. After a period of extraordinary economic growth between 2005 and 2007, the Icelandic people were heavily hit by a financial crash. Its consequences were immediately felt: ‘in December of 2009 around 42% of mortgages and bank loans were in arrears and, between 2009 and 2013, an average number of three families per day saw their houses repossessed due to default’ (Hallgrímsdóttir and Brunet-Jailly, 2015: 87). Macroeconomic indicators do not do justice to the impact the crisis had on the country, particularly because of its geographical marginalisation. As a student at the time explained: Because of the currency collapse imports became too expensive. We have a small agriculture sector, a fishery sector, but we’re not self-sufficient. So, a lot of consuming goods became inaccessible to the population. […] We

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didn’t have any imports coming into Iceland for two weeks. People started worrying, started panicking. (in della Porta et al, 2016: 41) The crisis was, to a large extent, a result of the privatisation of banking (together with fisheries) in 2004. Since 2005, the three main Icelandic commercial banks (Landsbanki, Kaupthing and Glitnir) had expanded their activities, offering very high interest rates (above 15%). Landsbanki was particularly culpable, having established Icesave as a subsidiary branch that collected deposits, especially in the UK and the Netherlands. The profits were then reputedly used to support activities by bankers’ political allies in centre-right parties. With the collapse of Lehman Brothers, the commercial banks were unable to repay credits. As Ostaszewski (2013: 61) summarised: The next piece of news was insolvency of Icelandic banks which meant the total collapse of the financial market. The Icelandic society faced bankruptcy. Almost immediately Icelandic krona depreciated against the euro by 50%, GDP shrank by 3%, unemployment rose from 1 to 9% and OMX15 Iceland stock index saw an unprecedented decline of 90%. The public debt-to-GDP ratio was 115%. Over 65% of Icelandic companies became insolvent. The crisis had immediate effects, revealing a complex system of collusion. The Eurosceptic liberal-conservative Independence Party (Sjálfstæðisflokkurinn), in power, had accepted controversial donations, and the prime minister was held personally responsible for privatisation and lack of proper supervision of the banking sector. A decision was taken to nationalise the Kaupthing and Islandsbanki banks, which ‘was a clear signal of departing from the policy of liberalization […]. In contrast to the Irish or Greek variant, the Icelandic government decided not to fund the bank deficit with taxpayers’ money, which in the longer term seems to be a reasonable step in the Icelandic economic reality’ (Ostaszewski, 2013: 58). The crisis pointed also at deeply rooted corruption. In fact, the Special Investigation Committee appointed by the parliament identified seven politicians and public officials who had neglected their duties as laid down by law – four of them from the Independence Party, whose president and former Prime Minister David Oddsson was suspected of criminal negligence. In fact, the Court of Impeachment found him guilty of violating the law on ministerial responsibility but did not impose any punishment (Gylfason, 2012:

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14–15). Similarly, the former Independence Party’s chief executive officer was sued by the Landsbanki – of which he was a board member – for his responsibility in the bank’s collapse (Gylfason, 2012: 14–15). After the scandals, the leftist government elected in 2009 made some attempts at re-regulation. It also needed, however, to manage the crisis to bring about a quick recovery, with low unemployment and good levels of economic growth. Using a clause in the constitution, a parliamentary truth committee was constituted and ministers put on trial. The new government increased control of the banking sector, which separated investment activity from deposits, decreasing investment activities and shrinking bank assets by nearly five times. The exchange rate was stabilised, the economy started to grow and unemployment decreased substantially. The Icesave case brought the Icelandic case to the international forefront. While the government in Reykyavík initially interpreted the collapse of a banking institution as a natural phenomenon, British Prime Minister Gordon Brown announced that the UK government would take legal action using anti-terrorism legislation against Iceland’s government. For a while, ‘the total amount owed by the collapsed banks was feared to reach up to 10% of Iceland’s annual GDP’ (Loftsdóttir, 2012: 607). Although no national referendum had been held in the country since 1944, the possibility of holding one to ask Icelandic citizens whether they should assume liabilities, and therefore pay for the activities of a commercial bank, was put on the agenda. Although passed by the Icelandic Parliament, the Second Icesave6 bill taking national responsibility to cover the losses of international banks was not signed by President Ólafur Grímsson, who chose to refer it to a citizen referendum, where it was rejected by huge majority. ‘On 5 January 2010, Grímsson invoked Article 26 of the 1944 Constitution and put the resolution to a national referendum. Icelandic voters believed, like Grímsson, that the taxpayers should not be forced to shoulder foreign debts incurred by the country’s bankers’ (FillmorePatrick, 2013: 7). A third parliamentary bill followed the same process. The proposal to deal with the Icesave issue was defeated in two separate referendums and was finally put to rest with a 2013 European Free Trade Court decision that held Iceland not responsible for repayment (see Bergmann, 2014). The first referendum in 2010 had a turnout of 62.7% of registered voters: a unanimous No vote (98.1%) rejected the Icesave repayment deal. In the second referendum, 75.3% of eligible voters participated, with 59.8% rejecting the proposal (Hallgrímsdóttir and Brunet-Jailly, 2015).7

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Protesting and campaigning Referendums quickly became a routinised form of political expression that coexisted with more conventional movement approaches and party politics in the 2008–12 period. These years were characterised by unprecedented upheaval. Since referendum campaigns took place in a context of widespread protest, it is not easy to disentangle elements of specific referendum campaigns from broader contention. As Wade and Sigurgeirsdóttir (2011: 693) summarised: From the normally placid and consumption-obsessed population an anxious, angry protest movement emerged. A handful of organizers, mainly people like singers, writers and theatre directors who had been outside politics, called for rallies in the main square in front of the parliament building to demand a change of government. Thousands of people, all age groups and distinctly middle-class, assembled in shoulder-to-shoulder numbers never seen before in Iceland. […] For all the fear and anger the protestors also felt a sense of elated solidarity. Protests erupted unexpectedly, involving a large part of a population whose experience with contentious politics was extremely limited. Indeed, anti-austerity protestors had largely to reinvent both the organizational formats they adopted and the action repertoire they utilized (della Porta, 2017). Opposing the government, which wanted to blame the global crisis, protesters spread a moral frame stigmatising the political corruption of an octopus-like elite made up of businesspeople and politicians, which had acted out of greed against the tradition of solidarity of Icelanders. While the traditional role of the state was reclaimed, protests also empowered new visions within the very horizontal organisational format of a citizens’ movement. The mobilisations that started – with a rock concert – through the agency of a tiny and unpolitical group, spread quickly and massively. As Bernburg (2016: 6) outlines, public protest meetings in downtown Reykjavík became a regular occurrence, attracting a growing number of individuals, with a clear demand: ‘the ruling government was called on to resign, along with the Chairman of the Board of Governors of the Central Bank, and the Director of the Financial Supervisory Authority’. Thereby, with contentious activities growing and political leaders perceived as insensitive to citizens’ suffering, disruptive protests were called in order to push the government to resign. On 20 January

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2009, thousands of people gathered in front of the parliament in Reykjavík, remaining in the central square for three days. In light of the lack of experience and structures of the protesters, the significance of institutional allies was perhaps even greater than in the other cases examined in this book (that is, the referendum campaigns in Catalonia, Scotland and Italy). The availability of institutional allies opened fundamental opportunities for the development – and success – of the mobilisation campaigns around the referendums. Particularly, protesters discovered – arguably in an unexpected way – their best ally in the figure of the President of the Republic Ólaffur Grímmson, who ‘was a kind of inspiration for the civil protest, as he had not enacted the law passed by the parliament in January 2010, [that] aimed to impose liabilities of a commercial bank on the public’ (Ostaszewski, 2013: 58). In 2009, he ‘interceded at the behest of a petition signed by more than 60,000 citizens – about a quarter of the electorate. Acknowledging that the present terms amounted to approximately $17,000 for every man, woman, and child in the country of only 320,000, Grímsson stepped outside his traditionally ceremonial role and declared that the question should be brought to a public referendum under Article 26 of the Icelandic Constitution’ (Curtis et al, 2014: 722). In this way: Backed by the President’s decision, the society imposed a definite veto, which forced the Icelandic government to renegotiate the agreement, to hold a referendum twice and finally to be taken to court by the United Kingdom and the Netherlands. This phenomenon led to a process of developing direct democracy, which resulted not so much in changing the constitution top-down by a special constitutional committee as in appealing to the public, who decided about the shape of constitutional reforms in a referendum. (Ostaszewski, 2013: 58) Framing the crisis Here, as in the other cases we noted, the issue the referendum was focused on was highly politicised, with the bridging of moral opposition to injustice and claims for national sovereignty but also for citizens’ participation. A moral frame has been noted, as protesters complained about ‘The moral injustice of it all!’ (in Hallgrímsdóttir and Brunet-Jailly, 2015: 84). Indeed:

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while respondents often drew on sophisticated and technical arguments when discussing the Icesave debts, these arguments were generally presented within a highly normative framing of the issue that centered on moral reasoning, that is, questions of right and wrong. Key to this framing of Icesave was the idea that principles of natural justice were being violated through the Icesave repayment deals. (Hallgrímsdóttir and Brunet-Jailly, 2015: 84–5) As in all the other referendums we addressed, a frame of national sovereignty was also strong – reigniting the anti-British sentiment that had been prevalent during the so-called ‘Cod War’.8 The debate on Icesave has been read as ‘an engagement with the larger global world where the “global” has become a part of most people’s imagined world’, as ‘Social memory of past disputes was, thus, mobilised between the countries and the dispute contextualised by some Icelanders in light of Britain’s imperial past’ (Loftsdóttir, 2016: 339). The debate was quickly framed in terms of national sovereignty: ‘This is how they treat small nations’ (quoted in Loftsdóttir, 2016: 352). National sovereignty was seen in a David against Goliath narrative, the small Icelandic nation fighting against the global elites – in particular, the banks. ‘People cheer the actions of Icelanders in standing up to the financial sector and look at the battle of Icelanders as a role model in the battle that has now begun in Europe due to the debt crisis’ (quoted in Loftsdóttir, 2016: 354). The refusal to use taxpayers’ money to pay for the mistakes of private banks is stressed: ‘We should never accept the state’s obligation for the private debt of banks’ (quoted in Loftsdóttir, 2016: 355). Iceland was in fact considered as under ‘attack from the Dutch and Brits’. Identifying the struggle against the repayment as a ‘struggle for independence’, an activist noted: ‘Our independence war was with Great Britain, the Cod Wars. […] And the issue on Icesave was kind of a rerun of this thing where Great Britain was trying to take little Iceland by its fists and shake it around’ (quoted in Hallgrímsdóttir and Brunet-Jailly, 2015: 85). The crowdsourced constitutional process While the first two referendums were a result of civil society pressure – particularly the targeted use of popular petitions – and institutional allies, the third referendum on a proposed new constitution can be traced to the mass mobilisation that emerged around the protests of 2008–9. The shock of the crash brought about a call for more

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participation by the citizens, as, ‘After the crash […]. Now, we have to do something as citizens.’ The movement ‘really opened up a space that just simply wasn’t there before the crash’ (Edgarson n.d., in Hallgrímsdóttir and Brunet-Jailly, 2015: 85–6). After the humiliating double defeat of the Icelandic authorities regarding the Icesave issue, citizens demanded a referendum on a new constitution to express the collective values of a post-crash Icelandic state and society. This triggered a constitutional reform process that developed in four stages ‘The National Assemblies of 2009 and 2010; the Constitutional Assembly (later renamed to Constitutional Council) of 2011; and the referendum of 2012’ (della Porta et al, 2016: 49). The electorate voted in October 2012 in a non-binding referendum on the following items: 1. Changes in the Constitutional Act; 2. Nationalization of natural resources; 3. Establishment of a national church; 4. A possibility to elect to parliament people not belonging to any political party; 5. Equality of votes cast in different parts of the country; 6. Determining the statutory number of persons entitled to call a referendum. Despite its nonbinding nature, the referendum revealed that the society was determined to change the system of democracy for more direct democracy. (Ostaszewski, 2013: 68-9) The question on the Church aside, all the other proposals were approved by large margins (80%) (see Ostaszewski, 2013: 68). The new constitution was to have included an institutionalisation and clarification of the role of referendums and broader elements of a direct democracy. The draft constitution proposed the following: 10% of voters may demand a referendum on any bill within three months of its passage (Art. 65), subject to certain exceptions listed in Art. 67 (e.g. the budget). Voters may propose bills to the parliament (Art. 66). The parliament can presumably accept the proposal or put up a counter proposal for public referendum. The public is also involved in approving removal of the president by parliament (Art. 84) as well as constitutional amendments (Art. 113). Candidates for president must have the prior endorsement of 1% of voters (Art. 78). In short, the entire effort puts the public in conversation with their elected representatives. (Elkins et al, 2012)

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The referendums on Icesave were followed by a unique constitutional process. A first step of this unusual participatory process developed very much from below as, on 14 November 2009, a network of liberal grassroots think-tanks, the Anthill, held a National Assembly (Thjodfundur), in Reykjavík. In a participatory fashion: The Anthill envisioned that it would draw on the collective intelligence of Icelandic citizens to accomplish two tasks: define the most important values in Icelandic society and produce a vision for the future of the country. These tasks were important in terms of policy, but the objective of the National Assembly was also procedural. The Thjodfundur process was meant to be an alternative national visioning process, providing an authentic space where citizens could participate in democracy. (Elkins et al, 2012) The National Assembly saw the involvement of about 1,200 citizens, of whom 900 were randomly selected; 300 represented interest groups and government officials. The process was highly prefigurative in terms of its inclusivity and transversality of participants. In 2010, an Act on a Constitutional Assembly was passed in the parliament, establishing an advisory group in charge of reviewing and rewriting the existing Constitution dating from 1944. Composed of 25 delegates, the Assembly was elected by the Icelandic citizens in order to examine the Constitution in addition to, with the consultancy of experts, drafting a legislative bill for a constitutional change to be submitted to the parliament. A Thjodfundur (National Forum) was to be held before the elections of the Constitutional Assembly, including 1,000 participants of voting age, randomly selected. Organised by a government Constitutional Committee and facilitated by the parliament, the National Forum was held on 6 November 2010; 950 Icelanders participated. The tasks of the National Forum were defined as: identifying broadly what Icelanders wanted from a new constitution, identifying those values that should form the basis of the new constitution, and providing specific recommendations to the Constitutional Assembly. The Anthill and the polling company Gallup Iceland collaborated to select 1,000 citizens that represented Iceland in terms of gender, age, and geographic location. […] Between 2009 and 2011 […] the Anthill organized approximately 100 thjodfundurs involving a total of about

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20,000 participants in communities all over Iceland. Discussion at the National Forum took place in small, random groups and in thematically specialized groups. As with the 2009 National Assembly, professional facilitators moderated and enforced Thjodfundur rules within the groups. Frequent votes and strict facilitation protected the essential participatory democracy of the Thjodfundur process. (Elkins et al, 2012) Eventually, ‘the National Forum channeled the existing social and political discourse surrounding Iceland’s government and constitution into a number of broad, but concise, recommendations’ (Elkins et al, 2012). The National Assembly was made up of about 1,000 randomly selected citizens, through a stratified sample meant to secure equal representation by gender, age cohort, and geographical location. After a one-day meeting in October 2010, it issued a short guideline about the desiderata for the new constitution, including the public ownership of natural resources (Gylfason, 2012: 12). The parliament then appointed a seven-member Constitutional Committee, including professionals such as lawyers, intellectuals and scientists. Following the National Assembly’s requests: The committee produced a 700-page report with detailed ideas concerning the composition of the new constitution, including suggestive examples of the text of individual articles as well as a thorough, clause-by-clause analysis of the constitution from 1944 and of specific issues, including the electoral system used in parliamentary elections and the management and ownership of natural resources. The committee also used its website to facilitate access to foreign constitutions and related literature. (Gylfason, 2012: 13) For the third step, representatives to the Constitutional Assembly were elected on November 2010: 25 of the 522 candidates were independent of political parties. It has been noted that: ‘The election campaign was exceptionally civilized, and quite different from parliamentary election campaigns. […] The elected representatives comprised a diverse group of people of all ages with broad experience from representatives on an individual basis from hundreds of scattered candidates’ (Gylfason, 2012: 12), including:

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almost every nook and cranny of national life: doctors, lawyers, priests, and professors, yes, but also company board members, a farmer, a champion for the rights of handicapped persons, mathematicians, media people, erstwhile members of parliament, a nurse, a philosopher, poets and artists, political scientists, a theatre director, and a labor union leader, a good cross section of society. (Gylfason, 2012: 12) The Constitutional Council (Stjornlagarad) convened between April and July 2011. After assessing the need for a new constitution, the council split into three working groups in order to address the main issues, which ‘ranged from defining basic values, to evaluating the role of the president, to ensuring the democratic participation of the public’. Materials were published on its website with presentation of assessments on the 1944 Constitution, the work of the council, the material it received, and the draft constitution. Sessions of the council were broadcast, and calls for proposals on social media sites such as YouTube, Twitter, Facebook and Flickr brought about a broad response. Three thousand suggestions were posted on the council’s Facebook page. The council shortlisted the best proposals, which were presented for public debate on the website. Indeed, ‘The enthusiastic public participation in the drafting process via social media prompted news organisations to dub Iceland’s draft constitution “the world’s first crowdsourced constitution”’ (Elkins et al, 2012). The main issues addressed were ‘the moral vacuum in the government, the role and accountability of the country’s executives, and the lack of outlets for direct democratic participation’ (Elkins et al, 2012) A draft constitution was approved unanimously and submitted to the parliament in July 2011. Its preamble, mentioning the fundamental values, reads as follows: We, the people of Iceland, wish to create a just society with equal opportunities for everyone. Our different origins enrich the whole, and together we are responsible for the heritage of the generations, the land and history, nature, language and culture. Iceland is a free and sovereign state, resting on the cornerstones of freedom, equality, democracy and human rights. The government shall work for the welfare of the inhabitants of the country, strengthen their culture and respect the diversity of human life, the land and the biosphere. We wish to promote peace, security,

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well-being and happiness among ourselves and future generations. We resolve to work with other nations in the interests of peace and respect for the Earth and all Mankind. In this light we are adopting a new Constitution, the supreme law of the land, to be observed by all. (in Gylfason, 2012: 18–19) The national referendum, held in October 2012, encompassed 49% of the electorate. Citizens voted on six questions: The first, asking whether the draft constitution should form the basis of a new Icelandic constitution, passed with 73% in favor. The following five questions addressed particularly controversial areas of the draft constitution, including the exclusion of mention of the state church from the draft and the inclusion of the one man/one vote principle, public ownership of natural resources, more frequent Althingi elections, and referendum power to the people. Voters agreed with the Constitutional Council on all but one issue; voters overwhelmingly favored a constitutional provision establishing the National Church of Iceland as the official state church. (Elkins et al, 2012) The process of approval was however interrupted in the parliament, which had to vote the proposal into law. In fact, as: constitutional reform supporters gathered in Austurvollur Square to protest SDA [Social Democratic Alliance] and LGM [Left Green Movement] inaction, members of Althingi left office in an atmosphere similar to the one in which it entered four years prior. […] The two-year long delay prompted a pro-constitutional reform member of Althingi to initiate a vote of no confidence against the government in March 2013. The vote failed, but only by three votes. (Elkins et al, 2012) After the parliament dissolved on 27 March 2013, a new majority emerged, bringing back to power the Independent Party and the Progress Party, which had been ousted after the protest in 2009. In fact: SDA-LGM popularity crumbled in July 2009, around the time Althingi voted to begin accession talks with the EU,

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and never recovered. […] Conservative parties’ popularity was also bolstered by the timing of the European Free Trade Association (EFTA) ruling in January 2013 that relieved Iceland of its Icesave obligations for good, in spite of the fact that it was the opposition together with grassroots activists that had supported the Icesave referendum in the first place. (Elkins et al, 2012) To sum up, the series of referendums in Iceland are remarkable in a number of ways. First, they highlight how critical junctures or moments of crisis can result in significant innovation in the tactical and strategic repertoire of movements, arguably irreversibly reconfiguring a society’s political culture. It is also clear that referendums, in addition to being specific institutions of direct democracy, can also serve as fulcrums around which a broader shift towards more deliberative and inclusive politics can emerge. Yet, such dramatic changes in the Icelandic context are not automatically generalisable: the peculiarities of Iceland (for example, its small, highly educated and spatially condensed population, the inability or unwillingness of the security forces to repress protest) are not commonly found elsewhere (della Porta et al, 2016). Additionally, the collective effervescence of the period tapered off to a huge extent, due perhaps to activist fatigue, boredom, disillusionment, a decline in experienced grievances, or other motives, culminating in the return to power of the right-wing actors who had caused the crisis to begin with. The failure to successfully obtain the popularly endorsed constitution highlights the ambivalent relationship and power imbalances between direct and representative forms of government. The similar failure to halt the Troika’s economic devastation of the Greek economy, even after its policies were comprehensively rejected at the polls, confirms grave weaknesses in practices of contemporary democracy. Nonetheless, even if objectives have not been achieved or implemented, it is inarguable that the practices of collective mobilisation and deliberation inherent in the campaigns of ‘referendums from below’ at least result in greater transparency and drag the inconsistencies and murkier corners of representative democracy into the public limelight.

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List of interviewees Scotland (all via Skype) • SC1: university professor, expert on Scottish and Catalan nationalism, 21 May 2015. • SC2: pro-independence legal academic, 24 May 2015. • SC3: pro-independence supporter and activist, 6 June 2015. • SC4: pro-independence supporter and activist, 8 June 2015. • SC5: pro-independence supporter and activist, 11 June 2015. • SC6: Scottish Socialist Party member, 23 February 2017. • SC7: founding member of Common Weal and Radical Independence Campaign activist. • SC8: pro-independence supporter and activist. • SC9: pro-independence university professor. • SC10: pro-independence supporter and activist.

Catalonia (all of them face-to-face): • CT1: Plataforma pel Dret a Decidir/Platform for the Right to Decide (PDD) founder, 2 December 2014. • CT2: university lecturer, Assemblea Nacional Catalana/National Catalan Assembly (ANC) supporter, 25 November 2014. • CT3: founder of Solidaritat Catalana per la Independència, university professor, 2 December 2014. • CT4: member of Joventuts d’Esquerra Republicana and Esquerra Republican de Catalunya/Republican Left of Catalonia (ERC), 9 December 2014. • CT5: member of Podemos and Barcelona en Comú, university professor, 20 January 2015. • CT6: university professor, expert on Catalan nationalism, member of the Consell Assessor per a la Transició Nacional (CATN), 18 November 2014. • CT7: left-wing activist for the Yes campaign, member of Ciemen, 14 November 2014. • CT8: member of Iniciativa per Catalunya Verds/Initiative for Catalonia Greens (ICV), 13 November 2014. • CT9: member of Endavant, Candidatura d’Unitat Popular/Popular Unity Candidacy (CUP), 13 November 2014. • CT10: journalist, editorial board of El Crític, 17 November 2014. • CT11: member of Òmnium Cultural, 19 November 2014. 183

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Greece (all of them face-to-face, conducted by Hara Kouki, January–May 2015): • • • • •

GR1: activist in a neighbourhood assembly, Athens. GR2: anti-authoritarian social centre, Athens. GR3: anti-fascist movement, Athens. GR4: solidarity network, Halkida. GR5: anti-mining movement (Save Skouries), Halkidiki.

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Notes Quotation sources in Italian or Catalan have been translated by the authors. One: Referendums from below: an introduction 1.

2.

A large proportion of the Swiss referendum devices are bottom-up direct democratic instruments, namely optional referendums and citizens’ initiatives, launched through the collection of signatures (Serdült, 2014: 84–6). Although 61% of voters in Nevis opted for secession, they failed to meet the 66% threshold requirement.

Two: The context of the referendums from below: a tale of three crises 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

CiU (Convergència i Unió/Convergence and Union) was a nationalist coalition alliance. The federation was composed of the larger centre-liberal CDC (Convergència Democràtica de Catalunya/Democratic Convergence of Catalunya) and the smaller Christian democratic UDC (Unió Democràtica de Catalunya/Democratic Union of Catalunya). The CiU led the autonomous Catalan government for 23 consecutive years (from the 1980s till 2003) under the leadership Jordi Pujol. Although lacking an overall majority, the CiU (led by Artur Mas) regained power in 2010. The CiU coalition was dissolved in June 2015, amid strategic tension between the most pro-independence sectors of CDC and the most moderate strands of UDC, as well as corruption scandals affecting UDC. The SNP (Scottish National Party) is a social-democratic nationalist party. Founded in the 1930s, the party has had continuous parliamentary representation over the last five decades. It has been running the Scottish government since 2007. The SNP currently has 63 MSPs, 54 MPs, 2 MEPs and approximately 400 local councillors. The ERC (Esquerra Republican de Catalunya/Republican Left of Catalonia) is a left-wing nationalist party. Founded in 1931, it is one of the main pro-independence forces. The CUP (Candidatura d’Unitat Popular/Popular Unity Candidacy) is a radical left-wing and pro-independence party consisting of autonomous local-level assemblies. It gained 10 MPs in the 2015 Catalan election. ‘In nations without states, the feeling of identity is generally based on their own common culture and history (which often goes back to a time prior to the foundation of the nation-state), the attachment to a particular territory and an explicit desire for self-determination’ (Guibernau, 2004: 9). Understood as the ‘sentiment of belonging to a community whose members identify with a set of symbols, beliefs and ways of life, and have the will to decide upon their common political destiny’ (Guibernau, 2004: 8). Data retrieved from the ‘Censo de población y vivienda’ of the Spanish INE, elaborated in 2011 with the collaboration of the Catalan Statistics Office (available at Idescat, Generalitat de Catalunya, online: www.idescat.cat/pub/?id=censph).

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9.

10.

11.

12. 13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

In spite of the ‘café para todos’ doctrine implemented during the Transición – standing for ‘coffee for everyone’, this was the formula adopted to fit the territorial puzzle together, allowing every territory to become a community and have some degree of decentralisation – the Spanish 1978 Constitution makes a distinction between the Spanish ‘nation’ and the ‘nationalities’ and ‘regions’ that compose it. As Keating and McGarry (2001: 23) reckon, ‘at one time it was understood that the reference to nationalities covered only Catalonia, the Basque Country, and Galicia, but in 1996 the Spanish conservative government, inspired no doubt by the desire to dilute the meaning of the term, agreed to incorporate it in the autonomy statutes of Aragon and Valencia’. National identity is the sense of a nation as a cohesive whole. It refers to the set of tendencies and values derived from the feeling of belonging to a united group of people with distinctive traditions, history and culture. National identity is neither fixed nor alterable at will, and requires a periodical redefinition in light of historical characteristics, present needs and future aspirations, as Parekh (1995) remarks. A region is defined as the ‘territorial body of public law established at the level immediately below that of the state and endowed with political self-government’ (Article 1.1, Assembly of European Regions, 1996: 4). We use regions and territorial sub-units interchangeably throughout. In the vast majority of cases, separatist demands are oriented to supplying regions with independent state structures, so the concept is linked to that of secessionism. There are exceptions, however, as people in some regions would rather prefer to join another state, such as in South Tyrol (a phenomenon named ‘irredentism’; see Sorens, 2005: 308). See www.bsa.natcen.ac.uk/media/1149/bsa29_scottish_independence.pdf. The PSOE (Partido Socialista Obrero Español/Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party) is a state-wide social democratic party. Founded in 1879, it is currently the second party in the Spanish parliament (with 84 MPs after the 2016 general election). Former PSOE leaders Felipe González and José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero served as heads of the government in 1982–96 and 2004–11 respectively. Political disaffection is different from specific support in general on both theoretical and empirical grounds. Specific support relies on outcomes and specific policy performance, and it is empirically captured through political dissatisfaction (Gunther and Montero, 2006). See http://ec.europa.eu/COMMFrontOffice/PublicOpinion/index.cfm/Chart/ index. Part of this effect is explained by the poorer economic conditions left-wing governments faced while in office, as compared to their right-wing counterparts (Bartels, 2014). PSC-PSOE (Partit dels Socialistes de Catalunya/Socialists’ Party of Catalonia) is the Catalan branch of the PSOE – note that it also includes other Catalan social democratic forces. PSC-PSOE won the 2008 general election in the Catalan constituencies, but has suffered a dramatic loss of electoral support in recent times. PSC-PSOE has 16 (out of 135) seats in the Catalan Corts and 8 MPs (out of 47 Catalan seats) after the 2015 regional and 2016 general elections. The President of Catalonia Pasqual Maragall famously mentioned the ‘CiU’s problem is 3%’ in the Catalan parliament in 2005, referring to the illegal commissions that some businessmen were believed to have paid to CDC politicians in exchange for regional government contracts during Pujol’s terms in office.

186

Notes 19.

20.

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

26.

27.

28.

29.

30.

31.

The Scottish Labour Party is the Scottish branch of the British Labour Party. It had the largest share of the vote in Scotland in every UK general election from 1964 until 2015, when it lost to the SNP. The Scottish Labour Party is currently the third largest party in the Scottish Parliament, after losing 13 of its 37 seats and being surpassed by the Scottish Conservative Party in the 2016 Scottish parliamentary elections. The PP (Partido Popular/People’s Party) is a Christian democratic and conservative Spanish political party. Founded in 1989 out of the merger of the conservative AP (Alianza Popular/People’s Alliance) and other smaller liberal and Christian democratic forces, it is currently the main political party in Spain. Mariano Rajoy took over as leader of the party in 2004; Jose María Aznar served as leader of the executive (1996–2004). Mariano Rajoy took over as leader of the party in 2004, and has been head of the government since 2011. On top of the disappointing management of the Statute’s reform, other devolutionist strategies failed, such as the attempt to negotiate a new economic agreement that regulated tax relationship between Catalonia and Spain (the so-called ‘fiscal pact’, similar to the one already in existence for the Basque Country and Navarre). PDD (Plataforma pel Dret a Decidir/Platform for the Right to Decide) was a platform that existed between 2005 and 2012 and included around 700 organisations, 58 town councils and more than 4,000 members of Catalan civil society. The platform emerged in December 2005 to promote Catalan selfdetermination. AMI (Associació de Municipis per la Independència/Association of Municipalities for Independence) is a Catalan organisation of more than 700 town councils and other administration entities set up in December 2011 to achieve independence for Catalonia. ICV (Iniciativa per Catalunya Verds/Initiative for Catalonia Greens) is an ecosocialist Catalanist party. Founded in 1987, it has been represented in the Catalan parliament since 1988. Running as Catalunya Sí Que es Pot (Catalonia Yes We Can) and En Comú Podem (In Common We Can) platforms (together with Podemos, Barcelona en Comú/Barcelona in Common and other left-wing forces), ICV currently has four regional MPs and two MPs. AM2000 is a small, local pro-independence party exclusively based in Arenys de Munt. Cs (Ciudadanos/Citizens) is a centre-liberal and anti-nationalist (self-labelled as ‘post-nationalist’) political party. Formed in Catalonia in 2006, these days it is the main opposition party in the Catalan parliament (25 regional MPs) and the fourth largest state-wide party, with 32 MPs and more than 1,500 local councillors. ANC (Assemblea Nacional Catalana/National Catalan Assembly) is a an organisation with more than 80,000 members, created in 2011 with the aim of promoting the independence of Catalonia. By 2014, support for independence polled at around 50%, which for the ‘right to decide’ came in at over 80% (BOP, 2014). ‘Diada’ is the National Day of Catalonia, which commemorates the fall of Barcelona on 11 September 1714 during the War of the Spanish Succession. This 2009 report was the result of the Commission on Scottish Devolution launched by the three pro-Union parties and proposed the concession of greater taxation to the Scottish Parliament (Leith, 2010). SSP (Scottish Socialist Party) is a left-wing political party founded in 1998. Since 2015, the SSP has been affiliated to RISE-Scotland’s Left Alliance, an electoral

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32.

33.

alliance set up for the 2016 elections. The SSP put up four candidates in the 2016 elections, however, RISE failed to win any seats in the Scottish Parliament in 2016. RIC (Radical Independence Campaign) was launched in Glasgow in November 2012, aiming to promote a more progressive vision for Scotland. It was principally composed of the Green Party, the SSP and other left groups. Common Weal is a research centre which advocates for Scottish independence. It has a small number of full and part time staff. It produces policy reports and it operates CommonSpace, a blog with short form articles. It was founded in May 2013.

Three: The organisational strategies of movements in referendums from below 1.

2.

3.

4.

5. 6.

7.

It must also be acknowledged that the CiU did contain strains that have always been pro-independence, but this was not until recent times a majoritarian view. The former is the Catalan wing of the Spanish Socialist Party (PSOE). It is social democratic in nature but opposed to independence. The ICV is a green but strongly leftist party; it is not an outward supporter of independence but supports the right to self-determination and the holding of a referendum. It is seen as the Catalan wing of the Spanish leftist party Izquierda Unida (see Chapter Two). This tendency was realised also in the actual referendum result; 56.6% of women voted to remain in the union, compared with 46.8% of men. Details of the seminars are available at: www.scottishinsight.ac.uk/Programmes/ Programmes20122013/Constitutionalfutures.aspx The Senyera is the historic red and yellow striped Catalan flag. A rival anti-independence Diada organised by the Societat Civil Catalana in Tarragona attracted only 7,000 supporters. JxS (Junts pel Sí/Together for Yes) won 62 seats and the CUP-CC list won 10 seats, thus ensuring that a majority of deputies favoured independence.

Four: Framing strategies in referendums from below 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

This affection for the Union was evident in patterns of support for Scottish independence: older generations, which had been politically socialised in the post-war period and had personally benefited from state interventions in health and housing, tended to support the Union. In Catalan: ‘Vol que Catalunya esdevingui un Estat?’, And in case of an affirmative answer to the first question, ‘Vol que aquest Estat sigui independent?’ ‘The Spain of the 1978’ is an expression that refers to the restoration of democracy in Spain after the death of Franco in 1975. She has subsequently gone on to become an SNP MP, but she was not involved in party politics during the independence campaign. The Gurtel case is a major state-wide corruption case in Spain which covers bribery, money laundering and tax evasion. It implicates a big circle of politicians from the political party in power (Partido Popular) and many business people. The case was first uncovered by the Spanish newspaper El Pais.

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Five: Expanding the comparison: the water referendum in Italy 1.

2.

ATTAC (Association for the Taxation of financial Transactions and Aid to Citizens) is a transnational left-wing movement first established in France in 1998. A key actor in the anti-globalisation movement, it has spread to many countries across the world. ATTAC participates in struggles for social justice, financial redistribution, and transparency and environmental matters. A network of environmental and pacifist organisations active in the Global Justice Movement (della Porta et al, 2006).

Six: Referendums from below: some reflections 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

A key participatory advantage of referendums is that in many instances the ballot has been extended even beyond citizens to permanent residents of other citizenships, as occurred in Scotland. See Rybar and Sovcikova (2016) for a discussion on how movements in Slovakia successfully opposed a referendum opposing gay rights by refusing to run a campaign. See: www.publicissue.gr/en/2837/greek-referendum-2015-no-voterdemographics/ This refers to the 2009–11 financial crisis protests in Iceland because of the noisy use of pots and pans that were brought along to the protests. The Icelandic presidency is normally a ceremonial role with limited powers. Referendums are rare in Icelandic democracy – the last referendum before 2011 took place in 1944. Because the First Icesave bill was rejected outright by the governments of the Netherlands and the UK, it never became law. While in the first referendum on Icesave II voters feared the deal would block the country’s economic recovery, consensus was not so widespread regarding Icesave III, a deal more favourable to Iceland’s interests (for example, a ceiling for annual payments, fixed interest rate of 3%, and repayments set to take place between mid-2016 and 2046). These were a series of interstate militarised disputes between Iceland and the UK on fishing rights in the North Atlantic in the period 1958–71, which resulted in a very favourable agreement for Iceland. A 200-nautical-mile exclusive fishery zone was granted to the country after Icelandic threats to withdraw from NATO.

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216

Index

Index

5 Stars Movement, 143 15M/Indignados, 1, 42, 110-111

C

A Abrogative Referendum, 2, 5, 9, 15, 18, 129, 133 Acampadas, 11 Accountability, 9-10, 14-15, 100, 121, 147 Allies (Availability of) 16, 33, 35, 40, 67, 160, 174 Alternative World Water Forum, 135 Anti-Austerity Protest, 1-2, 11, 36, 50, 55, 107, 120, 138, 155, 160, 163, 167-169 Anti-Austerity Protests, Iceland, 173-74 Appropriation of Opportunities, 9, 17, 35, 37, 39, 42, 54, 57, 66, 130, 159-161 Arenys de Munt, 58-59, 89 Assemblea Nacional Catalana/National Catalan Assembly (ANC), 60, 71, 76, 80, 88-91, 92, 96-97, 111, 120, 126; 162-163, 187 Associació de Municipis per la Independència/Association of Municipalities for Independence (AMI) 58; 187 Associazione Rete Nuovo Municipio, 136 Austerity, 1-2, 29, 34-35, 41, 43, 5055, 66, 81, 104, 113, 115, 117, 119121, 130, 133, 153, 163-169, 173

B Barcelona en Comú 42; 96; 187 Beni Comuni Movement (Commons Movement), 129, 132, 153-155 Better Together Campaign, 113, 114, 122, 123, 124 Brexit, 4, 19, 162

Calman Report, 62 Campaign, 6-9, 12-17 Campaign, Catalonia, 40-42, 57-62, 65-66, 70-72, 77-80, 92-96, 109112, 115-126 Campaign, Scotland, 40-42, 62-66, 70-72, 77-80, 92-96, 112-126 Campaign, Greece, 167-170 Candidatura d’Unitat Popular/Popular Unity Candidacy (CUP), 40, 58-60, 74, 76-77, 91, 95-96, 106, 109, 120, 126, 185-188 Canvassing, 78, 82-84, 96, 162 Capitalism, 50, 131, 136, 138, 155 Catalan independentism 88, 41, 52-54, 65 Catalan Regional Government/ Generalitat de Catalunya, 39-40, 45, 51, 57, 60-61, 75-76, 92, 105, 185 Catalan Regional Parliament/Corts, 45, 57-60, 88, 186 Catalan Via, 90-92 Citizen-initiated referendums, 3, 4, 18-19, 129 Citizens’ initiative, 2, 139, 141, 155 Ciudadanos/Citizens (Cs) 59-60, 109, 187 Collective identities, 23 Comitato referendario ‘Due SI per l’acqua bene comune’(‘Referendum committee: Two Yeses for Water as a Common Good), 136 Commons, 133, 135, 137, 142, 146155, 165-166 Common Weal, 64, 80, 94, 188 Community (frame), 150-152 Companys, Lluís, 74 Conservative Party, 39, 73, 106, 159 Constitutional Assembly (Iceland), 177-178 Constitutional Council (Iceland), 179

217

Index Social movements and referendums from below Constitutional Draft (Iceland), 176, 179-181 Constitutional provisions, 3 Convergència Democràtica de Catalunya/Democratic Convergence of Catalonia (CDC), 56, 73-74, 185-186 Convergència i Unió/Convergence and Union (CiU), 40, 56-60, 62, 71, 74-95, 105, 109, 120-121, 126, 185-188 Corruption, 32, 56-57, 66, 74, 121, 171, 173, 185, 188 Counter-Framing strategies, 121-126 Critical Junctures, 1, 31, 41-42, 66, 101, 153, 160, 181 Crowdsourced Constitutional Process (Iceland), 175-181 Cultural Heritage, 43, 92, 102-103 Currency, 113, 117, 119, 123, 159, 170 Cycle of mobilisation, 69, 127, 160 Centralised organisational structures, 67, 78, 80-91, 137-139

Esquerra Republican de Catalunya/ Republican Left of Catalonia (ERC), 59-60, 72, 74-77, 88-89, 93, 185 European Union (EU), 1, 59, 74, 89, 112, 125, 130, 166 European integration (referendums on), 24 European Social Forum, 35-36, 138 Eventful protest, 22-23, 163

F

Deliberative democracy, 11-13, 15, 121-126, 165-166 Democracy, 54, 108, 115, 120-121, 150-52 Democracy, conceptions in social movements, 5 Democracy, conceptions of, 5-6, 9 Democracy, degree of, 4 Demonstration, 26, 56-58, 64, 71, 7879, 88, 162-163, 167-169 Devo-max, 40, 62-64, 108, 159 Diada, Catalan, 61, 71, 88, 90-92, 187 Direct democracy, 5, 10, 122, 141, 157 Discoursive qualities, 157

Feminist networks, 86 Financial crisis, 1, 35, 43, 54, 153, 159, 166, 170 Fiscal deficit/despoliation, 51 Forum Italiano dei Movimenti per l’Acqua (FIMA, Italian Forum of the Movements for Water), 137139, 141 Frame, 25, 36, 99, 102, 108, 109, 115 Frame, Democratic Achievement, 120 Frame, Democratic-Emancipatory, 34-35, 99, 115, 120-121, 127 Frame, Diagnostic, 25-26, 122 Frame, Economic Insecurity, 123 Frame, Institutional Unfairness, 105, 111 Frame, National-Identity, 101-103, 115-117 Frame, Prognostic, 26-27 Frame, Socioeconomic, 104-105, 117, 119-120, 123, 125 Frame bridging, 28, 99, 164 Framing, 24-28, 34-35, 36, 99, 108, 115 Framing, in Iceland, 174-175 Framing, in Water Referendum, 145 Franco, General Francisco, 74, 108

E

G

Elections, 1, 5, 10-17, 20-21, 26, 37, 55, 63, 69, 95 Election 2003, Scottish Assembly, 76-77 Elections 2007, Scottish Assembly, 62, 75 Election 2011, Scottish Assembly, 75, 104 Elections 1977, General Spanish elections, 75 Electoral campaign, 15, 17, 70 Electoral system, 95, 178 Elites, 6-8, 40, 54, 62, 126

Global Justice Movement, 35, 78, 138, 161 Government-initiated referendums, 19 Grassroots movements, 63, 78, 80, 91, 94, 115, 118, 135, 137, 139 Grievance formation, 32, 39-42, 48, 52, 66, 160 Grimmson, Olafur, 172, 174

D

I Icesave referendums, 170 Independence (referendums on), 29-31 Independence Party, 172

218

Index Iniciativa per Catalunya Verds/Initiative for Catalonia Green (ICV), 58-60, 75-76, 88, 93, 107-110, 126, 187 Information, 12 Initiative for referendums, 18 Institutional design, 18, 158 Issue ownership, 26-27 Issue salience, 8, 24, 27-28 Issue familiarity, 7 Italian Committee for the World Water Contract (Comitato italiano per un Contratto mondiale sull’acqua – CICMA), 134

Partido Socialista Obrero Español/ Partit dels Socialistes de Catalunya (Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party/ Socialists’ Party of Catalonia) (PSOE/ PSC- PSOE), 52-60, 75, 93, 106, 109, 186-188 Parties, 20-21, 157 Parties, pro-independence, 72-77 Partito Democratico (Democratic Party, PD), 136 Party-movement interactions, 69, 7677, 81, 92-96 Peoples’ World Water Forum, 141 Plataforma pel Dret de Decidir/ Platform for the Right to Decide (PDD), 50, 61, 80, 88-90, 109-111, 162, 187 Plebiscite, 2 Podemos, 42, 96, 107, 111, 187 Political opportunities, 1, 16-17, 21, 34, 37-42, 57, 93, 97, 132, 159-160 Political legitimacy, 33-34, 41, 49, 67, 160 Prefigurative politics, 70, 77-78, 81, 86-87, 91, 97, 133, 161-167, 177 Privatisation of banks, 171 Privatisation of water supply, 129, 131 Pujol, Jordi, 56, 74, 104, 121, 185

L Labour, 56, 72, 79, 107, 124, 159, 187 Left, 52-53, 57, 121, 127, 157

M Maragall, Pasqual, 57, 186 Master frame, 109 Memorandum of understanding, 166, 169 Memory, 164 Moral framing, 149 Moreno Question 46-47 Multiple identities 45 Municipal referendums, Catalonia, 5859, 69-71, 88-91

R

N Nation state, 32, 48-49 Nationalism, 1, 29, 34, 42-43, 51-53, 74-77, 88, 92, 99, 106-117, 121, 127, 165 Civic nationalism, 100, 102 Ethnonationalism, 116 Neoliberalism, 1, 41, 50, 53, 117, 130, 155, 164-165 New Politics, 4-5

O Organisational networks, 23, 89, 91, 153 Oil, 51, 123 Òmnium Cultural (OC), 60, 71, 80, 91-92, 96, 126, 162, 183 Opinion polls, 108, 122-123, 164, 167, 168

P Participatory democracy, 11-13 Participatory qualities, 11 Partido Popular/Popular Party (PP), 5660, 109, 187-188

Radical Independence Campaign (RIC), 64, 71, 76, 80-84, 95-97, 119, 124, 164 Rajoy, Mariano, 56, 60, 187 Real Democracy, 110 Referendum, 9-N, 53, 61, 165 Referendum, definition, 3 Referendums from below, definition, 2 Referendums studies, 7-8 Referendums, number of, 4 Referendums, questions, 108-109 Referendum, voting Patterns, 82 Repertoires of contention, 21-24, 33, 77, 122 Repertoires of contention, in Water referendum, 140-45 Resource mobilisation, 35, 80, 97, 161-164 Resource mobilisation, in Italian water referendum, 133 Respect Independence Socialism Environmentalism (RISE) 96; 188 Right to Decide, 35, 55, 58, 92, 101, 108-112

219

Index Social movements and referendums from below Rodotà Commission, 131-32, 148-48 Rodotà, Stefano, 131

The National Conversation, 62 Treaty of Union 1707, 49, 107

S

U

Salmond, Alex, 62-65, 73, 106, 119 Saucepan Revolution, 170 Self-Determination/Self-Rule, 2, 29, 44, 48, 58, 60, 74, 99, 101-103, 107-111, 115, 118-119, 127, 163165, 185 Self-management, 10 Scottish Devolution Referendum 1979, 72, 107 Scottish Green Party, 76-77, 93 Scottish independentism, 41, 52-54, 62, 65 Scottish National Party (SNP), 39-40, 56, 62-66, 71-81, 85-86, 93-95, 103-119, 122, 126, 159-164, 185188 Scottish Parliament/Assembly/ Holyrood, 62, 63, 75, 76, 77, 93, 104, 107, 108, 112, 187, 188 Scottish Socialist Party (SSP), 63, 65, 77, 79, 81, 93-96, 105-107, 118119, 187-188 Sheridan, Tommy, 77; 96 Social Forums, 134, 163 Social justice, 79, 99, 101-102, 106, 111, 113, 115, 119-120, 124, 146, 164, 165 Social media, 142-145, 163-164 Social movements, 1-2, 16-18 Social movement studies, 7-9, 21, 37-38 Social movements, Pro-independence, 80-92 Sovereignty, 61, 101-102, 152, 165, 169 National sovereignty, 2, 41, 43, 49, 69-70, 88, 96, 99, 107, 110, 112, 115, 123, 169, 174-175 Spanish Constitution 1978, 41, 45, 58, 61, 186 Spanish Constitutional Court, 39, 5861, 88, 110, 129, 162-163 State of Autonomies, 45 Statute of Autonomy, 40, 57-59; 62, 88, 110, 160, 162 Syriza, 166-68

Unió Democràtica de Catalunya/ Democratic Union of Catalunya (UDC), 74, 185-186 Unions, 40, 124, 135

V Voter registration, 78, 82-83, 96 Voters (sociography of), 81, 162, 16869

W Water Referendum, Italy, 129-130 Wee Blue Book, 84 Welfare State, 27, 50, 53, 72, 104, 107, 110, 117, 124 Women for Independence (WFI), 71, 80, 85–87, 97

Y Yes Marchmont, 82-84, 124 Yes Scotland Campaign, 63-64, 82-84, 85, 94, 112-119, 124

Z Zapatero, José Luis Rodríguez, 57, 186

T Teatro Valle, 154-55 Territorial accommodation, 41, 55, 66 Thatcher, Margaret, 51-52, 73, 105106

220

“In this supremely readable and interesting book, Donatella della Porta, the foremost scholar of social movements, and her colleagues address the role of ‘referendums from below’, a timely and yet surprisingly understudied phenomenon. The book provides a very valuable contribution to the literature on direct democracy as well as an important contribution to political science.” Matt Qvortrup, Coventry University Over recent years, social movements formed in response to European neoliberal austerity measures have played an increasingly important role in referendums. This is the first book to bridge the gap between social movement studies and research on direct democracy. It draws on social movement theory to understand the nature of popular mobilisation in referendums. Co-authored by one of the world’s leading authorities on social movements, the book uses unique case studies such as the referendum on independence in Scotland, the consultations on independence in Catalonia, the Italian referendum on water, the referendum on the Troika proposals in Greece and the referendum on the debt repayment in Iceland, to illustrate the ways the social movements that formed as a consequence of the 2008 financial crash have affected the referendums’ dynamic and results. It also addresses the way in which participation from below has had a transformative impact on the organisational strategies and framing practices used in the campaigns. Looking at general issues of democracy, as well as the political effects of neoliberalism, this topical book is ideally suited to understand the reasons for the Brexit result and will be read by a wide audience interested in social movements, referendums and democratic innovation. Donatella della Porta is professor of political science, director of the Center on social movement studies (Cosmos) and dean of the Institute for Humanities and the social Sciences at the Scuola Normale Superiore in Florence. Francis O’Connor is a senior researcher at the Peace Research Institute Frankfurt (PRIF). Martin Portos is a research fellow at the Scuola Normale Superiore in Florence. Anna Subirats Ribas is at the European University Institute. ISBN 978-1-4473-3341-8

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Social movements and referendums from below della Porta, O’Connor, Portos and Subirats Ribas

“This timely and original book bridges the gap between social movement studies and research on direct democracy. Donatella della Porta and her co-authors forcefully show how social movements shape the dynamics of referendum campaigns in times of economic and political crises.” Swen Hutter, European University Institute

SOCIAL MOVEMENTS AND REFERENDUMS FROM BELOW Direct democracy in the neoliberal crisis

Donatella della Porta Francis O’Connor Martin Portos Anna Subirats Ribas