Author name: 胡思

The primary issue with local governance in England is not the incompetence of local authorities, but rather that they are institutionally designed to fail. Power and resources are highly concentrated in Westminster, leaving local governments with responsibilities but no corresponding control. Over time, this systemic flaw has become evident.

One of the fundamental limitations of local councils is that they bear significant statutory responsibilities without having control over the relevant resources. Social welfare, adult care, children’s services, and special educational needs are all mandated by law, and demand continues to rise with an aging population and social changes. However, local governments lack sufficient financial tools to respond, relying instead on central government funding settlements, which have tightened over the past two decades. Consequently, local authorities are forced to ‘rob Peter to pay Paul’ among statutory services, sacrificing long-term beneficial investments—such as in transport, culture, and economic development—first.

In 2004, the Labour government attempted to establish a regional assembly in the North East of England, marking the first elected regional government in England. However, it was rejected in a referendum by nearly 78% of voters. This failure is often oversimplified as ‘the English do not want local autonomy,’ but the more direct reason was that the assembly lacked real power and stable financial sources while seeking to replace existing county councils. Voters saw no tangible benefits, only an additional layer of political structure, and their rejection was unsurprising.

Subsequently, the UK shifted towards promoting combined authorities, merging multiple local governments into larger administrative units with some functions delegated by the central government, along with elected mayors. While this arrangement appears pragmatic, it still fails to address the core power structure.

For instance, the North East is currently covered by two combined authorities: the North East Combined Authority and the Tees Valley Combined Authority. On the surface, they are no different from the regional assembly that was rejected years ago; the problem remains that they are merely administrative arrangements, not political entities. They lack their own councils, independent legislative powers, and stable, predictable financial foundations.

Even more perplexing is their decision-making mechanism. Major decisions within a combined authority often require repeated negotiations between elected mayors and leaders of all member local councils. If consensus cannot be reached, decision-making stagnates. This is neither parliamentary democracy nor a single executive leadership system, but rather a highly consultative, low-accountability hybrid. When policy failures occur, voters find it difficult to determine whom to hold accountable.

London is one of the few exceptions. In addition to having a mayor, London also has the London Assembly, which provides scrutiny, oversight, and public debate, at least forming a basic structure for democratic checks and balances. However, this system has not been replicated in other regions of England.

Another structural issue is that local and regional governments must continually ‘bid’ to Westminster. Whether for transport, housing, skills training, or urban renewal, local authorities must draft proposals to compete for centrally-led funding, akin to participating in a beauty pageant, catering to the policy preferences of the current minister. Resource allocation is not based on local long-term needs but rather on the central government’s current political priorities.

If local authorities truly controlled their resources, the issues could be much simpler. They could independently determine budget allocations, balancing transport, education, public health, and economic development, rather than passively executing Whitehall’s directives. The essence of local politics should be about trade-offs and accountability, not incessantly writing bids and awaiting approvals.

Therefore, the truly reasonable direction for reform is not to further patch up combined authorities but to complete the long-overdue constitutional arrangements in England. By establishing eight new regional assemblies along existing English regional boundaries, these would be placed on an institutional level equivalent to London, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. Clearly defining their legislative powers, financial rights, and areas of responsibility would allow for the devolution of both resources and power.

This is not radical reform but rather institutional catch-up. Only when England finally possesses a political structure commensurate with its scale can local governance truly mature, allowing Westminster to disengage from the minutiae of local affairs. The problem in England has never been that localities are incapable, but rather that the central government exerts too much control and detail.

In the political landscape of the United Kingdom, London has never been the sole centre. At the eastern end of Edinburgh, beneath Arthur’s Seat and opposite Holyrood Palace, stands a building that is bizarre in shape, fragmented in lines, yet highly symbolic. It quietly embodies Scotland’s three-century quest for ‘devolution’. This is not an ordinary local council; it is a constitutionally recognised national parliament—the Scottish Parliament.

Scotland’s incorporation into the United Kingdom was not an overnight affair. In 1603, King James VI of Scotland ascended to the English throne, forming a ‘Union of the Crowns’, while both countries retained their own parliaments and legal systems. The true merger occurred in 1707 with the passage of the Acts of Union, which merged the Scottish and English parliaments into the Parliament of Great Britain, centralising sovereignty in Westminster. Although Scotland retained its legal system, church, and education system, political decision-making power was removed from Edinburgh. This state of ‘retained institutions, withdrawn power’ created a sense of unease for the next three centuries.

By the end of the 20th century, this tension was finally addressed. In 1997, the Labour government held a referendum asking whether Scotland should establish a devolved parliament and grant it limited tax powers. The results were clear and emphatic: over 70% supported the establishment of a parliament, and nearly 60% backed tax powers. The following year, the Scotland Act was passed, and in 1999, the Scottish Parliament officially returned to Edinburgh. This was not independence, but ‘devolution’—a system that acknowledges the reality of multi-layered governance within a single sovereign state.

The logic of power in the Scottish Parliament is fundamentally different from that of local governments in England. It operates not on a ‘central grant of permissions’ basis, but rather on the principle that ‘everything is devolved except reserved matters’. Reserved matters include core sovereign domains such as foreign affairs, defence, immigration, macroeconomics, and monetary policy; all other areas, such as education, healthcare, transport, housing, local government, environment, and criminal justice, are legislated and executed by Scotland itself. This has enabled Scotland to implement free university education, prescription-free medications, and a public health and energy policy distinct from that of England. This is not symbolic autonomy, but substantive governance.

The institution that embodies this system is a building that also rejects tradition. The Scottish Parliament building, designed by Spanish architect Enric Miralles, was inaugurated in 2004. It lacks grand domes and classical colonnades, instead featuring an asymmetric structure, fragmented lines, and a mix of wood and stone. The exterior’s ‘panels’ have been described as inverted boats and abstract human figures, symbolising the people; the entire building opens up to the city rather than towering over it. Critics have labelled it expensive, chaotic, and difficult to understand, but like Scotland’s constitutional status, it was never intended to please those accustomed to simple answers.

This parliament is not out of reach. It has long offered free tours led by trained guides who explain the workings of the parliament, the architectural philosophy, and the political context. Visitors can enter the debating chamber, sit in the public gallery, and observe how a devolved government discusses public affairs up close. These tours are not merely sightseeing; they serve as a concrete and honest form of civic education. For anyone concerned about the future of the UK and how ‘devolution’ and ‘unity’ can coexist, spending an hour here is worthwhile.

The Scottish Parliament reminds us that the UK is not a nation of a single rhythm, but a composite upheld by historical compromises. Power is not merely concentrated or fragmented; there remains space for institutional design in between. The issue is not whether the system is perfect, but whether it allows different regions to respond to their own issues in their own ways. This building stands at the foot of a hill—not high, but very real.

Recently, a term that had been deliberately set aside after Brexit has resurfaced in British politics: customs union. Health Secretary Wes Streeting publicly stated that the UK should no longer consider rejoining the EU customs union as a taboo. This remark is particularly striking as it exposes a harsh reality: under the Labour Party’s current three red lines, the institutional friction between the UK and the EU cannot be genuinely repaired.

This is not the first time senior Labour figures have signaled a similar message. Deputy Prime Minister and Justice Secretary David Lammy has indicated that establishing closer economic ties with the EU is a pragmatic choice. He specifically mentioned Turkey as an example: although Turkey is not an EU member, it is within the customs union and ‘seems to be benefiting from it, with its economy continuing to grow.’ The implication here is quite clear.

Many still question: Did not the UK sign a free trade agreement with the EU? The issue lies precisely here: free trade agreements address ‘whether there are tariffs’ but do not resolve ‘how to cross borders.’ Rules of origin, repeated customs declarations, compliance documents, and border checks create a set of invisible yet costly non-tariff barriers. For industries reliant on just-in-time logistics, such as automotive, chemicals, food, and pharmaceuticals, these frictions are the key factors that slow down investment and compel companies to rethink their operations.

The substantial benefit of a customs union lies in the removal of these institutional frictions all at once. Member states do not need to provide proof of origin, goods do not require repeated customs declarations, and borders become almost a formality. This is not an abstract system but rather a reflection of time and costs manifested daily at Dover, in warehouses, and on supply chain ledgers. The simpler the system, the higher the competitiveness.

Of course, rejoining the customs union is not without its costs: the UK would lose its independent tariff policy space and may have to restart trade negotiations with countries like Australia, New Zealand, the United States, and India with which it has already signed trade agreements. However, in terms of scale, proximity, and industrial structure, the EU remains the UK’s largest, closest, and most complementary trading partner, far outweighing any single country. Most trade agreements the UK has signed in recent years have limited economic benefits and cannot offset the long-term losses caused by the decline in trade with the EU. The costs of institutional friction accumulate daily in reality.

Labour officials are not the first to propose this route. The Liberal Democrats have long advocated that the UK should rejoin the EU customs union, while the Green Party has gone further, openly calling for rejoining the EU. These past proposals were seen as fringe voices, but they are gradually moving towards the mainstream for a simple reason: politicians are finally catching up with public opinion.

The resurgence of the customs union is not a nostalgic political move but an attempt at institutional repair. It may not be the endpoint, but it is likely the only halfway house that can materially improve the functioning of the UK economy without restarting a referendum or fully returning to the single market. Whether the UK is willing to acknowledge this is the real question worth observing.