Scotland Land Reform

Roughly half of Scottish private land is owned by just 432 people – the highest concentration of land ownership in the developed world. Basically parts of Scotland are like those streets in London that are owned as assets by the super-rich rather than real living parts of the city. Except in this case its multi-acre estates rather than agreeable Georgian terraces. People in the Highlands aren’t exactly serfs toiling for their stoney faced feudal overlords anymore but the concentrated land ownership still creates a set of problems. A lot of the land owners don’t actually live there and so tend to be more into treating land as a private playground than developing any industry which might lead to jobs and economic development for the locals. Reformers say that basing your economy on country sports (even if it’s selling “authentic” hunting experiences to rich tourists rather than actual hunter-gathering) isn’t a great way to run things these days. They also say that the lack of remaining land at affordable prices creates a housing shortage. And, of course, concentrating land ownership in the hands of a few hundred people is pretty bad from a social equality point of view.

But the situation might be about to change. A growing demand for fairness has led to a review of Scottish land reform. The Scottish Land Reform Review Group was set up by the Scottish government in 2012 and is due to report in April. It’s not the first attempt to sort things out – the 2003 Land Reform Act was supposed to allow communities, under certain conditions, to purchase land from unwilling landowners, but this has never actually been put into practice. The SNP is under pressure to give teeth to the community right to buy, and reform land regulation to bring about greater diversity of ownership – meaning that the land may no longer be largely owned by and handful of lairds who insist that only they are qualified to steward the pristine environment.

Simon Boult

I recently decided that the best way to investigate this ancient way of life would be to go and take potshots at defenceless wildlife for sport. Deer stalking is a traditional highland pursuit and I thought it would take me back through the centuries and help me get to the bottom of the feudal land ownership system. Waking up in a highland estate, I stumbled out of bed and lit the freestanding fire of my lochside cottage. I then sat down to breakfast with the gamekeeper, Simon Boult. I probably wouldn’t usually choose black pudding, but it really hits the spot after too much locally distilled Talisker whiskey the night before.

On the way to the stalking grounds, I asked Simon what he thought about the reforms. He pulled out an e-cigarette, at odds with his immaculate top-to-toe tweeds, and took a puff. "Some landowners are good and some are bad," he said, "but rich ones bring the money in". Driving through Ardtornish Estate's 35,000 acres, it's clear that the Raven family, who have owned the land for three generations, are on the side of the good guys. Boult shows me the hydro-electric dams they have built to invest in renewable energy, and we pass one of the shepherds whose parents and grandparents also worked on this land. The estate is the biggest employer in Morvern parish, with twenty full-time staff, around half of whom are local.

Hugh Raven's castle.

Having helped me murder my first defenceless animal for light entertainment, I felt a special bond with Simon and I stared to see things his way. As he smeared my cheeks with the blood of the first deer that I killed, I thought to myself, “What’s so wrong with this way of life?” The Ravens seemed to be living proof of the arguments made by bodies like Scottish Land and Estates, who represent landowners and are against the reforms. They say estates give back to the Scottish economy, as country sports contribute £350 million per year. Meanwhile, shooting, stalking and fishing ensure that the environment is well preserved. I passed the 12th century castle where Hugh and his family live, but he was away skiing, so I gave him a call. "We're different to other estates", he admitted. "We have our ear to the ground." Raven said he was saddened by the number of landowners who don't live on their land. He also said he has advised Lisbet Rausing, the daughter of Tetrapak billionaire Hans Rausing, on how to manage her 52,000 acre estate near Fort William, when she's not at her home in West London.

In Edinburgh, I decided to talk to Andy Wightman, known as the “scourge of the landowners”, to hear the other side of the argument. Wightman is the most prominent land rights campaigner in Scotland. I met him in an organic cafe populated by the sort of people who would probably perform some sort of ritualistic display of grief if they knew that I had just slaughtered a sentient being in cold blood just because I thought it was a decent way to kill some time. Wightman had heard of Hugh Raven, and acknowledged that he runs the land well. But management, apparently, is not the point. “This is about the fundamental architecture of power,” he says. The jealous guarding of the land by the very few is bad for equality and social mobility in Scotland. It sets up a barrier between rich and poor, as “owning land defines you as a separate class… property is a fetish”. Wightman’s latest book, The Poor Had No Lawyers, explains how current patterns of land ownership inhibit development, particularly under absent landowners who have no interest, financial or otherwise, in investing in the land. The Land Reform Review has been tasked to encourage development through breaking up Scotland’s huge estates and building “stronger, resilient” communities with a greater stake in the land.

Wightman believes this is not just a Scottish issue, as “land is at the heart of the financial crisis”. He claims that tax avoidance runs into the “hundreds of millions”. He has a point, as agriculture, hunting and fishing, are exempted from business rates. On top of that, inheritance taxes “are almost voluntary” and don’t even apply on land owned by Trusts, who instead pay a sum every ten years that again "can be avoided in various ways", as Wightman tells me. The unregulated nature of land ownership leaves the door open to such dangers as money-laundering and creative accounting for off-shore firms and individuals, that can buy up huge tracts of land to take advantage of the tax exemptions. Wightman has claimed in the past that £72 million a year is lost on average to the Treasury in foregone  tax through the offshore ownership of rural Scotland. And the investment itself is not a bad deal, as land in Scotland has seen its value increase by 204 percent in the past 10 years alone, according to estate agents Knight Frank.

Somewhere along the line, I had lost my enthusiasm for Ardtornish Estate. It’s fun to live like an 18th century aristocrat, but lots of things manage to fall into both the category, "fun" and the category, "not conducive to the succesful running of a modern country. Not far from Ardtornish is the stately home of the 13th Duke of Argyll, used in the Christmas episode of Downtown Abbey last year. Wealthy tourists are now flocking to the estate for a taste of upper-class life and to gaze down as their forebears did upon the plebs herding the sheep. But nowadays, rather than a class of ruthless wool barons, we have Donald Trump with his golfing monstrosity or the Arab billionaire Maher al-Tajir, known for owning 5,000 acres in Dunblane and recently for assaulting his mistress. Benevolent caretakers do exist, as I saw with Hugh Raven. But who will he choose to inherit Ardtornish? Under Britain’s age-old ‘beneficial ownership’ system, registered owners of land and property are under no obligation to reveal their identity. Not only do Scottish people not have a say on how the land is used; they don’t even know who owns it. It’s fluke whether you get a Raven or a Trump.

Perhaps landowners today won’t be able to hand their estates down to their children. The SNP appear bent on shaking up the system. Paul Wheelhouse, the SNP’s Environment Minister, told BBC Scotland recently, “I’m confident that the land reform review group will come up with radical proposals – that’s what we charged them to do”. Even if the review of the Land Reform Act doesn’t deliver the goods in April, reform will remain on the table. Many believe the party will keep its powder dry until after the independence referendum. Land is already a devolved issue, but the lairds still see a "Yes" vote for an independent Scotland as a potential threat. Alex Salmond doesn’t want to make enemies of such a concentration of wealth and influence before the Referendum takes place on the 18th of September. Afterwards, however, they may play a different tune. Independence is sure to prompt a reassessment of what policies are in the best interest of the Scottish people, and shine a light on the cosy consensus between the political class and the landowners.

It’s hard not to be charmed by the life of a Highlands estate. A fire, a tumbler of whisky, a lone stag’s silhouette against the wind-blasted skies in the sights of your shotgun – what could be better? Even Bob Dylan has bought one. But fun though it may be to be a time travelling tourist going back to a feudal age, it looks like the Highlands may be joining the 21st Century whether the lairds like it or not.