Tim Luckhurst: I can no longer support this sleazy, squalid and corrupt political party

'Time and again, guilty men are identified, investigated, convicted and warmly encouraged to stay in office'

For years I tried to ignore the rising tide of sewage which convinced less partial minds that sleaze and Scottish Labour were as happy in each other's company as Posh and Becks. I had form. Taking the stage to hear the result of the 1987 election in Roxburgh and Berwickshire was a moment of pure pride. I had fought a parliamentary contest and won just short of 3,000 votes for my beloved Labour Party. It was hardly anything to e-mail mum about, but it felt good, just as working for Donald Dewar and Labour's shadow cabinet felt honourable, a better use of my brain than raking in money in the City as my university contemporaries did.

As the Monklands scandal emerged followed by allegations of votes sold in return for luxury trips on Labour controlled Glasgow City Council, I maintained a closed mind. I had quit the party to work as a journalist, believing as I still do that reporters should not be members of political parties; but still I had faith.

Then came tales of bullying, intimidation and protection money in Paisley, the suicide of Gordon McMaster, scandal piled upon fraud in North Lanarkshire and the local authority plumber gifted £54,000 in bonuses from the public purse.

Already I knew enough to understand that municipal sleaze was rife and that my heroes, Donald Dewar and John Smith, tolerated it because to do otherwise was to risk exposing a culture so deep-rooted that it might shatter the entire edifice of Scottish Labour hegemony.

I convinced myself that the petty villains of Scotland's one-party city states were members of a different species. Their little frauds and routine division of spoils had no place in the higher echelons of my party. They were the tragic progeny of poverty and injustice. Their poison did not spread upwards.

Then came home rule and proof that the new broom promised by Donald Dewar bore closer resemblance to a rotting mop, smearing corruption across everything it touched. The Scottish Parliament had hardly drawn breath when Northern Ireland Secretary John Reid's son Kevin was criticised during the Lobbygate scandal. The Parliamentary Commissioner for Standards was invited to investigate allegations that Scottish Labour MPs had used their research allowances to finance political campaigns.

It was hard to deny that the taint of sleaze was spreading. Conservatives wept with frustration and demanded to know what we had expected. If local government personnel were handed control of a proper parliament, surely they would simply play their old tricks with greatly expanded coffers?

Henry McLeish, Scotland's first minister is under siege, following evidence that he claimed at least £9,000 of public money to which he was not entitled – and Tory MPs allege it could be as much as £40,000 – and strenuously denied any wrongdoing. McLeish's offence was to rent an office in his former Westminster constituency at public expense while sub-letting space to a firm of solicitors at a commercial price. The income should have been declared and refunded to the Fees Office of the House of Commons. It wasn't.

McLeish had to refund £9,000. The discrepancy between that sum, repaid after six months of denials, and the larger figure arises because it is not clear how long McLeish's earner was operating. In Scotland, Labour politicians never go into details about such matters.

Scotland is witnessing a familiar, sickening charade. When a member of the Labour elite is caught red-handed, a well-rehearsed backlash swings into operation. Those who report evidence of wrongdoing are lambasted for "dragging politics into the gutter". Opposition politicians who dare to demand explanations are pilloried for bringing devolution into disrepute. It is a national game called crucify the messenger, but with the added component of establishment support.

Last week this weapon was deployed with nauseating vigour by no less a figure than Sir David Steel, Presiding Officer of the Scottish Parliament, the equivalent of Westminster's Speaker. Steel intervened in questions to the First Minister to prevent the Scottish Conservative leader David McLetchie interrogating McLeish about his misconduct. Steel, whose job is to defend democracy against ministers, not the reverse, employed a novel argument. The Scottish Parliament had no remit in this area he said. McLeish's offence had been committed against the House of Commons. Then, in an act of breathtaking self-contradiction, Steel permitted the devolved parliament to debate the war in Afghanistan, a matter for which Edinburgh politicians have no responsibility. It was a moment of shame.

McLeish calls claiming money to which he was not entitled an "error". He will repay, he has no choice, but having insisted he did nothing wrong (he says the money was paid into his business account and that he made no personal gain), he will not contemplate the possibility he may be found guilty as charged. The first minister knows what he is doing. Resignation and the acceptance of responsibility are alien concepts to the Scottish Left. Time and again men are identified, investigated; in effect charged, convicted and then warmly encouraged to remain in office. Decent, honest colleagues who know better persuade themselves that the party and the devolution project matter far more than pious principles, such as integrity in public life.

That, not differences of opinion over policy, is why I can no longer support the party. I remember the days when scrupulous integrity was a prerequisite for office. A tale from the era of the 1945 Labour government makes the point. John Belcher MP had risen from humble origins to Parliamentary Under Secretary in Attlee's administration. Allegations emerged that Mr Belcher had accepted gifts in return for a small favour. Belcher was sacked from his ministerial position, expelled from the Commons, kicked out of the party and forced to return to his previous job on the railways.

Scotland must declare that sleaze is incompatible with office. Scots in public life must understand the offence is not getting caught, nor daring to talk about it, but behaving improperly in the first place. If that can be the result of what the Scottish papers call 'Officegate', then Henry McLeish will serve a finer purpose by leaving office than he has ever served as first minister.

TimLckhrst@aol.com

The writer is a former editor of 'The Scotsman'