Comment: Jenny Hjul: Skulking in the shadows is no way to run a country

Yet in Scotland they are developing something of a reputation for their retiring natures. The town council mentality of many of our MSPs pervades the government, which finds the public, let alone the press, terrorising.

Take Frank McAveety, the minister for culture, sport and tourism. McAveety, a proud Glaswegian, should be able to look after himself, you would have thought, be quite capable of deflecting a few poisonous barbs and heckling back at the hecklers.

But, no. Far from it. On the campaign trail in Govanhill last April, the minister was accosted by two anti-Iraq war protesters. He described their alleged swearing and shouting as “the worst intimidation in his life”. So badly did he take fright that the peaceniks were brought before the courts on harassment charges.

The judge, obviously a man of the world, found the plaintiff “naive”. “If this was the most frightening thing he has ever experienced, then he must have led a very sheltered life,” said High Sheriff Graeme Warner.

“It is unrealistic of a cabinet minister to think he cannot attract attention on the streets, especially at a time of war.”

All the tormentors had asked was whether the minister was not horrified by what was going on in Iraq (and at the swimming baths, which his party helped shut down). Surely, said Warner, in our society, one can express such views to a politician? Not to Labour politicians in Scotland. How times have changed since the days when political characters were built on dust-ups with the public.

During the 1979 election, James Callaghan’s finest hour was taking on the Troops Out rabble and delivering a tongue-lashing which belied his avuncular image. And David Owen leapt up from the podium at a Social Democrats conference in Portsmouth after two hits from tomatoes and chased his assailants from the hall. Then there is John Prescott, always ready for a lively exchange with the man on the street.

Politics is a rough game and politicians, said Warner, are fair game. But here, Labour politicians recoil at the merest hint of dissent. They will not engage in a debate, they will not listen. Watch them ducking and diving during interviews (those brave enough to be interviewed) and see how they refuse to answer questions.

They have a line and they cling to it, repetitively, boorishly, until their inquisitor runs out of time and the viewing/listening public runs out of patience. They are terrified that if they were to abandon the script they would be exposed, but exposed as what? As people without ideas, without the ability to process and articulate original thoughts? That’s why politicians spend so much time with schoolchildren. Children do not undermine a ministerial ego as adults do.

You would not have seen a Labour MSP anywhere near the picket line during the nursery nurses’ strike. You will not see McAveety stopping for a minute on the mound, as Scottish Opera finishes its chorus of the Hebrew slaves, so he can have a quick chat about redundancies.

And you would definitely not have found him anywhere in the auditorium of the Festival theatre in Edinburgh last Thursday, the night when the entire chorus was sacked moments before curtain up. In fact, McAveety even appears to be afraid of his fellow politicians, resisting pressure to stand before them and debate fully his agenda for the arts.

This may be an issue about the minister’s temperament, but the control freakery at the heart of new Labour is also to blame.

Labour demands on-message co-operation that leaves no room for negotiation or surprise. That’s why John Reid speaking spontaneously on smoking or Peter Hain admitting that the trains will never run on timeare refreshing.

What is the point of the Big Conversations and the focus groups and the “consultations” when the only audience is an invited one, the participants hand-picked? Even the prime minister is like a rabbit caught in headlights when a random disaffected voter crosses his path.

It is the new Labour way. Speech writers and spin doctors stage manage politicians in set pieces until they forget the meaning of politic (artful or shrewd; ingenious).

In Scotland, the structure of the parliament inhibits debate. Sessions are so short and speeches are so time-constrained that MSPs are disinclined to give way and enter into mettle-testing jousting matches with their peers. In 5½ years, the fledgling parliamentarians have learnt little of the art of debating.

Jack McConnell promised procedural reform in the last election, he promised to stop MSPs reading out questions as if they were standing in front of their school assemblies. He and the parliamentary authorities have done nothing.

A smugness has set in after two terms which encourages Labour ministers and their advisers in the belief that they are unbeatable. They think they can get away with their stately pleasure dome of a parliament and their disdain for the voices of those who elected them. They think they have won the argument already.

But people love arguments. Catherine Lockerbie, directorof the Edinburgh International Book Festival, said that this year the audience would be even more involved than usual because, in the past, the quality of the debates had taken her breath away.

“There is a huge untapped hunger out there for people to have their say, not just to be fed snippets from the media or pronouncements from the government, but engage their intelligence and opinion, and there’s not many places you can do that.”

I don’t suppose there will be any Labour MSPs taking part but they might want to skulk around the tents and pick up some tips on how to work a crowd.

They think gaining power absolved them from ever having to explain themselves again but this pig-headed arrogance, more than any single policy failure, has turned people off devolution.

We relish the heated dispute as part of the political discourse, and politicians who don’t understand that are drinking in the last chance saloon — and it’s strictly members only.