The first line of defence against the mad and the bad has been lost

Anyone with little more than the most superficial understanding of this case will conclude that MacDonald should not have had a shotgun licence. That much is clear. Yet for as much as that creates a temptation to believe the licensing system as a whole needs an overhaul more people will continue to lose their lives at the hands of those who hold driving licences each year than those who ever hold firearms licences. There have been 17 homicides by shooting in Scotland (including MacDonald’s) in the past 10 years and precious few of those involved legally-held guns.

Read more by Calum Steele

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That is not to say improvements can’t be made, or indeed shouldn’t be made – but the early concentration on the health and referee processes, as important as they are, risks creating the impression that if these were made more stringent and intrusive, lessons would surely have been learned. Pronouncements could be made, rueful regret over past shortcomings expressed, police and politician alike would reassure that these newer changes will make people even safer, and all would be well in the world.

Except of course they wouldn’t – as the debilitating changes to policing, arguably the greatest single contributory factor in all of this, will continue in all their unapologetic glory. For these failures can never be acknowledged in the great mendacity that reform has improved police services for all.

Firearms licensing was a big thing for every single constable in the Northern Constabulary area. There was no way to avoid it. With the highest gun ownership in the country, the largest land mass, and the second-smallest police force by officer numbers, everyone took a share of the licensing burden. Application and renewal time was a pain in the proverbial as time and pressure of other policing demands made it increasingly difficult to keep to appointments to visit applicants – but woe betide anyone who failed to do so.

Getting to know those who held firearms was part of the ABC of being a Highland cop – and especially once you stepped out of the metropolis of Inverness. It was up there with making sure you knew the minister, the headteacher, and the publican. It wasn’t sinister, it was logical and it was instinctive. Being able to call on a local gamekeeper, crofter or farmer was after all more dignified than dispatching a wounded sheep or deer with the wheel brace from the back of the police car.

But there was even more to it than that. Rural communities tend to be tight-knit. Troublemakers are known, grudges observed, and people talk. They talk amongst themselves and they talk to those they trust. Stick a police officer in that mix and it’s a safe bet that they will know as many secrets as the priest and doctor in no time at all. By the time the firearms licence was due, the inquiry officer knew more about the applicant than can ever be gleaned from the statutory forms.

As policing became more about pounds and pence and less about people, consecutive chief constables have overseen the closure of hundreds of police stations, with the cuts axe falling most severely in rural areas. Each closure decision making no difference to how the area would be policed and actually delivering improvement according to the poor schmuck police commander sent out to sell the withdrawal to the community.

The station goes, the officer goes, the trust goes. The casual conversations, the sharing of gossip (or intelligence to give it its police parlance) stops. The calls to the police stop. The routine patrol in the long-subsumed beat stops. The knowing people by their face, gait, or car stops. Individuals become part of the random masses and blend to beige. The police car is a rare sight and the only reliable police presence can be found painted onto a plywood cut out pointing a radar gun whilst chained and padlocked to the railings outside the local shop or sheltered housing.

Today’s firearms inquiry officer is parachuted in from the nearest town and has no points of reference other than what’s before them on the paperwork. Even the most unsuitable candidate can bluff their way through a half hour interview with a stranger.

Hundreds of police stations have been closed (Image: Getty)

That is not the officer’s fault; the system is deliberately designed like this. Its design a consequence of decisions taken in Tulliallan Castle, themselves in turn largely a consequence of decisions taken at Holyrood.

Derrick Bird murdered 12 and wounded 11 more on a gun rampage as he drove around Cumbria followed by local police officers in 2010. It is only by good fortune and bravery that Skye and Lochalsh didn’t face the same fate with MacDonald. However, the armed police response coming from at least an hour away in Inverness was not a consequence of Police Scotland, as the old constabulary centralised its response there years earlier.

I don’t know if the long-lost old police armoury in Portree and trained firearms officers in Skye would have made a difference. By the time decisions had been made and guns taken – probably not! But I do know this –police leadership and political cowardice on the consequences of the loss of local police stations and officers all across rural Scotland is serving none of us well. The first line of defence against the mad and the bad has been lost. If it’s not restored the next Finlay MacDonald will come sooner than we think.

Calum Steele is a former General Secretary of the Scottish Police Federation, and former general secretary of the International Council of Police Representative Associations. He remains an advisor to both​.