Devolution is as intense and complicated as our most recent summer, and just like the blistering heat we’ve felt over the past few months, it affects everything around us, from the roads we travel and the schools our children attend to the language we fight to speak and the way Wales speaks for itself. As a publisher in North Wales, I’m particularly interested in what that means for whose stories get heard, whose language gets printed, and who gets to make those decisions.
There is a distinction to be made here. Devolution is the separation of the Westminster government and giving power back to the individual countries. Wales has already begun this progress with the formation of the Senedd (Welsh government) in 1997, previously named the National Assembly of Wales. That is not to say that Wales is fully independent – it’s not a separate sovereign state (yet). Both devolution and independence are the opposite of unionism or centralisation, which is where the power remains with Westminster, as they run the UK as a whole entity, regardless of whether it works for those outside of England or not.
Before I dive into the specifics, here is a timeline;
- 1979: Wales rejected devolution by a large margin in the first referendum.
- 1997: A second referendum narrowly backed devolution, passing by 6,721 votes and leading to the creation of the National Assembly for Wales.
- 1998: The Government of Wales Act created the legal framework for the Assembly and granted secondary law-making powers in areas such as agriculture, fisheries, education, housing, and highways.
- 2006: The Government of Wales Act 2006 separated the legislature and executive more clearly and paved the way for stronger Welsh law-making powers.
- 2011: A referendum gave Wales full law-making powers in devolved areas.
- 2017: The Wales Act 2017 moved Wales to a reserved powers model, meaning the Senedd can legislate on matters not reserved to the UK Parliament.
So, if Wales has the Senedd, what does it actually do for Welsh people? Devolution is a map of powers, boundaries, and arguments about where Westminster ends, and Wales begins. For some, it is also a stepping stone towards independence. But the Senedd is restricted in what it can decide for itself, and a lot remains in Westminster’s hands. Take HS2: a high-speed railway project that was never going to enter Wales, but was classified as an England and Wales project for funding purposes. Scotland and Northern Ireland received additional funding as a result, while Wales did not receive an equivalent allocation. Whatever your view of the project, it’s a sharp example of why the boundaries of those powers matter.
Although devolution comes across as a singularly political issue, it could also mean huge things for Wales culturally – it means fully controlling how we use Cymraeg throughout the country, especially when it comes to education. The questions being asked cover the full breadth of Welsh community: rural, post-industrial, Welsh-speaking, English-speaking, border communities – what do they value? Whose stories do we center and base legislation on? Through devolution, Wales can be handed back the power to answer those questions for ourselves.
I don’t speak for everyone who works with me at Barnard Publishing, but I hope they share my opinion when I say that devolution is political AND cultural; as a publisher, it allows me to ask who gets to narrate.
For me, those questions become very practical in publishing: whose stories get funded, whose language gets printed, and whose books reach readers? Books aren’t just products (although I feel that people forget that they are, in fact, products to be purchased); they are also a preservation method that allows future generations to question and explore the modern Welsh identity.
This isn’t only about individual publishers. The Books Council of Wales already receives public funds from the Welsh Government and distributes funding to the Welsh publishing community. Literature Wales also supports authors. Devolved decision-making already shapes Welsh publishing, and its priorities matter. Here are a few of the areas where those decisions can make a difference;
- Arts and culture funding: support for writers, festivals, small presses, magazines, literary development, and translation.
- Education policy: curriculum choices influence which Welsh writers are taught, read, and valued.
- Welsh language policy: support for Welsh-language publishing, bilingual work, translation, and readership-building.
- Economic development: grants, procurement, tourism, export support, and creative-industry strategies can help or hinder independent publishers.
- International presence: Welsh Government funding has supported Wales’s presence at major book events such as Frankfurt and London Book Fair, helping Welsh publishers promote work globally.
- Regional representation: Wales-based decision-making can make space for stories beyond London-centric publishing priorities.
I would jump at the chance to grab some funding to help me translate my books into Welsh for first-language Welsh speakers to read. Or even to give myself the opportunity to learn Welsh so I can communicate with them in their native language without having to use AI-driven programmes like Duolingo.
Devolution won’t fix everything in the publishing industry – all these outcomes depend on funding priority and rely on the right people making the right choices. But given the opportunity, I’d rather use local printers and distributors, rather than outsource to Europe (or further). The stories I publish are Welsh: it makes sense to keep them here.
My own place in that work matters. I don’t hide the fact that I am English – my mum is from Staffordshire, and my dad is from Suffolk, and both sides of my lineage have remained in those places for generations. Whilst I am not generationally Welsh, I hope I can be viewed as culturally and societally Welsh. I feel some internal conflict whenever I want to talk about Welsh matters – I hope that no one compares me to the upper-middle-class boomers who waltz down the coast picking their second or third home. At the same time, I recognise my privilege as an English-speaking person: I wasn’t punished at school for speaking in my native language.
I never want to speak FOR Wales: I want Wales to speak THROUGH me. That is the ethos behind Barnard Publishing – giving Welsh people space to write about whatever they want, and using my role as a traditional publisher to record the wide and diverse experiences and identities of people in Wales. This isn’t intended to be a confessional, but rather a way of holding myself accountable when I inevitably fall short.
Devolution is a tense subject, and there is no unanimous view within Wales about where it should go next. Some see it as essential democratic self-expression. Some think it has not gone far enough. Others think it has added bureaucracy without solving everyday problems, or are unsure what powers sit where, which can blur accountability. We already have decades of experience of devolution, but that doesn’t settle what further powers should look like or how they should be used.
I don’t have all the answers. How does Welsh devolution sit alongside Scotland, Northern Ireland, and England? What would a stronger Welsh democracy look like in practice? But without discussion, nothing changes. It is not just up to the politicians in the Senedd; it is up to everyone voicing their thoughts, including those of us whose work helps stories reach readers.
Devolution is not only about Cardiff Bay or Westminster; it is about whether people in Wales feel decisions are made with them, near them, and for them.
