Pete Martin: Misplaced confidence at root of our failings

I DIDN'T go to the Scottish Advertising Awards last year. You might be taken aback, not by my absence but by the news that such a thing exists. I mean, how often do you see any ad for a product made or managed in Scotland?

But it isn't the vacuity of the event, gallantly hosted each year by the Drum magazine, that made me give it a miss. It's the rudeness of the crowd.

I've been in advertising since the 1980s and awards nights have always been boozy. But in recent years, the Scottish do has become boorish.

The crowd talks over the opening address, drowning out the speaker. There's little courtesy shown to the sponsors whose support makes the evening possible, and the "entertainer" has a task that remains literally thankless. Then, perhaps unwittingly acknowledging the inconsequentiality of the whole affair, the assembled throng blethers through the awards ceremony, too. This year, I'm told there was a new twist: booing.

"So what?" you might say. "It's just a night out. People bought a ticket and can do what they like."

That's certainly a viewpoint to which anyone is entitled. I can only offer this simple response based on my personal experience: I would say that the most impressive, genuinely talented and signally successful creative people I have ever met have been unfailingly polite and surprisingly modest.

I remember asking Oscar-nominated cinematographer Seamus McGarvey about his craft. "I know my exposures pretty well," says he. That's a matter of basic maths, which in the context of the artistry of movies like Atonement or the ultra-fab Nowhere Boy may seem hilariously humble. But I'm sure he wasn't kidding.

I also remember going to the Best-of-the-Best Awards for global advertising back when London was the world's creative powerhouse. The room was stacked with people who looked the part: whacky haircuts, trendy togs, attention-seeking specs.

Being just a hick from these northerly sticks, I thought, "Jings, these folk must be big talents." Yet, when the awards were handed out, it was generally some bloke in a jumper, jeans and a pair of gymmies who shuffled on stage.

Perhaps the reason genuinely talented people downplay their gifts is that their success is built on a bedrock of technique – the boring basics of craft honed over years of practice.

By contrast, the clamour of empty self-regard underscores our own insecurities. In her 2003 book The Scot's Crisis of Confidence, Carol Craig pinpointed our national psyche. But, in many walks of Scottish life, it doesn't look like we've lost our confidence. Too often, our confidence merely seems misplaced: an adaptation to systemic problems that proves counterproductive.

Why are we still surprised when arrogance and failure go hand in hand?

When I was in New York in the early noughties, my agency worked for the ship of fools and knaves now world-infamous as Lehman's. They were possibly the rudest, most blinkered clients any agency ever had, rendered immune to common sense and courtesy by their massive profits and licence to steal on Wall Street. In such circumstances, I tend to think "One day, they'll get theirs." And you know what? Generally, they do.

So, what am I hoping for over the next decade for Scotland?

I'm hoping that a little diffidence in the Scottish psyche might make a big difference to Scottish society. Sure, there's nothing wrong with a bit of good old Scottish "wha's like us, damn few and they're aw deid" if we're being ironic. But if we're honest with ourselves, we'll recognise it's more blaw-hard than braveheart.

Let's face it, no amount of noise will mask the parlous state of our creative industries. Today, Scotland's "adland" is a fraction of the size it was in the 1980s. Look at the wider context of our cultural signifiers. Eight out of ten of our artists earn less than 5,000 a year, and even many of Scotland's best-known culturati would make more flipping burgers than making art.

Of course, when you look more generally around the globe, there are some exceptions to Scotland's under-achievement in the world rankings. No-one beats us for violent crime. We're second only to the US for obesity. Liver deaths from alcohol abuse? We'd easily be among the medals for that.

A first step for remedy might be recognising the intertwining of our troubles: how a society that's lost the art of civility undervalues people and relationships; how a lack of empathy erodes living, local culture; how disconnected individuals end up not caring about their own health and wellbeing.

So, let's not be fooled by the false positives of a few awards or the iron pyrites of pop-idle fame.

Anomolous success is no substitute for an effective long-term strategy. Paradoxically, the more modest path, pursued with honesty and civility, may take us higher. Who knows, I might even try a bit of humility myself.

• Pete Martin is creative director of The Gate Worldwide