Where has it all gone?
I mean the camaraderie, the swelling sense of pride, sharing a common purpose, the glowing confidence in the faces of people in the street, joyous smiles among strangers, an open fellowship when we discussed and debated a better way to run our affairs, a better form of social justice?
With the exception of occasions in sunny Los Angeles – Schwarzenegger for governor, for goodness sake!!! – I have never experienced such a wonderous unification of spirit in all my life. I wanted the atmosphere to last indefinitely.
It was wiped out in a single tragic night.
Joy turned into bemusement, and then profound disappointment, and now anger, an anger that by all the evidence will not subside, certainly not in the face of triumphalism ridicule and scorn poured on the 45% who felt, rightly, a mature nation capable of independent governance without interference from a neighbour state.
The disreputable opposition running a fraudulent campaign claim 55% voted to stay in the Union, but that isn’t truth. It’s the victor’s rewriting of history. They did not vote to remain subservient and accept anything they are given. Some might well have taken refuge in the illusory ‘security’ of the United Kingdom, but that was not the sole reason Cameron, Clegg, and Miliband asked us to vote against our country’s rights.
You can take those three sods to water but you cannot make them go for a swim. They take all the fun out of shark fishing.
My kith and kin voted for the eleventh hour promise of greater powers, none specified, immediately translated and presented as ‘Devo-Max’ by the anti-democratic press. “Devo-Max is a non-starter,” shouted the pedestrian Ruth Davidson, leader of the Conservative group in Scotland, and one lonely Tory MP. But wait – two-thirds of electorate polled want ‘Devo-Max.’ Ah, well. We gave power away free of charge, didn’t we?
The electorate of Scotland is treated as carpetbaggers and freeloaders. And they responded accordingly. The thought of doing little or nothing for their country while gaining new authority without lifting a finger beyond placing an ‘X’ in the wrong box was seductive.
Not one Westminster politician is in a position of power to deliver as much as a dried fig.
Recklessly, in a last-ditch leap at redemption, Gordon the Hapless promised the earth, he a lowly back bencher, with next to no political influence outside his Scottish constituency. Brown promised a set-in-stone timetable to a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the rainbow unionists said was an illusion. Now, ludicrously, he enjoins us to sign a petition warning Westminster they must deliver on their ‘vow,’ powers he asserted they would deliver, yet somehow he cannot guarantee they will materialise. Astonishingly, he turns to us to ask them again, acknowledging his impotency to warrant a damn thing.
The only interpretation of Brown’s assurances, and behaviour afterwards is, he lied.
Westminster has appointed a commission to thrash out what powers, what level of new administration, should be given to Scotland. We can be certain it will not include the power of veto over accompanying England in its endless, futile wars. But Westminster parties cannot agree on which powers they want to give let alone on the extent of them.
How many powers? ‘Ten.’ Ten what? Ten tax raising powers? Ten foreign affair powers? Ten land management powers? ‘No. Ten, nine, eight, seven…’
But all is not as it appears. What was created has taken a life of its own. They have a lot to discuss, one significant issue being why they should wait at least three years before any new authority is set before the Scottish parliament and its people. That eternity was never stated in the infamous Daily Record ‘Vow.’
A wonderful grass-roots movement seeking genuine democracy now faces uncertain and probably feckless powers imposed top down, the very antithesis of real democracy.
The man Westminster chose to gather unanimity for more powers is Lord Smith of Kelvin. Astute readers will spot Lord Kelvin is the same person once chairman of the Weir Group, the international Scots company who told the nation boldly to go forth and vote No.
Implacably set against our rights, companies and corporations are the enemy within.
The Weir Group is the one whingeing it could not adjust to Scotland’s self-governance though it adjusts its agenda and management style to new administrations by the year internationally. Lord Kelvin was the chairman under whose watch the Weir Group was fined millions for flagrantly ignoring sanctions imposed on Iraq. It passed largesse as bribes to none other than Saddam Hussein. Without looking up detail of the court case, I just know Lord Kelvin’s parting press statement has to include the hackney, get-out-of-jail phrase, ‘Let us move on now,’ the one that spares thumping corrupt power elite from the full weight of the law, or a prison sentence, purifies them in one verbal utterance, while we mere mortals are jailed for stealing a hank of beef from a supermarket to feed the family.
I’m sorry, but I would not trust the dear Lord to pass a pair of scissors.
English politicians removed a chairperson from a legal commission because her father chaired the first which was flawed, and the latest might be too respectful of daddy’s shallow judgment. We welcome a Lord who presided over greed and corruption.
As I write the SNP’s membership has increased from around 20,000 to over 75,000, more than all the main parties combined. The determination to regain self-governance is taking renewed form, morphing into a solid unified mass. How it will react to the certain let down of paltry powers with unacceptable conditions the warring parties are bound to affix to their offer is another matter. It will depend on who arises from the masses to lead.
There are other stirrings. More mass Yes demonstrations are planned for city centres. Yes groups are meeting in town, village, and church halls throughout Scotland, determined to keep the march of democracy moving forward.
Meanwhile, Irish think us craven fools, and the rest of the world wonder what happened to the Scottish sense of adventure and courage that they thought we were famous. Boasting we are a separate country has a sickening hollow ring, and I for one, can not find it in me to thank the No’s for their destruction of the democratic spirit.
We were beaten at the river crossing by the might of the British state, aided and abetted by their corrupt press and media, and a handful of Trojan Scots bearing false gifts.
Time to throw off witless navel gazing and turn our sights on the enemies of democracy.
In the Land of the Blind
What sort of person welcomes alien policies meant for another country, toxic foreigner hating, poor hating plans from the Tory party? They’d rather that than run their own affairs, take a chance, risk it won’t be so bad once it reaches Scotland? It beggars belief.
What kind of people sell their country’s birthright?
Journalists made up a great number. “Journalism is full of lying, cheating, drunken, cocaine-sniffing, unethical hacks. It’s a wonderful profession.” Piers Morgan must know. A great proportion of the rest are assuredly a very pleasant bunch of bastards.
We should establish an annual awards scheme in the manner of Hollywood’s Raspberry (‘Razzies’) Awards: ‘Worst Scribbler Without a Conscience,’ or ‘Best Fascist Unionist, or ‘Best Quisling.’ How about, ‘Best Lying Etonian Toad’? Every generation gets the political low-life it deserves.
Mathematician and philosopher, Bertrand Russell, attracted to the principles of the Russian revolution like many another intellectual of his day sufficiently to pay a visit to Moscow and St Petersburg, asked Lenin what he intended to do with the Russian Royal family. Vladimir Illyich Lenin threw back his head and laughed. The reply was instant. “Hang them from the nearest lamppost! What else?” Russell didn’t like him for that.
To be candid, who among Yes voters did not harbour homicidal tendencies in their hearts on the bleak morning of Friday the 19th of September, 2014? I know I did.
We’re left bewildered so many turned a glorious revitalisation of their country into a bleak anti-climax in return for nothing, absolutely nothing to alter their lives for the better.