Now, I am not suggesting that Plan A is not a good idea. As I have said, like Chris McEleny and other so-called rebels, I quite like the idea. But to make it the only way is outrageously short-sighted and dangerously innocent of the behaviour of the British state towards Ireland and India in the past. It is not my suggestion that we should have Plan B rather than Plan A. My suggestion is that we must have both. One plan is not necessarily better than another in a situation where the point is to achieve a goal. In this case, the end justifies the means.
So long as we live in a world where the Scottish parliament’s former Presiding Officer, Tricia Marwick, insists that male politicians “wear a shirt AND tie,” we also live in a world where women are expected to dress in a certain way. Let me be clear, these are not my rules. I make a point of never dressing the way I am expected to dress. Other than the fact that I just don’t look good in black (it does nothing for my skin tone), the cassock, stock, and Roman collar are self-defeating in the twenty-first century; they look is far too authoritarian.
Regularly on social media I and others are called fifth-columnists for openly criticising the SNP, for having the audacity to air our disagreement with ‘Nicola.’ The suggestion is that by doing this we are undermining independence, the implication being that we are traitors or British government ‘plants’ sowing seeds of discord. Certainly, this has made my own commitment to independence one of the most frustrating and painful political experiences of my life – but it has not shaken my resolve.
In 2014 we saw ourselves as a small nation in a David-versus-Goliath fight. Realistically, in the beginning we did not expect to win. One theme repeated frequently at the time was that we just wanted to be a nuisance, that we wanted to have a bit of craic, upset the apple cart, and maybe – if we got lucky – give the English political establishment a bloody nose. We saw ourselves as a pesky younger sibling trying to make a point. But something changed. At some point in August 2014 it dawned on us that we might win – that we had a real shot of securing independence.
For perhaps the first time in over three centuries the angry man on the street in London has been forced to accept that – in theory – the Scottish people and Scots Law can rip from him his assumption of his dominance over Scotland. In theory, we have the power to derail and stop Brexit, and this has predictably provoked him to rage. The response, if anything, demonstrates the utter lack in England of any semblance of self-reflection; telling Scotland to ‘fuck off’ when the majority in Scotland want to do just that. Outsiders looking in must be awfully confused...
This is of course something we should all fear. There’s nothing good on offer in English politics right now. Looking over the options – the so-called alternatives, is like surveying a mediaeval torturer’s work bench; while some of the implements are qualitatively better or worse than others, none of them are exactly what you’d call ‘health promoting.’ There are the pincers, there to rip the flesh from the victim – used to inflict maximum suffering while not endangering the life of the condemned.
In his more sober moments – not that they’re many, even Johnson knows he isn’t driving the Brexit bus here. His mistake is a classic one. Like Cameron and May before him, he thought he could use the racist far-right to his advantage, but the outcome is always and everywhere the same – this particular tail always ends up wagging the dog, and Johnson is being wagged. We all are. The genie is out of the bottle in British politics. The far-right in the guise of the Brexit Party, UKIP, the EDL, and every thuggish messiah of British nationalist street politics is on the march.
Everything boiling across Scotland was etched in the cold glare of the First Minister yesterday as she unceremoniously welcomed the Prime Minister and his entourage to Bute House. There was no red carpet and no warm embrace, the only smiles were from Johnson looking like a nervous chimpanzee about to be castrated. His attempt at a power-play; reaching out his arm to usher Nicola Sturgeon into her own residence, was firmly rebuffed. The body language on the steps was a dead giveaway. It was clear for all to see that Sturgeon was in charge...