In the independence movement we talk so much about building a better Scotland, about improving the lot of Scottish people in Scotland. We talk about beginning this ‘indy’ as we mean to go on. This is all just talk, though – isn’t it? I want to start as I mean to go on. I want to begin Scottish independence with a whole new Scotland, not a reset to the ugliness that was aristocratic Scotland prior to 1707. The world has changed. We have changed. Say what you want about prioritising independence before a Republic, I want both – and I want both because I do not believe...
Here’s my secret: I am not an independentista. I am a Liberationist. Liberation – the “Let my people go!” of the Book of Exodus – is as much about the liberation of the nation as it is about the liberation of society and the family as it is about the liberation of the person. Scottish independence, then, for me, is as much a cause of national liberation as it is a cause for the liberation of everyone in Scotland from the constitutional, social, and economic conditions that keep us in chains – and we are in chains; for some these are the fetters of poverty and for others they are the bonds of indifference.
Let me be clear, I don’t hate Mrs Windsor. I couldn’t care less about her. She has plenty of people to worry about the perfect weave and thread-count of her toilet silk. She doesn’t need me to like or dislike her. So, I’m indifferent to her and her entire family. But I loath her entitled Christmas Day intrusion. I despise the institution of the monarchy. It makes me sick to my stomach. This is the one part of Christmas Day that reminds me that I’m not the Christian I ought to be, but, then, the Christian that I am compels me to speak out against her arrogance. It’s a balancing act.
As royals of the same royal family that did this to Ireland, it would be different had they come to apologise for the barbarity of British rule on this island and for the part Queen Victoria – “the Famine Queen” – played in the utter ruin of Ireland during the Great Famine, but they didn’t. Harry and Meaghan came – as British royals – to play the part of international celebrities, stars we were all expected to flock to see. They didn’t seem to notice how empty the streets were, how so few people turned out to welcome them.
I wish her well – she needs it. She can do much better for herself. She’s about to marry the royal dud. This is wee Harry the hero who went to war for the cameras, who honoured his brothers and sisters in arms by wearing a Nazi uniform, and who has a thing for class-A narcotics and hired affection. He’s a shite example of a human being, but then the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. But yeah, “she’s unsuitable.”
William Sachsen-Coburg und Gotha, second in line to the throne, and his “commoner” mate Kate are pregnant with yet another mouth we the taxpayers will be forced to feed. Since the news broke of this otherwise unremarkable biological process, when I’ve been unable to keep it from my mind, I have been raging over this announcement. What angered me was my own response to this news. Something in my head exploded when I heard the bulletin, and I have been upset over what this has made me think of a young couple I have never met, their children, and their foetus. It has taken some time for the better angel of my nature to return.
Whether it’s the Duke of Edinburgh cracking “jokes” about not being eaten by the natives of Papua New Guinea, young Prince Harry in a Nazi Stormtrooper’s outfit, or the Queen and the Queen Mother giving a Sieg Heil salute in the garden with Uncle Eddie, the royal family is famous for its racism.
While she oversaw the brutalising treatment of Ireland by her government, the total destruction of industry and organised labour in the north of England, Scotland, and Wales, and the rape and pillage of Iraq and Afghanistan by her armed forces, she didn’t – as her grandfather and father did – perpetrate genocide and mass murder on a global scale.