Visiting a polling station is usually a fairly cut-and-dried affair; I put my cross next to the candidate who will fight for the left wing agenda of social justice, wealth redistribution and equality that I so wish humanity would aspire to, and leave feeling smug. In every vote but one since 1978, that has taken me about thirty seconds. In and out. I did once vote strategically, plumping for a Liberal who, polls said, was on the cusp of unseating a Tory; he came third to Labour, the Tory trotted off to Westminster and my vote was wasted. Never again, I told myself, and I do the homework and make my choice. Referenda are similarly straightforward; although I have never been a member of the SNP, I have consistently voted for the self-determination that might deliver a socialist Scotland.
So standing in the polling booth tomorrow will be a completely new experience for me. I don’t know where to put my cross, or even if I want to put my cross there at all. I have, for the first time ever, three choices: vote Remain, because I really do believe that Europe is the solution to the aftermath of two bloody world wars that any sane person would have devised; vote Leave, because I really do want to punish the EU for jumping so flagrantly into bed with the neoliberal forces of The World Bank and the IMF to force a Ponzi scheme on the Greek people and then effectively undermining their democratic will in what was, to all intents and purposes, a financial coup d’etat; or, because I really do want to register my disgust at the continued privatisation of every social good I have grown up with, scrawl ‘STOP TTIP NOW’ across the paper in the red felt tip marker I have in my rucksack.
In the end, though, one of those choices is impossible for me, and it is all because of one issue.
My dad was an immigrant, and a very particular type of immigrant at that. Born into a Silesian Deutsche Volk family in 1913, he found himself an ordinary footsoldier fighting in the Wehrmacht on the Eastern Front. Decorated for bravery, wounded and scarred by frostbite, he was transferred to the Western Front where he was captured by Americans and, in 1944, he washed up in Aberdeen as a POW.
What happened then cast the die for the rest of his life – and led to my existence. The Soviet takeover of Poland and the furore about the atrocities at Katyn meant that my dad could never return and, literally overnight, he changed from being an enemy combatant who had actively fought for this country’s overthrow to being an asylum seeker with nowhere to go and a desperate need to feed himself and make a new life. Imagine if you will the headline writers of The Daily Mail in 2016 being let loose on that one.
But what happened was unrecognisable to today’s tabloid reader. My dad was allowed to seek work immediately. Yes, the post-war rebuilding had to begin, a generation of young men had been decimated and industry could not be pickers and choosers; but still, we are talking about someone who wore that uniform. And work he did, from his release from custody right into his seventies, for most of those years as one of the country’s most specialised and coveted welders; such were his skills that my dad – a German soldier – was regularly hired out to mend Royal Navy nuclear submarines.
I have no idea what discrimination he faced. My mother used to talk obliquely about neighbours who gossiped about my dad being a spy, and he once asked me if I’d like to change my name and hinted it might be ‘easier’ for me; I told him Raymond was fine by me, though I quite liked ‘Ziggy’. But it certainly never stopped him finding employment – he boasted that the longest he was ever out of work was one weekend – or working effectively with those around him. I remember he told me of a short spell he had working in Barrhead quarry in the 1950s, a stopgap between engineering jobs.
There was one man, he said, who he noticed was watching him intently, eyeballing him. My dad kept his head down to avoid confrontation, but the guy always seemed to be around, and always seemed to be paying attention to my dad. Then, one day, the man came up to him and said ‘I remember you.’
During the war, my dad dated a girl who lived near a British POW camp. He visited her on leave, and they went for a walk around the camp perimeter. A group of British soldiers were playing football on the other side of the fence, and some wolf whistles were directed at my dad’s date. They smiled and shared a wave, and then my dad asked the girl for the gifts he had brought for her, a few sweets or a bit of chocolate and some nylons. Then they tossed them over the fence for the POWs.
‘Yes, I remember you,’ said the quarry worker, a Glaswegian. ‘You threw presents over the fence to us. Anything you need, let me know. You’re all right.’
The camp was Monowitz, also known as Auschwitz III. On days when the wind blew from a certain direction, that soldier brushed the ash from his coat and had to live with the smell of burning flesh and the screams of the tortured from the neighbouring death camps. And over a decade later, while he blamed those who bore individual responsibility for those atrocities, he forgave my dad’s kind. It was a forgiveness that would be inconceivable in the context of today’s rhetoric, where one individual is easily spun to demonise a whole people.
And what is so appalling, and makes me queasy about rewarding the Remain camp, is that both sides have bought into this rhetoric. From the despicable Labour ‘Controls on Immigration’ mug to Sadiq Khan gleefully pointing out that an Australian-style points system has led to proportionately more immigration to Australia than to the UK to puncture a Leave sales pitch, the prevailing view even on what laughably calls itself the Left is that immigration is a problem, an issue, a concern. And, given that the very migrants being discussed in this way have, in a stunning display of undemocracy, been denied access to the vote, it is a view that they have been rendered voiceless to counter.
There have been some honourable exceptions, Jeremy Corbyn, Jo Cox and Owen Jones included. But these are voices that have been effectively marginalised too by a storyline that has been so expertly deconstructed in The Glasgow Media Group’s ‘Bad News for Refugees’. That migrants contribute more to the economy than they take out does not matter; that migrants don’t swamp the NHS in health tourism but instead ensure it can function does not matter; that migrants have enriched the way we think, the food we eat, the art we enjoy, the music we listen to, the literature we read, does not matter. Indisputable facts do not matter. Only the narrative counts.
And the narrative has been given respectability by a catchy little argument that has been trotted out over and over again on recent debate shows; that concern about immigration isn’t racist. Just because you worry about jobs and public services and the changing demography of your neighbourhood doesn’t mean you hate anybody; you are just anxious, like that wee wumman who collared Gordon Brown. This is what happens when the dialogue fails to talk about human beings, and allows the terminology to blur and conflate from ‘refugees’, to ’migrants’ to ’immigrants’ and, finally, to ‘immigration’.
But we should not forget that being ‘concerned about jobs’ actually means ‘I do not want a human being who is not like me to have the means to feed themselves.’
We should not forget that ‘concerned about public services’ means ‘I do not want a human being who is not like me to have a lifesaving operation, and I do not want children who are not like mine to be educated.’
We should not forget that ‘concerned about our neighbourhoods’ means ‘I do not want a human being who does not sound like me or who goes to a different church to me to live next door.’
And we must call it for what it is.
Society in the past has had its fair share of the worst excesses of racism and discrimination, originating from both the right and the left; I am sure whatever my dad’s experiences were, they were mild compared to the treatment dished out to Caribbean migrants in the Windrush. The colour of one’s skin matters, and in that my dad had a huge advantage. But the definition of ‘otherness’ has broadened and hardened to the extent that I cannot for the life of me figure out why anyone of whatever race or creed or nationality would want to come to somewhere that was so virulently and institutionally unwelcoming.
What my dad’s story clearly shows is that those others who were once strangers can, regardless of their backgrounds, the next day become our citizens, our workers, our friends, our fathers. I think the fact we no longer recognise that is a failure of imagination caused by an unholy alliance of media and politics that recognises the power of the dog whistle over reason and compassion to achieve the short term goals of sales and votes and the long term goals of dividing and controlling the populace. As part of this, the Leave campaign have sought to make immigration the number one issue. I am happy to inform them they’ve succeeded with me, though not in the sense they would have wanted. It is the way they have sociopathically exploited this issue that prevents me even remotely considering voting for them. I can only hope enough feel the same way, regardless of whichever of the other choices they make.
And while it may be true that concern about immigration isn’t racist, that’s only because Poles aren’t technically a race. But it is, however, undeniably and irredeemably bigoted.
Growing up in the 1960s, I remember a time of huge political debate on matters of principle. The great social architecture of the post war years was still fresh and shiny and new, and neoliberal economics was a tiny maggot growing in the reptilian brain of a still largely unheralded Milton Friedman. Newspapers then were awash with major disagreement not just between left and right – there was still such a distinction at Westminster in those days – but within those wings, between the patrician right of Heath and the barking racism of Powell, between the apparatchik pragmatism of Harold Wilson and George Brown and the somewhere-left-of-Azerbaijan idealism of Tony Benn. Parties weren’t homogenous entities of Stepford Suits and Ties, but were broad coalitions that attracted a wide variety of intellectual positions under distinctly leaky umbrellas.
Nowadays, the debate seems very different. Disagreement within parties is seen as a sign of chaos, not of a rich, intelligent dialogue based in fundamental philosophical and moral precepts (though, in UKIP’s case, it does actually seem to result from chaos). Debate isn’t about whether something is right or wrong, but is about how we’re going to pay for it. This obsession with the bottom line rather than the kind of society we actually want to have and let’s find out how to fund it later, has reduced political discourse to simple, narrow considerations of how we might maintain a system in which those who control the purse strings – the banks, the hedge funds, the 1% of the global population who own 50% of the global wealth – can continue to flourish while the rest of us push ever diminishing scraps around our plates in the vain hope that it will look enough to sustain us. And the key to winning elections, it seems, is to chuck a few leftovers on in the hope we’ll smack our lips and give them our cross on their ballot paper in thanks; we’ve now sunk to the state where a political party refuses to engage in the very principle of whether or not those who commit criminal and fraudulent acts should take personal responsibility in a court of law, but instead crows about using the fines we impose on those criminals’ organisations to buy essential equipment to prop up a health service that should be resourced regardless. Imagine if we said that drug dealers didn’t need to go to jail because the few assets we could seize from them could pay for road maintenance…
That the establishment at Westminster is hand in glove with this is in no doubt; Miliband’s pathetic responses to Russell Brand’s questioning about dismantling global elitism was a spineless whinge about how change ‘takes time’ (in other words, it takes too long, so let’s not bother ) and how change requires ‘international action’ (in other words, others aren’t going to do it, so we should just go along with them). Indeed, there really is now no distinction between the political and the financial establishment, with a revolving door for politicians into directorships of financial institutions and for executives from the banks into advisory or even ministerial roles. That is reflected in the media: I have largely stopped listening to the Today programme, simply because the only source for economic and political comment they seem to give any time to is The City.
And this is where the whole notion of this ‘grand coalition’ is coming from; the establishment’s fear that their cosy club will be threatened by newcomers to the block. All it does is to put under a spotlight the lie that there remains any real difference in principle between the Labour and Conservative parties, that there remains any distinction whatsoever beyond a few million quid here and there, beyond the priority they will give to the different scraps of the rotting resources government actually has any control left over. Philosophically, there isn’t a cigarette paper’s difference between the two parties, on tax, on benefits, on commitment to Trident renewal, on immigration… on and on it goes. The venerable Political Compass website is quite clear on this; both the main parties have moved to a right wing authoritarian stance that isn’t just in the same ballpark as Thatcherism, but is playing first base for the team. And it’s so obvious too that the Green Party has now been left to occupy the ground once held by Labour before their shameful ditching of Clause 4.
The rhetoric is softening us up for this grand coalition idea. If Milliband is pushed into renouncing the possibility of a deal with the SNP, where is he to go? If Cameron wants to be seen to ‘listen to the people’, what is he to do? Given that the core differences in their policies are so minimal, the prospect of working together is mouth-watering for them both. Labour want to cut a little less and tax a little more; in a coalition, Cameron can present himself as a tough-minded mediating force on the ‘tax and spend’ party that caused the financial meltdown in 2008. Conservatives want to cut a lot more and tax a lot less; Miliband can present himself as a humane mediating force on the ‘nasty party’ that has driven a million people to the food banks. Remember that garden shot of Cameron and Clegg? Don’t for one minute think that couldn’t be repeated with David and Ed.
The basis of the coalition would be simple. Around 35% of the voters are going to plump for Labour; a similar number for the Tories. Between 60% and 70% of the electorate who bother to turn out will be represented in such a grand coalition; is that not democracy? The majority of the people want the UK to remain united, want the defence of the realm to be maintained by renewing Trident; who better to protect it than the two main parties, working hand in hand? It worked during World War II, when politicians put their differences aside to defeat the common enemy. And this time there is an enemy, and it’s an insidious enemy within.
There’s no point rehashing the post-referendum climate; Nicola Sturgeon does that more than eloquently every time she points out that those politicians who accuse Scots of becoming ‘irrational’ (David Blunkett) or of being akin to terrorist hostage-takers (John Major) or of creating a constitutional crisis (Theresa May) only six months ago were begging Scotland to stay in the Union. You wanted us; you got us, and that is democracy. I have no idea how that rhetoric is playing in England, but there is an undeniable concerted effort to portray Scotland as wreckers, and it is becoming accepted that a large minority of the electorate who want to fundamentally reform Westminster have no right to be represented in Westminster; are you listening, suffragettes? The message seems to be that Westminster is some gigantic children’s party into which you will only be admitted if you like the host, bring lots of gifts and play every party game by their rules. Damn the democratic process if you don’t like what democracy brings.
So I really do fear a grand coalition that will present itself as the protector and saviour of the UK, cutting off from representation whole swathes of people – not just Scottish nationalists – whose face doesn’t fit the establishment. Would that not mean the end of Labour, even Nicola Sturgeon asks? Well, that is to assume that Labour actually stands for anything any more. In a fixed term parliament, Milliband would be guaranteed five years of some power and some influence. Strategists will see that as more than enough time to turn around any negative perceptions. And besides, five years is more than long enough to continue the neoliberal revolution that is the main parties’ raison d’etre. The obscenity of TTIP is supported by both parties, with Labour merely making some anodyne noises about how they’ll protect the NHS. If TTIP is such a threat to the NHS, why is it not a threat to every other public service on which our civil society depends?
Tell a career politician that they have two choices. One; stay out of power for a guaranteed minimum of five years on some principle that you can’t really remember any longer (how many candidates really know their manifestos) and win the affection of the masses; or two; accept Satan’s pact for a guaranteed minimum of five years, troop through the lobbies, claim your expenses, vote for your own pay rises and secure yourself a nice wee directorship in a Fortune 500 company or a Canary Wharf hedge fund at the end of it. What would you bet on them opting for? Why would they give a damn about their ‘party’?
Should a grand coalition come about – and I’m more than convinced it’s a real possibility – we would effectively see the end of democracy in this country, sold as the will of (70% of) the people. The only ray of hope is that, even as they present it as a strategy designed to ensure stability, it will result in the constitutional crisis Theresa May fears so much. The Holyrood elections in 2016 would surely see a landslide in favour of pro-separatist parties from an electorate who see that they have been excluded from an English parliament that we were told we were welcome in. That will set a very large cat amongst some very frightened pigeons. Let’s hope we can wait that long
I’m a member of the Scottish Green party, but I’ll be voting SNP at this election. I’m no nationalist, but I do believe that if the opportunities to change a situation from within are completely denied to you, then separating from that situation is the only possible alternative. I’m hoping that my vote will be a little part of throwing one huge fuck-off spanner in these very, very corrupt works.
I was thoroughly entertained by an article in The Commentator, an unashamedly neoconservative website that makes some astonishing claims as if they were the ingredients on a cereal packet. How much wrong there is with this, a crowing hagiography from their raison d’etre of a Friedmanesque West that bears no relation whatsoever to the reality of mass populations:
‘… Our economics are in the tank. Budgets are bloated, taxes are too high, existential threats to our interests at home and abroad have rarely ever been more concerning. We seek to shed light on these core ‘civilisational’ issues.
We argue that now is not the time for big government; it’s not the time to bow before tyrants, dictators or terrorists; and it’s not the time to abandon our only true ally in the Middle East: Israel.
Let’s face it — it never should have become and never should be the time for any of those things. But lately, the West has become more than a little self-loathing in its worldview, and we exist to offer a viable alternative.
Never in the history of human civilisation had so much prosperity been created, so many lifted out of poverty, so much evil tackled, curtailed and eradicated than when the West was at its proudest.’
Let’s list some of the questions:
In an era of crippling austerity, whose budgets are bloated? The cancer research budget of the NHS or the executive hospitality budget of Goldman Sachs?
Taxes are too high for whom? Since when? Are we perhaps talking about the richest in the US and the UK, who ‘have paid a lower marginal tax rate over the last three decades’?
Which tyrants, dictators or terrorists are we bowing down to (ISIS, Vladimir Putin) and which are we hand in glove with (Saudi Arabia, the Neo-Nazis of Ukraine)? And in what way is a mineral-poor, minor exporting nation that relies on gobbling up billions in military aid like Israel a ‘true ally’? If we are saying that Israel is ideologically a friend of the West, then that can, of course, only be partially true, since holding different ideologies is a sign of democracy; given their treatment of Palestinians, a Zionist Israel is as abhorrent to me as a fundamental Islamic state. Does that mean I am not a ‘Westerner’? Or that Israel is merely an ally of some in the West?
In what sort of a world that gloats about a cure for Ebola being unsustainable in a free market are people ‘lifted out of poverty’? And are the means by which they are lifted out of poverty – health care, education – funded by ‘big governments’ run by the likes of Aneurin Bevan, or are they provided by the tax dodgers who bank with HSBC?
So into this parcel of rogues comes Tom Gallagher, Emeritus Professor of Politics at Bradford University (that means he’s a retired academic). In his ‘Seeds of tyranny being sown in Scotland?’ (note the question mark, just so that he can defend his position as hypothetical in the face of the bare-chested nationalist onslaught he clearly expects, though I’m sure the lads pictured to illustrate the article aren’t artists), he repeats the accusation made by Chris Deerin (chief Scottish columnist of the Daily Mail’s and, in Gallagher’s words, a ‘culturally clued up Scottish journalist’, and in the words of everyone else… well… a Daily Mail columnist) that artists in Scotland jumped on the bandwagon of independence in droves for the sole purpose of self-promotion.
I was amongst the first to contribute a piece for National Collective – or, as Gallagher calls them, in a clearly illiterate use of the quotation mark, ‘National Collective’ – but never contributed as much to the movement as I wanted, largely through illness. However, I kept in touch, and watched dozens of bright young people commit themselves to a cause that they knew was an almost impossible task. I had friends, many of them in full time jobs not in the arts or in full time study, who ran themselves into the ground organising and promoting events, devising publicity campaigns or canvassing communities. Just what self-promotion do Deerins and Gallagher think is possible knocking doors up closes in Govanhill or Provanmill to encourage disillusioned people who haven’t been near a ballot box for decades to even register to vote; ‘Eh, can we rely on you to vote in the referendum, madam, and while you’re at it, here’s a flyer for my one-man show’? If the artists and writers I know went into it all for self-promotion, take it from me; they got a really bad return on the time, effort and sheer hard cash they contributed.
Gallagher goes on to suggest that ‘Scottish culture has been set back a generation by the readiness of so many luminaries to act as performing seals for a political cause.’ Breathtakingly, he describes the art produced by the referendum as ‘shrill protests against the ‘Sassenachs’ (English foreigners) usually ‘toffee-nosed’, thereby combining an ethnic and a class prejudice.’ First, I would defy him to find anything on the National Collective website that could in any way be categorised as ‘ethnic or class prejudice’; in all my referendum meanderings, I have found nothing, seen nothing, heard nothing, read nothing that could be attributed to a member of the respected artistic community that could be remotely described as ‘ethnic and class prejudice.’ Secondly, the fact that Gallagher has to parenthesise an explanation of the word ‘Sassenach’ clearly indicates his intended, non-Scottish audience. Obviously he is writing for those neoliberal Western crusaders who fund The Commentator; so who’s the fucking performing seal now, Prof Gallagher?
He buys in to the whole myth that Yessers intimidated No campaigners to such an extent that the debate was fatally skewed. If it were true that there was a huge reservoir of silent No voters scared to put their heads above the parapet (despite the fact that, as Gallagher himself says, artists are ‘individualistic, edgy and hard to dragoon behind an established position’) why then have, post-referendum, the circulation of pro-Yes newspapers risen, as he admits, or the membership of all pro-Yes parties boomed? Why have Yes groups, from National Collective to Radical Independence to Common Weal, continued to pack out events and attract attention on social media? For heaven’s sake, the Nos WON; you’d think they’d be individualistic, edgy and hard enough to stand up for themselves NOW.
Except of course the No campaigners did; on Friday the 19th of September, when George Square saw what can only be described as a neo-fascist display of British nationalist thuggery.
Of course, a Yes vote was NEVER the ‘established’ position; all those wonderful young people I saw working their socks off knew they were fighting an uphill battle against the position of the establishment, which, in the final week of the campaign, pulled out every lie and empty promise they could to swing a vote they saw the possibility of losing. For me, voting Yes was always an act of rebellion, an act that I desperately wanted to upset the established applecart, to have a broader and wider effect across the globe. For me, it was the equivalent of voting for Syriza, not for the SNP.
Gallagher pours scorn on those from the Yes campaign he sees as indicative of a nationalist bullying mentality. Interestingly, he’s quite prepared to punt his own academic credentials, but describes Alan Riach as a ‘poet’, failing to recognise that Riach too is a Professor; not only that, he’s STILL a professor, serving at Glasgow University, and not a pensioner clinging on to hierarchical titles for his own self-aggrandisement. Nice display of academic respect there, Prof Gallagher (retired). He recounts Riach’s ‘delight’ at showing ‘no trace of deference’ to the Queen at a 2013 reception. So there we have it; a No vote is for the polite, the respectful, the deferent. Yes voters, it seems, are vile, unpatriotic, rude thugs. Perhaps Prof Gallagher should be reminded, though, that Riach is, by law, a taxpayer; the Queen is immune from being sullied by something as crass as tax, and only volunteers to pay a modicum of what might in a democracy be called her fair share out of embarrassment at the size of the silver spoon in her gob. Yes, taxes are far too high, aren’t they?
One of the heroes of Gallagher’s article is James MacMillan, ‘a prolific and widely performed composer’ who, he argues, is ‘in the tradition of energetic and talented Scots who over the last 300-400 years helped to shape the boundaries and content of British culture and disseminate its influence far and wide,’ a giant of the music scene counterpoised with ‘ex-rock star’ Pat Kane. Quite apart from the fact that Kane does not speak for the artistic community as a whole – and would not claim to – the interaction Gallagher describes can hardly be called anything like ‘tyranny’, and the subsequent tweet from MacMillan he quotes (‘‘the wonderful renowned separatist artists must never, EVER be criticised!’) sounds merely churlish rather than heroic. And I’d like to ask the Prof: is this the same James MacMillan who, unprovoked, called a young female activist in a conversation three nights ago between pro-independence supporters which he chose to join, ‘degraded’, ‘debased’, ‘hateful’ and ‘divisive’? Gallagher quotes ‘pro-British Scottish blogger’ Effie Deans, ‘who currently perhaps has the most profound things to say’. She claims that Putin’s Russia is more free than the state of the independence debate; I’d like to see what would happen to Effie were she to throw a few of those epithets in Vlad’s face.
This is, of course, the selective nature of this debate. For every insult hurled at a No voter, there will be a similar zinger directed at the Yes side, and each will hype up what suits them and ignore what doesn’t (I would direct Gallagher’s attention to the ‘Alex Salmond is a wanker’ Facebook page; I can’t find an equivalent for Vladimir Putin, or James MacMillan). But to claim that the arts community has silenced rather than empowered those who wish to take part in the debate is absurd.
As too is the rather wandered conclusion he comes to, in which he seems to confuse ‘the ruling party’ and ‘government’ in the upcoming general election with the SNP; as far as I am aware, the election in May will decide the fate of the current Tory / Lib Dem coalition in Westminster. His last sentence is quite apocalyptic:
‘Russia was once briefly as free as Scotland still is now, but it was a failure to resist creeping tyranny that has allowed the nightmare seen there today to unfold.’
The warning is clear; allow these horrible nasty Nat artists and writers to have their way, and tyranny will ensue. Let me make this clear to Professor Gallagher, who, given that he has worked at Bradford University for however long, probably hasn’t really got a clue about the reality of Scotland as it is now; if tyranny comes marching down our streets, it will be those fabulous young people I saw working their hearts out during the independence campaign who will have the nerve, the resolve, the skills and the courage to man the barricades. And when that happens, I’ll lay money on him still writing for a neo-conservative, culturally imperialistic website that advances the interest of global corporations that would happily strip every freedom we could ever possibly have to make a quick buck.
It is with great sadness that I wish to unsubscribe from the Scottish Review. I did not renew my friendship of SR at the beginning of this year because I was anxious about the trend in your choice of contributors to cover the Independence debate, and that anxiety has been vindicated.
I have been privileged to work with many dedicated and passionate young people – several through the magnificent National Collective and Radical Independence movements – who, quite frankly, have much more enjoyable things to do than spend constant months of their lives trying to convince an apathetic, fearful, self-interested and short sighted Scottish public that they have the wherewithal to create a better, fairer nation.
None of them ‘was their own worst enemy’; they were all our best friends. None of them ever called the opposition ‘bastards’; all of them engaged politely and knowledgeably with anyone who wished to discuss the referendum with them. None of them threw eggs; instead, they had a penchant for wish trees, balloons and some of the most inspiring writing, music and art I have encountered for years.
And some of them were hounded and assaulted by fascist thugs in George Square on Friday night.
Of course, Kenneth Roy was not directly responsible for the violence we saw in the streets of Glasgow. But if he is a journalist, and not a petty blogger fueled by personal animus because someone of importance didn’t take to heart his own inflated views expressed in a ‘columnar exchange’, then he has a duty to report it with the fairness and lack of bias that has been so lacking in this campaign.
Of course, I believe that the world is a better place for the Scottish Review and I wish you well, but I cannot continue to actively support you, write for you or recommend you.
I’ve been staying off politics because I’ve been getting angrier and angrier over the last few months about so many things. However sometimes apoplexy wins out.
The treatment of Yashika Bageerathi – the forcible end of her education, the ripping apart of her family, her deportation in the company of five guards in a half-empty plane paid for by the British taxpayer – is surely one of the most shameful acts of a government that is steeped in a racist anti-immigration policy in order to appeal to the very basest voters, despite the protests of almost 200,000 people. When we vote Yes in September, I truly hope the new Scottish government will invite her and her family here to contribute to a vibrant new country.
In the meantime, an idea for peaceful protest I stuck up on Twitter is gathering a bit of steam. Please consider making this simple gesture as a measure of support for a young woman who has been treated truly appallingly.
I was privileged to be asked by Jenny Lindsay of National Collective – the organisation of artists and writers making huge waves in the independence debate – to do a filmed reading and brief interview for them: when that’s available, I’ll post it here. However, Jenny also asked me to write an article for the website, and kindly gave me permission to reproduce it on my blog in its entirety. You can find it on the National Collective website here.
It’s my first public words on the referendum: consider my colours now firmly nailed to the mast. The article seems to have been well received: it’s perhaps the nearest I’ll ever be to ‘trending’ on Twitter…
Independence Is The Triumph of Hope Over Fear
A few months ago, I was talking to my godson, Andrew, about the forthcoming referendum. He’s a lovely lad; in his thirties, he works in the care of adults with severe learning disabilities. He and his partner, a nurse, have the most beautiful two year old daughter, a smiley, happy, sweet child who charms everyone she meets. They both work punishing shifts for not much more than a combined living wage: Andrew frequently has to walk four miles to catch a bus that’ll take him to work.
He was going to vote No. Astonished, I asked him why. “Well,” he said, “look at me. I haven’t had a pay rise for over five years, and prices just keep going up and up. I’ll never be able to afford to buy my own home. I don’t even see how I’ll be able to buy a car. I rely on my mum for childcare because it’s so expensive, and holidays are a non-starter. If we go independent, how do I know it won’t get much, much worse?”
We live in a society that is crippled by fear. Ordinary working people live on the cliff edge of robbing Peter to pay Paul every month to meet the debt commitments they are blamed for having in our recession economy; deunionised, they are forced to accept derisory wage rises that are in effect cuts in living standards when the price rises in commodity-traded food and fuel that puts billions into the already groaning coffers of multi-national corporations are taken into account; they are labelled scroungers when they turn to the state for help, while their bosses in both the public and the private sectors pay each other handsomely over the odds because they have defined themselves as somehow ‘indispensable’ to the machine; they are conned into believing that they, the people at the bottom, are somehow to blame for all of this, and that despite the overwhelming evidence that the problems lie at the top on the desks of money-laundering, rate-fixing, tax-avoiding, mis-selling big banks and hedge funds, the status quo is the only way to go.
I remember growing up in the 60s and 70s, when optimism for the future was all the rage. Yes, we worried about nuclear weapons and knew that there was a huge problem with hunger and war in the Developing World; but, for ourselves, we felt that life was on the up, and never did any of us consider in 1973 that, in 40 years time, families would be worse off in real terms. But then the neoliberal Thatcher agenda came along and put paid to all of that, and the dismantling of the great public goods of the post-War period – gas, electricity, the railways, steel, mining and, especially, social housing – saw the beginning of what Naomi Klein calls the “great sacking”, the siphoning off of what we once all owned into the hands of a rapacious few who buy it with promises of consultancies and seats on the board to the appropriate career politicians.
And we have been made afraid. Our governments have become adept at getting their own way using it; I remember my parents were truly convinced that Sadaam Hussein could drop a nuclear weapon on us within 45 minutes. The discourse has become one of fear, one which reached its nadir last week with the unedifying sight of a UK Cabinet minister of Scottish origin, Jo Swinson, scaremongering against a Yes vote because it could entail higher mobile phone roaming charges and mean the end of Saturday letter deliveries.
I don’t know about you, but I reckon senior politicians have a duty of care to the electorate. They are meant to lead, to provide visions for the future, to reassure, to sound the voice of reason, to refute sensationalism, to think big. But just consider this: we are being asked to accept that we are not competent to run our national affairs because a mobile phone company might charge a few quid more if we do. The insult represents a preposterous infantilisation of the Scottish people, especially when Swinson neglected to add that the EU is likely to outlaw roaming charges anyway.
And Ms Swinson tells us that Royal Mail services will be cut if we make decisions for ourselves while at the same time a Cabinet she is a member of is pushing through the neoliberal sale of Royal Mail to already bloated hedge funds, organisations intent not on the social good of a postal service that delivers to isolated people come rain or shine but on the bottom line. We know what happens during privatisation: “efficiency” is bought on the backs of the customers and, especially, the ordinary workers, who find their conditions of employment ripped up to fund the additional burdens of a profit margin and the retirement packages of chief executives. Does Ms Swinson really believe that a vote by Scottish people is a greater threat to mail deliveries in Scotland than Goldman Sachs?
All over the world, we see sporadic instances of unrest at this gross perversion of human economic activity: The Occupy movement; riots in Greece, Brazil, London, Sweden and, ten years ago, Argentina; the Arab Spring movement. But all these offer only a fleeting glimpse of a brave alternative and, against the structures that have taken root in our politics, are pretty much doomed to failure. “If you want to change something,” protestors are told, “work from within.”
And that’s why I’m voting Yes. We have a legal, peaceful, constitutional means to say “Enough is enough; these are not our values.” We can reject an economic system that allows the South East of England to suck the rest of the UK dry to fund its stratospheric salaries and its eye-watering house prices and its super car lifestyle. We can reject a social system that has been engaged in brutal social engineering for forty years and is now accelerating, with the whole of London becoming the largest gated community in the world, the poor made unwelcome by property prices and the bedroom tax, shipped out to be shipped back in on a daily basis to clean the offices and keep the wine bars staffed on a High Speed Rail line that Scotland will pay £4.5 billion pounds towards but will stop at Manchester. We can reject a political system that moves the centre of power out of reach of the ordinary man and deposits it amongst the voices of the rich, influential and corrupt where it cannot help but be seduced. And we can do all this at the mere stroke of a pen. No violence. No upheaval. Just one little cross in a box and the world changes.
I agree with Patrick Harvie when he says it’s not going to be hugely different the day after we vote Yes. We may find ourselves a little poorer (I doubt it) or a little richer (probably more likely), but the sun will not shine brighter, the air will not taste sweeter and birds will not fly in our windows to make our breakfasts. But what I do believe is that a Yes vote will send a message out to the rest of the world, and it’s a message of hope that we don’t have to accept the political, economic and social structures that have been used for so long to make us afraid.
I laid it on the line for Andrew. I told him it seemed that he had been conditioned to believe that his life was miserable, and that it would only ever get more miserable if he tried to take charge of it for himself. At a time of his life when he should be feeling the most hopeful ever – a loving partner, a beautiful baby – he has been disempowered, emasculated, hobbled by fear that any change he initiates in his life will make matters worse. When he should be growing in confidence and capacity, he has been told to stand still, to stay put, to accept what his betters have decided and, most of all, to shut up.
That’s not good enough for him. It’s not good enough for his daughter. And it certainly isn’t good enough for Scotland.
The “Today” programme took a swipe at Kazakhstan today – or, to be more accurate, President Nazarbayev – in a segment that revealed that an almost racist Borat attitude towards the country is alive and well at the smug old BBC.
Giggling like a posh toff at a boy on a bursary, Justin Webb reported that Nazarbayev is “looking for an elixir for immortality”, and the Nazarbayev University has come up with a yoghurt drink. How funny. You can just imagine the old git – he’s 72 – swatting flies away with his solid gold zuzu while proclaiming he’s the King of Scotland, can’t you?
Of course, that’s nowhere near the truth. Apparently, Nazarbayev was publicly praised at a national assembly meeting – he is immensely popular in the country, and the culture is one of respect for authority, without it tipping into subservience – and he jokingly suggested the scientists find an elixir that would allow him to rule forever.
This is no senile madman, no power-crazed despot. Kazakhstan is by no means a fully fledged democracy, but neither is it a dictatorship. Elections which return the president to power with almost unanimous support have been given as clean a bill of health by observers as the US and UK elections. Nazarbayev is a consummate politician who managed the Soviet state, managed the transition to independence, managed a period of hyper inflation when the country had literally no administrative infrastructure, managed unilateral nuclear disarmanent and managed the development of a powerhouse economy that is growing a hundred times faster than the UK – all in 20 years. Whatever you think of his politics, he deserves respect for ensuring that Kazakhstan has not turned into a carbon copy of those other dysfunctional Stans in the area.
They interviewed a Kazakh and a UK scientist, both of whom said the Kazakhs were on to something, since the management of a human’s microbial balance in the digestive tract is crucial to health and well-being. But no: “The Kazakhs are on to something?” Webb repeated incredulously, with James Naughtie joining him in a gusty sarcastic guffaw.
I’m going to be very sensitive to this kind of thing from now on: I’ve made a commitment to Kazakhstan on the basis of what I’ve read about the place, and there are are a lot of things to admire about it, not least its 99% literacy rate. Stupidity is not a national characteristic, and the “Today” programme has no right to treat it like the country yokel.
Besides, I wonder how many people in the Webb and Naughtie households had a very fashionable Yakult yoghurt drink this morning?
Just over a year ago, I saw at first hand the bravery and dignity of the Norwegian nation. Susanne Sundfør, a young Norwegian singer, was performing in Wroclaw a matter of hours after her country had been rocked to its core by Anders Breivik’s cowardly attack on the children of its political classes. Despite having to sing songs that seemed so prescient of the horror that unfolded in Oslo and Utoya, she was restrained, elegant and proud, while at the same time in obvious pain. It was a humbling experience.
I think we’ve seen a scaled up version of that dignity in Norway’s treatment of the whole Breivik case, and it has shown the world how to respond to acts of terrorism that are designed to attack what we are and what we believe in. Breivik wanted to change the country, to make it turn away from openness and tolerance, to make it cower in fear and lash out against the forces of darkness he thought threatened it. The country’s reaction has been magnificent; they have responded by being even more open and tolerant, by refusing to cower or lash out or be afraid – of him.
Breivik is one of those delusional oddballs who believes in white supremacy because it allows him to bask in the myth of his own exceptionalism. Norway’s answer to him has been masterful in that it has refused to treat him any differently than any other criminal, no matter how petty. Thus, he has had exactly the same opportunity as anyone else to address the court, will have exactly the same restrictions and privileges as anyone else in a Norwegian prison, has received exactly the same maximum sentence that any other Norwegian criminal would receive. In effect, they have marginalised him, debased him, emasculated him by giving him the message that no matter how hard he strikes against their way of life, life will go on the same as if he were a pickpocket or a paedophile.
And what has been remarkable is the support this approach has had from the people. Even the families – those who I have seen or read interviews with – have been dignified and respectful and even grateful to the judicial system. There is no barking for revenge; just read the mature, sensible, rational but absolutely touching words of 19-year old Emma Martinovic, a survivor of that day:
“This means so much. Everyone has talked about how he would be judged insane, and I thought so too. But this confirms that he is sane and healthy, something we’ve known since day one. Finally someone who listens to us and understands us. It is absolutely amazing and feels very fair. This allows me to move on. He is doomed, and there is no one who can say otherwise. Now he is in the cell and I trust the police security. Now I do not need to worry about him anymore.”
That is the most eloquent one-finger salute that could ever be delivered to Breivik and his kind; you are done and dusted, and I will never think of you again, you little, little man.
Of course, posters on Huffington Post UK – which, unlike it’s generally liberal US counterpart, seems to have become a haven for Daily Mail readers and similar right-wing nutjob halfwits – went bananas with faux outrage. “21 years? That’s three and a half months per victim”, they chanted, as if justice can be reduced to a question of Primary school arithmetic. He’ll be out in ten years because of some go-gooder social worker. He’ll fool the psychiatrists. He’s be in his fifties at the end of his sentence. Insane. Norway should be ashamed of itself.
I wish fuckers like these didn’t annoy me as much as they do, but they do. Oh my word they do. Quite apart from the fact that Breivik received the maximum sentence allowed by law of 21 years, with the possibility of that being extended indefinitely by 5 years at a time if he is still considered a danger to the public – which ensures that he will undoubtedley spend the rest of his life behind bars – the depressingly predictable calls for the rope, firing squad or being roasted on a spit totally ignored the fact that Breivik himself would probably embrace martyrdom like a long-lost idiot brother, thereby ensuring his immortality in the racist, survivalist community worldwide.
This outrage, based as it is in fear, is tremendously useful to the corporate governments of the west, since it validates a whole host of intrusive measures designed to “protect” us. Masquerading as “antiterrorism”, the governments of the UK and US have brought in a whole range of strategies that are more useful to them not because they control subversives, but because they control us. Phone-tapping, e-mail gathering, rendition, extra-judicial imprisonment, even worldwide torture chambers in countries that belong in the pits of hell are all part of a system that can seamlessly be tweaked to suppress the general population. And so hackers like Gary McKinnon and Ryan Cleary, whistle-blowers like Bradley Manning and even Julian Assange himself all find themselves up against a finely-tuned bureaucratic structure whose tentacles can now grasp anyone, anywhere, and whose outposts are as shadowy as anything in Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago.
And, as such, we have been complicit in the victory of the terrorists to force us to change our ways, change our lives, abandon any pretence we ever had to democratic principles. In terrorism, the military, the secret services, the governments and the global corporate structures have found their best ever ally in their battle to control and to manipulate we, the people. And every time we cry, “String him up” or “What’s wrong with water boarding?” we cast our vote in support.
So, bless Norway for being the only Western country this century to truly stand up against terrorism, by mainaining its sanity and refusing to abandon its principles. They have ensured their democracy which was so cruelly attacked has survived not just intact, but immeasurably strengthened.
I can’t help comparing the hoo-ha over Julian Assange with that stain on the reputation of the Blair government, their failure to extradite General Augusto Pinochet in 2000 to Spain to face charges of torture.
I am as dubious as anyone about the case against Assange. The charges against him rest largely on him not using a condom during consensual sex with two women, one of whom threw a party for him after the event. Both women are linked to the US security services, apparently. But of course, charges of rape – even if that country’s definition of rape seems to be totally at odds with anything we would understand the term to mean – are hugely serious, and must be investigated. Assange must answer the charges, and has offered to do so if Swedish officers will come to the UK or if they will guarantee him safety from extradition to the US. They have refused.
But it’s nonsense to say it’s just about that: it is absolutely clear that the US has some stake in this, and will apply for Assange’s extradition when he is in Sweden. We’ve already seen that, while refusing to acknowledge international law in a whole raft of ways, such as the criminal court in the Hague, the US believes its law can be exported to other judicial systems; hence their demand for the extradition of hackers from the UK. In effect, international law for the US consists of US law being applied to preserve US interests wherever it wishes.
William Hague’s horrible “there will be no escape” pronouncements, then, are all part of keeping the US happy. It has nothing to do with international law or extradition treaties; it’s all about what the US wants. It was exactly the same in 2000, when, despite the highest court in the land ruling that Pinochet should be extradited to Spain to face torture charges and despite a swathe of international courts and governments supporting that, Jack Straw delayed and delayed and delayed the extradition until doctors could concoct a case for him being too ill to go to Spain. Funny – he was too ill to go to Spain, but well enough to travel to Chile, which is a bit like me saying the journey to Edinburgh is a bit wearing, so I’ll go to Berlin instead.
But of course, Pinochet was a pal of George W. Bush, seen as a still influential US ally amongst the red threat in South America. There was a message to be sent out, since no dictator would ever cooperate with the US again if they were going to be held responsible for crimes condoned and actively supported by the US in the future. Meanwhile, Margaret Thatcher saw him as the man who was willing to turn his country into one of the first testbeds of the Friedman economics that has dominated the world since the 1970s. There was no way the politicians were going to accede to the demands of the law in that case; Pinochet had to be protected.
So: if it is permissible to let a torturer slip through the legal net, why is the government so vexed about the story of an albeit rather arrogant guy who might have slipped up with a burst prophylactic? Of course, it’s to do with the establishment. Pinochet was part of it, part of the global power elite who are prepared to repress and torture and kill to maintain the status quo; Assange threatens it by providing a mechanism by which their grubby secrets – great and small – can be washed in public.
And by playing up the charges against Assange, it obviously draws attention away from and discredits Wikileaks.
The messenger is being shot. Just what Pinochet would have wanted.