As some of you may know, MSPs voted 69 to 59 for First Minister Sturgeon to be allowed to seek permission from Westminster so as to hold a second referendum on Scottish independence. Now, if it’s an in depth and analytical look at such things, then you have come to the wrong place, my fere’s, for that isn’t how your big pal Cinead rolls, no; for as all my paltry (Some might say ‘modest’) number of followers will know by now; I’m all heart on matters such as this, I can’t help it, never have been able to. So, I’m just going to go ahead and give you an honest and semi coherent glimpse into the storm of emotions currently swirling around my head; my thoughts; my feelings. It isn’t very lighthearted, nor is it all that humorous, but again; it will be honest.
And so, what I see before Scotland as of this moment in time; is a fight. Pure and simple. What I see is an increasingly vocal minority shouting over the moderate majority; Britnats and Yoons; rabid and chasing their tails; screeching that tired old rhetoric, doubling down on it, despite the knowledge to the contrary being widely known, or at least accessible to any who might seek it for themselves. I see politicians free of the noose decrying independence as they suck greedily at westminister’s rancid, putrid teats; offering no real alternative to a country wanting to stay in the EU; a country so vastly different to the ‘world’ they inhabit, that they seem content, or perhaps intent, on deluding themselves to the reality. I see a haggard old cunt; a witch of gristle sown together with the threads of a union jack, crudely molded into a pantomime of what could loosely be described as a ‘woman’; Theresa may. And then I hear her speak, and I hear the hypocrisy of her words in regards to democracy and the will of the ‘British’ people, which is in stark contrast to the tone that accompanies any mention of us Scots; an English person deciding what is best for the country of Scotland, once again; something that should have been relegated to before the age of the fucking steam engine. I cringe at the blatant disinterest, and sheer contemptuous dismissal she shows, not just to the Scottish parliament, but to the people of Scotland as well. I sometimes find myself marveling at how absurdly ridiculous it all is, and why nothing is done about it; why we continue to stand for it; why we are seemingly blind to it.
I read comment after comment, headline after headline; lies and deceit from every conceivable angle, and all of it focused without the merest hint of shame, toward my country, and towards me; serving only to compound my hatred for anything British, harder and harder. I wonder just how it is, that we patriots will ever get our message across to the masses, when there will be barely enough room to hear ourselves think; when the weight of the English establishment will require all constraint and effort to simply keep above, let alone allow room for our voices to reach the ears of those needing reached above its clamor. And then I wonder what will be the outcome from such a divisive smear campaign as will be launched by England? One which will have left no room for open debate and honest reporting and thus, no doubt result in, again, lies and dirty tricks winning the day.
Then the parade of disinterested and self-important celebrities will be trotted out to sign a great big letter to the people of Scotland; celebrities whom I wouldn’t sacrifice the steam of my piss for, and whose opinions on Scottish independence are just as vapid and fleeting. This faux outpouring of love will even persuade some of my simpler minded comrades, and as a result; my faith in humanity will weaken that little bit more. Soon after, a barrage of ‘Great British’ this, and ‘Great British’ that will be deployed across our television screens, even more so than in these past two years; their only purpose being to safeguard the fragility of this ‘precious union’ of ours. And all the while, I shall be cursing it all in my burgeoning Gaidhlig; drowning my rising anger with copious swallies of Whisky and bleach. The prospect of having my trachea melt and then collapse in my very throat, a more desirable fate than enduring the unceasing waves of BBC propaganda.
I sit, watching that loathsome, odious piers Morgan lose his shit after a call from a Scottish independence supporter; his self-serving outrage infecting the weak minds of the slack-jawed audience; further poisoning them against the very idea of such a thing, and without balanced arguments or countering of any kind necessary; just simple English indignation. And for what; because these Sassenach’s can’t imagine that Scottish independence could be about anything other than them; that it is about Scotland, and has nothing to do with England; that it isn’t a middle finger to their country, but an opportunity for us; that we really don’t care all that much for them; that we want to move on with our lives; that the union is toxic; that England is nothing to me; that ‘Britain’s heritage’ is meaningless to me; that England is, for all intents and purposes, foreign to me? And if that shatters your hollow sense of self-identity, you should perhaps spend some time soul searching just who you actually are; go for a walk; angrily dance in an old factory; skip stones across pond or whatever, but don’t wind up basing your entire sense of self on being ‘British’, for Britain exists only in the recesses of your deficient mind; it doesn’t exist.
And how long, I wonder; can you kick a dog before it starts to bite? How many times can you spit on someone before they lose control? How long can you push someone, before they snap, and then push back? Scotland’s destiny is at the end of a rope, and this will no doubt be the last chance at independence within my lifetime. And so, it falls to us to decide whether or not Scotland uses that rope to swing across the void; or hang herself. A point reached without violence, I might add; a fact of which, Westminster should be acutely aware of, when testing just how far it can push us in the future. After all that, we will have our answer, and the matter will have been settled, for better or for worse,
Now, I’m a young man, who has the rest of his life ahead of him, and the prospect of spending said life referred to as a ‘Brit’, and not a Scot, is a prospect that turns my stomach; sickens me. I don’t care where you come from, and I don’t care what race you are, or what religion you practice; but you better make sure you don’t stand in the way of Scotland’s independence, for like my mother says; if you aint got something nice to say, then shut the fuck up and keep quiet. If, as a newcomer, you aren’t going to vote for independence, then you don’t deserve a vote. Now, more importantly; if you are Scottish, then I ask you to grow a spine and put aside your cowardice, your whipped-dog fear and doubts, and vote YES, if and when the call is given to do so. Remember, you are not English, and you are not British. You are Scottish; that is your blood, and that is your heritage, and that should mean something; above all things; that should mean something. Otherwise, you are less than a traitor, a back-stabber, a quisling and a coward; you are a weakling, down-trodden and whipped; and you do not dare call yourself Scottish, for you will have lost that God-given privilege the moment you re-affix the English teat into your sniveling, whimpering, abhorrent little mouth.
This rant isn’t written to change your mind, nor is it written to garner support for independence. You’ll either do the right thing for Scotland, or you won’t. It’s written simply to let off a little steam, an exercise in venting pressure; it’s as simple as that. If any of the above lights a fire in your gut, well good. If not, then you and I would most assuredly not get along too well. Either way, let’s conclude this on an aptly patriotic, and somewhat prophetic note; shall we?
“‘Now’s the day, an now’s the hour:
See the front o battle lour,
See approach proud Edward’s power –
Chains and Slaverie
‘Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha will fill a coward’s grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn an flee.”
P.S. I’ll be on the right side of Scottish history, brothers and sisters. Can you say the same?