In this most perfect union, this happiest family of nations, this greatest political achievement the multiverse has ever witnessed, Scotland has – we are told – the most powers and widest influence of any devolved nation or region anywhere on the globe. This is only true if there are no other self-governing non-independent nations anywhere on the globe. This is not actually a lie in Westminster’s weaseling words, as it’s true that there are no other devolved nations. Other countries don’t devolve power, they grant statutes of autonomy or have constitutions which spell out the divisions of power between states or cantons and federal governments. Only the UK has devolution.
Devolution is a term invented in the 1970s, referring to the loaning of power from the Westminster government. A power devolved is a power retained – and it’s not retained by the likes of you or me. Like a yo-yo on a string, devolved powers can be wheeched back whenever Westminster feels like it. So the claims of the Unionist parties are true, it is no lie. That’s the power of spin. Scotland really is at the spinning end of the world’s biggest devolved yo-yo, but don’t kid yourself on that we’re holding the string.
The strings are pulled elsewhere, as revealed in an article in today’s Herald newspaper. The real decisions about what powers the Scottish parliament should have are not made by the Scottish people, they are made by the mandarins of Westminster, the officials of the Ministry of Don’t and the Department of Ye Cannae. And that happens behind our backs even when our elected Unionist Lords and Masters have promised us the devo-max earth.
As part of the Smith Commission proposals, Scotland was promised control over Health and Safety legislation and the Crown Estates, but in secret machinations officials from MoD ensured that control over Health and Safety was removed from the final draft document, and Scotland’s powers over the Crown Estates were fudged and watered down. The Ministry of Deceit was worried that Scotland might use some of its powers to pit the hems on leaky nuclear bases, to force those who say they’re keeping us safe not to cause us harm. But that would never do, because the MoD is charged with keeping Scotland safe and secure, and reserves the right to kill us in the process. And don’t you Jocks go imagining you have any say in the matter – what do you think this is, a democracy? The only Jocks the MoD recognises are those under orders. Be regimented, there’s a good stereotype, eat your porridge, do some Highland dancing, and don’t be offended by jokes about incest. There’s a seat at the back of the bus with your name on it.
The yo-yo spins, the elastic twangs. Scotland doesn’t get the promised powers, but a glancing blow to the head. There is no devo max earth but we do get the stars. A stunned and staggering Scotland seeing twinkling stars spinning around its head. Oh look at the pretty devolved lights, says the Daily Record. Marvel at the magnificence of your brain damage, commands the BBC. The yo-yo spins, the elastic twangs, the powers that were never there wheech back. Concussion is the vow fulfilled.
Scotland can’t be trusted with its health or safety, we need the MoD for that. It’s for the good of our health that the MoD needs to pollute our waters with radioactive waste. It’s for our safety that they need to prevent Scotland controlling its own coastal resources. We might break something – like breaking the power of Westminster over our lives – and that would never do. Scotland the meek, the quiet, the subservient. It’s health and safety. Just not our health or our safety. In the UK the health and safety of a Trident missile is far more important than your health or your children’s safety. Don’t go getting ideas above your station.
We’ve been here before. In the 1950s the mandarins of the Ministry of Delusion considered using the far north of Scotland as the site of the UK’s nuclear weapons tests. After all, no one of any importance lived there, and they’d already polluted and island with anthrax. The only reason they didn’t go ahead was because the weather was too unpredictable. In the 1980s the oil companies sought exploration licences for the Firth of Clyde, there was the promise of an oil boom off the West Coast. But the Ministry of Don’t You Dare said no. It might interfere with their submarines and their weapons of mass destruction. We might discover that the Ministry of Defecation was crapping filth all over our sea beds, contaminating our waters and polluting our seas – we might just demand that they stop using us as the toxic waste dump. They couldn’t be having that. It was far better that the West coast of Scotland didn’t get any boost to its economy to replace the industries that Thatcher was decimating.
The Ministry of Dengue Fever don’t want us to realise that it’s them we need defended from. They don’t want us to know that they are a disease that stalks our country. But it’s too late for that. We’ve woken up. We’re conscious and alive. And we’re angry. We’re awake and we’re dreaming of a country where our voices are heard, where our demands are met, where our governments do what we tell them to do. Openly, in front of us. No back doors, no secret meetings, no duplicity, no underhand dealings. And we’re going to make sure that happens. The boys toys of the Ministry of Depredation will be put back in their box.
The Unionist parties say – trust us to lie to you, trust us to be deceitful, trust us to go behind your backs. Put your faith in the feckless, your confidence in the conmen. There will be a leaflet all about it put through your letterbox very soon, who needs power for the Scottish people when we can have hi-gloss paper instead?
It’s been over sixty years since the Scottish National Convention, and they’ve still not given us what we want. Sixty years of asking nicely, sixty years of patience. My patience has run out.
It’s time to take power back from them. It’s time to break their power over us, to remind them who is the real power in this land. It’s time to grab the yo-yo and pull it from their claws. It’s Scotland’s time, and that time is coming. 54 days until the Unionist parties’ nuclear meltdown.
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