It’s coming. You can feel it in your bones. You can smell it in the air. You can almost touch it. Things are changing. Things are developing. The seeds that the British establishment was so convinced it had buried in 2014 are germinating. A tightly coiled bud that has been guarding and maintaining its strength and its energy is about to burst, fed and nourished by hopes and expectations. It’s been well manured with the dung of a British state that doesn’t care and doesn’t care who knows that it doesn’t care. We’re reaching the end of a stormy winter and the green shoots of a better country are about to sprout. A movement is about to make a move, and when it does this land will change forever.
It won’t be political parties which change Scotland. It won’t be national leaders or organisations which transform it. It will be thousands of ordinary people who are doing extraordinary things. It will be the talents and skills of punters who’re punting the old lethargy and lassitude out of the park. We’re making a revolution, and we’re doing it with Yes picnics and Yes hubs, with tea and scones and laughs and dreams. We’ve not had our tea. We’re cooking up a future, and it’s tasty and mouthwatering. The ingredients are enthusiasm, energy, and hope, and those simple ingredients are going to cook up a dish that Westminster will choke on.
You can wait about for leadership. You can sit on your hands and guard your tongue. You can be passive and acquiescent, resigned to dreein a weird that doesn’t come much weirder than Jacob Rees Mogg and Michele Mone having more of a say over Scotland’s future than you do. You can endure in long-suffering silence and thole the fate allotted to you. You can take refuge in cynicism, or burn yourself with anger, raging uselessly against the machine that consumes you. But none of that changes anything, none of that will make a Scotland that you don’t need to feel angry or embarrassed about. All it does is to make those who have power believe that they are invincible. Silence makes you complicit in the crap that’s heaped upon you.
But even if it were to come along, this leadership we’ve been waiting for, this solving of all our problems by someone else, this magic wand that will wave away all the obstacles, it risks us ending up being stuck in the same passivity that we’ve always had. It’s the passivity and quiet endurance of a country that’s been told and taught to substitute a cringe for a culture that has led to the Scotland of injustice and inequality that drives our desire for a better place, a more equal place, a more just place. We’ll maybe end up with a Scotland where we have all the same inequalities and injustices as we’ve always had, just all tied up in a pretty tartan bow that restricts and confines a passive people who’ve learned not to engage and not to upset old certainties and old cringes.
We’re taking the old culture of the gaunie no and the naw ye cannae and replacing it with the aye a’m gaunie and the youse cannae stop me. We tell the British nationalists in Scotland, your cringe does not define us. Your fears do not chain us. Your limitations are yours alone. When they tell us that we can’t, we reply, “Watch us.”
People are realising that Scottish independence is the radical notion that the cringe is a lie, that we’re more than just scenery, that this green and wet and heart-achingly beautiful country in the far north west of Europe is every bit as good as anywhere else, that the people of this land are every bit as capable as anyone else, and a damn sight more competent than the British establishment which has got us into the messy humiliations of Brexit. Scottish independence is the dangerous belief that a country is best governed by people who actually give a toss about it. It’s the conviction that the only sovereign body in this country is composed of the people who live in it. It’s the heresy of believing that Scotland can be a normal country too.
All over Scotland extraordinary ordinary people are saying to themselves, feck this fur a gemme o sodgies. There’s got to be a better way. There’s got to be a different way, a more productive way, a way out that leads to something worth dreaming about, worth hoping for, worth leaving future generations. There’s got to be a Scotland that is more than a recepticle for the fag ash of British nationalist vanities, doubting itself as we’re filled with the wreckage of Britain’s bad and nasty habits.
And they say to themselves – I’m going to make it happen. I’m going to do it for myself. I’m going to be loud. I’m going to be annoying. I’m going to stand up with those beside me and create the better Scotland that we all deserve, because nae other bugger is gaunnie dae it fur us. This is the DIY referendum. If independence is to be about anything meaningful, then it starts with independence of the mind and independence of the spirit. Independence means that we realise that the political is personal, and we start with the declaration of our own personal independence.
All over Scotland local groups are organising, they’re reaching out to their communities, forming alliances with others, and it’s all entirely self-direction and self-determined. This is the real grassroots Scotland, not the Scotland of the lairds and the landowners, the rich and the powerful who fund Scotland in Union. The independence movement is a movement of the people, and the people are ready to move. Scotland is heading for independence, and all the people of Scotland, all of us who were born here, all of us who have chosen to live here from all over the world, we’re daein it fur oorsels. Our destiny is in our own hands, let’s shape it. Britain is the past, Scotland is the future.
The Wee Ginger Dug has got a new domain name, thanks to Indy Poster Boy, Colin Dunn @Zarkwan. http://www.indyposterboy.scot/ You can now access this blog simply by typing www.weegingerdug.scot into the address bar of your browser, the old address continues to function, the new one redirects to the blog. The advantage of the new address is that it’s a lot easier to remember if you want to include a link to the blog in leaflets, posters, or simply to tell a friend about it. Many thanks to Colin.
Wee Ginger Donations & Speaking engagements
Or you can donate by making a payment directly into a special bank account, or by sending a cheque or postal order. If you’d like to donate by one of these methods, please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org and I will send the necessary information. Please also use this email address if you would like the dug and me to come along to your local group for a talk.