Scotland’s Welcome Mat: Mud on the Tartan?
When the Land of “Aye, Come In!” finds Its doorbell ringing louder than expected
From a bowl of piping hot Cullen skink to a heartfelt “How’s yer sel’?” shouted from across a rain-soaked street, we Scots have spent centuries cultivating a reputation for generosity – especially, it must be said, towards those who have fled distant lands and arrived in search of shelter.
The historical narrative has long been that while England’s welcome for refugees can sometimes feel like a lukewarm cup of weak tea left outside in the drizzle, Scotland’s is more akin to a roaring fire, an open door, and perhaps a dram or two.
And yet, here in the 21st century, we are peering over the ramparts, a wee bit perplexed.
Protests have erupted in corners of Scotland against refugees and asylum seekers being housed in local communities – although these have been to a lesser degree than in England.
But in Falkirk (the Facebook image above) and elsewhere, placards have been held aloft, slogans chanted, and the warm glow of Scottish hospitality has, for a moment, flickered.
For a nation that brags about its centuries-old openness – remember the Lithuanian miners, the Italian ice cream sellers, and the Polish soldiers who found a home here – the sight of “Not Here!” banners flapping in the wind is, frankly, as jarring as discovering the Loch Ness Monster in your bath.
It is tempting, of course, to point south and mutter, “At least we’re not as bad as England!” There, after all, the question of refugees has been a political football kicked so often it’s developed its own set of bruises.
English tabloids shriek about “small boats,” and debates about the meaning of sanctuary are so heated the Thames could practically boil.
Yet Scotland has long prided itself on being different. The nation’s very identity is built on standing apart, whether it’s holding onto the haggis while others baulk or painting their faces blue for a spot of historical mayhem.
So, what has changed?
Some say it’s the pace and the scale; communities unaccustomed to newcomers find themselves suddenly transformed. Others blame economic pressures, or the deluge of misinformation swirling around social media like midges at dusk.
Whatever the reasons, the protests betray a tension between Scotland’s self-image – as the land of welcome – and the reality that not everyone is quite ready to share the biscuits.
However, here’s where Scotland gets its second wind. From Glasgow to Aberdeen, grassroots groups have emerged, pushing back against the protests with a brand of warmth that would embarrass a bonfire.
Scots, after all, have a knack for dissent, but also for eventually doing the right thing, once the kettle’s boiled and everyone’s had a sit down.
It’s worth remembering the words of Roza Salih, who helped organise the Glasgow Girls campaign against deportation in 2015 to stop the removal of Drumchapel High School pupil, Agnesa Murselaj.
Roza’s family had fled Kurdistan in northern Iraq to seek asylum when Saddam Hussein was in power: “We felt safe in Scotland as we had run away from a war zone country but at the same time we felt alone, no one to communicate with as we couldn’t speak the language properly and being an asylum seeker there were too much restrictions and barriers to our daily life.
“The Home Office told us what we could and couldn’t do. Its policies restricted us. My dad couldn’t work while he wanted to work. We had vouchers to use for our shopping and people discriminated against us because of the vouchers.”
Roza became an activist because of the way her family were treated – as second class citizens – and the treatment of her friend Agnesa.
There are many others like her, and I believe that we Scots do not want to see them mistreated, especially by the English state.
So, the next time you hear a protest about refugees in Scotland, listen for the counter-melody: the volunteer baking scones, the neighbour offering language lessons, the schoolkids making welcome banners.
The protests may steal the headlines, but the heart of Scotland – the one that’s beaten for centuries for those seeking refuge – is indomitable.
If there’s mud on the tartan, trust Scotland to wash it off with a bit of rain, some grit, and a whole lot of heart.
Are idle hands the Devil’s tool?
It’s been a while since I updated this blog, mainly because I screwed up a theme change and threw the whole site into a state of flux, but also because as a ‘semi-retired’ hack I find myself with less free time than when I was in full-time work.
I have been watching and listening to the news though and finding the whole current affairs agenda stranger than the most phantasmagorical work of fiction.
Keir Starmer is about as useful as a chocolate fireguard, with nothing at all to offer Scotland – apart from bringing Donald Trump here against the wishes of most people here.
I guess the US president would do anything to avoid the heat from the continuing rumblings about his late pal and paedophile Jeffrey Epstein and what is (or isn’t) in the as yet unreleased ‘Epstein Papers’.
Starmer and his pitiful bunch are totally disregarding public opinion about bringing Tango Man to these shores, and I hope the decision comes back to bite them.
Russia’s horrific barrage against Ukraine continues unchecked with Putin continuing to mercilessly bomb civilian targets as world leaders sit on their hands and watch. Volodymyr Zelensky has proposed a new round of peace talks with Putin, who is more than living up to his ‘Mad Vlad’ soubriquet, and at the time of writing this it’s not known whether the two will meet face-to-face.
However, the current most horrific conflict must be Israel’s continued bombardment of Gaza. Since October 2023, a figure approaching 60,000 people in Gaza have died as Benjamin Netanyahu continues to unleash the forces of hell upon the millions of people crammed into the narrow strip of land.
And what are Starmer and his Labour party doing? They are supporting Israel’s genocide, as far as I can ascertain against UK public opinion.
With the US and Russia baring their teeth at each other over the madman’s Gaza extermination, we shouldn’t think we are too far from it all to be overly concerned.
But remember HMNB Clyde, aka Faslane, where what’s called the UK’s nuclear deterrent is based.
I’ve been there several times over the years – I didn’t like it too much on either occasion and I sure as hell don’t like it now.
We’re off to India again in a couple of months – here’s a snap I took my last time there a few months back.
Pip pip.
Time takes a cigarette …
I HAVE more time on my hands during these days of (semi-) retirement, but like sand, it seems to keep slipping through my fingers.
Trips to India and, more recently France, have only stirred my wanderlust and I’ll have to keep it in check to let my wallet catch up.
Then I remembered my sadly neglected space on the web, so here I am.
I’m not going to mention the fatuous Trump (just now) or the equally ludicrous sight of Farage trying to give the impression of a serious politician.
I have been looking through the thousands of images on my laptop – some dating back 20 years – wondering whether I should move them all to the cloud or an external drive, but before I do either, I thought a selection might offer a way to use some of my bandwidth.
The images were shot at various locations around the world, but mostly in Scotland, so enjoy our beautiful country and a selection of others.
This was taken at the David Bowie Museum in New York.
Here’s a picture from D C Thomson’s Dundee Courier of Bowie performing at a gig in the Caird Hall in 1973
And another from the same gig and the same publisher. I was working with D C Thomson at the time and I was at this gig. I’m sitting in the balcony with a lot more hair than I have these days!
More pictures some time soon.
Revisiting the dark days of Thatcherism
THE road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions – regardless of how often I promise myself to keep this blog going, something else always comes up.
Sometimes it’s a furry friend with four paws and a tail, and an ever-endearing facial expression that’s urging me to take her for a walk.
At other times it can be the ‘day job’ demanding my attention, but I’m here now with another radio documentary from my days with our ‘national’ broadcaster, and ignoring the world that president Musk and his puppet Trump are seeking to destroy.
The documentary dates back to the 1980s at the height of Thatcherism, when nurses, ambulance crews and other health workers stood up to the wicked witch.
It was the first documentary I did on that nationwide health dispute. A second – some months later – involved me spending a Saturday night shadowing an ambulance crew in Glasgow, and that was a real eye-opener.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the second programme, but here’s the first, which looks at the dispute in Scotland in a UK context.