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.