Freedom and a’ that

There is some weird stuff happening in Scotland right now… It’s strange, but it’s as if most of us freethinkers are the only humans left in Scotland. It’s either that or David Icke and the Wachowski Brothers are right, and we’re living in a computer generated universe.

For me, it all started way back when… back, back through time until the New Labour Government invaded Afghanistan. Yes, they were complete bastards. Yes, they were harbouring terrorists… but that was a sovereign nation and we invaded it with America. I dealt with. It was probably right. Didn’t want Labour, wanted the SSP or SNP, but fuck it…

When we got our Parliament, why was it I started thinking about Vichy France? I voted for it, but why did marking both those “Yes”’s seem like I was signing away my soul. My heart told me yes, but my brain told me to spoil my ballot paper with something poetic and Gaelic and merely wait.

And then 9/11 happened and the American’s wanted revenge. I could even live with that. You can’t blow up tens of thousands of people and not expect a reaction.

Okay, fine I said. Let’s live with it. (and lets forget the various air bombings and covert operations here and there that were fuck all to do with Iraq). It was necessary and… and fuck me we’re in Iraq. There were WMDs, there weren’t WMDs, scientists were inexplicably committing suicide and I suddenly noticed that our terror laws had reverted to the bad old days of the IRA.

Right, fine, it’s just one of those coincidences, like attractive women wanting me to be their friends and nothing more and breaking my heart…

There just happened to be two bad bastards within a couple of years of each other. It means nothing. It’s just a coincidence.

However, I couldn’t stay silent for long, I had taken time off from Politics and a sabbatical for personal reasons. I had to write a book, I had to sort out my criminally negligent and unlucky love life… However, the real world wouldn’t go away, and I couldn’t stop. I became engaged again in politics. I had to, the invasion was wrong, it was clear.

So, I did my protesting, my photographing, my venting of spleen to anyone within a two mile radius who would listen. I merely got my protestations batted back at me with the soft, sultry words of Labour apologists: But at least they aren’t Tories.

But, slowly, covertly, almost innocently, we started to lose our freedoms bit by bit. ID cards was touted a fucking fantastic idea. Didn’t like it then, wasn’t even remotely convinced. And more, on, anti-freedom of speech bills masquerading as “religious hate” bills. Amendments to “investigatory powers.” Internment was no longer shameful, and this time we didn’t get to taunt Thatcher because of it’s use.

It continues, treason laws are being touted as if they were the next season of Big Brother or X-Factor; discrimination is being thrown about as if I had just seen a sign from a 1970s Whitechapel Pub that exclaimed “No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs.” Every newspaper wants to reassert it’s brutish Britishness and everyone who doesn’t is a traitor. Apparently, I’m a traitor. So be it.

Also, one of the truly most contemptible things is, no-one seems to care. They care enough to complain, but not enough to fight, not enough to vote. All rallies are meaningless. All peace is pointless. Where is the Red Army Faction or Actione Direct to blow away the cobwebs? Where is the Tartan Army? Where are the radicals now? The apologists for the left are happy with Placards and a piecemeal protest that merely, pointlessly, inevitably gain the least amount of headlines it’s possible to get.

I pointed out to a work colleague that the recent “Make Poverty History “ Rally in Edinburgh was easily eclipsed in America where 500,000 people went to a party devoted to the Motorcycle Harley Davidson. As a percentage of the population in Europe and North America, the balance isn’t even close. Europe has more people and apparently cares less about World Poverty than America does about a motorcycle.

I’ll leave you merely with a poem, and say nothing more.

The Tree of Liberty by Robert Burns
.
Heard ye o' the Tree o' France,
And wat ye what's the name o't?
Around it a' the patriots dance --
Weel Europe kens the fame o't!
It stands where ance the Bastile stood --
A prison built by kings, man,
When Superstition's hellish brood
Kept France in leading-strings, man.

Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit,
Its virtues a' can tell, man:
It raises man aboon the brute,
It mak's him ken himsel', man!
Gif ance the peasant taste a bit,
He's greater than a lord, man,
And wi' the beggar shares a mite
O' a' he can afford, man.

This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth:
To comfort us 'twas sent, man:
To gie the sweetest blush o' health,
And mak us a' content, man!
It clears the een, it cheers the heart,
Mak's high and low guid friends, man,
And he wha acts the traitor's part,
It to perdition sends, man.

My blessings ay attend the chiel,
Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man,
And staw a branch, spite o' the Deil,
Frae 'yont the western waves, man!
Fair Virtue water'd it wi' care,
And now she sees wi' pride, man,
How weel it buds and blossoms there,
Its branches spreading wide, man.

But vicious folk ay hate to see
The works o' Virtue thrive, man.
The courtly vermin's bann'd the tree,
And grat to see it thrive, man!
King Louis thought to cut it down,
When it was unco sma', man;
For this the watchman crack'd his crown,
Cut aff his head and a', man.

A wicked crew syne, on a time,
Did tak' a solemn aith, man,
It ne'er should flourish to its prime --
I wat they pledg'd their faith, man!
Awa they gaed wi' mock parade,
Like beagles hunting game, man,
But soon grew weary o' the trade,
And wish'd they'd been at hame, man.

Fair Freedom, standing by the tree,
Her sons did loudly ca', man.
She sang a sang o' Liberty,
Which pleas'd them ane and a', man.
By her inspir'd, the new-born race
Soon drew the avenging steel, man.
The hirelings ran - her foes gied chase,
And bang'd the despot weel, man.

Let Britain boast her hardy oak,
Her poplar, and her pine, man!
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke,
And o'er her neighbours shine, man!
But seek the forest round and round,
And soon 'twill be agreed, man,
That sic a tree can not be found
'Twixt London and the Tweed, man.

Without this tree alake this life
Is but a vale o' woes, man,
A scene o' sorrow mix'd wi' strife,
Nae real joys we know, man;
We labour soon, we labour late,
To feed the titled knave, man,
And a' the comfort we're to get,
Is that ayont the grave, man.

Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow,
The warld would live in peace, man.
The sword would help to mak' a plough,
The din o' war wad cease, man.
Like brethren in a common cause,
We'd on each other smile, man;
And equal rights and equal laws
Wad gladden every isle, man.

Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat
Sic halesome, dainty cheer, man!
I'd gie the shoon frae aff my feet,
To taste the fruit o't here, man!
Syne let us pray, Auld England may
Sure plant this far-famed tree, man;
And blythe we'll sing, and herald the day
That gives us liberty, man.