Archive for November, 2015
So it was Remembrance Sunday yesterday, warmongerers and advisors to arms companies put on their best suits and their blood red poppies and stood in silence in memory of those they’d killed in the furtherance of their careers and for the advancement of their bank balances. Tony Blair was there, bowed like a vulture weeping for the bones it’s picked clean. He prayed to his god that he won’t go to hell for the lives he’s lost and the deaths he’s cost. It was a ceremony best watched in silence, if only because then we wouldn’t have to hear the oleaginous voice over by Nicholas Witchell, casting establishment judgement in the BBC’s impartial way.
There was only one man who was being judged yesterday, and it was the one who wasn’t responsible for war and death. We live in a country where the powerful and influential see fit to question…
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Like a fish that doesn’t notice the water, for generations Scots either didn’t notice or silently tolerated the continual slights, disdain and patronising contempt in which Scottish distinctiveness was held by the Unionist establishment and its apologists. But we do notice now, and we voice our disapproval, and this is dismissed as grievance hunting by a Unionist establishment and its apologists who see no reason to change. Grievance hunting means that for many lifetimes they’ve acted like dickheads and their dickheadedness was tolerated, but now all of a sudden they’re being called out on it. So in their eyes it’s not their fault for being dickheads, it’s our fault for pointing it out – that’s grievance hunting. Their being dickheads is a part of the natural order of things.
Ill will hunting is like shooting fish in a barrel. The truth is we don’t need to go hunting for grievances…
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Every year the poppy parading gets earlier and earlier like Christmas adverts. The poppy police have been out in force since mid October, complaining that there are people on the telly not bearing the obligatory badge of British militarism. If you don’t wear a poppy you don’t support the troops, and if you don’t support the troops then you’re practically a member of ISIS.
It’s not enough to remember the dead in your own way. It’s not allowed to light a quiet candle in your heart. It’s not permitted to make a donation in private to a charity of your choice. You have to make a show of it. You have to make a public display in an establishment approved manner, a way that doesn’t challenge or question, a way that won’t rock any boats or change anything that the powerful do. Poppies are the regimentation of remembrance. We remember…
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“I believe Scotland should be independent, but without Trident’s we’re defenceless – we just can’t take the risk. I hope you understand.”
“The only reason anyone even listens to us is because we have Trident. Trident’s the reason we have peace, and security, and freedom of speech. Without it, we’ll be walked all over.”
“Look around us. All those shipyards, IBM, the ropeworks: they’re all gone. What do we have left? If Trident goes, we’ll have nothing. Nothing. I don’t like it any more than you, but we have to protect what we’ve got.”
“The only thing stopping me voting for you is the jobs at Faslane. We can’t afford to lose Trident.”
“I’m so sorry, I would vote yes, but my son works on one of the Trident submarines, so… you know. I have to…”
Do you have any idea how many times variations on those phrases came…
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