Saturday, 20 September 2014

Och aye.


The only opinion I have on the Scottish referendum which took place a little while ago, other than the obvious fact that I'd miss friends I'd made at uni not to mention their delicious accent should they suddenly detach with their homeland and float away out to sea – which is what I imagined happening should the result be a definite 'yay' for independence – was that the words they chose to vote under were not thought through, or thought through perfectly well and used to sway some voters, perchance. 

The Scots could vote simply 'Yes', or 'No'. The affirmative, the positive – or the negative. The latter was the issue, the presence of negativity in the voting.
'Yes' and 'No' are emotive. You feel like you're going against what's best or what the people want by voting for what you want, voting free, voting No. No is just as positive, it can be for some – and most, as it turns out. Yes is a bully, arrogant and assuming, making an ass out of you and me, getting off unscathed. Yes guilt-trips and doesn't apologise. Voting Yes supposedly says 'I am positive, I am for, this is happening, we're headed upwards'. Voting No allegedly means 'I hate change, I'm pouring my sense of adventure down the plughole, I'd rather have things the same forever; fuck ya, country that brought me up.' The Yes voters also seemed much more vocal about their decisions and while they didn't necessarily force the Yes upon others, they definitely discriminated against – by deleting from social media friend lists, or indirectly tweeting mostly – the braver No voters who came out of the closet and let the world know they'd be voting that way. No voters seemed to keep quiet for the most part, which is a shame as surely having 98% of the country's population register to vote means they are proud and happy to have a voice and to use it...? I'm not on any side as this isn't my country, in fact once upon a time my family wanted to visit Scotland and I protested so much (because I was very young and thought Scotland was simply a wet, freezing, bare monastery that stretched out for miles with only the occasional pub or kilt store to punctuate the ugly nationwide boredom) that we didn't go in the end. I'd happily go now – okay, maybe not right now, I'll let the rioters riot and the quiet ones be quiet for a good year or so first – as I know more about the place now, and what I don't know I want to. Let's just hope that the Scots will make peace, the 45 will join hands with the 55 and it'll all blow over, they'll hit the pubs for a knees-up and have so much Scotch they'll forget what they were resentful about.

C'mon, Scotland. You got this. 

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