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David Hume

Stramash – a game of skill rather than luck

When East Lothian-based games developer, Tony Mitchell, announced he was launching a new family board game with a quirky Scottish twist, most folk asked if there was going to be a digital version. However, market research told him there was still a steady market for ‘traditional’ board games, and people still loved the idea of sitting at a table and playing together.

Tony Mitchell Still a need for games the whole family can play

Tony Mitchell
Still a need for games the whole family can play

The ‘eureka’ moment came after Tony played a version of an ancient Parcheesi game developed by a friend’s uncle which had very few rules, but an infinite combination of strategic, indeed ‘sleekit’, moves. With a background in sports marketing, the game reminded him of many on field skirmishes, and Stramash, the Scottish Board Game, was born.

According to Tony, the game is simple, but requires a certain degree of sleekitness. “It’s a classic chase game but has been described as being like ‘Ludo on whisky’, he says. “It uses interlocking board pieces called Mashies and coloured marbles or Laddies. The key difference is that Stramash is played with playing cards instead of dice, so players must depend on their strategic skills and not simply luck to win the game. As the name suggests, it can become quite feisty. But it’s simply good old-fashioned fun.”

As most Scots will know, the word ‘stramash’ has its origins in Scotland and has come to mean a ‘disorderly gathering’ or ‘ruckus’. It was most famously used by sports broadcaster Arthur Montford when describing a goalmouth rumpus in the 1960s.

Stramash LogoTony has enhanced the Stramash myth by introducing a number of spoof back stories to the game, claiming that Queen Victoria was a big fan and that John Knox banned the game when he became first head of the Church of Scotland as it caused too much aggravation (see below).

“The back-stories are a nod to the myths of the Loch Ness Monster and ‘haggis hunters’,” says Tony. “These are stories that people have talked about for years and often taken with a big pinch of salt, but are testimony to the affection people have for Scotland and the inventiveness of its people.”

With its high production values, Stramash is now attracting a lot of attention and already has a distributor in the USA and Sweden.. The game Stramash can be played by 2 – 6 players and is suitable for ages eight upwards. It costs £39.95 (including UK post and packaging) and can be ordered either direct from the company or from the Amazon website


Stramash: “History and Heritage”

At the end of 2008, a cache of documents came to light in strange and mysterious circumstances in Edinburgh. This strange collection of documents purported to be from a wide variety of sources, the earliest from around 1707. Some looked genuinely old and some more modern. Some were scraps, torn from letters and manuscripts. Some were printed material of greater length. The only things they had in common was their subject matter, a board game called Stramash and they all seemed to have been written in Scotland.
There have been many theories throughout the centuries about Stramash. Here are just a few – believe them if you will:

Rob Roy MacGregor rejected the normal glass marbles when playing Stramash, and instead used discoloured musket balls which he said were “The Dukes’ Balls”, gouged from the wounds he received at the hands of the Dukes of Atholl and Montrose while on the run on Rannoch Moor.

In the 1800s, Scottish regiments were not allowed, according to King’s Regulations, to carry “items of entertainment” in their packs. However, many soldiers kept their dirk down one sock and their Stramash ’Mashie’ (board piece) down the other. Many officers turned a blind eye to this for the sake of morale.

In 1759, Benjamin Franklin visited Edinburgh, drawn by the hotbed of genius at that time. He was introduced to the delights of Stramash by David Hume who brought him to a game at Allan Ramsay’s house.

An anonymous research graduate was working in the National Library and found some references to Stramash in Sir Walter Scott’s draft notes for “Waverley”. According to these documentary notes the source he was using was the weekly Edinburgh paper “The Brig’ o’ Dean Blether*”. (* “The Brig O’ Dean Blether” was literally a weekly newspaper as it would appear to have only been published for one week in May 1807).

The Rt Hon Douglas Alexander MP <em>Picture: World Economic Forum</em>

The Rt Hon Douglas Alexander MP Picture: World Economic Forum

The following is the text of the Andrew John Williamson Memorial Lecture for 2011, given at Stirling University earlier this evening by the Rt Hon Douglas Alexander MP. The lecture is entitled “A Better Nation? – A Personal Reflection on Scotland’s Future”.

Good evening. It is a genuine privilege to be here to deliver the Andrew John Williamson Memorial Lecture and I am delighted that Andrew’s mother Joyce is here with us this evening. And can I also say what a pleasure it is to be here at Stirling University.

As I ruminated upon a title for this evening’s lecture my first thought – given that Dunsinane lies only a few miles up the road in Perthshire – was to ask “Stands Scotland where it did?”

Yet a moment’s reflection was sufficient to answer the question posed by Shakespeare.

And there could be few better settings in which to discuss the recent developments and future course of Scottish politics than Stirling – the seat where in 1997 Michael Forsyth played the role of General Custer in the Scottish Conservatives’ last stand, but which then passed from Labour control at the 2007 Holyrood elections – not back to the Tories, but rather into the hands of the SNP, narrowly then but earlier this year with a majority of nearly 6,000 and almost 50 per cent of the total votes cast. Nowhere illustrates more starkly the changes in Scottish politics that have taken place over recent years.

Last May we witnessed the election of a majority government for the first time in the twelve year history of Scottish devolution. And if we take them at their word, the historic victory of the Scottish National Party will ensure that the issue of a referendum on independence has now come to the fore.

And, accordingly, it is to the issue of Scotland’s political future and Scottish Labour’s place therein that I want to direct my remarks this evening.

Tonight I want to explore some of the issues that I believe will inform the necessary public discourse and debate that will precede the choice Scotland makes in such a referendum.

But let me say just a word in passing specifically on the referendum. As someone who knows how to run a campaign, one of my real concerns is that the referendum debate may become simply a fight between William Wallace and the bogey man.

Because in a time of choosing, our duty is greater, and our responsibility is heavier.

This debate demands a different quality of imagination.

“Obsolete dogmas and outworn slogans” must yield to a debate not just about our identity, but about our ideals. About what kind of nation we are, and what kind of nation we want to become.

Our fellow citizens deserve a debate worthy of a momentous choice that will help write the history of this generation.

And before the heat generated by that forthcoming battle obscures the light, I want to take the opportunity afforded by tonight’s lecture to offer some personal reflections on those forces, far from the headlines, that will shape our choice.

Let me say, first, what this lecture is not. It is not an exercise in accounting. It is not an attempt to weigh the costs and expense involved in establishing the apparatus of a separate Scottish state and disentangling ourselves from the partnership that is the United Kingdom.

There will be time enough, and no doubt plenty of opportunities, for such evidence to be set before the people of Scotland in the months and years ahead.

As someone who was centrally involved in devising Labour’s “Divorce is a Expensive Business” campaign for the first elections to Holyrood in 1999, I am not unaware of the importance of such evidence, nor do I resile from the fears I still have about the damage that Scotland’s exit from the United Kingdom would do, most of all, to Scotland.

But I said after the 1999 election that it was the last time I thought we could run such a campaign, and yet it is surely now clear that in the decade that followed, too little was done by my party to tell a different story of possibility about Scotland.

In 1999 we identified what would have been the wrong path for Scotland, but thereafter we didn’t do enough to describe the right path by which to achieve a better nation.

We all know Labour needed to show humility after our election defeats. But we also have an obligation to think – and to re-engage. My work observing and participating in democratic politics both at home and abroad over the last decade has taught me many things.

And one of them is that, in policy, statistics matter, but in politics, stories matter too.

Because stories help shape what is hidden in plain sight all around us – what we judge has meaning, and what we judge doesn’t. And it is through stories that we provoke the feelings of hope that are at the heart of participating in a progressive society – the care, concern, and compassion that has always underpinned the will to act.

Why do I make that claim? Because our emotions are the very foundation of reason – because they tell each of us what to value. Despite Plato’s description of reason and emotion as two horses pulling in the opposite direction, the truth is that how we feel about what we know is the deepest way in which we add meaning and significance to whatever information we have at our disposal – it is how what we know becomes real and rooted in who we are.

This should have come as no surprise to a graduate of the University of Edinburgh such as myself.

Because the writings of David Hume remind us that reason is often weak and sentiments are strong.

Perhaps I should just have listened more intently to my father’s sermons. For the Church, not just here in Scotland but around the globe, has understood for 2,000 years that we live our lives by parables.

It was the Church that recognised 450 years ago that education was the basis of each of us fulfilling our potential or writing our own story and so set out to put a school in every parish – an act of public service that shaped our nations identity and led to an Enlightenment period that was to spill out over Europe and beyond that challenged the very way we see the world.

So it is perhaps appropriate that I begin my exploration of these issues this evening by quoting the words of the Austrian philosopher, priest and social critic, Ivan Illich.

In an interview about one of his works, he stated: “Neither revolution not reformation can ultimately change a society, rather you must tell a new powerful tale, one so persuasive that it sweeps away the old myths and becomes the preferred story, one so inclusive that it gathers all the bits of our past and our present into a coherent whole, one that even shines some light into the future so that we can take the next step forward. If you want to change society, then you have to tell an alternative story.”

Ponder those words: “You have to tell an alternative story.”

Of course the stories we tell about ourselves, our communities and our nation are thankfully not the exclusive domain of politicians: writers, musicians, poets and artists help shape our sense of self and also our sense of our nation’s story.

The case I want to make tonight is that we need and deserve a better story about Scotland and its possibilities: one which does more justice to our sense of potential than either of the narratives that have come to dominate our political discourse in recent times.

And I want to suggest this evening that we need a broader, more inclusive, more generous story if we are to be a better nation, and that to be a better nation does not demand that we become a separate nation.

At the moment, we risk years of debate defined by polarising positions not shared by most of us in Scotland. On one hand there is a story about Scotland’s future distorted by the continued need to assert our differentness to the point of denying what we hold in common in these islands.

On the other hand is a story that draws too much from our past which has allowed the misconception to develop that any acknowledgement of Britishness somehow seeks to diminish the pride we feel in the distinctiveness of Scotland.

Neither account, it seems to me, is adequate for who we are as Scots, what we believe, or what we have it in ourselves to become in the years ahead.

And I would argue there is a real urgency in developing that better story, so that in the years ahead we don’t squander our energies on proving our difference, rather than improving our nation.

Let me draw on my personal experience to explain what I mean.

In the Scotland in which I grew up, in the 70s, 80s and 90s, our national story was widely shared. The distinction between patriotism and nationalism was widely understood and accepted. Those of us who shouted proudly – if often forlornly – for Scotland in Hampden or Murrayfield felt no compulsion to embrace political nationalism.

The villain of the narrative was the insensitive, arrogant and selfish politics embodied by Margaret Thatcher, the legacy of which still condemns the Conservative party in the eyes of most Scots, more than 20 years since she stood down as prime minister.

The narrative was reflective of Scotland undergoing the forced removal and restructuring of the industries and communities, from Upper Clyde Shipbuilders to Ravenscraig, from Linwood to Methil and the coalfields that had shaped Scotland’s sense of itself for decades.

So as a student when I joined my compatriots in protest against Thatcherism outside New College when she came to deliver her infamous “Sermon on the Mound” in 1988, or in support of the Scottish parliament in George Square, and the Meadows in 1992, we were reflecting what John Smith described so well as “the settled will of the Scottish people”.

At that time if felt like a struggle for Scotland’s soul. As William Mcllvanney described it in his 1987 lecture at the SNP conference: “We have never, until now, had a government so determined to unpick the very fabric of Scottish life and make it over into something quite different. We have never had a government so glibly convinced of its own rightness that it demands that one of the oldest nations in Europe should give itself a shake and change utterly its sense of self.

“If we allow her [Mrs Thatcher] to continue she will remove from the word Scottish any meaning other than geographical.

“We are now so threatened by a government implacably hostile to the ideas that have nourished Scotland’s deepest sense of itself that we must have to protect ourselves. We will either defend our identity or lose it – there is no other choice.”

And the heroes of this story, for me, and many other Scots, were the generation of Labour politicians who gave voice not only to our concerns but also to our hopes: Dewar, Smith, Brown and Cook.

They held out the possibility of a better Scottish nation – by their commitment to constitutional change certainly, but even more by their shared commitment to social and economic change and solidarity with the poor, even when that was not an easy path.

As Democratic Socialists, they never saw a contradiction in working for a better Scotland and a better Britain.

And they were a generation true to their word. For despite the taunts that the Labour Party “couldn’t deliver a pizza, never mind a parliament” in fact, we did deliver Scotland’s parliament.

While the Nationalists stood aside from the Constitutional Convention – something they now seek to airbrush out of their history – I am forever proud that one of the first acts of the incoming Labour government was to set out what became the Scotland Act giving birth to Scotland’s first democratic parliament.

But Labour in government delivered not just a Scottish parliament but also the Human Rights Act; a reformed House of Lords; civil partnerships; new maternity and paternity rights; new rights to join a trade union. But not just that: a minimum wage, record levels of investment in our schools and hospitals, record levels of employment, a decade of economic growth; the Minimum Income Guarantee and the Working Families’ Tax Credit.

Now of course, I am proud of the many good things achieved by the Labour government in which I was honoured to serve. And I am also proud of much that the Scottish Labour Party achieved in government at Holyrood from 1999 to 2007 – not just establishing Smart, Successful Scotland, or the Scottish Drug Enforcement Agency, but in my own community building the new schools that have literally transformed the learning environment for our local children.

But these achievements, important thought they are, were not sufficient to mask an underlying difficulty with the story Scottish Labour was telling about itself and about Scotland. We rewrote the statute book but we did not, alas, rewrite the story.

And that familiar, unchanged story we told came under sustained pressure in recent years for a variety of reasons.

First, the familiar villain of Thatcherism, in time, moved into history. I still remember 22 November 1990 – the day Margaret Thatcher resigned. It was the week before the by-election of my predecessor as MP for Paisley and I was campaigning around the town with Donald Dewar.

And when the momentous news of Margaret Thatcher’s resignation was announced by Donald through a megaphone to the children of St Fergus’ Primary School, who were out on their playtime, the whole playground started jumping for joy.

That’s the measure of the grip Thatcher held on our collective imagination by the early 90s. But there is an additional point: the post-war industrial Scotland Thatcher did so much to dismantle also began to move into history.

As Scottish Labour we were, at times, slow to identify ourselves with the underlying but profound changes in the Scottish economy. Labour’s politics, formed in the 70s and 80s, were those of struggle against decline.

Too late in the years before 2007 did we recognise that our policies in government, while not fully eradicating poverty, had created a more diverse and modern economy – reliant on banks, yes, but strong in bioscience, leading Europe in energy, from oil and gas to renewables, and with modern manufacturing and computer games software thriving.

The SNP saw that economic strength and sought to annex the sense of confidence it generated to their definition of Scotland and its destiny.

But these changes also meant that some of the old Labour “hymns” were increasingly unfamiliar to an audience increasingly without personal knowledge of the tunes.

The attachment to and insistence upon these old hymns reflected the fact that the Scottish Party, largely by reason of the unique national element in our politics, never really felt it needed to be “New” Labour.

Indeed it is arguable that the process of “modernisation” might not, in fact, have been required to defeat the Tories in Scotland, but this comfort in old orthodoxies contributed to the party’s disorientation and vulnerability when we came under attack from a different direction, and from a more nimble opponent.

More broadly, the resurgent Scottish pride and confidence, in part resulting from a decade of economic growth from 1997 to 2007, at times left Scottish Labour looking uneasy.

Why? In part the coincidence of traditional symbols of and repositories for working class identity – such as trade union membership and large scale industrial workplaces – were declining, while simultaneously there remained a strength of national pride, reaffirmed in everything from the music of the Proclaimers’ 500 Miles, sung on the terraces at Hampden, to Eddi Reader’s musical reinterpretation of Burns’ poetry and song.

The repository of emotion for many Scots moved from class-based institutions to national institutions. And while the love and respect for the BBC, the NHS, the armed forces and the royal family have stayed strong, other distinctively Scottish institutions grew in the Scottish people’s affections.

Finally, unpopular aspects of both old and New Labour combined to reduce our support. Old Labour was still associated with a sense that “Labour runs everything” from Westminster to the local council, and regrettably that stewardship was not always viewed as moving with the times.

New Labour, on the other hand, despite all its achievements, came to be associated with the conflict in Iraq in 2003, the revulsion at the MP’s expenses scandal, and the wearinesss of ideas born of successive periods of government in Westminster and Holyrood.

The combined impact of these perceived weaknesses caused many to turn away from our party.

So, by 2011, how has that story played out? It played out in Scottish Labour warning of the risks of Thatcherism decades after she had left office, and in a campaign that suggested knife crime, important though tackling it is, was the key concern of an electorate that, in truth, had many other concerns.

This was a story that sought to draw what little emotional power it could muster not from Scotland’s future, but from Scotland’s past.

And in a decisive rejection at the ballot box, in the language of the terraces, we were well and truly “gubbed”. The party which, on the day the Scottish parliament was first elected, could claim without contradiction to be the only true National Party of Scotland, within 12 years found itself supported by only one in eight Scottish voters.

And what of the winners of that election?

The harsh truth for Labour is that the Nationalist’s victory in May did not derive exclusively from their approach to national identity. It reflected differences in personnel, resources and campaigning approaches. It also reflected that those who voted for them had judged them fairly competent and broadly aligned with their values, in their stewardship of government over the previous four years.

Just as importantly, Labour, in opposition was seen as too often concerned only with opposition for its own sake. Too many Scots judged us to have complained in unspecified ways about the SNP’s failure to deliver, without articulating a clear enough alternative story and account of Scotland’s possibilities.

That weakness – for which we share a collective responsibility – allowed the SNP to deflect criticism of their record over the preceding four years in two ways: first to attribute the failures of the Scottish government to the existence and impact of the British government; and, second, to attribute their failures to their status as a minority government.

There is however, one positive I do take from last May’s result, which you might think a strange thing for a Labour politician to say.

I do not believe that, at root, Scotland was voting for independence. In that I believe I am joined by Alex Salmond who surely wouldn’t be putting off a referendum if he thought that was the case.

But what I believe Scots were saying is that they want Scotland to be a better nation. They feel pride in Scotland and want new possibilities for its people. And they didn’t feel last May that Labour was offering that better way forward.

But this analysis of our defeat sits alongside the fact that the SNP have always had a different national narrative based on the desirability and indeed inevitability of separation from the rest of Britain. And the SNP’s victory in May means that this narrative will now be central to the debate about Scottish politics for the immediate years to come.

Of course, over time, that narrative has changed, and evolved but always with the same destination – independence – and always the same villain: Britain.

So in the 1960s, with the advent of the modern SNP, the case for separation was made on the basis of our relative economic deprivation. Then in the 1970s the case for separation was made on the basis that “It’s Scotland’s oil”. Most recently, or at least prior to the banking crisis of 2008, the case has been advanced on the ability of Scotland to join “the Arc of Prosperity” of Ireland, Iceland and Norway.

In fact, this narrative always struggled to capture more than a minority of Scottish support.

That is not to dispute the scale of their victory last May: Labour lost big and consequently the Nationalists won big. It is to suggest that by 2007, the Nationalists were the beneficiaries of the weakening in support for Labour, and the diminishing of the emotive power of the key events and individuals that had previously sustained Labour’s story and indeed support.

Over recent years, Nationalists have sought to construct a new and less narrowly drawn narrative suggesting that they alone truly have the interests of Scotland at heart and that they alone are powered by a desire for a better nation.

That is why, with what I would describe as “Mandelsonian” discipline, they parrot the line about “London Labour”. It is spin designed to disqualify and delegitimise a broad swathe of Scottish opinion that does not share their agenda.

The strength of that less narrowly drawn narrative advanced in recent years has been its ability to tap into the strong sense of Scottish patriotism. Buoyed by years of economic growth, and the establishment of a Scottish parliament, the SNP have worked hard to try and capture the sense of possibility that in a previous generation was held by the Labour Party. The SNP saw the economic strength and sought to annex the sense of confidence to their definition of Scotland and its destiny.

In parallel, this new Nationalist narrative has sought to suggest a sense of inevitability about separation. Perhaps the most eloquent expression of this was in James Robertson’s book And the Land Lay Still, the winner of the 2010 Saltire Society Scottish Book of the Year – and, incidentally, reportedly Alex Salmond’s favourite book of last year. Yet while an enjoyable read and impressive work, it offers a partial rather than a convincing account of Scotland’s political struggles over recent decades.

As Ian Smart, a former president of the Law Society of Scotland put it recently in a trenchant critique: “Mr Robertson’s book purports to be a history of Scotland since the 1950s albeit through the mechanism of fiction. It portrays a country ill at ease with itself; denied its proper place in the world through the devices of the English and unable to recognise its true destiny until these issues are resolved…

“For me the political history of Scotland, during the period of which he writes, was about so much more than Scotland. The central character of the book goes to Edinburgh University in 1972 yet the only mention of Vietnam is to compare its struggle to that of Scotland (truly!);

“Allende’s overthrow is worthy of a single (and background) pub exchange; the struggle against apartheid which, while I was contemporaneously at university, albeit in Glasgow, united students of any sort of progressive opinion doesn’t rate a single mention.

“To read this book, insofar as it purports to be a fictional political history of Scotland, you’d have thought that all that was going on consisted of people sitting about bemoaning the constitution. It most certainly was not.”

Yet the other part of the Nationalists’ narrative is its exclusivity: according to this narrative at its most unattractive, only nationalists are true Scots, or its softer version – all true Scottish patriots are inevitably Scottish nationalists.

For decades, mainstream Scottish opinion has accepted and reflected the truth that you can be a patriot without being a nationalist. It is the nationalists who have struggled with this sense that Scotland’s story does not exclude but includes the shared and interwoven stories of these islands.

Why else would Alex Salmond have once said that he wanted Scotland to be good neighbours to England rather than surly lodgers?

What he fails to understand is that the United Kingdom is the house that Scotland built with our neighbours – and you can’t be a lodger in your own house.

The Scottish people have always had the power to determine our own destiny. And there has always been more than one way to use that power.

In fact, the notion of Scottish patriotism has changed significantly over time. At the 19th century height of Empire, an Empire in which – as Tom Devine reminds us – the Scots were not impotent anti-imperialists but instead, for good or ill, active participants, you could have thought that only unionists were true patriots.

This was an analysis challenged, not by the emergence of Scottish national sentiment but rather by the rise of the Labour movement and the radical claim for equality; equality first for working people but then, in time, for women and for people of all races. This was the beginning of the challenge to the old unionism based only on the deferential attitude to ancient institutions: monarchy, army, parliament. An old unionism that proved inadequate to meet the challenges of modernity.

For myself, I remain of the view that the United Kingdom, this oldest of political unions, embodies a quintessentially modern idea – and one I like and believe in: that diversity can be a strength and not a weakness.

I like the idea that on these small rainy islands of the North Atlantic we share risks and rewards in a multicultural, multiethnic and multinational union. A shared space of ideas, identities and industries.

And I also continue to believe that across Britain we gain from common services and would be diminished without them; that we achieve more working together than working apart; that unity, out of diversity, gives us strength; that solidarity, the shared endeavour of working and cooperating together, not separation is the idea of the future and the idealism worth celebrating .

So, in truth, I am uncomfortable with and unattracted to a politics that draws a substantial part of its emotional power from a constant assertion of “difference”. And I bridle at the suggestion of separateness as the essential attribute of our national story.

It takes only a few moments to read the hate filled outpourings of the so called “Cyber-Nats” on the threads of the Scotsman and other websites to appreciate this point: With their claims of treason, attacks on “London Labour” and general intolerance to everybody and anybody who does not share their outlook. To my mind, these nationalists challenge the very suggestion of a more pluralist, open, discursive politics if ever their party were to prevail in its primary purpose.

Instead, they remind me of Alasdair Gray’s evocative description in his greatest novel, Lanark, of “our own wee hard men [who] hammer Scotland down to the same dull level as themselves.”

But I do recognise that the power and the weakness of this Nationalist narrative comes from its duality: on one hand caressing an unhealthy sense of victimhood through its constant assertion that Britain is what is holding Scotland back, and on the other hand asserting pride and possibility for Scotland.

Why do I find such a narrative unsatisfying even while I have to acknowledge its appeal to some sections of the electorate?

I don’t believe that rightly asserting our own distinct identity – indeed identities – is an alternative to finding points of shared values and interdependence.

But it is also that this determination to assert difference doesn’t accord with some of my own deepest convictions – and not simply that many years ago in Edinburgh I happened to meet and fall in love with an English woman who is now my wife. I would never want my children to choose whether they were citizens of Scotland or England.

It’s not the choice of futures I’d wish to put before them. It is not the choice that so many Scots or so many English people, would want their children; their nephews and nieces, even their sisters or brothers in law to have to make.

And it’s not that I hark back to some lost British patriotism of the 1950s. I am too young to remember those days and in temperament, and in personal politics, I am more interested in the future than harking back to a past whose values and prejudices few of us would share today.

There are other and deeper reasons than my admiration of Britain and what it represents that has always made me distrustful of nationalism.

As a democratic socialist, ideals have shaped my sense of politics more than identity. I am, and always have been, much more interested in abolishing poverty than abolishing Britain. A fundamental belief in human equality is the core of my politics, more than a fundamental belief in national difference.

My work around the world as international development secretary and now shadow foreign secretary has taught me something else – that one of the most fundamental struggles of modernity is between, on the one hand, those who believe our differences are more important than what unites us and, on the other, those of us who’s preference and moral lodestar is our common humanity.

That is the fundamental tenet of my politics, and helps explain why I am distrustful of a politics that draws its energy from gleeful assertions of difference rather than expressions of cooperation.

My theme this evening is that our story matters – as individuals, as families, as communities and as nations. So let me share with you part of my own family’s story.

My parents married in Glasgow in 1959. Four days later they flew from Prestwick to New York, where my father had gained a scholarship for postgraduate study at Union Theological Seminary.

The following Easter, in 1960, they joined a group of fellow students in travelling from New York to Raleigh, North Carolina, to attend a conference.

There they queued to hear a young Baptist preacher – and were spat at by white passers-by for their trouble.

The conference was the inaugural conference of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. The young Baptist preacher was Martin Luther King.

After this encounter, the theology of Martin Luther King had a huge impact on my parents and, in time, on the values they sought to pass on to their children – and that I seek to pass on to mine.

Now the reason I share this story is that what King described as our “inter-connectedness” still shapes how I see the world.

Let his own, far more eloquent, words speak for themselves: ‎”As long as there is poverty in the world I can never be rich even if I have a billion dollars. As long as diseases are rampant and millions of people in this world cannot expect to live thirty years I can never be totally healthy even if I just got a good check-up at the Mayo Clinic. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. This is the way our world is made. No individual or nation can stand our boasting of being independent. We are interdependent.”

In that concern with our common humanity I don’t simply draw inspiration from religious teaching but also from modern science. In recent years some of the most talented scientists on earth have achieved the mapping of the human genome.

Of course this has opened new possibilities for both science and medicine. But it has also revealed something I think is vital to our understanding of politics. The sequencing of the human genome has confirmed that all human beings are genetically more than 99.9 per cent the same.

As Bill Clinton put it, “while our differences matter, our common humanity matters more.”

Yet here in Scotland, our political discourse is increasingly defined by difference: Each and every day the SNP government and its spokespeople seek to challenge and undermine the cultural and political claim of those of us who do not share their determination to divide Britain, asserting that our differences matter more than that which we hold in common. Paradoxically, this process is promoted as entirely positive about Scotland’s future – but any disagreement is roundly condemned as “negative”.

The SNP have now pledged a referendum within this parliament to let Scotland decide. I do not fear the people’s verdict, but in the meantime my party has a great deal of work to do in the coming months and years. That work must begin by recognising that in the years ahead, Scottish Labour’s political purpose has to be built around the future possibilities for Scotland, not the past wrongs done to Scotland.

So what would that politics of possibility, that story of a better nation sound like?

It would start, to my mind, with a determination to uphold our common humanity, the common weal – and give expression to the feelings of care, concern and commitment which we seek in others and seek to uphold in ourselves – rather than assert and reinforce our difference.

For a democratic socialist like me it would begin from a belief in equality – and it would uphold the timeless truth that we achieve more together than we can achieve alone.

It would be a story that starts with the condition of Scotland: a nation of great strengths but also very real problems.

It would be a story that set at its heart the idea of building One Scotland. A nation in which greater equality was not just our aim, and our metric, but was, in fact, our achievement.

And surely today one of the clearest tests of our commitment to Scotland’s future is what we do for our children.

In 2011, the terrible truth remains: one in five of Scotland’s children live in poverty.

According to Children First, a quarter of Scotland’s children are missing out on basics such as proper winter clothing, after school activities and good, nutritious food – the basics we take for granted for our own children.

Worklessness is a problem but so are low wages – with around 25,000 children in Scotland being in severe poverty despite at least one adult in the home going out to work.

Of course this is not a problem confined to Scotland – a report by UNICEF in 2007 examined the effects of many decades of growing child poverty across the UK, and painted a stark picture of the deprivation, poor relationships with parents, and vulnerability to the risks from alcohol, drugs and unsafe sex suffered by too many children growing up today.

Labour in office did make a difference – using tax credits to lift millions of children out of poverty, and legislating for new rights like longer maternity leave and flexible working.

Some of that work is being undone by a Tory-led Coalition government in London, but it has also been left to wither on the vine by the SNP government in Edinburgh.

Perhaps the deepest and most abiding inequality that scars Scotland is the most basic – the stark differences in life expectancy. A boy born in parts of Paisley today will, on average, live five fewer years than a boy born here in Stirling. Closing that gap is one of the hardest, but most essential tasks we face.

Half of this difference in mortality is simply from the effects of smoking. Labour’s smoking ban was the start, but we could learn from other countries. Learning how to use what we know from neuroscience about how habits and addictions are made and broken.

But it’s not just smoking. Drink plays a major part too. I sense that Labour’s past rejection of the SNP’s proposals, however well justified in terms of the weakness of the specific policy, was judged by some voters as reflecting an unwillingness to tackle heavy drinking and rise to the challenge of making a better Scotland.

In itself, minimum alcohol pricing is no simple solution to a complex and deeply culturally rooted problem. Anyone observing the agile responses of supermarkets and wine emporia knows that. But while we can challenge the policy, or better improve the policy, as an MP for a constituency where each week I see some of the consequences of the abuse of alcohol, I understand the urging of the public health clinicians that government act to tackle these problems.

Because despite the fact that many Scots today live long, full and prosperous lives, not least in some part because of the achievements of previous Labour governments, too many still do not.

In a nation still afflicted by substandard housing, stubborn worklessness, and a relative decline in education standards, building “One Scotland” is no easy task. And it is made harder by the economic circumstances now confronting us.

The present stalling of economic growth in Britain, the Eurozone crisis, the debt ceiling debacle in the Unites States, each reflect a deeper and generational shift in productive and economic power from West to East that has only been accelerated by the Global Financial Crisis of 2008.

So the challenge facing social democratic politicians in the years ahead, not just here in Scotland, or across the UK, but in countless countries, is how to advance social justice when there is not much money around.

That endeavour demands a new statecraft for this new decade – reimagining policies in relation to economic growth, the welfare state and our public services.

To acknowledge this is not to try to write a manifesto. It is to acknowledge the urgency of a new approach. It is an analysis that identifies a more empowered people and a more equal society as defining missions of a better nation notwithstanding – indeed in part because of – the tough times ahead.

This is what I suggest deserves to be at the centre of Scottish Labour’s renewed story. A radical claim on the future. One that says the test is not how much more power a parliament has, or how much more autonomy can be achieved. Instead, what counts – in employment, in housing, in health and in education – is are our combined actions tackling the barriers and inequality that still hold back too many of our people. The barriers and inequality that still stand in the way of being the kind of Scotland we could be. Are we, by our will and by our work, creating One Scotland?

For all of our present weakness I believe the political party best able to tell this story is Scottish Labour.

I make this claim for the following reason. Our core as a party has been and remains defined by our commitment to two central beliefs: a belief in social justice, and a commitment to home rule within the United Kingdom.

So the task of rebuilding Scottish Labour is not an invitation to reject our longest-held beliefs, but to reaffirm them.

Of course that reaffirmation of political purpose, however important, is not enough. Scottish Labour also needs to embrace radical proposals to throw open its doors, and draw our future candidates from Labour “people” and not just Labour members, by which I mean people from all walks of life who share our values and who are willing us to be better, so that they can once again be proud to support us.

But, as I have sought to suggest this evening, we will only attract these people if we are clearer about the contribution we can make to the next chapter of Scotland’s story.

It is a challenge to which, I believe, we can rise. Just as years ago, New Labour had to dispel the myth that if you were ambitious, had done well, and had got on in life, you inevitably supported the Conservative Party, so now and in the years ahead Scottish Labour must dispel the myth that if you feel proudly and patriotically Scottish, and are ambitious for Scotland and its potential, you inevitably support the SNP.

Scottish Labour’s political purpose has to be about the future possibilities for Scotland, not the past wrongs, real and imagined, done to Scotland.

With this approach, I believe the history of Scotland, written by this generation, can and will be remembered not by the “The End of an Auld Sang” but positively and vibrantly by “The beginning of a New Story”.

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David Hume <em>Picture: Allan Ramsay, 1713–1784</em>

David Hume Picture: Allan Ramsay, 1713–1784

By John Knox

Before we get carried away by the 300th anniversary of David Hume, let’s remember that he was to blame for making us a nation of sceptics. The Scottish shrug of the shoulders and the suspicion of success was born with him on 7 May 1711.

Hume was even uncertain of his own birthday. In his memoirs he gives the date as 26 April, the day by the old-style Julian calendar which went out of use in 1752. An interesting mistake to make, for the man whose greatest distinction in his own lifetime was as a historian.

But it is his mistake in philosophy for which Hume is most famous today. He argued that nothing in the moral sciences can be proved by reason. “Reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the passions,” he wrote. “All our reasonings concerning cause and effect are derived from nothing but custom.”

Thus the difference between right and wrong is not something that can be proved by reason. It is to do with feelings of humanity or simply the accepted traditions of society. To most of us these days, this seems obvious – but to a world still dominated by the Catholic Scholastics who traced all rules about the good life back, by reason, to God, this was heresy. To many religious people it still is.

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Hume’s “atheism” prevented him getting a teaching job at both Glasgow and Edinburgh universities. And no wonder, because Hume’s extreme scepticism was an attack on the whole deductive method of reasoning. For example, Hume in effect argued that because there is creation it does not follow that there must be a creator, or because there is private property, it does not follow that it is wrong to steal.

It does not take long to work out that both of these propositions are nonsense. Something must have created the world, call it what you will – chance, the force of nature, God. And private property is impossible if stealing is not frowned upon.

In the end, Hume had to admit he had walked up a cul-de-sac. He could not hold to his own philosophy and, in his later essays, he ended up supporting the usual liberal nostrums of his day – property, the rule of law etc.

Sandy Stoddart’s statue of Hume in the Royal Mile in Edinburgh neatly illustrates the bareness of his philosophy. Hume is dressed rather chillingly for the Scottish weather in a Roman senator’s off-the-shoulder toga. He is slumped, confused and exhausted, over a half-written essay. He is quite out of keeping with the well-dressed and triumphant kings, soldiers, poets, economists and preachers who populate the other plinths along the Mile, where so many figures of the Scottish enlightenment used to meet for coffee.

So why is Hume regarded by so many as the greatest philosopher Scotland has ever produced? Partly because scepticism is a popular position to hold these days – especially, as I say, in Scotland. But more importantly, it’s because Hume was on to something. Although he failed, the reaction to his failure has shaped our philosophy ever since. As scientists often say, you learn as much from your failed experiments than your successful ones.

To refute Hume’s scepticism, the “Common Sense” school of Scottish philosophy developed, led by Thomas Reid of Aberdeen University. He argued that we could deduce a perfect truth from other truths, but we had to be careful and be guided by the evidence as far as possible. This new search for evidence was what made Hume important – influencing modern western philosophy ever since. He was the first behaviourist.

The valuable part of Hume’s most famous work A Treatise of Human Nature lies in its subtitle, “Being an attempt to introduce the experimental method of reasoning into moral subjects.” Philosophers before him, notably Francis Bacon in England, had championed the experimental method in science and the Encyclopaedists in France had made rigour and fact-gathering a popular method of acquiring knowledge – as opposed to quoting the Bible or other higher authorities.

But, after his ambitious subtitle, Hume did not make much progress. His Treatise is a turgid affair, without many real examples. One of the few occurs on page five, when he says: “We cannot form to ourselves a just idea of the taste of a pine-apple without having actually tasted it.” In a way, this is true. But you can infer the taste by someone describing to you that it lies somewhere between an orange and an apple, a bittersweet taste.

You don’t have to go to the moon to know that it is not made of cheese. But neither the moon nor a pineapple are moral subjects and Hume never really has a clear idea where the science of objects ends and the science of morality begins.

We see this most clearly when Hume attempts to describe the workings of the mind. He does so without any real experiments or expertise. He says, for instance, that when we see something with our own eyes – the room in which we are sitting, for example – it creates a strong impression on the mind and that impression is stronger than the general idea of a room.

He has no way of knowing this except by anecdote. There are no wires to the brain in Hume. What he really wants to say is that abstract ideas are much weaker than real impressions and thus we should look to the solid evidence of the real world around us, rather than accept the ideas floating around in ancient writings or philosophical texts.

Hume was only 26 when he published the Treatise and perhaps he would have made a better job of it if he had let his thoughts mature a little. Not surprisingly, it “fell still-born from the press”, to quote his autobiography. “But being naturally of a cheerful and sanguine temper, I very soon recovered from the blow.”

He turned his hand to essay-writing, at which he was much more successful, and to secretarial work. A little-known and unexpected episode in Hume’s life was his three years as secretary to General St Clair. He was part of an expeditionary force which set out to defeat the French in Canada in 1746, but ended up fighting the French in France. The “battle” near Orléans turned out to be a farce, with the French retreating before the British even got there.

Hume eventually got a steady job back in Edinburgh, as keeper of the library of the Faculty of Advocates – now the National Library. With so many books at his disposal, he set out to write a very popular History of England in six volumes. He didn’t however much like the English. “It has been my misfortune,” he says in a letter to a friend, “to write in the language of the most stupid and factious barbarians in the world.”

And yet he also turned his back on much of Scotland, showing no interest in the Highlands or the Gaelic world. He was very much a lowlander and an Edinburgh man.

Like most Scotsmen, Hume was a parcel of contradictions. He could be angry one minute – with his builder, with his friend Lord Elibank, with Jean-Jacques Rousseau. And yet, in the next minute, he could be composed, urbane and kind. He gave his earnings as keeper to the blind poet Thomas Blacklock. He arranged asylum for Rousseau in England.

Hume would often write modestly of being like a man who has “the temerity to set out to sea in a leaky, weather-beaten vessel” and at the same time he could write, to shocking effect, essays against miracles and dialogues concerning “natural” religion. “Generally speaking,” he wrote, “the errors in religion are dangerous, those in philosophy are only ridiculous.”

Hume never married, but lived at times on the family estate at Chirnside in Berwickshire, and in later life with his sister and his cat in a flat in the New Town. The street has since become St David’s Street, which would have amused Hume. He entertained his friends there – of which there were many – until he died in August 1776, having just seen, and approved of, the American declaration of independence.

His friend and literary executor Adam Smith wrote of him: “Upon the whole, I have considered him, both in his lifetime and since his death, as approaching as nearly the idea of the perfectly wise and virtuous man as perhaps the nature of human frailty will permit.” This seems to be the hagiography of the present age as regards St David. I have tried to show that Adam Smith, as in so many things, was only half right.

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Scotland from space <em>Picture: NASA</em>

Scotland from space Picture: NASA

The Caledonian Mercury is politically neutral. The Caledonian Mercury does not endorse any viewpoint over another. The Caledonian Mercury is a forum to celebrate all the voices of Scotland.

The Caledonian Mercury does not have a position Scottish independence.

But I do.

I support Scottish independence. And I want to write about it – as an individual journalist, not as Editor of The Caledonian Mercury – because there are so few pro-independence voices in the media. Those of us who believe the Scottish people are capable of governing themselves have a duty to speak up. Indeed, the anti-independence attacks have started already.

Alex Salmond has called for an end to “fearmongering, negativity and scaremongering” and insults to the intelligence of the people of Scotland.

Aye, guid luck wi’ that, Eck.

The SNP should force through the independence referendum right now. Momentum is a precious thing. When it’s with you, you can move mountains. When it’s gone, it’s gone for ever.

Right now, the Unionists are in complete disarray. They are down. Kick them. Kick them now, kick them hard. Do not give them time to regroup. There is a “perfect storm” for independence: an SNP overall majority, cut-mad Tories running wild down south, disgust with Westminster corruption, despair at the City-focused UK economy and a desire to try a different way.

But storms pass.

The more the SNP waits, the more time there is for the no doubt well-funded “No” campaign, the Unionist parties and the media to drip poison in the electorate’s ear: “We’ll be like Iceland”; “We’ll be kicked out of the EU”; and the current favourite: “People who voted SNP didn’t realise the SNP supports independence.”

The people of Scotland have spoken. And they have said they no longer want our country to be a dark, craven, backward appendix ruled by “business as usual” politics. To be sure, it is “business as usual” that will kill the SNP. Let the ghost of 1997 guide Alex Salmond’s footsteps. After you have won people’s hearts, you must not squander their affections.

It’s time to deliver independence: that’s what SNP government is for.

The secret to success for independence will lie not in an appeal to Nationalism. I speak here as one of Scotland’s army of ex-Labour voters.

Despite the impending “No” campaign propaganda about “divorce” and “separation”, the change to full nationhood is a comparatively modest affair. An administrative tweaking of the Scottish parliament’s powers so that we can bring local solutions to bear on local problems that are peculiar to our corner of the British Isles.

It is not a dramatic wrench but an evolution from devolution. It is only sensible that the solutions to our Scottish problems of poverty, health, crime and alcohol be determined here, on the ground, in Scotland.

There will be no Tartan Curtain at Berwick. There will be no passport required to go shopping at the Metrocentre. The United Kingdom of England, Wales and Northern Ireland will remain Scotland’s biggest trading partner, our strongest ally and our closest friend.

I love England. I’m proud to share the British Isles with it. I love the music of Elgar, the writing of Orwell, the buzz of London – one of the great cities of the world. And I will still be able to access all that after independence.

The independent Scotland I want to see owes little to Braveheart, Bannockburn, Mary, Charlie and Bob. The Scotland of the future needs to follow in the footsteps of David Hume, James Watt, Thomas Carlyle, James Young Simpson and Keir Hardie. It must be a Scotland that builds on our intellectual heritage and our spirit of entrepreneurial invention. We must celebrate excellence in education, declare war on poor health and fight the evils of poverty with the renewed vigour of a self-confident, self-governing people. And we must welcome all those who seek to live here.

Scots built the British Empire, for good or ill. Scots built the US, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. Scots invented much of the modern world. Scots are different from the rest of the United Kingdom as we have proved at election after election. And Scots can manage our own affairs, using the resources that God gave this wonderful, wild country.

But let us not tarry. The naysayers will gnaw at our doubt-ridden souls like a Lovecraftian horror. And every second we waste allows the old fears and doubts to be paraded in front of us.

We have a choice: we can be a lost, timorous enclave of wannabes, bleating about the 1978 World Cup and looking for handouts from an institution 400 miles away. Or we can roll up our sleeves and sort ourselves out.

Starting now.

Now that I have got that of my chest, let me reiterate that The Caledonian Mercury has no political stance and will celebrate all voices in the coming debate. The Caledonian Mercury might have had an easier ride had it been a cheerleader for the SNP. But it is neutral because the independent Scotland I want deserves independent journalism: fierce, critical, intelligent.

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Field Marshal George Wade: Coming to an anthem near you

Field Marshal George Wade: Coming to an anthem near you

By James Browne

I have finally worked out what’s wrong with Scotland. To do this I eschewed the normal method – staring through the bottom of an empty bottle of Ardbeg at the highlights of the ‘78 World Cup and then screaming in the dark about giving Margaret Thatcher a state funeral right sodding now.

No, it comes down to our National Anthem. Let me quickly point out here that I do not refer to the music hall doggerel that the Southern British have foisted on us. However, that ditty neatly illustrates my core argument.

In essence the lyrics of the National Anthem of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the Falklands and Maybe Gibraltar, translate as the following.

God, we are servile.
We are very servile.
Let’s hope we stay servile for a long time.
God bless those that keep us servile.

In the words of the great father of Enlightenment, David Hume: “What a load of baws, by the way.” Do you see how it works? This song, which is supposed to encapsulate our national spirit, is all about how we should shut up and do what we’re told.

You might not think that matters but music creeps into the spirit in a way that, say, manifestos singularly fail to.

Of course, these days the powers what be tend to omit the contentious “fourth verse”:

Lord, grant that Marshal Wade
May, by thy mighty aid,
Victory bring.
May he sedition hush
And, like a torrent, rush
Rebellious Scots to crush.
God save the [delete as applicable].

With that torrent of keech flowing underneath our national consciousness no wonder that A) all Brits are supine and B) Scotland is treated as an unwelcome, benefits-guzzling periphery.

If you doubt that British are a supine people, look at our attitude to bankers and City bonuses. This week we learn that the cowboys who wrecked the economy and then needed bailing out by rest of us will be trousering bonuses totalling £7bn.

Those of you who have been paying attention will note that that figure is not unadjacent to the cuts being banded about by Westminster’s ruling coalition. If you have really been paying attention then you will further remember that that club of very rich people assured us “we’re all in this together”. All of us apart from their very rich banking chums, apparently, who have not been troubled by the government over their bonus plans, even though we paid for their bloody institutions to stay in business.

The prevailing view among the rich and powerful from the City of Westminster to the City of London is that unemployment, salary freezes and financial pain are just for the little people.

You know what? The little people sit there and take it. In other European countries, people are on the streets building barricades, blocking roads and setting fire to things in shows of furious civil disobedience that make the student fees protests look like a Women’s Institute outing.

What should have happened is that after days and days of angry protests, the bankers agreed, in a show of good will, to donate their bonuses to the running of the country. And, we the people, in a matching show of good will, agreed not to roll out the guillotine. Yet.

But no, God Save the Exploiters works its oxymoronic magic and Brits shug their shoulders and get on with being servile.

Scots, however, are different. We aren’t servile. We are impotently despairing. Again, we can see deficiencies in our choice of anthem.

Flower of Scotland is a lovely, moving song. However its core message is this: “The baw’s up on the slates. A’ the guid ones are deid. Mebbe one day, if we’re really, really lucky, we can be a bit less shite.”

Doesn’t really get the blood thumping does it? We’re not, as a nation, good at the concept of “rousing”. We’re too cynical and hudden-doon for that. The other contenders for our national anthem bear this out. A Man’s a Man for a’ That, Scots Wha Hae, Dick Gaughan’s Workers’ Song and Freedom Come-All-Ye all have fantastic lyrics but sound like dirges.

There is a fantastic song, however, that provides us with the perfect template for a national anthem. It is an anthem fit for a nation with fire in its belly and a brain in its head.

It calls on the country’s citizens – note: citizens, not subjects to the house of Hanover or Stuart or Saxe-Coburg-Gotha – to grab weapons to defend their liberty, not yesterday, not tomorrow, but now until the blood of freedom’s enemies runs in the fields. It finishes off with a spirited vision of the foe’s “expiring eyes” witnessing freedom’s triumph and our glory. That, mon brave, is a national anthem to inspire and not overwhelm with inferiority.

Of course, somone else has got there first. The song was used as the national anthem of revolutionary Russia. But that was merely a pit-stop in its fine tradition of upholding freedom, equality and cooperation. Literally translated, its name is the “Song of Marseille” but you know it better as La Marseillaise – the French national anthem.

(Before we get bogged down in “we surrender” rubbish. The Marseillaise greeted the Sun of Austerlitz, was heard ringing out during the appalling heroism of Dien Bien Phu and bravely came forth from the doomed lips of Resistants during the Second World War. It, of course, is predated by the famous history-changing French victories at Tours, Hastings and Formigny.)

It also features a stirring tune. It’s full of pomp and attitude – as shown by the fact that it still scans when you replace every line with: “Up your arse, we’re the French.” It also reflects the famous French unreasonableness. If their government suggests they might shave 20 minutes off their four-hour lunches, Paris erupts with burning barricades of amouse-bouches blocking evey thoroughfare.

We need some of that attitude, citizenship and self-belief. Scotland needs a musical heart with a bit of backbone to it. Something upbeat, something optimistic, something outward looking.

Of course, Scotland being Scotland, no such song exists. But we’re an inventive people. If we can clone sheep can we not cross the tune of the old National Anthem of the Soviet Union with the lyrics of The Corries’ Scotland Will Flourish?