YOU have to wonder who was on trial over the last few weeks in Northern Ireland: the four rugby stars who were acquitted of rape, or the young woman who had accused them. Anyone dipping into the surrounding social media debate, could easily have imagined that the real question was whether to convict a 21-year-old woman of having had group sex and then, on regretting it, inventing a story to make herself look better to her pals.

This is partly the inevitable result of the fact that rape trials tend to just be a matter of her word against his word, or in this case, her word against their four words. The questioning of the complainant therefore necessarily tends to revolve around her character, her credibility. It is frequently grounded in the idea that women lie and make things up, and informed by the culturally prevalent views on how and why they do this.

Thus, sometimes, it seemed as if really it was the complainant who was on trial. Particularly when you looked at what went on outside the court, on social media, where she was slut-shamed and her identity was widely shared.

The result was the obligatory switch-around, in which those accused of the rape were perceived as the victims, and the accuser portrayed as the baddie, the creator of false allegations. All of that happened even before any jury decision is made. No wonder many women consider it’s not even worth reporting a rape.

Of course, the four rugby players received, in the course of the trial, their own blows to their reputations. The series of Whatsapp messages that came out, in which they boasted of “spit roasting”, made them appear callous, sexist boors.

But such was the questioning of the woman - who was, during eight days on the stand, questioned four times by each of the lawyers defending the four different men - that it triggered an online reaction. People began to post on social media under the hashtag #IBelieveHer, and this became a viral trend, spawning, after the not guilty verdict, protest rallies.

I don’t want, here, to examine what triggered these protests - a court has acquitted the men and we must respect that as a cornerstone of democracy - but rather I want to examine the backlash against the woman. What bothers me is how quick some are to incorporate this trial result into a belief system that says that women fabricate, they lie - that they consent and then cry rape later.

Some will believe these kind of claims in spite of the fact that a not guilty verdict on a rape charge doesn’t necessarily mean that a woman made it up.

Yet this angry brigade will tell us there is a major problem here. They will argue that this is the state of the world now, particularly following #MeToo, that men are being falsely accused, particularly famous, powerful men, and having their careers ruined and personal lives savaged by women who are either vengeful, money-grabbing, liars or regretful. Some of this came out over Twitter, as supporters of the rugby stars piled in to declare “yup the lads”. One post, for instance, declared “yup the lads she was dying for a few quid”. Before the verdict, one post asked, "Anybody up to date [on] the paddy jackson case? another career ruined by some fame chasing bitch who couldnt deal with her own actions. this s*** happenin way too often."

That women regularly falsely accuse is not what any of the statistics tell us. Rape reporting, prosecution and conviction rates have all long been shockingly low. The Crown Prosecution Service has said that false accusations are much rarer than most people think. Of course, that doesn’t mean it never happens. It doesn’t mean that we can believe that every single rape reported must be credited as unquestionably true, but rather that every woman who does report being raped deserves to be listened to, supported, treated with dignity and given reasonable credence.

WHY TARTAN DAY IS A NATIONAL CRINGEATHON

TARTAN day, that annual festival which makes you want to burn your kilt, is upon us again. Each year it seems it might be redeemed by something – this time the fact that KT Tunstall is going to be the first woman to lead the Tartan Day parade. But Tartan Day coats everything it comes in contact with in its sticky film of cringe. Things you love come in contact with it and start to seem a bit more fake. Even the tartan itself.

For, the problem is that, unlike Burns Night or Hogmanay, it doesn’t feel like our day.

Far from being a celebration in which resident Scots feel more connected up with the diaspora, it’s one in which we feel more alienated, both from them and the brand of Scotland that the day promotes. Scottish emigrants may feel a closeness to this Scotland, but we do not – unless of course, we happen to be one of the luminaries who fly out to New York to join the party. For Tartan Day isn’t for everyday Scots. It's for the lucky few.

Let New York Scots have their day. I’m all for fostering connections with other countries and increasing Scotland’s global profile. But there’s something wrong with Tartan Day when it leaves us so estranged, only making us want to declare that this is not what we are. The day passes, for most of us, tartanless. We stare at the photographs of the grand parade, wonder what it’s all for – celebrating “Scottish heritage and pride” apparently – and get on with our daily goings. For Tartan Day isn’t really about Scotland. It’s about an imaginary somewhere else. Call it Tartanland.