Today’s modern vernacular is something I largely cannot comprehend. Just this week alone I learned what it means to be pied – and if, like me, you grew up on Tiswas, it’s not that. I am, however, pretty good with acronyms and initialisms, even if the pedant in me still bristles at their casual abuse.
Yet this past week, with the Tartan Army in all its resplendent glory doing far more for Scotland’s international standing than any official delegation ever could, I am suffering from FIMO – FOMO’s bigger brother, as I’m unquestionably missing out.
The warmth, love and affection surrounding the kilted masses in Massachusetts has been utterly delightful. There has been singing – lots of singing – the occasional libation, dancing, as well as the mischievous educating of our new lifelong American friends in our own distinct turns of phrase. They’ve learned that profanity can be used as warmly as it can disparagingly and, more importantly, how to deploy it properly. The glee of Americans discovering that liberating pleasure has filled my Twitter feed with hours of doom-scrolling bliss as I sit here envying the party my fellow countrymen are living through.
Scots have never been shy about reminding the world of what we have contributed to it. To rhyme them all off would fill this entire column and then some – and it is undoubtedly fitting that, in this World Cup year, we can point to having gifted football to the world too.
A nation renowned for its intellect and, above all, its courage and unapologetic honesty is able to show the world that our warmth and generosity are every bit as valuable an export as our whisky. You would think, therefore, that after the warm Bostonian embrace, global plaudits and social media love for Scots simply being remarkable ambassadors, our confidence would be overflowing.
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Yet time and again I find myself shaking my head at the madness we are increasingly expected to accept as normal – a version of Scotland that seems determined to undo, at home, the very reputation our people are building abroad.
The confident, self-assured country the world has celebrated this past week seems increasingly distant from the one we are constructing. A serious nation is not one that never makes mistakes. It is one confident enough to acknowledge them, correct them and move on.
Too often, however, the Scotland we call home does not behave like that.
With the UK about to witness its sixth prime minister in a decade – a level of political churn that now has even the Italians laughing at us – the three first ministers Scotland has had over the same period look positively stable by comparison. But a serious nation demands more than continuity in office. It demands purpose – a clear sense of what matters and the confidence to pursue it without becoming distracted by endless navel-gazing.
The problem facing our leadership is not the latest linguistic fashion. It is something far more fundamental: the growing refusal to accept that words have meaning.
Having already lost one legal battle over the meaning of “woman”, the Scottish Government has now been defeated for a second time over the consequences of refusing to accept biological reality – this time in its prison policy. Given a renewed opportunity to draw a line under what has become a slow-motion car crash for the SNP, John Swinney instead chose to describe the latest ruling as giving rise to “complex issues” – a remarkably elaborate way of avoiding a question much of the public believes was answered long ago.
The stupefying reluctance to act decisively has compounded the impression of a government unwilling to come to terms with a reality the public had settled long ago, heaping yet more ridicule on the country’s reputation.
Last week provided yet another dismal example. In the absurd furore over the “penning” of journalists at Holyrood, parliament’s authorities – backed enthusiastically by the SNP and the Greens – corralled reporters into a designated media pen in a farcical attempt to remind them that a free press had to know its place in this new Scotland.
For any first minister worth the name, defending press freedom should be a slam-dunk issue. It requires no philosophical debate or novel interpretation of reality – just a straightforward commitment to basic democratic principles.
While John Swinney chose to dodge the row entirely, washing his hands of the affair with his typical detached indifference, the Green Guevara, Ross Greer, further disgraced his party with his unedifying delight at the punishment meted out to journalists for having the temerity to ask awkward questions. It was a shabby episode that exposed not merely poor judgement, but an instinctive desire to manage scrutiny rather than face it.
In the land of the free, where so many Scots were being embraced as ambassadors of friendship, humour and freedom, a little closer to home we appeared increasingly uncomfortable with the very liberties that underpin a confident, mature democracy.
The freedom to ask difficult questions, challenge power and expose uncomfortable truths is not an inconvenience to manage; it is a foundation of public trust. Journalists are not there to make politicians comfortable. They are there to scrutinise them, test their words, challenge their claims and demand answers when those in authority would prefer to deflect.
The most troubling aspect was not the decision itself, but the familiar absence of accountability that followed. Nobody seemed prepared to clearly explain who made it, why it was made, or who would accept responsibility.
We might be expected to believe a big boy did it and ran away – although for that to be accepted as an explanation, someone would first need to concede they know what a boy is. No doubt our FM would find that a complex issue.
The contrast could hardly be clearer. Those with no official responsibility for Scotland’s reputation are often the ones doing the most to enhance it. The Tartan Army does not arrive with a message to deliver or an image to protect; it simply reflects Scotland at its best because, when given the chance to be ourselves, we so often are.
Meanwhile, those entrusted with safeguarding that reputation appear increasingly willing to squander the goodwill earned by ordinary folk – forgetting that Scotland’s standing is not theirs to tarnish through political dogma or ideological battles. The Tartan Army understands that reputation is not built by always winning, but by how you behave when you do not. Others would do well to learn from them.
Calum Steele is a former General Secretary of the Scottish Police Federation, and former general secretary of the International Council of Police Representative Associations. He remains an advisor to both.
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