Last night, hearing Ed Miliband say, in plain, unambiguous, straightforward language, that he would rather have the Tories in power than be in government supported by the SNP, I was about as angry as I’ve ever been in my life.
This afternoon I feel not one bit less so.
The backtracking has started, of course, with people in Labour clarifying the remarks, or trying to. Some of his own shadow cabinet are actually flatly contradicting him.
I expected that, and I know people within the party, greedy for office, will be furious.
He’s also peddling back on it himself.
Too late. Too late by a distance. Those words are now in the public record and I have little doubt he meant every word.
It was a slip, but one he won’t be feeling any regret about, as I strongly suspect he knows trying to run a minority government would be nine kinds of Hell with a howling right wing media that won’t let him sleep at night.
So he’s given us a glimpse of his thinking.
He’s not simply let the cat out of the bag. It’s running wild, and has got into the fridge and is now eating the party treats.
This does nothing to help them in Scotland. Indeed, it may well have hammered the final nail into the coffin lid.
I sincerely hope that it has.
I no longer care who’s in Downing Street. The focus of Scotland is now forward, to a day when we’re shot of these people once and for all.
There really ought to be no more debate about that.
You know, as I’ve said, this was a guy I wanted to feel good about.
Although not exactly the answer to all our prayers, I believed him when he said he was a progressive.
What we saw, and heard, last night was not progressive at all. It was contemptuous of this country and the electorate.
It told us all we need to know about how he will behave in government.
We have a Labour leader prepared to continue with austerity cuts when the IFS and noted economists like Paul Krugman are telling us that there is no need for them. This man, and his party, are quite willing to inflict misery on many thousands of people when there is simply no case for it.
There is not a shred of justification for that and anyone who pursues that route to power is an immoral bastard whatever flag they do it under.
Our friend Jim Murphy (and what better friend does the SNP have?) said something last night; that he joined the Labour Party because he hated the Tories economic policies. I found that curious, because I joined Labour because I hated their social policies.
Imagine my profound shock – and dismay – when Labour’s own turned out to be just as bad.
I fell out of love with Labour a long time ago now, but I never expected to feel the way I do at this moment, where I honestly do not care if they are still in opposition this time next week.
The anger that’s been swelling in me since the referendum, when I realised they had wilfully betrayed every principle they ever supposedly believed in, peaked watching Miliband try to slip into the back door of Downing Street last night.
The level of cynicism in his words literally took my breath away.
In a previous piece I talked about how it felt when I realised what Labour was, and I compared it to finding out someone you loved, and thought loved you, had been going behind your back.
I said I have moments when I mourn for what I lost, all the while realising that because it wasn’t real that I never really had it in the first place.
Today that feeling is gone, gone completely.
Now I feel all the rage of someone jilted at the altar.
That anger is oddly liberating, and that feeling is also unexpected.
You know, there have been a lot of articles in the last few weeks that have tried to win people like me back to the fold. Some of them have fairly tugged on the heartstrings, tapping into the natural desire we all feel to respect the things our grandparents believed in, the Labour Party they grew up with, the one that stood for, and meant, something.
Miliband is here today, playing the same tune.
If the objective of those pieces was to get me to vote for them, they failed, spectacularly.
I know when I’m being manipulated, and those were crude efforts to guilt me and you and thousands of others.
Yet in that, at least, they were partly successful because in spite of myself I did feel that guilt, like someone who had made a decision to cheat on their other half.
Today Miliband is in Scotland where he intends to invoke those same “old ghosts”.
Thinking of that, I feel coldness creep over me, leaving me empty, like a dead battery.
I just want the day to come now. I want to speed up the clock, to fast forward it to next week.
I want to burn my X onto the ballot paper and slam it into the box like a guy giving the pub loud mouth a belt in the gob.
I want to see Labour erased from the political map north of the border, like the Tories were in 1997.
I don’t want them to learn lessons from the defeat … I want it to shatter the corrupt institution they’ve become.
I want them buried under the landslide.
Here, in the land of their founding father, I want them hammered into electoral oblivion.
For me, there’s no going back now, not ever. I care not what they were, only what they are.
Why would I ever return to voting for them now? To feel cheap, debased, used, done up like a kipper, to look in the mirror every day and know I’m a mug?
I cannot put it more bluntly than to say this; Labour is now the enemy of working class Scotland.
It’s that simple, and I experienced no feelings of remorse, regret or guilt writing those words.
Last night, I watched the leader of that party tell me, and my country, that he would rather see David Cameron stay in Downing Street than deal with us in good faith, and why not? They agree on so much, from hammering the poor and trimming back the state to the need for this country to retain weapons that can only be used to commit mass murder.
That’s not a man I even remotely want to see become Prime Minister.
This is a choice between two types of drowning, not an election to see who governs this nation.
If I lived in England, watching Cameron and Miliband, these two slippery bastards, knowing I had no option but to be ruled over by one of them, I would honestly be weeping right now.
That we do have an alternative future fills me with immense relief.
Of course, if Miliband loses next week he’s gone.
I don’t care who replaces him any more than I care who replaces Murphy when he finally sees the writing on the wall.
Scotland may well have to endure a Tory government when this is all over, but you know what? We’ve endured that before and we’re still here. We’re enduring one now, and everywhere I look I see the passion and hope of people determined to make this country better.
I see the astounding generosity and optimism of the people of this wonderful land, and I know we’ll survive.
Not comfortably, but we’ll still be standing.
Last night, on Facebook, a friend of mine said “we might as well be martyrs one more time.”
This has a peculiar resonance for me. I know exactly what he means. Miliband’s attitude towards us is pure Westminster. Scotland never quite gets what it votes for. Why should this time be any different?
It no longer matters whether it’s Labour or the Tories who are in office because we will get nothing from either.
Miliband’s comments last night came about, in no small part, as a consequence of the fear coursing through the party at the moment at being seen in any way to be giving this country more than England gets.
If you think they will risk the same electoral oblivion down south that is coming here, think again.
We’re pretty much on our own from this point forward, and the consolation in that comes from no longer being terribly concerned with Miliband’s political survival.
So we’ll weather what’s coming, whatever that is, in the way we always have, getting what England’s voters inflict on us as we have always done.
So martyrs it is then. One last time.
Because the momentum is now unstoppable.
I now firmly believe that this country will be an independent nation within ten years.
Last night, in his breath-taking show of contempt for every single one of us, Ed Miliband virtually guaranteed it, but I won’t thank him for it.
Frankly, he can go to Hell. The clock is ticking down on him too.
There are six days left to go.
People of Scotland, bring on your wrecking ball.
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