Sadiq Khan, the Mayor of London, was not wrong to compare Scottish nationalism to racism or religious intolerance — at least, not entirely. Someone has to say it: The parallels are clear. There is an obvious overlap between nationalism and racism: Both mentalities are defined by a politics of us-and-them. Equating racism with Scottish nationalism is a massive false equivalence, yet both perspectives are reliant on a clear distinction being made between those who belong and those who are rejected on the basis of difference.
In the Daily Record, Khan claimed that nationalism is effectively the same as “trying to divide us on the basis of background, race or religion”. Predictably, Scottish Nationalist Party (SNP) politicians and supporters alike were outraged. How dare anyone question their vision of a progressive Scotland? But in their rush to condemn a Londoner — the mayor of all Londoners, no less — for his, in Nicola Sturgeon’s words, “spectacularly ill-judged” comments, nationalists missed an opportunity to recognise a degree of truth in Khan’s comments.
The SNP is fond of talking about “a fairer Scotland”, playing on the popular notion that Scotland is by nature more egalitarian than England. But this raises one unavoidable question: Fairer than what? England, of course.
In order to valourise Scotland, to present it as some sort of a progressive utopia, nationalists must emphasise the difference between Scotland and England’s southern neighbour. The mythos of Scotland as a friendly, compassionate country is maintained with fervour — like any other fairytale, it needs heroes and villains. And Scottish exceptionalism — the idea of Scotland as a land of tolerance — is a fairytale. It is what allows Scotland to hold England accountable for all the wrongs of imperial expansion while denying this country’s own colonial legacy.
Before hosting the Commonwealth Games in 2014, “people make Glasgow” was announced as the city’s new slogan — a celebration of Glasgow’s reputation for friendliness. Yet, there is a rift between Glasgow’s public image and history that remains unaddressed: The people who made Glasgow were 18th-century merchants who grew rich on the back of the slave trade. The wealth that built Glasgow came from the enslavement of black people. These atrocities are buried so that the legend of “a fairer Scotland” can survive.
The 2014 independence referendum was a time of unprecedented political engagement, but also extreme social tension. Friendships cracked under the strain of differing opinions, and the inevitability of the referendum being brought up at family gatherings created a special sort of dread. Some remember this as a time of optimism. For me, in the lead-up to the vote, as discourse soured, it was a time of worry provoked by national discord. The relentlessness of nationalists’ need to distance Scotland from the rest of the UK on the grounds that we were not like them filled me with anything, but hope. The message of difference, that it must lead to separation, forced me to question how people of colour and migrants fitted into their idea of Scottish society at a time when purism governed understanding of Scottish identity and belonging.
Scottish nationalism in its present state rests on a fundamental contradiction: Seeking separation from the United Kingdom, and unity within the European Union. If Scotland’s first minister is to call a second referendum, as British Prime Minister Theresa May reportedly fears, she must address why Scotland aims to build new political ties while actively dismantling the longest and most stable relationship with another country. There is a hermetic streak to Scottish nationalism, small and inward-looking despite the SNP’s talk of a global Scotland, that persists beyond reason.
This showed last week: A disproportionate amount of nationalist outrage towards Khan came from white SNP supporters. There was a lot of “How dare you call us racist?” and very little reflection on the possibility that Scottish nationalism could actually contain racism. As is often the case, talking about racism became more controversial than racism in itself. Indeed, many nationalists are so deeply invested in the narrative of Scottish exceptionalism that they are unwilling to have a frank conversation about racism in Scottish society.
And Scottish exceptionalism is buoyed by white progressives even when they are not Scottish nationalists. Trade unionist Clare Hepworth tweeted that: “I have MANY SNP followers & friends. I have NEVER heard or read a racist comment from any of them!”
Hepworth’s approach brings to mind the old “tree falling in a deserted forest” puzzle — if racism occurs and another white person isn’t around to hear it, has racism still happened? Comments such as Hepworth’s only make it harder for people of colour to come forward about the discrimination we face, increasing the risk of us being disbelieved when we do speak out. Making racism invisible does not help those of us who experience it. If you argue there is no racism at all, it shuts down the need to talk about it. But if we don’t talk about racism then the status quo — in which white graduates are more than twice as likely to be hired as black, Asian and minority ethnic graduates in Britain — goes unchallenged.
White SNP supporters and allies have never been subject to racism. Khan, a second-generation Pakistani immigrant, has. And so there is a certain irony to white people with progressive politics rubbishing what an Asian man has to say about racism. Khan knows first-hand how racism works. In the run-up to the mayoral election, his opponent, Zac Goldsmith, and then-prime minister David Cameron both suggested that London would be unsafe in his hands, playing on Islamophobia in an effort to discredit him.
With this knowledge, Khan judged it appropriate to draw a comparison between nationalism and prejudice in order to highlight the risk carried by the politics of division. For that, I will not condemn him, just as I will not condemn those people of colour who criticise him. Yet, as a black Scottish woman, I, too, fear the politics of division. Zeal for national identity invariably raises questions of who belongs and who is an outsider — even “civic-minded” Scottish nationalism needs a “them” to create a cohesive idea of “us”.
— Guardian News & Media Ltd
Claire Heuchan is a PhD candidate at the University of Stirling. The central focus of her work is Black feminist theory, activism and writing. She blogs at Sister Outrider.
