Reflections from the Kirkcudbright Book Festival, 2026

Posted on March 11, 2026 by Stephen Shellard

Poets Fixing the World, A Graphic Novelist, A Pioneering  Musician with Roots in the Scottish Folk Tradition; and a Path of Slime

Just the other day, I was talking with a friend about the challenges of appreciating poetry.  

I think it’s fair to say that we both come into a category that can struggle with the medium. The prompt for this discussion was my attendance at an event in  the 2026 Kirkcudbright Book Festival showcasing the work of Hexameter, a collective of six poets based in Dumfries and Galloway.  They have just published a collection of their work, 6 by Six. 

On the cover of this volume, Hugh McMillan, a poet of significance in his own right, reviews the work and says: “It’s an important collection; not just for Galloway.” 

I was suggesting to my friend that sometimes hearing poets read their work can be a more reliable way of making a connection with it than encountering it on the page. But then, I recalled a story from the event which makes it clear that even poets may find the appreciation of poetry a challenge.  

Peter Roberts, introducing his poem Oranienberg, described how he had attended a production of Shakespeare’s Macbeth.  “As usual” he said, “when in attendance at a Shakespeare play, I fell asleep.”  

He went on to tell us, however, that when he awoke, the first line he heard was: “The night is long which never finds the day.”  That line was to become the epigraph to the poem he then read us. It is a response to a visit to Oranienberg, a town inextricably bound up with the presence, in one of its sub-districts, of a Nazi Concentration Camp, Sachsenhausen. “I’m caught by a thought,” says Peter Roberts in his poem: 

                          where might people 

plant their pride in a place, so normal,

yet eclipsed by another name, test bed

of mass murder’s technologies, HQ

of its bureaucracy: Sachsenhausen.

Enough, perhaps to be ordinary,

living in light spreading beyond the dark.

I have to say, my own appreciation of Shakespeare – and indeed, poetry in general – very much fits the model as set out by Peter Roberts. 

Following the event, I spoke briefly to Alex Monlaur, one of the founding members of the collective. She told me that in previous poetry groups she had experienced, members were apt to shy away from critical comment on the work of others. Encouragement is all very well but Hexameter, she said, was a project designed to facilitate more critical feedback, which might improve, not just the work, but the poet. The evidence of this event and this publication, I’d say, is that the method is working. 

But then poetry is not just about product. It’s also about the process of writing and the impact this may have on the way the individual caught up in it thinks and  experiences the world.  Only a tiny fraction of the poetry written will end up being anthologised, read widely and be an inspiration  to more than just a few. Indeed this  was central to the most recent edition of the BBC Radio programme People Fixing the World, in an episode titled  The Power of Poetry.[1]  It looked at how, in Singapore, writing poetry has been incorporated into the training of physicians to help them become more empathetic in their practice; and also how, at climate change conferences, poetry is being used to summarise complex ideas and make them available to a wider audience. 

The programme, incidentally, finishes with a challenge which might be of interest to anyone with an inclination to write poetry. But before you go off and  listen, let me tell you about two other events which I was fortunate to attend at the Kirkcudbright Book Festival this year. 

The first of these involved Gerry Hassan interviewing Darryl Cunningham, who was promoting his graphic novel, Elon Musk: Investigation into a New Master of the World

I’d have to admit that I had gone to this event with no knowledge that Darryl Cunningham was a graphic artist and that his book was a graphic novel. I was expecting, and looking forward to, a more conventional biographical portrait of Musk. I soon realised this was seriously in error, but I was not disappointed. Darryl Cunningham is a creative force whose work I will look forward to discovering in the future. There is quite a lot of it by the way.  His first book, Psychiatric Tales,  draws on his time working on an acute psychiatric ward. He went on to explore  fascinations with a range of other topics. For example Billionaires describes the lives and influence of Jeff Bezos, Rupert Murdoch, and the Koch brothers.  With each new book, as Darryl explained, he becomes completely immersed in the subject, his aim always to use his extraordinary graphic creativity to complement rather than interrupt the flow of the central narrative. 

My final outing in the festival was  framed by the title:  From the revival of folk music to the new music of Martyn Bennett.  In truth, on arrival at the venue, my awareness of the musical and creative phenomenon that was Martyn Bennett, was vestigial.   Dr  Gary West,  author of  Brave New Music: The Martyn Bennett Story,   was in conversation with locally based poet, musician and children’s author, Alan McClure.   

Bennett’s story, I discovered, is more extraordinary than I could have imagined. He was a musical prodigy, steeped in the tradition of Scottish folk heritage as he was growing up.  He was a piper who busked on the streets of Glasgow to support his passage through a classical music education. He excelled in his studies to the point that he was invited to pursue a career as a classical violinist. That was not to be his future. During the  1990s he was a regular participant in the dance music scene. This experience profoundly influenced his musical development and composition. When he was not creating and playing music he developed his  love of mountains  and his passion for an outdoor life.

His final album, Grit, is a fusion of “samples of unaccompanied traditional Scottish folk singers, his own bagpipe and fiddle playing, and electronic drum beats.” [2] He was ill at the time the album was being recorded, indeed so ill that he was unable to play live in the studio.

Grit, was released in October 2003. Martyn Bennett died as a result of his illness on 30th January 2005, aged 33 years old. 

Gary West had known Martyn Bennett and admired his talent over many years and there was a focus on Bennett’s achievements at every stage of his life and on the evolution of his creativity.  But there was also, inevitably, a wistful nod to what might have been. 

Whatever your musical interests; folk, rock, dance, classical, if you are not already a fan, the music of Martyn Bennett deserves your attention. 

Before concluding, I feel the need to return briefly to Gerry Hassan’s interview with Darryl Cunningham. Right at the conclusion of the conversation, Gerry asked Darryl whether he thought Elon Musk was “evil”.  Darryl paused for a moment and thought about the question but then answered without qualification: “Yes!”  And what about Donald Trump, persisted Gerry.  “Is Donald Trump evil?” This time, no pause. “Yes!”  

Hannah Arendt spoke of “the banality of evil.” It is a phrase which evokes the footsoldiers and the lower ranks of those implicated in such malign projects as Sachsenhausen; those who were to plead: “I was just following orders” and who might rightly be designated as “so lacking in originality as to be obvious and boring.” [3]  

Donald Trump, though, is in a different category. He is conspicuously absent from the fallout arising from his fantastical conceits;  he clearly has no stomach for direct observation of anything approaching suffering or deprivation – that’s just for losers.  

Yet when, in the 2024 Presidential debate, Joe Biden accused Trump of having “the morals of an alley cat,” it was a rhetorical blow that fell very far short of describing the true moral vacuum at the centre of this wannabe despot.

It is visible to all that Trump is a stranger to the truth; that he is a bully; that he is a terminally narcissistic kleptocrat; that he seeks to  befriend other kleptocrats and bullies; that he has colluded with the Netanyahu Government in the destruction of Gaza and, before the dust had even begun to settle on the tragedy, started to size up the rubble for its real estate value; that, on a whim, he toys with the future security of the world. 

This “trail of slime,” as the aforementioned Alan McClure puts it in his recent song Slug, builds a strong case that Donald Trump is  the very epitome of evil. I thank Gerry Hassan, Darryl Cunningham and the Kirkcudbright Book Festival for giving me a clearer perspective on the matter.  

Endnotes 

Hexameter will be reading from their collection 6 by Six at the Coach and Horses, Dumfries on 26th March.

Many thanks to Alan McClure for the “trail of slime,”  a phrase I have good reason to believe came to him in a dream.

Endnotes 

Hexameter will be reading from 6 by Six at the Coach and Horses, Dumfries on 26th March.

Many thanks to Alan McClure for the “trail of slime,”  a phrase I have good reason to believe came to him in a dream.

Featured image cropped from the Kirkcudbright Book Festival Facebook page – Darryl Cunningham in the Dark Arts Studio awaiting the start of his interview.

Books

A collection of poems from Hexameter Hexameter

Darryl Cunningham Elon Musk: Investigation into a New Master of the World

Gary West  Brave New Music: The Martyn Bennett Story

References

[1] People Fixing the World:  The Power of Poetry

[2] Wikipedia, Grit (Martyn Bennett Album)

[3]  [3]  Dictionary definition of “banal” sourced via Google. 

Posted in Comment, Dumfries and Galloway | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A Glimpse Through the Concrete Window

Posted on February 22, 2026 by Stephen Shellard

Art, Science and the Long  View of our Carbon Future

You may have noticed the  recent news that China’s emissions of CO2 have “been flat or falling for 18 months”. [1] Good news surely?  I was prompted to suggest to some climate aware friends that we were approaching a benign tipping point with respect to our transition to net zero carbon emissions.  China’s rapid adoption of electric vehicles and installation of renewable energy technology has been extraordinary. Surely now, whatever Donald Trump may have to say on the matter, the floodgates of renewable installation must burst open on an international scale and cascade us all to a net zero future? 

 “Well actually,No!”, said Jack.  “In India, I think a huge issue is concrete & cement technology. As folk get richer, they want more modern buildings. China has built loads already – arguably too many, given the state of their real estate market – but concrete and cement is some of the most carbon intensive product. I worked on India for a bit and there were some efforts to find a less carbon intensive cement but not enough. Not sexy at all, but more carbon friendly cement is where it’s at for me!”

To tell the truth, that was a bit of a slap in the face for my Pollyannaish approach to the matter. But with my newly sharpened critical faculties I pointed out to Jack that even “carbon friendly cement” may not provide a simple answer.  Who is going to invest in an untested new material given what we are experiencing with the failure of RAAC concrete in so many buildings in the UK? [2]

I thought about this exchange when I went along to Dumfries Climate Kitchen where the opening presentation  was led by locally based visual artist and writer Andy Brooke. Andy was talking about his most recent stained glass panel, The Concrete Window. 

My exposure to stained glass art in the past was mostly in the form of religiously inspired work firmly located in Church buildings. Andy, it became clear, is committed to embedding a message of a different kind in his work, a message concerning the destruction wrought by our obsession with building in concrete.  

His imagery is taken directly from the subject matter but not always in ways that we might anticipate. As Andy explains on his blog: “It is not a beautiful window in the expected sense; there is ugliness portrayed in some imagery as well as some of the colours and patterns created.” [3]

Running throughThe Concrete Window are profiles of Scottish mountain ranges which have been plundered for the materials to make concrete. These include  our own  coastal sentinels, Criffel and Knockendoch, small as Scottish mountains go, but rising dramatically from the Solway. 

The panel draws attention to demolished concrete structures and structures threatened with demolition in Lochside, Dumfries.  Little thought has been given to repurposing or upgrading these  structures.  The cycle of build in concrete and then demolish to rebuild, has  become depressingly common. It is an enormously wasteful strategy, but  often cheered on by those who, with some justice, have come to hate  neglected  structures  thrown up in a previous era of cheap, utilitarian construction. Indeed at least one of those present at the event recalled with some feeling that he had grown up in a poorly constructed prefabricated concrete house in Dumfries, which could not possibly have been redeemed by any modernising refurbishment.  It deserved only to be knocked down. 

The conversation following Andy’s introduction of his work touched on other possible ways of extending or renewing the built environment. What about timber frame construction? [4] What about bricks? It would seem that many of our bricks are now produced abroad, with little consideration for the pay and conditions of those labouring in the industry. This seems extraordinary given that there is a rich history of brick manufacture in the United Kingdom.[5] 

Where concrete is concerned, perhaps there should be more thought given to reusing, repurposing or otherwise upgrading existing concrete buildings?  We all know about the tragedy of Grenfell Tower. The business imperative of providing a cheap insulation retrofit almost certainly sealed Grenfell’s fate. But there are alternative ways of retrofitting insulation and conscientious regulation could ensure the job is done properly.  No doubt, were sufficient attention given to the matter, new products and techniques could be brought forward to do the job better. It is too easy to just knock a building down and rebuild. Perhaps there should be a financial penalty for doing just that, which would make refurbishment a more viable option. 

Andy Brooke’s  Concrete Window is a striking image in its own right, full of contrasting colour and complex structural elements. Yes, it is marked by discordant shapes, but its central hourglass is an elegant reminder that time for changing our ways is not unlimited. Sand, an ingredient of glass and concrete is literally and metaphorically, running out.  There is, it is fair to say, a great deal of sand in the world but, as Andy explained, only a tiny fraction of it is the sharp sand required for making concrete. Desert sand is too smooth and regular to do the job. [6] [7]

The themes which are woven into The Concrete Window do not immediately grab your attention. It is only when you draw closer that details become clear. It is these details which provoke the very questions we must answer before the sands have finally run through the glass.  

Endnotes  

  • The Concrete Window is currently on display at The Stove Network & Café, 100 High Street, Dumfries
  • Andy Brooke’s blog may be viewed at: https://andyljbrooke.com/ 
  • For more information on the Climate Kitchen, please visit https://climatekitchen.co.uk/ 
  • Thanks to Jack for his contribution to the discussion – That’s Jack McConnell, Labour Candidate for Galloway in the forthcoming Holyrood election.
  • Header image cropped from Destruction of Gaza, photographer, gloucester2gaza original image available from Wikimedia
  • Reference 4 was added on 26th February, following the initial publication of the essay on 22nd February.

References

[1] Carbon Brief: Analysis: China’s CO2 emissions have now been flat or falling for 18 months

[2]  BBC News   What is RAAC concrete and why is it a safety risk?

[3] Blog post: The Sands of Time are Running Out  In this blog post, Andy talks in detail about the ideas embedded in The Concrete Window

[4] BBC Business Daily How modular homes are rebuilding Portugal’s ruins This short programme provides an excellent introduction to the new techniques being employed to create factory built modular wooden buildings, using laminated wood and entirely avoiding the use of steel and concrete construction.

[5] Scotland’s Brick and Tile Manufacturing Industry 

[6] BBC News: Why the World is Running out of Sand

[7] Wickes – A brief explanation of the importance of sharp sand in making concrete.

Posted in Environmental | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Unclubbable

Posted on February 7, 2026 by Stephen Shellard

Political Parties.  Why we need more of them—But not too many!

There was a time when, despite my coming of age journey in the 1960s through the First Newry cubs, boy scouts and senior scouts, I  considered myself an unquenchable individualist and, to all intents and purposes, unclubbable. 

In the early 1970s, as a student at Reading University, I circled round the rich pickings of left wing politics. I enjoyed the exchange of ideas and arguments between the many factions, but could not  align with any of them. They were too inflexible, too prone to gestural  extremes. Most importantly, from my point of view, where  Northern Ireland was concerned, they  were too ready to buy into a perspective that unceremoniously wrote off the interests of the Unionist community in which I had grown up. 

Somewhere beyond the periphery of that ferment of University politics, was the Labour Party. By the rhetorical standards of the prevailing debate in University politics, they seemed pedestrian and irrelevant and, other than to note their benighted existence, I gave them little thought.   

As it happens the Labour Party were in government from 1974 through to 1979. Political parties are always easier to support when in opposition. In government they are inevitably dealing with a realpolitik which involves compromise, a certain amount of muddling through, a gaff or two and the occasional change of course (or U turn, as we must now call such willingness to rethink a policy). 

It will come as no surprise  that I continued to eschew the Labour Party throughout that decade. And yet, my recollection  of the 1970s and Labour’s governance during that period seems a great deal sunnier than the stain which has subsequently spread across our collective memory of the decade.  The particularly murky lens through which the period is viewed no doubt owes something to the final throes of the Callaghan government and the so-called “Winter of Discontent”—1978-1979.  

There was indeed an exceptionally cold winter that year.  This coincided with a period of widespread industrial turmoil. Accumulations of rubbish arising from the strike of refuse collectors have, over the succeeding decades, provided helpful imagery for those who wish to characterise the period as the last throes of a failed socialist experiment. I was myself unemployed at the time, but somehow life didn’t seem that bad. 

Stoke Newington Common in the Binmen’s strike 1979, picture from Alan Denney, available on Flikr, https://www.flickr.com/photos/alandenney/2440902136

It was the rise of Margaret Thatcher  which prompted me to reconsider my dilettante alignment on the left of British politics.  It is not my intention here to litigate the rights and wrongs of Thatcherite politics, but rather to observe that it was in that context that I began—very gradually it should be said—to think that, just maybe, the Labour Party should be my political home. Sometime in about the middle of the 1980’s I caved in and became a member.  And that is what I have remained in the passing years, through thick and thin. 

The extent of my active participation in Labour Party politics over this period has waxed and waned a good deal. Membership of political parties is like that. Some people devote their existence to the party, whilst others are members in name only. I have never been an enthusiast for the regular meetings which form the basis of party activity, though I do try to engage. Still less have I felt inclined to become an office bearer within the party or an active politician. Mostly my role has been to pay my dues and, in the run up to elections, to offer my services to the Labour candidate by delivering leaflets or canvassing. I should   not overlook  the social dimension to membership and, over the years, I have made good friends in the party though I can equally say that I have friends who have taken a different political course or declined to align themselves with any party. 

Which brings me to the present.  Keir Starmer’s generally flat-footed leadership, and currently his embarrassment at having given a top job to that talented, mercurial—and it would now appear—terminally untrustworthy dissembler, Peter Mandelson. Perhaps this is the moment to leave. But to what other party should I give my allegiance?

Where the environment is concerned, I think the Green Party sets an important standard.  But for the time being they remain, in my estimation, a pressure group with the luxury of being able to indulge in gestural politics without any real prospect of becoming a governing party. That may change.  

I live in Scotland, where the SNP offer a tempting alternative to Labour.  I find myself in reasonable alignment with much of their policy and indeed with much of their criticism of the Labour Government.  However their raison d’etre is to gain independence and my own commitment is to  argue for reform of the UK political system—an objective that is, in fact, anathema to the SNP. They have  no serious interest in the reform or success of UK politics. It would destroy them. 

What then of the Liberal Democrats? I can’t honestly say that I find Ed Davey’s zip-wire-parachute-jumping approach to grabbing attention particularly appealing.  And yet I very much agree with their longstanding commitment to electoral reform. I believe their policy on the environment is credible. Their current economic policies may even be somewhat to the left of Rachel Reeves cautious fiscal positioning. However, the electoral system has, for now, marginalized their chances of forming a government. And yet it is quite possible that, given the peculiar unpredictability of our current politics, a Labour-Lib Dem coalition could turn out to be the basis of a radical reforming government. That is an outcome I might even hope for given the current government’s dismal commitment to constitutional reforms.  

But let’s not forget the Conservative Party. I have staunchly opposed them over several decades and believe they have done much damage to the country.  Yet even I would admit that, had Rory Stewart not taken his tie off in the 2019 Tory leadership debate and instead found a way to knock Boris Johnson from his ridiculous perch, then the country, indeed perhaps even the World, would now be in a much better place. [1] But the real problem was not Rory’s failure to keep his tie on, but the lack of solid support within the Conservative Party for his candidacy. 

This Labour Government  has presented many challenges to members who campaigned  enthusiastically for their election.  I share these frustrations but have chosen to remain a  party member. I think that has a great deal to do with my faith in the qualities and aspirations of the membership. It is the membership which persuades me that the Labour project continues to be worthy of my support. But my loyalty to the party also has something to do with my belief  that political parties and their membership  have, more generally, an important role to play in our democracy. 

Members choose candidates to stand for election. They choose the party leader. They establish the political culture from which policies and manifestos emerge. This framing of contesting policies by the political parties at elections offers citizens a manageable set of options on the basis of which those with a more passing interest in politics may make wise choices.

This said, it is impossible to ignore  the disproportionate and unfair representation of political parties in the UK Parliament. We need electoral reform in order  to bring more parties into contention.  This would certainly engage many individuals discontent with the old order and the sclerotic domination of two parties.   I am an advocate of such  reform, as is the Labour Party membership. I can also see, however, that reform risks splitting parties into factions and, ultimately, confusing the electoral offer by fomenting an excess of choice. 

Such dissenting splinters  are liable to be little more than pressure groups.  Israel is the most obvious recent example of the problems this can create. Such factions have little concern for a balanced political programme but rather are driven by zealous interest in single or limited issues. The anti-abortion party. The anti-migrant party.  Well, in truth, we already have one of those. 

Elsewhere on this blog I have discussed ways of preventing these  kinds of splinters proliferating and capturing political debate. [2] [3] 

But if we want to   encourage broader representation, we must also address the toxic issue of party funding. That would be controversial, I know. But  think about it: an end to the Labour Party’s dependence on funding from Trade Unions;  an end to the purchase of political influence by the rich and powerful. The potential for parties to flourish with a focus on policy rather than financial survival. 

Given the significant part political parties play in our politics, what we really need is a Citizens Assembly to consider their role and to make  recommendations accordingly. The result might be a party system capable of drawing in the politically unclubbable. That, in due course, could lead to a less polarised and more productive national discourse.

Endnotes

[1] Rory Stewart removes his tie in the 2019 Conservative leadership debate. 

[2] How Many Political Parties do we Really Need? This article suggests one approach to managing the number of political parties in our politics. 

[3] Sunlit uplands: a vision for the renewal of electoral and party politics  A longer discussion on the subject of electoral reform, again offering a suggestion as to how the number of political partie

Header Unclubbable image based on this image from Pixabay. 

Posted in Comment, Electoral Reform, Other Constitutional discussion | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

From Moral Ambition to Moral Yearning

Posted on January 14, 2026 by Stephen Shellard

A Reflection on the Dangers of Moral Certainty

Name the four US presidents who have been assassinated!  

That’s a challenge which one might expect in a pub quiz.  Team members, such as myself, who have been roped in at the last minute to make up the numbers, will confidently list Kennedy and Lincoln. Naming the other two would have to be left to the real quizzers in the team.  

Wikipedia helps out and reminds me that the forgotten pair were James A Garfield, assassinated in 1881, and William McKinley, assassinated in 1901. [1]

Both individuals survived the immediate trauma of being shot. McKinley lived for a week and then his wound became gangrenous. He quickly went into decline and died.  Garfield, on the other hand, survived for over eleven weeks and should have recovered had it not been for his doctor’s unsterilised digital probing of his wound in what were – for  Garfield – extremely painful attempts to extract a bullet which might better have  been left in situ. 

Diverting though these facts are, my interest in the events  is concerned largely with our retrospective assessment of these four Presidents. Lincoln and Kennedy, live on as historical figures of great consequence, whilst Garfield and McKinley have been largely forgotten.  

Well that’s not entirely true.  In an article for the New Yorker Daniel Immerwahr speculates on  Why Donald Trump Is Obsessed with a President from the Gilded Age. This turns out to be President McKinley. A quick skim of McKinley’s Wikipedia page suggests a somewhat isTrumpian slant to his achievements.  He raised tariffs, promising protection for American business. He offered a good deal on civil rights for people of colour, but delivered little. He was complicit in the annexation of the Republic of Hawaii saying “We need Hawaii just as much and a good deal more than we did California. It is manifest destiny.” [2] 

It was his own destiny to end up on the receiving end of an assassin’s bullet fired by  Leon Frank Czolgosz, an American wireworker and anarchist.

McKinley’s presidency began in March 1897 and he was assassinated on September 6th 1901, early in his second term. Garfield’s presidency, by contrast, lasted less than 6 months.  He was gunned down before he had really got started. And yet there is a case to be made that, of all these Presidents, Garfield, the most easily forgotten, was in fact the greatest of them all. 

Garfield’s Wikipedia page makes it clear that his character and policy ideas are not above criticism, but for  the purpose of my argument I prefer to focus on  the relatively unblemished representation of his  character offered by the Netflix serial Death by Lightning. [3, 4] Michael  Shannon provides the gravitas for the part of Garfield and Matthew Macfadyen brilliantly evokes the quixotic and delusional character of Garfield’s nemesis, Charles Guiteau. 

A key element of the story is that Garfield never intended to become President. He knows the Republican Party in that era to be deeply and irremediably corrupt.  He agrees however to give a speech on behalf of a candidate who he believes cannot win the Republican nomination for the Presidency, but who may perhaps unsettle some of those who in that moment appear to be completely dominant. 

In fact this speech resonates with the assembled delegates and becomes the platform from which, against his better judgement, Garfield is first proposed and then adopted as  the Republican candidate for the Presidential election. 

That much is remarkable and suggests someone with both modesty and a striking rhetorical presence. Garfield goes on to triumph in the presidential election. However, he has been shackled to a corrupt Vice President, not of his choosing, Chester A Arthur. Vice President  Arthur is in league with obstructive opponents led by corrupt New York Senator Roscoe Conkling. Things do not go well for Garfield.  And then he is assassinated. 

Before laying out a case in favour of Garfield’s significance, I will mention a detail from the film, almost certainly fictional, but which suggests evidence that Garfield, at the very least, made a profound impression on those working most closely with him in the White House. 

Guiteau, a kind of stalker-like figure, is attempting to persuade members of the President’s entourage that it is important for him to speak directly to Garfield. He encounters a young presidential aide. With an apparently genuine curiosity Guiteau asks the young fellow: “What kind of person is the President?”  The assistant pauses and then replies with obvious sincerity: “He is the greatest man I have ever known.”  Suffice to say, Guiteau does not get what he wants and retreats to reflect bitterly on the insult. 

The character of Vice President Arthur is critical to understanding Garfield’s presidency. Arthur is a moral weakling, clearly fearful of Conkling and openly defiant in the face of the President’s attempts to introduce reforms. And yet Garfield treats his Vice President with consistent patience and respect. In essence, he says to Arthur: “I believe you are a better person than this.” 

Arthur is clearly rattled by the faith the President has in his debased character but, in the first instance, continues  to dance to Conkling’s tune. In the event of the assassination however, Arthur experiences a kind of nervous collapse in which he acknowledges his own depravity and insists that he is unfit to be president. Garfield’s widow, on hearing this pathetic confession, stands firm in the face of Arthur’s hysteria and insists that he master himself. Eventually the Vice President sets to work on delivering Garfield’s programme of reform. 

I thought of this story when recently a friend  drew my attention to Rutger Bregman’s book, Moral Ambition.  Early in the text Bregman explains: “Moral ambition is the will to make the world a wildly better place.”   That sentence for me is damaged by the inclusion of the word “wildly”.  However, I persisted, and despite some reservations – which I shall come to – I’m glad I did. [5]

Whilst reading the book I became aware that Rutger Bregman was giving this year’s Reith Lecture, under the title Moral Revolution.  On tuning in to listen I found the lecture more immediately to my taste than his book. [6]Indeed I think it reasonable to assume that Rutger Bregman wrote  his books in his mother tongue, Dutch, and that consequently what I was reading was a version of the original which had been souped up for the US market. 

But leaving these considerations aside, the motivation of the aforementioned assassins is worth considering. It is not clear that any of them were paid for what they did; rather they were all acting on their idea of what was the right thing to do. All four notorious assassins set themselves an ambitious and morally framed objective; to murder a President. All were, consequently, to lose their own lives.   

Perhaps the point may be made clearer if we consider for a moment Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg’s failed plot to kill Hitler, for which he also was to lose his life. In that particular instance there is fairly widespread agreement that von Stauffenberg’s ambition to end  Hitler’s life was heroic.[7] 

In the final analysis, the mere fact that an action is  framed morally tells us little or nothing about the quality of reflection or questioning or doubt or humility of the individual who has done the deed. 

Ambition is a word tinged with the pejorative. Those who succeed as a result of ambition do so as much because of this quality as any other they may possess; such as honesty, integrity, ability.  What shines through in Garfield’s case is not ambition, but honesty and integrity. It seems unlikely that, once he had  won the Presidency, Garfield was untouched by Presidential ambition. After all, he set about introducing reforms intended to break the corruption he saw around him. It is not ambition per se with which I quibble, but ambition untempered by doubt.

Politicians in the current era are universally despised despite their frequent claims to be motivated  by a desire to serve the public and to make the world a better place.  I don’t wish to indulge in the modern reflex to demonise politicians, but quite possibly it is a surfeit of ambition that has transformed them in the public  mind from servants of their constituents into self-serving and untrustworthy parasites. Just to be clear: though this may be my own view of a few of them, it is not my view of politicians in general.

Rutger Bregman builds his case  in favour of moral ambition on an extensive cast list from history; those who fought for an end to slavery or votes for women or rights for people of colour in the USA. Some of these heroic figures are well known to us; others lived and died in relative obscurity, and did not see the changes for which they had fought hard and sacrificed  much. 

I was very happy to be reminded of the courage shown by this heroic roll call and I am very much in agreement that their achievement deserves celebration. But then I also think of the moral ambition which accompanied European and British Imperialism and its brutal attempt to “civilise” other peoples by the systematic undermining of their culture, language and beliefs.

I stumbled across a useful perspective on this matter a few weeks ago when listening to the Professor of Political Theory at LSE, Lea Ypi on BBC Radio 3’s Private Passions. She describes herself as “a philosopher in activist mode” not just reflecting on the world but also hoping to inform and change it by  answering questions; questions  such as what is required to live a good life and what is justice. Crucially she adds: “there is a moral yearning underpinning it.”   

She went on to suggest that this “yearning” is  commonplace in children and that children are not afraid of asking difficult questions  but that we are inclined to lose this fearlessness as we grow older.  

Lea Ypi grew up in Albania and as a child witnessed the fall of Enver Hoxha.  As she observed to Michael Berkeley: “All I had in that period were questions and so I thought, ‘What can I study that will enable me to ask better and better questions?’  And the answer was philosophy.” [8]

 “Moral yearning” suggests an openness to different perspectives on what may be right and wrong and a willingness  to reflect with humility on moral questions wherever and however they occur. It strikes me that the didactic and morally ambitious character of our education system may carry much of the responsibility for extinguishing our childhood yearning  to seek after moral truth. Moral yearning, is I would suggest, a quality to be protected and nurtured rather than something which can be taught. 

But my intention in saying all this is not to take down Rutger Bregman but rather to suggest that  when moral ambition gets the better of moral yearning, we may have a problem. 

Endnotes

1] Wikipedia  List of United States presidential assassination attempts and plots [Source of images used in this post.]

2] Why Donald Trump Is Obsessed with a President from the Gilded Age 

3] Wikipedia James A. Garfield

4] Netflix Series – Death by Lightning

5] Book – Moral Ambition – Rutger Bregman

6] Reith Lecture – Moral Revolution, Rutger Bregman

7] Sparticus Educational  Claus von Stauffenberg

8] Private Passions  Lea Ypi

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Brexit Revisited

Posted on November 14, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

The Democratic Case for Pooling Sovereignty

Although I voted to remain in the European Union in the 2016 referendum, this did not reflect an entirely uncritical view of the European project and, in particular, its democratic structures. I was interested therefore to listen to the Leading Podcast interview with Poland’s Deputy Prime Minister, Radek Sikorski. In a wide-ranging conversation, he makes a very spirited argument in favour of EU Democracy.

Sikorski’s relationship with the UK is an interesting one. Just nineteen years old, he was granted political asylum in Britain in 1982 following the declaration of martial law in Poland in December of the previous year. He won a place to study PPE at the University of Oxford where he established his conservative political credentials and became a member of the notorious Bullingdon Club. He was an acquaintance of both David Cameron and Boris Johnson, and an admirer of the latter.

During this period of his life he was a Eurosceptic. Reflecting on this, he now says that in the 1980s, when his own Euroscepticism was formed, “The British public was consistently misled about how the EU works.” [Podcast: 23:32]

Having returned to Poland after the fall of the communist Eastern Bloc, he has entirely changed his view. He now offers a robust defence of the EU’s democratic character:

“For a directive to come into force not only do you need an agreement of the member states and in a majority of cases unanimously, you also need an agreement of the European Parliament; and the Commission are not ‘faceless bureaucrats’. They are appointed by democratically elected governments.”  

Sikorski concludes: “Now that I know how it works I don’t know how you could make it any more democratic than that.” [Podcast: 26.02]

Nigel Farage, or indeed Boris Johnson or Michael Gove, would be unlikely to highlight this particular script; however, the core appeal of Brexit for many had more to do with that pesky slogan coined, I believe, by arch Brexiteer Dominic Cummings: “Take back control!”

These three words neatly encapsulated the alleged indignity of European Union membership: that the great British nation was sharing a sliver of its sovereignty with perfidious Europeans. And so, amidst much waving of the Union Jack, the clamour grew: “Take back control.”

There is, however, a democratic conundrum at the centre of this call to reclaim sovereignty. Intrinsically, democracy is about the pooling of individual sovereignty. In a world where each individual is a law unto themselves, we would be returned to the state of nature described by Thomas Hobbes in which, he argued, life would be “nasty, brutish and short.” Hobbes was no democrat, but in his view, any form of government, however unjust, would be preferable to the state of nature.

I would be tempted to argue with Hobbes’s characterisation of human nature as being so irredeemably brutish, but will set that aside for the moment and return to my main point. If we want democracy, then the sharing of individual sovereignty is a prerequisite. The question only remains to decide how widely that sovereignty should be shared. It is obviously the case that the smaller a democratic unit, the more influence an individual citizen will have. This said, federal and quasi-federal structures, like the European Union, allow decisions to be made which affect larger groups of people without removing the right of smaller groups to manage their own affairs. When all is said and done, has ‘taking back control’ to Westminster given a Scottish voter, or a voter in Liverpool, more control than pooling some sovereignty in a larger body where their MEP has a vote?

Naturally, sharing sovereignty means that we will sometimes dislike democratically made decisions, regardless of whether they have been made locally, nationally, or at some transnational level. The alternative, however, is a free-for-all in which, generally, the powerful get their way and everyone else gets the leftovers.

In the light of the somewhat dismal performance of the UK since its exit from the EU, it seems reasonable to suggest that the time has come to undo the damage done by Brexit and rejoin. According to YouGov: “Nine years on from the EU referendum, most Britons believe that it was wrong to vote to leave the EU.”

It is a curious fact, however, that despite this outcome, one of the key architects of Brexit, Nigel Farage, continues to rise in popularity amongst the disaffected, whilst the esteem in which other leading politicians are held is in free-fall.

Radek Sikorski is clear that, were the UK to apply to rejoin, we would be welcomed back into the European fold.  My own sense, however, is that rejoining the EU at this stage would prove unpopular in the UK regardless of Brexit-regret. And there is the additional question of the currency.

Gordon Brown—smart man—negotiated for us to keep the pound rather than adopt the Euro. While not an immediate condition, rejoining would almost certainly require a commitment to adopt the Euro in the long term—a sovereignty I believe is worth retaining. 

More importantly, however, in this time of Trumponomics, all bets are off. So far as most commentators are concerned, Trump’s tariffs strategy is actively harming the US economy, and the collateral damage to other economies around the world is of no concern to him. As in all things, Trump appears to prefer division to unity and would doubtless be hostile to the UK rejoining the EU. He has no interest in anything other than a winner-takes-all rammy at the level of international affairs. The way in which he is playing his hand can be stupefying, but undeniably he continues to hold many strong cards.

All things considered, I think we should probably put our application to rejoin the EU on hold. For the moment, we must navigate the turbulent world that Brexit, Trump, and the populist zeitgeist have helped to create.

Endnotes

Leading Podcast Putin, Trump, and 500 Years of Resisting Russia | Poland’s Deputy Prime Minister, Radek Sikorski

Wikipedia Radosław Sikorski

YouGov  Nine years after the EU referendum, where does public opinion stand on Brexit?

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In Search of Better Ways to End Our Lives

Posted on November 3, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

There was  a time when a person who had become mortally ill or who had reached their high old age could expect to die at home amongst family and not far from friends.  In the current era this may yet be the case in communities as yet untouched by the modern world. But for  those of us who do not succumb to fatal accident or heart attack, old age offers the prospect of lingering decline, often in a care home,  with illness, hospitalisation and indignity all too probable at the finish. 

Pain and illness have no doubt always been hazards at the end of life, but our genius for extending life, often regardless of its quality, is a defining feature of the modern world.

On the plus side, the management of pain through administration of drugs  and the quality  of  professionalised care and support has never been higher.  

Yet, the standard of what might be considered “a good death” continues to be set by the widespread belief that to die at home, within touching distance of those closest to us,  is as good an end to life as we can possibly hope for.

The changing role of women, who formerly carried the greater part of this burden of care, is no doubt  one of the reasons why dying  has become so professionalised. Whilst attendance    at the bedside of someone who is dying is as much a part of life as it has always been,  hands on care for the sick and the infirm is something with which we have become less familiar. 

Perhaps in time to come families and communities will evolve in such a way as to fully and unflinchingly take on this task in a way that does not gender the responsibilities for doing so. But for the foreseeable future   we must rely on those aforementioned medical and care services. It is precisely for this reason that the just published Research Handbook on End of Life Care and Society is an important piece of work.  In the introduction, Editors David Clark and Annemarie Samuels write: 

Our Handbook is about end of life care in society. It harnesses the social sciences and humanities to a set of problems that remain dominated by medicalised and managerial solutions within healthcare systems, and in so doing it takes us into a vast range of perspectives on something that is essential to social life itself: the human encounter with dying, death and bereavement.  

For me, it is this “vast range of perspectives” which makes the Handbook a project of special interest. 

I was fortunate enough to attend the launch event for this book at the University of Glasgow, Rutherford McCowan Building, in  Dumfries. The attendees were treated to an introduction from the editors of the Handbook, and contributions from a couple of the contributors.  One in particular, which caught my attention, was from Marian Krawczyk, University of Glasgow, End of Life Studies Group,  which focused on the concept of “total pain.”  This I understood to be an amalgam of psychological and physical suffering arising in many cases directly from the treatment being applied to the terminally ill person. 

Marian Krawczyk however is concerned with the disruption caused to the microbiome by treatments and how this disruption in turn directly influences the “total pain” experience of the subject. As she pointed out, progress into our understanding of the human gut microbiome has come on enormously in recent years. My own awareness of this subject  has been mostly through the work of Professor Tim Spector. It comes as no surprise that rapidly expanding knowledge  in this area of research is now being  applied to find ways to mitigate the side effects of treatments such as chemotherapy, radiotherapy and antibiotics.  Such treatments can devastate the gut biome and cause set backs to an individual’s progress which have hitherto gone unrecognised. 

One of the exciting features of the Handbook is its international character.  The contributors bring a diversity of cultural perspectives to the enterprise. A quick scan of the contents page reveals authors from Switzerland, the USA, the Netherlands, New Zealand,Denmark, Japan, Uganda, Portugal, Brazil, and Finland. 

The multidisciplinary nature of these contributions is also striking.  For example, the essay, Homelessness at the end of life speaks of a concern to reach  into the darker corners of our world and to understand  these marginal  realities and perhaps even to learn something from them. 

Speaking to David Clark briefly at the conclusion of the event I enquired as to the extent of anthropological study of end of life care.  How has care for the dying been managed across cultures in the past? My assumption was that much of this end of life practice has been lost to progress and modernisation. I was reassured to be told that much data already exists from previous anthropological studies and that this is the discipline that determined David Clark’s own route into a focus on palliative care.

A further contribution to the launch event came from Sandy Whitelaw, based on his shared authorship – together with David Clark – of the Handbook essay titled: The opportunities and limitations of ‘choice’ at the end of life.  This discussion of ‘choice’ resonated powerfully with a recent radio programme I had heard, an abridged version of Sarah Perry’s book Death of an Ordinary Man. The narrative records, in agonising detail, the experience of her father in law, David, from his initial recognition that he is not well to, just a month later, his death from oesophageal cancer. To be accurate, the book records not just David’s experience of these traumatic events, but also that of Sarah Perry and her husband, Rob, David’s son. 

Interactions with the medical profession during this period were marked by good intentions and professional missteps in equal measure. For example: at the point when the stark realities of David’s situation have become clear, an attempt is made to establish whether his treatment should prioritise prolongation of life or, on the other hand, should ensure his comfort, with the consequence that death might come a little sooner. 

Sarah Perry is present at the interview which attempts to spell out this choice to David and to establish his decision on the matter. The problem is that, with the rapid progress of his illness,  his comprehension is failing. In fact, he is bewildered by the conversation with which he is faced. Uncertainly Sarah Perry tries to guide him towards the decision she believes he  would want. Eventually he appears to grasp what is being asked of him.  “I don’t want to be mucked about with,”  he says.  The DNR box is ticked;  the interviewer seems relieved with the outcome; Sarah Perry leaves the meeting doubting  the validity of her own contribution to this momentous decision. 

In the question time stage of the event David Clark was able to inform me that it is quite possible in a Scottish context to have this discussion with your  general practitioner long before the onset of any serious illness. Such preferences, along with other important information,  can be entered into your Key Information Summary.  This then forms part of your medical records and will be shared with other medical practitioners as may be required. 

I’d have to admit I was completely unaware of this and will hope to raise the matter with my medical practice the next time a convenient opportunity arises. I feel sure there are others who share my feeling that, in the event of terminal illness they would prefer, like David, not “to be mucked about with”.

A hardback copy of the Handbook, as is often the case with academic textbooks, costs a small fortune. That’s not really as outrageous as it might seem, for a project on this scale has significant overheads and the publishers no doubt wish to cover their costs.  However, there is a determination that the book should be more widely distributed and the necessary support has been put in place to make the book available free of charge, downloadable as a PDF. My only quibble with this is that an EPUB file would probably behave better in my Play Books App.

I don’t expect many people outside those with an academic or professional interest will be likely to read this book from cover-to-cover, but the range of perspectives represented is impressive and the care and management of terminal illness, whether our own or that of someone close to us, is something of which we might all be better informed. I suspect there may be many who will find something in this Handbook which is of interest to them.

Endnotes.

Death of an Ordinary Man

Research Handbook on End of Life Care and Society

Open Access Version of the Book

Key Information Summary

Featured Image, cropped from: Pickpik Royalty-Free photo

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Language Problems

Posted on October 19, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

Cultural Extinctions or Digital Revival: The Future of Language Learning

Mandana Seyfeddinipur, Director of the Endangered Languages Archive, has issued a stark warning: “Of the 7,000 languages estimated to exist, half will have disappeared by the end of this century.” [1] I imagine this prediction of impending cultural extinctions  will attract a certain amount of elite attention and concern  but will otherwise pass largely unnoticed by the wider world.

For as long as I can remember, I have had an unrequited love affair with languages. There is no language that I would not like to learn at least a little of, but there is equally no language—apart from English itself—in which I have managed to achieve anything like fluency, despite efforts which continue to this day.

I owe something of my linguistic curiosity to my mother. When, during the late 1950s, we would take our family caravan on the long trek to the West of Ireland for a fortnight’s holiday in the month of August, one of the most stirring things we would encounter was the sound of native Irish speakers going about their business. We didn’t understand what was being said, but the sound of another language being spoken was beguiling.

Though we were Protestants, there was some evidence of Irish scholarship on my mother’s side of the family. These “scholars,” always spoken of with reverence had, as I understood it, attended Trinity College in Dublin and studied Irish language and literature to an advanced level.  It seems probable that this family interest in Irish studies was at least in part due to the fact that my mother’s great grandfather, Peter Foley, born 1831, had been a native Irish speaker who had  converted to the protestant faith at the time of the Irish famine. 

Irish was not taught in Newry High School when I attended or, to the best of my knowledge, in any of the state schools of Northern Ireland at that  time, but my parents, I have no doubt, would have approved if we had been offered the chance to learn. In the absence of Irish, I struggled for two years with Latin and took French to O-level. My accent was not bad, I was told, but that was the limit of my talent. My mother provided a  significant advantage in my studies by acquiring a vinyl-record-based language course,  Asimil — an early and   progressive approach to the learning of a new language which involved listening to native French speakers and repeating what they said. A few phrases stuck with me from Asimil, most notably, “Que pensez vous de la situation politique?”  I managed to weave this and a few other memorable and easily deployed phrases into my responses in French examination and earned a grade three at O-level for my troubles; but that was the pinnacle of my achievement and clearly I was never going to be a scholar in French or any other language. 

In the anglophone world, there is little incentive to learn languages for the purpose of getting by in another country. As I have said in public on at least one occasion – sung, to be accurate –

Money talks in English

On foreign soil you’ll find your way

For every corner trader 

Speaks the language of the USA.

For most purposes English has become the international language that Esperanto once aspired to be. Casualties of this dominance—languages like Irish, Welsh, and Scots Gaelic, which were aggressively and systematically marginalised—have only in recent times established recognition of their cultural worth. They have established the necessary respect to acquire resources for a revival of sorts, but in many cases, this re-evaluation has arrived too late.

But what is wrong with having a single shared language through which we can all communicate? The practical advantages are obvious. 

The irony is that, so far as English speakers are concerned, English as a bridge language works best for non-native-English speakers. Some become very fluent, and that’s not necessarily by speaking with native English speakers.  It is more difficult, however, for native English speakers to learn other languages, because so many people want to practice and improve their own English and do not have the patience to work with someone who is stumbling to get by in French, German, Spanish, or Italian.The understandable consequence is that most native English speakers who go abroad simply don’t think it’s worth the effort to learn even a few words of the local lingo.  Why bother? 

Language learning rumbles on in school as it has always done, better taught now, I am sure, than when I was a pupil. But in schools foreign language learning remains the pursuit of the gifted or those with the knack for languages. The great majority fall by the wayside and never feel the deficit when they go on package holidays to Greece and Spain and Turkey.  

This gloomy picture, however, does not tell the full story. Language learning is enjoying something of a renaissance.  A 2024 study from the Faculty of Arts, University of Ljubljana, offers evidence that   “With the rise of digital audio platforms, podcasts have emerged as a significant medium for acquiring knowledge outside formal educational settings.” [2] Unsurprisingly, this informal self-education includes language learning, with audio podcasts offering an excellent resource for the purpose.

The fact that so many language learning podcasts exist at all is powerful evidence that this is not just a passing fad. The Coffee Break franchise, for example, offers 10 different language  courses including Scots Gaelic and Japanese.  They claim to offer over 1500 different lessons, and this month alone have delivered these lessons to nearly 2million learners. [3]  

But what about those 3500   languages which Mandana Seyfeddinipur suggests will have disappeared by the end of this century. Can language podcasts also be their saviour? 

I imagine that in some cases the answer could be “yes,” though in other instances I would guess these marginalised languages exist in remote places and will not have access to the resources which have enabled Welsh and Irish and Scots Gaelic to make a comeback of some description. The great linguistic sharks will continue to cruise the cultural oceans and swallow up the endangered minnows.  

In many spheres English continues to dominate, despite the importance of French and Spanish, but we all know that Chinese is the future. Yet, is all this testosterone-fuelled jostling to be the dominant international language really the only way forward? Esperanto has also  established a place in the world of the podcast. Or, alternatively, you can learn the language in “five minutes a day” on Duolingo.

Esperanto was created in the 19th Century by Ludwig Zamenhof, and has survived long enough to establish its status as a serviceable tool of communication. It is designed to be easy to learn and is perfectly regular in its grammar. It is an excellent introduction to language learning  for children. “[It] is the most successful constructed international auxiliary language, and the only such language with a sizeable population of native speakers  of which there are an estimated 2,000. Usage estimates are difficult, but estimates put the number of people who know how to speak Esperanto at around 100,000.” [4]   Its purpose has never been to replace other languages. Its potential to facilitate the continuing existence of marginalised languages remains untapped. 

Endnotes

[1] Endangered languages and vanishing landscapes

[2] Podcasts and Informal Learning: Exploring Knowledge Acquisition and Retention

[3] Coffee Break Languages  

[4] Wikipedia article on Esperanto

Title Image cropped from: Esperanto – alfabeto, by Eugenio Hansen, original open source image available here: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Esperanto_-_alfabeto_-pt.svg

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Questioning Identity

Posted on October 9, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

Two Tales from Wigtown

In his book,  Against Identity, Alexander Douglas quotes Upton Sinclair: “It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.” 

Douglas goes on to say: “Well, try getting somebody to understand something when their identity depends upon not understanding it. If they do not even realize that they are protecting their identity, their mind will confabulate prolifically to explain their resistance to understanding. It will tell itself a story, for example that the source of the proffered understanding is an unreliable creep, a dangerous manipulator.”

Douglas’s book is not an attack on identity per se, but rather questions the significance it has for many of us. We live in a world where we are encouraged at every turn to “discover our true self – to be all we can be – to live authentically.” There is an assumption at the centre of these exhortations that this identity we seek to uncover is the very core of our being and is deserving of discovery, respect  and expression. 

In the United Kingdom there is a current fascination with the idea of being British. The Labour Party’s recent conference saw the delegates clutching and waving a variety of the nation’s flags, a preponderance of Union Jacks but also Welsh and Scottish flags. It was a fairly blatant attempt to reclaim these expressions of  identity from Reform and other factions on the extreme right of our politics. As a member of the Labour Party I find myself somewhat squeamish in the face of this flag-waving. Yes, I was born in Northern Ireland and so, I am de facto, British. Somewhere in a drawer I have an out of date British Passport. But as for “feeling British,”  what does that even mean?  Does my heart swell at the playing of  Jerusalem?  I will admit some fondness for the hymn tune to which Blake’s great poem is set and for the sentiments expressed in its lines. But such emotion as this raises in me has nothing to do with ‘feeling British’.

Perhaps though, I feel Irish.  I have sometimes considered applying for an Irish passport, to which I would be entitled. I’ve never got around to it but may yet do so.  I have strong family and sentimental connections which cross the Irish border and which, in my mind, seem to encompass the entire island. I will admit to a surge of emotion on hearing reference to the singing of “Galway Bay” when Fairy Tale of New York rings out once again in the supermarket as Christmas time approaches. I like to see Irish teams win in sport.  It pleases me when people first notice that I still speak with an Irish accent.  I might say, with some honesty, that I love Ireland.   

But then I also love Dumfries and Galloway where I have lived for the past forty years. So to claim Irish as an identity seems just as bogus as to claim Britishness. 

When I was twelve or thirteen I became an ardent supporter of Liverpool F.C. The precise reasons for this need not concern us, though it may have had something to do with the fact that the popular choice in Newry High School in the late 1960s was to support Manchester United.  George Best was working his magic for them at the time. However, despite my admiration for Best, I clearly wanted to distinguish myself and with guidance from Nicholas Pipkin, an exile to Northern Ireland from the Wirrel, I was persuaded of the greatness of Bill Shankly, of the near sanctity of Ian St. John and of the magnificent camaraderie one might experience standing in the choir at the Spion Kop end of Anfield football ground.   

Looking back I’d say that being a Liverpool supporter became part of my identity, sharpened no doubt by theatrical banter that took place following the drama of the results each Saturday afternoon.   

A football identity such as this follows many through their entire lives. There were stories of Liverpool supporters who, on their demise, were buried in the team colours. Living now in  Scotland I am regularly reminded that substantial sections of the populace have Rangers or Celtic written right through the core of their being. 

And yet my own attachment to Liverpool F.C. has fallen away. I continue to keep half an eye on football results. I was lucky enough to be present when Queen of the South defeated Aberdeen by four goals to three to reach the final of the Scottish Cup in 2008. In the company of most of the population of Dumfries, I shared the thrill of watching them in the final, losing only by a single goal to Rangers. But in truth I pay very little attention now to what goes on in football and have tired of the predictability of the same teams repeatedly contesting the top honours. So much for my identity as a supporter of Liverpool F.C. 

I heard Alexander Douglas interviewed by journalist and writer Stuart Kelly on the subject of his book at the recent Wigtown Book Festival. The full title says much about its central argument.  Against Identity: The Wisdom of Escaping the Self.  Douglas draws out his theme from the writings of three individuals: the Chinese sage Zhuangzi, who lived around the 4th century BCE,  the 17th-century Dutch philosopher Benedict Spinoza, and the 20th-century historian-critic René Girard. 

I’ll risk summarising. Identity is a social construct. It arises from conscious or unconscious mimetic behaviour. This mimetic behaviour is an expression of admiration of those encountered. Once an identity has become established the natural impulse for an individual  is to become a source of admiration and identity for others. 

As the title implies, identities stick. They are like a comfort blanket, a source of security. However they also function as a shackle on our further development. Though it may be desirable, cutting oneself adrift from an identity is not easily done. 

I could not help thinking about these ideas when the following week, also as part of the Wigtown book festival, the same Stuart Kelly interviewed Jenny Lindsay on her book Hounded.  I had never heard of Jenny Lindsay, but was familiar with at least some of the elements of her story. A successful performance poet, she became embroiled in 2019 in the arguments  over gender identity.  She comes to this controversy  from a gender critical perspective which holds that being a woman is a biologically defined category. Gender identity activists, by contrast, argue that people should be accepted as the gender they believe themselves to be, regardless of their biology. 

This self-identification is not particularly problematic in itself. However, gender identity activists insist that someone self-identifying as a woman is entitled to access spaces hitherto reserved for women on the basis of  biologically defined gender. A trans woman, according to this reasoning, should be entitled to use women’s toilets, to participate in women’s sport or to be employed as a counsellor in services offering support to women who have been raped or physically abused by men. 

The story that Jenny Lindsay tells is that she and many other women who have  spoken out from a feminist and gender critical point of view have been systematically abused on-line and in person, subjected to extremely hostile picketing of their public appearances and in many cases obliged to resign their jobs for allegedly using non-inclusive language. All this for merely expressing a point of view. The gender-critical critique itself, regardless of how it is framed, is read as hostile, abusive, and harmful to transgender women.

I had heard of others who have been on the receiving end of such “houndings,” in particular J.K. Rowling, Germaine Greer and Joanna Cherry QC. I have felt puzzled by the extremity of the language directed at them. I have felt sympathy for the argument they make. 
I am sure that not all gender activists are implicated in the more extreme end of hounding behaviour, but there does seem to be a lot of it about. I could not but admire Jenny Lindsay for the courage she shows in telling her story.

Endnotes

Alexander Douglas – Against Identity

Jenny Lindsay – Hounded

Header Image, open source, cropped from The Kop Closeup

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The Case in Favour of Open Borders

Posted on October 1, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

Opening the national border to all who wish to come is an unfashionable idea. The  last person  I can recall advocating such a policy was Angela Merkel.  “Wir schaffen das” she said with the confidence of a true leader. We can do this.  

It was a courageous policy to open German borders and take in large numbers of beleaguered Syrian migrants. The consequence however, in the short term at least, would appear to be the rise of the Alternative für Deutschland (AfD). The AfD is resolutely hostile to immigration. 

And yet, in this post, I will make the case for opening our borders, for offering a passport and British citizenship to all-comers.

There are many reasons why we should keep our cool in the face of high numbers of people arriving from abroad into the UK. Clearly there are challenges, most obviously in relation to the provision of housing, health care and education. But then there are also good things which can follow from such an open doors policy, and which can be to the very immediate benefit of our economy. And so I join Angela Merkel in saying: “Wir schaffen das.”  We can do it.

I recently attended an event  featuring a documentary film on a Citizens Assembly tasked with responding to Climate Change. The post-film discussion turned to the practical difficulties of, for example, upgrading our national electricity grid. The current Government was castigated for its alleged failure to make progress on any front.  

I pointed out that, even if the money were made available, it is doubtful that the resources, and in particular the necessary workforce, would be available in short order to do all the jobs that need to be done. It’s not just the re-construction of our national electricity grid that competes for our workforce. We have an ageing population that requires a high level of personal care. There is a need to build more houses. We have a health care crisis which is “keeping millions out of work”. [1]

The immediate response to my litany was one with which I could not disagree.  “That’s why we need migrants!”

This is quite a familiar argument, though one which is brushed aside by those who are hostile to migration. The need for greater strength and resilience in our workforce is easy to understate.  Indeed a problem of misperception runs right through the whole issue of migration.  As Bobby Duffy, Professor of Public Policy and Director of the Policy Institute argues:

The public have a very poor understanding of the scale and nature of immigration. Surveys regularly show we think between a quarter and third of the population are immigrants – when the actual figures are closer to 13%. And these misperceptions extend to our view of the make-up of immigrants. The most mentioned are refugees or asylum-seekers, despite these being the least common immigrant type. The least mentioned group are people who come here to study, when in fact students were the largest category of migrant to the UK in 2011. [2]

The number of students as a proportion of migrants continues to run at a high level.[3]

However, as Bobby Duffy sagely goes on to remark: “it’s very wrong to conclude … that if only we could re-educate the public through “myth-busting” they won’t worry about immigration. Our misperceptions are as much a result of our concern as our concern is a result of misperceptions.”

I am inclined to agree that re-education is not a realistic way of turning round the public’s attitude to the presence of migrants, and yet I think education may have a part to play, in particular where migrant children in our school are concerned.  I am reminded of a story I came across recently on social media. It was told by Smajo Bešo, a Lecturer & Researcher at Newcastle University. Smajo arrived in Newcastle in the 1990s, a refugee in flight, with his parents, from the war in Bosnia. As Smajo tells the story: 

I missed my grandparents and friends. I was having awful nightmares, and I would wake up screaming every single night. I hated going to school. I would sit in my chair, look out of the window, and spend my day daydreaming about ways to run back to Bosnia. I didn’t want to be here.

Well, that’s probably just what is to be expected in the event of such a traumatic upheaval in the life of a child. However, Smajo goes on to talk about his primary school teacher, Miss Webster, and an experience that was to play an important part in turning things around for him. 

After a couple of weeks at school, my teacher, Miss Webster, and my classmates did something special to help me settle, something that made me feel less of a stranger. That was the first day I went home with a smile on my face.

Miss Webster was amazing, but I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. She had this ritual where, at the end of each day, we would all sit on the floor around her, she would play the guitar, and we would all sing a song together.   

My classmates loved this, but I hated it. It annoyed me because I couldn’t understand what they were singing, but if I am honest, I hated it mainly because of how happy they all were. I definitely wasn’t happy. I cried myself to sleep nearly every night.

I eventually started having separate English lessons, which I enjoyed more because it took me out of the classroom. It was always daunting coming to school because I felt everyone was looking at me or speaking about me. For months, my dad would stand with me outside the school gates in the morning until it was time to go in.

One day I came back into the classroom from my English lesson. We sat down, and everyone was extra-excited, looking at me more than usual for some reason. Of course, I thought it was because I was a refugee, because I couldn’t speak English, or because they couldn’t pronounce my name. I was bracing myself for another afternoon of my classmates encouraging me to sing. This was probably the closest I came to running out.

So we were all sitting on the floor around Miss Webster. She was holding her guitar, ready to sing. I remember the sun shining through the tall, narrow windows as I slowly drifted into a daydream of being back in Bosnia. She began playing the guitar, my classmates joined in, but this time, everything was different. I froze. I understood what they were singing. Not because I had miraculously learned English in one afternoon, but because they were singing in Bosnian for me. I looked around in shock, and they were all smiling at me, and for a moment I thought I was daydreaming.

While I was having separate English lessons, Miss Webster had taught our entire class to sing this song for me in Bosnian. They sang it terribly, but it was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. I skipped home that day with a huge smile on my face. For the first time, I looked forward to going back to school the next day.

I have often imagined Miss Webster and my classmates rehearsing, struggling with the strange Bosnian words and laughing at themselves. For me, that effort was the ultimate recognition, an act of peace that felt like the opposite of everything I had known during the war. It was special.

I do not know if they realised it then, but that moment helped to give me back my dignity, my belonging, and, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was just a refugee or an outsider. I was home.”

I cannot imagine anyone being unmoved by this story.  However, opening a small door into the language and culture of Bosnia did something important not just for Smajo, but for his entire class. Yes, Smajo went home on that special day with a smile on his face, but perhaps, more importantly, his entire  class “were all smiling at me.”

Who knows, perhaps one or two of those children did develop a deeper interest in Bosnian language and culture, but such interest or knowledge was never going to be a threat to their own culture – and Smajo, it is quite clear, went on to do something remarkable in his adopted country. 

The potential for migrants to enrich the education of their English speaking peers is generally overlooked, even feared. Learning even to say a few words in the language of a stranger, for a small child, can be a magical and even, on occasion, a transformative aspect of their education. 

Not every teacher can be a Miss Webster, but the idea of moving some small way towards the culture of migrants is a powerful one. The current popular enthusiasm is to double down on a one way street of migrant integration into some officially approved, flag waving, vainglorious, distillation of British language and culture “more honored in the breach than the observance.”  

This suggests to me a sad, and I believe, completely unnecessary,  lack of cultural self confidence and belief. The reality is that British culture encompasses very strange bedfellows – and that is as it should be.  Everything from Shakespeare to the Sex Pistols, from J M W Turner to Tracey Emin. You don’t have  to like it all to recognise it as part of what has made the extraordinary patchwork of modern Britain. 

It is of relatively little consequence if some adult migrants struggle with English and perhaps always remain locked within their own language and culture.  As all evidence shows, the experience of  the children of migrants and of subsequent generations is entirely different. They  learn English.  They  understand British culture and augment it.  Inevitably, however, the way in which this happens will be qualified and even compromised by the reception they receive from their teachers and class mates as they pass through the education system. The antidote to this is to think like Miss Webster. 

The way we engage with   adult migrants also  deserves greater attention. Colleges of further education are already on the front line of this interface, no doubt doing good work. FE Colleges are learning communities which can offer a gateway into every aspect of the life and work of the United Kingdom. 

Naturally it can be a source of friction if resources are diverted away from the training of young people who have grown up in the catchment area of a College, to meet this new challenge. Just as should be the case with schools with significant numbers of migrant pupils on their roll,  additional resources must be applied to meet the challenge. There could be a role, I imagine, for volunteers or for retired College lecturers – such as myself – to play a part in this process. Whatever is done, whatever is spent, will be an investment in our future which will benefit not just these new citizens, but also those who have grown up in the locality. 

The payoff will be greater societal resilience in the face of the many challenges which lie ahead. Put simply, we will have more young people in our demographic. That means more people to work in our health service, to care for the old and infirm, to start small businesses, to build the infrastructure we need for a sustainable and prosperous future. 

The AfD in Germany and the far right in general raise up additional phantoms in the form of the “Great Replacement Theory” which suggests that an indigenous European  white—population is being replaced by non-European immigrants.  In 50 or 100 years time,  many aspects of our society  will indeed be very different than they are  today. So long as the transition takes place in a harmonious way the outcome should be a matter of curiosity only, not of  concern.

In making the case for open borders I am not suggesting that a sudden growth in our population can be accommodated without difficulties. There is bound to be friction, at some stages. There is clearly a rising tide of British citizens who have set themselves against such an idea. Yet I continue to believe that, with the right leadership  we can adopt an approach to migration which is thoughtful, welcoming,  ingenious, inspirational and to the mutual benefit of both migrants and the population of the UK in general. 

Wir schaffen das.  

Endnotes

[1]The UK faces health crisis as long-term conditions keep millions out of work

[2] Perceptions and reality: Ten things we should know about attitudes to immigration in the UK

[3] Student Migration to the UK  

[4] Smajo Bešo  https://www.facebook.com/smajo.beso/about_overview

Title image cropped from an original open source picture which can be viewed here.

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Great Lives, The Lisbon Lions, Scottish Landscape and Bohemia in a Small Scottish Town

Posted on September 24, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

I’d never heard of the  improvisational guitarist Derek Bailey until I encountered his story on BBC Radio’s Great Lives programme. Amongst other things, the programme was memorable for a short and fractious exchange between the presenter Matthew Parris, and comedian Stewart Lee, who had selected Bailey as his “Great Life.”  According to Wikipedia “As an adult [Bailey] worked as a guitarist and session musician in clubs, radio, and dance hall bands, playing with Morecambe and Wise, Gracie Fields, Bob Monkhouse, Kathy Kirby, and on the television program Opportunity Knocks.” Stewart Lee suggests – though this is not substantiated – that Bailey played as a session musician on Petula Clark’s 1964 international hit, Downtown. But that was before he abandoned such bread and butter work and set off on his improvisational journey into the musical avant-garde, and obscurity. 

On listening to a snatch of Derek Bailey’s music on the programme, it would appear for the first time, Matthew Parris, usually a genial and open-minded host,  suggested the it sounded as though it might have been played by a “chimpanzee.”  Stewart Lee was not having that but, rather than walking out, he complained bitterly at Parris’ crass response. 

Matthew Parris appeared unable to apologise or moderate his position. He might, for example, have admitted that he found the music challenging, difficult even. That, at least, would have been an acknowledgement that the failure was his and not Derek Bailey’s.

Don’t get me wrong. Following the programme I’ve been taking a listen to Derek Bailey on Spotify. For someone like myself, whose musical inclinations have been shaped by the Beatles and the top twenty of the 1960s, Bailey’s music is a challenge.  But, to paraphrase Scottish Composer James McMillan, to appreciate great music requires effort. 

McMillan, by the way, also featured in a recent edition of Great Lives, but in that case the Great Life, chosen by him, was Jock Stein, manager of the “Lisbon Lions.”  This was the Celtic team that defeated Inter Milan 2-1 in the final of the European Cup in 1967 at the Estádio Nacional, Lisbon. At that time I considered myself a supporter of Liverpool and Newry Town, but I am proud to say that, as a fourteen year old,  I watched that game and shared every second of its high drama on the black and white television of my family home. But I digress.  

I was reminded of my recent acquaintance with Derek Bailey when I visited the Scottish Landscape Awards 2025  Exhibition, currently showing at the Kirkcudbright Galleries. It’s a stunning collection of work but I’d have to confess that I entered the gallery with the lazy expectation of encountering lots of dramatic coastlines, mountains, huge skies, maybe a few trees bent by the prevailing wind, and wee white cottages, all done in a range of styles and media. There was a certain amount of that but much of what was on offer seemed, on superficial encounter, to have only a very tenuous connection indeed to scottish landscape.  But when I came away I found myself grateful that my prior expectations had been so completely confounded.  I suppose landscape was the inspiration but what came next was as varied and wonderful as can be imagined. If you can’t get to the exhibition before it closes on September 28, then at least you can take a look at the pictures online. 

If you don’t make it to the Landscape Exhibition, then at least be sure you don’t miss the show hiding away on the top floor of Kirkcudbright Galleries. It tells the story of four women living in Kirkcudbright in the early part of the 20th Century. They were outspoken supporters of women’s suffrage and, as artists, unafraid of expressing themselves flamboyantly and with originality in their life and their work. However, and this is clearly part of the story the exhibition intends to draw to our attention, in their friendship they were not bound by the heterosexual conventions of the time. This aspect of their friendship remained hidden and encoded in the archive of their artworks, diaries, letters and photographs. What the exhibition makes clear is that these women were as much a part of the story of Kirkcudbright Artists’ Town as are E.A.Hornell, E.A Taylor and Jessie M King.  

The Home of Jessie M King and E A Taylor, 38 High St, Kirkcudbright.

As one of the interviewees says, in the film which accompanies the exhibition: “Kirkcudbright was just a few streets at that time.” He reflects on the impact these women must have had in a small rural fishing port in the wake of the First World War. 

For me, three remarkable, bold, confident canvases were an eye-catching highlight of the exhibition. There must surely be other work hidden away in private collections and gallery storerooms around the country which deserves an airing.  

My only complaint was the sound quality of the video – to be clear, not the recording of the sound, but its broadcast on rather tinny speakers. The poor quality of the soundsystem made the interviews quite hard work to follow and produced a rather disagreeable soundscape which reverberated through the main exhibition. But I don’t wish to overstate this. All credit to DJ McDowall of the Imaginarium who co-produced the exhibition with the help of young people from Kirkcudbright Academy, and the  support of The Holywood Trust. 

Endnotes

Great Lives: Comedian Stewart Lee on Derek Bailey

Wikipedia Derek Bailey (guitarist)

Great Lives: Jock Stein, first British football manager to win the European Cup

Scottish Landscape Exhibition 2025  109 works

Coming Out of the Archives This exhibition celebrates the bohemian lives of the women artists who spent their summers in Kirkcudbright in the early 20th century.   The Story of a Fairy Family

About The Imaginarium https://www.theimaginarium.world/about

Header image taken in the back garden of Jessie M King’s and E. A. Taylor’s house, 38 High St, Kirkcudbright.

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