The Long Island: A Moral Power Station?

This weekend, I have a guest blogger – Richard Lucas of the Scottish Family Party. Inspired by his recent visits to Lewis, and the ongoing attempts to secure an interconnector, he offers an intriguing vision of these islands as suppliers, not of electricity, but of social morality to the nation.

Over to Richard . . .

The Western Isles are not short of wind.  

In the 21st Century, wind means energy.  It’s a natural resource that can be harnessed to generate electrical power – much more than is needed locally.  

So, what’s to be done?  Leave much of the resource untapped, or make the most of it by exporting energy to the rest of Scotland?  When faced with the challenges of exporting electricity, it might be tempting to just keep the energy business local.  How can energy to passed to the main land?  Trucks with giant batteries on the back carried by the ferry?

Thankfully, there is a way of transmitting electricity across stretches of sea and that’s via an undersea cable – an interconnector.  Discussions and negotiations are ongoing on installing such an interconnector between Lewis and the mainland.  The opportunities are being explored.  Time will tell whether this comes to fruition and succeeds.

The Western Isles are not just rich in this natural resource, though.  They are rich in wisdom.  It’s no secret that the prevalent strong moral values are rooted in Christianity, but a degree of isolation hasalso insulated from the worst excesses of recent cultural shifts, and it’s not just Christians who appreciate the wisdom of the ages.  

There are people all over Scotland who understand that the social institution of marriage is a vital foundation for stable family life, for example, but they are not concentrated in they way they are here.  Equally, there are Outer Hebrideans who have been swept along by the “progressive” tide.  But not as many as elsewhere.

The wind blows in Edinburgh, but not as much.  Solid moral values are found throughout Scotland, but not as much.  The Western Isles represent a unique reservoir of traditional morality within Scotland.  There are many who see this as backwardness or worse – a bondage from which the poor benighted folk must be liberated.  But there are also those who would love to be able to bottle the culture and values embodied here and import it into their own communities.

So, should this resource just benefit the WesternIsles, or be shared more widely?  Can it even be exported?  There are articulate expositors and expositions of these positive values already, but they are largely marginalised or ignored.  Their influence is minimal.  Is there a way that this abundance can benefit the whole nation?

Is there such a thing as a values interconnector?  An undersea moral transmission cable?  A wisdom pipe line?

There is.  It’s the democratic system and it’s already in place waiting to be used.  The strong values that the Scottish nation is in such desperate need of can be injected into the heart of political debate, directly into the debating chamber of the Scottish Parliament.  

Sending a representative to the Scottish Parliament willing and able to argue boldly for a better vision for Scottish society would be nothing less than revolutionary.  The main parties would learn that they can’t contradict the core beliefs of substantial sections of the population with impunity.  The novelty and freshness of common sense would be attractive, drawing more people towards more conservative views on moral issues.  The histrionics of other MSPs as they fall over themselves to condemn the eminently reasonable and charitable newcomer would only draw attention to the truth.  Media debate would shift in Scotland.  Issues that barely break the surface now would become the talking points of the nation.

At future elections, those who’ve appreciated the radical new voice in Scottish politics would vote for a candidate of the same party in their constituency or region.  A new force would emerge onto the stage ofScottish politics. That’s the vision of the Scottish Family Party.

There are always important local issues to be addressed and interests to be defended, and any MSP must represent his or her constituency in all matters.  But the people of the Western Isles can also lift their eyes to a higher vision, a vision of steering the whole nation away from the rocks and onwards to flourish and prosper.  It’s hard to imagine a more inspiring and exiting project that can be advanced by casting votes at elections!

There would be hundreds of thousands of people across Scotland thanking the Western Isles for delivering one MSP who articulates their deepest convictions.  There could be tens of thousands appreciating the wisdom of traditional values for the first time.  There could be thousands emboldened to speak out themselves when the trail has been blazed.  Hundreds could be saved from persecution at work: it’s hard to fire someone for saying what an MSP has just said in parliament!   Dozens could be inspired to follow in their footsteps into politics.  

Western Islanders find themselves in a unique position, with a unique opportunity. What is the future to be?  Electing someone to represent the values of the Scottish Parliament in the localcommunity, or electing someone to represent the values of the local community in the Parliament and the nation?

Truth is power.  Let’s deliver it to where it’s so desperately needed, by putting a prophet into parliament.

Give a Blone a Bad Name?

A week is a long time in politics – even when your involvement is pretty low-level stuff. Speaking to a fellow Stornoway Trustee following our Monday evening meeting, he correctly identified me as being the ‘holy lady’ mentioned by a fellow columnist in the ‘Record’ this month. Ignoring the doubt in his tone as he verified this with me, I chose instead to be pleased that neither adjective had completely thrown him off the scent.

However, by Friday, I was being described in much less flattering terms for my involvement in the aforementioned organisation. Not only have I succumbed to the much talked about ‘culture of secrecy’, I was told, but apparently ‘everyone’ knows that there is cause to call my morals into question as well. No wonder people keep asking me how I
find time for ‘everything’. Perhaps if I’d realised what ‘everyone’ thinks ‘everything’ involves, I might not have been so blithe in replying that sleep is for wimps. And maybe I’d better stop winking
when I say that too . . .

There’s a serious point to this, though, and I’m afraid it’s one I make with no little disappointment. And it’s this: these things would not be said to or about me if I were a man. I very much doubt if any of my eight fellow trustees – all of whom are fellows – have been on the receiving end of these kinds of insinuations.

Right there, then, is one good reason why many women may feel they don’t want to put their name forward for elected office. When – for the sake of a seat on a community landlord’s board of trustees – your sexual morality and the death of your husband are considered fair game, who would hold these people back if there was something greater at stake?

I have learned over a long and sometimes challenging year not to pay reviling with reviling. There have been many times when the preaching I have sat under seemed tailor-made for my situation. It has reached out and strengthened me when I have faltered; it has rebuked me when I was tempted to try fixing things on my own. The prayers and the fellowship of God’s people have all upheld me when the going was far from smooth. But isn’t that why He has provided His people with a church – so that by attending the means of grace, we would be fortified against suffering of all kinds?

Except, I have come to believe that suffering is, itself, a means of grace. It teaches us to turn to Him in all things, because only His strength is adequate for every situation.

Hearing my own reputation casually sullied might, a year ago, have sent me after my accuser, fuming with rage. Or to my big sister, crying hot tears of hurt and indignation. But, this week, it caused me
to speak silently to God.

It occurred to me afterwards that this is proof of spiritual growth. I don’t boast for myself, because I didn’t actually do anything, but I DO boast of the sufficiency of Christ. He has picked me up from this
kind of situation so many times now that I no longer need to be taught that my first reaction should always be that of the injured child: hold up my arms to my loving Parent, and He will do the rest.

Small-minded gossip cannot harm the part of me that God prizes most – my immortal soul. But it can, of course, damage my good name. Many people better than me have been sunk under the weight of unfounded slander and rumour. It does not alter your stock with God one iota, but it may still harm your integrity in the eyes of your fellow human
beings.

That’s how fragile a thing your reputation is. All it takes, in a place like this, is for someone to say, ‘oh, yeah, Catriona Murray, she’s a  . . .” and whatever adjectives they insert miraculously take
on a life of their own.

So, the crucial thing for me is always to care more about how God sees me, than how I am viewed by other people. He looks at me and sees His Son’s perfection; He looks at my heart and He knows what is true, and what is not. As long as I keep my eye upon Him, going before me in
everything, what can anyone say to bring me down?

Outside of God, where there is no safety, though, these kinds of things are being said of others. Women are castigated simply for being women. Nudges and knowing looks can destroy their credibility in a moment. Don’t assume, either, that the people bringing women down are always men.

So, although I read about progress and liberal agendas, and even feminism, I don’t believe in them; they’re like creatures from folklore that may once have lived in Lewis, but are long since gone from our midst.

I am deemed an easy target for all the bile and vitriol because I am a woman who follows Christ. This makes me a cùis-mhagaidh and a hate figure by turns. The ‘progressives’ don’t want the likes of me
speaking for the likes of them. They are the enlightened ones – and they are prepared to use whatever mediaeval tool at their disposal to bring me down. Once it was the ducking stool; now it’s the internet.

But I am not the easy target they suppose. They cannot see the armour I wear, nor the encircling army that protects me. Nor indeed – most ironic of all – how they have trained me to look for strength in the one place it may be found.

And no one should underestimate a woman who likes to have the last word. With that one word, I dictate how yet another ‘progressive’ having a go makes me feel.

This week, thanks to God, that word is ‘seadh’.