Scottish referendum: my swithering came to an end, and now I’m devastated
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Version 0 of 1. I’ve never felt sick in a polling station before. I’ve never been close to tears in a polling station before. But then, I’ve been voting for more than 20 years, and I had never before felt that my vote would really change anything, the power in my hands to make the world I lived in significantly different. I was one of the much-mocked switherers, the weak-willed undecided, up until the point when my pencil hovered over the ballot. I had assumed I would vote no. I imagined the shame I would feel when the independence campaign dwelt on historical Scottish figures, and the bonnie heilands, and the general betterness of the Scots. I imagined trying to explain the desire for independence to friends from overseas, who would dismiss it as petty and foolish. The yes campaign took me by surprise. It was full of hope, optimism and inclusivity. People who told me they were voting yes weren’t doing so because they knew Scotland was better, they were doing so because they thought a new Scotland could be better. The no campaign just told us it was impossible, which seemed improbable. The rise of Ukip complicated things, too. The choice now seemed to be: small country with a desire to be part of something bigger, or a slightly larger country intent on isolation. Then, a couple of weeks ago, everything changed. A poll put the yes vote in front, and suddenly my optimistic little protest vote looked like it could actually catapult us to independence. This was, frankly, terrifying. Amid the hysteria of watching politicians trip over their own feet, and imagining the Yes, Ministerness behind the scenes, real panic set in. Nothing puts optimism and naivety into relief quite like a big dose of responsibility. Now I realised if I voted yes then I had to mean yes, that I wanted Scotland to be independent. This would mean compromises and realities that would make everyone feel miserable. It could all go horribly wrong. I tried to back away from the campaigns, and imagine myself in the polling booth. I believed that there were good, and even radical reasons to vote no that had not been articulated by the campaign, and that this failure had diminished the debate. Was it too easy to vote yes? Was voting no going to be the brave decision? I repeated the question to myself: should Scotland be an independent country? Should, not could. I saw good and bad on both sides of the argument. I asked myself what I wanted. I asked what would be best, and for whom? For days I felt nauseous, and I couldn’t sleep. The night before I voted I took a long walk. Everyone I passed was talking about the vote; we exchanged sheepish grins. My panic must have been written on my face, and shared by many. In the end, I made my decision based entirely on pessimism. If I voted no, and a no vote brought calamity, I would feel helpless and guilty. If I voted yes, and a yes vote brought calamity, I would feel that I was in a position to make a change. Which, in some ways, was the whole point. Still, I was uncertain. Still, I couldn’t sleep. I voted on the way to work. My polling station was quiet – no balloons, no cameras. There were two posters balanced outside. “Vote yes for a better future.” “Vote no, it’s not worth the risk.” I laughed out loud. Was this what it came down to? The ballot paper had a quiet simplicity to it. There it was, the question that had plagued me: should Scotland be an independent country? And those two words, which were plastered in the windows of houses, and stuck on lapels: yes and no. At 2am, I switched on the radio. It looked like a no, they said. I dozed until five, and there it was. Scotland had voted no. I had voted yes. I felt a moment of calm. This was the decision, then, and a large part of me felt relief, not so much for the outcome, but more for the fact that I wasn’t responsible. I could continue being the kind of person who supports the radical movement without having to deal with the consequences. I hated myself a little bit, and I slept again. By seven, the snap back to business as usual was absolute and deflating. David Cameron, William Hague, Nigel Farage, all of them burbled on the radio. I listened to the news that share prices had soared. To my surprise, I started to cry. I didn’t know if I had wanted an independent Scotland, but I had wanted change. I had wanted to live somewhere better, whatever the borders. I had never swithered about that. |