AS AN economic exile, I am disqualified – by interested parties whose authority I dispute – from voting on the freedom of the land of my birth, and of my ancestors for centuries past. Legally. Morally?
As so often, Hugh MacDiarmid explains how this feels better than I could:
“The rose of all the world is not for me/ I want for my part/ Only the little white rose of Scotland/ That smells sharp and sweet/ – and breaks the heart.”