Cultural National Identity does intrigue me: whatever happens in the referendum, it will still shape daily life. Even more interesting is the way that this sense of national identity is expressed on the stage: not because it represents any portion of the population (although it does, just by the law of averages, probably) or that the opinion of a playwright is, in itself, more valuable, accurate or well-considered than anyone else's opinion. But it is amenable to critical analysis and, being art rather than philosophical essay, includes an emotional appeal alongside the intellectual.
I would prefer to use a script than a post on twitter, anyway.
Recently - in the last year or so - I have seen three productions that have addressed Scottish identity: David
Greig's Dusinane, Tim Barrow's Union and Kieran Hurley's Rantin. Since two of them use historical settings (or mythical approximations of history), two authors get off the hook of being held personally responsible for the vision of Scotland they portray - while every play is about the time it is written in, both Greig and Barrow could appeal to the forces of factual accuracy shaping their narratives. Hurley, on the other hand, is bolder. He collects various stories from around Scotland (fictional rather than verbatim) and throws out a patch-work cabaret of a contemporary, pluralistic nation.
All three have expressed public support for Independence - but this is more as a point of information. It is not easy to discern the politics of the writers from the plays.
Dusinane feels ambivalent about the relationship between England and Scotland - although it rewrites Macbeth to include a more Scottish angle and clearly posits the English as invaders (in a moment that suggests a similar action to the ones taken in Afghanistan and Iraq), it is ambiguous about the Scottish clans and leaders' ability to self-govern. While Malcolm comes off as a tactical politician, he is also corrupt and lazy and one speech deconstructs the various warring parties that hope to profit from Macbeth's death - at each other's expense.
Meanwhile, Union might home in on the Act of Union, and the betrayal of the Scottish nation... actually, it is pretty clear that this play was written by a nationalist. It gets borderline racist in its depiction of the English (especially Queen Anne, who is depicted as a mentally ill hedonist, excited only by tea, flirtations with her closest female adviser and fucking the help). There is a Scottish poet, there is an Edinburgh whore, representing the rural honesty (and intelligence, because he quotes Catullus every five minutes) and fecundity of the nation tricked into losing its parliament.
Rantin, the only play that is set in the present day, has no grand narrative - indeed, Hurley quotes The Cheviot, The Stag and The Black Black Oil in saying that his is a story with no ending. It is admirably multicultural, although clearly leftist in its sympathies: the passionate monologue in praise of King Lud by a check-out girl is contrasted with some sardonic thoughts on 'the invisible hand' (Adam Smith's belief that markets will regulate themselves). Unlike both Dusinane and Union, Rantin's Scottishness is not racial or territorial. The inclusion of American tourists, Palestinian refugees and a drunk bloke chatting to a kelpie draws an inclusive idea of belonging.
Yet despite the accents and occasional swish of a kilt, none of these plays argue for a coherent Scottish identity that is radically different to the identity of any other modern, post-industrial nation. Dusinane's Scotland is part medieval tribal society and part occupied territories - the difference in the geography of England and the Highlands is over-played to separate the two nations, and the ubiquity of Gaelic might be emphasised at the cost of (another version of) historical truth. The clan divisions are pictured as arguments over personal influence, rather than the hangover of old territorial claims (both are true, but Dusinane emphasises the former).
Rantin, on the other hand, pictures a Scotland that is similar to London: the victims of the system are displaced by economic pressure, and, despite the play's allusion to the ceilidh format, the music is informed by global influences as well as Scottish folk. There is an attention to place - many locations are explored, and part of the script is set aside for a description of whatever locality the play is visiting - but place is shaped less by the particulars of Scottish history that the dominant of free-market capitalism. The replacement of the shop assistant with those bloody self-service machines, or the tyranny of the investor who puts cash over community, are issues for the western world.
Still, they have a good crack at Donald Trump. He is a Scottish problem.
Somewhere beneath Union's Braveheart meets Benny Hill capering, there is a brutal, neo-Darwinian vision of life: sex and death, abortions, the struggle for love and the need for money, corrupt politicians (the only one who believes in what he says happens to have commissioned a massacre): while there is no doubt that the dissolution of the Scottish Parliament (in the play) is an act of treachery, it stems from the horrors of human nature.
Rather than presenting a notional Scottish identity, all three plays affirm the flux that makes up any identity - that geographical boundaries are less deterministic than the fundamental (if such a thing exists in the post-modern age) verities of 'human nature.' There are particular aspects that combine in a distinctive Caledonian manner, but these are less 'pure' Scottishness than a way of assimilating diverse influences. While I still don't have an argument for my pragmatical regionalist (my anarchist is just bored of the whole thing), the fluidity of the Scottish identities on display here encourage me, not least that art won't be tied to propaganda and just questions and expands any topic it commands.
