PICTURE the scene: You find yourself on board an ocean liner. You certainly don’t remember signing up for the journey and, besides, you’re not sure you even like ocean travel.
Nonetheless, there you are. Afloat. Then you begin to notice the other passengers. They seem a motley crew. In particular, there are a bunch of loudmouths in the main lounge who appear to be seriously under the influence.
Having thrown the captain overboard, they are now declaiming on the merits of the ship, which you realise is listing severely to starboard.
They seem not to have noticed this alarming development. Instead, they are arguing among themselves about who ought to be steering it. Each is claiming the others are failed crewmembers, all the while insisting that they are best to be captain.
You cannot recall ever seeing such a villainous-looking bunch of malcontents outside of a police line-up, and you are even more alarmed to learn from a passing steward that one of these incompetents is bound to be the next captain.
How can that be, you ask? Are there not rules that prevent wholly unsuitable people running the ship?
“Not really”, explains the steward. “The shipowners just never got around to setting down any rules that prevent some buffoon doing whatever they like.”
“But, isn’t that very dangerous?” you say. “I guess so”, replies the steward. “It’s just that we’ve been in the sailing business for a long time and we never felt it necessary.”
You stumble up on deck to help clear your mind and a band is playing dance tunes to placate the increasingly worried passengers. You recognise some of the players – they are well-known BBC journalists. Suddenly, you see an iceberg on the starboard bow, yet the media band is preoccupied with playing mood music. Other terrified passengers join you in pointing out the rapidly approaching berg. To no avail – the band simply plays louder.
You manage to grab the attention of the band leader. “Why don’t you do something,” you plead.
“Well, it’s not my job”, he replies. “My role is to keep the passengers entertained.
“If you want to talk about course-correction, you need to talk to the captain.’’ “But there is no captain,” you say in desperation. “And it looks like an ethically challenged nincompoop may soon be steering the ship. Doesn’t that worry you?”
“But that’s not down to me,” says the bandleader. “You need to talk to someone else about that.”
Happily, just at that moment, you see a bunch of folks you recognise. Friendly faces emerge out of the melee. “What a calamity,” they say. “We need to get away from this clusterflap.”
It seems your friends have found a lifeboat that they say is ready to launch. However, the seas are looking more and more menacing. You want to know if the lifeboat is seaworthy.
“Have you tried it?” you ask. “Well, no,” they reply. “There has not been time for any of that. This is an emergency. We need to go now. And we need to be prepared to take people who still feel the ship might survive until the last minute.”
Still, you are worried, because it would make little sense to head out into rough seas with folks you may know but not as sailors. At the same time, it makes no sense to go down with the ship.
THEN comes some good news. While the blowhards in the lounge are arguing about who should be captain, the directionless boiler crew has responded to the chaos by reducing speed. The ship is still headed for the berg, just a little slower.
Seizing the opportunity, you decide to ask a few questions about the lifeboat and your prospective boatmates.
You want to know what you are getting into – in every sense. In particular, you want to know what happens when the lifeboat is launched.
You want to know a few simple facts. Who is in charge? Where are we headed? What happens if we run into difficulties?
You’d also like to know what happens when there is a difference of opinion. Will the views of all on board be respected? In short, how will decisions be taken?
In 2014, many people voted for the safety and familiarity of the UK liner. That ship of state may well be on its final voyage. We need to show the waverers that the lifeboat of independence is now the safest option.
But to do so, we need first to reassure them that the lifeboat is constitutionally prepared for the journey. And that it is the only way to avoid a Titanic catastrophe.
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Callum Baird, Editor of The National
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