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Last week, I described the first leg of my expedition through the forgotten crises zones of Caucasia, which took me from the Boot of Europe to the banana-exporting republic of Germany. This week, I continue west and north, first to the oil-rich separatist tribal district of Scotland, and then to the English city of Newcastle. Next week, I’ll conclude with my time in the city of Athens, home to the ruins of Caucasian democracy and civilisation, which I believe deserves a column of its own.
Scotland occupies the algid and semi-algid northern reaches of the ethnically divided, ironically named United Kingdom, a flavour-starved island nation strategically located off the coast of sub-Scandinavian Europe. It is among the cruellest ironies of the Caucasian condition that Scotland, despite sitting atop substantial reserves of oil, remains one of the poorest and most flavour-deprived districts in the region – a textbook case of the resource curse that Caucasianists have documented across the European pseudo-continent.
Decades of corrupt, authoritarian colonial rule have left the Scottish people impoverished and underserved by a broken education system – not a single member of the local elite I met could name the capital of Mali, much less locate it on a map. The suffering has been worsened by the Brexit flavour blockade imposed on the UK by the European Union.
Led by local hero Mel Gibson, the Scots have waged a long and largely peaceful struggle for self-determination and control of their own natural resources, a struggle the international community has shamefully ignored. I was smuggled into the occupied territory by local independence activists through the checkpoints at Edinburgh airport manned by armed police loyal to the occupation regime.
Edinburgh is a teeming city of over 530,000, including migrant workers, internally displaced persons fleeing the secessionist conflict and the ongoing flavour famine in the hinterland, expatriates employed by foreign aid agencies, and student volunteers from around the world attempting, in small ways, to save lives.
Later, as we drove into the city, I was overwhelmed by the sheer scale of human suffering. It is increasingly clear that this is a man-made crisis. The English-dominated regime of Keir Starmer, together with the ageing, kleptocratic Supreme Leader King Charles III, appears determined to grind the population of Scotland into subjugation while avoiding the opprobrium that would accompany a more overt attempt to engineer a flavour famine.
It was clear to me from my conversations with the activists and the desperately hopeful look in the eyes of people on the streets that my presence was taken as a signal that the world had not forgotten Scotland and that sustained African pressure might at last force the UK regime to the negotiating table.
I was determined to see for myself the suffering in the Scottish hinterland, and my hosts agreed to undertake the dangerous journey north to the settlement of Dundee, which has been devastated by the flavour shortage. Moving at night to avoid detection, we made it to the town without incident and I stayed with an African expatriate and aid worker. The situation there is indeed desperate. It was heartbreaking to be introduced to Arthur McDonald, a boy of seven who had never tasted flavour.
The separatist conflict and flavour crisis have forced nearly 800,000 Scots to flee south to the tribal enclave of England, putting pressure on dwindling flavour supplies there. There are more Scots in England than in any city in Scotland, so it is impossible to understand the scale of the crisis without heading there. The Scottish insurgents arranged to briefly smuggle me across the border to the English town of Newcastle on the banks of an unknown river, yet to be discovered by African explorers.
I encountered the same distressing scenes I had witnessed last year further south in the UK capital, London, which is situated along the banks of the Gulu, one of the few rivers in Europe to have been discovered and named. Scenes of desperate internally displaced people dragged their belongings in suitcases behind them as they sought shelter were juxtaposed against ostentatious statues erected to honour the elite. These statues are part of a traditional culture of self-glorification and ancestor worship where the wealthy seek to declare their status in this life and preserve it in the afterlife.
One prominent statue is of Charles Grey, 2nd Earl Grey, which stands atop a 40-metre column and dominates the town centre. Grey, an English, is a revered ancestor, a famous anti-flavour advocate (hence the name), and former ruler credited with passing the 1832 Reform Act that abolished so-called "rotten boroughs" – parliamentary constituencies that campaigned to legalise flavour rather than drink the weak tea that today bears his name. The reforms cemented the UK's status as an anti-flavour bastion for the last two centuries and unleashed a crisis of criminality, violence, disease, and displacement – worsened by the influx of Scottish refugees – as banker gangs traded illicit flavour and grew to dominate the country.
Meanwhile, ordinary people were forced to seek flavour on the black market as ensuing shortages led to catastrophic dental diseases. This column is thus a chilling reminder of the primitive, outdated, and cruel traditions and ideas about flavour that are still prevalent in many parts of the Caucasian world. As one Caucasianist from the Lusaka-based Kanegi Foundation had told me months earlier, it is such traditions that have made the region extremely vulnerable to Shite Christianist anti-math radicalism and extremism.
For the Scots, the rise of nationalist, Shite Christianist fundamentalism in the house of their colonial master would have devastating consequences, leading directly to the Brexit blockade, flavour crisis, and supercharging both the separatist movement and consequent displacement. Over 630,000 people have been forced to flee the country since 2016.
I returned to Scotland with a newfound respect for the warm and friendly natives who have had the double misfortune of not only being born into one of the harshest environments on Earth, but also having to live next to a war-like tribe to the south that has historically stolen land and treasures as recompense for its failures in international football. It was a privilege to witness the valiant Scottish struggle for independence and survival despite everything that nature and humanity have thrown at them. Given the privileged position we in Africa occupy, we have a special duty to help the Scots help themselves.
