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Scottish legislators target sectarianism

Scottish legislators target sectarianism

By Dorothy Cummings McLean

July 13, 2011

Dorothy Cummings McLean

It’s July in Scotland, season of mists and mild fruitiness as men in black bowlers and orange sashes travel from town to town to celebrate the defeat of a British Catholic king in 1690 by a Dutch Protestant one.  I wrote elsewhere that the Orangemen are not native to eastern Scotland, and a Catholic priest south-east of me e-mailed to say that he had been warned by police that 4,000 of them would be marching past his church that afternoon.

I do not know if the Orangemen who congregate upon eastern Scotland — or, for that matter, in Toronto’s Moss Park Armoury — deliberately mean offense by marching past Catholic churches. It could be that the best and safest parade routes coincidentally lead past Catholic churches. The Orangemen might not wish to provoke anybody, and those that march through Scotland might be saddened that my priest correspondent might prefer to stay indoors than to cheer them on. After all, it’s not like Scotland is scrambling to put together emergency anti-sectarian legislation. Oh, wait a minute. It is.


The sectarianism of Scotland is rather less well-known than that of Northern Ireland, and the Scottish tourist authorities no doubt prefer it that way. But it is July, and every July I try to get my mind around its insane dimensions. This is a disease that manifests itself not in Christian churches but usually on soccer fields and the stands, streets and pubs that surround them.

The warring sects are called Protestants and Catholics, and their God is presumably the Blessed Trinity, but they might more accurately be called Glasgow Rangers fans and Glasgow Celtics fans, and their god is the UEFA Champions League trophy.    

That said, the sometimes nasty sports rivalry does manifest itself in religious and ethnic slurs. Rangers fans twit Celtics fans on their Irish and Catholic origins, and Celtics fans have been known to ostentatiously make the Sign of the Cross to tease Rangers fans. Such disrespect has led to violence and threat of violence even against those whose connection with professional soccer is rather tenuous. This spring, in the wake of parcel bombs sent to the Celtics’ coach and other high-profile Celtics fans, the archbishop of Edinburgh revealed that he had been sent a live bullet shortly before last year’s visit by Benedict XVI.

Therefore, it should not have been surprising, when it recently announced emergency anti-sectarian legislation, that the Scottish press claimed both singing “God Save the Queen” and making the Sign of the Cross in public might be banned.

“What?” yelled Mr. and Mrs. Mark McLean of Edinburgh, suddenly paying stricter attention to the telly. We say grace before meals in restaurants; we might, if inspired, sing the national anthem in public. The thought that we might be arrested for doing either flashed through our minds.

“Oh look,” said Mark. “It’s Chloe!”

Our friend Chloe is the Scottish Churches Parliamentary Officer. She acts as a liaison between Christian churches in Scotland and Scottish parliament. And Chloe, like everyone else, was caught off guard by publication of the Offensive Behaviour at Football and Threatening Communications Bill. The Scottish Churches Parliamentary Office, the Catholic bishops, the Law Society of Scotland and even the Celtics and Rangers football clubs have all protested. It’s not that the bill sweepingly bans public religious and patriotic expression — it doesn’t — it’s that the right people haven’t been consulted yet. And that was what Chloe was saying before Scotland’s Justice Committee.

“Usually there’s a three-month period after a bill is proposed in which people can discuss the proposed legislation and respond, and this hasn’t been done,” she explained to me later. “The (unasked) question is ‘If you live in a community that suffers from sectarianism, do you think this bill would help?’ And so far we don’t know the answer to that.”

Originally the Scottish government hoped to shove through the legislation, but the public outcry has prevented that. Now the Scottish Churches Parliamentary Office is consulting church groups who work specifically against religious and other types of hatred. They will make a formal submission to the Justice Committee in August.   

As it stands, the bill is very specific, just as if it were drafted as a response to the headlines of the past six months, instead of to a centuries-old problem. But one of its strengths is that it tightens up the law against threat of violence. Threats of violence are illegal in Scotland only if it can be proved the sender intended to carry them out. Under the proposed legislation, the intention merely to cause fear is made criminal.  

And this brings my thoughts back to the Orange parade southeast of me, and the police officers who thought they’d better inform the local Catholic priest. Perhaps in future years the Orangemen will make this redundant by sending him a friendly invitation.

Dorothy Cummings McLean