Mark Steyn: The Celtic canary in the UK's coal mine

I am tempted to use that failed bottlenose rescue as a metaphor for poor old Britain. By "bottlenose", I don't mean Charles Kennedy, although the Liberal Democrats' leadership race is not without its forlorn symbolism, too. Rather, like that whale, Britain is a magnificent creature, but looking ever more beached by the tides of history and floundering for a way back into safe waters.

For example, consider the following headline from the Scotsman the other week: "Teaching jobs in doubt as pensioners set to outnumber pupils by 2009."

This was a story by Peter MacMahon, the paper's "Scottish Government Editor", and it begins thus: "Scotland's demographic time bomb will explode in three years, when the number of pensioners north of the Border overtakes the number of children in school, the Executive has been warned."

Seems straightforward enough: the country's demographic death spiral is accelerating faster than expected. And, as far as the Scotsman is concerned, the alarming thing about this development is that it could put cushy state teaching jobs "in doubt".

For crying out loud, man, get a grip. It puts every job "in doubt". It puts the continued existence of your country "in doubt". And it means the Scottish National Party is going through the motions: nobody needs a Scottish nation if there are no more Scottish nationals. See you, Jimmeh? Not for much longer.

Indeed, the remarkable feature of contemporary Scottish nationalism is that it has achieved all the features of a failed nation state without achieving the status of a nation state. "Teaching jobs" are the least of it. And doubtless the unions will see to it that, even when there is only one wee scrawny bairn left in the whole of Scotland, platoons of teachers will still be manning abandoned elementary schools across the kingdom. The jobs-for-life public-sector employee stood on the burning deck whence all the boys had fled.

With half the annual births it had in the 1950s and a population on the brink of falling below five million, Scotland has become a minor member of the axis of extinction: Germany, Japan, Russia - once great nations now recording net population loss. In its general approach to economic reality, not to mention the physical health of its population, Scotland is closer to the Russian end of the picture than to the German-Japanese end.

How did this happen? Almost everywhere you go on the planet, the great institutions of this world were built by Scots, from the Canadian Pacific Railway to the Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank. Where is the spirit of Mel McGibson in Braveheart?

"Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you'll live…at least for a while. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willin' to trade all the days, from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take…OUR FREEDOM!"

But it is all more complicated than that. The modern Scot is prepared to fight - or, at any rate, strike - but only for the right to die in his bed on a government pension. In fact, one of the small signs of the country's woes is the byline of Peter MacMahon's Scotsman story. It is apparently possible to make a career in Scottish journalism as a "Scottish Government Editor", which in itself tells you something about the Scottish state.

What can be done to save Scotland? The Scottish Executive would like Scotland to have control of its own immigration, as the province of Quebec does. Quebec's collapsed birth rate has also cost it its dreams of nationhood and, like Scotland, it looked to immigration to save it, since when it has attracted a lively range of jihadist cells for whom Montreal offers the advantage of being a terrorist-indulgent neighbourhood only a stone's throw - or a bomb's - from the Great Satan's border. As the estate agents say, it is location, location, location. Glasgow has no such unique selling point.

Where are the immigrants going to come from? The birth rate is falling everywhere but the pre-modern world, ie, Africa and large swaths of Islam. Assuming that a talented Indian wished to leave his own land, which has the fastest-growing middle class in the world, why would he eschew America or Australia in order to go to Aberdeen and spend his working life supporting the elderly unsackable hordes of superfluous primary-school teachers?

The Muslims do their bit to keep the classrooms full. Abu Hamza, one notes, has seven children, all British subjects, although none inclined to go north, young man. But, in a world running out of emigrants, that is where any policy based on immigration leads: a future in which Scotland achieves nationhood as North Yemen.

Scotland is the canary in the United Kingdom's coal mine, but, given that three of the four component parts of the realm are mired in the same bloated, dead-end dependency culture, it would be foolish for the English to assume they won't get stuck with the bill for a Celtic fringe decaying into a long-term geriatric hospice. I doubt any Scot with an eye to electoral viability would want to run on anything that smacked of American conservatism, but surely they could at least learn something from Ireland, where, you will recall, Braveheart was filmed. They could have shot it in Scotland, but the Scots are too busy shooting themselves.

The other day Esko Aho - oh, come on, you remember, the former Finnish prime minister - presented a report to the European Commission that, in essence, read like a three-year-old Steyn column with an expenses budget: successful companies are abandoning the EU because it is becoming an irrelevant, sclerotic, statist backwater, etc.

Europe, says Mr Aho, is "living a moderately comfortable life on slowly declining capital. This society, averse to risk and reluctant to change, is in itself alarming, but it is also unsustainable in the face of rising competition from other parts of the world. For many citizens without work or in less-favoured regions, even the claim to comfort is untrue."

That is the point. On the present course, everywhere will wind up like Scotland. Mrs Thatcher liked to say that "the facts of life are conservative". Having declined to endorse that proposition in the Eighties, the Scots will be learning it far more painfully in the years ahead.

What was once true about Catholics rejecting artificial birth control no longer is true. Out of the ten nations with the lowest birth rates, five (Slovenia, Italy, Austria, Andorra, and Lithuania) are historically Catholic nations, one is almost one-half Catholic (Germany), two are East Asian (Macao and Hong Kong), one is heavily Muslim (Bosnia-Herzogovina), and one is Eastern Orthodox, with a Uniate Catholic minority (Ukraine).

If you look at the 50 nations with the lowest birth rate, five are East Asian, and three are Caribbean islands, with the remainder being European. I doubt the white race is programmed to self-destruct in the next two centuries. Rather, the replacement of the Christian faith with hedonism or humanism is causing men and women not to form families and reject an investment in the future for pleasure in the present.

<< noble Maoris

Your [sic] tripping, there's nothing noble about Maoridom, [sic] they [sic] are the biggest parasites on the NZ economy and judicial system, ever.

As for your systemtemtic [sic] use of the Singapore surrender, take note that the Aussies gave up and didn't fight when the Japsd [sic] got behind their lines, they were far too busy getting drunk and looting to put up a fight.

There's only one unit that deserves any honour from Singapore, the one that put up a fight, and it's not a ANZAC unit. It's British.

Kiwi's [sic] are are self important twats, piss poor at what [They] do and shallow too [sic] boot. >>

This American and other intelligent folks will take anything you claim to know anout Kiwis, clockwork orang, with the same grain of salt we reserve for the every vapid pontification and scornful, sneering, supercilliousness of every other rotton-toothed unwashed pommy bastard - and of every other serial prevaricator.

And, given the trueness-to-form of your latest banal and boorish bloviation and your dismal-diatribe-upon-dismal-diatribe track record I doubt today's tirade will score you any differently and/or influence any more than have ever been impressed by anything that's ever eminated from your fetid gap-toothed cake-hole. Not a sylible of which, let it be emphasized, has ever been other than the kind of projectile-vomited projections of such feelings as make it through the miasma wafting off your too many yesterdays' boozings oozing up from the bile-generated understandably-suicidal euro-peon self-loathing that starts your '54 Fiat 500 and gets it and your mummy and you through the night and, in the absence of even a single working frontal lobe, is filtered by only your meaness of spirit, surly disposition and through the detritus with which you are as self-soiled as is every other life member of the crude and uneducated lumpen lowest class of society from whose loins you've oozed.

As for Maori I'd suggest you maintain your Neville Chamberlain-championed, Singapore-Dunkirk and-Hong-Kong-like gutlessly craven anonymity rather than risk discovering such residual nobility as is left the Maori since the post-WW-II, Clement-Atlee-electing and escaping, whining, whinging, slothful, soul-dead unwashed pommy-bastard shop-steward invasion collectivized his and every other Kiwis' country and in doing so stripped him and every other New Zealander of his manhood and emasculated, feminized and homosexualized him.

Pommyfied him that is. Every man a frilly-lace-pantied girlyman.

Equal squalor for all.

But at all cost stay in hiding in case there's a vacationing noble Maori back from my America or from Australia to see how badly you dole-bludging pommy bastards and your stinking fasciSSocialistic Labour potty have buggared his birthplace since his last visit.

And talking about Australia and Australians brings to mind the pathetic lace-panty-clad pink-gin-sipping pommy poofters who, for the umteenth time, deserted the up-country-Malaya ANZAC Forces and left them unsupported at their backs and crept away to Singapore and then sat around at the Cricket Club waiting to cravenly surrender to a handful of poorly-armed and half-starved bicycling Japs at the end of a five thousand miles long supply line?

Not one Australian, by the way, surrendered.

Not one.

So another word of warning, Wanda: Keep up your craven anonymity. Do not dare identify yourself, any more than to that Maori, to any of those brave Australian Men's descendents.

For if you do, you'll soon be be wearing for garters AND for a necktie, any of your yellow guts left over after any noble Maori or the one surviving noble Moriori gets done with you.

Limeys put up a fight, you say? That's a bloody joke.

What were they fighting for? For an extra 50P a week in their dole handouts? Or over the lace panty bin at the local co-op's annual Eid clearance sales?

BUMPping

"Not a sylible of which, let it be emphasized, has ever been other than the kind of projectile-vomited projections of such feelings as make it through the miasma wafting off your too many yesterdays' boozings oozing up from the bile-generated understandably-suicidal euro-peon self-loathing that starts your '54 Fiat 500 and gets it and your mummy and you through the night and, in the absence of even a single working frontal lobe, is filtered by only your meaness of spirit, surly disposition and through the detritus with which you are as self-soiled as is every other life member of the crude and uneducated lumpen lowest class of society from whose loins you've oozed."

The one-man campaign to do away with punctuation, spelling and reason continues unabated, I see. Ho hum.

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