AS an Englishwoman who has lived in Scotland almost my entire adult life, the question of national identity has always been a tricky one for me. I was born in England, I grew up in England, all my family are English. It’s a simple fact, whether I like it or not, that I am English – but it doesn’t stop me from feeling slightly uncomfortable when asked my nationality on forms or when someone asks me where I’m from.
Despite my Englishness, after living here for the best part of a decade, it’s Scotland that I truly see as my home. In truth, I identify far more with being Scottish than being English, but I still slightly cringe at the idea of actually describing myself as “Scottish” when I obviously hail from south of the Border.
Of course, the idea of nationality is just a made-up construct but clearly it means something as part of someone’s national identity.
In many countries around the world, the idea of nationality might be nothing more than a simple legal detail, but in nations like Scotland that are denied their own sovereignty, nationality and national identity are far more of a political idea than a simple legal one.
“English” sounds like the obvious answer to what my national identity would be, but where I’m from in England, calling yourself “English” rather than “British” has major English nationalist connotations. For me, “English” is purely factual – it’s where I was born and where I grew up, but do I identify with the concept of Englishness? Well, no.
My passport says “United Kingdom”, but as someone deeply and passionately opposed to the continuation of this broken Union and everything it stands for, I would never describe “British” as forming any part of my national identity.
So where does that leave me? Well, until we’re independent and I can get myself a Scottish passport, I’m not really sure. And I’m not sure it hugely matters. But there is one thing that does make it slightly easier for me – football.
For me, at this World Cup, there’s no question – I’ll be cheering on Scotland every step of the way. And, as is tradition, the next team I’ll be backing after Scotland will be whoever’s playing against England.
I never cared for football growing up and I still don’t bother myself with the club-level game, but in recent years, I’ve found myself paying more and more attention to the Scottish national team.
Perhaps it’s my love of an underdog, perhaps it’s just wanting to be part of something, perhaps it’s the fact that I stay just down the road from Hampden and I can’t ignore it even if I wanted to.
Either way, I’ve surprised myself by just how excited I am to see the Scottish national men’s team compete in the World Cup for the first time since before I was born. I can only imagine what it feels like for those who actually love the game the rest of the time, and who have been waiting their whole lives to see Scotland qualify for a World Cup.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as unifying as the joy the nation felt the morning after the game against Denmark last November. Almost every conversation was about Scott McTominay’s bicycle kick or Kenny McLean’s incredible strike from the halfway line. Even people like me who know nothing about football could see what a phenomenal match that was; even those of us who’d usually be happier doing anything else other than watching men kick a ball about for 90 minutes were talking about the game.
In a city like Glasgow, where football is so often the thing that divides people, to see everyone come together in that moment was just incredible.
So yes, this weekend, like most of the country, I’ll be staying out until 4am to watch Scotland play Haiti in the opening match, and I’ll be doing so with other pals for whom the football being on is usually a reason to avoid the pub rather than make sure we’re in it.
And no, I won’t be cheering England on as well. I had to be reminded, upon showing my visible disdain after drawing England in my office sweepstakes, that I am actually from there – but I won’t let that get in the way of some friendly rivalry.
I may have a complex relationship with my national identity, but when it comes to the football, it couldn’t be simpler. If it isn’t Scotland, it’s anyone but England.
At the end of the day, the words I use to describe myself don’t actually matter. I do sometimes feel like I don’t quite belong anywhere – it doesn’t help that my accent to Scottish people is clearly English, but I’ve picked up enough of a twang in my eight years living here that English people always think I’m Scottish.
Whether I’m in the country I live in or the country I’m from, people always think I’m from the other place to them.
If Scotland was independent, I’d have a Scottish passport by now. But I don’t think it’s passports that really determine who you are either or what your nationality is.
The thing is, I have it easy. I did move to Scotland from another country, but I’m not a migrant.
I don’t have to stress about my residency here. I don’t experience racism or xenophobia, and despite what some commentators might say, I don’t think Anglophobia is a real thing. I also didn’t have to grow up seeing my country constantly being sidelined, being the butt of jokes or playing second fiddle to England in the media and in politics.
So, do I get to call myself Scottish? Who cares. Either way, it won’t stop me cheering Scotland on over the coming weeks – and when we do win the World Cup, I’ll be celebrating like that trophy’s my own, no matter what.
