Scotland is not, of course, a cesspit of hatred. Like most countries in Europe the incidents of racist or homophobic abuse have been on the decline for years. Abuse of women – well, that's another matter, but that's the one area the new Hate Crime Act was never interested in since sex – unlike gender – isn't even a protected characteristic. Clearly what this is all about is the SNP's revenge on the embarrassing self-ID farrago. It's aimed at gender-critical women. But JK Rowling's courageous intervention cleverly earthed that particular threat: go on then, she said, arrest me. They didn't, wisely enough, so now women in general, less wealthy and less well-known, feel freed to call out trans nonsense.
Janice Turner in the Times:
So what fuelled this zeal for a strange, autocratic regime of anonymous snitching? Within the Scottish state-funded LGBT sector there was a real desire to silence feminists who opposed and then thwarted the Gender Recognition Reform Bill. Scottish women have grown used to police knocks over tweets or campaign stickers and to brazen, often violent attempts to shut them up.
Yet for the hapless Yousaf, fighting hate is also a useful political displacement activity. In the last 15 years, Scotland’s dismal governing class has proved itself unequal to serving its citizens. A once revered education system has plunged down the Pisa rankings; drug deaths, by far the worst in Europe, surged in 2023; it has the UK’s highest suicide rate; NHS Scotland, despite a 10 per cent boost in funds, is treating fewer patients than pre-pandemic; the 2021-22 police clear-up rate for sex crimes is the lowest since 1976. These are hard, intractable, material problems — how much easier to fight a mythical beast.
A society grows hateful when resources are scarce, resentments brew, desperate people lash out. So the SNP’s hate campaign addressed young, working-class men who suffer “economic deprivation, adverse childhood experiences, substance abuse and under-employment”. Did they offer employment advice, drug programmes or mental health counselling? No, the SNP’s deplorables got a red furry cartoon hate monster with a rich Glasgow accent telling them to tamp down their rage….
Rowling’s power move neutralised the law’s use against gender critical beliefs. But it also smashed a taboo: now ordinary Scots know they can call trans women blokes, ignore pronouns. Politesse is dead. Good for legal clarity, less so for trans people quietly trying to live their lives. And here the fault lies not with Rowling but in an ill-considered, incoherent law.
Even now the police won’t say what becomes of these growing thousands of complaints. They promised to investigate every single one but officer recruitment is low, police stations are closing, burglaries go uninvestigated, campaigners are aghast that aggravated incidents against society’s most vulnerable, the learning disabled, will be swamped by silly or mischievous reports.
Scotland is fast becoming Europe’s crazy policy test lab and this ludicrous law is surely busted along with Yousaf, who as justice minister pushed it through. But every Scottish party, bar the Tories, supported this act. A chorus of interest groups and quangos had convinced them hate was everywhere. So they abandoned the gruelling business of governing and chose to believe in witches instead.
This may be a disaster of the SNP's own making, but it's worth remembering that all the other parties save the Tories – Labour, the Greens, the Lib-Dems – voted for it.
And, in praise of Rowling, Suzanne Moore in the Telegraph:
Rowling deliberately defied the new woolly hate crime laws with a series of tweets calling well-known trans women, men.
Humza Yousaf had been warned that this legislation was unworkable by numerous women’s groups. Men who identified as women were protected but women weren’t. How on earth were the police going to deal with this?
Who would blink first? Rowling or the police? When what she said was not deemed a hate crime, everything began to fall apart. “Oh, it’s OK for her with her wealth” some said and there she was again, asserting that if any other woman was arrested, she would repeat those words and be arrested alongside them.
Here was a lesson in solidarity, in sisterhood and the simple but incendiary power of saying no.


