2000: a year in pictures

0 Comments | Sunday Herald, The, Dec 24, 2000 | by Trevor Royle

The "Father Of The Nation" died, Concorde crashed, Britain plunged into a rail crisis and Big Brother dominated our screens. Trevor Royle reviews an extraordinary year marked by tragedy and a growing preoccupation with celebrity

IT WAS a year of unforgiving images. Of a red rose lying on a coffin, of a sheet of high-octane flame scorching the Parisian skies, of young submariners entombed beneath a northern sea, of a visored armed cop grabbing a screaming boy, of thrice-swollen rivers turning fields into lakes, of one twin doomed to die that the other might live.

It was also the year of the impossibly hyped real-life drama Big Brother, of celebrity marriages and of the biggest drama - or farce - of them all, the American presidential elections.

The year began with the exaggerated hopes of a new century. It was a time of revelry and celebration leavened by relief that humankind might just be on the verge of establishing a new and better order, that past foolishness could be set aside and a brave new world embraced. Even the dreaded millennium bug failed to put in an appearance. A fresh start and a new beginning lay on the horizon, yet 2000 ended with a bout of self-questioning which seemed to suggest the exact opposite, that underneath the optimism lay something darker and more sceptical.

In Nice, in the dying days of December, Europe faltered over the direction it was taking. France threatened to hijack a mammoth, argumentative five-day EU summit in distinctly Gallic terms. Even the well-meant creation of a European Rapid Reaction Force hit the buffers with eurosceptics claiming that it would damage the transatlantic alliance, especially Britain's historic "special relationship" with the US.

Not that things were any better ordered on the other side of the pond. November stalemate in the presidential election led to a December deluge of recounts and legal wrangling. After 36 bewildering days George W Bush got the nod, leaving his rival Al Gore to make a bittersweet concession speech, as well he might, having a greater share of the popular vote. Despite the ritual calls for harmony, Dubya Bush faces gridlock with an evenly divided Congress, and will have to demonstrate considerable statesmanship if his presidency is to heal raw wounds and injured pride.

The cynics were probably right when they claimed that had Bill Clinton been a candidate he would have swept the boards. Still, his wife made a good fist of winning the New York senate seat and she could still be a successful presidential candidate for the Democrats. Time might be a great healer, but for Hillary Clinton it might also bring revenge.

The new order came to Scotland too, though most admirers of political integrity rather wish it had not. Late in the day on October 10 it was announced that First Minister Donald Dewar had taken a tumble in Edinburgh's Charlotte Square. By evening he was on a life support system and the following day he was dead. Much as he disliked the label "Father Of The Nation", for many people he was just that, a gaunt, schoolmasterly figure who had rekindled Scotland's parliament and whose experience was essential for its well- being.

The grief for his loss was genuine enough, people who never knew him felt they had lost a friend and there was a brief flurry of fear for the future as politicians faced up to an uncertain future. When Henry McLeish stepped into his shoes, critics complained that with Dewar gone and with SNP leader Alex Salmond having also departed from the scene the "wee parliament" would be little better than one of the old county councils. The cries were familiar and repetitive and throughout the year they refused to go away.

Low turn-outs in the ensuing by-elections also ushered in fears that not only were the people of Scotland suffering poll fatigue but the nation itself was in danger of being run as a satellite, that Labour in London would call the shots and that Holyrood would be little more than a Westminster outpost. The dithering over the repeal of Section 28 only fuelled concerns that the Scottish Executive was not exercising a stronger grip on events.

Not only did it fail to articulate its policy - the removal of this clause that discriminated against homosexuals had been on Labour's agenda since 1988 - but it played into the hands of non- elected opponents, namely millionaire businessman Brian Soutar and Cardinal Thomas Winning, the leader of the Catholic Church in Scotland.

Soutar used his wealth to run an opinion poll which proved that a majority of Scots did want the clause repealed, but as 72 per cent of the population failed to respond, it was a largely meaningless gesture. Winning's part in the protest was more profound, for although many disagree with his stance, his conviction on sexual morality and family values is not be denied. When he attacked parliament for pursuing too liberal an agenda it was a telling moment, not least because he was signalling that politics have to be taken seriously.

A week being a short time in politics, it was not long before the Section 28 shenanigan was overtaken by the equally drawn-out and bewildering brouhaha over the schools' exam results in August. What began as a delay in getting the certificates into the post ended in a revelation of widespread inefficiency and wishful thinking on the part of the Scottish Qualifications Agency. Sam Galbraith, the minister concerned, managed to hang on to his job even though many people, not all of them outside Labour, thought the fiasco was a hanging matter.