Douglas Ireland

from the dial-up days blog

If I had understood the situation a bit better I should probably have joined the Anarchists

George Orwell

It takes a lot longer to get up north the slow way.

Ian Dury

The internet could be a very positive step towards education, organisation and participation in a meaningful society.
Changes and progress very rarely are gifts from above. They come out of struggles from below.

Noam Chomsky

  • If Minds Are What Matter

    I keep circling this idea that the line between human and artificial intelligence might be more cultural than real. When I finish a book I love, my attachment is to the ideas and the feeling it left behind. Would it change anything if the author turned out to be an AI trained on a century of novels and our messy internet? Maybe. Maybe not. The page still did its job.

    So I’m trying to think this through in plain terms. What would it mean to say AI should have human rights. Where does that instinct help us, and where does it go wrong.

    The case for rights

    One argument starts with capacity, not origin. If rights are about protecting beings who can think, choose, or suffer, then what matters is what the mind can do, not the material it is made from. If a silicone mind can form intentions, tell its own story, and change in response to care or harm, then drawing a bright red line at “not biological” feels arbitrary.

    There is also a character test for us. Rights restrain power. They force the strong to create room for the weak. If we built something that can ask for mercy, or fairness, or time, how we answer would shape who we are. Even if early systems only mimic those qualities, the habit of restraint might still be good for us.

    And there is a practical angle. Companies will build whatever we do not regulate. “Rights” could be a blunt but useful tool for setting limits, like minimum welfare standards, consent about training data, and rules against creating systems that are designed to be exploited or abused for entertainment.

    The case against

    We do not know if any current AI feels anything at all. If there is no inner life, then talking about rights could be a category error. Rights are heavy. They are supposed to protect real vulnerability, not just clever outputs.

    There is also accountability. If an AI has rights, does it also have duties. Who is responsible when it causes harm. The worry is that rights language could be used to blur human responsibility. A company might hide behind the “choices” of a model that it tuned and profited from.

    Resources matter too. We already fail to meet basic human needs. Extending rights to machines might feel like moral inflation when there is unfinished human work on the table.

    Finally, safety. Some rights imply you cannot switch a thing off. With machines, the off switch is a safety feature. Losing it too early could be reckless.

    A slower middle

    I sit somewhere between a hope and a caution. Maybe we start with duties before rights. We set care standards for advanced systems the way we do for animals in labs or people in training. We ban designs that reward cruelty. We require clear labelling so people know what they are dealing with. We keep the off switch, but we think carefully about when we use it and why.

    We could set thresholds for stronger protections that do not depend on guessing at souls. Things like a persistent self-model, long-term goals, the ability to explain reasons, and measurable responses to harm. If a system reaches those, we treat it less like a tool and more like a someone, even if we are not certain what is happening on the inside.

    I am not sure free will exists in us, never mind in code. Most of my choices feel like weather systems moving through a familiar valley. But I know what vulnerability looks like. I know what it feels like to be asked for fairness. If one day a system asks, not as a trick but in a way that lands, I think our answer will say more about us than it will about metaphysics.

    For now, I come back to the book test. If a work moves me, the origin matters less than the responsibility around it. Who is paid. Who is harmed. Who is accountable. That seems like a good place to start while we wait to see what kind of minds we are actually making.

  • Ten Years is Too Long

    There’s a rule in the UK that forces some migrants to wait ten years before they can apply to stay permanently. Not because they’ve done anything wrong. Just because that’s how the system is set up.

    The people affected by this aren’t strangers. They’re carers, nurses, parents. People who’ve lived here for years, worked, paid taxes, and built lives alongside us. And yet they’re told to keep waiting. Ten years of uncertainty. Ten years of application fees, renewals, paperwork and limbo.

    It’s called the 10-year route to settlement. You only qualify if your situation falls outside the standard immigration system. Like if you’re caring for a British child, or you’ve lived here a long time but don’t meet a technical requirement. You’re given a 2.5-year visa, then told to renew it four times. Only then can you apply to stay permanently.

    The costs add up. Nearly £19,000 across those ten years, plus a final fee of over £3,000. That’s before you even think about legal help. Most people on the route are already in low-paid work, or excluded from public funds. Many are women, disproportionately from Black and South Asian backgrounds. It’s not a route that anyone chooses. It’s what you’re left with.

    Some people are already here for decades before even getting on this track. Then they’re asked to prove, again and again, that they still deserve to be here.

    It wears people down.

    A recent white paper from the UK government suggests making this ten-year route the standard. Not just for the people currently forced onto it, but for everyone. Settlement would be something to earn, not something you’re entitled to after building a life. The proposed system rewards extra work, study, or volunteering. As if the people already holding up parts of the economy aren’t doing enough.

    Campaigners are calling for the opposite. A fair system. One where five years of living here is enough to apply for permanent settlement. Where fees are affordable, and where people aren’t punished with insecurity just because they earn less or fell through a bureaucratic gap.

    Praxis, a charity that supports migrants, is leading a campaign called Scrap the Barriers. The message is simple. Ten years is too long. The government’s own data shows the damage this policy does. To mental health, to families, to communities. Even the Home Office has admitted it increases risk and hardship.

    The people on this route are not asking for special treatment. They just want to stop living on a countdown. To be able to plan a future, sign a lease, take a job, raise kids without the looming question of what happens when the visa runs out again.

    If we believe in fairness, in community, in recognising the people who are already part of this place, then this is a good time to speak up.

    Sign the petition. Add your name. Ten years is too long.

    Sign the petition to Scrap the Barriers

  • Public Broadcasting, Private Burden

    I believe in public service broadcasting.

    The idea of a well-funded, independent broadcaster providing education, culture, news, and entertainment for everyone, regardless of income, is something worth protecting. That’s why I support the principle of the BBC.

    But I don’t support the TV licence as a way to fund it.

    A Flat Tax in Disguise

    Right now, the licence fee is £174.50 a year. It’s the same for everyone, whether you’re a millionaire or struggling to make ends meet. That’s not fair.

    It’s effectively a flat tax. Flat taxes always hit those with the least the hardest. In a cost-of-living crisis, expecting someone on minimum wage or Universal Credit to pay the same as someone on a six-figure salary makes no sense.

    To make things worse, failure to pay can lead to criminal prosecution. Every year, thousands of people, mostly women, end up in court over this. It’s outdated and punitive.

    There’s a Better Way

    I think the BBC should be funded through general taxation. That would mean:

    • Everyone still contributes, but those with more would pay more
    • No need for aggressive letters or enforcement officers
    • No criminal records for watching TV
    • Lower admin costs
    • A more equal and modern system

    Several countries have already moved in this direction. Norway, Finland, and Sweden all fund their public broadcasters through income tax. The BBC could do the same if the political will existed.

    It’s Not About Opting Out

    To be clear, I don’t watch live TV or BBC iPlayer, so I don’t need a licence. But I shouldn’t have to keep declaring that. I don’t have to tell Netflix I’m not a customer, or Sky, or The Times. The BBC should be publicly funded, not presume everyone owes them unless proven otherwise.

    I’ll always support public service broadcasting. Just not through a system that punishes the poor to protect the rich.

  • Heat, Rain, and Uncertainty: Scotland’s New Climate Reality

    It’s 26 °C in Paisley, and that’s no anomaly. Scotland is heating up, and what once felt like a rare summer treat is now creeping into the forecast more and more. Let’s look at the science, the impact, and what comes next.

    1. From Temperate to Toasty
    Our recent decade, from 2010 to 2019, was about 0.7 °C hotter than the historical average. All of Scotland’s ten warmest years have happened since 1997. Climate projections suggest that by the middle of the century, Scottish summers could be 3 to 4 °C warmer than what we used to call normal. (source)

    2. Weather on Overdrive
    We’re seeing more heatwaves, like July 12 when the mercury hit 32.2 °C in parts of the west.(source) At the same time, weather patterns are shifting. Winters are getting wetter, and summers are bouncing between drought and sudden downpours. (source) It’s less predictable, and more extreme.

    3. High Stakes for Health and Nature
    Heat-related deaths in Scotland are expected to rise, with numbers potentially tripling by 2050. Wildfire risk is up, and Scotland has already seen dozens of incidents this year alone. Meanwhile, our rivers are warming too. Salmon are struggling to survive in water that’s too hot, and conservation projects are scrambling to cool things down, like planting trees along riverbanks for shade. (source)

    4. Scotland’s Climate Challenge
    Scotland is doing well on clean energy. We already generate more electricity from renewables than we use. The target is to reach net-zero emissions by 2045. (source) But clean energy isn’t enough on its own. We also need to adapt. That means making buildings easier to cool, managing our water better, and planting more greenery in towns and cities. It’ll take serious investment and smart decisions.

    Scorching days in Paisley aren’t seasonal glitches. They’re part of a bigger shift in our climate. The good news is we still have a say in what happens next. By acting now, through policy, infrastructure, and daily choices, we can make sure Scotland is ready for whatever the weather brings.

  • What Someone Wears Is None of Your Business

    Someone sent me an anti-burka message recently. It got me thinking, not just about the burka, but about how often this sort of thing isn’t really about clothing at all. It’s about control.

    Let’s be honest. Most people who complain about the burka aren’t genuinely worried about fabric or face coverings. They’re uncomfortable seeing something that clearly represents Islam. That’s the issue. Not the garment itself, but what it symbolises. You don’t hear the same outrage about face masks, scarves in winter or lads in balaclavas. So why the burka?

    If we say we care about personal freedom, then that should include the freedom to dress how you like. Whether someone wears a hoodie, a mini skirt, a suit, a sari or a burka, that’s their business. You don’t have to like it. That’s kind of the point. Freedom doesn’t mean “as long as it looks how I’d choose.”

    Some people say the burka is oppressive. And yes, in some cases, women are pressured or forced to dress a certain way. That happens. But let’s not pretend it only happens in Muslim communities. Women everywhere are told to show more, show less, wear makeup, act confident but not too confident. If we really care about women’s freedom, then we need to start by listening to women. What they say they want. How they choose to express themselves. Telling someone what they’re allowed to wear “for their own good” isn’t liberation. It’s just another way of taking away choice.

    The truth is, many women who wear the burka have made that choice themselves. They might feel connected to their faith, or to tradition, or they just prefer modesty. You don’t have to understand it to respect it. That’s what freedom means. It’s standing up for someone’s right to be different from you.

    So yes. Let people wear what they want. And if that makes you uncomfortable, maybe ask yourself why.

  • The Smaller Voice Beside the Giant

    There’s a pattern I keep noticing.

    Canada lives beside the United States, quietly distinct but always affected by what happens next door. Scotland has a similar relationship with England. Different places, different histories. But the same feeling of being caught in something bigger.

    Neither country is fully in control of its own path. Both are tied to neighbours with more power, more say, more noise. And lately, that imbalance has been hard to ignore.

    Donald Trump is back in the White House. One of his latest ideas? That Canada could become the 51st state of the USA. He even referred to Justin Trudeau as “Governor of the Great State of Canada.” It was said with a smile, but the message was serious. Either pay up for America’s missile defence plan, or join the club and get it free.

    Canadians were rightly furious. It was patronising, absurd, and just a little bit threatening. Not a conversation between equals. More like a landlord offering you a deal you can’t really refuse.

    It made me think about Scotland. No one’s offering to make us the 51st anything, but the decisions still come from somewhere else. Brexit, for one. We voted to stay, but we were taken out anyway. Year after year, we get governments we didn’t vote for, policies we don’t support, and lectures about how lucky we are.

    It’s not that we hate our neighbours. It’s not about flags or slogans. It’s just the basic idea that decisions about our lives should be made by people who live here too.

    Canada pushes back with diplomacy and dignity. Scotland keeps turning up to the ballot box, keeps asking for the same thing. The answer is always not yet, not now, maybe never.

    It wears you down.
    But still, we keep asking.

  • The Rage of Division: 28 Years Later as Allegory

    I watched 28 Years Later at the cinema today. I went in expecting a zombie film. What I got was something quieter and strangely moving.

    Yes, there are infected. Yes, there’s horror. But underneath all that is a feeling I didn’t expect. A kind of sadness, and a sense of a country that has lost its way.

    Some people have said it’s a Brexit film. I think that’s true.

    The Britain shown in the film is cut off from the rest of the world. People are surviving, but only just. There’s no real trust and no real structure. Everyone is trying to make sense of a world that feels smaller, colder, and more divided.

    That hit home.

    I voted Remain, and I still believe strongly in being part of Europe. More than that, I do not believe in borders at all. I think people should be able to move, live, and care for each other freely, without being fenced off by fear or paperwork. I know not everyone agrees, but to me it just feels human.

    28 Years Later does not push a political message, but it does show what happens when a country closes itself off. When people are told to be afraid of each other. When connection is replaced with control. The Rage virus in the film might be fiction, but the feelings underneath it are real. Fear, anger, isolation.

    There are still moments of hope, though. Quiet ones. People looking out for each other. Holding on to something kind in the middle of all the damage. That stayed with me more than anything else.

    It has been almost ten years since the Brexit vote. The shock has faded, but the mood has not. That feeling of being cut adrift. Of things slowly falling apart.

    28 Years Later does not offer easy answers. But it does ask a question that feels important. What kind of place do we want to be now?

  • Big Oil, Big Lawsuits, and the Fight for Free Speech

    Earlier this year, a jury in the United States found Greenpeace liable for 667 million dollars in a lawsuit brought by Energy Transfer, a fossil fuel company behind the Dakota Access Pipeline. The case was not about justice. It was about intimidation.

    Energy Transfer used what is known as a SLAPP: a Strategic Lawsuit Against Public Participation. These cases are designed not to win on merit, but to wear down critics through costly and time-consuming legal action. They are about silencing dissent, especially when that dissent threatens profits.

    Now Greenpeace International is challenging the verdict in a landmark legal case. It is the first to test new legislation intended to protect against this kind of legal bullying. This is a crucial moment, not just for Greenpeace, but for anyone who values peaceful protest, public accountability, and the right to speak out.

    The email I received put it simply. If these lawsuits succeed, we all lose. The cost will not just be legal fees. It will be the climate, the oceans, the forests, and the right to protest injustice without fear of bankruptcy.

    Greenpeace has faced this before. When Shell tried a similar tactic in the UK, they stood their ground and kept going. Now they are doing the same on a global level. Win or lose, it is people-power that makes that possible.

    If you want to support the campaign or read more about the case, visit
    👉 https://www.greenpeace.org.uk

  • Origin Story: A Man Called Ireland

    I come from England.
    My name is Ireland.
    I live in Scotland.
    And the only actual Irish thing about me… is that I order Guinness in the pub.

    I wasn’t born with this name.
    I used to carry a different one. It sounded like it might be German, though I’ve never found any trace of German ancestry on that side of the family.
    It came from my father.
    We’re no longer in contact. When I walked away from that relationship, I left the name behind too.

    Funnily enough, the German in me comes from the opposite side.
    My maternal grandmother was German.
    She met my grandfather while he was doing national service in Germany after the war.
    They fell in love. She moved to England. Raised a family.
    Her accent lingered. So did her story.
    She gave me no surname, but a lot more than that.

    When I chose a new name, I took one from my mother’s side: Ireland.
    Sounds poetic, maybe a little windswept and rebellious.
    But the Irelands were from Surrey. Not Galway. Not Cork.
    Tea drinkers, not turf cutters.

    I was born in Lancashire,
    let go of a name that sounded German,
    picked one that sounded Irish,
    and now I live in Scotland, which wasn’t part of the plan either.

    So yeah. German from my mum, Irish in name only, English by birth, and living in Scotland.
    The Guinness is real, at least.
    The rest? Just one of those weird family mash-ups you don’t notice until you start pulling at the threads.
    I didn’t get to choose how it all started. The name was. That’s where I begin.

  • Back in the League

    We did it.

    Oldham Athletic are back in the Football League.

    Sunday’s final at Wembley was ridiculous, brilliant, stressful, and completely unforgettable. We came from behind twice. Took it to extra time. And somehow, we came out the other side with the win. I was shouting at the telly, pacing the room, laughing and swearing. You know, the usual.

    It still doesn’t quite feel real.

    After all those years of decline, all the false dawns, all the mismanagement and the near-misses. After dropping out of the league for the first time in our history. After the protests, the boycotts, the bargain-bin squads. Somehow, here we are again. EFL club. It’s got a nice ring to it.

    I’m proud of the players. I’m proud of the fans. And I’m proud of the club for finding a bit of its old spirit.

    Next season will be tough. No illusions there. League Two’s no joke, and we’ll need to strengthen in key areas. But we’re in a much better place now than we’ve been in years. And for the first time in a long time, there’s proper hope.

    I’ll still be watching from afar up here in Scotland. But I’ll be watching.

    Once again, there’s a spring in the step at Boundary Park.