Chamber and committees

To ask the Scottish Government whether addressing affordable housing need and tackling homelessness will be more homes Scotland’s core mission. (S6O-05714)

I refer members to my entry in the register of members’ interests—I am a member of Shelter Scotland’s committee.

Given that far too many children live in temporary accommodation, more homes Scotland must be integral to ending homelessness, and its creation is most welcome. To succeed, it must move quickly, which requires proper funding and a singular clarity of focus. Some voices call for the agency’s focus to be on increasing the supply in all housing tenures, but does the cabinet secretary agree that delivering more private homes does not necessarily reduce homelessness, and that the measure of the agency’s success must be more social homes being built and homelessness being reduced?

I thank my colleague Brian Whittle for securing this excellent debate. I rise to speak about sport being a force for good with a mixture of pride, gratitude and a sense of coming full circle. This will be my last speech in the Parliament, and I can think of no better subject to close on than the power of sport, with regard to not just competition but community, compassion and change.

When we talk about sport as a force for good, we are not speaking in abstractions; we are speaking about places, people and projects that transform lives every single day. There is no better example of that than what is happening at Townhead park in Cumnock, in my constituency of Carrick, Cumnock and Doon Valley.

Cumnock Juniors Community Enterprise is, on the surface, a successful football club. It has a proud history, a trophy-winning junior team that inspires huge local pride and a vocal but good-natured rivalry with its next-door neighbour, Auchinleck Talbot Football Club.

However, to stop there would be to miss the point entirely, because what has been built around that club is something far more powerful than silverware; it is a model of what sport can and should be. At its heart is the simple but radical idea that everyone deserves access—not just the most talented or those who can afford it, but everyone.

That means creating opportunities for girls to take part and thrive in spaces that have not always welcomed them. It means opening the door for people who are in recovery, offering not just physical activity but purpose, belonging and hope. It means recognising that participation looks different at different stages of life, whether that is walking football, which is delivered in partnership with Chest, Heart & Stroke Scotland and supports people to stay active and connected, or inclusive cycling opportunities for those with learning disabilities, which is developed alongside the Things Tae Dae club. Those are not add-ons; they are the point.

It does not stop there. Cumnock Juniors Community Enterprise understands that wellbeing is not just about what happens on the pitch; it is about the whole person, the whole family and the whole community. That is why it has developed goals for growth, which is an employability programme that meets people where they are at. The programme recognises that, for many, the first step towards work is not a CV workshop, but having a sense of confidence, routine and support that are built through sport and wellbeing activity. The programme connects participation with opportunity and aspiration with action.

Cumnock Juniors Community Enterprise also provides dignified food provision, because no one should need to choose between feeding their family and taking part in their community. That is also why it runs affordable and accessible holiday clubs, ensuring that children are not only fed during school breaks but have the chance to play, learn and simply be children.

That is what it means for sport to be a force for good. It is not just about health outcomes, although those matter a lot, and it is not just about the economic impact, although that matters, too; it is about dignity, inclusion and creating spaces in which people feel that they belong. If we are truly serious about tackling inequality, improving public health and strengthening our communities, we must recognise, support and invest in models like that.

The lessons from Cumnock are clear: when sport is rooted in community, led with compassion and open to all, it becomes one of the most powerful tools that we have for social change. I understand that only too well—and I wish that wee me had, too. As an undiagnosed ADHDer who participated in every sport going—especially the thrill-seeking ones such as diving, rugby, track and field, mountain biking, ringette and skateboarding—it helped to focus my really busy mind via activity and dopamine. Believe me, Presiding Officer, I had knocked-out teeth, broken bones and the scars to prove it.

As I prepare to step away from this Parliament, I am incredibly proud of the communities that I have had the privilege to represent, and I am also deeply hopeful, because of what I have seen in places such as Townhead park. Sport can change lives; in Cumnock, it already is.

10:30

On a point of order, Presiding Officer. My app would not connect. I would have voted yes.

I, too, thank Liam McArthur, from the bottom of my heart, for enabling and empowering us to debate a very important issue.

I clearly recall staring for a full five minutes last June at a message from my best friend as the world around me fell away. It was a message of four small words with mammoth implications: “She has called it.”

I had known Madame Bergeron from the age of 19. She was the epitome of a classy French chic woman—always immaculately turned out, slightly aloof and sarcastic, and oh so determined. She terrified me and awed me in equal measure. She had pioneering heart surgery when both her kids were still teenagers, and she lived her whole life disabled, yet she commanded every room that she ever entered. She was not always easy to live with, but she was loved fiercely by all those around her.

She had been living with terminal cancer for more than three years, and it had consumed her entire abdomen. That day in June, she had sat down heavily in her wheelchair and felt something burst inside her very distended stomach. At that moment, she knew that she would develop full-blown peritonitis and sepsis and would require all kinds of pain medications and sedation to try to manage her symptoms, in a hospital setting, before succumbing within the week.

That was, categorically, not the path that she wanted. She had lived with the very best of palliative care and, for most of those three years, the palliative effect of the ability to have an assisted death. She called that her security blanket. It had given her great comfort as she chose to live for as long as she could, with grace and courage.

She was anything but suicidal. A Catholic of strong faith in the Quebec Roman Catholic tradition, she said that she knew that her God was merciful and that she had the support of her priest and her community when she set in train the plans that would help her to leave this world on her terms, as she had lived her whole life.

Nathalie dropped everything to drive the three hours from Montreal to Shawinigan, where the family gathered for one last evening. There were tears and there were laughs—and, boy, were there commands. Madame Bergeron was conducting like a symphony master. She wanted everything to be just so. Nathalie recounted to me that she could not help but be frustrated at her mum’s painstaking choice over her final pyjamas and dressing gown, until she realised that her beloved maman was dying as she lived—elegant and oh so bossy.

The house was full on the afternoon that Nicole Bergeron died, peacefully dressed in white daisies. Her bed was surrounded by loved ones, who shared the most tender of moments. She was able to speak to each of them, and the words that she spoke to my best friend were the salve that has helped Nathalie to come to terms with her loss. Nathalie has also described her mother’s death as beautiful. Madame Bergeron, tu me manques énormément.

Please contrast Madame Bergeron’s passing with the way in which my mum, Irene, died, 12 years ago this week, after more than two weeks without food or water. She was surrounded by love, absolutely. She had also been assessed as having capacity and as making her choice free from coercion, but she did not have a peaceful death. She took the only legal option that was open to her under our current laws—and it was awful. I do not have the words to describe to members how awful it was, Presiding Officer. If you have not seen somebody starve to death, there are no words to describe it. She deserved better.

My decade at Scottish Women’s Aid taught me how real coercion can be, but it also taught me that the answer to risk is not to look away from difficult situations. I spent time training police officers, social workers and housing staff about coercive control before this place had even named it and recognised it. With the right skills, training and opportunity, it can be detected. To say otherwise is simply to walk away from a wicked issue.

Right now, behind closed doors across this country, women with terminal illnesses who are experiencing domestic abuse have no safeguards. The bill would help to bring that coercion into the light, to remove the power from abusive men and to return that agency to its rightful owner. That is what the bill is about—agency and autonomy. We must give our folk choice. It is, after all, the settled will of the majority of our constituents, including those who are disabled and those who have experienced domestic abuse, especially those who are terminally ill. They are forgotten in all these conversations. They are our most vulnerable citizens. Please vote yes for them.

20:56

I, too, thank Liam McArthur, from the bottom of my heart, for enabling and empowering us to debate a very important issue.

I clearly recall staring for a full five minutes last June at a message from my best friend as the world around me fell away. It was a message of four small words with mammoth implications: “She has called it.”

I had known Madame Bergeron from the age of 19. She was the epitome of a classy French chic woman—always immaculately turned out, slightly aloof and sarcastic, and oh so determined. She terrified me and awed me in equal measure. She had pioneering heart surgery when both her kids were still teenagers, and she lived her whole life disabled, yet she commanded every room that she ever entered. She was not always easy to live with, but she was loved fiercely by all those around her.

She had been living with terminal cancer for more than three years, and it had consumed her entire abdomen. That day in June, she had sat down heavily in her wheelchair and felt something burst inside her very distended stomach. At that moment, she knew that she would develop full-blown peritonitis and sepsis and would require all kinds of pain medications and sedation to try to manage her symptoms, in a hospital setting, before succumbing within the week.

That was, categorically, not the path that she wanted. She had lived with the very best of palliative care and, for most of those three years, the palliative effect of the ability to have an assisted death. She called that her security blanket. It had given her great comfort as she chose to live for as long as she could, with grace and courage.

She was anything but suicidal. A Catholic of strong faith in the Quebec Roman Catholic tradition, she said that she knew that her God was merciful and that she had the support of her priest and her community when she set in train the plans that would help her to leave this world on her terms, as she had lived her whole life.

Nathalie dropped everything to drive the three hours from Montreal to Shawinigan, where the family gathered for one last evening. There were tears and there were laughs—and, boy, were there commands. Madame Bergeron was conducting like a symphony master. She wanted everything to be just so. Nathalie recounted to me that she could not help but be frustrated at her mum’s painstaking choice over her final pyjamas and dressing gown, until she realised that her beloved maman was dying as she lived—elegant and oh so bossy.

The house was full on the afternoon that Nicole Bergeron died, peacefully dressed in white daisies. Her bed was surrounded by loved ones, who shared the most tender of moments. She was able to speak to each of them, and the words that she spoke to my best friend were the salve that has helped Nathalie to come to terms with her loss. Nathalie has also described her mother’s death as beautiful. Madame Bergeron, tu me manques énormément.

Please contrast Madame Bergeron’s passing with the way in which my mum, Irene, died, 12 years ago this week, after more than two weeks without food or water. She was surrounded by love, absolutely. She had also been assessed as having capacity and as making her choice free from coercion, but she did not have a peaceful death. She took the only legal option that was open to her under our current laws—and it was awful. I do not have the words to describe to members how awful it was, Presiding Officer. If you have not seen somebody starve to death, there are no words to describe it. She deserved better.

My decade at Scottish Women’s Aid taught me how real coercion can be, but it also taught me that the answer to risk is not to look away from difficult situations. I spent time training police officers, social workers and housing staff about coercive control before this place had even named it and recognised it. With the right skills, training and opportunity, it can be detected. To say otherwise is simply to walk away from a wicked issue.

Right now, behind closed doors across this country, women with terminal illnesses who are experiencing domestic abuse have no safeguards. The bill would help to bring that coercion into the light, to remove the power from abusive men and to return that agency to its rightful owner. That is what the bill is about—agency and autonomy. We must give our folk choice. It is, after all, the settled will of the majority of our constituents, including those who are disabled and those who have experienced domestic abuse, especially those who are terminally ill. They are forgotten in all these conversations. They are our most vulnerable citizens. Please vote yes for them.

20:56

I, too, thank Liam McArthur, from the bottom of my heart, for enabling and empowering us to debate a very important issue.

I clearly recall staring for a full five minutes last June at a message from my best friend as the world around me fell away. It was a message of four small words with mammoth implications: “She has called it.”

I had known Madame Bergeron from the age of 19. She was the epitome of a classy French chic woman—always immaculately turned out, slightly aloof and sarcastic, and oh so determined. She terrified me and awed me in equal measure. She had pioneering heart surgery when both her kids were still teenagers, and she lived her whole life disabled, yet she commanded every room that she ever entered. She was not always easy to live with, but she was loved fiercely by all those around her.

She had been living with terminal cancer for more than three years, and it had consumed her entire abdomen. That day in June, she had sat down heavily in her wheelchair and felt something burst inside her very distended stomach. At that moment, she knew that she would develop full-blown peritonitis and sepsis and would require all kinds of pain medications and sedation to try to manage her symptoms, in a hospital setting, before succumbing within the week.

That was, categorically, not the path that she wanted. She had lived with the very best of palliative care and, for most of those three years, the palliative effect of the ability to have an assisted death. She called that her security blanket. It had given her great comfort as she chose to live for as long as she could, with grace and courage.

She was anything but suicidal. A Catholic of strong faith in the Quebec Roman Catholic tradition, she said that she knew that her God was merciful and that she had the support of her priest and her community when she set in train the plans that would help her to leave this world on her terms, as she had lived her whole life.

Nathalie dropped everything to drive the three hours from Montreal to Shawinigan, where the family gathered for one last evening. There were tears and there were laughs—and, boy, were there commands. Madame Bergeron was conducting like a symphony master. She wanted everything to be just so. Nathalie recounted to me that she could not help but be frustrated at her mum’s painstaking choice over her final pyjamas and dressing gown, until she realised that her beloved maman was dying as she lived—elegant and oh so bossy.

The house was full on the afternoon that Nicole Bergeron died, peacefully dressed in white daisies. Her bed was surrounded by loved ones, who shared the most tender of moments. She was able to speak to each of them, and the words that she spoke to my best friend were the salve that has helped Nathalie to come to terms with her loss. Nathalie has also described her mother’s death as beautiful. Madame Bergeron, tu me manques énormément.

Please contrast Madame Bergeron’s passing with the way in which my mum, Irene, died, 12 years ago this week, after more than two weeks without food or water. She was surrounded by love, absolutely. She had also been assessed as having capacity and as making her choice free from coercion, but she did not have a peaceful death. She took the only legal option that was open to her under our current laws—and it was awful. I do not have the words to describe to members how awful it was, Presiding Officer. If you have not seen somebody starve to death, there are no words to describe it. She deserved better.

My decade at Scottish Women’s Aid taught me how real coercion can be, but it also taught me that the answer to risk is not to look away from difficult situations. I spent time training police officers, social workers and housing staff about coercive control before this place had even named it and recognised it. With the right skills, training and opportunity, it can be detected. To say otherwise is simply to walk away from a wicked issue.

Right now, behind closed doors across this country, women with terminal illnesses who are experiencing domestic abuse have no safeguards. The bill would help to bring that coercion into the light, to remove the power from abusive men and to return that agency to its rightful owner. That is what the bill is about—agency and autonomy. We must give our folk choice. It is, after all, the settled will of the majority of our constituents, including those who are disabled and those who have experienced domestic abuse, especially those who are terminally ill. They are forgotten in all these conversations. They are our most vulnerable citizens. Please vote yes for them.

20:56

I, too, thank Liam McArthur, from the bottom of my heart, for enabling and empowering us to debate a very important issue.

I clearly recall staring for a full five minutes last June at a message from my best friend as the world around me fell away. It was a message of four small words with mammoth implications: “She has called it.”

I had known Madame Bergeron from the age of 19. She was the epitome of a classy French chic woman—always immaculately turned out, slightly aloof and sarcastic, and oh so determined. She terrified me and awed me in equal measure. She had pioneering heart surgery when both her kids were still teenagers, and she lived her whole life disabled, yet she commanded every room that she ever entered. She was not always easy to live with, but she was loved fiercely by all those around her.

She had been living with terminal cancer for more than three years, and it had consumed her entire abdomen. That day in June, she had sat down heavily in her wheelchair and felt something burst inside her very distended stomach. At that moment, she knew that she would develop full-blown peritonitis and sepsis and would require all kinds of pain medications and sedation to try to manage her symptoms, in a hospital setting, before succumbing within the week.

That was, categorically, not the path that she wanted. She had lived with the very best of palliative care and, for most of those three years, the palliative effect of the ability to have an assisted death. She called that her security blanket. It had given her great comfort as she chose to live for as long as she could, with grace and courage.

She was anything but suicidal. A Catholic of strong faith in the Quebec Roman Catholic tradition, she said that she knew that her God was merciful and that she had the support of her priest and her community when she set in train the plans that would help her to leave this world on her terms, as she had lived her whole life.

Nathalie dropped everything to drive the three hours from Montreal to Shawinigan, where the family gathered for one last evening. There were tears and there were laughs—and, boy, were there commands. Madame Bergeron was conducting like a symphony master. She wanted everything to be just so. Nathalie recounted to me that she could not help but be frustrated at her mum’s painstaking choice over her final pyjamas and dressing gown, until she realised that her beloved maman was dying as she lived—elegant and oh so bossy.

The house was full on the afternoon that Nicole Bergeron died, peacefully dressed in white daisies. Her bed was surrounded by loved ones, who shared the most tender of moments. She was able to speak to each of them, and the words that she spoke to my best friend were the salve that has helped Nathalie to come to terms with her loss. Nathalie has also described her mother’s death as beautiful. Madame Bergeron, tu me manques énormément.

Please contrast Madame Bergeron’s passing with the way in which my mum, Irene, died, 12 years ago this week, after more than two weeks without food or water. She was surrounded by love, absolutely. She had also been assessed as having capacity and as making her choice free from coercion, but she did not have a peaceful death. She took the only legal option that was open to her under our current laws—and it was awful. I do not have the words to describe to members how awful it was, Presiding Officer. If you have not seen somebody starve to death, there are no words to describe it. She deserved better.

My decade at Scottish Women’s Aid taught me how real coercion can be, but it also taught me that the answer to risk is not to look away from difficult situations. I spent time training police officers, social workers and housing staff about coercive control before this place had even named it and recognised it. With the right skills, training and opportunity, it can be detected. To say otherwise is simply to walk away from a wicked issue.

Right now, behind closed doors across this country, women with terminal illnesses who are experiencing domestic abuse have no safeguards. The bill would help to bring that coercion into the light, to remove the power from abusive men and to return that agency to its rightful owner. That is what the bill is about—agency and autonomy. We must give our folk choice. It is, after all, the settled will of the majority of our constituents, including those who are disabled and those who have experienced domestic abuse, especially those who are terminally ill. They are forgotten in all these conversations. They are our most vulnerable citizens. Please vote yes for them.

20:56

I, too, thank Liam McArthur, from the bottom of my heart, for enabling and empowering us to debate a very important issue.

I clearly recall staring for a full five minutes last June at a message from my best friend as the world around me fell away. It was a message of four small words with mammoth implications: “She has called it.”

I had known Madame Bergeron from the age of 19. She was the epitome of a classy French chic woman—always immaculately turned out, slightly aloof and sarcastic, and oh so determined. She terrified me and awed me in equal measure. She had pioneering heart surgery when both her kids were still teenagers, and she lived her whole life disabled, yet she commanded every room that she ever entered. She was not always easy to live with, but she was loved fiercely by all those around her.

She had been living with terminal cancer for more than three years, and it had consumed her entire abdomen. That day in June, she had sat down heavily in her wheelchair and felt something burst inside her very distended stomach. At that moment, she knew that she would develop full-blown peritonitis and sepsis and would require all kinds of pain medications and sedation to try to manage her symptoms, in a hospital setting, before succumbing within the week.

That was, categorically, not the path that she wanted. She had lived with the very best of palliative care and, for most of those three years, the palliative effect of the ability to have an assisted death. She called that her security blanket. It had given her great comfort as she chose to live for as long as she could, with grace and courage.

She was anything but suicidal. A Catholic of strong faith in the Quebec Roman Catholic tradition, she said that she knew that her God was merciful and that she had the support of her priest and her community when she set in train the plans that would help her to leave this world on her terms, as she had lived her whole life.

Nathalie dropped everything to drive the three hours from Montreal to Shawinigan, where the family gathered for one last evening. There were tears and there were laughs—and, boy, were there commands. Madame Bergeron was conducting like a symphony master. She wanted everything to be just so. Nathalie recounted to me that she could not help but be frustrated at her mum’s painstaking choice over her final pyjamas and dressing gown, until she realised that her beloved maman was dying as she lived—elegant and oh so bossy.

The house was full on the afternoon that Nicole Bergeron died, peacefully dressed in white daisies. Her bed was surrounded by loved ones, who shared the most tender of moments. She was able to speak to each of them, and the words that she spoke to my best friend were the salve that has helped Nathalie to come to terms with her loss. Nathalie has also described her mother’s death as beautiful. Madame Bergeron, tu me manques énormément.

Please contrast Madame Bergeron’s passing with the way in which my mum, Irene, died, 12 years ago this week, after more than two weeks without food or water. She was surrounded by love, absolutely. She had also been assessed as having capacity and as making her choice free from coercion, but she did not have a peaceful death. She took the only legal option that was open to her under our current laws—and it was awful. I do not have the words to describe to members how awful it was, Presiding Officer. If you have not seen somebody starve to death, there are no words to describe it. She deserved better.

My decade at Scottish Women’s Aid taught me how real coercion can be, but it also taught me that the answer to risk is not to look away from difficult situations. I spent time training police officers, social workers and housing staff about coercive control before this place had even named it and recognised it. With the right skills, training and opportunity, it can be detected. To say otherwise is simply to walk away from a wicked issue.

Right now, behind closed doors across this country, women with terminal illnesses who are experiencing domestic abuse have no safeguards. The bill would help to bring that coercion into the light, to remove the power from abusive men and to return that agency to its rightful owner. That is what the bill is about—agency and autonomy. We must give our folk choice. It is, after all, the settled will of the majority of our constituents, including those who are disabled and those who have experienced domestic abuse, especially those who are terminally ill. They are forgotten in all these conversations. They are our most vulnerable citizens. Please vote yes for them.

20:56

I, too, thank Liam McArthur, from the bottom of my heart, for enabling and empowering us to debate a very important issue.

I clearly recall staring for a full five minutes last June at a message from my best friend as the world around me fell away. It was a message of four small words with mammoth implications: “She has called it.”

I had known Madame Bergeron from the age of 19. She was the epitome of a classy French chic woman—always immaculately turned out, slightly aloof and sarcastic, and oh so determined. She terrified me and awed me in equal measure. She had pioneering heart surgery when both her kids were still teenagers, and she lived her whole life disabled, yet she commanded every room that she ever entered. She was not always easy to live with, but she was loved fiercely by all those around her.

She had been living with terminal cancer for more than three years, and it had consumed her entire abdomen. That day in June, she had sat down heavily in her wheelchair and felt something burst inside her very distended stomach. At that moment, she knew that she would develop full-blown peritonitis and sepsis and would require all kinds of pain medications and sedation to try to manage her symptoms, in a hospital setting, before succumbing within the week.

That was, categorically, not the path that she wanted. She had lived with the very best of palliative care and, for most of those three years, the palliative effect of the ability to have an assisted death. She called that her security blanket. It had given her great comfort as she chose to live for as long as she could, with grace and courage.

She was anything but suicidal. A Catholic of strong faith in the Quebec Roman Catholic tradition, she said that she knew that her God was merciful and that she had the support of her priest and her community when she set in train the plans that would help her to leave this world on her terms, as she had lived her whole life.

Nathalie dropped everything to drive the three hours from Montreal to Shawinigan, where the family gathered for one last evening. There were tears and there were laughs—and, boy, were there commands. Madame Bergeron was conducting like a symphony master. She wanted everything to be just so. Nathalie recounted to me that she could not help but be frustrated at her mum’s painstaking choice over her final pyjamas and dressing gown, until she realised that her beloved maman was dying as she lived—elegant and oh so bossy.

The house was full on the afternoon that Nicole Bergeron died, peacefully dressed in white daisies. Her bed was surrounded by loved ones, who shared the most tender of moments. She was able to speak to each of them, and the words that she spoke to my best friend were the salve that has helped Nathalie to come to terms with her loss. Nathalie has also described her mother’s death as beautiful. Madame Bergeron, tu me manques énormément.

Please contrast Madame Bergeron’s passing with the way in which my mum, Irene, died, 12 years ago this week, after more than two weeks without food or water. She was surrounded by love, absolutely. She had also been assessed as having capacity and as making her choice free from coercion, but she did not have a peaceful death. She took the only legal option that was open to her under our current laws—and it was awful. I do not have the words to describe to members how awful it was, Presiding Officer. If you have not seen somebody starve to death, there are no words to describe it. She deserved better.

My decade at Scottish Women’s Aid taught me how real coercion can be, but it also taught me that the answer to risk is not to look away from difficult situations. I spent time training police officers, social workers and housing staff about coercive control before this place had even named it and recognised it. With the right skills, training and opportunity, it can be detected. To say otherwise is simply to walk away from a wicked issue.

Right now, behind closed doors across this country, women with terminal illnesses who are experiencing domestic abuse have no safeguards. The bill would help to bring that coercion into the light, to remove the power from abusive men and to return that agency to its rightful owner. That is what the bill is about—agency and autonomy. We must give our folk choice. It is, after all, the settled will of the majority of our constituents, including those who are disabled and those who have experienced domestic abuse, especially those who are terminally ill. They are forgotten in all these conversations. They are our most vulnerable citizens. Please vote yes for them.

20:56