JK Rowling has challenged Scotland’s new hate crime law in a series of social media posts - inviting police to arrest her if they believe she has committed an offence.

The Harry Potter author, who lives in Edinburgh, described several transgender women as men, including convicted prisoners, trans activists and other public figures.

She said “freedom of speech and belief” was at an end if accurate description of biological sex was outlawed.

Earlier, Scotland’s first minister Humza Yousaf said the new law would deal with a “rising tide of hatred”.

The Hate Crime and Public Order (Scotland) Act 2021 creates a new crime of “stirring up hatred” relating to age, disability, religion, sexual orientation, transgender identity or being intersex.

Ms Rowling, who has long been a critic of some trans activism, posted on X on the day the new legislation came into force.

  • gregorum
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    3 months ago

    you totally wanna write a novel about your mom

    Not unusual. Most men have a Freudian streak.

    • Flying Squid@lemmy.world
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      3 months ago

      I’m glad you didn’t say Oedipal, because right now, all I want to do is murder her.

      We had this conversation not too long ago-

      “I thought the Mayo Clinic was going to be like the ER, where a whole team of doctors works on you at once.”

      “Mom, I’ve been in the ER four times in the last year. They don’t do that there.”

      “Yes they do, I’ve seen the shows!”

      • gregorum
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        3 months ago

        I have epilepsy. A special type of epilepsy. A type of epilepsy they didn’t know existed when I was “diagnosed” with it.

        For the doctors - teams of neurologists and neuropsychologists - to treat me, the best option in 1991, after my drowning accident and subsequent TBI was a new study at Boston Children’s Hospital. For months, almost a year since the “accident”, doctors had run me through a course of medications meant to control my seizures, but none worked. I was desperate. My parents were desperate. We were willing to try anything.

        For two weeks in March, during spring break, in 1992 and 1993, I went to the long-term monitoring unit at Boston Children’s Hospital and participated in a study where I had over 100 EEG leads glued to my head and they tested various different drugs on us to determine which ones would - or even could - control our seizures.

        They discovered that, quite logically, that when someone has damage to a particular part of the brain (in my case, the frontal temporal lobe), seizures can be managed by giving the patient medication made to treat problems endemic to that region of the brain— in my case, either mood stabilizers or meds for migraines/cluster headaches.

        I learned a long time ago that my time in a hospital, around doctors, going through a lot of uncomfortable and even scary procedures can really pay off in the end— and can even help countless others for the effort.

        So don’t fret, buddy. You’re in good hands. I know the strain and pressure of being in a tough place with medical issues. Just be glad it’s 2024 and no time before.

        Best wishes!

        • Flying Squid@lemmy.world
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          3 months ago

          Thanks! I’m glad I didn’t go through something like that as a kid. It must have been super rough. I can handle it a lot better in my mid-40s I’m sure.

          • gregorum
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            3 months ago

            You’re at the best place you could be. They’re gonna take care of you. Tell your mom to relax

              • gregorum
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                3 months ago

                Oh, now, I’m sure game of Presidential Election Scrabble could quell that tide!

                😉

                • Flying Squid@lemmy.world
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                  3 months ago

                  We went with a jigsaw puzzle instead. They’re frustrating for everyone involved and no one wins, so it’s far less contentious.

                  • gregorum
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                    3 months ago

                    Until you get to the Agatha Christian mystery of “who’s hiding the missing piece?” and your mother’s refusal to believe it was simply lost over the years.