Let us, for once, put aside our resentment and pay tribute

federal nation, with more of the functions of government exercised by 50

devolved states, and the country's chief executive serves primarily as

her monarch at home, her policeman abroad, the keeper of her gates, and

the prophet of his polity.

His powers are greater than those of our Prime Minister in some

respects, he rules alone, for example; his Cabinet only advises; and in

others lesser -- he, unlike the Prime Minister, has not the legislature

as his dutiful poodle.

But he is the President of the United States of America, commander in

chief of the mightiest armed forces on earth, de facto king of the

richest country there is -- for most of our lifetimes freely elected

head of one of two great superpowers, and today the freely elected head

of the last power there is. We have no vote in this election, no part in

this process; yet we sit here watching, in mingled hope and trepidation,

for the President of the United States is our president too.

At his command we go to war. In a moment of his ire, were he roused,

these British Isles could be reduced to a mound of radioactive clinker.

One twitch on the strings of his land's enormous financial reserves, and

our currency and economy and banks would come crashing down.

Our politicals slaver to be seen simpering and intimate in the

presence of the great man; his glory shared, his fellowship sweet. And

he is but the ruler and figurehead of his people, whose culture and

whose ways have become so much our culture and our ways. We chew their

gum and smoke their weed; we feed our weans on their burgers and clothe

them in their soft tough denim cloth, and all drink their fizzy brown

pop.

We turn on our radio, and it is American music that blares forth, or

British music born from its spawn -- John T. Jazz, wistful soul,

wrenching rhythm'n'blues, long mixed in that blend we call rock.

Dead Americans are our icons: Bogart, Dean, Presley, Monroe. Live

Americans make our entertainments: comics, thrillers, cop shows, juke

boxes, boobies. More and more Americanised is our language. We have

sweatshirts, jeans, trainers, autos.

We hang out, tune in, drop out or turn on. Yo! There is not a little

boy in this land who does not dream of going to America. And there are

professionals here who dream of little else, and not mere actors or

singers. The university professor or consultant surgeon may live well in

Bearsden, but in America he could aspire to fortune indeed -- a vast

salary, several cars, a plush suburban villa with pool and sauna, and a

cosy holiday cabin in the mountains by the lakeside.

We admire them, we fear them; we gorge on their produce, and goggle at

their riches. And most ferociously, we despise and detest them. Every

British politician knows that nothing arouses such cheap adulation as

the little snide anti Americanism.

For decades the princes of left-wing faddery, woolly academics,

back-pack students, demagogues, and single-issue fanatics of every

shade, have squealed only good of some of the most vicious and

totalitarian regimes this world has ever known, and painted America and

her people as the Great Satan. We curse them for dropping atomic bombs

on Japan, though that country had spread murder and mayhem throughout

the south-east Pacific.

We pillory America for her hopeless endeavours in Vietnam: that these

were solely in response to a ruthless northern aggressor is conveniently

forgotten.

We deride her for the appalling sufferings of her black minority over

a century -- though no land has ever so courageously faced up to its

shame in such regard as America did 30 years ago and the problems of

American blacks today are largely of their own making. We make out that

her generals and admirals are power-crazed warlords. Though in truth,

America's great soldiers have been thoughtful and humble men: it was not

the Yanks that gave the world Field Marshal Haig and ''Bomber'' Harris.

Endlessly we mock American ''materialism,'' and ''consumerism,''

though we ourselves queue to devour Stateside goodies, and the Soviet

brand of materialism put people in gulags.

Mind you, I'm not so stupid as to insist that, but for American

benevolence, all of Europe would be under communist dictatorship. I know

better than that, without the Americans, Europe and these islands would

be part of the on-going Thousand-Year Reich. There would be swastikas in

every square and jackboots at every parade, and not a Jew nor gipsy nor

Slav alive between Strome Ferry and Sevastopol.

Today a great nation chooses her leader. Let us, for once, put aside

our resentment and pay tribute to that country and her people. Her

problems are serious, and her failings are real: and yet, in almost

every respect, her society and her values are superior to our own. Our

country strangles in the archaic ropes of snobbery and class, and boys

and girls are still judged from birth by blood and accent; in America,

life is fluid and fair, and all of drive and ability may reach the top.

A land of equals, where you are taken for what you are. A land of

adventure, of ever bubbling optimism; here there is none to say it

cannot be done, or should never be done, or that you are no better than

should be.

A land of incredible enthusiasm, inventiveness, and energy; seedbed of

a thousand gadgets, creator of life-saving medicines and technologies,

the country that put man on the moon.

It is a land of freedom. The freedom of emotion and simplicity,

holding by simple values and timeless virtues, where each man loves his

little spot of earth, and where home and family form an abiding bedrock.

The freedom of religion: often chaotic, eccentric, and embarrassing, but

ever fervent, always vital. And, most of all, the freedom of expression:

under that flag, any opinion may be spoken, written, or broadcast; under

that constitution, the citizen has a right to know; under those laws,

the guilty and the corrupt may not hide behind defamation statutes or

Official Secrets Acts, and two young reporters may bring down crooks in

the highest office in the realm.

Here is energy, here is liberty, here is life. It bubbles and boils,

and often overflows: there is, yes, too much violence, and sometimes

riots, and plenty of misery if you care to look for it, but also much

beauty. From the snows of Alaska to the glades of Florida, round the

hills of Tennessee, the baking sands of Nevada, and about the groves of

New England to the glass towers and lights of the vibrant eastern

cities.

Today a great nation chooses its leader, in concern and fear, but also

a surging faith in democratic enterprise. We are here, in grey and sour

stability, smugly proud in our older paths and sober ways. But how

glorious was our yesterday, we may snarl, and how ghastly these

Americans: rulers of the present, makers of tomorrow.