# 29 - Here (And Back Again)

"Thus, In Ireland, the problem of being a writer was in a very specific sense a linguistic problem. But it was also a political problem."
- Seamus Deane

"It's not easy being green."
- Kermit the Frog

--

Unless you write letters to Superbad congratulating "him" on the time he drunkenly headbutted that one chick, you're probably aware that tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day. For most of you, this will mean one thing and one thing only: re/connecting with your inner "Irishness", regardless of whether or not you're from the Emerald Isle or connected to it on any level. Translation: you will remake Watchmen with yourself as Malin Akerman and alcohol as Patrick Wilson's penis. Well, as Joe Public and everyone he knows surrender any remaining autonomy by drinking themselves into oblivion tomorrow, all in the name of Ireland, I don't expect I'll be joining them.

Tomorrow, as with the other 364 days in the year, I expect I'll be preoccupied by something other than where the cheapest green Guinness can be found. That's Northern Ireland for you. Yes, as anyone familiar with me, this blog, and its podcast offspring will know, I am from Belfast. Depending on who you speak to, that's either "Belfast, Ireland" or "Belfast, Northern Ireland." In my case... well, it's somewhere in-between.

You see, for someone from a Protestant background, festivities like St. Patrick's Day are traditionally met with certain reactions. On the softer end of the scale, this means polite indifference or apathy. The other extreme involves wadding petrol-soaked sheets into a bottle and wondering where that darn lighter got to.

Much has been made in recent years of the great progress made in the Peace Process Here. This is not entirely unfounded. Stormont, the Northern Ireland Assembly, has returned and, though less than stable, has recently delivered the devolution of policing and justice to the Province (just about.) The last 18 months or so have seen a Roll Call of paramilitary assmasters putting their arms beyond use. Moreover, the mood "on the ground" is one of - to invoke Chasing Amy in a discussion of the Irish Question - "a more tolerant age." Football tops are less a walking bullseye than they once were and Irish heritage, traditionally a mainstay of the Catholic element of the community, has enjoyed a raised profile culturally (witness the rise of Irish language TV shows such as Blas Ceoil and the almost perfectly named Seacht.)

As is so often the case in this part of the world though, these achievements have been tarnished by a number of tragedies. A year ago this month, the attack on Massereene army barracks that resulted in the deaths of two British soldiers brought into sharp focus the threat still posed by dissident Republicans. Constable Peadar Heffron, the Irish speaking, Catholic captain of the PSNI's GAA team, lost a leg in a car bomb attack some months ago. More recently, an attempt was made to resurrect a Loyalist paramilitary faction. Apparently, all you need to do this is put "The real..." before the old title, like some sort of rubbish Ghost Busters.

And on and on.

Yesterday, the cover of the Belfast Telegraph caught my eye (see above.) Apologies for the picture quality. Webcam job.

Here are the salient stats from the poll behind the story:

* More people described themselves as Irish (42%) than British (39%.)
* 18% identify themselves as Northern Irish.
* 42% think that Northern Ireland will still be part of the U.K. in 2021, the centennial of the Province.
* 42% think the opposite.
* One in four Protestants (24%) said that they think Ireland will be united by 2021.
* 55% believe Northern Ireland should remain within the U.K.
* The poll suggests the Republic's economic woes influenced the current opinion towards reunification.

Perhaps the most interesting figure of all is also the clearest: nationality matters to 88% of people polled. At least, we seem to agree on that much.

What does this all mean, then? According to Maurice Hayes and Linda Beers, two contributors to the story at hand, nothing very encouraging. A continuation of the existing status quo. More of the same. There are those who find this stuff important while many young people don't.

It's been a long time since these issues didn't matter to me, but I still remember what it felt like. Even if I could recapture that, I wouldn't want to. Despite all the pain and uncertainty that the identity crisis this place can give someone, I'd take that over blindly getting poleaxed because the calendar tells me to any day. The same goes for giving someone a kicking because of the colour of their passport.

Maybe, we've been going about it all wrong. Maybe we shouldn't be so concerned about red, white, and blue or green, white, and gold. Maybe, to paraphrase a classic Gretzkyism, we shouldn't worry about where we came from as much as where we're going. If we keep going the way we are, we could have bigger problems than filling in nationality questionnaires.

--

Ian Pratt is split over his future existence, too. He does wish everyone a Happy St. Patrick's Day, though (Beannacht Lá Fhéile Pádraig!) It's all about moderation.

Sources:
The Belfast Telegraph, Linda Beers; Adrian Rutherford and Maurice Hayes.
"Joyce the Irishman." Seamus Deane.

One-Shot (12/02/10)

This week's Question Time came from Belfast, home to myself and many other disgruntled citizens. Something else we're known for - sarcasm - is in bountiful evidence during the show. Witness the open hostility between Jim Allister and Gerry Kelly, culminating in the latter's deployment of the phrase "political dinoasur."

Get your laugh on right here.

One-Shot (07/10/09)

Because I put Here down too much.

One-Shot (08/07/09)

Yesterday's Michael Jackson memorial broadcast has divided opinion here. Opinions divided in Northern Ireland? I know. It never fails to amaze and infuriate me how some people Here can't get their head around the idea that something sad can be turned into anything other than just an awkward inevitability for the grief-stricken. It's like an Irish Wake never happened.

One-Shot (27/06/09)

Does political content on this blog make you:

1. unsubscribe?
2. interested?
3. very happy to not be from Northern Ireland?
4. very unhappy to be from Northern Ireland?

(Choose more than one, if necessary.)

24: Here

Today, the U.V.F. (Ulster Volunteer Force) and Red Hand Commandos (different name for the same thing) are said to have totally decommissioned their arms. The U.D.A. (see Red Hand Commandos) also claim to have begun following suit. You can read all about it here.

I never thought I'd see the day, but the same went for the I.R.A.'s 2005 disarmament. Why the guarded tone, then? It's "an historic day.... further testimony to the transformation in Northern Ireland", according to Secretary of State Shaun Woodward [featured BBC article.] Well, as we witnessed in March, paramilitaries Here are not unlike your average Hollywood ghouls; beheading one doesn't mean two won't pop back up in its place.

It's more than that, though. Just yesterday I watched a newly unfurled U.V.F. flag rippling in the breeze, as I walked through neighbouring streets. It, of course, wasn't alone. Moments later I passed a man wearing a U.V.F. shirt. Not a D.I.Y., Primark plain white tee later deformed by a home-made print, a genuine "I'm in the U.V.F" shirt. That this is probably that man's "job" and "uniform" (outside of 501's, a black bomber jacket, and balaclava, of course) appalls me on a level beyond concision.

Watching that clown walk around with impunity in the middle of a sunny Friday afternoon was, at once, infuriating and enlightening; it's our problem in microcosm. Too many people still don't see the abhorrence of their ways. His demeanour was not that of a man finally being dragged into civility along with his cohorts, nor was it a man afraid for his future; rather, it was the same nonchalance exhibited by the sectarian mooncats I went to high school with, the guys who drew Loyalist murals during classes, hummed and drummed Loyalist tunes on the tables with their pens, and used used the terms "Fenian" and "taig" in much the same breath as Nazi - a swagger (or saunter, as we say Here) that said "the more things change...."

Flying your country's flag, or whatever flag you wish, from a pole on the front of your house and flying terrorist - again, terrorist - flags (plural) on streetlights around your area are not the same thing.

I'm not ignorant enough to accuse the police of being ineffectual, but, in these matters, question marks arise as to their conviction. Any such flag spotted or reported to an officer should be removed instantly. The same must also go for murals, no matter which acronym they champion. If we are, indeed, progressing, then there can be no alternative, least of all the shameful "that's just the way it is" attitude so prevalent in society to this day.

I hate the fact that I thought better of reporting this offensive behaviour for fear of the inaction it would likely meet. I hate the fact that, after so long, these issues still annoy me this deeply. But most of all I hate the fact that the good people of Northern Ireland seem consigned to pessimism as long as it's "Us VS. Them" Here.

--

Ian Pratt finds "the bright side" of life increasingly hard to look upon.

One-Shot (22/06/09)

I'd rather not remind everyone how ugly my homeland can be, but sometimes it's necessary. Now, it's necessary. In case you couldn't be bothered reading the article linked above (it's OK, neither did I), Esther Rantzen said Northern Irish people are addicted to hatred. She attempted to back-pedal on said radio show today, softening the edges of her original statement. Rantzen's remarks were met with mostly aggro comebacks to the effect of "we're not that bad!" A small portion of callers, however, backed her up. Much as it pains me, I know where they're coming from. Now, if you thought I was copping out just then by not saying "I would, too!", here's why. It's pure falsehoods (I mean, hello? Have you forgotten whose blog you're reading?) No, we're not addicted to hate; we're conditioned to hate. Our status quo lives or dies on whether we accept this grotesque education or show it the business end of our collective Chuck Taylor's. Anyone to listen to Episode Three of Back-Talk will know my hard-line pessimism towards cross-community healing here, but to suggest a people so behassled by hatred actually enjoy it is misguided and more than a little ignorant.

One-Shot (03/05/09)

With so many cack (pron. c'yack) videos out there, choosing only the best requires a level of quality control wholly lacking on most blogs. The urge to generate hits causes egregious errors of judgement; it's tough. Grandiloquent Vagaries destroys this problem like Jamie Redknapp destroys measured punditry. Exhibit A: Northern Ireland Daleks. I don't expect there to be much crossover appeal here. If you think that's going to stop me alerting you to its presence, hello and welcome to Grandiloquent Vagaries & Other Miscellany, a blog you'll never read again!

Episode 2 bests its predecessor in funny. That there is a link to it above is without coincidence. In the spirit of the series, I'd like to say fair play to its creators. Yiz 'er grand. Like like like.

N.B. I'd watch an episode of this before I'd watch an episode of "Doctor Who."

One-Shot (10/03/09)

Fuck sake. To paraphrase the latest CHUD Show's opening salvo, my life in Northern Ireland is like a treasure map where the x marks the shit.

One-Shot (08/03/09)

Last night, I stuck two fingers up to my cold by going to see Watchmen with Neil. Under normal circumstances, this post would've been a straightforward gush over the movie, why the wait was worth it, and how me not getting to play Rorschach was, ultimately, for the best. At the very least, it would've been a big thank you to everyone who voted yes in the Sexiest poll. Then I got home and heard the news. I spent a large portion of Friday evening discussing the finer points of "The Irish Question" with Christophe, so the timing couldn't have been worse. A decade with some good work undone in an instant, the cautious optimism held until moments before extinguished, one man's desire to leave his homeland strengthened.

Before Watchmen, we got the trailer for Fifty Dead Men Walking. If you haven't read this, the flick is the biopic of Martin McGartland, an IRA operative turned British informant. Me and Neil made the inevitable jokes about the movie. It was an easy target. The use of 'Alternative Ulster', the bit where the cop said "Where are yiz goin lads?", the treatment of our blood-soaked past as the backdrop for a "pulse-pounding thriller" or whatever the blurbs said. The ability to laugh through despair comes pretty easy to us here.

Time was, yesterday's tragedy would've been behind me pretty quickly. That's what years of unfortunate practice yields. The wound still feels too raw to see things clearly, but I'm less sure, this time. I keep thinking about it, feeling sorry for the families, wishing for the embarrassment and heartache to end. Moreover, I get the impression this level of apathy might extend beyond my door.

I know I go on a bit about home - sometimes with tongue firmly in cheek - but that's what patriots do. I make no apologies for that. One line from last night stands out more than anything regarding the events at Massereene; "An attack on one is an attack on all of us." Some of us would do well to keep that in mind.