Irish football as we knew it is dead

The solution to Irish football’s decline is not to fire Stephen Kenny – it is to keep him, and fire everyone else at the FAI.

The biggest-selling Irish-published book in 2020 was “Champagne Football”, which told in great detail the story of the destruction of Irish football thanks, in no small part, to the utter incompetence and hubris of a man now known in football circles as John “Fucking” Delaney.

Anyone who read that book cannot have been surprised by the 1-0 loss against Luxembourg; the only surprise is that it wasn’t by more.

Yet the millions watching at home were seemingly operating under the delusion that Ireland should, for some reason, be thumping the likes of Luxembourg by two or three goals.

The question to ask all these people is – why?

Ireland has, at the moment, not one single player coveted by any decent club in Europe. And after a decade and a half of stinking up the international game with putrid anti-football, we should be grateful that we’re allowed to play with the rest at all.

We are reaping what we sowed in the usual cesspit of corruption and incompetence that is Irish public life, and we should get used to the idea that things are going to get worse before they get better.

Yet still the fans gather and sing “The Fields Of Athenry”, that anthem of the gaslit that for generations has been our only achievement of note at the finals of a major tournament while the others got on with the task of actually playing the game.

Changing the manager after the Luxembourg result would not make one iota of difference, as results are now irrelevant, and they have been for quite some time.

To mangle a quote by Bill Shankley, winning is no longer a matter of life or death – it is much less important than that.

A cancer of incompetence is feeding on the cadaver of Irish football, metastasized by the whispering traitors who would sell their own mothers for a selfie with a well-known player and a grubby bit of power.

As such, the game can no longer be judged by what happens on the pitch, at any level.

It is, in every way, not fit for purpose.

24 hours after Ireland, with its population of five million, were beaten by Luxembourg, Denmark (population 5.8 million) were beating Moldova 8-0.

The Danes have a league with a hugely lucrative TV deal and teams that regularly qualify for the group stages of major European competitions.

The League Of Ireland has a one-camera set-up for most matches on a dodgy streaming platform – and in at least one ground, that camera is placed in an area no fans are allowed, so decrepit is the stadium in question.

There is never any guarantee that the teams that start the league campaign will actually get to finish it. The paucity of resources available to it are a stain on what was once a proud football nation whose domestic league produced players that went on to play for Liverpool and Manchester United.

On the coaching side, we continue to suffer from Dutch “erm” disease, where anyone with a Netherlands passport is considered a soccer savant, regardless of the evidence of our own eyes and ears.

We persist in talking of six-year-olds as elite prospects, despite all the evidence that such thinking is a mountain of sparkly unicorn shite dreamed up by weak-minded idiots who know nothing about either children or football.

The Football Association of Ireland has long been a triumphant failure of style over substance, despite having none of the former.

It’s a sporting Ponzi scheme that has ripped the dreams from the bosom of loyal fans while pissing on players and telling them it’s raining, all led by a golden shower of shysters who, staggeringly, are still free men despite an incompetence bordering on the criminal

The Irish men’s soccer team does not need a new manager – the current one is about the only one who has talked any sense at all in the organisation in the last ten years.

Instead it needs the corporate version of an oncologist to weed out and destroy the cancer of vested interests and the assorted sleeveens that have been allowed to usurp the game that used to be ours.

Irish football as we knew it is dead, and what has replaced it is no longer worth having.

Just for once, can ordinary Irish people get some justice?

I fucking hate Valentine’s Day.

Not because it’s a bullshit Hallmark holiday, but because of what that date and that day mean to the people from my part of Dublin.

Dawn on Valentine’s Day in 1981 on the northside brought with it the smell of smoke and the unfathomable news of the tragedy that was the fire in the Stardust, where 48 young people died.

214 more sustained non-fatal injuries.

579 others were there and escaped more or less physically unscathed.

But blood and burns and broken bones are not the only way to measure injury.

A whole city has been steeped in trauma ever since.

For days, the hearses criss-crossed between the churches in our communities. In the months afterwards we saw them on our streets, the young people whose skin had been melted from their bones as the molten ceilings collapsed, their hair burned off their scalps, their lungs destroyed.

Ask anyone who made it out and they will tell you the anguished cries from those trapped inside was the second-worst thing they ever heard in their lives, beaten only by the silence as the screams stopped for good.

Time has not healed those wounds – in the case of the Stardust, it only made them deeper.

The people of Coolock and Donnycarney and Finglas buried their children – their pride and joy – and then, as the months went on, they heard that these children  died because the fire exits were chained shut, all to ensure that no-one got in for free.

But this is Ireland, and no-one is ever responsible, and the vicious lies that are the lot of working-class people were aired in defence of those who should have shouldered the blame.

The fire was blamed on arson; incredibly, it was a claim taken seriously. The dead were smeared, the seed of doubt planted. What would you expect from these northside pigs, but grunts?

The other night I sat and listened to my friend Clare’s mother as she spoke about her memory of that night, and how one of her friends was grounded. Clare’s mam and another pal begged her friend’s mam to relent, and eventually she did and they went off to the disco together.

The grounded girl died in the inferno, and that guilt has never lessened.

If only.

If only.

If only.

That cursed fucking day passed again this year as it always does, lip service paid to the idea of justice for the families, but whereas once the graves in Balgriffin and Sutton were filled with the young victims of this terrible tragedy, now they are being followed by the parents who have fought so long for the truth, but time is running out.

Aoife Moore, a working-class woman from the city of Derry, another place to have known the icy hand of tragedy, wrote movingly about Christine Keegan when she passed away last year.

Christine and her husband John lost two daughters that night, and almost lost a third, but people like Christine and John and Antoinette who survived don’t matter to Ireland.

They are working-class people, and as such have nothing to offer but their labour and their sacrifice – in their case the highest sacrifice of all, as they buried two of their children, only to find the truth of why their children died would be buried even deeper.

Then this week comes the news that the hours and hours of testimony about the Mother And Baby Homes had been destroyed, and eventually one has to realise that this is no accident; this is a systemic denial of justice to those looked down upon by the powers that be.

You’d want to believe that people in power are doing their best for all of us, but time and again they tell us who they are.

Time and again they protected paedophiles and rapists.

Time and again they protected those who bankrupted the country and forced thousands into exile, giving the bankers back their place at the trough as quickly as possible.

Time and again they protected those who said that it was right that the fire exits at the Stardust should remain locked, lest the box office be down a few quid.

I was going on ten years of age when the Stardust happened. I have never once gone into a bar or a nightclub since without knowing how I was going to get out of it. In the aftermath schools and businesses held fire drills, new regulations came in, and we all became safety-conscious. Every green exit sign I see reminds me of those 48 children who never came home.

But nobody ever spent a night in jail over the chains on the fire exits.

Nobody has been arrested yet over the 798 children buried without record at a former Mother And Baby home in Tuam, County Galway.

Because when it comes to the Irish working class, it’s not worth it. They are only valued for their labour, their sacrifice, and their silence.

Wouldn’t it be nice if, just for once, Irish leaders – the people briefly selected to hold power before the next bunch of inevitable disappointments takes over – could say “this is not right, and it needs to be fixed – what do you want and need?” instead of kicking the can down the road?

Wouldn’t it be great if we lived in a country where those in power used it for the ordinary people, instead of playing the long game and simply waiting for them to die off without compensation, without reparation, without acknowledgement of the grievous wrongs that have been inflicted upon them?

Every year on Valentine’s Day, I think not of chocolates and roses and love and poems.

I think of padlocks and chains on fire exits.

I think of those screams as the firemen tried to pull the bars off the toilet windows, before that deafening, deathly silence fell suddenly and told them that their efforts were in vain.

I think of the dull, grey days and the hearses and funerals, the long list of 48 names read out in our churches as they were laid to rest, and again a month later, and I think of the short list of those held to account for what happened – no-one.

And I ask – wouldn’t it be great if, just for once, ordinary Irish people could get some justice?

 

Until we learn what racism is, we need to stop talking about it

Get a Sharpie or a marker pen, and give it to someone else. Now try to take it off them without getting any marks on your hands or arms while they try to stop you.

Now imagine that the Sharpie was a knife, and you’ll get some idea of how hard it is to safely disarm someone holding a sharp weapon.

When this exercise is done on self-defence courses, the “wounds” are usually only to the hands and arms. In the real world, the face and neck would also be targets, and you don’t need me to draw you a picture of the damage that can be done.

This week in Ireland 27-year-old George Nkencho, whose family said he suffered from mental illness, was armed with a knife when he was shot dead by police. As George was Black, no time was wasted in turning this tragedy into the latest battlefield in the culture war so longed for by a tiny minority of Irish racists.

This poisonous minority of grifters and opportunists is not to be given the oxygen of amplification, but it is the “respectable” racists – the ones who, in their blissful ignorance, spread the lies and arguments on their behalf – that need to take a look at themselves.

It’s amazing how quickly they will out themselves when given the chance. I put out a couple of tweets last night pointing out the need for us to think about what racism actually is and what immediately dismissing it says about us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seconds later they were in my mentions, proving my point.

He was not “a bastion of innocence”, I was told – the inference being that the rumours circulating about the deceased having a string of convictions for violent offences were true.

They weren’t.

And even if they were, that is not a death sentence in itself.

Every time the state uses deadly violence, it is incumbent upon us to analyse the situation and ask what went wrong and what could be done better. Death is never a successful outcome.

In doing so, we must consider every possibility, and when the deceased person is a person of colour, then we must consider that too.

In doing so, we must consider more than the moment the trigger was pulled, or the person that pulled it. We must look at every circumstance that led everyone to that place, at that time, and to that outcome.

This means considering not just the motivations for all involved and the reasons for the outcomes. If race turned out not to be a factor in any of this, then there is nothing to fear.

If it was, then changes have to be made.

Then there is the broader perspective of George Nkencho’s mental health and the role race and racism played in his life until his untimely death. What effect did racism have on him growing up, and the necessary services and medical care he did or did not receive?

To immediately dismiss racism as a possible factor is to fundamentally misunderstand what racism is and how we understand it.

A clue – as white Irish people, we don’t. And we cannot.

What many seem to be saying is that “in the moment, the police officer would not have thought about skin colour before shooting”. While it may well be true, drawing further conclusions from that would be to miss the point entirely.

In a force where racism against Travellers is seemingly endemic, can we really say that racism could in no way have been a factor?

Are we so afraid of an open and honest discussion about racism because we are afraid of what we might find?

If your immediate reaction to the questions around George Nkencho’s death is to dismiss possible issues of racism around it, you are part of the problem.

If your reaction includes trying to find reasons why killing him was justified, you’re part of the problem.

If you are not capable of listening to the experiences of those who directly experience the kind of racism that you will never be subjected to, you’re part of the problem.

Racism is not simply hating Black people or Travellers.

It is a broad, sprawling mass of contradictions and fears and ideas.

It is individual and collective, personal and structural.

It is complex and confounding, and there are no simple answers – nor will we find any answers at all, if we are not prepared to listen.

The truth is that Black Irish people reacted strongly George Nkencho. Our duty is not to tell them about what racism is and isn’t, but to listen to them.

The pain and trauma of seeing a man shot dead in this way is traumatic enough; to see him so quickly and so gladly smeared as a criminal who deserved what he got is something else entirely.

This is not the time for the comfortable to be talking, trying to reassure themselves that there is no problem.

Instead it is a time for reflection and for listening and, later, for action guided by those exposed to the things we don’t understand.

Until we learn what racism is, we need to stop talking about it.

 

 

 

 

As Biden Wins, There Can Be No Forgiveness Without Repentance

The US presidential race hadn’t even been called for Joe Biden when the first predictable calls began to come to consider the feelings of the tin-pot junta of grifters and carnival-barkers that was in the process of being ousted.

Rick Santorum was on CNN, whingeing that this was a difficult time for Republicans, for Trump and for his family, and that the victors should show compassion for them.

The race may be over, but the gaslighting of the American people – and by extension, the rest of the world – goes on.

The same supporters who four years ago were wearing “Trump 2016 – Fuck Your Feelings” t-shirts as they celebrated his win were now demanding that their hot, salty tantrum tears be dabbed away.

What happens next is on Trump, his regime and his supporters. They cannot and should not be automatically forgiven – first, they must repent.

This is not the darkest period in American history; from the fact that a Civil War was needed to end slavery to the drone strikes on weddings in Asian mountains that were used as a sign of strength, there are many grubby, heinous episodes. Many of them happened while Joe Biden was vice-president.

But it has been four years of darkness, of open, vitriolic racism, of homophobia and transphobia, of lionising the absolute worst America has to offer while denigrating the best of it.

That is not on Biden, or his supporters.

That is on Trump, and his.

This election gave us many simple truths, but the underlying story is more complex, and not one many want to hear a day after Biden’s victory.

In truth, over seventy million people looked at the last four years, the persecution of minorities, the open murder of Black citizens by law enforcement, the shattered reputation of the world’s only superpower, the human dumpster fire that is Trump and his “politics” and thought – “Yes, I’ll vote for more of that.”

The final analysis is not yet complete, but many of those voters were white, middle-class Americans seeking to protect and preserve the privilege they have enjoyed for hundreds of years.

The fact that the race was close – Biden stuck on 253 electoral college votes for hours on end, despite having over four million more ballots in the popular vote – is a relic of the last time the victors sought to appease the vanquished.

The electoral college supposedly exists to ensure that the coastal “elites” (a word that has lost all meaning in American politics) from lording it over the good ordinary folks of the inland states, is a racist relic that allows the minority to punch above its weight every four years.

It doesn’t stop at the presidency. Each state, no matter how small, has two senators, which means Wyoming’s 600,000 people have the same number of lawmakers in the senate as California’s 40 million.

Still, it doesn’t stop. Districts are carved up and gerrymandered and systemic voter suppression is employed to ensure that the playing field is not just levelled, but rendered almost unplayable.

In 2016 the election data showed that, if only Black women voted, Hilary Clinton would have won all fifty states. A situation where Black women, and only Black women, could vote is of course unthinkable – until you remember that their forefathers found themselves in the exact opposite situation, where only white men could vote, not two centuries ago.

The Black American woman of today is still dealing with the racist legacy of that time; her vote is not valued, arguably not even by the Democrats who rode a wave of Black female empowerment back to the White House – and if push came to shove, over 70 million Americans would probably take it from her.

This is who we are asking to forgive and forget. But no Black American and no citizen of the world is under any compulsion to forgive anyone who has wronged them.

The process of healing does not start with a blanket pardon from its victims for the racism and fascist enablement of the last four years; it starts with the repentance of those who carried it out.

It is up to Republicans – politicians, political operatives and voters – to say “we got it wrong, and we’re sorry. We will never let this happen again.”

It is up to them to own their racism, their white supremacy, and the gullibility that allowed others to manipulate and exploit their unfounded fears for generations to the extent that America was almost lost to democracy completely.

The words of Biden and Harris in Delaware were a welcome salve on American wounds, but the onus is not on them to extend the hand of compromise. We know we are living in special times when the triumph of basic human decency and manners is somehow seen as a political revolution.

Trump is, as we have always known, a busted flush – a failed businessman, a failed president, and a total failure of the human spirit.

He will never repent, but America can.

Whether it will or not is up to those who so often claim to value the taking of “personal responsibility”, but who so often have no interest in doing so.

 

Hume’s long shadow shows the way to the light

Years ago I was in Derry, visiting places and interviewing people in an effort to find stories to tell audiences outside of Ireland that would help them understand the darker moments of our history.

Together with a Swedish colleague, I found myself in a bed and breakfast in Northern Ireland that had been one of the key sites in the slow, painful building of peace in the province.

It was to this place that John Hume had invited politicians and paramilitaries, diplomats and deacons, gunmen and gombeens to explore the possibility of bringing the violence that had blighted Northern Ireland for decades to an end.

First came the suits and the clerics and the uniforms, men and the odd woman anointed by some state or body to speak on behalf of the powerful without ever really saying anything.

Progress was slow. No-one wanted to give anything away, but he persisted.

Then, one night, John told the woman of the house that he had invited men there.

Violent men.

IRA men.

And that when they came to the house they might have guns, but that he had told them that under no circumstances could they be brought into the house.

Needless to say she was terrified, and even years afterwards she hummed and hawed about revealing the name of her business in public, lest she be a target.

She expressed these fears to John Hume, a man who forever looked like he was just about to slide out of whatever suit he was wearing mid-sentence, and that it wouldn’t bother him one bit as long as he said what he had to say.

“I’ll worry about the IRA, missus. You worry about the tea.”

She put the kettle on, as she had done for all her previous guests. The men came and left their guns outside.

Years later, she watched with pride as he received the Nobel Peace Prize as a reward for his bravery in talking to the men who, until then, could not – and many said should not – be talked to.

As we left the woman’s house we knew that our final chapter in this story would forever be unwritten; John had already begun the slide into dementia and was no longer receiving visitors or giving interviews.

Having passed away today, he will be lionised as a man of peace, and rightly so; but his death reminds us that much of what he fought for still goes unfulfilled.

There is much mention of his work in bringing about an end to the violence, but little has happened to bring about the kind of social justice that he craved, and the desire for which propelled him into politics.

He solved the greatest part of the puzzle, but illness robbed him of the chance to complete it.

His magnificent legacy now overshadows the social democratic politics that it was founded upon; we speak of him only in terms of the alchemy of his peace-making, and not the drudgery of his activism – how he set up and promoted credit unions, how he sought to replace the sham of Northern Irish democracy as it was with something more real and tangible and inclusive.

Most telling of all is that he stands alone; no other figure in Irish politics is as beloved, as respected or as revered.

But those elected representatives who now queue up to eulogise him are barely worthy of speaking his name. Their crass sound-bytes fail to fathom both the scale of his achievements and the essence of his being. They have been somewhat blinded by his brilliance, yet lack the curiosity to understand it or the courage and energy to emulate it.

The greatest way to pay homage to Hume is not to speak highly of him. He was never in it for the credit or the baubles and trappings of power.

It is to look at who he was and what he stood for – a social democrat committed to ensuring that everyone was treated with dignity and respect and could live out their lives in safety, security and prosperity.

Those who claim to have been inspired by him – especially the intellectual pygmies now queueing up to pay tribute to this Colossus – have no choice but to shoulder that mantle.

We need to live as he lived, and to lead as he led, always striving for the greater good.

His greatness and humble manner cast a long shadow over all of us in his wake, but in his humility and dignity he has already shown us the way out of it.

Though no longer blighted by violence, Northern Ireland and the island as a whole never reached the heights he expected of it – at least, not before he passed.

Let our gratitude not be empty words, soon forgotten.

Let it be the politics of diversity and inclusion and persistent compassion, the sense of solidarity that our nation’s big brother John taught us over all those years.

 

 

Dear Fellow White Journalists

This week I did a 20-minute podcast that I really didn’t want to make.

It bore the same title as this article and it came about because I got tired of seeing the same lazy ideas masquerading as compassion from journalists and media figures when it comes to Black Lives Matter.

As long as we’re not expected to do something or change anything, we’re all on board.

But ask us to give up anything – no matter how small – and the reservations kick in.

For most, by the time George Floyd was murdered it was already too late. The frenetic scramble to find Black people to comment belied the shallowness of their contact networks. They simply did not know anyone that they could talk to.

And even if they did, it’s not just any Black people that are acceptable – you need the right ones who will be illuminating but not angry, informative but not threatening. Preferably college-educated, well-spoken and with enough self-restraint not to cause us any embarrassment.

I’ve seen a lot of white people asking moving questions and stroking their chins thoughtfully as they drag the trauma out of people of colour before breaking for the commercials, never once interrogating the link between how our interviewees are treated and how are societal systems are constructed.

Now is not the time for us to be asking Black people to do our emotional labour for us, to be our unpaid tutors as they teach us the things that we should already know, because they have been telling us for centuries.

When we bring them in under the hot TV studio lights, we are not doing so to include them – we are doing it to make ourselves feel better.

We are doing it so that they can explain these things to us in a way that makes us feel comfortable about the choices we make and the norms we perpetuate.

Black Lives Matter, but not as much as our prosperity and peace of mind.

And when someone does something concrete, such as removing or re-editing a TV show, we cluck our tongues about how that’s going too far.

In the case of the British sitcom Fawlty Towers – one of the most brilliant comic shows ever made that also contained some of the most nakedly racist and xenophobic stereotypes ever on TV – is a good one.

“BUT WHERE WILL IT STOP?!” they cry, ignoring the simplicity of the answer.

It stops when a person of colour no longer has to worry about turning on a streaming service or a TV show without the risk of them hearing the word “n*gger” said by a white person, for laughs.

It may come as a shock, but we as white people are not the arbiters of what others find racist or offensive. It is not up to us to tell them how to feel – in doing so we reinforce the very racism we claim to abhor.

And then there’s the statues. Yesterday the beer-bellied white lads gathered in their numbers to “protect” monuments to slave-traders and racists all over England.

“THEY WERE OUR GREATEST LEADERS!”

Yes, but they were also racists and slave traders.

“THIS IS OUR HISTORY!”

Yes, and it too is racist.

Then the pseudo-intellectual daytime TV logic takes over.

“WE NEED TO LEAVE THEM UP SO WE CAN REFLECT ON THESE THINGS!”

Karen, these things have stood for hundreds of years, and you have never once reflected in a meaningful way about the racism that put them there, and how you benefitted from it. Now step aside as another bronze white supremacist is rolled off the pier.

And then when the TV lights go out and the Black interviewee leaves the studio, the number of Black people working on the production returns to its usual level – of zero.

Have a look at the media. How many times in the last month have you seen Black people comment on issues other than race? How many times have you seen them present a show about economics or education or science?

How many times have you seen a Muslim asked to talk about something other than terrorism or racial profiling or Ramadan?

Not that these are not important conversations in and of themselves, but if that is the only time they are allowed air time or column inches, then that is part of the problem.

So I’m asking you to do something that doesn’t come naturally to any of us as white journalists.

I’m asking you to think about why you are sitting in the seat you are sitting in, and why your Black interviewee is sitting in the seat they are sitting in.

I am asking you to not see things from your own perspective, but from their perspective.

I am asking you to leave your own world, your ego and your fragility behind and humbly enter theirs.

I’m asking you to be quiet for once and listen, and when you’re done listening to speak to other white people and tell them that the way things are is wrong and needs to change.

I other words, I am asking you to radically rethink the way you and those around you approach your journalism about the fundamental building blocks of our societies, and I’m asking you to change it.

It does not mean losing your privilege – it only means giving up the “white” part of that privilege and extending it to everyone else.

Because if you’re not prepared to do that, well then maybe Black lives don’t matter to you nearly as much as you thought.

Shocks Await The Privileged In America’s Uncivil War

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

 

Anger, as Ewan McKenna says in this week’s brilliant Black Eye podcast, has a shelf-life, and we would do as well to observe and take in as much as we can while it burns at its brightest.

Many things are obvious – the irony of protests against police brutality being met with even more overwhelming and widespread police brutality cannot be lost on anyone watching a TV this week – and some are less so.

And some are blindingly, staggeringly obvious, yet are either ignored or somehow unseen.

The protests at the murder of George Floyd (and yes, it was murder, as one man has been charged with it and three for aiding and abetting it) in a massive misuse of state power have shown us that the Second Amendment is not about protecting people from the violence of tyrannical state.

It is about protecting white people from having to concede that their fellow citizens are equal.

An old man violently pushed to the ground by a police officer in Buffalo, his skull splitting open.

A homeless man in a wheelchair in Los Angeles shot in the face with a laughably-named “non-lethal” round.

Journalists arrested and assaulted live on air.

And yet, not once have the “patriots”, who arm themselves to the teeth at Dick’s Sporting Goods and who were out cosplaying in camouflage over their inalienable right to get their mullet trimmed just a few short weeks ago, responded.

Not when a man was executed in the street for allegedly passing a fake $20 bill.

Not when the First Amendment rights of reporters and journalists, and indeed fellow citizens, were being trampled under the jackboots of the police and National Guard.

And not when innocent people were being left bruised and blinded by rubber bullets, batons and tear gas.

Nor did any African-American pick up their legally-owned weapon and go out to defend their community, invoking the Second Amendment rights that are supposed be vindicated in exactly these kinds of situations.

That’s because this is not about the “tyranny of the state”, and hasn’t been since the Boston Tea Party.

It is about preserving the structures of white power, where white people prosper because they control the police and thus the state’s monopoly on violence which is used to vindicate their rights at the expense of others.

View the social media footage of police actions this week. Take away the uniforms (they’ve already covered up their badge numbers), and what do you see?

You see armed gangs intimidating and brutally beating protestors for having the temerity to protest racial injustice.

“Ah, but the rioters! The looters! The mindless violence!” they intone, while never distinguishing who is doing what.

One doesn’t have to make too generous an interpretation to see that, in many cases, it is police that are instigating the violence, often under the guise of enforcing arbitrary curfews that effectively suspend many of the rights guaranteed in the constitution so allegedly beloved by the cosplaying cowards.

The looting is also worth a close look. Forget Target – zoom out just a little and you will see that Africa was looted of its people, but no armed man or woman stood guard to vindicate the rights of these slaves; in fact, they hunted those who escaped from slavery as if they were animals, looting their freedom, their dignity and their future, not to mention that of their children, for generations

The “mindless violence” of crowds is only mindless if you do not wish to consider or understand where it comes from.

If you do, you will find that riots are in fact complex social events with shared boundaries set depending on social contexts and power dynamics.

There are no singular “flash-points” that suddenly cause them; riots are a result of tension built up over time, in this case a pressure-cooker of injustice that exploded with the death of George Floyd, but that can be traced from 1619 through the murder of Clifford Glover in 1973 through those of Tamir Rice and Trayvon Martin and thousands of others, culminating in the knee on George Floyd’s neck.

Of course, all this is of little interest to a goober with an AR-15 who is petrified of pulling the trigger unless it’s a black child in his sights, or a man with skewed notions of “law and order” who is only protected from prison by a badge and the colour of his skin.

All they are interested in is preserving the status quo. After two terms of a black president, they voted in their droves for a racist demagogue to redress the balance and claw back what it was they felt they had lost.

That racist demagogue has not disappointed them.

America has always been a paradox; “discovered” by Europeans fleeing persecution at home in search of “freedom”, who then set up a rigid society based on norms and notions of morality, white supremacy and closely-guarded power and property rights.

It claims to be the “land of the free and the home of the brave”, but all too often it incarcerates and oppresses to protect the privilege of the spineless mediocrities who outwardly profess faith in the “free market” but inwardly fear it because it would expose the comical myth of their superiority.

In a democracy, the state’s monopoly on violence is accepted by the citizens, but only to a point; when that monopoly is turned against the citizens and the descent into dictatorship and oppression begins, there is a window in which the citizenry can use the threat of its own violence to arrest or reverse that slide.

In America, the guys and gals with the guns are standing idly by while the protestors are beaten off the streets. What they see is the police as vindicating their personal and property rights, so there is no need to intervene.

But the biggest betrayal is yet to come.

For decades, they have been flattered into believing that they can defend themselves against state tyranny by keeping some guns and ammo handy.

The oppression of America, hardwired into its policing, did not apply to them; the “well-regulated militia”, as they see themselves, could rest easy.

The truth is that the might of the now-militarised police will crush them if and when the time comes. The warm feeling of power they get from clutching the bump-stock of an automatic weapon to their shoulder gives them a false sense of security; for all the firearms in American society, they are hopelessly, overwhelmingly and inevitably outgunned by the police.

White supremacy is not about the supremacy of all white people; it is about the supremacy of some white people – the powerful, the manly, the fearless, whose destiny it is to lord it over the weak, be they people of colour or women or lily-livered liberals who are to be swatted aside, trampled in the dirt of the progress of the privileged.

But as the situation gets more serious, the definition gets narrower and narrower until such time as the “supremacists” wind up in an exclusive club too small and weak to defend itself before finally, grudgingly being subsumed back into society.

Anger does indeed have a shelf-life, thus the need for those who seek to right injustices to strike while the iron is hot.

If they don’t, the cost of this will be enormous, but this is not new; minorities have been paying it on the never-never since the foundation of the republic. Soon, however, those who thought they were immune will have to cough up too, and it is then that the lies of their “freedom” and “supremacy” will be exposed.

In America, you can be anything you want to be, as long as it is compliant.

If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting independent journalism at https://www.patreon.com/ourmaninstockholm 

 

Now Is Not The Time

Now Is Not The Time

Now is not the time for your hot take about how Ireland is not racist.

Not when an African-American girl put up an Irish dancing TikTok a few weeks ago was abused by social media’s basement-dwellers.

Not while local councils are still turning off water to sites where Travellers live.

Not while there’s still a single resident in Direct Provision.

Now is not the time to claim the Fortress Europe is somehow better than Trump’s America, because when it kills people of colour it does so using dodgy dinghies and ignoring their humanity, or crushes them in systems designed with their wholesale rejection in mind.

Now is not the time for your naive, folded-napkin, hands-in-your-lap activism, where peaceful protest is good and just and acceptable, but rioting apparently delegitimises everything any cause stands for and allows you to safely distance yourself from it and hold your nose.

Now is not the time to go on social media and reveal just how little you know about how discrimination affects others, some of whom you call your friends.

Now is not the time to aggressively defend that ignorant, myopic view, obscured further by the comfort blanket of privilege that envelopes your wokeness.

Now is not the time to ask people – black people, Asian people, people from the Middle East and Persia, gay and trans and non-binary people – to do your emotional labour.

Now is not the time to employ them as your unpaid teachers, expected to fill in the gaps of your ignorance just enough so that you can feel good about yourself again.

Now is not the time to hide behind ideas of law and order that are solely designed to protect the rights of property, rather than the dignity of people.

Now is not the time to claim that “all lives matter” when you know, deep down, that they don’t, and that as it stands your life matters so much more than some others.

Now is not the time to offer solutions you haven’t tested to problems you don’t understand.

Now is not the time for feeling hurt because, for once, your voice is not the one being listened to and your experience is deemed less relevant for once.

Now is not the time for excusing yourself for having taken advantage of these structures, from the passport queue at a port of entry to “your” country to the job and property markets.

Now is not the time for pretending that you didn’t have a head start.

Now is not the time for talking about yourself and how all this affects you.

Now is not the time to preach loudly about how you intend to do something that nobody has asked you to do, or not doing something different you have been asked to do that would actually make a difference.

Now is the time for compassion, for humility and for a listening ear, because it’s hard for us to learn anything when all we ever do is keep braying incessantly, only revealing the breathtaking depth of our own ignorance.

Much of Ireland still needs to reckon with the IRA

The recent electoral success of Sinn Féin brought with it the inevitable tide of accusations related to the party’s support of the IRA during the conflict, once again showcasing that much of the Irish Republic has not even begun to examine its own history and relationship to it.

The inability or unwillingness to put things in context or to try to understand why things happen without condoning them is immediately dismissed as appeasement. Sinn Féin are to be forced to wear the hair-shirt, without ever asking what it was that led them to do what they did in the first place.

One of the greatest PR coups ever pulled off is in the teaching of Irish history, whereby the IRA lost all legitimacy just about the time that the Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael – the two parties that have ruled since the foundation of the state – broke away from it.

Until then it was OK to shoot men in the back or in their beds, or to bomb a barracks without a thought for passers-by, or to shoot someone or hearsay that they were an informer – but once the two major parties had no more use for the IRA, they were to become a pariah.

That IRA is an IRA the Irish people can understand, but not the IRA of Derry and of West Belfast. There is a notion that, despite their previous violent history pre-independence, the Provisional IRA should have played by all the rules of war and the Geneva Convention, a notion that completely ignores the context and conditions of the time.

Context is important. When comedian Steve Coogan parodied “Come Out Ye Black And Tans” on his TV show, the clip went viral in no time as Irish people howled laughing at the irony of an Irish lookalike taking over the British airwaves to tell them a thing or two – a few months later, the meaning of the song is once again changed to mean anyone singing it is an IRA supporter and to be condemned.

Legions of soccer fans have interjected praise for the IRA into songs sung in stadiums around the world, and little is made of it. Hipsters and twentysomethings have use the IRA almost as a meme for years, the cultural substance of their humour shifting constantly – and not because they support physical force Republicanism.

The point of Coogan and the song should not be lost; everything that occurs does so in a context, whether by a comedian or the supporters of an election candidate who have just received good news.

Sinn Féin have spent the last month of the campaign being cast as shadowy figures controlled by unelected representatives with a propensity for violence – and yet people still find it inexplicable that some less-controlled elements would celebrate their electoral victories by singing such songs or chanting “Up The Ra”.

Virtually nothing the IRA did is to be condoned, apart from its efforts to finally make peace – but it is absolutely essential that we try to understand why the organisation came to be, why people joined it and why it did what it did. This is not the same thing as legitimising or excusing it; by choosing to condemn it rather than understand it, we are dismissing the reasons for its existence as unimportant or irrelevant. That in itself – that the nationalist people of Northern Ireland felt abandoned and betrayed by the Republic – is one of the major reasons for its longevity.

Part of the reaction is also the bitterness of the established elites who were swept away in the last three elections – Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael performed disastrously, prompting them to try to police the triumphalism of others.

Much is also made of the youth of Sinn Féin’s voters and that they had no memories of their own of the Troubles, but Sinn Féin picked up votes from across the generations.

That raises the point that the commentariat refuse to consider – what if people knew well what the IRA had done, all of its brutality and atrocities, and decided to just move on, deeming them no longer relevant?

For that is essentially what happened with the established parties – they were quickly absolved of their sins when they underwent their democratic conversions, and the murders planned and perpetrated by Michael Collins and his men are now celebrated as an integral part of the struggle for independence.

Everything – everything – depends on context.

Much of the reason for this – the clean break between the acceptable and unacceptable versions of the IRA, the tone-policing, the false indignation to score political points – is that Sinn Féin were until recently muzzled by the press, and it did not cease with the abandonment of Section 31 of the Broadcasting Act.

One of the things conveniently forgotten is the Arms Crisis in 1970 when the Fianna Fáil government of the day actually drew up plans to send arms to defend nationalist communities in the North – the political descendents of those who made those plans are among the most vociferous in condemning Sinn Féin today.

It would be hard to point to a single columnist and say “that person writes from a perspective that is accepting of the legitimacy of the IRA”, or even one who displays some level of nuanced understanding of why they came into being at all.

In a case of history repeating itself, the IRA supported by Sinn Féin no longer exists, but the IRA still exists, so to speak. Dissident Republicans still lay claim to the mantle, despite the absence of conflict in the North and the prospect of reunification on the horizon.

But as with every other aspect of Irish politics, we are quick to say that we do not understand, or that something surprised us, or that something is simply wrong.

What is lacking is a willingness to understand why we were surprised, or why we don’t understand, or why someone might do something we believe to be utterly wrong.

Doing so requires us to put our pearls down and to ask ourselves difficult questions – what did we in the South do when communities in the North were under siege, when Catholics were discriminated against in housing and employment and when they were burned out of their houses?

That is not the same thing as condoning it. It is not the same thing as appeasement. It is not the same thing as giving a pass.

The murders, the torture and the bombings perpetrated by the IRA are an appalling stain on Irish history, one that cannot be washed away either by seemingly celebrating them as Ellis, Cullinane and others did, or by refusing to understand them in the context in which they occurred.

Because until we reckon with the IRA we will be fighting this battle forever, when there is so much more that needs to be done.

 

Ireland votes to change, but gently

later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?

it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.

- Warsan Shire, “What They Did Yesterday Afternoon”

Faced with a record number of homeless, a totally dysfunctional health service and a generation unable to afford to move out, the Irish people have finally voted for change – but they are not quite ready to rip the century-old sticking plaster of Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael from their skin just yet.

Irish people are suffering, but not all of them, and the cry at the ballot box on Saturday was tempered by the murmur of contentment from those for whom change might mean not enjoying the same privilege as they once had.

The exit poll on Saturday night when the polls closed was seismic in that it put the Sinn Fèin cat among the otherwise unflappable political pigeons – but for every peal of the bell calling for a new Ireland, almost half still voted for the establishment parties.

Almost, but not quite half. The two main parties sliding under 50% was a key moment, but discerning what they are gradually being replaced by is not as easy as it looks.

On the one hand they are being directly supplanted by Sinn Féin – young (but not exclusively so), energetic and hungry for something different.

On the other hand, there are a plethora of independent candidates and smaller-party TDs who are as yet untried.

The Social Democrats – a party I have strong links to – look to be among the big winners. Comprehensive policy documents and common-sense arguments look to have resonated and the party will most likely end up with five or six seats, but at council level some of the decisions taken by the party have been dubious at best, and the more streetwise in Irish politics will seek to use their enthusiasm against them.

The Greens have also made considerable gains, but it’s hard to discern exactly where they are on the political spectrum – this, after all, is the party that blithely supported Fianna Fáil as they destroyed the Irish economy.

In a supposed progressive victory, there may yet be less female TDs than in the previous Dáil when the dust settles.

As usual, climate change-deniers like the Healy-Raes have been rewarded for their parish pump politics, and the bye-word for corruption in Irish politics, Michael Lowry, has once again been returned to the Dáil.

Despite their worst election performance since 1948 (and possibly ever), Fine Gael are still haughtily insisting that they were right all along and that it was an ignorant electorate that failed to recognise their greatness.

They will always have a core vote of wealthy people keen to protect their own interests, but for them to succeed they also need the blue-collar vote – that has now gone to Sinn Féin, and it may not go back for a very long time.

Micheál Martin has run a classic Fianna Fáil campaign, immediately abandoning everything he said in the run-up to polling day as he attempts a power grab. From ruling out coalition with Sinn Féin, he is now a democrat who respects their mandate – a sleeveen move as arrogant as it was predictable.

The most popular party in the country is Sinn Féin, for the first time in living memory, and leader Mary-Lou McDonald immediately came out swinging, saying she wants a government without the big two parties.

The road from here on in is fraught with danger for Mary-Lou. Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael habitually destroy junior coalition partners and she would do well to steer clear of both, but doing so would require shoring up a coalition of the willing – people who share their core principles, but who are flexible enough to understand the give and take of minority government.

Success there would likely hasten the demise of the the two right-wing parties and perhaps eventually force a merger – failure, and Sinn Féin could go the way of Labour, blamed for not delivering on their mandate and consigned to the sidelines as punishment, opening the path for Ireland to repeat the mistakes of the past.

Ireland has voted for change, but not in the kind of revolutionary way that one might have expected; the old remain conservative, the young impatient, and somewhere in between is where McDonald must begin to build her government.

What speaks against the broad left coalition is its traditional fractiousness and political puritanism – what speaks for them is that their opposition have no principles, apart from the pursuit of power. If they seek to block the kind of progressive change that people have voted for, they will be punished accordingly.

Time will tell if this election changes the course of a young country, or if it is a mere bump in the road. Recent electoral history elsewhere have shown us just how easy it is to slip back into old ways in search of security.

Change, but change gently, is what the Irish people have asked for.