I
am ashamed. I admit it. There can be no other emotion
to cover it. Better to acknowledge the shame, than
partake of the unedifying spectacle being played
out in the political arena. But before the shame,
which is a secondary reaction, first there is the
horror. Watching the reports of the events in the
Short Strand, I was, like most others, disgusted.
That there are people on the streets who can do
such things, have the calculated deviousness to
cover their tracks afterwards, is a sad reflection
on our society at the start of the 21st century.
(And that is before we even consider the branding
of women's breasts, the crucifixions, the beatings,
the intimidation.) It must take a high calibre of
person to be allowed into the IRA where it takes
up to twenty people to murder a man for some perceived
slight while out drinking.
But
we allow know the background by now, to which others
with ears closer to the ground and fingers on top
of the appropriate pulses have commentated on better
then I could. So recent events seem to, according
to the media, have put the Republican Movement on
the back foot. Who seem surprised, startled almost,
at the ferocity with which they have been attacked
by the mainstream media, the online media, various
and numerous Governments and even the dogs in the
street. Again, that isn't what I want to discuss,
leaving that to those others.
There
is no point in thinking politics in Northern Ireland
had moved on, really moved on, as there are too
many vested interests therein. On all sides. But
to watch those of a Unionist bent try to make capital
out of the abhorrent McCartney murder appalls me
in an entirely different way from the murder itself.
Listening to the usual suspects mouth platitudal
support for the family, condemning the violence
provoked something different in me. Watching them
parade themselves, it struck me what was going through
their mind.
Glee.
It seemed to me it was a sort of glee. And that
makes me ashamed, as there is a small echo of that
in myself. The horror at it all is obvious. But
the glee, in this case, less obvious, and bears
further explanation. This is the glee of those opposite
to the people now finding themselves under the green
jackboot, those removed from the leafy suburbs and
find it hard to speak out for fear of those from
within their own communities. This is a glee of
release. Watching the unraveling of the hegemony
of Sinn Fein support is what every Unionist politician,
of every hue, dreams of. The glee of those who couldn't
understand the reasoning for the rise of the IRA,
watching the grassroots bite back. The glee of watching
a traincrash, the very human delight in the fall
from grace of their enemies.
But
there is a problem. They think, all of a sudden,
that the groundswell of grassroot Republican opinion
has suddenly had a moment of epiphany, and turned
their back on their beliefs. After years of, in
their eyes, support given to an illegitimate and
brutal private army, all is now well, they think
just like them. There is open dissent against the
Republican leadership. The fact there has been pockets
of this for a long time, in both the counterproductive
and unnecessary physical force type and that such
as this journal, is neither here nor there. While
not quite sackcloth and ashes, it is somewhere close.
But there is none of the subtle cleverness in the
response from this old guard, no leverage of political
capital. Just finger pointing and behind-the-hand
smirking at the troubles in what was always seen
as a united front. Cracks in the walls. In listening
to the words of the McCartney family, they wonder
if the Short Strand (using that as litmus for the
wider Republican movement) has come to its senses,
and realised that the IRA is not, and never will
be, the answer. Yes, they are still an enclave.
Yes, there are still murderous loyalists on the
streets, but they aren't a problem.
Like
us they despise the IRA, whether they have done
as long as us is different, why they do now is different,
whether they always will is different. Secretly
we rub our hands and hope to see the end of the
odious politicking and false victimhood that oozes
from the Armani pores of Donegal Riche. We don't
see the need for community defenders. Cheap diesel,
DVDs and cigarettes are not the best thing to come
from such people.
But
by taking delight in the troubles of those on the
other side, all we are doing is extrapolating our
mindset onto theirs. We want the IRA disbanded and
to release the iron grip they have over their communities.
They want to feel protected, and have their aspiration
to an Irish state. They are still Republicans, down
the Short Strand, but we internalise them as something
else now. We imagine they have turned their back
on the IRA, and have embraced peace, and us. They
haven't, you know. But it makes us more comfortable,
it makes us gloat to watch what we perceive is the
implosion of support for Europe's slickest political
and terrorist/hood hybrid machine. We project ourselves
onto them, and in that we probably make a vital
mistake.
Because
that is what we want to see, and, to some extent,
are watching. Beware the truth will find you
out. And it seems it has. Watching the contortions
and manoeverings of the upper echelons of the Shinners
is an unedifying spectacle. That their lies are
no longer being believe by the wider world is a
good thing, but their grip on their base in Northern
Ireland seems apparently as strong as ever. No one
believed the words, when we were told there was
a separation between SF and the IRA. Listening to
the speeches given at the rallies recently, no one
in the Short Strand believes that. And personally,
I would listen to the community, not their leaders,
who have been feathering their own beds for a very,
very long time. But then it is a whole different
ball game now. We have something in common. Sure,
didn't they come round to our way of thinking eventually?
