Jeff Peel's Diary

Image by Mike Rawlins via Flickr

One of the encouraging things about the election of yet another political fossil to the leadership of the UUP (by a bunch of deadwood members) is that a few commentators have noted the emergence of a more liberal, non-sectarian media in Northern Ireland.

The Belfast Telegraph – for decades the protector of the sectarian consensus – is at the vanguard of this development. Younger blood at both the Irish News and Newsletter is beginning to question the status quo of a Northern Ireland continually at the fringe of everything political (and at the centre of nothing).

As more ex-pats have been attracted home, bearing gifts of more open-mindedness and liberal attitudes, a wider debate has opened up outside the bland confines of yawn-inducing “Unionist people” this and “Nationalist people” that.

All this is good but yet the political stuctures and parties are stubbornly resistant to change. Thankfully, however, last night the geriatric Unionists of Fermanagh & South Tyrone succeeded in erasing the UUP from the political map. The party is now utterly irrelevant. Now with an incoherent farmer at its head, who never seems far from an Orange field in terms of his political thinking, the UUP will sink into oblivion. Good riddance.

My hope, of course, is that the runt of the political class left behind will realise that the writing is on the wall. My hope is that the Alliance Party might get real and start thinking about coherent policies that might sustain themselves outside the sectarian swamp. Perhaps it might start ridding itself of homophobes within its midst – and the politically deranged who believe that the basis of ideology is niceness.

There’s a big world of political thought that the people of Northern Ireland are ready to seize. Even Trevor Ringland, formerly a shiny new-boy candidate of UCUNF, seems to have had enough of the UUP. The blogs are full of East of the Bann UUP disgruntlement.

I have no idea what the outcome will be. Perhaps the Shinners will start dropping incessant references to Oyrland at every op. Perhaps the DUPs will start attending GAA matches (incidentally, I won’t, thanks – like watching paint dry in my view, worse even than rugby) and might start doing their shoppin’ on Sundays. Who knows?

But all I know is that change is happening. The worm is turning.

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I had breakfast, this morning, in a nice little restaurant on the Lisburn Road. Despite the early hour there was a veritable sea of Chelsea tractors parked outside, and lots of yummy mummies inside – all sinew and botox.

It’s the thing about Northern Ireland that never ceases to amaze me – the extent and visibility of the South Belfast middle class and the degree to which it is separated and enervated in the context of Northern Ireland politics.

The conversations at adjoining tables were about kids, schools, property and sex. And not even in that order. I heard no mention of anything even faintly political. And, as I was by myself, killing time while my son played rugby, I had a good opportunity to eavesdrop.

Which brings me to my point. The middle class is still, largely, outside of our political process. Why? 1)  Because there is nothing appealing about Northern politics. 2) Because it’s not sexy to get involved in sectarianism.

It’s well known that type-a middle class types are driven by a strange, euphoric and addictive cocktail of wealth, power hungriness and sex.

That’s why so many members of the middle class are attracted to politics in Britain. Politics is a handy route to all of these things for people who may either be too ugly for show business, too talentless for sport or too stupid for business. Just get a PPE from Oxford and Bob’s your uncle – instant entry to the most exclusive private member’s club in the world.

Unless of course one happens to live in Northern Ireland. Here the middle classes have no other option than to try to make a few quid, pretend they don’t live here and spend as much of their disposable incomes as possible on trivia. These days, they don’t even bother to vote.

As repeatedly trailed, I’m turning my attention to David Gordon’s chronicling of the demise of the Paisley family: The Fall of the House of Paisley.

The book was completed and published prior to Junior’s election as an MP – but the version I read had an extra chapter detailing the downfall of the Robinsons.  However it was published too early to document the (wonderful) defeat in the general election of Peter Robinson – in East Belfast – by Naomi Long. The returning officer’s announcement of Robinson’s defeat was a moment to be cherished in the wee small hours on election night.

Gordon, however, meticulously documents other choice moments in revisionist DUP politicking and moralising over the last decades. He shines a very bright light on the bizarre definitions that both Paisley Senior and Junior have developed – in the absence of any real-world experience of doing anything other than sectarian politics, Ulster-style.

For example the Paisley definition of ‘entrepreneur’ seems to that of ‘property developer’. Instead of warning against the excesses and greed that were evident as Northern Ireland’s property market went wild – the Paisleys seemed to prefer rubbing shoulders with property developers like Seymour Sweeney whose ambitions knew no bounds. They seemed to believe that building shops and retail premises and pubs was what Northern Ireland’s economy really needed. In short, forget the need for skills development, innovation, or entire root-and-branch restructuring of our public sector dependent economy.

Property developers were seen by the Paisleys as in some way representative of the new Northern Ireland. They had the attributes of alchemist about them. And the Paisleys turned a blind eye to the fact that many of the most successful property developers (cum DUP supporters) often dabbled in the booze business.

From the pulpit Paisley Senior warned of the perils of the devil’s vomit. However, Junior appeared to want nothing to stand in the way of his favourite property developer’s grandest plans – even if they did revolve around the opening of licensed premises in the unlikeliest of places on Ulster’s North Coast.

The Sweeney shenanigans are detailed at length in Gordon’s book. When laid back to back they seem all the more remarkable. Moreover, I must admit, I hadn’t fully appreciated at the time just to what extent Sweeney was involved in the palatial Ballymena constituency office debacle – where public money was squandered to provide ludicrously over-the-top premises to the entire Paisley ego-machine.

Gordon also does a great job examining the dramatic conversion of Paisley Snr from the fire and brimstone, Papist-loathing ranter, to Chuckle Brother.  Gordon admits that he can offer no satisfactory explanation as to why the conversion took place. Perhaps it was an attempt by the ‘big man’ to secure a place in heaven. And perhaps that explanation is a correct one – given Paisley Senior’s continued references to a biblical rationale for his public chuckling with Martin McGuinness. In effect, he was smiling and chuckling in the face of his critics – all of whom, he claimed, were doing the devil’s work.

This book does a great job in articulating how family Paisley has manipulated public opinion, and even the word of the Lord, to suit itself. The book also shows Northern Ireland as little more than a Banana Republic without bananas. Gordon chronicles just how stunted and ridiculous Northern Ireland’s politics and politicians have become in the sectarian back-water that they have helped create.

I trailed a few weeks ago that I was about to write a review of David Gordon’s excellent book Fall of the House of Paisley. But, what with work and stuff, I haven’t.

Then I went and promised David earlier this week that I was going to write a review by end of week – and yet I still haven’t got round to doing so.

However, I’m going to do it over the weekend.

But, in the meantime, if you haven’t got yourself a copy I’d recommend it.

Here’s a link to the book on Amazon.