A people without a name

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It seems to me that the root of many of Northern Ireland’s problems is that Huns do not have a well-defined sense of communal identity. For the last hundred years or so it boiled down to the Orange Order – understandable given the Order’s involvement in the foundation of NI and the UUP’s political hegemony. But the OO is too narrow a strand to support the weight of an entire culture, and is in many ways a relic of a bygone age.

Huns opposed the Irish-nationalist thesis, but at the same time they also rejected wholesale the idea of separate identities. Not only did they stand apart from the “Irish” (Taig) ethnic identity, but they did not expend much energy developing one of their own, instead falling back on religious (Protestant) or political (Unionist) identities; or the vague concept of “Britishness”. But to most, the shared “British” identity is one that is (to varying degrees) held in addition to their ethnic ones – there are many black and Asian minorities in England who would never consider themselves English but are quite happy to be British, as to them it is bereft of ethnic overtones.

To Huns however, Britishness became by default their ethnic identity. The English share this confusion, but they have the excuse of being numerous. When the English decide to define Britishness, the others have the option of either going along or (increasingly these days) opting out. When Huns attempt to define Britishness, the others look at them funny and wonder if they fell on their heads trying to kiss the Blarney stone. By failing to define their own ethnic identity, they have ended up in the uncomfortable place where outside forces define their identity for them.

That’s why we Huns need a name, so we can start defining ourselves for a change.

(This post is based on a comment I made on IJP’s blog)

The Sporting Banner of the Emerald Isle (“The Power and the Glory”)

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The Sporting Banner of the Emerald Isle

Ireland (the island) presents an inconsistent face to the world. At all-Ireland sporting events a variety of symbolism is in use, while most countries make do with only one or (sometimes) two distinct flags. Confusion between Ireland the island and Ireland the sovereign state results in the alienation of many Unionists from all-island sporting organizations. This has led to many sports adopting more inclusive symbolisms, however these have been done on an ad-hoc basis and suffer from a lack of consistency and design impact. The result is a confusing assortment of State, organizational and unofficial flags being flown, producing a fragmented brand and a divided community of supporters.

A similar problem with anthems led to the commissioning of the song “Ireland’s Call” by the IRFU, which has since been adopted by other sporting organizations, thus becoming a de-facto “sporting anthem”. We are therefore motivated to design an analogous “sporting banner”, with a view to unifying the disparate symbolisms currently in use and presenting a distinctive, common brand.

Design brief

  1. Must represent the island of Ireland across multiple sporting disciplines
  2. Should avoid divisive or controversial design elements
  3. Should be distinct from existing flags, Irish or otherwise
  4. Must be bold and readily identifiable from a distance
  5. Must be able to command broad allegiance
  6. Should be based on existing symbology

Prior art

Most of these can be found on Wikipedia.

  1. IRFU flag
    Pro: already in use, uncontroversial (2,5)
    Con: poor design quality (4), non-universal (1)
  2. Irish Hockey flag
    As IRFU, marginally cleaner design
  3. Irish Cricket flag
    As IRFU, but even worse design
  4. The four-provinces flag
    Pro: widely recognizable, already in use (1,2,5), explicitly represents island of Ireland
    Con: confused design, lack of Unionist engagement
  5. Tricolour
    Pro: in use, recognisable
    Con: politically divisive
  6. Geraldine (“St. Patrick’s”) cross
    Pro: simple, bold design
    Con: obscure, lack of Republican engagement
  7. Harp on green field
    Pro: simple, bold design
    Con: already in use as flag of Leinster
  8. Harp on blue field
    Pro: simple, bold design
    Con: already in use as RoI presidential standard

The above can be broken down into the following pool of design elements:

  1. Green field
    Most commonly used element – uncontroversial and universally recognizable.
  2. Blue field (“St. Patrick’s Blue”)
    Less common, somewhat archaic alternative to the above
  3. Flags of the Four Provinces, in combination
    Explicitly all-Ireland (possible negative connotations for some Unionists)
  4. Orange
    Ironically, the presence of (supposedly Protestant) orange on much Irish symbolism serves to alienate Protestants, whereas green is broadly acceptable.
  5. White
    Commonly found as secondary element
  6. Harp
    Uncontroversial, easily recognizable
  7. Shamrock
    Ditto
  8. Red saltire
    Originally arms of FitzGerald, repurposed as ersatz “St. Patrick’s cross” in 19th C. Slight bias towards unionists (and Blueshirts) but also found in establishment contexts across Ireland

Solution

The starting point of our preferred solution is to explicitly draw parallels with “Ireland’s Call”, as the banner and the song are intended to solve similar problems and be used on the same occasions. Linking the banner with the song also helps to underline its design brief as sporting rather than political symbolism.

The lyrical theme of “Ireland’s Call” is one of teammates from the four provinces standing together to face their opponents with pride – the second verse is devoted entirely to poetic descriptions of those four provinces. It would seem natural then to start with the Four Provinces flag (pool element 3), however it suffers from serious design flaws – by combining four complex, disparate designs, one ends up with a whole that is graphically much less than the sum of its parts.

This is not an insurmountable problem – many flags balance the competing requirements of symbolic inclusivity and graphic simplicity by defacing a bold primary design with a complex coat of arms – the flag of Croatia is particularly apposite. We have therefore chosen to include the Four Provinces symbolism in the form of a shield defacing the main flag.

The primary element of the main design was chosen to be a green field (pool element 1) – although St Patrick’s blue (element 2) has an older pedigree, green is more readily associated with Ireland, particularly in sporting contexts where Ireland competes in a green strip. At this stage, we could construct a design similar to the current hockey flag, but such a flag lacks any bold design elements and therefore appears bland and is hard to identify from afar (brief point 4). As brief point 4 is arguably the entire purpose of having a flag, we cannot disregard it.

Orange (element 4) is reminiscent of the republican flag, and therefore too politically charged for our purposes. We have already chosen to deface our flag with a design that includes a harp (element 6). Shamrocks (element 7) would not stand out against the field unless rendered in an unnatural colour. The only element left in our design pool is the Geraldine cross (element 8), but by a stroke of luck it fulfills our requirements perfectly – it is bold and distinctive; the red saltire is nowhere else seen against a green field; and any perceived pro-Unionist bias may be regarded as an appropriate counterweight to any perceived pro-Nationalist bias of the Four Provinces shield.

When the final design is assembled, the Four Provinces stand powerfully at the centre (“shoulder to shoulder”) while the red saltire (with customary white fringing) appears to radiate gloriously outwards. Together these themes draw multiple parallels between song and banner, hence our suggestion that a nickname be lifted directly from the lyrics of Ireland’s Call in order to emphasise a unity of purpose.

To minimize stylistic clashes (and printing costs!) we have reduced the colour palette down to a set of six commonly used bolds. Connacht forgive us.

Although the design is straightforward (green + red saltire + four provinces), bonus symbolism can be milked if one is motivated. The green, white and red colour scheme is partway between the green-white-orange of Nationalists and the red-white-blue of Unionists. The white fringing can be regarded as a white saltire in its own right, a Dissenter counterpart to the red saltire of Anglicans and Gaelic green. The four green triangles visible between the arms of the saltire can be read as a secondary symbol of the four provinces.

By using pre-existing all-Ireland symbols in the design (to wit, various defacements of a green field; red saltire; Four Provinces flag), we also unify those symbols in a coherent brand, so that familiarity with the sporting banner automatically implies familiarity with the components when taken individually. The introduction at an event of even a small number of sporting banners amongst a population of Four Provinces, St Patrick’s crosses and official IRFU flags (say) would likely have a disproportionate effect on brand image, with the other three flags appearing (to the uninitiated) to be special cases of the sporting banner. Thus the combined effect is one of a single brand with complementary strands, rather than an assortment of disconnected brands. This brand is further reinforced by tying it into the lyrics of Ireland’s Call – the aim being that the audio and visual symbols should each invoke a mental image of the other.

Details

vert a saltire gules fimbriated argent, centred an escutcheon quarterly; 1st or a cross gules centred an escutcheon of pretence argent, a dexter hand gules; 2nd azure three crowns or; 3rd per pale first argent a dexter half eagle displayed sable, second azure a sinister arm embowed fessways holding a sword all argent; 4th vert a harp or

Adobe Illustrator source file

16×28 units green field (1:sqrt(3))
red saltire width 2u, white fringing width 1u
shield 6.5x8u, centered, black border 0.2u

shield:
four equal area quadrants
centred on quadripoint
upper quadrants square aspect
clockwise from top left: Ulster,Munster,Leinster,Connacht
U cross width 1/8 shield width
U shield 1/4×3/8 s.w.
U hand height 1/4 s.w.
M crowns 3/16×3/16 s.w.
L harp height 7/16 s.w.
L harp turned so strings vertical (to avoid curve of shield)
C eagle height 7/16 s.w.

Pantone (CMYK) palette:

gold: 116C (0,16,100,0)
red: 186C (0,100,81,4)
blue: 281C (100,72,0,32)
green: 364C (65,0,100,42)

License

The files presented in this post contain some public domain elements from wikimedia commons. All other designs and design elements in this post are hereby released into the public domain.

The tragedy of the middle classes

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The Economist had an interesting article about Russia a while back, but one paragraph in particular stands out as having more general application:

The old social contract, with a weak, passive middle class enriching itself while staying out of politics, cannot become an indefinite right to rule.

Isn’t this the problem in Northern Ireland too? The middle classes, such as the apocryphal “garden centre Prod”, have withdrawn from politics and left the tribal bases to prop up an ossifying system. Electoral turnout has been on the wane ever since the GFA, and it can be argued that this reflects not consent but apathy.

The peace dividend, consisting mainly of a bloated public sector, has left the middle classes comfortable. But this is the lazy comfort of managed decline – there is precious little fresh thinking in either the business or political establishments. And meanwhile the tribal divide continues to fester, with Girdwood the latest integration plan to have its teeth pulled. Political announcements by the main parties seem designed not to break out of the trenches, but to consolidate their position within them.

In most advanced countries the middle classes hold considerable political power – it is the middle classes in the main that parties from both sides try to woo through tax schemes and public order initiatives. But politics in Northern Ireland is divorced from such concerns. If one has no interest in the tribal balance of power, NI politics holds no appeal. If one’s livelihood is funded (directly or indirectly) from London then there is no incentive to get involved in provincial affairs.

Stormont cannot do anything about the economy, and will not do anything about society. What remains of middle-class politics? The garden centre has never looked more attractive.

Fine Gael rebels seek to delay implementation of Constitutional rights – again

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Like the author of this piece, I am a FG supporter (and member) and am disappointed by the absolutist stance taken by some of our TDs this week. The X case legislation is not just some box-ticking exercise, it is a moral obligation. Even those opposed in principle to elective abortions should understand that the X case is a fundamentally different scenario and needs to be treated on its own merits.

I know women who have had miscarriages – members of my own family – and the trauma is indescribable. We all have friends or family members who have gone through the same pain, whether they chose to share it with us or not. But in most such cases the physical trauma is mercifully brief – not so in cases like X.

To deny palliative care to a woman who has been told that a miscarriage is inevitable – but not imminent – is quite simply inhuman. Morality is not a set of unbending, rigid rules – it is about compassion. Moral principles are derived from that compassion, not the other way around. Those in leadership positions who are elevating a set of abstract principles above their own capacity for reason are in danger of losing touch with their basic humanity.

One can quite consistently argue against elective abortions but allow them for medical reasons – the Constitution itself recognises this distinction. But some of our politicians have decided it is better to throw vulnerable women under the bus than have to make that distinction in their own minds.

To continue to deny medical abortions because one is afraid of the “slippery slope” towards elective abortions is cowardice, and those engaging in it should be utterly ashamed.

NI local government reform – boundary suggestion

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I blogged previously about the need for a proper, joined-up local government reform process in Northern Ireland. To summarise, councils should be both larger and more powerful in order to be worthwhile, and the traditional counties would provide a foundation of legitimacy. As an addendum, here is a map I made of my preferred model based on electoral wards, following a recent discussion on Slugger. Please note these boundaries are indicative only, and would of course be subject to local consultation – the boundary around Dromore in particular would require some tweaking at the townland level.

Image

Performing a napkin calculation based on current council areas, we get:

BELFAST ~ 350k:
Belfast, Castlereagh (minus Carryduff and Dundonald) plus bits of Lisburn

ANTRIM ~320k:
Ballymena, Ballymoney, Moyle, Larne, Carrickfergus, Newtownabbey, Antrim plus Glenavy.

DOWN AND LAGAN VALLEY ~330k:
North Down, Ards, Down, most of Lisburn plus bits of Castlereagh, Banbridge and Newry&Mourne

ARMAGH AND UPPER BANN ~290k:
Craigavon, Armagh, most of Newry&Mourne and Banbridge

TYRONE AND FERMANAGH ~250k:
Cookstown, Dungannon, Omagh, Strabane, Fermanagh

(LONDON)DERRY ~250k:
Coleraine, Magherafelt, Limavady, Derry City

Urban, eastern councils will be slightly higher in population and lower in area compared to rural, western ones. Drumlins Rock suggested that Belfast should be expanded further to take in Dundonald, Holywood and Newtownabbey, however I have not shown that here as I feel it is an argument for another time.

NI local government reform

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Local councils in Northern Ireland are a joke. They are a ridiculously small size (compared to most other countries) so that more people can live in a council that is controlled by their “side”. The original seven-council plan with real devolution of powers was (despite some questionable boundaries) far preferable to the later insipid eleven- or fifteen-council proposals, which stank of communal carve-up and eventually came to a crashing halt due to a disagreement over the communal balance of Belfast.

If we believe in limited government, we should also believe in decisions being made as close to the citizen as possible. This does not mean that smaller is always better – sometimes economy of scale is inescapable. It is clear that local councils are at present far too small to play any meaningful role, and so increasing their size would (counterintuitively) support localism by allowing real powers to be devolved to them.

Six counties plus Belfast would be more sensible – with Fermanagh either partially or fully merged with Tyrone due to its small population, and with Armagh taking over bordering population centres in West Down (Banbridge and Newry). This has several advantages, not least the historical and cultural legitimacy of using traditional counties as a basis. The number and location of councils would then also match the proposed five or six acute hospitals, giving a possible role for councils in their oversight. This would seem to indicate that such councils would also be the right size for other public-sector oversight roles. They would be large enough to be able to raise and spend meaningful amounts of money on local issues such as rural roads and town centres.

The only significant argument against such an arrangement (and admittedly it is a good one) is that it would lead to one-community control of most councils. This however is already the case in the majority of existing councils. On the other hand, giving one “side” an overwhelming majority may (again counterintuitively) loosen up the political balance within the designations, as it would remove the motivation for block voting to keep themmuns out. With luck, we could eventually see the big parties within one community actively trying to woo voters from the other community to make up the numbers, rather than appealing to the core communal vote.

In order for goodwill to flourish though, local councils should be stripped of all powers in contentious policy areas. For example, currently we have very visible local community fiefdoms where the Irish language (and occasionally Ulster-Scots) is either prominent or completely absent, according to local council makeup. This reinforces segregation into Unionist and Nationalist areas of control. Instead, there should be an overall language and signage policy for all of NI. That does not mean that regional variations cannot be accommodated within such a policy, but it does mean that contentious matters are kept firmly within Stormont’s mutual veto system.

Of course, the danger of this is that nothing contentious ever gets decided, but that’s a problem in any case.

(This post is based on a comment I made a while ago on policyni.com. Normal service will be resumed shortly)

Rethinking “Irishness” – definitions and symbolism

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We have already seen how the unique geography of Ireland rules out some of the usual political options for solving its ethnic dispute, by making the redrawing of borders to match the ethnic divide impractical. But it also leads to problems defining an Irish identity, because unlike most other countries in Europe, it is not the people who define political geography, but the geography that defines the people.

20th century political philosophy accepts the idea that nations have the right to self-determination, that ethnic geography should therefore define political geography. This has led to the current ideal, best exemplified in Europe, of state borders being drawn along ethnic dividing lines. The ethnic patchwork that has taken shape organically over thousands of years is therefore taken as the starting point, and (in theory at least) political geography derives its legitimacy from it. The Danes are defined by their cultural identity, and Denmark is defined as the homeland of the Danish people. When the people did not match the territory (in Schleswig-Holstein) the eventual solution was to redefine Denmark.

But Ireland works the other way around. As an island, its borders are fixed. The Irish people are themselves fixed by the territory, i.e. those people who live (or were born in) Ireland. If you try to define “Irishness” on the usual cultural basis you create a second kind of “Irishness” in conflict with the first. The only way to resolve this ambiguity is to let go of one of these definitions. If one prefers the cultural version, then one defines an “Irishness” that does not cover all natives of the island, so what then does one call the other natives? If we do not call them “Irish” then we implicitly question the legitimacy of their presence. But if we do call them “Irish” then we are guilty of forcing a cultural identity onto those who do not want it.

Alternatively we can choose the geographical definition of “Irish”, but then there must be several native Irish ethnic groups, of which the majority group is just one. We are not short of names for these groups, so long as we are not easily offended: Taig, Hun and Pavee. We thereby place the island’s majority ethnic community on an equal footing with the native minorities (and implicitly also with immigrant minorities), and reserve “Irish” to describe the whole.

Some things which are conventionally identified with Irishness may then be found to be relevant just to the majority Taig ethnic group. In particular, the novel symbols of nationhood deriving from the Home Rule and independence period have no meaning for Huns while older symbols, such as those deriving from the legend of St. Patrick, continue to have broad relevance to all Irish people. The Irish language also has a personal relevance to many Taigs that most Huns do not share.

We see therefore, that neither standard interpretation of modern Irish symbolism is entirely correct. The standard Taig view of independence-era symbols such as the tricolour and anthem is that they are the national symbols of Ireland (the island), even though this was an ideal that was never realised. The standard Hun opinion is that they are the symbols of the Republic of Ireland, despite the strong allegiance they continue to attract from inside the North. It would be more accurate to say that they are the national symbols of Taigs, for if we recognise the right of people to self-identify then we must also recognise their right to show allegiance (or not) to symbols of that identity. By a similar argument, most supposed Northern Ireland symbolism is effectively Hun symbolism in disguise.

It should not come as any surprise that political symbols now have de facto ethnic meanings not intended by their creators, nor should it be any cause for concern. Separating symbolism from politics is one way of defusing tensions – while even politically moderate Huns will balk at any symbolic suggestion that NI “belongs” to the Republic (as flying the tricolour is often viewed), acceptance of the distinct identity of Taigs is mainstream. If existing flags and symbols could come to be accepted as markers of ethnicity rather than political ideology, much of the heat could be taken out of the symbolism debate. This would also then leave the way open for new NI and all-Ireland symbolism to be developed that is free from ethno-political baggage.

The supposed fragility of “Unionist” identity

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Alex Kane is on the warpath again:

Sinn Fein has been inviting all sorts of non-republicans to address their ‘uniting Ireland’ conferences.

They would have you believe that it’s part of their ongoing mission to persuade us that we would be better off outside the United Kingdom and that we would have nothing to fear inside a united Ireland.

Well, we wouldn’t have a political identity or a constitutional purpose. We would be denied a mechanism for reversing the decision at another time. We wouldn’t have any structures to protect and promote our core values, or determine our own destiny. Republicanism, it seems, can be given a voice and a chance to secure its end goals inside Northern Ireland: but unionism would never be given the same rights within a united Ireland.

I can think of no reasons or circumstances in which unionists in Northern Ireland would ever vote for a united Ireland. Even ‘turquoise unionists’ – those who indulge the fancy that you can be both Irish and British – would probably come to their senses and realise that once the border went, their Britishness would go with it!

Apparently it is the border that defines Huns, and without it they would cease to exist. The constitutional link with Britain is the sum total of Ulster-British-Protestant identity and is therefore a precious, fragile thing. This is a classic refrain, and one that is accepted by many without question. It is a negative, reactionary line that is born not of pride or self-confidence, but of fear and an assumption of weakness and inevitable failure.

It is a pernicious idea because it implies that an individual’s identity, his self-image, derives not from his own qualities but from an external source. It tells you that your identity can be taken away from you by others, that it depends on political permission. And this has historically suited the purposes of political Unionism, because it sustains the communal block vote.

Nobody argues that Scots ceased to be Scottish after 1707, just because a border was redrawn. Scots are currently an even smaller minority in the UK (8%) than Unionists are in Ireland (15%), yet Scots maintain an identity beyond mere politics, one that survived the loss of their independent state and is in rude health today. The “Unionist community” has never been defined by its own members in such a robust fashion. At times it seems to hang from a thread, its entire existence deriving from a line on a map. This is largely the fault of political Unionism itself, which invested all its energy in building defences against Irish nationalism, and precious little in working out who it was defending.

Ethnicity is not defined by politics. One can be a Scottish Unionist or a Scottish Nationalist, and still be equally Scottish. But political Unionism has not yet understood this. It does not believe that there can be a difference between political Unionism and its ethnic counterpart, as evidenced by Kane’s quote above. Four hundred years of Ulster-British-Protestant history, culture and identity are reduced to a single political issue barely a century old. If there were a united Ireland, political Unionism may well die. But the cultural legacy beneath it would continue to exist after Unionism, just as it existed before Unionism.

And this is where Unionism is failing those that it purports to represent. By framing the constitutional debate in apocalyptic terms it may galvanise the faithful, but it also gives unrealistic hope to its enemies. If one vote for a United Ireland will make the Huns disappear into the mists of history, then there are many who will cheer the process on. A political movement that survives by making its supporters fearful and its opponents confident is probably best described as parasitic. A significant proportion of its own voters believe Unionism will eventually fail, and this lack of confidence can be seen at the root of many of Unionism’s neuroses.

A healthy political culture would not constantly tell itself that it sat on the edge of a precipice. It would try to give its people confidence in their own future security, come what may. But would it still be Unionism?

The island of Ireland is a political straitjacket

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One of the great ambiguities about modern Ireland is the confusion between Ireland the island and Ireland the independent state. Both officially go under the same name, although one can often avoid ambiguity by using prefixes (Republic of Ireland, island of Ireland). This actively contributes to Ireland’s political problems, because it closes one of the escape valves normally used to resolve ethnic conflict – redefinition.

When Austria-Hungary was divided up into its component parts after WWI, the border between Austria and Hungary was redrawn. A sliver of land which was traditionally part of Hungary had over the years become majority-German speaking. On independence, this area (today known as the Burgenland) was transferred to Austria so that the border more closely matched the ethnic divide. Effectively, the words “Austria” and “Hungary” were redefined to suit changed reality.

That option is not open to Ireland. Unlike land frontiers, coastlines cannot be altered at the stroke of a pen. The Ulster Unionist movement redefined the boundary between the UK and newly-independent Ireland by creating a Burgenland of their own, Northern Ireland. But the escape was not clean – the word “Ireland” stubbornly remained in use for the entire island, and was included in the name of the new state (despite the efforts of many to adopt “Ulster” instead).

To confound matters, the sea boundary between Ireland and Scotland also forced NI to be defined maximally so as to ensure a viable territory – by contrast, the Burgenland is only 5km wide at its narrowest point. If NI had been created merely as a two- or three-county state the ethnic balance would have been much more equitable, but politically it would have been less stable. Consider a counter-factual – if Scotland and Ireland were connected to each other by a land bridge, it is likely that the frontier between them would have shifted back and forth several times in history. The plantation of Scots in Antrim and Down would have been expansionism, not colonisation. An eventual redrawing of the Ireland/Scotland frontier a few miles further into Irish territory would likely have been (reluctantly) accepted as the price of peace, as it was in Hungary.

But the North Channel is an immovable frontier, and Ireland’s status as an island is thus a political straitjacket. Its extent is fixed by the sea in perpetuity, and an equitable repartition would leave NI as an unviable state. In addition, the island as a “natural” political unit has both an economic logic and a romantic appeal – it is no accident that ethnically-divided islands provide more than their fair share of the world’s intractable conflicts. Ethnic nationalism can sometimes work if practical frontiers can be found. But islands frustrate this process, and in Ireland no such practical frontiers are possible.

One cannot define an ethnic Irish identity, because the geographical Irish identity is in conflict with it, and cannot be altered to match. Ethnic nationalism is thus doomed to failure in Ireland, because ethnic-Unionists (“Huns“) cannot submit to an Irishness based on ethnic-Nationalist (“Taig“) identity, but neither can they escape it. Political and cultural neurosis is the inevitable result.

Ethnicity in Northern Ireland

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In my previous post, I argued that the terms “Protestant community” and “Catholic community”, as used for fair employment monitoring in Northern Ireland, are merely proxies – it is not your personal faith (or even your personal political beliefs) that are being monitored, but your ethnicity. And the only words we have that accurately describe these ethnicities are the pejoratives “Hun” and “Taig”.

But what is an ethnicity, and how does this apply to Northern Ireland? From Wikipedia:

An ethnic group (or ethnicity) is a group of people whose members identify with each other, through a common heritage, often consisting of a common language, a common culture (often including a shared religion) and/or an ideology that stresses common ancestry or endogamy.

The “two communities” in NI obviously qualify in terms of self-identification, religion and endogamy. Common ancestry was also a key component of the Gaelic revival, as was the restoration of a dying common language.

But here we see a key difference between Taigs and Huns – while the former have a clear sense of their own ancestry, the latter sometimes appear to struggle. This may be due to the eclectic origins of Huns amongst English and Scots planters, Huguenot refugees and Penal Law converts – groups who have historically shared little in common except the Reformed faith. Contrast this with the older roots of Taigs in the Gaelic population, whose origins are shrouded in mist, spiced only by the Anglo-Norman aristocracy and the occasional Viking, both well-integrated come the time of plantation. Thus Taig identity draws heavily upon language, legend and location, while Hun identity focuses more on religion and politics, with King Billy being the closest approximation to a founding mythology.

But there is another native people who pass the ethnicity test, and that is Irish Travellers or (since I am decrying euphemisms) Pavee. Long neglected, there is an increased awareness of their distinct identity, with the census in NI now counting them as a separate ethnic group. Although Pavee are mainly Catholic and probably descend from Gaelic ancestry, they are strongly endogamous and maintain a nomadic culture equally alien to both Huns and Taigs.

So with this in mind, perhaps the next NI census form should read:

□ Hun
□ Taig
□ Pavee
□ English
□ Scottish
□ Welsh
□ Polish
□ Chinese
□ Indian
□ Black
□ Mixed
□ Other

And maybe instead of “Mixed” we should be allowed to tick more than one box? But that’s an argument for another time.