The psychology of dissident republicanism

Recently I saw the film City of God: two hours of men shooting each other in the Brazilian slums. Yesterday, coffee with a friend included a long discussion about the implications for Irish republicanism of the events of the past two weeks, including Martin McGuiness’s ‘traitors’ statement and the arrest of Colin Duffy.

Readers may by now be wondering where this post is going, apart from those who are enjoying the idea of two middle-aged women sitting in a South Belfast coffee house mulling over the history of the physical force tradition. Anyway, we were remarking on the youth of two of the men arrested for the murder of Constable Carroll in Craigavon, and the survival of the concept of fighting for Ireland into a generation that can’t remember the bad old days – but who have their heroes, such as Colin Duffy.

In Northern Ireland, a small number of ideologues who believe it’s still possible to achieve a united Ireland through violence can capture the imagination of young people (usually men) and encourage them to take part in murder. But throughout the world, murder is committed for many reasons, some ideological and some criminal. In City of God, the local drugs trade was carved up into gang-controlled areas, with predictably lethal results. If your standing in the community can be increased by shooting a policeman, or dealing drugs, or blowing yourself up, it’s much more of an incentive if other options are unattractive - such as a legal but low-paid job, or a life on the dole.

So what makes a young person in Northern Ireland get involved with dissident republicans, rather than knocking on doors to increase the Sinn Féin vote? And why now? Is it a desire for a united Ireland, in which disadvantage will magically vanish? Or is it the volatile combination of deprivation, testosterone and hero worship that plays out in many parts of the world in different ways, but with the same desperate result? The answer might get us closer to being able to stop it.

Just do it

Andrew Mawson’s ‘The Social Entrepreneur’ is the most inspiring book I’ve read in ages. Mawson moved to Bromley by Bow in London’s East End in 1984, to be a minister in a run-down and underused United Reformed Church. He transformed the huge building and surrounding land into a multi-purpose community centre including nursery, health centre, arts activities, social support and a park – the Bromley by Bow Centre (pictured). And the church? It’s still there, much smaller, in a refurbished building that doubles as the nursery.

I remember visiting the Centre a couple of times in the 1990s, and being very impressed at the facilities and range of activities. Mawson funds his initiatives through charitable and business donations, voluntary activity, some charging, and state sources including service provision. His model has been endorsed by people from across the political spectrum. What’s significant is that he starts with identified need, and then looks for funding and support to meet it, from whatever sources he can find.

There are three particularly thought-provoking sections. First is the account of the early years – from church to community centre. Mawson had no extra money, but he had space in a huge decrepit building. So if anyone approached him and asked to use it, he said yes. No risk analysis, no ten-page funding application, no written contract – just yes.

Second is his account of dealing with the local council and health services after a failure to support a dying parishioner and his subsequent attempt to set up the now successful local health centre. I tend to be suspicious of organisations that go off and do their own thing without reference to state structures. But it has to be said that if the state fails an area – which I remember was happening in the East End at that time – then unilateral action is preferable to doing nothing, and doesn’t preclude campaigning for improved state services as well.

Third is the story of the failure of his model to be adopted on a wider scale. It seemed to be impossible to capture the essence of the project in policy documents, lists of outputs and outcomes, and ‘good practice’ guides. Politicians wanted to see more Bromley by Bow Centres, but national steering groups and advisory committees led by civil servants couldn’t break away from the worst aspects of risk averse public sector culture. Mawson continues to despair on this one.

The original church was not connected with the multi-cultural neighbourhood – and couldn’t be. In expanding the range of activities, based on common needs rather than on religious belief, the Bromley by Bow Centre now benefits everyone. Worth thinking about, wherever we live.

The story of the thing

Recently I admired a colleague’s jacket. It turned out the she’d bought it in Toronto, in a district we both knew, and on a memorable day. The jacket wasn’t just something to wear to keep warm, or even to look good – it had a story attached.

It looks as if I’ll be moving house soon, which has started me thinking about how much of my stuff has meaning beyond its use or beauty, making it harder than it should be to follow the William Morris rule. Things are bought on holiday, given as presents, inherited, or just seemed to be so right at the time.

Other things gain emotional meaning through use. I’ve been drinking my morning tea out of the same mug for at least thirty years. It was one of a pair and the other one was broken by a friend who has since died, when he was decorating our flat in London. Layers of meaning and memory.

That’s how older people, in particular, end up with houses full of stuff which they don’t want to get rid of. It’s hard to throw things away, or, more poignantly, they manage to do so and then regret it. Too much of anything on display gathers dust and looks wrong in this minimalist age. I’ll be trying to balance use, beauty and memory in the new house – wish me luck.

Why I won’t be twittering or tweeting or whatever it is

I’m just starting to rediscover the ‘life’ part of my work/ life balance, after six weeks of intensive work and a fairly hectic month before that. Anyway, the busy period finished on Tuesday, so at least I managed to get to Belfast’s silent protest against the recent murders. No blog post on the subject as yet, but I have nothing to say that hasn’t already been said by others.

Which brings me to Twitter. As a blogger and regular user of Facebook, it seemed the logical next step and I have been investigating it.

With blogging I have a lot more than 140 characters to play with. I can try to put forward a coherent argument and if I fail I can’t blame the word length. There’s scope for a limited amount of debate via the comments function, although the interactivity of blogging software could be improved. With Facebook, not only do I get the chance to post boring status updates, but I can also put up photos, post links to items elsewhere on the web which I think might interest my FFs, join groups to show my support for various causes, and send and receive invitations. As far as I can see, all that can be done on Twitter is the equivalent of a status update – the famous 140 characters – including links to web sites. People say that news travels faster on Twitter, but I’m happy to wait for the BBC online.

I do acknowledge one useful aspect, though. Twitter is being used as an information resource by national governments, political parties and campaigns, with open access. In these cases, it functions like an instantly updateable mini web site and I can see the sense in that.

But for individuals, I don’t think so. What did I do today? Sat at desk. Worked. Ate sandwich. Worked some more. Ate banana. Went home.

Why on earth would anyone want to know that? I’m with Jon Stewart on this one.