Béarla

dublin | history and heritage | opinion/analysis

Monday March 13, 2006 17:02

by Godot

Identity, Language and the Recent Riots in Dublin

The language in which we are speaking is his before it is mine. How different are the words home, Christ, ale. master, on his lips and on mine! I cannot speak or write these words without unrest of spirit. His language, so familiar and so foreign, will always be for me an acquired speech. I have not made or accepted its words. My voice holds them at bay. My soul frets in the shadow of his language. – A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man - James Joyce

I should be speaking Irish but I don't understand a fucking word... English is a wall and "fuck" is my chisel - Tommy Tiernan

First of all a quick note to Geri: you may want to reread your post, it looks like you've said the opposite of what you intended. Condone means to permit, to agree with. I assume you are well aware of this, but if it were me who came out with the opposite of what I consciously intended I'd ask myself why I had confused them. I'm not having a go, the rest of this post doesn't refer back to yours, I'm just making the point that language may reveal more than we intend sometimes.

Secondly, a few thoughts on language. Sadly, though we are taught it all the way up through school, only a small portion of the Irish population speak more than a smattering of Irish; we've lost and gained from speaking English. To enter a language is to somehow enter another mindset, even soulset.

I contend that one reason for recent events in Dublin is that of an impoverished cultural identity with an impoverished language bandying and fighting about impoverished totems. I thought we had moved beyond defining ourselves against the other. This is a normal phase for an adolescents, but as a national myth! Definitions of oneself as Irish against British/Loyalist/Protestant (against Charlie Bird for fuck sake!) are pathetic.

People kill and die for symbols and imagined identities. Nationalists, Loyalist, Iraqis, Americans; but violence means the same thing when inflicted on us.

Most of us in Ireland are white English speakers, and this is a privileged position in the world. I don't condone privilege based on race, language, nationality or anything else, I am just stating a fact. When we turn on the tv we are subjected to amusing insubstantial programing featuring other priviliged white English speakers; it seems to me the result is increasing blandness and banality of language, expression and identity.

So much for the like teen tv speak? Of what you like so hear like all the time? On the like buses? But what about written language of some of the more vehement posters on this board?
English will in some sense always be a foreign language, but come on, we've spoken it long enough to avoid illiteracy like "iggnorant protestads". How can any native speaker expect to have their views on history or politics or anything else taken seriously in the wider world when they ignore basic spelling, punctuation and grammar!

Language, it seems to me, has two main ways of being opaque: wordiness parading as reason such as New Labour spin; or grunts and howls and received prejudice pretending to be patriotic common sense, you can apply this to Ireland north and south as much as Bush's dumbed-down, numbed down newspeak. Parochial, emotive sociolinguistic varieties occasionally have their place among peers , but in the wider context serve only to illustrate the lack of a well formulated position, or worse, wilful intent to mislead. They also shows lack of respect for the audience; in a forum such as this they drown out meaningful discourse in jingoistic clamour.

North and South of the River
Co-written with Christy Moore

I want to reach out over the lough
And feel your hand across the water
Walk with you along an unapproved road
Not looking over my shoulder
I want to see, and I want to hear
To understand your fears
But we're north and south of the river

I've been doing it wrong all of my life
This holy town has turned me over
A young man running when he didn't understand
The wind from the lough just get colder, colder
There was a badness that had its way
Love wasn't lost - it just got mislaid
North and south of the river
North and south of the river

Can we stop playing this altar tune?
Darling, I don't have the answer
I want to meet you where you are
I don't need you to surrender
'Cause there's no feeling that's so alone
As when the one you're hurting is your own
North and south of the river
North and south of the river
North and south of the river

Some high ground is not worth taking
Some connections are not worth making
This old church bell no longer ringing
Some old songs are not worth bringing
North - north and south of the river

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