Prophets, Makers and Risk Takers

On Thursday I hosted an online symposium showcasing contemporary Northern Irish writers and discussing the issues raised by their work. It was an incredibly heartening experience. An enormous range of different voices contributed to a programme which emphasised just how accomplished, nuanced and eclectic our writing community is. We Northern Irish writers stand upon some powerful shoulders. This part of the world has produced more than its fair share of incredible literature. Yet, I’d argue, that there’s never been such a large and successful crop of writers who call the North of Ireland home. Their work encompasses a huge range of genres, styles, themes and perspectives. The community includes writers from a variety of different backgrounds: writers who’ve moved from other places to settle here and writers who’ve now left Northern Ireland yet retain a sense of rootedness. Contemporary Northern Irish writing is typified by its bold use of language and -like the place it emanates from- the variousness of identities it represents. It was quite the emotional experience to spend a full day celebrating the evolution of Northern Irish writing and thinking about where it might head next.

A combination of affordable living costs, a strong sense of artistic community and the fact that there’s always something to write about, means Northern Ireland’s literary community has expanded rapidly and now encompasses a wide variety of different writers keeping each other keen and active creatively. I have benefited from this writing community for more than a decade. I know how amazing and eclectic it is. I thought that other people had a similar impression of how and what we were writing about, up here on the edge of the continent. In the run up to the symposium I discovered I’d been quite naïve. This week has been something of a wake up call. I’ve been in two minds whether I should write this blog. I’m not very good with confrontation. I don’t like upsetting people if I can. However, during the symposium and in subsequent chats, so mane people voiced the same frustration I felt I had to write it out.

I did two big radio interviews in the run up to Thursday’s conference. One for the major arts programme in Ireland and one for the major arts programme in the UK. Both proposed to open the segment with the, now infamous, “blackboard” clip from Lisa McGee’s Derry Girls where young Catholics and Protestants list their differences, illustrating how the sectarian divide permeates every part of our cultural DNA. (I’ll just add a quick caveat here, I am a big fan of Derry Girls, and this is a particularly hilarious clip. I am not for a minute critiquing the show). I have to say that I resent what the use of this clip implied when placed, as it was, before an interview with contemporary Northern Irish writers. I, and the other who’d been invited on to these shows, were there to talk about the eclectic, nuanced and diverse range of writers who make up the contemporary Northern Irish literary community. It was clear from both the positioning of this clip and the range of questions which emerged, that there is still a prevailing assumption within both Ireland and the UK, that Northern Irish writers are predominantly focused on the Troubles and the legacy of sectarianism. I’m not stating this to be deliberately hostile. I actually pointed out to one of the producers that the use of this clip was reductive and not at all helpful and it was subsequently pulled from our second interview. I believe there is still an enormous amount of misunderstanding -sometime based on genuine ignorance, occasionally based on deliberate bias- about what it means to be a Northern Irish writer. I am not the first to say this. I suspect that I won’t be the last. It is frustrating to realise that sometimes the same simple message needs to be repeated ad nauseum.

Over the years, I’ve heard so many hard, hurtful stories from Northern Irish writers who’ve encountered negativity in regards to what they’ve chosen to write about. Sometimes it feels like a Catch 22 being associated with this place. If your work doesn’t directly address the Troubles you’re not meeting people’s expectations of what a Northern Irish writer should be. If you choose to write about the conflict, you immediately hit up against the -blatantly untrue- assertion that nobody wants to hear about the Troubles anymore. My own personal “being Northern Irish is complicated” moments are myriad and still quite raw. There’s having a row of American Irish audience members walk out of a reading in California the second they heard I wasn’t a Catholic. And having an American film producer ask if I could take the Orange men out of The Fire Starters and set it somewhere other than East Belfast. There’s having to explain to an English academic that my Ballymena accent was genuinely Northern Irish as he repetitively insisted that I didn’t sound Irish at all. If you’re a writer from Northern Ireland you can insert your own “it’s complicated” story here.

I’m not writing this blog as a means of venting or reeling out a litany of woes. It is a complicated situation. Even those of us who live with Northern Ireland day and daily frequently struggle to understand what’s going on. Ignorance isn’t the issue. Everyone begins from a position of ignorance. I don’t much care what you know, so much as how you’ve postured yourself towards learning more. Let me give you a quick example. I don’t understand the intricacies of what’s happened in Belarus or the Ukraine or Kashmir. I wouldn’t ever assume too. But this last year I’ve had the privilege to collaborate with wonderful writers from all these places. I’ve asked them if they could explain a little of the places they’re from. Unsurprisingly, not one of these people have been offended by my ignorance. As I was not in the least bit offended by the gaggle of lovely older ladies who tracked me down in the street after my reading at Listowel Festival a few years ago. “You’re so welcome here, Love,” said the first one, “I went to the North once myself.” “Here now,” said the second, “could you explain to me exactly what an Orange Man is.” And I did. With pleasure. Because talking and listening is the only way that people can learn.

I don’t know what your politics are. Maybe you already have a strong opinion about the future of Northern Ireland. Maybe you don’t. Maybe it’s the same opinion as mine. Maybe it’s the polar opposite. To be honest, I don’t really care what you think but I do care how you go about this thinking. Are you open-eared and willing to learn or have you got your head in the sand? I don’t know where or what this place will be ten years from now. What I can say with certainty is, there will be much talk about Northern Ireland in the years to come and I believe it is absolutely essential that we are not just talked about from an ignorant distance. We must be engaged with, listened to and included in these conversations about our future. We shouldn’t have to be invited to the table, it is our table after all. But I suspect there are those who will try to exclude us. And let me remind you that silencing works in so many ways. It’s not just excluding the voices of people from here. It’s over-simplifying our story. It’s working off dated stereotypes. It’s only permitting certain voices to speak on behalf of everyone.

I believe that we writers, regardless of what we write about, will have an enormous part to play in whatever happens next. You don’t have to be a historian to recognise that writers, thinkers and artists are usually the canaries singing in the mines. We are, as Thursday’s symposium took pains to point out, not just makers, but also prophets and risk takers. Those who came before us set this precedent. This week has taught me that more must be done to ensure our writers’ work finds new readers so the portrait of Northern Ireland shared throughout Ireland, the UK and the world is not the reductive, single issue, stereotype which seems to still be lingering in people’s minds. I’m old enough to recall the days when every Northern Irish accent on a TV programme or film belonged to either a terrorist or a drunk, (shamelessly exempting Charlie from Casualty here). The situation is not quite as bad as it used to be, but the national and international representation of Northern Irish identity is nowhere near as diverse and nuanced as I know it to be.

I’ll end on a positive note. I left Thursday’s symposium freshly inspired by the writers who make up my community. These are people who write boldly and brilliantly about so many different things. If they want to address the Troubles in their work, they can and will, with exceptional insight and clarity. There are so many stories about the conflict and its legacy which have not been heard or written yet. It is ludicrous and reductive to say this chapter of our story’s over, whilst there are still new angles to be explored. Equally, our writers are under no obligation to address the Troubles in their work. The range and depth of their writing is limited to nothing but the scope of their imagination and their ability to wield a pen.

There is a large body of exceptional writing emerging from Northern Ireland right now. If, as has happened in the past, this work -either purposefully or accidentally- falls between the stools and goes unacknowledged by either Irish or UK festivals, publishers and broadcasters, it will be their loss. I am going to do my level best to challenge this sort of thing whenever I see it. I am committed to respectfully but firmly raising my voice when I see Northern Irish writers excluded, othered or stereotyped. The literary landscape is so much more open to writers like me than it was when I first published more than a decade ago. But there’s still an awfully long way to go.