“There’s a war coming Ned, I don’t know when or who we’ll be fighting but it’s coming”- Robert Baratheon to Ned Stark in Game of Thrones, A Song of Fire and Ice.
On the weekend past, when many in Britain celebrated Armed Forces Day as a family festival, there was something disconcerting for those of us who lived through the era of the Good Friday Agreement. Sometimes I feel that just as the pandemic came upon us with startling speed in 2020, we are now heading slowly and silently towards a global conflict. The groundwork for that is being laid in plain sight. In the background of everyday life in England, a quiet militarisation is taking place through the language of pageantry, spectacle, and remembrance. And like Brexit, this creeping normalisation may only be recognised for what it is when it is already too late. We will be in a major war.
By then, it might also be too late to create the conditions for a harmonious and well-planned Irish Border Poll. This could mean that a long-term peaceful resolution to the Irish conflict once again becomes a casualty of Britain’s overseas adventures, as happened in the era of Home Rule and the First World War. That’s a far cry from what many of us envisioned in the 1990s and the time of the Good Friday Agreement.
Launched in 2009 as a rebrand of the more solemn Veterans Day, Armed Forces Day turned reflection into fanfare with ice cream vans and spinning teacups. Where once the dead were mourned, now the living are paraded. Children are invited — as they were inmy local borough of Greenwich last weekend — to “clamber over and into” tanks and armoured vehicles. All of this is staged with an air of family entertainment. An Anglican church was at the heart of the event, which seems a contradiction from the teachings of Jesus Christ and a religion that’s supposed to be based on peace.
To me, it felt that the attendees — even though they would not see it this way — were dancing on the graves of the dead in Gaza and other places such as Ireland, Iraq, and Afghanistan. The contrast in realities between Greenwich and Gaza was obscene. A Saturday in Greenwich was filled with ice cream and selfies beside armoured cars, tanks, and guns. The same Saturday in Gaza was probably one of queuing for food under drone surveillance and the threat of random gunfire. What kind of society encourages children to put their fingers on the same types of triggers that are aimed at children elsewhere?
Because I remember a time when armoured cars and tanks and guns weren’t toys. I remember what they meant on the streets of Belfast and Derry. And what they still mean in the slaughterhouse unfolding before our eyes in Gaza. I remember too how such conditions gave rise to a music of resistance. Today, artists like Kneecap carry that tradition forward — speaking out against militarism, censorship and injustice.
With the prosecution and vilification of Kneecap (including idiosyncratic historically-illiterate threats of deportation), it becomes clear that the British government is not only indifferent to dissent but unwilling to cooperate with or even acknowledge the Irish or anti-war perspective as valid — either at home or abroad. This push to silence dissent is not the posture of a country preparing for reconciliation or addressing its colonial legacy. It is the stance of a state bracing for confrontation.
Perhaps this is why Kneecap’s work echoes that of earlier generations — the Wolfe Tones’ “Men Behind the Wire” amongst such anthems — giving voice to those whose lives have been shaped, and shattered, by the armed presence of the British state.
In Britain though they don’t learn about any of that. Many choose to ignore those aspects of history. And they refuse to call this growing militarism propaganda. They call it heritage. They call it remembrance. They talk about the army “keeping us safe” (but from whom: who is attacking them?) The absurd pageantry of unadulterated militarism is portrayed as something entirely clean, wholesome, and above criticism.
But if Russia, China or North Korea held such events encouraging little children to clamber up on tanks and play with guns while promoting military exceptionalism, theBritish media would rightly label it as a disgusting spectacle. Britain’s version is no less ideological, but it’s packaged in a sense of righteousness and exceptionalism.
Even charities like Help for Heroes which, on some level, do important work are enwrapped in agendas of endorsing everyday militarism. Soldiers are rendered as innocent teddy bears. Historical complexity is airbrushed away. The public is never asked to consider what the British Army was doing in Basra, in Belfast, or in Helmand. It is all packaged into the same uncritical, comforting story: that ‘we’ are the good guys.
This is not a criticism of the military. It is a criticism of militarism. And Britain has lost the ability to see the difference. Even those on the British Left, sympathetic to Ireland, often avoid condemning militarism for fear of appearing to disrespect the military itself.
There is of course nothing wrong with having a military. Even pacifists can support a genuinely neutral army — one dedicated to peacekeeping, with no imperial agenda. The Irish Defence Forces offer such a model. But Britain’s military, and its relationship to national identity, is something else entirely. Here, military power is synonymous with virtue. Military criticism is taboo. Soldiers are the moral spine of the nation, never to be questioned, only praised. The monarchy may have lost some of its sheen, but the military has replaced it as some super-national institution beyond reproach.
Ironically, at the heart of Britishness lies a belief in fair play and, on an everyday level, the civic decency of British people often surpasses that found in Ireland. But an “us versus them” logic also persists. As long as ‘we’ have our freedom, it matters little what happens to ‘them.’ Some Northern Irish unionist politicians echo this language, but many Irish people now recognise that unity could bring with it the best elements of British civic life — without the baggage of military exceptionalism.
However, Britishness of the present brand is increasingly defined by that militarism, monarchy, and myth. Indoctrinated through school visits, poppies, parades, and tabloid nationalism, the public is fed a comforting illusion of benevolence. And yet, deep down, many people know better. This is still the country where millions marched against the Iraq War. That same spirit still exists — if not in Westminster, then in the people.
What’s unfolding in Britain today is deeply concerning. There is a clear effort to silence dissent, to marginalise those who fail to show full-throated loyalty to the state and its militaristic agenda. But under the terms of the Good Friday Agreement, Irish nationalists are not required to give that allegiance. Their difference from the British state was not only acknowledged but protected. Now, it seems that spirit of recognition is being eroded. Britain appears to be moving toward a vision of the Union in which only those who are unquestioningly loyal to the crown, the army, and the state have a place. That is not a Union into which Irish nationalists can ever truly integrate.
And yet, a future does remain — one rooted in peace, pluralism, and understanding. There is room in a united Ireland for the best elements of British civic life: fairness, rule of law, a strong public sphere, hard work, innovation, inclusivity and decency. These values, unshackled from militarism and imperial nostalgia, can enrich a new Ireland. It is not only Irish nationalists who should see this. Unionists and those in the middle groundof Northern Irish society must also consider where their interests truly lie — in a Britain that makes war on the world stage, or in an Ireland that strives to live in peace.
The Good Friday Agreement taught the world that long-term peace is possible but only if we protect the conditions that make it possible. If we delay a Border Poll, or allow creeping militarisation to go unchallenged, it may one day be too late. And Ireland, both North and South may again find itself a casualty of Britain’s foreign policy if we drift on for years without an end in sight for the possibility of having an Irish Border Poll. Because, even if it isn’t won, having one will put the focus on peace again, not war.
Too much of Britain’s sense ot itself and its military benevolence is based on myth. And narcissistic myth at that, a sense of “our safety” and nobody else’s. Maybe it’s time to break with that past and build a more progressive and inclusive future, starting with a lasting solution to the legacy of the British border imposed upon Ireland. Until that issue’s fully resolved Britain will always be unable to face its own past and move on. Then again, it may not want to. Hopefully though it does.
“There’s a war coming Ned, I don’t know when or who we’ll be fighting but it’s coming”- Robert Baratheon to Ned Stark in Game of Thrones, A Song of Fire and Ice.
On the weekend past, when many in Britain celebrated Armed Forces Day as a family festival, there was something disconcerting for those of us who lived through the era of the Good Friday Agreement. Sometimes I feel that just as the pandemic came upon us with startling speed in 2020, we are now heading slowly and silently towards a global conflict. The groundwork for that is being laid in plain sight. In the background of everyday life in England, a quiet militarisation is taking place through the language of pageantry, spectacle, and remembrance. And like Brexit, this creeping normalisation may only be recognised for what it is when it is already too late. We will be in a major war.
By then, it might also be too late to create the conditions for a harmonious and well-planned Irish Border Poll. This could mean that a long-term peaceful resolution to the Irish conflict once again becomes a casualty of Britain’s overseas adventures, as happened in the era of Home Rule and the First World War. That’s a far cry from what many of us envisioned in the 1990s and the time of the Good Friday Agreement.
Launched in 2009 as a rebrand of the more solemn Veterans Day, Armed Forces Day turned reflection into fanfare with ice cream vans and spinning teacups. Where once the dead were mourned, now the living are paraded. Children are invited — as they were inmy local borough of Greenwich last weekend — to “clamber over and into” tanks and armoured vehicles. All of this is staged with an air of family entertainment. An Anglican church was at the heart of the event, which seems a contradiction from the teachings of Jesus Christ and a religion that’s supposed to be based on peace.
To me, it felt that the attendees — even though they would not see it this way — were dancing on the graves of the dead in Gaza and other places such as Ireland, Iraq, and Afghanistan. The contrast in realities between Greenwich and Gaza was obscene. A Saturday in Greenwich was filled with ice cream and selfies beside armoured cars, tanks, and guns. The same Saturday in Gaza was probably one of queuing for food under drone surveillance and the threat of random gunfire. What kind of society encourages children to put their fingers on the same types of triggers that are aimed at children elsewhere?
Because I remember a time when armoured cars and tanks and guns weren’t toys. I remember what they meant on the streets of Belfast and Derry. And what they still mean in the slaughterhouse unfolding before our eyes in Gaza. I remember too how such conditions gave rise to a music of resistance. Today, artists like Kneecap carry that tradition forward — speaking out against militarism, censorship and injustice.
With the prosecution and vilification of Kneecap (including idiosyncratic historically-illiterate threats of deportation), it becomes clear that the British government is not only indifferent to dissent but unwilling to cooperate with or even acknowledge the Irish or anti-war perspective as valid — either at home or abroad. This push to silence dissent is not the posture of a country preparing for reconciliation or addressing its colonial legacy. It is the stance of a state bracing for confrontation.
Perhaps this is why Kneecap’s work echoes that of earlier generations — the Wolfe Tones’ “Men Behind the Wire” amongst such anthems — giving voice to those whose lives have been shaped, and shattered, by the armed presence of the British state.
In Britain though they don’t learn about any of that. Many choose to ignore those aspects of history. And they refuse to call this growing militarism propaganda. They call it heritage. They call it remembrance. They talk about the army “keeping us safe” (but from whom: who is attacking them?) The absurd pageantry of unadulterated militarism is portrayed as something entirely clean, wholesome, and above criticism.
But if Russia, China or North Korea held such events encouraging little children to clamber up on tanks and play with guns while promoting military exceptionalism, theBritish media would rightly label it as a disgusting spectacle. Britain’s version is no less ideological, but it’s packaged in a sense of righteousness and exceptionalism.
Even charities like Help for Heroes which, on some level, do important work are enwrapped in agendas of endorsing everyday militarism. Soldiers are rendered as innocent teddy bears. Historical complexity is airbrushed away. The public is never asked to consider what the British Army was doing in Basra, in Belfast, or in Helmand. It is all packaged into the same uncritical, comforting story: that ‘we’ are the good guys.
This is not a criticism of the military. It is a criticism of militarism. And Britain has lost the ability to see the difference. Even those on the British Left, sympathetic to Ireland, often avoid condemning militarism for fear of appearing to disrespect the military itself.
There is of course nothing wrong with having a military. Even pacifists can support a genuinely neutral army — one dedicated to peacekeeping, with no imperial agenda. The Irish Defence Forces offer such a model. But Britain’s military, and its relationship to national identity, is something else entirely. Here, military power is synonymous with virtue. Military criticism is taboo. Soldiers are the moral spine of the nation, never to be questioned, only praised. The monarchy may have lost some of its sheen, but the military has replaced it as some super-national institution beyond reproach.
Ironically, at the heart of Britishness lies a belief in fair play and, on an everyday level, the civic decency of British people often surpasses that found in Ireland. But an “us versus them” logic also persists. As long as ‘we’ have our freedom, it matters little what happens to ‘them.’ Some Northern Irish unionist politicians echo this language, but many Irish people now recognise that unity could bring with it the best elements of British civic life — without the baggage of military exceptionalism.
However, Britishness of the present brand is increasingly defined by that militarism, monarchy, and myth. Indoctrinated through school visits, poppies, parades, and tabloid nationalism, the public is fed a comforting illusion of benevolence. And yet, deep down, many people know better. This is still the country where millions marched against the Iraq War. That same spirit still exists — if not in Westminster, then in the people.
What’s unfolding in Britain today is deeply concerning. There is a clear effort to silence dissent, to marginalise those who fail to show full-throated loyalty to the state and its militaristic agenda. But under the terms of the Good Friday Agreement, Irish nationalists are not required to give that allegiance. Their difference from the British state was not only acknowledged but protected. Now, it seems that spirit of recognition is being eroded. Britain appears to be moving toward a vision of the Union in which only those who are unquestioningly loyal to the crown, the army, and the state have a place. That is not a Union into which Irish nationalists can ever truly integrate.
And yet, a future does remain — one rooted in peace, pluralism, and understanding. There is room in a united Ireland for the best elements of British civic life: fairness, rule of law, a strong public sphere, hard work, innovation, inclusivity and decency. These values, unshackled from militarism and imperial nostalgia, can enrich a new Ireland. It is not only Irish nationalists who should see this. Unionists and those in the middle groundof Northern Irish society must also consider where their interests truly lie — in a Britain that makes war on the world stage, or in an Ireland that strives to live in peace.
The Good Friday Agreement taught the world that long-term peace is possible but only if we protect the conditions that make it possible. If we delay a Border Poll, or allow creeping militarisation to go unchallenged, it may one day be too late. And Ireland, both North and South may again find itself a casualty of Britain’s foreign policy if we drift on for years without an end in sight for the possibility of having an Irish Border Poll. Because, even if it isn’t won, having one will put the focus on peace again, not war.
Too much of Britain’s sense ot itself and its military benevolence is based on myth. And narcissistic myth at that, a sense of “our safety” and nobody else’s. Maybe it’s time to break with that past and build a more progressive and inclusive future, starting with a lasting solution to the legacy of the British border imposed upon Ireland. Until that issue’s fully resolved Britain will always be unable to face its own past and move on. Then again, it may not want to. Hopefully though it does.