To discuss the nature of our relationship to England and America is to discuss the question of language, something I have done quite a bit. However, as I have limited my previous writings to the political sphere, I believe there’s value in retreading this ground from a more explicitly cultural lens.

Essential to any understanding of the link between languages and colonialism is Decolonising the Mind, a series of essays from Kenyan author Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o. Within this book, wa Thiong’o aptly observes the dual character of language, arguing that languages serve not only as a mode of communication but also as “a carrier of culture”. In his eyes, languages provide us with ways of seeing - transferring on certain values and attitudes to their speakers. Following on from this, the destruction of languages under colonisation serves as “the means of spiritual subjugation”, leading to colonised peoples becoming alienated from themselves. In his words:

The colonial child was made to see the world and where he stands in it as seen and defined by or reflected in the culture of the language of imposition. And since those images are mostly passed on through orature and literature it meant the child would now only see the world as seen in the literature of his language of adoption. From the point of view of alienation, that is of seeing oneself from outside oneself as if one was another self, it does not matter that the imported literature carried the great humanist tradition of the best in Shakespeare, Goethe, Balzac, Tolstoy, Gorky, Brecht, Sholokhov, Dickens. The location of this great mirror of imagination was necessarily Europe and its history and culture and the rest of the universe was seen from that centre.

In other words, colonisers are able to recenter the perceptions of the colonised through linguistic destruction - ensuring that their world and value system haunt the colonised and that attempts to imagine an alternate system never arise.

One aspect of wa Thiong’o’s work I feel is often ignored is the extent to which his definition of decolonisation is internationalist in nature. His ideal struggle is based more around colonised nations finding their own place in the world as opposed to these nations shutting themselves off. Rather than arguing for a return to a utopian monolingual past, wa Thiong’o asks why African authors can’t take the words of Tolstoy, Marx, and Einstein and bring them into their respective languages. Instead of shying away from existing literature, wa Thiong’o argues for the reconquest of “the rich humanist and democratic heritage in the struggles of other peoples”. As opposed to seeking acceptance through effective use of their outer voices, wa Thiong’o argues that colonised peoples must struggle to maintain and restore their inner one.

I think this dichotomy of inner and outer voices is particularly useful when analysing our one-sided relationship with the U.K and the U.S - a dichotomy starkly laid out by Olga Tokarczuk, and referenced by Ciarán Dunbar:

There are countries out there where people speak English. But not like us - we have our own languages hidden in our carry-on luggage, in our cosmetics bags, only ever using English when we travel, and then only in foreign countries, to foreign people. It’s hard to imagine, but English is their real language! Oftentimes their only language. They don’t have anything to fall back on or turn to in moments of doubt… They may be understood by anyone at any moment, whenever they open their mouths.[…] Wherever they are, people have unlimited access to them - they are accessible to everyone and everything!

This perpetual accessibility manifests itself in multiple forms, with silly arguments on Twitter being one of the easiest to write about. If you’ve followed the outrage cycles inherent to the app, you’ve definitely seen an American or an English person get endlessly roasted for their ignorance on certain issues - an ignorance that is often proudly thrown into a conversation between Irish people discussing Irish topics. The lack of any real language barrier (and an overabundance of confidence in our neighbours) prevents us from being able to talk amongst ourselves, always being observed by (and always watching) those on the outside. An inability to talk amongst ourselves makes it harder for us to place ourselves in the world, with everywhere gradually morphing into a Diet Coke California.

Another form this accessibility takes is cultural, with it being cheaper to import whatever media we consume than to create it. This is another area where the language question quite blatantly comes to the fore - similarly sized countries in Europe have more active cultural and literary scenes than us solely as it is harder for them to directly consume works from the cultural powerhouses of the U.K and the U.S. The lack of a language barrier has left Irish creatives with less space to exist and experiment, with smaller audiences and the logic of capital discouraging niche works that’d fail to reach a broad (if not), global audience. This economic pressure can be seen quite blatantly when we look at the literary sphere, as captured by Chris Beausang:

From a random-ish sample of 42 contemporary Irish writers, I found that they were represented by 9 agents working for 6 agencies, with one agent and one company representing just over 40% of all of them. All of these agencies were based in London and one agency also had premises in New York. One author was independent. So the sorts of channels of promotion and critical appraisal as Pascal Casanova would identify them are almost exclusively English or American and I would posit the loss of regional designation or historical orientation in contemporary Irish literature more generally, as something of a response to this state of affairs.

In basic terms, a lack of cultural space means that Irish artists are discouraged from ever imagining anything beyond what is instantly successful and what is palatable to our neighbours.

This accessibility also ensures cultural marginalisation, with this marginalisation arguably defining our existing spheres. While we can have our own regional mirrors of our neighbour’s cultural output, these mirrors will always take second stage to the real thing - even if they nominally present themselves as being in opposition. These marginal alternatives are something you have to specifically opt into, an effort most people seem unwilling to take. To twist Pádraig Pearse’s words, on some level we all prefer “the real British thing to a provincial understudy”, especially when the real deal is instantly accessible. While I feel uncool for saying this, I think this trend is seen most blatantly when we talk about football. While I enjoy following the League of Ireland, it shouldn’t really surprise us that casual supporters sat at home gravitate towards the flashy, accessible excess of the Premier League. Following the League (or listening to local bands singing in accents in which they’d never speak) occasionally feels like a hipster choice, a niche consumer statement that will never scale upwards. It’s hard to shout over your wealthier cousins, especially if you’re shouting a similar message.

In summary, the year and a half that I’ve spent mulling over the language question has brought me to a very direct conclusion - the widespread loss of the Irish language has left us culturally stunted. Our constant availability and engineered lack of a widespread inner voice have left us unable to escape our relationship with England, even if we are nominally opposed to it. We’re prone to either fully immerse ourselves in this neighbouring culture or solely define ourselves by limply opposing it - with neither outcome being conductive to anything fresh. This argument (and this article) is not to demean what we currently have, but instead to point out how much we can gain from cultural and linguistic conquest. But what does this reconquest look like?

In his diary, poet Seán Ó Ríordáin set out to harshly explain the difference between writing in English and Irish. He mused:

Ag cur síos ar Éirinn a bhíonn Béarla na hÉireann. Éire féin ag labhairt is ea an Ghaeilge. Ag faire ar Éirinn ón dtaobh amuigh a bhíonn an Béarla. Éire ag féachaint amach ar an saol is ea an Béarla. […] Ag labhairt le Sasana agus leis na Stáit Aontaithe a bhíonn Béarla na hÉireann, á rá leo: féachaigí cad tá aimsithe agam - tá sé dochreidte - an rud is aite agus is ciotarúnta agus is rómánsaí dá bhfaca éinne riamh - Ireland. […] Nuair a thagrann an Béarla don arm seo againne deir sí, /’the Irish Army’, rud áitiúil. Deir an Ghaeilge ’an tArm’ - rud daonna. Má phléann an Ghaeilge an tSín, beidh an plé Éireannach. Mura bpléann an Béarla (Béarla na hÉireann) cúrsaí na hÉireann, ní bheidh inti ach rud Sasanach./

(Hiberno-English is describing Ireland. Ireland herself talking is Irish. English is watching Ireland from the outside. Irish is Ireland looking outwards at life. Hiberno-English is talking to England and America, saying to them: look at what I’ve found - it’s incredible - the most queer, contrary, and romantic thing anyone’s ever seen - Ireland. […] When English references our army it says ’the Irish Army’, something local. Irish says ’the Army’ - something human. If Irish discusses China, the discussion will be Irish. If Hiberno-English doesn’t discuss Irish affairs, it’s nothing but an English thing.)

While Seán was writing from the zealous perspective of a fresh convert (something I am also guilty of), I still think this difference he noted is worth discussing. Rather than depicting shallow stereotypes for an outside audience, there is a need for us to create art and literature that inspires internal conversation. As opposed to endlessly fighting online once our outer voice inevitably gets misinterpreted, there is a need for us to restore an inner one. Returning to wa Thiong’o, there is a need for us to unshackle ourselves from our colonial relationship and firmly root ourselves in the wider world - understanding who we are, where we come from, and how much we can gain from reconquest. In the crudest of words, we must stop believing that decolonisation will arrive in the form of a belated thumbs up or an extended apology video. We must also be aware that decolonisation won’t solely arrive through the cultural either - especially in two partitioned statelets. If anything, decolonisation will mirror the words of Bobby Sands - with our children laughing and thinking about anything other than their neighbours.