You cannot grow up on the west of Scotland without being aware of the distinctive nature of politics in Northern Ireland. Most of the things I disliked about my childhood stemmed from the loud and unignorable sectarianism of the background culture: Are you a protestant or a catholic? was shouted at children in my town, on their way to and from their schools, on a daily basis. Pitched battles were regularly held on the playing fields which separated "us" (Ardrossan Academy, state comprehensive and therefore 'protestant') and "them" (St Andrews Academy, state-sponsored Catholic secondary).
This wasn't a gentle background murmur, a political echo of the seashore I grew up beside; it was a strong determinant of the path that nearly every social interaction with strangers would take. The first or second question which male Scots asked each other on meeting, in the 1980s, was Which team do you support? Meaning are you Rangers = Protestant or Celtic = Catholic. (I used to answer "Neither; I'm an atheist"). This was nothing to do with tribal loyalty to a football team of the sort I'm familiar with in London, and it's nearly impossible to explain in words how it felt. It was as though an idea of dissimilarity, of separation, had been fed into us from infancy; and in adulthood we searched for objective correlatives (football, for God's sake) with which to justify that early prejudice. I can remember my grandmother being seriously worried, to the extent that she sought the advice of her minister, about the outcome, were she to attend the funeral of one of her very small number of Catholic friends. It seems absurd, does it not? All I can tell you is that it did not feel absurd. It felt of a heavy importance.
All this left me with a pathological dislike of some political ideas which my head can recognise quite well as being worthy of merit. I find it impossible to feel the good of any type of faith school, though my head can see quite clearly why a parent would wish their child to attend one. If two Christian groupings could allow separate education on the west of Scotland to produce children who viewed their peers with, let's be kind, distrust, then goodness only knows the outcome if we were to permit children from quite distinct religious backgrounds to be raised in educational isolation.
This isn't a blog entry to decry religious education, or to pretend that banning faith schools would automatically generate a heartwarming frenzy of interfaith dialogue, renewed understanding, soaring A level results and freshly-baked bread on everyone's (scrubbed pine) kitchen table. But it does explain why my heart soared when I heard the news this morning that the Conservatives and the Ulster Unionists are exploring a formal coalition deal, with the aim of allowing voters in Northern Ireland to vote for a Conservative manifesto in national UK elections. Anything which tends to normalisation in Ulster is to be welcomed: but do not (gentle London reader) make the mistake of viewing this as likely to have no great impact on the calculus of Westminster (it won't) and therefore a parochial decision of little interest to those of us who don't live in Ulster. In their joint article in the Telegraph today, David Cameron and Sir Reg Empey write:
The Conservative Party and Ulster Unionist Party want the support of all those who share our joint agenda and common vision, regardless of their religion, background, or whatever part of the UK they happen to reside in.
That's quite a revolutionary statement for an Ulster politician, and one which could produce ripples of positive effect, bringing cultural change to communities across the UK, on the mainland as well as in Ulster. Who do you vote for? is a much less loaded question that Which team do you support?
In the article, the two leaders warn of the dangers of sectarian-based politics: they talk of "Ulster nationalists". I remember that after school in the 80s I often went to the seashore in Ardrossan, to enjoy some peace, to let the sussuration of the waves on the sand drive out some of the clatter of a schoolday. I was thinking, though not in words, There must be more to life than here? There is, of course. In politics, as in life (Alex Salmond take note), outwards is better than inwards.
