Tag Archives: ireland

Comhaltas: think global, act local

First published in the Irish Examiner, June 2025

“Think global, act local”: the phrase was coined in the 1970s, gained new currency in the ‘90s and remains relevant today. Think global – in other words, big picture, broad view, the important things – and act on an individual and community level.

Its original authors meant it environmentally, but it can apply to all sorts of things. Irish arts and culture, for instance.

As with every other indigenous culture, especially smaller nations’, our music and dancing and language have been essentially under siege for decades in an increasingly homogenised, connected, corporatised global village. It’s further exacerbated, now, by the huge demographic and sociocultural change of mass immigration.

This isn’t to get into the rights or wrongs of that, just to state an obvious fact: indigenous arts and culture are diluted, everywhere and every time, the more non-indigenous people live there.

This is a depressing situation; whenever the world loses any of its remarkable range and richness of traditions is depressing. But that’s what we might call “global” – what about local? What can you or I do about it, here and now? How can we help Irish arts to survive and thrive?

I give you Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Éireann. The kind of rare people giving words like “organisation”, “bureaucracy” and “non-profit” a good name.

Comhaltas was founded in 1951 by a group of musicians, concerned that Irish trad was in decline. They now have 400+ branches around the world, promoting and preserving our music, dancing and language.

They run weekly classes, periodic events and celebrations and sessions, and annual competitions. We’re currently gearing up in Clare for the County Fleadh, from Sunday June 8th. Do well in that and it’s onto the Munsters in Cork in July, and who knows? Maybe All-Ireland glory in Wexford this August. As the song goes, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.

Comhaltas have branches in places you’d expect – US, UK, Australia – and some you mightn’t: Colombia, Singapore, Patagonia, Japan. (Irish trad is massive in Japan especially, thanks mainly to Comhaltas. How’s that for thinking global?)

And they’re fantastic in what they do, the definition of “volunteer spirit”; they’re making the world a better place, one local step at a time, without asking or needing to be paid. Though that makes it all sound so worthy and po-faced, and getting involved in Comhaltas really isn’t like that at all.

It’s fun. It’s craic. It’s meeting people and doing things. It’s hefting chairs around a hall for the grúpa cheoil to assemble. It’s handing out wristbands for the Fleadh.

It’s WhatsApp groups and FaceBook photos and driving to rehearsals. It’s toting a harp case through a crowd and hoping to Jesus nobody bangs off the instrument, these things cost a lot of money…

It’s reuniting lost fiddle bows with their owner and waiting nervously with other parents for competition results. It’s negotiating complex timetables so you can watch your kid’s U15 group and still make the finale of the senior sean nós dancing.

It’s realising that sean nós, contrary to preconceptions, is an absolutely kick-ass style of dancing and how did this brilliant artform elude your attention until now?

One remarkable feature of Comhaltas, and traditional arts in general, is how it brings genuine superstars of the genre to the grassroots level – globally renowned names and local involvement.

In my own case, for example, the Kilfenora Céilí Band were formed 30 minutes from where I live. In trad terms, they’re megastars: they’ve played abroad (including the Glastonbury festival), been on the Late Late Show several times, performed at the National Concert Hall and other prestigious venues.

And I know several of them for years – just through normal life, and engagement with Comhaltas. They live local. They teach my kids music and/or steer groups through competition. They’re neighbours and friends. Our children play sport together. One is a teacher in a nearby secondary. (Another is Sharon Shannon’s brother, incidentally; he’s in a neighbouring branch, and there’s great friendly rivalry every summer.)

And it’s mad, you’re chatting to these people about the humdrum stuff of day-to-day and then they might say something like, “Sorry, we have to head off, we’ve to be in RTÉ by seven”. I love that. It’s what life should be about, really: incredibly talented artists, but also regular people who’re deeply engaged on a local level.

It’s the kind of thing you only really get in “roots” music. The rock equivalent would be The Edge teaching your kids guitar at the community hall, or Taylor Swift administrating a WhatsApp group called “Under 12 County final 2025”.

Funny, I was never a trad person growing up, and in fact still today am far more likely to listen to, or (badly) play, rock music or electronica or almost anything else, really, on CD or radio or YouTube.

But there’s something amazing about trad music and dance, when it’s live and in person; when you’re involved to some degree, not just passively consuming. It’s global, it’s local, it’s magical, it’s Comhaltas.


Play your tune loud

First published in the Irish Independent, August 19th

How do you define Fleadh Cheoil na hÉireann, the annual extravaganza of traditional Irish music which came to a rousing crescendo last Sunday in Wexford Town?

It’s kind of like an All-Ireland final, in terms of craic and excitement, community and bonhomie, nail-biting tension and exultation. Only better than that, because there’s music involved. (Sport is great, I love sport, but let’s face it: music is the soul speaking, it reaches far deeper.)

So the Fleadh is like a great gig. Only better than that too, because it goes on for a full week. And unlike a gig, with its inherent separation between performer and consumer, this is much more – pardon the buzzword – interactive.

Run annually since 1951 by Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Éireann, the Fleadh is a mad, whirling carnival of concerts, All-Ireland competitions, buskers, pub sessions planned and spontaneous, classes, workshops – and, this year, the gimmicky but fun “biggest céilí in history”. There’s even an actual carnival, down by the beautiful quays.

So you can step into the Fleadh, engage with it, from many perspectives: musician or dancer (whether professional or hobbyist), casual audience member, tourist, party-goer, trad aficionado, competitor, supportive/nervous parent, or a combination of the above.

If you’re “in the game”, as we were last Saturday (Under 15 grúpa cheoil final; we won!), Fleadh whizzes the best of sport and music into an intoxicating cocktail of artistic satisfaction and competitive edge.

It doesn’t matter if you’re young or old: the Fleadh, as with trad/folk in general, is very cross-generational. The atmosphere, walking around the streets of Wexford into evening-time, was almost overwhelmingly genial, relaxed and peaceable.

You see mammies and daddies enjoying a beer while the kids have an ice-cream, or maybe batter away at a few jigs for extra pocket-money, and think: now, this is civilised. As someone texted me afterwards, watching Fleadh coverage on TG4 was like watching Glastonbury “but with normal people instead of assholes”.

There’s a great volunteer spirit too, as with GAA or Tidy Towns or communities pulling together in the face of tragedy. How nice it was, how heartening, in a cynical and hyper-monetised world, to see armies of people wandering around, bright orange tee-shirts reading “VOLUNTEER – HERE TO HELP”, giving their time for no reward except the pleasure of making someone else’s day a little better.

On top of all that, Wexford itself is a spectacularly charming town and county. No wonder record crowds 800,000 flocked to the sunny south-east for this year’s lollapalooza – finding accommodation was a nightmare! – among them an up-and-coming young singer called Ed Sheeran…

But the Fleadh, and Comhaltas events at county or provincial level, are more than fun and music. This is, very specifically, a celebration and continuation of Irish culture and traditions. It’s age-old, primal, and as vibrant as ever. The ghosts of the past don’t just walk among us, they pick up a fiddle and encourage you to join in.

(Incidentally, not that it matters, but all involved aren’t necessarily Irish – people come from all over to watch and participate. Japan, especially, has an incredibly strong connection, and sends competitors every year.)

You could say the Fleadh showcases the very best of us, in many ways. That’s a term often used, by people with every sort of social or political agenda; often, though, they’re talking about things which are general to humanity as a whole.

Friendliness, warmth, generosity, humour, strong sense of family or community: all wonderful, but you find them around the world. They’re not specific to here, whereas Irish music, dancing, singing, lilting, Gaeilge and storytelling, the Fleadh’s bread and butter, by definition are.

The place is changing, at a pace that feels uncontrollable at times. We have no idea how it will wash out, but one thing is inarguable: the more multicultural any country gets, the more diluted become indigenous arts and heritage.

That’s obvious, regardless of where you stand on immigration and demographic change. It happens everywhere, inevitably; there’s an arrogance in this exceptionalist thinking that Ireland, somehow, will be different.

You mightn’t have a problem with this; some people have zero interest in trad or GAA or Irish bardic poetry or whatever. Personally, I think it would be tragic for the genuinely ancient, globally unique culture of a tiny nation to weaken or disappear.

Again, no Irish exceptionalism here: I’d feel the same at Icelandic or Vietnamese or Inuit traditions being in an equally parlous position. The world is poorer without any of them.

Irish culture is precious, and needs to be protected. Not just by the likes of Unesco, who’ve recognised hurling and camogie as part of the “Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity”, but by ourselves.

Yet here’s a funny thing: even as Official Ireland seems evermore hell-bent on selling it out – or at least allowing it wither on the vine – for economic gain or a pat on the head from a transnational “elite”, at grassroots level our culture is more robust than ever. The amount of young people learning trad, dancing sean nós, speaking Irish and playing GAA is astonishing, and growing all the time.

It’s like Newton’s Third Law of Motion: every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The more that technocrats and internationalists try to smother the thing, the harder the people push back, through some marvellous instinct of rebellion and identity.

Walt Whitman famously wrote, “I sound my barbaric yawp across the roofs of the world.” The Fleadh is the sound of that in an Irish context. Corporate Ireland hates all this “local” or “indigenous” stuff; they really do think it’s barbaric.

But Whitman meant the word in a positive way, and so do I. Play your tune, folks, play it loud, let the whole world hear it.


Ireland’s weird attitude to our own flag

First published in the Irish Independent, August 11th

On a recent car-trip around the Six Counties, I passed through a few of those small unionist towns that are festooned with UK flags. Presumably there are other Northern towns similarly bedecked in the tricolour, I just didn’t happen to be in them.

A decade ago my reaction would have been to castigate all this Union Jack pageantry. I’d have taken great umbrage, firstly, on vaguely defined nationalist principles – how dare these interlopers demonstrate hostility towards the inarguable truth and rightness of Irish unity?

I’d have sneered at them, at how performative it all felt, how showy – take notice of us, we’re British not Irish! – and how, ironically, a brash exhibition of confidence often betrays profound insecurity underneath.

These days, I still think there’s something a bit sad and needy about it: we get it, you’re loyal to the Crown, no need to labour the point. Also, my inner sceptic/non-conformist automatically recoils from any situation where literally everyone is onboard. What if you’re a proud unionist but don’t feel like sticking a flag on your house: is this allowed?

That said, though, I’m not nearly so hostile towards all the Union Jacks nowadays. If nothing else, it shows a people who know who they are, whether anyone else likes that or not. And unlike some in modern Western Europe, they don’t agonise over it, self-doubt, apologise or explain.

I respect that. It’s normal, psychologically, to not feel shame or self-consciousness about expressing who you are. Proven by the fact that Ulster unionists are in the large majority, globally, on this.

We have this stupid misconception that only jingoistic Americans or warmongering Russians are like this, but that’s not true. Across Asia and Africa, the Americas, Middle East, Central and Eastern Europe, most people don’t have any problem displaying their national flag with unabashed pride. Even lovely liberal Sweden is replete with that blue-and-yellow standard.

It’s all quite straightforward; they don’t overthink it. I’m Japanese, I fly the Japanese flag. I’m Polish, I fly the Polish flag. Why wouldn’t I?

It’s only in a few Western European countries that you find this bizarre cultural cringe (and only in some of us, it should be noted). In our case, you’re more likely to see a Palestinian or Ukrainian flag than that of the Republic of Ireland.

That’s not exaggerating for effect; drive around any part of this country and your eyes will provide the evidence. Here’s a recent example from my own experience: climbing Croagh Patrick on Reek Sunday – an Irish Catholic pilgrimage of very longstanding tradition – and seeing a Palestine flag outside a café at the bottom of the mountain, and more than one hiker wearing it as a cape…but not a tricolour in sight.

Does this seem normal? It doesn’t to most non-Irish people I know – they’re utterly baffled by it, and must think the natives are suffering some sort of collective identity crisis – and doesn’t to me.

Why do Irish people cringe at the thought of flying their own flag outside their house, but have no problem with that of a Middle Eastern nation 3,500 miles away? Why do Ulster unionists not cringe in the same way? Why do they know who they are and we don’t anymore – or is this being unfair?

Let me pre-empt some of the arguments against what I’m saying. Flying a Palestinian flag, it could be said, is an understandable human reflex, showing sympathy for the civilians killed and maimed over there. Fair enough.

But the current situation doesn’t explain why it was being flown well before the bombardment of Gaza began. Or why Islamist flags – Hamas, Hezbollah (who killed Irish soldier Sean Rooney in 2022) – are seen in demonstrations on our streets.

Besides, shouldn’t we have also raised the Israeli flag, in solidarity with 1300 people from several countries – including two of our own citizens – who were raped, tortured, killed and kidnapped in October 2023? Would this not be a natural human response too?

Despite what people tell themselves, flying any non-Irish flag is a political choice and statement, not a personal, emotional act. If it was solely about sympathy for victims of war, Ireland would be weighed down under the flags of Yemen and Western Sahara, Sudan and Somalia, Central African Republic and all the other forty-plus countries currently suffering armed conflict.

People will also say that the tricolour has been hijacked by “far-right” extremists. But this isn’t the argument it appears to be.

For one thing, you’re talking a tiny minority, despite hysterical over-exaggeration. And national flags have always been co-opted for nefarious ends, around the world. Does that mean the reasonable mass in the middle should reject them entirely? If anything, it should make people fight to reclaim the tricolour.

The whole point of our flag’s design, after all, was to promote reconciliation, not division: orange and green, unionist and nationalist, brought together, the white of peace between them.

I’m not some raging republican – all that stuff cools down or even fades away as you get older – and I’m not even saying that Irish people should fly their flag. But I am saying that being ashamed of it, while hoisting those of others, is childish, illogical and psychologically weird.

And I do know who I am, I think, and don’t feel remotely embarrassed about it, and really wish that more Irish people felt the same. It’s possible to love a nation with little sense of itself, but it’s very hard to respect it.


Ireland, Israel and Bloomsday

I wrote about my country’s inexplicable and depressing hostility to Israel for Spiked Online: give ’em a click here: https://www.spiked-online.com/2025/06/16/how-dare-official-ireland-bask-in-the-glory-of-bloomsday/ This is a longer version of the piece, which was cut for length etc.

Today (Monday) is Bloomsday: the annual fandango when Official Ireland gathers to pat itself on the back, as if anyone like them could ever make the slightest contribution to creating immortal art such as James Joyce’s Ulysses.

There they’ll be anyway, politicians and artists and sundry other “public figures”: smugly self-congratulatory, vicariously basking in the glory of this classic novel (and pretending to have read it in the first place). They’ll wear boater hats and eat pigs’ innards, and someone will surely read aloud.

Joyce, you feel, would have laughed at all this, found it absurd. He was a proper artist, citizen of the world and the word, and never struck me as an Official Ireland type. He famously left the place at a young age, writing Ulysses in exile. His contempt for the 1930s Establishment sings off the pages; it’s eay to imagine the same response today. The Establishment never really changes in character.

For that alone, these gurning philistines should have the good grace to cancel Bloomsday. If they had the slightest shame or self-awareness, they would. But there’s a better reason: Ireland’s unremitting hostility to Israel.

Ulysses centres on one day in the life of Leopold Bloom, who is half-Jewish. From my recollection of reading, his ethnicity isn’t the most important element of Ulysses, or Bloom himself – Joyce was too good a writer, too interested in the complexities and mysteries of humanity, to be so didactic and reductive – but is significant enough.

So here we have Jewish Leopold being celebrated and honoured by the kinds of people who have spent decades waging metaphorical war on the only Jewish state on the planet: a tiny scrap of desert surrounded by dozens of Muslim Arab countries – their great historical enemy – and within those, scores of millions of people who want them dead.

Not all Muslim Arabs feel this way; not all Muslim Arab nations are bent on the destruction of Israel. (Bizarrely, the likes of Egypt and Saudi Arabia are now less hostile to Israel than Ireland is. We’ve truly gone through the looking-glass.) But enough do and are.

Oh, but “anti-Zionism” does not equate to antisemitism, Official Ireland will argue. Except it does, by definition, if the only country you ever protest about is the only Jewish country that has ever existed. If you not only ignore, but seem entirely unaware of, the far worse “crimes”, far higher death-tolls, of non-Jewish nations.

If the one kid in the schoolyard you pick on is Jewish, then you’re anti-Jewish.

Ireland is now globally notorious for its surreal levels of hyper-antagonism to Israel. It’s been so for as long as I can remember, though not quite this hysterical. We don’t even have an Israeli embassy anymore, putting us in the vaunted company of such renowned defenders of human rights and democracy as Afghanistan, Iran, North Korea, Qatar and Venezuela.

Irish people as a whole are blackened with this reputation, and I’m undecided as to how much we deserve it. On one hand, the public voted Israel second in Eurovision this year and last, which suggests some support, or at least lack of enmity. On the other, you rarely hear anyone expressing sympathy for Israelis, even after the off-the-scale horrors of October 7th.

Then again, you don’t hear Irish people supporting racist psychopaths like Hamas either. Every “river to the sea” protest is still a tiny fraction of the population. Ultimately, despite foreign preconceptions and Irish media’s Israel fixation, most people probably don’t think about it that much, or take sides either way.

But Official Ireland – politicians and artists, unions and media, academics and NGOs, the whole rancid cabal – certainly does. The shameful nadir was reached in January when that contemptible weasel, President Michael D Higgins – hot on the heels of making friendly with whatever extremist lunatic had taken power in Iran – insisted on wedging in Gaza whataboutery at a Holocaust Remembrance ceremony. This despite being asked not to, by actual Jewish people.

So we had the mindboggling sight of a Jewish woman, silently protesting Higgins’ nauseating grandstanding, being forcibly removed by security. From a Holocaust Remembrance ceremony!

That was the pits, but only one instance in a long, depressing tale. Virtually all Irish politicians concur on the veracity of “Israeli genocide” – as opposed to “this is war, it’s brutal and awful, but not genocide” – and immaculate rightness of the Palestinian cause. They call Israelis warmongers, Nazis and psychopaths and nobody bats an eyelid.

Very few bothered to condemn the mass rape, torture, murder and desecration of bodies on October 7th. Some cheered it on. One – a woman – called it “beautiful”. Which part was more beautiful: the rape, torture, murder or desecration?

Our government made Ireland one of very few countries to recognise Palestinian statehood in the aftermath of October 7th: how’s that for punishing mass terrorism? And, with a sophistry so brazen you’d nearly admire it, they pushed for the definition of genocide to be broadened, so Israel’s actions would qualify. Make the evidence fit the suspect – an inversion of all principles of justice.

Lobby groups and NGOs want sanctions on Israeli goods. An Israeli woman was banned from running in local elections by one, performatively “progressive”, party. There was no outrage, no pushback, against this blatant discrimination, from anyone in public life, including media. Speaking of which…

As mentioned, our media is obsessed with Israel. TV and radio cover it almost as much as Irish events. Newspapers hive off whole sections. Most, though in fairness not all, commentators cleave to the “genocidal Israel/blameless Palestinians” line.

Meanwhile the National Union of Journalists demanded a young Israeli singer be kicked out of Eurovision – horrifically, this woman was a survivor of October 7th, having lain under her friends’ dead bodies for eight hours. Never was the term “tone-deaf” more sickeningly appropriate.

Irish artists and celebrities constantly stick their beak in. Sally Rooney wouldn’t allow translation in Israel, but had no problem selling the rights to China, Russia, Iran: a virtual rogues’ gallery. Actor Liam Cunningham was involved with Greta Thunberg’s recent publicity stunt. Kneecap have banners declaring “Fuck Israel”, because they’re cool rebels who swear.

Over 1500 Irish artists have signed a “Pledge to Boycott Israel”, something the organisers declare is “the first such nationally organised cultural boycott of Israel.” Makes the heart swell with patriotic pride, for sure.

Why are these people like this? I have no idea. Maybe it’s some bone-deep Hitler-esque hatred of Jews, though I doubt that’s the case for most. Maybe it’s class and cultural conformity, risk-free “stick it to The Man” rebellion, “guerrilla chic” cosplay and larks (the Thunberg ship certainly seemed that). Maybe it’s the misguided belief that Irish and Arab nationalism are the same – a view, ironically, that patronises both.

In any event, who cares why? All that matters are consequences. Absolutely none for the “Paddystinians” themselves, of course – that’s part of the attraction – but they give succour to fascist zealots around the world, and make things that bit harder for a tiny ethnic group in an existential fight against far bigger enemies.

Many anti-Israelites would have been Republican during the Troubles. Some would have supported the IRA. Ironically, it’s impossible to imagine them continuing that support had Irish guerrillas ever carried out the tsunami of horror wrought by Hamas in 2023.

They didn’t, either: the IRA, for all the bombs and shootings, never raped and tortured hundreds of women and children. Neither, on the opposing side, did the UVF or UDA. That would have been a red line, even for those violent, ruthless men – and their supporters.

Yet it seems, when it comes to Israel, some Irish have no red line at all. Nothing is too much. Anything is justified. Some, you suspect, feel the victims brought it on themselves.

Leopold Bloom would probably be cancelled today, if he was unfortunate enough to live in 2025 Ireland. (Although what are the chances? We have a tiny Jewish population, always did. The main reason there was never a pogrom is because there were hardly any Jews.)

“We’re not anti-Leopold,” they’d say. “We’re anti-Zionism! Anti-genocide!” With the unspoken appendix: “But they’re all kind of to blame, aren’t they? All the same, all to blame.”

Or “We just want peace and justice, an end to the carnage, no more dead children”. Admirable sentiments – who wants more dead children? – but not the full story. These people were decrying Israel long before the IDF started heavily bombing Gaza. Some were out on Irish streets, right after October 7th, before war began in earnest, waving Palestinian flags.

These ghouls didn’t even halt their gallop or question their allegiances when Irish-Israeli Kim Damti was murdered and Irish-Israeli Emily Hand – eight years old – was kidnapped for 50 days. If you can’t or won’t stand by your own, what use are you to anyone?

There’s a scene in Ulysses where The Citizen, a bigoted blowhard, is attacking Bloom in the pub. The Jews killed Christ, blah blah blah. I’d love if Higgins, Taoiseach Micheál Martin or anyone from Official Ireland read that part aloud for Bloomsday. Just to see if they could keep a straight face, if there is any level of hypocrisy and shamelessness these people cannot meet – if they have a red line of any sort.

Official Ireland is unworthy of Ulysses, or James Joyce. Them honouring a book about probably the most famous Jew in Irish literary history feels like a sick joke. Indeed, like something Joyce would have satirised in Ulysses itself.

There’s an old maxim about how everyone imagines themselves as the family who hid Anne Frank, whereas most are closer to the sneaks who sold her out. Official Ireland imagines itself as cosmopolitan, broadminded, generous-hearted Bloom. In reality they’re more like the narrowminded, vicious, bigoted Citizen.