“Jailic” developed
among political prisoners in the North; on their release, a
“Jailtacht” radicalised community groups in the 1980s, shifted
republicans towards political accommodation in the 1990s, and
commodified a stretch of today’s West Belfast for “struggle
tourism”. Dr. Diarmait Mac Giolla Chríost grew up in Derry City. He acquired
Irish during the 1980s at QUB − followed by a “self-exile” into the
Welsh-speaking heartland that earned him a Readership in that
language at the University of Wales. He knows intimately that
“symbolic terrain” where Celtic cultural claims to political
independence reverberate as personal recovery of native tongues.
He combines
engagement with distance. The combination of the two standpoints
leads him to analyse Irish as “the defining symbolic element of the
political violence that has shaped the history of Northern Ireland
and, to a great extent, the relationship between the UK and the
Republic of Ireland”. By interviews with ex-prisoners, he explains
Jailic’s acquisition, its use as formulaic “language strings”, and
its sociological impacts. Graffiti and mural depictions, along with
archival and online research, demonstrate his diligence. (I appear
among those “ordinary cybercitizens” documented who address Jailic
in a “public space”.)
Historical contexts
precede chapters respectively on close readings for stylistics; the
“performativity” of managing incarceration, creating social
identities, and building a “sense of place”; signs and murals as
“visual grammar”; and ideology in the “grey literature” produced by
republicans − and loyalists.
He locates the
emergence of “Jailtacht” not in Long Kesh’s cages of the early 1970s
but in the mid-1980s, after the 1976 reversal of political to
criminal status among republicans incarcerated — when “Jailic”
itself was coined. After the hunger strikes, prisoners circumvented
an Irish ban. Blanket protesters on a wing shouted out phrases at
set times of day, with varying levels of fluency. Gearóid Mac
Siacais recalls: “Thosaigh an Ghaeilge ar bhonn slándála agus
chríochnaigh sé mar theanga labharta na blocanna.” (“The Irish
language started as a basis for security but ended up as the spoken
language of the Blocks.”) This transformation in the late 1970s,
over eighteen months, enabled Irish to be spoken by three hundred
rather than the seven or eight inmates who had carried the language
into the H-Blocks from the Cages.
Some cellmates may
have been less eager, but spoken (or shouted) Irish dominated. Texts
were smuggled in (and out); nails scraped lessons into concrete.
Prisoners deployed Irish against “criminalization”. A post-strike
lull in fluency was countered by an intensive six-week course
smuggled in by Máirtín Ó Muilleoir. By the late 1980s, constant
Irish infiltrated his dreams, Séanna Walsh confides.
Mac Giolla Chríost
delineates usage. As argot, tokens as catch phrases peppered English
speech. As a medium for deeper communication, Jailic’s divergence
from Gaelic norms − given limited or no opportunities for formal
education − evolved into “rough, natural accents” and rote idioms
acquired by repetition rather than effort. The “comms” shared in the
blanket protests and hunger strikes, as well as texts by Bobby
Sands, Gerry Adams and comrades, display orthographic and
articulated distinctions from, or similarities to, Irish outside
prison. By the mid-1990s, the imprisonment of republicans schooled
in Irish, as well as access to external materials, signaled a
“fossilization” of Jailic as markers of its diction and
pronunciation persisted among its freed inmates. This spread into
poetry, plays, and films about the Gaeltacht na Fuiseoige, the
Irish-speaking community of the Lark, in honor of Bobby Sands’
pen-name.
Performance of
Irish forced a congenial space within prison. Filthy walls filled
with scrawled vocabulary, while the Jailtacht encouraged collegial
teaching of the language, rather than student-pupil hierarchies.
The Gaelicisation of given names (as with Sands) proves an intriguing case study in how diligently and imaginatively prisoners and activists adopted or adapted identities to further ideological commitments.
The Gaelicisation of given names (as with Sands) proves an intriguing case study in how diligently and imaginatively prisoners and activists adopted or adapted identities to further ideological commitments.
These, in turn,
gained proclamation, frequently in the Gaelic font, on murals, as
street names, and in signs. These appeared within the Shaw’s Road
Belfast emerging Gaeltacht, and as daubed slogans or graffiti
elsewhere in that city or Derry. Monuments to the fallen, banners in
demonstrations, and paintings asserting solidarity by the
incorporation of Basque, Arabic, or Catalan content show the wider
cultural components associated by Irish-language leftists with
nationalist or radical insurgencies abroad.
“Fianna Fáil Gaelic
and Sinn Féin Irish” sums up ideological squabbles and linguistic
shibboleths amidst political deviations from conventional Irish
conceptions of language: in its teaching, its form, and in its
public role as the “first official language” of the Republic. Not
only loyalists but nationalists debate its state-sponsored funding
or subversively anti-establishment presence. Within the Jailtacht,
Irish became a living language once again, while the Gaeltachtaí
struggled to sustain Gaeilge as a communal channel of exchange and a
personally chosen signifier. Additionally, claims of Irish-language
acquisition linked (arguably in fetishised or tokenistic manner)
rebellious republicans from the old IRA with those who swelled its
Provisional ranks five decades later. This origin myth generated an
“invented tradition” of an iconic, subversive Irish passed down
decades behind bars.
This book
concludes: “language is too powerful a tool not to be political”.
Despite the cross-border and post-GFA efforts to ease Irish out of
its Northern and republican contexts, this study argues for the
potency of Jailic. For, spawned under repression, it reclaims and
appropriates by “strength, power, and dominance”. Language endures
against oppression and occupation. Symbolically, Jailic stands for
Irish resistance. (To Estudios Irlandeses 8 [2012]: 189-190; 3-23-13 to Amazon US)
2 comments:
Sé do bheatha, a chara,
I just found your rich and rare gem of a blog while searching for something else - faghann iarraidh iarraidh eile, eh? I browsed a while and took a look at you - as we do over here in the land well accustomed to surveillance (like your own!). Out of all the treasures I spotted just one small thing that you might wish to amend, on your Amazon page. 'Twas not Earnán Ó Maille who penned the wonderful 'There will be another day' (that title no doubt giving a nod to Edmund Power's cry of "Beidh lá eile ag an bPaorach!" as he paid the price for his role in the 1798 rebellion), but a comrade-in-arms of his, Peadar Ó Domhnaill (Peadar O'Donnell), whose 'The Gates flew open' is also worth a reading. Earnán Ó Maille has left us some great reading too, 'The Singing Flame' being a heartbreaker on many levels - his description of imprisoned Republicans struggling to fight back tears when a hunger strike fizzled out in failure and one man among the prisoners struck up the song 'Seán Ó Duibhir a' Ghleanna' would tear the heart out of anyone who knows something of the path they walked. "May her sons be true when needed/ May they never feel as we did/ Ah, Seán Ó Duibhir a' Ghleanna, we were worsted in the game."
And the world turns and we end up in the same places those before us ended up in......
Anyway, no need to publish this, mo chara, I just thought that you being the scholar that you are you'd want to have things right. 'Tis only a tiny slip and ní bhíonn saoi gan locht as we say.
Well done on your putting some fine reading of your own before the eyes of the world, every good wish to you and to your little haiku scholarette of a wife, may the world be kind to you both all your days.
Here's a forthcoming book you may find interesting enough to review some day - but be gentle with them as one of my own people was among those who tried to 'take the war to them' and he paid an awful price for it:
http://www.amazon.com/War-Shadows-Irish-American-Fenians-Victorian/dp/1908928026/
If you knew his backstory you'd find it understandable why he and his comrades made the attempt that they did.
Go n-éirí an t-ádh leat leis an obair.
Beir bua is beannacht
Mise
A chara, rinne mé dearmad, gan amhras, leis maidir le Ó Maille agus Ó Domhnaill. Go raibh maith agat. Beidh mé a fheiceail an leabhar faoi na Fíníní i Meiriceá. Ar chuala tú a leagan den "Seán Ó Duibhír" le Maighréad Ní Dhomnaill i 1992 ("Lament" Real World CD)? Bheul, is maith liom do chuid focail chineál, go fírinne. I deiridh anois, bím ar ais ar an gcéanna a thabhairt duitsa.
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