Many moons ago in the bustling city of London, I found myself engaged in a spirited conversation with a British coworker surrounding the matter of my nationality. He was under the impression I was of British descent. His rationale, as it dawned on me, hinged on the fact that the United Kingdom comprises Great Britain and Ireland – a detail clearly stated on the passport. However, I clarified it for him that the United Kingdom is technically composed of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. He failed to accept my explanation, resulting in an agreement to carry our passports to work next day to resolve the dispute.
The following day, excited at the possibility of being proven right, I produced my passport to him. He, however, had neglected to bring his. Reluctantly, he agreed that a simple peek at my passport was enough to validate my claim. Ireland, as it turns out, is a separate nation. Despite this realisation, he was not entirely willing to accept the truth entirely.
He eventually said, “Regardless, you understand what I was trying to imply.”.
The implication was a perspective I had come across numerous times after: Although Ireland is a separate entity, the British don’t consider the Irish as foreigners in the same vein as the French, South Africans or Australians.
There can be several reasons behind this mindset, such as lingering effects of colonialism, unfamiliarity with Irish history or a racial bias. But it largely stems from geographical closeness. Try searching any corner of Britain, and you’re unlikely to find someone who doesn’t have some form of connection to an Irish individual, whether it’s knowing, being married to, or having an Irish lineage.
It’s easy to overlook the significant ways in which Irishness is interwoven with British life. The English, for better or worse, see us as their entertaining relatives, the kind you’d want to sit with at gatherings.
Along the fringes of Europe, the influence of nearby countries is evident – in the cuisine, architectural designs and even in the language transitions. Rather than stark transformation from one country to another, there’s a gradual shift.
And this influence goes both ways, whether we acknowledge it or not. When English folks visit Ireland, they notice familiar stores, locals sporting English football jerseys, English newspapers available for purchase, and even the ability to watch BBC in hotel rooms. It isn’t too hard to understand why they might see all these aspects as intrinsically British, just presented with an Irish spin.
Geographical boundaries aren’t specific to our region, they’re just marks on a map. The intercultural permeability of these areas is far more substantial on the ground. For instance, the distinct influence of a neighbouring country can be observed around Europe’s borders in the cuisine, architectural designs, and even the language; hence, these countries don’t undergo abrupt transformation but rather gradually evolve into each other. Comparatively, most African borders bear no correlation to the ethnic groups that reside within.
When discussing Ireland and Britain, matters are relatively easier due to their marine separation. But it’s undeniable, there exists a border, and simultaneously, there doesn’t. I often engage in a solitary game of pinpointing the exact location where I cross into Northern Ireland during my drives, a feat I invariably fall short of attaining. The ambiguity, one might argue, is intentional.
Whether in Belfast or Derry, the Irish resonance is palpable, albeit with minor discrepancies, beyond just the street signs, that I struggle to identify. The past hundred years of history may have something to do with this, with the region still being part of the UK. However, the “Britishness” isn’t very different from the rest of the island: squinting, one could mistake Dublin for Manchester.
Alternatively, the minor difference could simply be the same way Northern Ireland mildly differs from Carlow or Cork. Even within nations, minor foreign elements persist. While these are my observations as a resident of Dublin, someone living in Donegal would more likely share commonalities with someone from Tyrone than with me.
Those who vehemently worry about borders are generally not residents of such areas. Those who do inhabit such locales – more cognisant of the intricacies of identity – tend to disregard these borders in their everyday life as much as possible.