When you see multiple reporters confidently asserting nonsense about a polity they know nothing about, all at the same time, I presume we can safely assume we’re being treated to lobby briefings.
Here’s more of it.
Looking forward to more top-notch explanation of Ireland’s political situation from across the sea.
“The Prime Minister’s spokesman, Mr Punch, assured John Bull that Brexit would never be derailed by Mr Parnell, who is a weak leader not like a proper Prime Minister.”
“The Irish love us really.”
“The Irish go everywhere with a pig, don’t they?”
Or, if you prefer, maybe Ireland is a pig.
A pig that is causing no end of trouble for poor old UK politicians.
(Images via Come Here to me)
In fact Ireland is a pig too stupid to recognise that what the U.K. wants it to do is the best thing for it.
Daniel O’Connell, having seen off the penal laws disenfranchising catholics wants then an end to rule Of Ireland from Westminister.
Obvs, this unwelcome idea must come from a man accompanied by pigs.
When you think about it, what was an Irish leader to the English, but a herder of pigs?
Remember the trope being repeated by actual British Cabinet Ministers that Leo Varadkar (the leader of *Fine Gael*) was, in some, I dunno, almost metaphical way, doing Sinn Féin’s bidding for some reason?
Where did that idea come from? I mean, not from real life, obviously.
As though the Irish represent something monstrous, something less than human- a creation of England, but one that’s been a horror to John Bull ever since.
Ireland, for the English, seems to occupy a particular imaginative position - a country where things that should be normal and familiar are, somehow, different and *wrong*.
It’s as though the Irish, out of sheer stupidity, are willing to see the plans and intentions of the whole palace of Westminister, taken down - though it surely would be bad for them too.
How exasperating the Irish Border is. How is it that The Irish Question continues to bubble under in the dark of John Bull’s dreams, a nightmare without end?
Of course, it’s intolerable for an imperial power to find its colony gnawing at its affairs- at its unconscious dream of itself.
As Theresa May said, Ireland isn’t a large important country like the U.K.
If not pigs, then apes, surely.
The Irish, bestial calibans. (Or, because Shakespeare wasn’t a daw, Caliban, colonised like the Irish).
How can it be, the exasperated voice of England cries, that, somehow, the will of Parliament is being blocked by the Pig-Ignorant Irish?
““There’s been a change in tone since Leo Varadkar took office, that’s regrettable”
We’ve had Parnell as Dracula, the Irish as Frankenstein. Best to complete the gothic horror set.
The Prime Minister promised to continue efforts on the hopeless, endless Irish issue, while the English nation looked on in Furies.
We will do the same thing, again and again, until the outcome is different, the PM declared.
The wonder of the Imperial imagination is that it can simultaneously hold it is mighty and unassailable by its sub-human colonised pig-apes, and yet also be beset by the eldritch horror of its suppressed knowledge of its actions.
Stupid unconscious, oozing out over the state.
Ireland as hell- Civilised men of empire look down at Ireland, a pit of the damned.
No talking to them, they’re completely unreasonable.
Boris Johnson must be a devotee of the Punch Cartoon Ireland Archive.
“What we need to do is build a bridge between our islands. Why don't we? Why don't we?”
The Gentleman Who Pays The Rent.
The Irish pig in the parlour (well, sharing the two roomed cottage) continued to exercise its mesmeric powers over the cartoonists’ imagination.
While the rage at the Irish just not doing as England wishes boils up inside- edging close to wishing to see them all- the apish Irish- just Gone.
Ireland, of course, has a National genius for remembering English wrongs. But what has been striking over the last two years has been that the English appear to live in the same imaginative world as these cartoons depict, but without any awareness of them.
We can see them, but they weren’t aware of what we saw, because they had forgotten their past.
No coloniser ever sees themselves as clearly as their colonised do.
What’s a large country to do, eh?