Brexit Island

On this day a decade ago, I was in my father’s town, thinking of events that had taken place there before he was even thought of.

In 2016, Westport was, for this Fenian, the place to be.

That May, we had honoured the 31 men who the Brits had scooped up after the Rising.

My grandmother’s brother, Michael Derrig, was among those interned at Frongoch.

History forgotten in a betrayal.

History remembered is a weapon.

They were the generation who would fight the British Empire to a standstill in the Tan War.

Mick Collins with his Squad and the flying columns in the countryside perfected a new form of hybrid warfare that the most powerful military on the planet couldn’t contain.

As with many conflicts, it ended in a negotiation.

The plenipotentiaries who signed the Treaty in December 1921 were negotiating with a global superpower.

A century later, Britain was, in the words  of an unnamed Russian official  at a G20 summit:

“You’re a small island, and no one listens to you”.

This prompted a stout defence from Prime Minister David Cameron as he deployed a Hovis advert narrative of  British history.

That was in 2013.

Three years later, he was at the dreaded lectern in Downing Street announcing that he was resigning.

The reason for doing so was that he had lost the Brexit referendum.

It was the start of a trend that, with Starmer going, makes SIX British Prime Ministers to have resigned since the Brexit vote ten years ago.

Full disclosure, I thought Cameron would get it over the line as he had done with the Scots two years earlier.

The Better Together staff had an office joke; they called their campaign Project Fear.

In winning the 2014 referendum, Cameron had secured the territorial integrity of the British state.

I stood in the count centre at Ingliston in the early morning of September 9^th, 2014, as Cameron at the lectern announced the victory of the secessionists.

Apparently, the late Queen, Elizabeth Haus Sachsen-Coburg und Gotha, had “purred down the phone” when she heard the result from her Prime Minister.

Cameron is a sixth cousin once removed of her successor, King Charles III.

He is now Baron Cameron of Chipping Norton.

Strange island.

Yesterday, Starmer’s likely successor was sworn in at Westminster.

This is the same grovelling oath that the SNP Bravehearts take in exchange for their lavish paycheque.

Here’s one I saved earlier.

In February 2016, I wrote this piece for Bella Caledonia, gaming out the likely geopolitical issues for my island should the Brits vote for Brexit.

The reality of the UK’s only land border with the EU never featured in any of the “take back control”  campaigning.

That inconvenient fact of basic geography ultimately led Boris Johnson to betray the Ulsturr Scatch in the north east of this island.

Despite various makeovers and tweaks, there is now a trade border in goods between Britain and Narne Arne.

Not very Bradaish!

With every passing year, an all-island economy connected to our gallant allies in Europe grows and develops.

Ten years ago, I had gone to the leaba thinking that Cameron had won.

I’m sure I recall something akin to a concession speech from  Nigel Farage after the polls had closed.

When I awoke in the morning, my phone was full of David Dimbleby announcing that all was changed.

Changed utterly.

As I walked into town that morning, I knew that the partition of this island COULD be back on the agenda.

It would take another strategic error from the Brits:

Announcing that they would leave the Customs Union and the Single Market.

Thankfully, the Brits found someone to make that error.

“Brexit means Brexit”.

Result!

Since then, the sight of long queues of dishevelled Brits at the airport gladdens many Irish hearts, including this fella.

I have written here many times that Brexit would turn out to be a “slow-moving Suez Crisis” for the Brits.

I’m still of that view.

Happy birthday, Brexit!