Fear, no doubt about it, is the hideous porridge out of which most nastiness erupts. In Northern Ireland, as in all British colonies, both fear and nastiness were guaranteed, with indigenous populations reduced to the margins and “planted” stock rammed in in their stead. Genius really – the wound never heals, both groups venting on each other while ignoring the oppressor, or as one young (Protestant) put it: I could get a slum quicker than a Catholic, but it was still a slum. Serious attempts at fostering working-class solidarity were made, but fear, whipped to boiling point, blotted out reason and the North descended into hell. Gareth Mulvenna’s book looks at a specific aspect of the maelstrom the 1970s Tartan gangs and the ready supply of battle-hardened youths they provided for the likes of the UVF, YCV and Red Hand Commandos. Hardly an objective account, but better perhaps for it; reading the story from within – where being Protestant meant a job, the Union Jack, the Orange Order, not being Catholic, not being Irish – is shocking and ultimately tragic. Hate is a cul de sac.
