Having had a standard Christian Brothers’ school education, I was brought up to believe that the British Empire was the embodiment of all evil. That changed somewhat when I proceeded to Trinity College, but particularly when I read Jan Morris’s Pax Britannica trilogy, at the age of 19. Morris wrote an affectionate portrait of empire. It was uneven, but nevertheless a very good read. It opened my eyes to the variegated nature of the imperial era.
When I travelled in Africa I was much taken aback to discover that British rule was viewed by many through a lens of nostalgia – selective, no doubt, but emphasising stability and the rule of law.
I was equally surprised that Ireland had little or no profile as the intrepid small nation that led the way in imperial disintegration. Conversely, notably in Kenya, it was well known that the South African Boers, at the zenith of empire, fought imperial forces to a standstill. The salient point was that imperial might was not unassailable. Kenyan accession to independence, unusually in British Africa, was violent.
Ignorance of Ireland was not universal. I was surprised when an Algerian colleague described the tactics of the Algerian armed independence movement, the FLN: “But you will, of course, be familiar with how we hit at French administration. We studied your Michael Collins closely.”
I’ve worked in 60 countries – here is what people have said to me about Ireland
An Irish jockey in Australia: ‘The longer you stay, the harder it becomes to go home’
A Kildare man in London: ‘The British view colonisation like their parents’ sex life – they know it happened, but prefer not to know details'
Irish in Oxford: ‘I felt alienated from the very start’
Less surprising was discovering that Yitzhak Shamir, when leader of the Fighters for the Freedom of Israel – the Stern Gang in imperial parlance – adopted “Michael”, again following Collins, as his nom-de-guerre.
This view on Irish relationships with imperialism, however, cut both ways.
I once mentioned the “British Raj” to a Pakistani colleague. His family had left India following the independence and partition of the country. He hauled me up in rather sharp manner. “You are referring to the Irish Raj, I take it? Do you know how many Irish there were in the Indian civil service?”
I was relieved that he made no reference to the Amritsar Massacre of 1919. Brigadier Dyer, who gave the order to fire, was educated at Midleton College in Cork. Michael O’Dwyer, lieutenant governor of the Punjab, who supported Dyer, hailed from Co Tipperary.
French radicals, veterans of the French student protests of 1968, solemnly assured me of solidarity in the anti-imperialist struggle
Erstwhile British possessions seem to be rather relaxed about street and other location naming. The main drag in Delhi is still Connaught Circus. There is an area of Singapore called Killiney. I am not sure, however, that overt association is made with Ireland. Other echoes are extant. The main drag in Kowloon, Hong Kong, is Nathan Road, after Matthew Nathan, under-secretary for Ireland in 1916.
Irish profile elsewhere in Asia is low. I gave up, rather early on, correcting confusion with Scotland. I have also had innumerable interactions with taxi drivers along the following lines:
Where are you from?
Ireland.
Ah, lovely tulips.
No, Ireland, not the Netherlands.
Ah, very cold.
The profile of Iceland, I deduced, was greater than that of Ireland.
For a brief period, I was surprised at the number of market traders who claimed relatives in Ireland. Then I started answering the question of my provenance with “Ruritani” (the fictional country in central Europe used as a setting for novels by Anthony Hope). An equal, if not a greater number, had relatives there.
European perceptions are another matter.
When I worked in Belgium, colleagues seemed to think of me as a child of nature from a primitive windswept rock out in the Atlantic somewhere. They kindly explained the basics of how modern societies work.
Ireland’s EU membership notwithstanding, few had any awareness of the Republic as an independent state. Rather, they had a vague idea that the relationship with Britain was similar to that of Flanders or Wallonia with the Belgian state.
French radicals, veterans of the French student protests of 1968, solemnly assured me of solidarity in the anti-imperialist struggle. Britain, no doubt coloured by Gallic disdain for les Anglo-Saxons and by Margaret Thatcher’s bellicose comportment on matters European, was the devil incarnate.
Algeria and Vietnam went unmentioned, as did extant realities of l’Afrique francophone. Abstractions of Ireland were odd. Some were aware of the prevailing Catholic ethos of the country at the time, and assumed that the mores and ethos of the anti-Semitic, clerical French Third Republic applied undiluted.
Germans, while again being very hazy about constitutional status – Bavaria’s relationship with the Bundesrepublik figured – often had very clear ideas of Ireland and the Irish. In contrast to themselves, we break rules (delighted horror) and sing until dawn in pubs, in the manner of The Dubliners. Perhaps we could read, and perhaps not. Strange and inexplicable behaviour was to be expected, especially with drink.
When Queen Elizabeth died in 2022, I received many condolence messages. One stands out. It was from a French Canadian whom I knew to be a cultural, if not political nationalist.
I responded in French. I thanked him for his message, noting that I had passed it on to my British colleagues. With tongue firmly in cheek, I then extended my own condolences to him, since Canada was a dominion of Britain.
I spent one St Patrick’s Day in New York, and one in Los Angeles. As the real thing – a real live Irishman – I was feted, which on one level was gratifying. However, in LA I got so fed up with the incessant yells of “Ah, St Patty’s Day” that I went back to my hotel at lunchtime and changed my green tie.
I learned to keep my mouth shut when it was assumed that I would hold socially and religiously conservative views. Equally, I adhered to a rule of never engaging Americans on Irish politics.
Perceptions were copper-fastened, especially among Irish Americans who had never been to Ireland. Political views seemed mired in 1919. Economic views seemed mired in 1860. They were unbudgeable.
- Enda Hardiman is from Dublin. He graduated from TCD in 1978 and left for London. He went to Brussels the following year, before returning to Ireland in 1983. He moved to London again from 1989 to 1991 before establishing a techno-economic consultancy in 1994. Since 1998, he has divided his time between London, Paris, Dubai, Johannesburg, Mumbai, Hong Kong, Singapore, Tokyo and New York. In all, he has worked in 60 countries.
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