Post by earl on Oct 17, 2008 14:46:48 GMT
Many in Ireland are wary of economic costs of absorbing Ulster
Brian Lenihan's criticism of Irish consumers shopping in "another state" betrays a commonly held view
Booms on the Irish border used to mean bombs, rockets and landmines exploding. Now they equate to something entirely different.
Towns and cities on the northern side of the Irish frontier are enjoying rapid retail growth despite the credit crunch. Places once synonymous with terrorism, destruction and division such as Newry and Derry are benefiting from a mass influx of shoppers from the Irish Republic. The southern bargain hunters are driving up to 50 miles to stock up on food, drink and other goods that are substantially cheaper in Northern Ireland's sterling zone as opposed to the euro one of the republic.
The flow of cash into knock-down price shopping malls like the Quays or Buttercrane centre in Newry prompted Ireland's finance minister, Brian Lenihan, this week to partially blame Ireland's economic woes on the vast numbers of southern consumers shopping in Ulster.
Striking a rather sour note, Lenihan warned that there had been a huge loss of revenue to the Irish exchequer because southern citizens were buying their weekly shopping across the border. That is why, Lenihan said, the Irish government had to impose higher taxes to maintain essential public services. This was the consequence of the republic's people buying in another state, he added.
That reference to "another state" is quite telling, especially in the context of the current political stalemate in Stormont. The power-sharing executive has still not met since June, even though Northern Ireland faces the same problems as everyone else in the republic and Britain: rising fuel bills partly due to energy companies enjoying near monopoly status, a declining property market and the spectre of 1980s-style unemployment looming over the horizon. The northern airwaves are filled with disgruntled members of the public berating their political leaders for failing to act in unison during these turbulent times.
The sticking point between the two largest parties - Sinn Féin and the Democratic Unionists - remains the devolution of policing and justice powers to the Northern Ireland assembly.
The DUP insists it will agree to the transfer of these powers from London to Belfast once there is "community confidence". Sinn Féin meanwhile claims the DUP is reneging on commitments agreed to in the 2006 St Andrews agreement about the assembly taking control of the police and the judiciary.
On the surface the row appears somewhat superficial. Because the DUP has in principle agreed to the transfer while agreeing with Sinn Féin that one possible compromise is that the centrist Alliance party join the cabinet and take charge of a joint police-justice ministry.
Behind this however lies a possible deeper reason for Sinn Féin's refusal to allow a full cabinet meeting to take place.
There is increasing evidence of internal problems within mainstream republicanism, with grassroots members complaining that much of what the Adams-McGuinness leadership promised has not been delivered. There is a growing, if somewhat belated realisation among some of the republican rank and file that the Sinn Féin project of Irish unity by 2016 (the 100th anniversary of the Easter Rising) is a complete illusion.
If the Stormont coalition – a devolved administration still inside the UK – is no longer envisaged as a "stepping stone" towards fusion with the republic, then perhaps it would be better to be outside rather inside the devolved institutions, to be a party of protest and retain your old radical edge.
This devolution-doomsday scenario is probably a far away prospect even for disillusioned Provos. There is no other game in town. Instead the Sinn Féin leadership is seeking to re-engage the British and Irish governments in the political process, which will entail urging Brian Cowen and Gordon Brown to apply joint pressure on the DUP to bend to Sinn Féin's will.
The trouble with this strategy is that it belongs to another world that has long passed. The Cowen government in Dublin might issue statements urging the DUP to move on policing, now echoing Brown's plea for them to do the same during his last visit to Belfast. But the idea that two prime ministers currently engaged in an existential struggle to save their banking systems and stop their economies sliding into recession and mass unemployment are going to focus their energies to resolve the petty squabbles at Stormont is hopelessly naive.
Lenihan's exasperation over his fellow citizens opting to shop in "another state" betrays the commonly held view of southern society that has welcomed the final fruits of the peace process but has little enthusiasm for paying the huge economic, social and political costs of absorbing the north. They don't say it too loud down in Dublin - they are often drowned out by the romantic republican ballads struck up in pubs just before closing time - but the Ireland's silent majority believes the north should already be at rest; neither they nor their political leaders in the Dáil are going to expend most of their energy on the sectarian circus at Stormont.
The parties up there are on their own.
Brian Lenihan's criticism of Irish consumers shopping in "another state" betrays a commonly held view
Booms on the Irish border used to mean bombs, rockets and landmines exploding. Now they equate to something entirely different.
Towns and cities on the northern side of the Irish frontier are enjoying rapid retail growth despite the credit crunch. Places once synonymous with terrorism, destruction and division such as Newry and Derry are benefiting from a mass influx of shoppers from the Irish Republic. The southern bargain hunters are driving up to 50 miles to stock up on food, drink and other goods that are substantially cheaper in Northern Ireland's sterling zone as opposed to the euro one of the republic.
The flow of cash into knock-down price shopping malls like the Quays or Buttercrane centre in Newry prompted Ireland's finance minister, Brian Lenihan, this week to partially blame Ireland's economic woes on the vast numbers of southern consumers shopping in Ulster.
Striking a rather sour note, Lenihan warned that there had been a huge loss of revenue to the Irish exchequer because southern citizens were buying their weekly shopping across the border. That is why, Lenihan said, the Irish government had to impose higher taxes to maintain essential public services. This was the consequence of the republic's people buying in another state, he added.
That reference to "another state" is quite telling, especially in the context of the current political stalemate in Stormont. The power-sharing executive has still not met since June, even though Northern Ireland faces the same problems as everyone else in the republic and Britain: rising fuel bills partly due to energy companies enjoying near monopoly status, a declining property market and the spectre of 1980s-style unemployment looming over the horizon. The northern airwaves are filled with disgruntled members of the public berating their political leaders for failing to act in unison during these turbulent times.
The sticking point between the two largest parties - Sinn Féin and the Democratic Unionists - remains the devolution of policing and justice powers to the Northern Ireland assembly.
The DUP insists it will agree to the transfer of these powers from London to Belfast once there is "community confidence". Sinn Féin meanwhile claims the DUP is reneging on commitments agreed to in the 2006 St Andrews agreement about the assembly taking control of the police and the judiciary.
On the surface the row appears somewhat superficial. Because the DUP has in principle agreed to the transfer while agreeing with Sinn Féin that one possible compromise is that the centrist Alliance party join the cabinet and take charge of a joint police-justice ministry.
Behind this however lies a possible deeper reason for Sinn Féin's refusal to allow a full cabinet meeting to take place.
There is increasing evidence of internal problems within mainstream republicanism, with grassroots members complaining that much of what the Adams-McGuinness leadership promised has not been delivered. There is a growing, if somewhat belated realisation among some of the republican rank and file that the Sinn Féin project of Irish unity by 2016 (the 100th anniversary of the Easter Rising) is a complete illusion.
If the Stormont coalition – a devolved administration still inside the UK – is no longer envisaged as a "stepping stone" towards fusion with the republic, then perhaps it would be better to be outside rather inside the devolved institutions, to be a party of protest and retain your old radical edge.
This devolution-doomsday scenario is probably a far away prospect even for disillusioned Provos. There is no other game in town. Instead the Sinn Féin leadership is seeking to re-engage the British and Irish governments in the political process, which will entail urging Brian Cowen and Gordon Brown to apply joint pressure on the DUP to bend to Sinn Féin's will.
The trouble with this strategy is that it belongs to another world that has long passed. The Cowen government in Dublin might issue statements urging the DUP to move on policing, now echoing Brown's plea for them to do the same during his last visit to Belfast. But the idea that two prime ministers currently engaged in an existential struggle to save their banking systems and stop their economies sliding into recession and mass unemployment are going to focus their energies to resolve the petty squabbles at Stormont is hopelessly naive.
Lenihan's exasperation over his fellow citizens opting to shop in "another state" betrays the commonly held view of southern society that has welcomed the final fruits of the peace process but has little enthusiasm for paying the huge economic, social and political costs of absorbing the north. They don't say it too loud down in Dublin - they are often drowned out by the romantic republican ballads struck up in pubs just before closing time - but the Ireland's silent majority believes the north should already be at rest; neither they nor their political leaders in the Dáil are going to expend most of their energy on the sectarian circus at Stormont.
The parties up there are on their own.
