Using Casement Park For The Euros Is A Gamble
Belfast can be a very moody place and it's the only city where I've swerved a pub when the plan was to go in and gauge the mood of locals. Loyalists may take a similar approach to the GAA stadium
Pubs have played a huge part in my career in journalism. They offer a relaxed environment where people are more likely to talk. If you want to get a sense of place and capture the mood of a city, drinking establishments are a great place to start.
The tactic has served me well over the years. From tin shacks in Libreville, Gabon, to run-down bars in Donetsk, locals have offered their personal view of life and provided background and colour that could not be gleaned in a hundred press conferences.
There’s only one place in my pretty extensive travels where I lost my nerve and walked past the establishment where I’d planned to do some research. The Royal on Sandy Row in Belfast.
It was the week of the Twelfth and the pavement outside the bar was moody enough. Light July drizzle did not deter a group of men drinking outside in the early afternoon. This was where Alex Higgins, the snooker player, drank; a George Best mural is a matter of yards away and a Rangers Supporters’ Club is on the opposite corner. The Royal gets its fair share of tourists and press coverage but on this day the vibe led me to keep on walking. Something didn’t feel right.
You’d be surprised at how many prominent and highly-paid journalists employ local “fixers” when they go to places where there is a perception of danger. Everything gets filtered through the lens of the guide and the image that they are trying to project can overshadow the piece. Having neither the budget nor the inclination to operate in that manner, my methods are to go solo and trust in instinct and people’s basic decency.
That pre-pandemic trip reminded me that Loyalist Belfast is close to the edge. The Shankill Road gets the headlines but places like Sandy Row and Tiger’s Bay radiate at least as much poverty, anger, hopelessness and threat. I thought of these places when it was announced that the matches Northern Ireland will host in the 2028 European Championships will be held at Casement Park stadium in Andersonstown.
Andytown is in Nationalist west Belfast. It is a Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA) stadium which is so rundown it’s been closed for a decade. The allocation of matches to Northern Ireland could be a unifying factor in a fractured province. The location and symbolism of Casement Park makes it problematic for Loyalists.
It’s not just that it’s named for Roger Casement, who was executed in 1916 for trying to recruit Irish prisoners of war in German camps to fight against Britain in the first world war and his attempts to facilitate a shipment of arms from Germany to republicans. The stadium has also been used for commemorations of the 1981 Hunger Strikes. In 1988, two British soldiers who drove into the funeral procession of an IRA member were dragged from their car and taken to Casement Park, where they were stripped and beaten. They were shot dead on waste ground nearby. For Loyalists, this place is as toxic as Chernobyl.
Windsor Park, where Northern Ireland play their home games, has too small a capacity to be considered as a host venue. It is less than a mile and a half from Andersonstown but philosophically the distance is much greater. Many Catholics and Nationalists are uncomfortable visiting that stadium. Protestants and Loyalists – who comprise the majority of Northern Ireland’s supporters – may struggle to convince themselves to travel to Casement Park.
Estimates for the rebuilding of the stadium are in the region of £110 million to £140 million. Experience suggests that cost will over-run, even at the higher evaluation. Andersonstown is an area crying out for investment but, in a political landscape defined by sectarianism, there are other considerations. The Democratic Unionist Party – which has boycotted Stormont for 20 months leading to a gridlocked government – are against giving a “blank cheque” to the GAA.
Loyalism has many challenges. Working class Unionists feel left behind by “garden-centre Prods,” the semi-mythical, middle-class Protestants who live very different lives to those in the poorer enclaves. Traditionally, working-class Loyalists could rely on leaving school at the first opportunity to enter jobs in the shipyards, docks and manufacturing industries. That conveyor belt stopped more than two generations ago but the mindset it created continues to dog the less affluent Protestant areas.
By contrast, with this sort of employment denied to them, Catholics committed to education. The church and the GAA also helped retain cohesiveness in the Nationalist communities. Gaelic sports are anathema to many Loyalists. Casement Park has many challenges to overcome if it is to unify the different factions.
Euro 2028 will bring in thousands of tourists. They will enjoy Belfast and marvel at the Peace Walls which criss-cross the city. They will walk up Northumberland Street between the Falls and the Shankill Roads and shake their heads at the transition – in a matter of yards around the interface gate that is locked at night – from tricolours and Palestinian flag murals to Union Jacks and Israeli stars. In the evening they will return to the city centre, a vibrant and modern district with stylish bars and coffee shops.
Before the foreign supporters arrive, there are plenty of challenges. Brexit has destabilised the peace process. The spectre of a border poll – a vote to unify Ireland – haunts Loyalists. The demographics are trending towards Nationalist aspirations with every year.
On that trip to Belfast four years ago, I had a conversation on the Upper Shankill with someone connected with the Progressive Unionist Party, the political face of the Ulster Volunteer Force. We talked about a border poll and this individual said that everyone was committed to peace but could not countenance a united Ireland. What if a referendum was conducted and people voted for unification by 52 to 48 per cent, I asked, using the Brexit vote as an example. “War,” he said, starkly.
But what if 75 per cent wanted to leave the United Kingdom? “Twenty-three per cent more war,” he said.
That was probably in my mind when I walked straight past the Royal. Let’s hope Northern Ireland’s Protestants don’t give the bastion of Republicanism a similar swerve in five years’ time and Casement Park can bring people together. I wouldn’t hold your breath, though.