In Response To Connal Parr
I was rather disappointed to read Connal Parr’s recent review of Pete Shirlow’s End of Loyalism and his subsequent response to Shirlow’s defence, which I felt painted neither the author, nor the profession, in a particularly good light. His critique was full of holes and one gets the sense reading it that Parr was trying to be controversial for the sake of it, rather than offering a genuine academic critique. Shirlow is certainly right to recognise and lament the tendency to bicker within academia, which often comes across as wounded alpha males slogging it out. Take it to extremes and you get this rather odd response to a response that is, to my eyes at least, rather demeaning to the profession. Perhaps that is understandable given the energy and soul many of us put into our work, but it has its downsides. Not least because the social division in Northern Ireland is partly a consequence of unquestioned conviction; a problem that academia does little to solve when it fails to offer its own explanations with a little humility and self-reflection. Unfortunately there’s not a lot of either on show in Parr’s tone or critical approach; whether one agrees with the writing or not, there are probably better ways to make your point than accusing an experienced professional of ‘bad writing’.
I have some thoughts of course on Shirlow’s book, and he himself recognises there is room for development. But Parr’s response cannot be allowed to pass without comment, not least because there are some dangerous claims that must be resisted in the strongest terms if damage is not to accrue to the profession and to our understanding of loyalism.
Top of my list of worries is Parr’s persistence with his criticism of Shirlow for not naming his sources, because ‘other writers have managed it’. His original response also managed to critique the younger academics who have followed this practice (I include myself among them). In theory, the worry that we obscure the complexity of our subject matter by refusing to name our respondents is, generally speaking, fair. But this is a matter of research ethics, not editorial preference. Academics, like journalists, regularly conceal the identity of their sources, and rightly so. It is utterly wrong to suggest we should be diverted from a true regard for research ethics by the need to understand. We, as researchers, have a duty of care to protect our respondents who wish to remain anonymous. Both the UDA and UVF are illegal organisations, and so admitting to membership in print is a risk that the respondent themselves should take voluntarily, not be forced to by the researcher (who after all, owes their research, their career and their reputation to the co-operation of their respondents). If further comment were needed on just how wrong-headed this critique is, witness Parr’s failure to contemplate that whether authors are given permission or not to use interviewees names rather varies from author to author, and from project to project. In my experience interviewees with existing media profiles are more likely to give their names than those without any profile. While Parr applauded Novosel’s use of names in his latest book, knowing the author well I can assure Parr that he shares a similar commitment to protecting the identity of interviewees should they request that any author do so. I can only hope no-one reads Parr’s comments and takes his suggestions remotely seriously.
I also find Parr’s critique shot through with pure hypocrisy that, once again, demonstrates an inability to self-reflect and belies the arrogance of the tone. For instance, he criticises Shirlow for presenting a rather simplistic thesis of the black and the white (regressive and progressive forms of loyalism). In general, that is a very important criticism, no doubt, and one that should be aimed not just at academics but all those who establish public narratives of these issues. Yet Parr simultaneously claims that ‘Loyalist paramilitaries are not, and have never been, an authentic mouthpiece of the Protestant working class’. Certainly one gets that impression if one considers the media coverage of Bobby Moffett’s funeral in 2010, for example, or if one spends a long time with certain angry playwrights (who often have good cause to be angry). But the picture about support for the paramilitaries in the Protestant working-class is as complex, and the voices in support and condemnation as ‘fissile’ as anything else, at least if one looks under the cover. Yes, there are plenty within Protestant working-class communities that utterly reject paramilitarism. Yet there is continuing unease about dissident republicanism, and continuing unease about isolation and a lack of political representation that feeds a quiet, understated support for paramilitary groups. Even many of those now who reject paramilitarism might concede there have been times – and might be again – when they wouldn’t feel that way.
And there are other problems. Why, if they are totally ‘inauthentic’ parasites with no support in the ‘real’ Protestant working class are the paramilitaries still with us? If paramilitaries have never been an authentic mouthpiece of the Protestant working class, doesn’t it seem odd that so many joined the UDA and UVF at the beginning of the Troubles? Or so many supported Carson’s first UVF, or the militant organisations of the 1920s and 1930s (or did the pogroms never happen?), or the paramilitary support for the UWC? Damningly, in rushing to critique Shirlow for failing to consider historical context it seems Parr has fallen into the same trap himself, while doing much the same in simultaneously slamming Shirlow for diminishing and simplifying a varied and complex phenomenon by denying the paramilitaries any authenticity.
Let’s not even go there with Parr’s claim that republicanism is much less fragmented. That might reflect commonly held narratives, but I’m pretty sure that serious scholars of republicanism would wish to argue exactly the opposite.
Finally, I find Parr off the mark with his criticism of Shirlow’s book for its use of ‘jargon’. Again, there is the germ of a fair critique here, albeit one a little thoughtlessly deployed. I can almost overlook the rather worn use of Orwell’s much cited comment on the matter (where haven’t I seen this used? And what makes Orwell the greatest arbiter of academic standards?) and Parr’s tendency to himself sound intelligent but actually say nothing of any substance (what exactly is a jargon-loaded way of speaking by the way? Or was it meant simply as an insult?). But even so it’s a flawed critique. After all, isn’t jargon in the eye of the beholder? Doesn’t it depend on your level of initiation with a subject? Who are the ‘people’ Parr refers to who are prevented from understanding Shirlow’s thesis by its obfuscatory language? It made sense to me and would, I dare say, speak to a wide range of other academics (to whom the book was ultimately directed). And besides, isn’t Parr’s tendency to drop in literary references and cloak himself in Northern Ireland speak equally jargon-laden to the uninitiated?
I’m grateful that Parr does at least recognise that theory can be fascinating, but let’s be fair, theory does tend to be rather abstract and, at times, esoteric. And it’s very difficult – if not impossible – to write good theory that translates easily and smoothly to a general-level audience. But then isn’t lots of other academic research – including historiographies of the Troubles – rather esoteric? The beauty of theory is that it helps us make sense of very complex data by providing (warning: jargon ahead) systems, frameworks and logics, ultimately helping us to rationalize and develop a greater understanding of the complex mechanisms and processes that underpin empirical phenomenon. It also helps us to escape from these sort of circular critiques that get hung up on minor details by encouraging us to see the wider picture – i.e. how analyses of Northern Ireland speak to broader narratives of the human condition. That’s critical to seeing loyalism as a human story, which is, in turn, critical to seeing loyalists as humans. After all, as Novosel reminds us, quoting Billy Mitchell, no one came over and suddenly dropped crazy gas over Northern Ireland. Using theory that might speak to any number of contexts allows us to describe loyalism in terms of the trends and tendencies to which every human is vulnerable. Whatever else one might say about Shirlow’s offering, he should be applauded for the turn to theory; the conversation needs to be opened up to this sort of expansive analysis if we are to stop seeing loyalists as objects in a zoo to be stared at, and rather to see them as fellow humans. That, surely, is the most immediate task of the academic.
