SENTINELCELTS

Over the last few months the expression Hun has been bothering me. In an attempt to get behind this unease I’ve even researched the word’s origins and tried to placate the growing sense of dread the word causes when I come across it.

This wasn’t always the case. I’m no saint and in no position to cast any stones. But the word has been bugging me. What is it about this piece of Glasgow banter? This dark feeling just wouldn’t go away. On the morning of the last Sevco game I saw a photograph of a banner hanging from a roadbridge in Glasgow. It had the letters KAH proudly embossed on it. KAH is an abbreviation for Kill All Huns.

My disquiet grew.

After the Motherwell game I had a eureka moment.

I went for a stroll, still bothered by this lingering unease. It was a glorious, autumnal Sunday afternoon and I wandered among brilliantly vibrant, crimson trees. The answer that had eluded me for weeks suddenly arrived.

The words “It’s fear.” Reverberated somewhere within me. After a few seconds my inner voice repeated, “It’s fear.” I felt a huge release of tension.

The unmasking of fear is really one of life’s great liberations. It’s unmasking gives birth to a feeling of unparalleled joy. Blocked and uncharted depths of the psyche begin to open up.

The veil was torn down. All of the disquiet about words like Hun, were really Fear’s desperate attempt to maintain control.

Suddenly all the fragmented pieces of the jigsaw began to come beautifully together into a perfect whole.

Fear is the implicit foundation that manifests explicitly in racism, gender bias, homophobia, sectarianism and virtually every poison that comes to mind. Fear contaminates our everyday thoughts, feelings, speech, and actions.

It lurks in the background behind rationalism, dogma and doctrine. It’s manipulates our votes or behaviour, our religion, our nationality. Fear creates the illusion of seperation.It often masquerades as depression, anxiety, anger and resentment.

Celtic Football Club fed and sustained many of our ancestors. The young club provided an oasis free from the fear of prejudice, poverty and the sorrow that many of our people courageously endured in the cold Glasgow tenements.

It’s pertinent and humbling that one of our most loved anthems provides the reassurance, “Don’t be afraid of the dark.”

Fear was the shadow that tormented the Irish immigrant on a daily basis. Fear even dominated hopes of the afterlife. The terror of Purgatory and the eternal torment of the ‘Bad Fire’ accompanied every natural temptation.

Fear is cunning. It thrives in secrecy, power and rumour. It’s a bully. It can’t be ran away from. It can’t be suppressed or sedated. It’s like a karma and can pass from one generation to the next.

The use of the word Hun is a manifestation of deeply rooted, often inherited fears. It’s fear projecting to label and divide.

I’ve known for years that the din of the Lambeg drum was all about fear. That the squadies absailing from the roof of Ibrox, while soldiers play-fight on the pitch was a show of strength to assuage the fears of the support

It’s taken me a long time to see that many of my thoughts and actions were the response to fear. Fears that were germinated by the landlord and the Blight, the authority of the pulpit, the politician and malice of the Gombeen.

There’s a irony in the fact that the word Hun provided the key that unlocked the sarcophagus of An Gorta Mór. It’s fears and trauma. The lock to that fearful tomb is an unusual one. It’s found on the inside.

Fear fuelled the continuity myth. The Five Way Agreement and the missing £10 million per annum. Fear sells Season Books and keeps us awake at night. Our people have been dominated and lost to fear for long enough. When it’s the time to let go of fear…You’ll know.

When I got home there was an uplifting story on the Irish news. The Red Squirrel has made a comeback and has forced the Grey Squirrel out of many counties of the island.

Another indigenous, predatory species, the Pine Marten has assisted the revival.

There’s something magical in nature.

By The Gombeen Man