When we talk about Britain's long and often troubled history in Ireland, it is easy to use a single simple word, British. This term becomes a catch-all, a blanket thrown over a complex and multi-layered reality. But who were the British? Were they a monolithic force, a single entity acting with one mind and one will? Or was the reality far more complicated? The United Kingdom is, after all, a union of nations. It is made up of England, Scotland, Wales, and, of course, Northern Ireland. Each of these places has its own distinct history, its own culture, and its own relationship with Ireland. Understanding this is key to understanding the past. It forces us to look closer at the story we think we know so well. The story of British rule in Ireland is not just a story of Dublin and London. It is also a story that involves Edinburgh and Cardiff, albeit in very different ways. The soldiers who walked the streets of Belfast and Derry during the Troubles came from all corners of the UK.
The politicians who made decisions in Westminster represented constituencies from across the island of Great Britain. To lump them all together as simply the British can sometimes hide more than it reveals. It can obscure the specific roles played by different groups and different nations within that larger union. This is not about excusing actions, but about understanding them with more precision and clarity. For centuries, the relationship between these islands has been a knot of contradictions. It has been defined by shared culture, migration, and family ties, but also by conflict, colonization, and deep-seated animosity. The role of Scotland is particularly fascinating in this regard. As a nation that has itself experienced a complex relationship with its larger English neighbour, its part in the British project in Ireland is filled with irony.
How did a nation that often saw itself as distinct from and sometimes opposed to English dominance become an agent of that very dominance just across the water in Ireland? This question lies at the heart of our tangled history. As we look back, especially at the raw wounds of the Troubles, it is vital to ask these difficult questions. We must unravel the threads of this complex tapestry to see where they lead. Did the average person in Ireland distinguish between an English soldier and a Scottish one? Did the shared Celtic heritage with Scotland and Wales soften the perception of their involvement, or did their presence feel like a deeper betrayal? Exploring these nuances is not an academic exercise. It is essential for understanding how the past continues to shape our present and our shared future on these islands, even today, in 2025. It is about moving beyond simple narratives of heroes and villains. Make sure to hit that subscribe button for more content like this.
In the popular imagination in Ireland, both north and south of the border, the finger of blame for historical wrongs has traditionally pointed squarely at one place, England. It is a simple and powerful narrative. England was the dominant partner in the Union, the seat of colonial power, and the source of the policies that caused so much suffering in Ireland over the centuries. From the plantations to the famine, from the penal laws to the black and tans, the hand of English authority is seen as the primary driver of events. This view is deeply embedded in Irish political culture, songs, and stories. It is a story of a small nation struggling against a large and powerful neighbour. This focus on England often means that Scotland and Wales fade into the background. They become almost invisible footnotes in the larger story of Anglo-Irish conflict. There is a general sense, perhaps, that they were simply dragged along by their more powerful neighbour.
Wales, itself arguably England's first colony, is rarely seen as an enthusiastic participant in the imperial project. Scotland's case is more complex, but a similar logic is often applied. The idea is that the real power, the real decision-making, and therefore the real culpability, rested in London. This perspective is convenient because it keeps the narrative clean and straightforward, Ireland versus England. However, this simple narrative doesn't always hold up to closer scrutiny, especially when you talk to people who lived through the troubles in Northern Ireland. For them, the identity of the soldiers on their streets mattered. While the policies came from Westminster, the implementation was carried out by men from all over the UK. The accents they heard, the cap badges they saw, told a more complicated story. A soldier from Glasgow was not the same as a soldier from Liverpool or Cardiff. Their presence brought different historical and cultural baggage with it.
Lumping them all together as Brits was a practical necessity of conflict, but beneath the surface people knew the differences were there. So, while the political and historical blame is overwhelmingly placed on England, the lived experience was more nuanced. The anger was directed at the British state and its army as a whole, but the specific identity of the soldiers could colour that anger in different ways. The involvement of Scottish and Welsh soldiers added layers of complexity, and for some, a sense of betrayal. It was one thing to be oppressed by your historical adversary, but it felt different when the agents of that oppression came from nations with which Ireland shared a Celtic heritage and a history of struggle against English dominance. This complexity is often lost in the broader historical narrative. During the Troubles, the presence of Scottish regiments in Northern Ireland left a particularly deep and often bitter mark on the collective memory of nationalist communities.
Regiments like the Black Watch, the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, and the King's Own Scottish Borderers became notorious in certain areas. Their reputation was not one of peacekeeping, it was one of aggression, heavy-handed tactics, and a particular type of confrontational swagger. This wasn't just a perception, it was rooted in the daily experiences of people living in places like West Belfast, Derry, and South Armagh. The sound of a Scottish accent, for many, became synonymous with house raids, street patrols, and military harassment. The behaviour of these soldiers was often seen as being deliberately provocative. There was a sense that they acted with a certain relish, an extra edge of hostility that distinguished them from some of their English counterparts. Whether this was a conscious policy or a result of the specific culture within these regiments is hard to say. However, the outcome was clear.
They were viewed not as neutral keepers of the peace, but as an occupying force with a particularly nasty streak. Stories of their brutality spread like wildfire through nationalist areas, cementing their reputation and fuelling resentment against the entire British military presence. This aggressive reputation had a direct and measurable impact on the local population. For many young nationalist men, the constant friction with Scottish patrols was a powerful recruitment tool for paramilitary organizations like the Provisional IRA. An encounter with a hostile patrol, a rough search, or a night spent in a holding centre could be the final push that turned a disaffected teenager into a committed paramilitary volunteer. In this sense, the actions of the Scottish regiments were profoundly counterproductive to the British state's own stated aims. Instead of winning hearts and minds, they hardened attitudes and created a new generation of enemies.
The irony of this situation was not lost on people. Here were soldiers from Scotland, a nation with its own strong sense of identity, and a history of resistance to English control, acting as the enforcers of British rule in Ireland. For Irish nationalists, who saw their own struggle in a similar light, this felt like a profound betrayal. The shared Celtic heritage, the historical links going back to the kingdom of Dalriada, all of it seemed to count for nothing. The soldier in a kilt on a Belfast street was not a Celtic cousin. He was just another agent of the crown, and in many cases, a particularly feared and hated one. There is a popular modern myth about Scotland, one that it often tells itself. It is the story of a nation that was a victim of the British Empire, not a partner in it. This narrative presents Scotland as a junior partner, reluctantly co-opted into England's imperial project after the Act of Union in 1707.
It highlights Scottish resistance to English dominance and draws parallels with other colonized peoples. While there are elements of truth in this, it is a highly selective and misleading version of history. The reality is that Scotland was not just a participant in the British Empire, it was a driving force behind it, punching well above its weight. From the moment of union, Scots embraced the opportunities of empire with enormous enthusiasm. They were disproportionately represented in every corner of the colonial enterprise. They were soldiers, administrators, engineers, doctors, merchants, and missionaries. The Scottish Enlightenment provided much of the intellectual justification for empire, while Scottish industry built the ships and machinery that powered it. Men from Glasgow, Edinburgh and Dundee ran plantations in the Caribbean, managed the opium trade in China, and administered vast territories in India and Africa.
The wealth that flowed back from these activities transformed Scotland, building its grand cities and funding its institutions. This active and profitable involvement in empire extended to Ireland. The plantation of Ulster in the 17th century was, in many ways, a joint Anglo-Scottish project. King James VI of Scotland, who became James I of England, saw it as a way to pacify and civilize Gaelic Ireland while rewarding his loyal subjects. Tens of thousands of Protestant Scots were settled on land confiscated from the native Irish. This created a new demographic reality in the north of Ireland, laying the groundwork for centuries of sectarian conflict. It was a clear act of colonization and Scotland was at its very heart, not as a reluctant follower but as an enthusiastic leader. Yet this history is often met with a strange amnesia in modern Scotland. There is a reluctance to confront this imperial past.
The focus remains on Scotland's own grievances with England rather than its role as a colonizer elsewhere. This allows for a comfortable narrative of victimhood which sits uneasily with the historical facts. For Ireland, this historical forgetfulness is frustrating. It feels as though Scotland wants to claim the cultural kinship of Celtic identity without acknowledging its role as an agent of the very empire that oppressed both nations. A true understanding between our countries requires Scotland to look honestly at its own reflection in the imperial mirror. The identities of people across these islands are not simple, clear-cut boxes. They are a messy, overlapping, and often contradictory tangle of allegiances and ancestries. An Irish person might have a British passport. A Scottish person might feel a stronger connection to their Celtic roots than to the British state. And a person from Belfast might call themselves Irish, British, Northern Irish, or some combination of all three.
These complex identities have a profound impact on how we remember the past and assign blame for it. There is no single unified perspective, but a spectrum of views shaped by personal history, community, and politics. For many in the Republic of Ireland, the identity is straightforward. They are Irish. The term British refers to something separate, something across the water. Yet even here, the lines are blurred by centuries of migration. Countless Irish families have relatives in Liverpool, Glasgow, and London. The cultural influence of Britain through television, music, and sport is immense. This creates a strange dual consciousness. It is possible to feel a deep-seated political opposition to the actions of the British state while simultaneously enjoying a British TV show or supporting a British football team. This complexity allows for a relationship that is not defined solely by historical antagonism. In Northern Ireland, this tangle of identities is at its most intense.
For the Unionist community, their British identity is paramount, but it is often a specifically Ulster British identity, with deep roots in the Scottish Presbyterian tradition of the 17th century planters. They are British, but not English. Their cultural and historical ties point strongly towards Scotland. For the nationalist community, the primary identity is Irish. Yet, they are citizens of the United Kingdom, and for generations their lives have been governed by British institutions. This creates a constant tension between identity and political reality, shaping every aspect of life. This complexity makes the question of blame difficult. When a nationalist in Derry looked at a soldier from the king's own Scottish borderers, did they see a fellow Celt who had taken the wrong path? Or did they see an Ulsterman in a kilt, a descendant of the very planters who colonized their land 400 years earlier? The answer is probably both, and that is where the difficulty lies.
The shared history and culture can foster a sense of connection, but it can also make the betrayal feel sharper. These tangled identities mean that the lines between us and them have never been as clear as the political rhetoric would suggest. When we examine the structure of power during the Troubles, it is undeniable that the ultimate authority rested in London. The major political decisions were made in the halls of Westminster and Whitehall by the British government. The policy of internment without trial, the deployment of the army, the handling of the hunger strikes, and the eventual moves towards a peace process were all directed from the centre of British power, which is geographically and politically located in England. In this sense, the narrative that holds England primarily responsible for the state's actions is correct. Scotland and Wales, lacking their own devolved parliaments at the time, had no formal power to set a different course.
However, to say that policy was made in London is not to say that Scotland had no agency or involvement. Far from it. Scottish involvement was crucial to the implementation of that policy. Scotland provided a significant proportion of the manpower for the British Army, and as we have seen, its regiments were often at the sharp end of the conflict. Furthermore, Scottish politicians played key roles within the British government. From Prime Ministers to Secretaries of State for Defence or Northern Ireland, Scots have frequently held the highest offices and been directly responsible for shaping and executing British policy in Ireland. This distinction between making policy and carrying it out is critical. It moves us beyond a simple model where England gives the orders and everyone else just follows. Scotland was not a passive participant. It was an active and integral part of the British state, and its people were involved at every level.
A Scottish Secretary of State for Defence signing off on a new security measure for Northern Ireland is just as culpable as an English one. A Scottish soldier carrying out a raid in Belfast is not just a pawn, they are an agent of the state, and their actions have real-world consequences for which they and the state are responsible. Therefore, we must hold two ideas in our heads at once. Firstly, the British state, with its centre of power in England, bears the ultimate political responsibility for its actions in Ireland. Secondly, Scotland, as a willing and often enthusiastic partner in that state, shares in the moral and historical responsibility for how that power was used. To ignore Scotland's role is to let it off the hook too easily.
It allows for the continuation of a self-serving myth that Scotland was somehow separate from the uglier aspects of British history, when in fact it was often right in the thick of it, with its hands firmly on the levers of power and its boots on the ground. Despite the heavy weight of this difficult history, the relationship between modern Ireland and Scotland is, in many ways, remarkably positive. The establishment of the Scottish Parliament in 1999 created a new dynamic. It gave Scotland a political voice distinct from Westminster and allowed it to forge its own relationships with other nations. Ireland, as a neighbouring small country that had successfully achieved independence from Britain, became a natural point of comparison and a close partner. There is a palpable sense of goodwill and mutual respect between the political establishments in Dublin and Edinburgh. This positive relationship is built on a foundation of shared cultural and economic interests.
Both countries have positioned themselves as modern, progressive, and outward-looking European nations. There is extensive cooperation on issues like renewable energy, tourism, and the arts. The Irish government was a vocal supporter of Scotland remaining in the European Union, and there is a shared sense of frustration with the political direction taken by Westminster, particularly since Brexit. This has created a new political alignment where Dublin and Edinburgh often find themselves on the same side, looking warily at the decisions being made in London. The old historical links, once a source of conflict, are now often celebrated as a shared heritage. The ancient Gaelic cultural world that once spanned the North Channel is now a subject of academic collaboration and cultural festivals. The story of migration, which saw so many Irish people move to Scotland, is now viewed through a lens of contribution and shared experience, rather than just poverty and displacement.
It feels as if both nations are finding new ways to connect, focusing on the deep historical ties that predate the creation of the British state and the conflicts that followed. However, it would be naïve to think that the ghosts of the past have been completely banished. The legacy of the troubles still lingers. The sectarian divisions that were solidified by the plantation of Ulster have not disappeared, and they continue to find an echo in the rivalry between Celtic and Rangers football clubs in Glasgow. The memory of the Scottish Regiment's behaviour in the North remains a sore point for many. The modern, positive relationship is real and it is welcome, but it exists alongside these older, more difficult truths. The challenge is to continue building the new relationship without completely forgetting the lessons of the old one. The story of the relationship between Ireland, Scotland, and England is a cautionary tale against the dangers of simple narratives.
It is tempting to paint the picture in broad strokes of black and white Ireland as the innocent victim, England as the cruel oppressor, and Scotland and Wales as irrelevant bystanders. This version of history is emotionally satisfying and politically useful, but it is ultimately a distortion. It flattens a complex, three-dimensional reality into a one-dimensional cartoon. The truth, as is so often the case, is found in the shades of grey, in the details and contradictions that the simple story leaves out. Embracing nuance does not mean excusing or diminishing the suffering caused by British rule in Ireland. The injustices were real, the violence was horrific, and the legacy of colonization is profound and lasting. However, a more nuanced understanding forces us to distribute responsibility more accurately. It makes us acknowledge that the project of empire was a British one, not just an English one.
It compels us to look at Scotland's role not just as a fellow Celtic nation, but also as a key partner in the imperial state, which profited from and enforced British rule in Ireland and across the globe. This complexity also helps us understand the present. The different ways in which these histories are remembered or forgotten in each country continue to shape their politics and their sense of self. Scotland's modern political identity is deeply tied to a narrative of distinction from England, a narrative that is complicated by its imperial past. Ireland's identity is forged in opposition to British rule, yet it must now navigate a close and complex relationship with its nearest neighbours in a post-Brexit world. Acknowledging the messy reality of the past is the only way to make sense of the equally messy reality of the present. Ultimately, moving beyond the simple story is an act of maturity.
It requires us to abandon the comfortable certainties of old myths and confront a more challenging and ambiguous truth. It means accepting that nations like people can be both victim and perpetrator, colonized and colonizer. It means understanding that historical figures and groups acted with mixed motives and that their legacies are rarely straightforward. This is a more difficult path to take, but it is the only one that leads to a genuine understanding of our shared and tangled history on these islands. It is the necessary first step towards building a better future. Looking forward from today, in late 2025, the relationship between Ireland and its neighbours is more important than ever. The political landscape of these islands has been fundamentally altered by Brexit. Ireland remains a committed member of the European Union, while Scotland, which voted overwhelmingly to remain, finds itself outside the EU against its will.
This has created a new set of shared interests and a common political language between Dublin and Edinburgh. Both see their future as being at the heart of Europe, and both must now manage a more distant and sometimes difficult relationship with the government in London. This new reality offers an opportunity to deepen the Irish-Scottish connection, moving beyond both the ancient enmities and the modern political friendship. It requires an honest conversation about the past, including the difficult parts. For a truly mature partnership to flourish, Scotland must continue the process of confronting its own role in the British Empire and, specifically, in Ireland. This isn't about dwelling on grievances, but about achieving a shared understanding based on historical truth. Acknowledging the actions of the Scottish regiments during the Troubles is not an attack on modern Scotland, it is a necessary act of historical reckoning that can clear the air for a stronger future.
For Ireland, this means continuing to engage with the different parts of the United Kingdom as distinct entities. It means building on the strong ties with the devolved government in Scotland, and also with Wales, while managing the crucial and complex relationship with London. It also means looking at the Unionist community in Northern Ireland not just as an obstacle to Irish unity, but as a people with their own unique culture and a deep, centuries-old connection to Scotland. Understanding their sense of Britishness, which is so often an Ulster Scottish identity, is key to any prospect of lasting peace and reconciliation on the island of Ireland. Ultimately, the future relationship between our nations will be built on mutual respect, shared interests, and a willingness to face our complicated history together. The simple narratives of the past, which pitted Celt against Saxon or Irish against Brit, are no longer fit for purpose.
We live in a world of overlapping identities and complex allegiances. By embracing this complexity, by choosing nuanced understanding over simplistic blame, Ireland and Scotland can forge a new path. It will be a path that honours the depth of our historical connection while building a partnership fit for the challenges and opportunities of the 21st century.
No comments:
Post a Comment