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Caoimhin O’Muraile ⚽ The 2026 World Cup from a footballing point of view and despite many skills exhibited by some individual players has been an unmitigated disaster. 

Firstly the malignant narcissist in the White House, Donald Trump, and his administration refused, for no good reason other than proving a point, Somali referee, Omar Artan, entry into the country. 

Secondly Trump insisted the Iranian football team reside in Mexico and commute to the US for their games immediately putting the Iranians at a disadvantage. The tournament is supposed to be played on a level playing field which, on this occasion, is clearly not the case and has now set a precedent for future World Cups. 

The FIFA President, Gianni Infantino, has shown a clear lack of courage and moral fibre in addressing the problems which clearly exist and are of Trumps making. Trump may be the root cause of the difficulties faced by the Somali referee and the Iranian national team but the FIFA President must also shoulder his share of the blame for blatant cowardice. All this man who supposedly leads world footballs international governing body could say was “relax and chill”. Once again, the FIFA chief and his managerial team have licked the arse of the US tyrant, Trump, this time with the narcissist interfering directly with a FIFA referee’s decision on the pitch. Are there no depths the grovelling FIFA President will not stoop? In order to curry favour with Trump Infantino even went as far as awarding the US warmonger and kidnapper a “FIFA peace prize at the World Cup draw” (Irish Daily Mirror 6th July). It appears now the US President calls the shots not the referee or even the hated VAR, no, Donald Trump now calls the shots it would seem.

On Wednesday 1st July the USA played Bosnia-Herzegovina and in the course of the game a US player, Folarin Balogun, was sent off for a foul on an opposition defender stomping on the defender’s ankle. The foul some would say warranted a straight red card others would disagree claiming a yellow card would have been sufficient. Either way red or yellow card is not the point, but the direct interference of Trump is! Trump contacted the FIFA hierarchy regarding this decision which was a matter solely for the referee: that’s his job, even today with fucked up VAR, and had nothing to do with the White House. The referee’s decision did appear a little harsh as the stamping looked accidental and the US team and management, which is their right, expressed ‘anger and disappointment’ at the referee. This is normal and happens every Saturday, or Sunday, or Monday or whenever a game is played when head coaches – who have replaced managers and not for the better – complain when decisions have not gone their way. It is a perfectly natural response. 

What makes this incident different in a negative sense is the direct political interference by Trump, interference which undermines the FIFA rule book and credibility. Perhaps those who maintain politics should be kept out of sport should voice a view on this quite blatant crossing of their red line. Thanks to Trump's meddling in things he cares fuck all about, apart from political opportunism, the decision which should have carried an automatic ban for the next game, in this case a last 16 contest with Belgium, has been put back until after the tournament. This is a first-time occurrence because even though other players in the past - Cristiano Ronaldo being one - have had red cards and suspensions which were incurred in games before the tournament began, the suspensions were put back till after the tournament, thus not placing any barriers to the players during the competition. This is the first time such an offence has occurred during the tournament and a suspension being lifted on the thinly veiled instructions of a world leader. Trump immediately took to social media to thank FIFA for doing the “right thing” or, roughly translated, riding rough shod over the match referee’s decision. Thankfully poetic justice was done as Belgium won the game 4-1 thus progressing to the last eight.

Referee’s today have enough problems with being undermined by VAR and now, it appears, by the President of the USA. Of course the FIFA President could and should have told Trump to do one when he issued his Presidential decree but lacks the moral fibre to do or say this. Trump only has to glance in Infantino’s direction and the FIFA President reaches for the toilet roll, and not to through on the pitch which was once traditional, but to rapidly wipe his arse.

The failure of Gianni Infantino to stand up to Trump and his meddling has ruined this competition undermining its integrity. It has been bad enough with VAR on the pitch, for example in the Mexico versus England game the referee said no to a Mexican penalty appeal only minuet’s later for VAR to order him to the screen for another look. Instead of telling VAR to fuck off and standing by his decision the referee, like the majority, though not all, of his peers went belly up and changed his mind thus allowing Mexico a penalty he had, minutes earlier, decided against! For the record the referee still has the final decision on the pitch and is not obliged to agree with VAR, though very few do go against VAR. 

Infantino failed to intervene over the blatantly unfair treatment of the Somali referee Omar Artan, the African continent's finest, not being allowed entry into the country. Fair enough - that decision, wrong as it was, is within the remit of any government, most who would not exercise such powers, but the FIFA coward said absolutely fuck all. The very least this referee could have expected was the verbal support of FIFA but did not get it. 

Then the FIFA chief failed to address the unfair treatment of the Iranian national side who were not allowed to train in the US and had to commute from Mexico for every game played in the USA placing the Iranians at an immediate disadvantage. This is not to suggest support for the religious nutters in Tehran who pass for a government, it is support for the footballers and supporters of Iran. Once again not a murmur from Infantino, not a fucking word of protest! Despite these appalling incidents and the unfairness involved, Trump putting his size tens into the ring over the sending off is in a different league. Trump cares nothing for football, anymore, it would appear, than do the pretenders of FIFA the international custodians of the game! Trump saw an opportunity for himself and even though he could not even give an idiot’s guide to the game decided to intervene knowing Infantino is shit scared of him! Trump also used this as an opportunity to compare the “unfairness” of the sending off which he had overturned with the 2020 US Presidential election which he, Trump, still maintains he won. Nobody else does apart from him and a few thousand half-witted followers and sycophants of the narcissist.

For me this tournament signals the end of the line for top flight football. It now appears any Tom, Dick, or Donald can waltz into the White House and interfere in a tournament which, frankly, is outside their remit. The games integrity already suspect is now in tatters and couple the actions of Trump with the inactions of Infantino and we have this mire masquerading as football. The narcissist could not have got away with so much without a spineless FIFA President colluding. Thanks to this pair of clowns and every other negative from VAR to bad refereeing then, to coin a phrase, ‘the games afoot’.

Caoimhin O’Muraile is Independent Socialist Republican and Marxist.

RIP 2026 World Cup ⚽ As Trump Interferes Yet Again!

Lynx By Ten To The Power Of Two Thousand And Twenty Seven

 

A Morning Thought @ 3200

Jim Duffy ✍ The phenomenon of 'drone parties' is a remarkable feature of Russia's war in Ukraine.


Ukrainian citizens come together often at weekends in someone's house, hold a dinner party, and assemble drones for the military from parts supplied to them. In means every weekend tens of thousands of drones are made by ordinary citizens.

They augment the drones made by companies.

Not alone does it mean Ukraine has vast numbers of drones, but they are in a constant state of upgrade and evolution. In effect a new generation of Ukraine's drones are made every seven to ten days.

Russia launched an expensive missile some time ago. Each missile costs €50m. Russia could only afford forty. Four were launched a few weeks ago. Two hit their target. One went massively off target and hit Russian soldiers. The fourth however was brought down by an Ukrainian drone. Think about it. A €50m missile was brought down by a €1500 drone. Russia has not used those missiles since.

Western experts were puzzled by how Ukrainian drones were travelling so far, as it was further than their batteries should have been able to carry them. Then they found out the reason. Ukraine ingeniously has been releasing drones tied to balloons. The balloons carry them for hundreds of miles on the prevailing winds. Only when the balloons begin to descend does the drone switch on, so Ukraine is using a brilliant low tech method to get the drones near to where they are going.

Russia often sees them but they are so high up it cannot tell if they are weather balloons or balloons attached to drones. Soldiers don't launch expensive missiles as they don't know what they are shooting at. They would get in trouble if they are firing a one million euro missile at a weather balloon. Some Russian soldiers who still have access to Telegram and admitted to having an admiration for the ingenuity of Ukraine in using something as simple as a balloon to get drones so far, hitting oil facilities in Siberia.

⏩ Jim Duffy is a writer-historian.

Drone Parties

Notes On Crime 🚔 Written by David James Smith. Recommended by Christopher Owens.

How "Notes on Crime" got mixed up with law and justice.

Although I have yet to be publicly acknowledged as the source, my reporting here in Notes on Crime was behind a significant intervention by Baroness Carr, the Lady Chief Justice, last week at the Court of Appeal - administering a rap across the knuckles of the Crown Prosecution Service that has left the CPS publicly embarrassed and at risk of further judicial retribution.

In my recent Notes on Crime article, “the misrepresentation of the Hampshire rape case” I examined the troubling errors made, both in the reporting of the case and in the resulting commentary fuelled by the public outcry over the decision of the trial judge at Southampton Crown Court, HHJ Rowland, not to send the three convicted boys to detention.

The article also drew public attention for the first time to the grievous factual mistakes in a CPS press release which was published online after the sentencing hearing on May 21st. The errors were still present in the press release when I published my “misrepresentations” article on June 9th. 

Continue @ NOC. 

The Hampshire Rape Case 🪶 Notes And Corrections

Louth For Ever ★ writing in Medium on 31-May-2026.

The week the left began contesting Sinn Féin’s place in it, and what the contest revealed about the form the moment requires

Photo by Dimitry Anikin on Unsplash

Section I: The week the question came out loud

The seventh essay closed on a count. Two electorates had answered a question the political ground had spent a week putting to them, and the answer in both constituencies was that the form a counter-hegemonic project requires does not currently exist in any single party. That essay published on the Saturday the Dublin Central result became clear. The Galway West seat was decided the following day, when Fine Gael’s Seán Kyne overtook Independent Ireland’s Noel Thomas on the eleventh count, carried over the line by transfers from Labour’s Helen Ogbu.

What happened next was not a settling. It was an escalation.

Within forty-eight hours of the last seat being filled, the parties of the Irish left began, in public and on the record, to contest whether Sinn Féin belongs in the left at all. The argument had been audible for some time at the level of analysts and pollsters and podcasters. By the middle of the week it was being conducted by party leaders, through the mechanism of a Seanad by-election, in the pages of the national press.

The Labour leader Ivana Bacik put it without hedging. “For us in the Labour Party,” she said, “we have never accepted that Sinn Féin are a left-wing party.” She named the terrains on which, in her account, the party had moved rightward: climate, tax, and migration. And she tied the claim directly to the weekend’s results, saying voters did not believe Sinn Féin was left wing, “which is so evidently borne out by the transfer pattern in the byelections.”

The argument took institutional shape almost immediately, and the institution was the Seanad. Kyne’s election to the Dáil had vacated his Seanad seat, which must be filled by a by-election within six months. On the Tuesday evening, Bacik wrote to the Social Democrats leader Holly Cairns and to the Green Party leader Roderic O’Gorman, proposing that the three of them meet to discuss running an agreed candidate. Sinn Féin was not included in the invitation. Neither was People Before Profit. The Labour explanation was that Bacik had said since before the 2024 general election that she wanted to build a common platform on the left with the Greens and the Social Democrats, and that this was the platform she had in mind.

On the Wednesday, Cairns wrote to a wider group. Her letter went to Bacik and O’Gorman, but also to the leaders of Sinn Féin and People Before Profit, proposing a meeting to agree a unity candidate across the broader left. So by midweek there were two competing proposals running at once. One was a narrow centre-left bloc that excluded Sinn Féin. The other was a wider meeting that included it. Bacik agreed to attend the wider meeting as well. The two letters were not, on their surface, a dispute about a single Seanad seat. They were a disagreement about who the left is.

Cairns was not only convening. She was also, in the same week, the sharpest critic of Sinn Féin’s recent direction among the party leaders. She declared a left-wing government “within touching distance.” She called Sinn Féin’s abstention on the Social Democrats’ reproductive rights bill “a huge mistake.” And she described Sinn Féin as a party “at a crossroads” that needed to “iron out what their position is” on a range of questions.

Sinn Féin’s response was to assert the identity that was being questioned. The party’s TD Louise O’Reilly, asked on national television whether Sinn Féin had been squeezed from both the left and the right, reasserted the party’s connection to its communities and its left-wing credentials. Sinn Féin, she said, is a “left republican party,” and “we know what we stand for.” Mary Lou McDonald, asked about her leadership after the results, said there was no question over it, that “pressure is for tyres,” and that the party would conduct a review “as we have a review after every electoral contest.”

This was the week. The reading the previous essays had been building, and that a number of analysts and writers had been building alongside them, stopped being a reading. It became the open business of the Irish left, conducted by its leaders, in the week after two electorates had declined to give Sinn Féin the seat it wanted.

Section II: What the discourse had already seen

The party leaders did not arrive at this question first. They arrived at it last.

For weeks before Bacik wrote her letter, the reading that Sinn Féin had moved rightward, and that the move was strategic rather than accidental, had been worked out in the places where Irish political analysis actually happens now. Not in the newspaper columns, though it reached them eventually, but in the podcasts and the polling threads and the long-running arguments of the political internet, where the people who follow the numbers closely had been describing the shift in detail while the mainstream commentary was still treating the by-elections as a story about Mary Lou McDonald’s leadership.

The most precise account of when the shift happened came from the solicitor and commentator Simon McGarr, speaking on Tony Groves’ podcast in the days after the count. McGarr located the inflection at a specific moment: the Dublin riots of November 2023, when a knife attack on children outside a school became the occasion for the worst night of street disorder Dublin had seen in decades. In McGarr’s reading, that night was the point at which Sinn Féin’s posture changed. Faced with the mobilisation of anti-immigration sentiment as a street force, the party made a calculation. Rather than contest the ground, it would attempt to occupy some of it. The recalibration that the body of work has been tracking across seven essays, in the procedural absorptions and the strategic silences and the abstentions, has a date, and the date is the night Dublin burned.

The pollster who writes as ‘The Foggy Jew’ was reading the same shift through the transfer data. Sinn Féin’s transfer performance, he noted, had never been strong, but it had been improving; what the by-elections showed was a hard reversion, a sense that the party had alienated a substantial body of voters who would once have transferred to it. The sportswriter and commentator Philip O’Connor had been making a parallel argument in his own writing. And in the days after the count, the People Before Profit TD Paul Murphy set the case out at length in Rupture.ie, naming the rightward shift explicitly, pointing to a Dublin Central leaflet headed “Sinn Féin will manage migration,” and citing the figure that crystallised the whole argument: almost fifty per cent of People Before Profit transfers in Dublin Central went to the Social Democrats, against twenty-three per cent to Sinn Féin.

This is the diagnostic discourse, and it had seen the structural fact clearly before the party leaders said a word. What it had largely not done, because it was not its job to do, was connect the strategic reading to the larger contest the previous essays have been describing. McGarr dated the inflection. ‘The Foggy Jew’ read the reversion in the numbers. Murphy named the shift and prescribed the socialist alternative. Each was right about the piece they were holding. The question the body of work has been asking is what the pieces amount to when they are put together, and the answer to that question is not a story about a leaflet or a transfer percentage or a single bad night in 2023. It is a story about what kind of contest Irish politics is now having, and about why a party that calculates its way around that contest cannot win it.

That is the work this essay is trying to do. Not to dispute the diagnostic discourse, which has been ahead of the commentary throughout, but to read what it has found through the frame the previous essays built. The strategic calculation McGarr dates to November 2023 is real. The transfer reversion the numbers show is real. The rightward shift Murphy names is real. What follows is an argument about why all three are aspects of a single structural fact, and about why that fact is the reason the form the moment requires does not yet exist.

Section III: The calculation

A calculation has a logic, and the logic of this one can be reconstructed.

By late 2023, Sinn Féin had spent four years as the largest party in the opinion polls and the obvious government-in-waiting. The support was built on housing and the cost of living, on a generation locked out of the things their parents had taken for granted, and on the sense that the party was the only vehicle large enough to break the century-old duopoly. Then the ground moved. The anti-immigration mobilisation that had been building in towns across the State found its sharpest expression on the streets of Dublin in November 2023, and it became clear that a portion of the working-class vote Sinn Féin regarded as its own was available to be organised on lines that had nothing to do with housing and everything to do with who belongs.

The calculation, as best it can be inferred from what the party did next, was this. The disaffection being mobilised by the far right was real, and it overlapped with Sinn Féin’s base. To hold that base, the party would need to avoid being positioned as the enemy of the people the far right was recruiting. That meant not getting too far out in front on the questions the far right had made into dividing lines. It meant a leaflet in Dublin Central headed “Sinn Féin will manage migration.” It meant abstaining, two weeks before the by-elections, on a Social Democrats bill to expand abortion rights, despite having voted in the previous Dáil for a more far-reaching bill from People Before Profit. It meant a caution on the social terrain that the party had not shown when the social terrain seemed all upside.

The reasoning is not stupid. In a proportional system, where seats turn on transfers and on the second and third preferences of voters whose first preference went elsewhere, a party that wants to be the largest in a coalition has to be broadly acceptable across a wide span of the electorate. If the disaffected working-class vote was drifting toward the anti-immigration right, then a party that planted itself firmly against that drift risked being locked out of it. The calculation was that ambiguity would hold the widest possible coalition together. Be the party of housing for the left, be acceptable on migration to the disaffected, gather the transfers, win the seats.

The by-elections were the first real test of the calculation, and the calculation failed in both directions at once.

It failed on the left because the voters the party was trying not to alienate noticed what it was doing, and left. In Dublin Central, the progressive vote did not transfer to Sinn Féin. It transferred to the Social Democrats. Almost half of People Before Profit’s transfers went to Daniel Ennis; under a quarter went to Janice Boylan. The left-minded majority in the constituency, the very voters a left party needs, declined to treat Sinn Féin as their natural home, because they had watched the party hedge on abortion and migration and concluded that it would abandon marginalised groups for a calculated electoral advantage. The hedge did not read as breadth. It read as a party that could not be trusted to hold a line.

And it failed on the right, because the votes the hedge was meant to attract did not come either, or came from the wrong place and ran out too soon. In Dublin Central, the transfers that did reach Boylan came disproportionately not from the progressive parties but from the eliminated candidates of the anti-system right, from Malachy Steenson and from Gerry Hutch. Her transfer base sat to her right, among voters whose first preference was an explicit anti-immigration independent or an independent running on grievance. Those are not the foundations of a left coalition. They are the foundations of nothing stable at all, because the moment a more committed candidate of the right is on the ballot, those voters have somewhere better to go. In Galway West, where Pearse Doherty and Matt Carthy were highly visible on the ground, the party’s candidate did worse still, eliminated early on a first-preference share below seven per cent, behind both Labour and the Social Democrats.

This is what a failed calculation looks like in a transfer system. Not a single catastrophic defeat but a double squeeze, a party that has made itself the second choice of the left and the second choice of the right and the first choice of neither. The hedge was supposed to widen the coalition. What it did was hollow out the centre of it.

And here is the part the strategic framing cannot quite reach on its own. A calculation that fails can usually be corrected. You ran the numbers wrong, you adjust, you run them again. But the body of work has been arguing for seven essays that this is not, at bottom, a numbers problem, and the by-elections are the evidence. The pattern that produced the hedge is the same pattern that produced the procedural absorptions during the fuel week, the hedge on migration, the abstention on reproductive rights. It is not a series of tactical choices that happened to go wrong. It is a single structural feature, operating across every terrain, every time the substantive question is hard. The calculation is not the disease. The calculation is a symptom of it.

Section IV: What the party said about itself

The party defended itself, and it did so at three levels, each more considered than the last. Reading them in ascending order is the quickest way to see what the defence can and cannot do.

The first level was the soundbite. Asked on television, in the days after the count, whether her party had been squeezed from the left and the right at once, the Sinn Féin TD Louise O’Reilly did not concede the premise. She reasserted the identity. Sinn Féin, she said, is a “left republican party,” and “we know what we stand for.” It would be easy, and cheap, to treat that as self-evidently absurd in light of everything that precedes it. It is not absurd. A great many people inside Sinn Féin believe it, and there is a real argument underneath it. The trouble is only that an assertion is not the argument, and the question the by-elections posed was never whether Sinn Féin knows what it stands for. It was whether the voters do.

The second level supplied the argument the soundbite gestured at. On the 27th May, Seán MacBrádaigh published a piece arguing that Sinn Féin’s left-wing credentials are not up for debate, and his case was sociological and careful. The weak transfers between Sinn Féin and the soft-left parties, he wrote, do not reveal an ideological verdict. They reveal a difference of class background and life experience. The base of Labour, the Greens, and much of the Social Democrats is comfortable, urban, professional, a constituency that moves easily between those parties and Fine Gael because it wants the existing settlement civilised rather than replaced. Sinn Féin’s base is PAYE workers, renters, the young locked out of housing, small farmers, the rural and the stretched. When those two bases decline to transfer to each other, MacBrádaigh argued, that is not the working class judging Sinn Féin insufficiently left. It is two different experiences of Ireland expressing two different politics.

Much of this is simply true, and the body of work has never said otherwise. MacBrádaigh is right that “the left” is not one tribe. He is right that the soft-left parties get an easy ride from a media that finds them safe, and that Sinn Féin is still treated in parts of the establishment as a dangerous outsider despite its size. He is right that left nationalism is a real and democratic current, that in working-class communities and in six-county nationalism is not experienced as reactionary, and that in the republican tradition the national question and the social question were never separate, a lineage he traces from Connolly and Mellows to Sands. And he is right, finally and to his credit, that none of this lets the party off. He ends his piece by saying the by-elections raised real questions for Sinn Féin, that support did not consolidate, that the message and the strategy must be examined, and that a left government remains necessary and possible and must be built through cooperation across the broad left. That is an honest argument honestly made.

The third level is where the trouble enters. Two days later, Chris Hazzard MP published a response that took MacBrádaigh’s frame and did something different with it. Hazzard reached for Thomas Piketty’s account of the “Brahmin Left,” the transformation of Western left parties into vehicles for an educated professional caste, and he turned MacBrádaigh’s observation about class difference into a sharper claim: that the soft-left’s progressive positions are not just differently rooted but are themselves caste markers, the lifestyle politics of people shielded by their class from the sharpest edges of the state. And where MacBrádaigh had gestured at “debates around immigration” and moved quickly on, Hazzard planted a flag. He made the positive case that a genuine left-populism must take “a firm grip” on the core functions of sovereignty, that immigration must be managed “fast, efficient, and firm,” that policing and community safety are questions the metropolitan left abandons out of squeamishness and that republicans must not. Where MacBrádaigh kept the alliance door open, Hazzard closed it: stop seeking certification from the establishment, he wrote, and start organising our people for power.

The distance between those two essays, written two days apart by two committed left republicans, is the thing worth looking at. Because the second is further right than the first, and it got there by taking a true premise and asking it to carry a weight it cannot bear.

Here is the weight. The class analysis is real, and on one terrain it genuinely illuminates. The pressure that unplanned migration places on under-resourced communities, the anxiety about anti-social behaviour in areas stripped of youth services and visible policing, the sense that the state has been more responsive to developers than to the people living with the consequences, these are real, they are material, and they are felt more sharply lower down the income distribution than higher up. On these questions MacBrádaigh’s frame and even Hazzard’s instinct are pointing at something the metropolitan left does too often dismiss. A left that treats every working-class worry about safety or services as mere reaction is making both a moral and a strategic mistake, and the body of work has tried throughout not to be that left.

But the frame is then carried onto terrains where it does no work at all, and the carrying is the move. Sinn Féin’s most recent hedge was not on policing. It was the abstention, two weeks before the by-elections, on the Social Democrats’ Reproductive Rights (Amendment) Bill, after the party had voted in the previous Dáil for a more far-reaching bill from People Before Profit. And reproductive rights are precisely the terrain on which the Brahmin Left frame inverts. The pre-repeal reality was never that working-class women did not have abortions. It was that the route to one was governed, at every step, by what a woman could afford. The better-off booked a flight and a clinic and were home the same day. The worse-off took out credit union loans against what little they had saved, or borrowed through the government microfinance scheme set up to keep people away from illegal moneylenders, or sold what they could, or scraped the fare together coin by coin, and because that took time, they had their abortions later, which meant more expensive procedures further along. Those without the immigration status to travel at all, asylum seekers and women in the direct provision system, faced a court process to obtain the documents, or ordered pills online and took them without medical supervision because there was no other way. The whole arduous landscape is set out in Stephanie Lord’s 2017 guide to having an abortion while in Ireland, a document that reads as a manual for the under-resourced. The right vindicated at home was worth most, in other words, to precisely the women a class analysis should claim to care about most. To file reproductive rights under the lifestyle politics of a shielded professional caste is not just to get that backwards. It is to recycle, perhaps without knowing it, the claim the Irish anti-choice movement leaned on for years before repeal, that abortion was really a middle-class concern. The frame that was meant to defend the party’s working-class fidelity ends up borrowing the argument the working class’s opponents once used against it.

And notice that MacBrádaigh sensed this, which is why he would not defend the abstention and slid past the social votes with the phrase “disagreement on individual policy questions.” Hazzard, going further, made the positive case and in doing so exposed the bundle: the genuine class question about migration and the entirely different question about reproductive rights, packed into a single argument so that fidelity on the first can launder a retreat on the second. This is the integrated terrain the sixth essay described, and it is the structural feature this body of work has been tracking, now operating not in a procedural manoeuvre but inside the party’s own best thinking. The far right integrates these terrains so that a position on one carries the others. Hazzard’s essay performs the same integration from the other side, and the elaborateness of the apparatus required to do it, Piketty and Mouffe and four continents of comparison and the whole lineage from Connolly to Sands, is itself the tell. A party that simply holds left positions does not need a theory of why its hedges are the truest form of leftism. The theory grows to fit the retreat, and it grew visibly larger between the 27th May and the 29th.

There is one move left in all of this, and it is the shield. Who, MacBrádaigh asks, gets to define the left? Stop seeking the establishment’s certification, Hazzard answers. And against the enemy they name, the point lands cleanly. Sinn Féin does not need permission from Fine Gael or the Dublin 4 commentariat to call itself left, and a tradition built in the communities that carried the conflict owes no deference to people who discovered the working class at a seminar. But the verdict the party is actually answering did not come from that enemy. It came from the working-class voters of Dublin Central, who declined to transfer to it. It came from the women who wanted the bill passed. It came from a People Before Profit electorate whose preferences flowed to the Social Democrats rather than to Sinn Féin. You cannot use the metropolitan elite’s lack of standing to dismiss a judgment the metropolitan elite did not deliver. The shield is real, and it is pointed at the wrong attacker, because the attack this time came from the very base the shield is meant to protect.

And this is what the three levels of the defence, taken together, finally reveal. A party can be entirely sincere in its self-description and still be incapable of the role the moment requires. O’Reilly means it. MacBrádaigh means it. Hazzard, most elaborately of all, means it. The sincerity is not in question. What the by-elections exposed is that the structural feature this body of work has been diagnosing operates regardless of sincerity. A party that absorbs hard questions into procedure, that hedges on the defining terrain and then builds a theory to explain why the hedge is the truest fidelity, will be read by the electorate as a party without a fixed position, no matter how firmly, or how thoughtfully, it asserts its own coordinates. “We know what we stand for” is not refuted by the by-elections. It is, more troublingly for the party, rendered beside the point by them. The electorate was not asking what Sinn Féin knows about itself. It was telling Sinn Féin what it had learned.

Section V: The form and the scale

If the contest is not, at bottom, about Sinn Féin, then it is about what stands in Sinn Féin’s place. And the week supplied an unusually clear picture of the alternatives, because the same days that produced the left-credentials row also produced a small, revealing fight about a single Seanad seat.

The seat was Kyne’s, vacated by his move to the Dáil. Two proposals to fill it appeared within twenty-four hours of each other, and the gap between them is the whole argument in miniature. Bacik proposed that Labour, the Greens, and the Social Democrats meet to agree a candidate, with the larger purpose, stated openly, of forming a three-party centre-left bloc that could negotiate after the next election as an equal with Sinn Féin, Fianna Fáil, and Fine Gael. Cairns proposed a wider meeting of the whole left, Sinn Féin and People Before Profit included. The first proposal treats the left as something Sinn Féin is negotiated with. The second treats it as something Sinn Féin is part of. A Seanad by-election that ordinarily nobody outside the Oireachtas would notice became the vehicle for a genuine disagreement about the shape of the thing.

Bacik’s bloc has a logic of its own, and it is the mirror image of Sinn Féin’s calculation. Where Sinn Féin hedged on the integrated terrain to keep its right flank, Bacik’s proposal is to assemble the parties that did not hedge, the parties that held the line on climate and migration and reproductive rights, into a unit with enough combined weight to set terms. It is an attempt to build, out of the cleaner-on-the-terrain parties, the coherent left pole that Sinn Féin has declined to anchor. Whether it can work is a separate question. Labour, the Greens, and the Social Democrats are not obviously a natural bloc, and at least one of them is wary of the other two. But the instinct behind it is the right instinct: that the terrain has to be held, and that a vehicle which holds it has to be assembled out of whatever materials are actually available.

And here the body of work runs into the question it has been circling since the fourth essay, the question that the diagnostic discourse has mostly not asked because it is not a question about Sinn Féin. Paul Murphy, in his Rupture.ie piece, made the case that People Before Profit already holds the integrated terrain in full. The prescription, he wrote, is “a principled socialist approach with a strategy of serious organising,” which means “holding firm on questions of migration, LGBTQ rights and women’s rights while organising on housing and the cost of living.” That is, almost word for word, the integrated terrain the sixth essay described. Murphy is right that People Before Profit holds it. The party holds it more cleanly and more consistently than anyone. And People Before Profit has, at present, a handful of seats.

So the form question turns out to be two questions, and the week has separated them.

The first is the scale question. There is a party that holds the integrated terrain whole, and it is small. There is a party with the scale to govern, and it does not hold the terrain. Between them sit the Social Democrats, growing, now twelve TDs after Dublin Central, clean enough on the terrain to be gathering the transfers Sinn Féin is shedding, but with a coalition posture that is itself unresolved. Cairns has not ruled out talking to Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael, and Murphy’s sharpest question in the Rupture.ie piece is aimed not at Sinn Féin but at the Social Democrats: whether they will, in the end, repeat the trajectory of Labour. The terrain and the scale are held by different parties, and no existing party holds both.

The second is the harder question, and it is the one the body of work cannot answer and will not pretend to. If holding the terrain whole requires the politics that People Before Profit has, and governing requires the scale that Sinn Féin has, then the form the moment requires is not any of the parties as they currently exist. It is something that does not yet exist: either a larger party built on the uncompromised terrain, or an alliance disciplined enough to hold the terrain together at scale, or a transformation of one of the existing parties into something it is not currently willing to be. Bacik’s bloc is one attempt at the third option. Murphy’s organising strategy is a bet on the first. The Seanad fight is what it looks like when several incompatible answers to the same question are being worked out at once, in real time, over a seat almost nobody was watching.

That is the state of the question. Not who is the largest party of the left, but whether the form that could hold the framework can be assembled at all from the parties that exist, and if not, what would have to be built.

Section VI: The question that was asked out loud

The week began with a count and ended with a question, and the question was older than the week.

For four years the Irish left had a working assumption, rarely stated because it did not need to be: that Sinn Féin was the vehicle. Whatever its imperfections, it was the party large enough to break the duopoly, and the smaller parties of the left arranged themselves around that fact, sometimes resentfully, as a planet arranges itself around a star. The presidential campaign that elected Catherine Connolly was the high point of the arrangement, five parties pulling together behind a single candidate, the star and its planets briefly in alignment. The by-elections and the week that followed were the arrangement coming apart in public.

What came apart was not a friendship and not a tactical alliance. It was an assumption. When Bacik says her party has never accepted that Sinn Féin is left-wing, when Cairns calls the abstention a huge mistake and declares a left government within touching distance without Sinn Féin at the centre of the sentence, when the Seanad seat becomes a fight about whether the left is something Sinn Féin leads or something Sinn Féin is merely one of the parties in, the thing being renegotiated is the assumption that Sinn Féin is the vehicle. The other parties have started to behave as though it might not be. That is the news of the week, and it is bigger than any leaflet or transfer percentage.

The body of work has been arguing toward this for eight essays, and it is worth being precise about what the argument was and was not. It was never that Sinn Féin is insincere, or that its activists are not doing the work, or that its housing policy is secretly right-wing. It was that a single structural feature, the absorption of every hard question into procedure and the hedge on every contested terrain, would eventually be read by the electorate as the absence of a fixed position, and that on a terrain where the contest is for the framework itself, a party without a fixed position cannot anchor the counter-project. The by-elections were that reading arriving. The left-credentials row was the other parties beginning to act on it. The Seanad fight was the first attempt to imagine what replaces the assumption now that it is gone.

And the replacement is the thing that does not yet exist. This is where the week leaves us, and the body of work will not dress it up. There is a party that holds the integrated terrain whole and lacks the scale to govern. There is a party with the scale to govern that does not hold the terrain. There is a growing party in between with a coalition posture it has not resolved, and a centre-left bloc being assembled by a leader whose own party is unforgiven for the last time it governed. None of them is the form. The form would be larger than People Before Profit, more disciplined on the terrain than Sinn Féin, and more willing to rule out the comfortable coalition than the Social Democrats have so far been. It would be something built, and nobody has built it.

That is not a counsel of despair. The assumption that held for four years was itself a kind of avoidance, a way of not having to ask whether the vehicle was the right vehicle because it was the only one large enough to bother asking about. The week stripped the avoidance away. The question is now being asked out loud, by the people with the standing to ask it, in the institutions where it has to be settled. A question asked out loud is further along than a question nobody will name. The Irish left spent four years assuming it had a vehicle. It now knows it has a question instead. Whether it can build the answer is the only thing that matters, and it is the one thing this essay, like the seven before it, cannot tell you, because it has not happened yet, and because it will be decided not by the argument but by the people the argument is engaging.

The week began with a count. It ended with the left, for the first time in a decade, genuinely unsure what it is. That uncertainty is not the crisis. It is the precondition for anything honest being built. The body of work is eight essays long now, and the question it has been circling since the first one has finally been said in the open, by the people who will have to answer it. The answer is not written. It was never going to be written here. It is going to be written, if it is written at all, by them.

References

The Dublin Central and Galway West by-election results, May 2026. RTÉ News, The Journal, the Irish Examiner, Galway Bay FM.

Ivana Bacik on Sinn Féin’s left-wing credentials, and the Seanad by-election pact proposals. The Journal and the Irish Times, late May 2026.

Holly Cairns on a left government, the abortion abstention, and Sinn Féin “at a crossroads.” The Journal and the Irish Times, late May 2026.

Louise O’Reilly and Mary Lou McDonald on the party’s left-republican identity and the by-election result. RTÉ’s The Week in Politics and the Irish Times, May 2026.

Paul Murphy, “Five takeaways from the by-elections,” Rupture, May 2026.

Seán MacBrádaigh, “Why Sinn Féin’s left-wing credentials are not up for debate,” 27 May 2026.

Chris Hazzard, “Beyond the Brahmin Left: Class, Sovereignty, and Reconquest,” 29 May 2026.

Thomas Piketty on the “Brahmin Left,” referenced as deployed in Hazzard’s piece.

Stephanie Lord, “How to have an abortion when you’re in Ireland” (A Rough Guide to Ireland, Part 1), 2017.

The Dublin riots, 23 November 2023, referenced as background. RTÉ, the Irish Times, the BBC.

The sixth and seventh essays in this body of work.

⏩Louth For Ever writes on Irish politics and constitutional change. Follow for analysis of Ireland’s democratic future as it’s constructed by those actually engaged in the work.

Left Republican Party

Lynx By Ten To The Power Of Two Thousand And Twenty Six

 

Hate Theology @ 6

 

A Morning Thought @ 3199

Remembering Joe McDonnell On The 45th Anniversary Of His Death On Hunger Strike In The H Blocks Of Long Kesh.


Joe McDonnell 🏴 45 🏴 Eternal Dreamless Sleep

Gary Robertson ⚽ Behold the golden chalice, who should ever drink from it may forever be scarred with the shame of Scotland manager.

So Steve Clarke has gone, drifted off into obscurity on the raft of “at least I got Scotland to both the Euros and World Cup.”
 
I don’t think Stevie boy was a bad manager. I mean, clearly his tactics worked at some level and we should be grateful at least for the job he’s done but the death knell sounded long before we were pumped without lube by Brazil. To scrape past the troubled land of Haiti by a solitary deflected goal the omens weren’t good and so it proved. Two further failures, and despite having signed a new contract before heading off to the US Clarke handed in his resignation and once again the good ship Scotland FC is rudderless.
 
So who fancies the job? Who’s willing to destroy their reputation and drink deeply the poison offered up by the SFA?
 
I love my country, as any patriot should, but there’s no way I’d, even if I was in a position to do so, offer up my services to be manager of the Scottish football team.

Who honestly in their right mind is going to look at the achievements of Clarke and think “I can do that and better”?
 
If the betting is to be believed then former Celtic, Spurs and Forest boss Ange Postecoglou is the man to take over. I suppose you could argue he was the most successful Spurs manager for years and he did a first rate top notch job at Celtic. He’s also available so it would make sense his name would come up in conversation but I don’t know. I like Ange and I’d hate to see him booed off the Hampden turf by the very fans who once held him in such high esteem.
 
Celtic news and finally a signing, pen put to paper and we are proud to announce - Alex Oxlaide chamberlain has signed a new one year deal.
 
That’s it. We’re well into July and once again the board are dragging their feet, trying hard to get players on the cheap and leaving the fans frustrated.
 
I don’t want to speculate on rumours. I mean, they’re just that, rumours; nothing concrete so it’s pointless, as pointless as the Salah to Rangers talk. That wasn’t ever going to happen and I don’t want to fill this column with if buts and maybes. Stick to the facts and at time of writing once again Celtic fans have little to celebrate.
 
Across the City, McInness' Rangers have gotten their pre-season off to a flyer with a 5-1 closed doors victory over Raith Rovers.
 
McInness has been busy in the transfer window, perhaps the pain of missing out to Celtic in the league last season spurring him on to better his squad. Rangers seem to be in good shape and will be a potent threat this year.
 
So that’s the week that was. Little for Celtic fans to get excited about green shoots of optimism for the other SPL clubs just another week in the world of Scottish football.
 
Perhaps next week . . . who knows.

Til next time ….

🐼 Gary Robertson is the TPQ Scottish football correspondent.

Groundhog Celtic

Anthony McIntyre ⚽ As we settled into our seats to watch 5th place take on 8th I felt the first warm wave of blended course through my veins, courtesy of a neat double Scotch whiskey imbibed in the Windmill prior to the game. 

Paddy was driving so sidestepped the Glenfiddich. I don't think he takes Scotch in any event. For me, blended or single malt, it doesn’t really matter - I’m gonna drink it anyway. What I like about the occasional pre-match tipple in the Windmill is that the Scotch isn’t alone in being blended. Home and away supported mingle and blend into a single fan zone.

On the way over there wasn’t a lot of the sun about. That was until we got into the ground and it emerged to glare at us from whatever cloud it had been snoozing behind. For those of us inclined to give out about a sun drought Ireland it gets its revenge for the slur week in, week out, to bathe Sullivan and Lambe Park in its golden glow working its Midas touch on our eyes. Although Paddy was in part protected by sunglasses, for much of the game we resorted to holding our phones aloft to provide shade so that our peepers could follow the play. That’s one huge unforeseen disadvantage of having switched stadium sides preseason.

It’s potency wasn't so effective as to block my view of  Harry Wood menacing the Drogheda defence in the ninth minute, his effort blocked, I commented to Paddy that Wood was dangerous and could pose problems for the Drogs backline. So it proved to be as he punished the home side with a brace of strikes.  

A despondency has set in to the Drogs fan base as of late, with only the true believers holding out for a change in fortunes. Apart from Jay on the journey across who predicted a 2-1 victory for the Drogs, no one else was upbeat. I felt the best to be expected was a draw.  

It wasn't long into the game before Shels were building up a head of steam.  So when Wood executed the first of his strikes in the fifteenth minute it signalled an uncomfortable night ahead. The visitors bared their teeth to intimidate the Claret and Blue, leading to a 19th minute yellow card for Paddy Barret. Five minutes later the home side pulled level, Thomas Oluwa heading home from close range a Brandon Kavanagh cross. Oluwa, the subject of much criticism for not delivering, is not without backers, some fans in his corner claiming that if he was given the service he would be much more productive in front of goal. I always feel he is too easily pushed off the ball or beaten to the second ball, and would see more chances fall his way if he retained possession. 

In the 36th minute the Drogs took the lead, something that seemed a distant possibility at the time of the Wood goal. Mark Doyle slotted home a well placed pass from Jason Bucknor. No time to rest on laurels as Harry Wood once again tested Luke Dennison in the Drogheda goal a few minutes before the break. Still, it was something of an achievement that Kevin Doherty could accompany his players to their break a goal to the good, even though Dennison's work tasks had been more numerous than his opposite number. 

When play resumed Paddy Barret didn't appear, the Shels staff probably calculating the risk was not worth it as he was carrying a yellow card, a visible target on his back for opponents willing to take a chance and force a foul and a possible red.  All hands were needed on deck if this one was to be turned around for the visitors. More changes followed as either side fought for the edge. 

It was clear that Shelbourne were finding their way back into contention with Ward persistently harrying and Dennison saving twice in the space of a minute. The writing was on the wall and it spelt goal when a minute later Wood again penetrated the Drogheda defence and pulled the sides level. 

Ryan Brennan made an uncharacteristically clumsy challenge with about twenty minutes remaining for which his name went into the book, underscoring a detectable sense of frustration amongst the Claret and Blue. Brennan around the 80 minute mark tried a spectacular effort on goal that came very close to putting the Drogs in front. In the dying minutes another effort from the Drogheda captain fell the wrong side of the post when it looked certain he would score.  The pressure eased a bit when Harry Wood was replaced in the 77th minute. If the Drogs were not quite out of the woods they were rid of the Wood. No Hattrick Harry would find itself splashed across the sports pages. 

While not anything near as long that World Cup viewers are familiar with, four minutes of extra time still seemed an extended bout for a team no means safe from the threat of relegation. Despite being a home game where three points are considered the only acceptable outcome, Drogs fans wanted to get out with at least one point in the bag. They can be even less confident that they can achieve that much in the next home fixture when they face the Bohs. 

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Drogs ⚽ Shelbourne ⚽ Points Dropped

Frankie McKillen ✍ I keep coming back to it. Three words. “I can’t breathe.”


Said by a dying man in Minneapolis in May 2020 and the whole world stopped what it was doing. Murals went up overnight. Politicians who couldn’t find Minneapolis on a map were suddenly experts on American policing. Corporations that wouldn’t give a homeless man the time of day were putting black squares on their Instagram. Millions marched. Three words became a brand.

Then a man called Henry Nowak said the same words, dying, in Southampton. And nothing. No mural. No corporate statement. No politician taking the knee outside a Hampshire police station. Same words. Same fear in a man’s throat as the life goes out of him. Different universe of response. And before anyone tells me it’s because nobody saw it – they did. It was filmed. It was shared. People were angry about it, same as they were angry about Floyd. Questions got asked about what the police did and didn’t do. All the ingredients were there. The cake just never got baked.

So why not? The easy answer – the one that lets everybody off the hook – is that America has its own particular history, its own wound that never healed properly, and Floyd’s death just happened to land on the rawest part of it. Fine. There’s truth in that. But it’s not the whole truth, and I think most people sense that, even if they don’t say it out loud. The real question – the one that actually matters – isn’t about the dead men. It’s about us. What is it that decides whether a death becomes a movement or just a paragraph in a local paper? What decides whose anger gets taken seriously and whose gets a security briefing instead?

After Floyd, America burned in places. I’m not going to pretend otherwise – shops gutted, buildings on fire, people who had nothing to do with any of it losing their homes and their livelihoods, some losing their lives. That happened. But watch how it got talked about. The violence got wrapped in understanding. Commentators lined up to explain the rage behind it, to give it context, to humanise it. The disorder was treated as the unfortunate cousin of a legitimate grievance.

Now watch what happens in Britain, when ordinary people get angry about immigration, or about crime in their own streets, or about policing that doesn’t seem to apply equally to everyone. The vocabulary changes overnight. Suddenly we’re not talking about grievance and context – we’re talking about extremism, about racism, about the far right circling like vultures. Sometimes that label fits. Often it doesn’t. But notice the pattern – one crowd gets analysed, the other gets a label slapped on it and filed away. One crowd’s anger gets explored. The other’s gets assumed, and dismissed before the first sentence is finished.

People aren’t stupid. They see this. They see which causes get the politician’s knee and which get silence. They see which grief gets a hashtag and which gets a line in the local news and nothing more. They notice who becomes a symbol and who becomes a statistic, filed and forgotten. I’m not saying every protest is righteous, or every grievance equally sound – that would be its own kind of dishonesty. What I’m asking is simpler than that. If we say understanding matters, does it matter for everybody, or just the people whose anger fits the right story? If justice is the principle, does it apply when it’s inconvenient, or only when it’s fashionable?

Look at what happened after, too. In America, the machine moved. The officers were suspended, charged, tried, convicted. You can argue with bits of how that went, but nobody can say the state didn’t act. It showed its hand – police can be held to account, in public, with consequences.

Nobody in Britain is holding their breath for anything like that over Henry Nowak. There’ll be an investigation, there’ll be a statement, there’ll be the usual promises that lessons will be learned. And then there’ll be quiet. Not because the cases are identical – they’re not, no two ever are – but because nobody seriously expects the same ending. And that gap, between what one community expects from the system and what another expects, is its own kind of rot. Justice that only some people believe is coming for them isn’t justice. It’s a postcode lottery with better PR.

And here’s where it gets even messier, because the story doesn’t sit still long enough to be tidy. Tyre Nichols died in Memphis in January 2023, beaten by police officers – Black officers, beating a Black man – and the footage was as bad as anything that came out of Minneapolis. The state moved fast again. Sackings, charges, the lot. And the world barely blinked. No global wave. No summer of statements. The cameras packed up and went home quicker than anyone expected.

If it was really about police violence, why didn’t that case detonate the same way? If it was really about accountability, why did one tragedy become a chapter of history and the other a news cycle that came and went? Maybe America had already had its reckoning and didn’t have the appetite for a second one. Or maybe – and this is the bit that makes people uncomfortable – outrage isn’t really driven by the facts of what happened at all. It’s driven by whether the death fits a story that’s already being told. Some deaths slot neatly into the narrative everyone’s already arguing about. Others, just as brutal, don’t fit anywhere, and so they don’t go anywhere either.

Morgan Freeman has been saying some version of this for years, and it’s cost him plenty of goodwill with people who’d normally be cheering him on. Asked on 60 Minutes how you stop racism, he didn’t hedge – he said stop talking about it. Stop sorting people into categories and calling that progress. “I don’t want a Black History Month,” he told them. “Black history is American history.” He’s said much the same about being called African-American – he’s an American, full stop, and he doesn’t see why there has to be a hyphen in front of it. Predictably, he got hammered for it. Plenty of people argue the categories are necessary precisely because the inequalities are still there, baked into the structure, and pretending otherwise just makes the problem harder to name and fix. That’s not a daft argument. It deserves a proper answer, not a shrug.

But Freeman’s actual challenge still stands there waiting to be answered: if equal treatment is the principle, what happens to that principle the moment it depends on who’s asking for it? He’s not saying forget history. He’s saying a rule that bends depending on which group is in front of you isn’t a rule. It’s a preference wearing a rule’s clothes. Nobody needs convincing that George Floyd deserved sympathy. He did. Nobody needs convincing that Tyre Nichols deserved justice. He did. And nobody should need convincing that Henry Nowak’s death deserves a proper look too. It does.

The question that won’t go away is why these deaths land so differently. What decides which ones become a cause and which become a case file? Whose fury gets called righteous and whose gets called a problem to be managed? These aren’t comfortable questions, and I don’t pretend to have them fully worked out. But any society that claims to care about justice ought to be very wary of building a ladder of grief – some victims at the top, worth the world’s attention, others further down, worth a paragraph and a press release.

If police kill unlawfully, they should answer for it – wherever it happens, whoever they are. If a citizen dies after the state gets involved, that death deserves scrutiny, full stop, not scrutiny rationed out depending on the politics of the moment. And if justice is supposed to mean something, it has to mean the same thing on a wet Tuesday in Southampton as it does on a hot night in Minneapolis.

George Floyd’s last words became one of the slogans of this century. Henry Nowak’s last words didn’t become anything at all, beyond a paragraph most people scrolled past. That gap doesn’t tell us much about either man. It tells us about ourselves – about which stories we’re willing to pick up and carry, and which we let drop without a second thought. Freeman’s challenge is the same one sitting underneath all of this: are we actually willing to apply our principles to everyone, or only to the cases that are easy, fashionable, and don’t ask anything difficult of us?

Justice shouldn’t run on fashion. It shouldn’t run on which way the political wind’s blowing that week. The moment it starts picking favourites, it stops being justice and becomes something else entirely.

🕮 Frankie McKillen is a Belfast Rockabilly

Three Words, And Who Gets To Own Them?

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