New Decade, New Approach?

Cold, hungry, and tired—that’s what a lot of my friends are right now. That Friday feeling of being able to treat themselves to a Chinese meal and a long bath is long gone; tonight my coworker will treat herself to turning the oil on for half an hour. How did we get here?

Well…

As a P6 pupil sitting in a classroom with a substitute teacher (the best kind of day), I shot my hand up to answer a question during a quiz.

Which two political parties were on the front page of the newspaper this weekend? Bonus points if you know why?

Of course, the answer was the DUP and Sinn Fein. I got a bonus point for telling the teacher how they had been "enemies" but were now willing to be "friends." Oh, the innocence. Smugly, I relaxed into my chair, knowing my Nanny’s typical Sunday paper order of The News of the World, The Sunday World, and The Sunday Life had helped me bank my team two points. Later, though, that picture would cost me my future in the country where I was born.

By 2013, my hopeful outlook during the quiz had completely diminished. My journey from my secondary school, Strathearn, forced me to get off the bus at Holywood Arches and walk across Newtownards Road, every day gazing up as protesters surrounded the Alliance office wrapped in Union Jacks. One particular Saturday afternoon, I was sent home early from work (due to being under 18) because the riots had almost reached Connswater and they were concerned for my safety. So much for being friends, right?

In 2014, after much debate, I left Northern Ireland at 18 years old, wanting to start a new life in England. I didn’t know much about the place, just that it didn’t have Stormont, I wouldn’t have to listen to anymore debating about flags, and it didn’t banish people for their sexuality or wanting the right to safe abortions. My first day in England was weird, not because of the accent or the metro service, nor because of the huge motorways. It was weird because not one person asked me what religion I was or how I pronounce the letter H. I remember being completely dumbfounded by this and asking my Mum why they didn’t care whether I was a Catholic or a Protestant.

Throughout my time in England, I couldn’t help but focus on the political situation back home. The executive had collapsed, and the situation looked bleak. When I called home, my parents were sick talking about it, and when I spoke to my friends at university, they struggled to understand what all the fuss was about—why can’t they just be against each other like Labour and Conservative but know they have a job to do?

In 2017, Stacey Dooley travelled to Northern Ireland to record her Billion Pound Party documentary. It came about due to the DUP’s coalition with Theresa May, a last-ditch attempt by the Tories to keep themselves in government after their own failed election. At the time, I was still living in England and working as a manager for a large live music events company, listening to my coworkers ask question after question about who the DUP were—a question I dreaded having to answer. The truth is that it was impossible to explain the politics in NI without being ashamed to admit that I was from somewhere so unable to move on from the past.

My flatmates and I sat down to watch the documentary together, my head making its way into my hands as I cringed at the sound of our accent on television. Throughout the program, I received disbelieving looks from my friends, a lot of "you can’t be serious" gasps, and “what a ridiculous thing to say” scoffs. The part that has forever imprinted itself in my mind was towards the end, when two ladies were being interviewed who seemed extremely angry with the DUP. One woman explains that her daughter is in a same-sex relationship and cannot get married because the DUP repeatedly used petitions of concern to prevent it from becoming legal. She goes on to say that they do nothing for people like her, shaking her head in disapproval at their politics. Stacey Dooley then asks the poignant question: Do you vote for them? Her answer was yes, because it’s them or Sinn Fein.

It hurts me to write this, but I kind of get her answer. Every election, the majority of voters in NI decide to vote for the DUP or Sinn Fein because that’s what’s been instilled in us. We hear it on social media, in news interviews, and on political party broadcasts: a vote for any other party will only increase the chances of a United Ireland, or a vote for any other party will decrease the chances of a United Ireland. It’s the typical scaremongering technique that has been used for decades, and it exists in every country.

When I first received my poll card, I asked my Mum who to vote for; she told me to Google myself and pick a party that I felt stood for what I believed in. At the time, I picked two parties and proudly told people who I had decided on. Their response? It’s a wasted vote. Voting for anyone other than the DUP or Sinn Fein is the same as not using your vote at all. What startled me most was that the majority of the people making these remarks to me told me of their wish to vote for someone different too, but their reluctance to do so because we might let the other side win. Surely, if we all voted for change, we would achieve it?

In 2020, I decided to give Belfast another go; arriving home with the belief that maybe by now things would be different. Same-sex couples could now get married; safe abortions were now an option; and the Stormont executive was back up and running. This was achieved through the introduction of "New Decade, New Approach," an agreement that was joined by all five political parties. I remember my parents scoffing at the idea that things would ever change, but I was significantly more hopeful that after so long without a government, we would finally want to vote for change.

Once again, my hopefulness was ripped away as, in 2021, the executive once again collapsed over the Protocol. In May 2022, we trotted off to the polls again—new decade, new approach, right? Wrong. Once again, Sinn Fein and the DUP emerged as the two largest parties, despite the DUP refusing to confirm whether or not they would take their seats in the lead up to the elections.

It’s now December 2022, and this country is on its knees. People are choosing whether to go cold or go hungry; businesses are closing down more often than the First and Deputy First Minister blame each other for the failings of Stormont; children are being told Santa isn’t feeling well this year; and, to be frank, people are dying.

Prove it?

- In 2020, when I moved into my new home, it cost me £325 to fill my oil tank; that amount now equates to roughly 300 litres (L) of oil. An oil payment of £200 has been the solution offered to the public, but no date has been set for this because there is no executive.

- Just last night, I received an email from my electricity supplier to let me know that in less than one month, my electric bill will rise by roughly £9 per week. A payment given directly to energy suppliers to help the public with these costs has been offered as a solution, but no date has been set for this either because there is no executive.

- My local supermarket, the only shop in my area, has reduced its opening hours to save the jobs of their staff after suffering extreme losses due to the energy crisis. They cannot help this because there is no executive.

- In August, I was told doctors wanted to carry out another investigation for a serious health issue. I called to check where I was on the waiting list and was told not to worry; I would be seen by the end of 2023. You read that right. Another year of wondering whether or not I have something seriously wrong with a vital organ It’s not the fault of my consultant, nor is it the fault of any of the incredible nurses that have helped me. They are being pushed to their limits and cannot be helped because there is no executive.

What's the impact?

Sadly, the anger of the people will likely be directed at the DUP for pulling down the executive until Election Day comes, and then we will repeat the process. The calls for the formation of government to be changed to ensure one party cannot pull down the executive will likely fall on deaf ears, and people will continue to go hungry, go cold, and eventually lose loved ones.

People on benefits will continue to be the fall people for workers that are angry at the lack of support being offered to them. As a working person, I am not entitled to the majority of funds that are given to take the burden off. I do not qualify for a winter fuel payment, nor do I qualify for a cost of living payment, nor do any of my coworkers. I can survive, though; some of my closest friends are struggling beyond belief. Despite this, I refuse to allow the narrative of "blaming the poor" to become my narrative. I blame the DUP; I blame them for pulling down an executive at a time when everyone, including their own voters, needed support; and I blame the people who continue to vote for a party that refuses to acknowledge that sometimes compromise is needed when you are in a position of power and have a duty of care for your constituents. I feel angry that parties like Alliance are attacked on a daily basis for trying to create some kind of middle ground for people on both sides of the community. I feel sad that I regret moving back to the country where I was born. I feel afraid that we are on a one-way road back to violence. Finally, I feel sorry: sorry for the people who genuinely want change and for those who want to forget the days of our side and their side.

What now?

Now, we wait. Wait for our energy payments, wait for the polls to reopen, wait for more -- "they did it first" comments in Stormont assembly recalls -- and wait for change because that’s what we do, isn’t it? We wait for change to come to us; we don’t vote for it just in case the other side wins.