Denzil McDaniel: There are many different strands of Protestant culture, whatever the heck that means

It strikes me there are times that about 55 or 56 of those types go under the radar, with the predominance of the stereotypical dour, humourless teetotal church goer; probably a staunch Unionist. British, perhaps even a member of the loyal orders and certainly inflexible and unbending.

The widely-used term PUL, Protestant Unionist Loyalist, would suggest we’re a homogenous group where every individual fits neatly into at least one of those descriptions, all interchangeable.

And sure, anyway, outside of parades, flutes and drums and flegs, Protestants don’t really do culture, do they?

This should grind with us who don’t want to be pigeon-holed, and it does; there is a creative richness, a spark and libertarian imagination which can often sadly be drowned out in the media’s one-dimensional representation of Protestants and Protestantism.

Perhaps the recent phase of conflict forced many Protestants to keep the head down with the maxim of 'whatever you say, say nothing'.

Either due to being fearful of their identity being seen as less than legitimate by those of differing communities; or anxiety of being regarded as 'watery Prods' by their own side’s more strident voices. It’s a throwback to the phrase used by virulent shipyard workers who called those who sided with Catholics as 'rotten Prods' a hundred or so years ago.

But there is a danger to this single story, at the very least the 'othering' of certain Protestant voices who are viewed negatively, who are given the cloak of the outsider. They shouldn’t become a forgotten people. Like everyone else, they should have a voice.

They have. Away from the polemic discussion in the current affairs media, this is often expressed in a vivid, yet challenging way in the arts and literature.

I was reminded of this over several weeks this year by participating in 'Cultural Conversations', a discussion programme which encouraged us to explore our cultural imagination.

In considering Protestant cultural identity, “whatever the heck it might be” as one woman said, participants included people from different backgrounds and faiths across the island and the discussion based around different authors each week was revealing, enriching and educational.

Programme co-ordinator Ruth Moore explained that the discussion was "about encouraging critical thought around cultural imagination, cultural ways, heritage, ways of being, identity and belonging - in the hope that we can all look again at what 'the collective cultural imagination' is and see the diversity and plethora of cultural imaginations”.

The basis for this was the work of various Protestant writers who portrayed a range of the issues and attitudes of the Protestant community and its place on this island. And its contradictions.

Being a Protestant means different things to different people, and everybody’s narrative is as valid as anyone else’s.

Thomas Carnduff was born off Sandy Row in Belfast in 1886 into a family steeped in the Orange Order through generations. He wrote that their family life was “mixed up with the importance of keeping Popery at a comfortable distance".

“I stumbled about in this bigoted atmosphere wondering what the whole thing was all about,” wrote Carnduff, who said his father was “broad-minded in nearly everything, but politics".

“How I managed to develop an attitude of independence and an opinion of my own is a mystery to me,” wrote Carnduff, displaying the sort of introspection and critical thinking back in the day which has been kept down too often in the recent past.

Sean O’Casey, who wrote the marvellous trilogy of plays from the period of turmoil in Ireland in the early 20th century was a Church of Ireland Dubliner, an Irish Nationalist and member of the Gaelic League whose work wasn’t always well received in its day when challenging Irish patriotism.

Stories from the perspective of RUC families disillusioned by the peace process, or of Protestant families displaced from their homes in Derry, or indeed of the tensions within loyalist paramilitaries are told vividly by writers; and Gary Mitchell’s play 'The Force of Change' explores the toxic notion of collusion.

Jennifer Johnston, born in Dublin in 1930, spent much of her life in Derry. In an interview she once was asked about why she wrote a lot about the notion of Protestants in Ireland.

“I am a Protestant and it is what I know. I’m a Protestant very mixed up with a whole lot of Catholics because my mother’s family is totally mixed and I could have been either of those things.”

Which, I felt, touched on how an accident of birth places us in a particular community, which she described as “the luck of the draw".

These are just a few snippets of what the group discussed, but overall there is a plethora of fine writing from disparate voices which examine many of the elements of the Protestant psyche and culture, across the island.

It also reflects change. Among contemporary women writers, I was particularly enthused by Jan Carson from Ballymena, possibly because in her latest book 'The Raptures' she writes so perceptively about the restrictive religiosity that many northern Protestants were brought up in but have now moved on from.

Good writers observe and absorb the behaviour of people, relate their own experiences and ours and have an ability to articulate it all in such a way that touches a community’s very roots. To coin a phrase, they identify a feeling that you can’t scratch and satisfy it.

As I tweeted after reading it, The Raptures is “a great story superbly told. Great insights into parochial Northern Ireland….the aspect of a strict evangelical upbringing particularly resonated".

As much as there are changes in attitudes among Protestants in the north, we need to recognise the massive social change there has been south of the Border including relations between the two communities.

Fermanagh Ulster Unionist MLA Tom Elliott spoke at the Sean MacDiarmada Summer School, when he said 2,117 Protestants moved north to Fermanagh in the first five years of the Irish Free State.

And a columnist in last week’s Sunday Independent recalled that in 1945 all but one of the Irish Cabinet refused to attend the State funeral of first President Douglas Hyde; as Catholics they would not enter the Church of Ireland.

At an event in our programme in Eastside Arts in Belfast, our group heard from County Roscommon born poet Jane Clarke about the changes in atmosphere now to when she was brought up in a minority Protestant community.

Even though she had moved on in her own journey, she referred to the richness of hymns and church life, and the quietness with which people went about their lives.

A great example of how change doesn’t have to leave everything behind, and a reminder that the sense of belonging to a church or indeed to an Orange culture remain important to some.

If I want my difference to be respected, I should also respect the narrative and value of others. It would only re-enforce divisions if I didn’t.

In years gone by, Partition hardened the binary nature of communities. That is the context of our historic conflict.

I once heard a Bishop from Africa express regret that in war in his homeland “the blood of my tribe was thicker than the water of my baptism".

We have come a long way and still have a long way to travel here in terms of reconciliation. Programmes like this are invaluable in creating space for us to discuss and think about our place on this island, to understand ourselves and each other.

The body of work from Irish writers, only some of which we covered, made me reflect that I’m one of many strands of Protestantism, a community that should be valued for its variations and its many valuable positive contributions to Irish life.