‘It’s a fashion thing, to show your Irish identity’: Belfast’s GAA jersey surge
Tuesday night is jersey night at The Hatfield bar on Belfast’s lower Ormeau Road. GAA county flags hang from the ceiling over its magnificent hand-carved mahogany counter in the downstairs lounge. It’s freshers’ week nearby Queen’s University, and wearing your club or county jersey “breaks the ice” and becomes a talking point, says Hatfield co-owner Stephen Cassidy ahead of festivities. It wasn’t always the case. During the late 1990s, the nationalist lower Ormeau was the scene of a sectarian flashpoint during the Orange Order marching season. In a week that saw the Drumcree parades dispute erupt after being dormant for almost three decades, a friend got in touch from the States – we shared a house in the Holylands student area beside Queen’s in 1998 – despairing at the newly inflamed tensions. Back then, violent clashes against the backdrop of the Garvaghy Road standoff between Protestant Orangemen (and their supporters) and Catholic residents of the Portadown road led to tensions across Northern Ireland, forcing shops and pubs to close early in this part of Belfast. Police sirens roared down our street as armoured vehicles raced to block rioters and seal off the Ormeau Bridge. Today, students stroll down Rugby Avenue in the Holylands – our tiny matchbox house was on the corner – towards Queen’s University in autumn sunshine. Two young men carrying large coffees are wearing the county jerseys of Down and Tyrone. Bulky security guards stand at the side entrance of the students’ union where a queue is four deep by noon. Across the road, hundreds of students spill out of Elmwood Hall. Flashes of the Donegal jersey’s bright green and gold are among the crowd. University Road is buzzing. A young man wearing a Kerry jersey is heading towards the glass-fronted union building. Despite his county allegiances, he is from the North. “I’m not wearing this to make a point. I’m wearing this because it’s what I know,” says the 20-year-old student, who doesn’t want to be named. At traffic lights, another is wearing a pair of Down shorts. Inside the students’ union, Éanna Nig Riabhaigh is signing up members to An Cumann Gaelach, the university’s Irish language society. She is wearing an Antrim jersey she bought on eBay. “It was £30 (€35.20) and I got it from Canada actually – and me from Belfast,” she says, laughing. “I think it’s from 2000. I like the looser fit.” Nig Riabhaigh comes from a musical background and thinks the increased presence of GAA jerseys is also linked to pop culture. Many people wearing jerseys neither play nor watch Gaelic games, she says. “It’s definitely a fashion thing, trying to look and present in a way that shows your Irish identity. I think that’s a very big thing culturally within young people,” she says. Earlier this year, loyalist activist Jamie Bryson urged unionist students to wear Orange Orders sashes and T-shirts in response to the presence of GAA shirts. “You will see more GAA tops at Queen’s University than you will at Croke Park,” he told the university’s Orange societies. They must join the “culture war against nationalism” on campus, he said. Law student Caolan Turley shakes his head in disagreement. The Fleadh Cheoil na hÉireann festival took place in Belfast for a week in August and included loyalist marching bands. “It wasn’t sectarian at all,” Turley argues. “What’s the big deal? If someone’s wearing a Rangers top, I wouldn’t be offended,” adds the Belfast student. “If you’re offended by someone wearing a GAA top, it shows you’re insecure.” In March, a referendum aimed at reintroducing Irish language dual signage in the students’ union following its removal almost 30 years ago won the overwhelming support of voters. Hip-hop group Kneecap were among those to back the campaign. Members of the Young Unionists society at Queen’s opposed the move, saying it would create a “chill factor”. Standing outside the gates of the university, Eoghan Ó Conghaile says he’s looking forward to the signage being erected “soon”. He points to a student in an Armagh jersey in front of us. “I’ve definitely noticed a lot more people wearing them. I think it’s indicative of the changing demographic, not just in Queen’s but across the North,” says Ó Conghaile, the face of the referendum’s ‘Yes’ vote. “It shows also that the GAA is normalised now, it isn’t this different counterculture in society.” Back at the Hatfield, Cassidy is enjoying the calm before the night ahead when they’ll open upstairs for “club and county” colours. Bananarama’s Cruel Summer is blasting out from the speakers of the family-run bar. Cassidy’s late father bought the Hatfield at the height of the Troubles in 1976. It’s a place that welcomes everybody, he insists, where there’s no dress code. He mentions their ties with East Belfast GAA, a club established during Covid in a historically unionist stronghold of the city. “A few of our staff played for them, they have people from all different backgrounds and different nationalities,” he says. “We stay away from politics.”