‘Burn them all out’: The prejudice bubbling under Ireland’s thin veneer of normality

On Tuesday, by way of marking the death of the legendary American musician Sly Stone, John Kelly plays a selection of tunes by the late funk-rock visionary on Mystery Train (Lyric FM, Sunday-Thursday), starting with the yodelling psychedelic soul track Spaced Cowboy.

“Probably not the obvious choice to begin,” the presenter remarks with a wry chuckle, “but that’s from the album There’s a Riot Goin’ On”.

Kelly may not say it, but an album with such an insurrectionary title is, unfortunately, an obvious choice in a week when Irish and American streets are convulsed by scenes of unrest.

At least Sly’s revolutionary impulses were musical, as Kelly’s well-chosen set testifies to stirring effect. (With the death of Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys on Wednesday, Kelly has a busy week paying tribute to departed greats, this time playing the Pet Sounds album in its entirety.) On the other hand, the rioters setting fire to houses and cars of immigrant families in Ballymena are malignantly destructive in intent, as the presenter Cian McCormack learns on News at One (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays).

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Following the second night of racist rampages in the Co Antrim town, sparked by two teenage boys from migrant backgrounds being charged with sexually assaulting a girl, McCormack talks to the local Alliance MLA Sian Mullholland, who shares harrowing tales of migrant families hiding in attics and bedrooms as marauding thugs ransacked their homes downstairs.

The RTÉ reporter Conor Macauley captures a disturbing snapshot of the virulent intolerance driving the disorder when interviewing a local Ukrainian woman about her fears. Amid the conversation a voice can be heard bellowing in the background; Macauley tells McCormack that it belongs to a man in a passing car, who is shouting “Burn them all out” while driving by. It’s a grim illustration of the prejudices bubbling under what Macauley calls the “very thin veneer of normality”.

Further evidence of this ominous atmosphere comes on The Hard Shoulder (Newstalk, weekdays) when its host, Kieran Cuddihy, talks to the reporter Josh Crosbie about the “eerie, tense feeling” in the town, with Union Jacks proudly fluttering in some neighbourhoods, burnt-out homes pockmarking others.

Crosbie canvasses the view of local residents, which range from shame and fear to support for the rioters. “It’s not racism, it’s protecting our own people,” one woman says.

Another is more tactful in her sympathies, claiming that there has long been harassment of women by groups of men, presumably from immigrant backgrounds: “I don’t know how to say this without sounding racist,” she says before hastily adding that violence ruined initially peaceful protests in the town.

Either way, it’s a tacit admission of the racist impulses underpinning the trouble. And, as Crosbie glumly notes, there’s ample fuel for the rioting to continue: “We’re coming into marching season, so tensions are already high.”

Good vibrations are also in short supply in California, as Cuddihy hears about Donald Trump’s crackdown on protests against large-scale deportation raids against illegal immigrants in Los Angeles.

The BBC reporter Peter Bowes said the unrest has been sporadic in intensity, hardly enough to justify the American president’s decision to call in the US marines. And Bowes emphasises that the disorder has been so far confined to a small area of the city: “The image that all of LA is in chaos is completely incorrect.”

In a divided United States, such facts would seem to count for little, particularly with the Maga base.

Not that people here can be afford to be complacent about such inflammatory situations. Appearing on Cuddihy’s weekly Bookshelf slot, the former People Before Profit TD Bríd Smith picks To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, as her favourite book, citing it as a powerful portrait of systemic racism. (The host gently posits that it also works as a fine piece of fiction.)

Perhaps inevitably, conversation turns to the growth of anti-immigrant sentiment in Ireland. Cuddihy plays the tentative optimist, suggesting that children mixing at school might make them more colour blind. Smith isn’t so sure, worrying about the influence of online disinformation; she points to a pro-Palestinian demonstration by families in Dublin being disrupted by young children hurling insults and shouting, “What about the Irish?”

But despite such depressing anecdotes, it’s an engrossing segment, as guest and host thoughtfully discuss the joys of Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall trilogy.

Cuddihy can’t help stirring things up a bit, however. “Will I really worry you now?” he asks before delightedly noting that Mantel’s trilogy was also chosen by Smith’s ideological opposite, the former Progressive Democrats leader Michael McDowell. To her credit, Smith sounds only slightly thrown by discovering this common ground: “Bedfellows,” she says with a sighs. A little tolerance goes a long way.

Not always an oasis of reflection, The Ray D’Arcy Show (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) proves a font of wisdom – from unlikely sources, to boot. “We’re having a series of 1990s frontmen this week,” the host jokes as he introduces Paul Linehan, leader of the veteran Cork indie band The Frank and Walters.

Linehan recounts the origin story of his biggest hit, After All: he wrote it for his then girlfriend, Katie, with whom he would break up when moving back to Ireland from London. It’s a simple story – Linehan is back in contact with her after many years – but his unassuming manner imbues it with an oddly affecting and even contemplative quality. “It’s about realising what you have, and celebrating it,” the singer says.

There are further life lessons on offer when D’Arcy speaks to the second of his 1990s frontmen, Jarvis Cocker of Pulp. The host sounds genuinely delighted to be speaking to the Sheffield singer – “What a wonderful surprise” – while Cocker, always an articulate interviewee, is at his droll best.

Amid rueful explanations for long gaps between albums – “I’m just a very slow worker” – Cocker seems in authentically upbeat form, seeking out the positive as the years advance. “To me growing up is learning more about life, learning more about yourself,” he says. “Growing old is more like giving up.” No surrender indeed.

Moment of the week

Always looking for a story with bite, Seán Moncrieff (Newstalk, weekdays) sounds suitably enthusiastic about a new podcast about cinematic sharks, notably the Steven Spielberg classic Jaws, from 1975. But as he starts his introductory spiel for the podcast’s host, Jon Harvey – “Fifty years ago, a film was released...” – the presenter abruptly halts his flow.

“Well, I could tell you about it, but apparently your man isn’t on the phone,” he says, slightly peevishly. A couple of awkward minutes pass by, with Moncrieff filling the time by reading various texts; then, finally, his guest appears on the line.

Just in time: for a moment it sounds as if Moncrieff had bitten off more than he could chew.