Address by Linda Ervine at Launch of Project Lighthouse Hawkswell Theatre International Day of Peace 21 September
Good evening. It is a real honour to be with you representing the John and Pat Hume Foundation at the launch of this exciting new project—one that will bring together thirty young cultural champions from both sides of the Irish border.
John Hume was, in my view, a man of extraordinary integrity—someone who stood for what he believed was right, even when it meant standing against the weight of his own community. I’ve learned in my own work how difficult that path can be: to challenge the status quo, to step beyond what is comfortable or accepted. It can win you admiration from some, but it can also make you a target of hostility from others. Yet, as both John and Pat Hume showed us, it is often in that space of courage and conviction that real change begins.
In my own work with the Irish language, I’ve witnessed first-hand that change is possible—but it rarely comes easily. For those who may not know me, I run an Irish language centre in east Belfast, in a loyalist community not traditionally associated with the Irish language. When we first opened in 2012, the response was mixed. Some were shocked—even angry—that Irish was being taught on the Newtownards Road. Others were curious, simply wanting to learn more about a language they’d never before encountered.
That small pocket of fear and hostility quickly subsided. What began with just 20 learners in 2011 has grown into the largest Irish language provider in Belfast, with over 700 people signing up for classes last year.
Of course, not everyone agrees with our aims. Some still see Irish as the language of the “enemy”—a language of division. But I have discovered something very different. I have discovered that it is a shared language, a language of healing, a medium of reconciliation. I have seen it bring people together in our classes in east Belfast.
Today, around 60% of our learners are from the Protestant, unionist, loyalist community, 25% from the nationalist community, and the rest describe themselves as “others.” But we know what they are at a hundred yards. And while we didn’t set out to be a cross-community project, that has become a natural by-product of what we do. People sitting down together, learning together, laughing together, friendships being made. We’ve even had two marriages and three babies. I do a little bit of match making on the side but I only talk about the successes not the failures.
Our message—that the Irish language is something that unites rather than divides—has gathered momentum. Through our education programme, we show that Irish is part of a wider Celtic family of languages once spoken across these islands. Welsh and Cornish are Celtic languages. So too was the ancient tongue spoken in England. Place names remind us of this shared heritage: Dover comes from dobhar, meaning “water,” just like Gaoth Dobhair in Donegal or Carrowdore in County Down. And the River Avon? That’s the same word as abhainn—the Irish language word for river.
And of course, Gaelic is spoken in Scotland and the Isle of Man. Far from being “the language of one side of the community,” Irish belongs to all of us. In the 1830s, the Presbyterian General Assembly called it “their sweet and memorable mother tongue” and in the 1840s they made it a requirement that their trainee ministers would have a knowledge of the language. For me it is a language which crosses divisions and boundaries and which has the potential to bring communities together.
In 2021 my work in east Belfast developed into the creation of the first Integrated School to teach through the medium of Irish. Interestingly enough the school which presently consists of 21 children of nursery school age and 7 primary 1 children, has faced much more criticism, threats and intimidation than our adult classes ever have.
However, despite the challenges, I have managed to retain my faith in human nature. I have witnessed the goodness that lies in people. The messages of support and solidarity we received during times of strife have been my greatest source of comfort and encouragement. And for every difficult moment, there have been a hundred acts of kindness.
I have also seen how hearts and minds can be softened and changed—that no person is beyond hope. My work in the Irish language sector has shown me what is possible when people confront their own biases and suspicions, when they move beyond the barriers of fear and prejudice. Witnessing that transformation is what has inspired my passion for cross-community work.
Yet, 27 years after the Good Friday Agreement, we must ask: why is this work still needed? Why do borders still exist not only on maps but in our minds? We share one island, and yet too often we know so little about each other.
As a Protestant from Northern Ireland, I can hold both an Irish and a British passport. And as for me I identify as both Irish and British. But I also recognise that my experience has been different to someone raised in Cork in Dublin, in London, or Edinburgh.
So how do I find my place within this jumble of peoples, places, identities that is Ireland and the UK?
Well even my own family background was complicated and contradictory. On my mother’s side her father was Presbyterian but with an Irish surname, her mother was a Catholic who converted to Presbyterianism and her brothers were in the Orange Order. On my father’s side my grandmother had an Ulster Scots surname and my grandfather was from England. My grandparents were members of the Communist Party. Despite growing up within a left wing family my father and his 4 brothers choose a variety of paths in life. The eldest brother, Michael left the country and spent most of his life living abroad, My father Terry and his youngest brother, Barry joined the Communist Party, the 3rd brother Brian joined the British Army and the 4th brother Robert joined the UDA.
That is my heritage, so what does it make me, the product of all of these competing narratives – British, Irish, Protestant, Catholic, unionist, nationalist? Where do I fit?
During the Troubles, like many others, I withdrew from politics. I was embarrassed by voices claiming to speak on behalf of “my community” when they did not represent me. I longed for peace but felt powerless.
My work with the Irish language has since brought me into contact with countless people who, like me, desire a shared future—and who are quietly working to build it. But there are still those who would drag us back to the past, who remain unable—or unwilling—to move forward.
We now live in a complicated in-between place. We have a generation who lived through the conflict and still bears its scars, while another has no memory of it, but carries the trauma passed down. Too often, young people are told the stories of hatred without being given the tools to build something better.
I was born in 1961, just 15 years after the Second World War. My granda fought in that war. But by the time I was a teenager, the war was already history to me—I didn’t hate the Germans, I barely understood the suffering of that time. My life was about looking forward. That is the same opportunity we must give the next generation here: to learn from the past, but not be imprisoned by it.
We cannot hold our children captive in old divisions. We need to create a new future—or better still, we need to empower them to create a new future: a shared future.
Because it is they—the young people in this room, the cultural champions this project will support—who must refuse to repeat the mistakes of past generations.
And so tonight I challenge you: be bold, be curious, be willing to step beyond the borders in your mind. Build friendships where others sow division. Use your creativity, your courage, your voices, to make something new.
That, more than anything, is the greatest tribute we could pay to John and Pat Hume: not just to remember their vision, but to live it.
Thank you.
Linda Ervine
21 September 2025