MANY issues have arisen from the ongoing Brexit negotiations, most pertinent of all though is whether affordable laundered fuel provided by leading Republicans can survive a hard border.
In a bid to answer those questions, WWN joined the RA.
Dumped onto a chair and a hood removed from our head. WWN is in a modest sitting room in Belfast somewhere decorated with an absolutely lovely floral print wallpaper on the wall it has to be said.
“You want in?” barks a mouth obscured slightly by what first appears to be a balaclava but on closer inspection is a rather large black sock with holes cut into it.
From the other room we hear a woman shout “Michael, have ya seen my socks”. The hooded figure who categorically denies being Michael to us, then answers “no Mam” to the woman who is either his mother or confusingly a woman named ‘Mam’.
“Do I want in? I hardly want out do I, you fool” WWN responds. You have to show no fear in this game. We get the shit kicked out of us for showing no fear. It is painful.
Despite all this we are in fact in. Hooray. One step closer to knowing if fuel laundering can survive a hard border.
Over the coming weeks, we are brought through a series of drug deals, punishment beatings for scumbag drug dealers who aren’t us and just the one maiming of an alleged paedophile who upon further research is just an odd bachelor in his 40s who wears glasses.
WWN broaches the subject again and again, in the most subtle way possible.
“Here, will a hard border affect fuel laundering at all?” we ask, in a subtle way as previously outlined.
But we omitted a key phrase. “Toicfaidh Ar La” we scream at the end of our question, something we scream after every sentence such is the IRA way.
“Stop fucking shouting that, I’ve told ye before, you’re impressing no one, and Elaine is trying to get the baby asleep,” my IRA superior tells me in his kitchen/war room, wearing the same outsized sock for the last month. He stinks.
The truth is, he doesn’t know. About the fuel, nobody knows, which is the terrifying thing. Brexit. Bastarding Brexit. My fellow comrades are in a panic. Each day brings a new victory for the Republican cause in the form of Theresa May, Mogg, Johnson, Arlene Foster and Dodds opening their mouths.
“We’re fucked if there’s a hard border,” my sock-headed friend says, finally snapping under the stress of impending Brexit. We feel his pain, a return to the hard border is not what we Republicans want. In a bid to comfort him we go on a rant about the Loyalist bastards and our oppressors in Westminster. We are interrupted.
“No, no, it’s not that. Don’t you see?” our comrade says.
“If we get a hard border, we get closer to a 32 Republic, if we get closer to a 32 Republic, there will literally be NO border, soft or otherwise, we will be one Nation under the Tricolour and you know what that means?”
“Freedom,” we scream from the top of our lungs.
“No, you idiot. Our whole economic model for illicit crime is fucked without the exchange rate between sterling and euro across the border. You can’t launder fuel, sell drugs, be security for hire, punishment beatings for hire, we’re already stretched as it is since the pound took a hit. Fuck me,” our proud Republican comrade explained before leaving the house to extort a local business out of money as a way to clear his head.
After several weeks embedded in the IRA, we finally realised just how serious the issue of a hard border is.