As much as we’d like to pretend otherwise, Freshers’ Fair brings us the same old freebies and controversies each year. The 2026 edition was no different — we had the various Trinity publications attempting to outrun each other in the number of copies forced into poor Freshers’ hands, societies trying to justify their membership fees with free instant coffee, as well as a familiar bright red flag displayed at the TCD Workers’ Party stand. What also appears to never change when it comes to the latter is the outrage it causes campus-wide. With a statement from the Eastern European and Ukrainian societies published, followed by a counterstatement from TCD Workers’ Party, and all the Instagram comments in between, one really has no choice but to wonder what got all these people involved in the Arts Block equivalent of a sparring match.
The flag at the center of the debate pictures a hammer and sickle over a red background, and despite the obvious association, it is crucial to mention that it is not the flag of the USSR. According to the TCD Workers’ Party in a statement to The University Times, “there was no USSR flag on display.” Nonetheless, the very fact of having displayed the flag that bears such a close resemblance to a symbol of the Soviet Union resulted in a joint statement from the Eastern European and Ukrainian societies outlining their concerns regarding the display of “symbols that directly contradict principles of inclusivity and respect and that bring so much pain to so many people.” What remains in question, however, is where exactly do we draw the line between freedom of expression and causing said pain?
As stated above, the flag in question was not the flag of the USSR. Now, does that matter at all? When one argues for a ban of the symbol, it very much does. Although the technicality such as the positioning of the hammer and sickle in the center of the flag rather than the top corner makes no difference to its perception, it does make a difference to the validity of a call for its ban. Communist imagery does not necessarily indicate an endorsement of the atrocities committed by the USSR. In fact, the history of the hammer and sickle is more so representative of revolutionary leftism even prior to 1917 than the identification with the Soviet Union, and the flag of the Communist Party of Ireland is a perfect example of that. To argue against it would be to deny the TCD Workers’ Party the opportunity for ideological belonging. The fear of the hammer and sickle does not protect the Eastern Europeans affected by the Soviet Union’s actions but rather further alienates them from a potential political identity. As Charles Wofford states, “we ought to embrace it, reclaim it, make it ours again on the left, and not be scared to be associated with it.”
The problem then lies in whether outside perception ought to dictate or inform one’s actions whether or not it actually reflects reality. Do we really need to explain ourselves to strangers? The answer should likely be yes if said strangers are indirectly associated with what you’re promoting. The mission statements of the Eastern European and Ukrainian societies center around providing a safe space to Trinity students of Eastern European descent, and it doesn’t require much thought to realise that the very presence of USSR-related symbolism at the Freshers’ Fair might not be well-received by communities who have suffered with past and current tragedies at the hand of Russia. It also doesn’t give the Workers’ Party the right to condescendingly diminish them as “recently-founded societies”, as if their shorter presence on campus grants them less of a say in what should be considered harmful. Disregarding the concerns behind the history of bloodshed that hides behind certain symbols is not a matter of political affiliation but rather plain human empathy. While it has been established that the hammer and sickle does not equal allegiance to the Soviet Union, an ounce of understanding should be extended towards those who struggle to differentiate between the two in the face of tragedy they have experienced.
What, then, can even be done about the problem at hand? The determining feature of symbols is the history they can hold behind simple graphics. If we were to deny the TCD Workers’ Party the right to use the hammer and sickle, would we not be denying them history? What other symbols could they use that would represent their mission in a way legible to potential members? Truth is, there is not much of an alternative. And a painful background behind a symbol does not rule out that symbol from ever being used again.
The Eastern European and Ukrainian societies’ statement is one led by strong emotions. This does not deny its validity, but it also cannot be treated as undisputed fact. As an Eastern European woman, it is easy for me to react with outrage, and, as put by the societies, think of my family, “who had to endure the material deprivations, arbitrary arrests, and overall social distrust.” It takes much more, however, to realise that this is not a black-and-white case of one party being in the right. Each solution denies the other community their deserved respect. Trauma and tragedy can sway your judgment quite a lot, and as much as my personal reaction upon seeing the bright red flag is that of anger, there needs to be at least a speck of impartiality applied, and as it usually goes — context is key. Erasing history and utilising a symbol whose past goes way beyond it are two very different matters, only one of which is reprehensible. Whether the symbol ought to be used for ethical reasons is an entirely different case.
Symbols have always existed and will continue to do so, and one thing about them is that they possess the ability to spark starkly different ideas and associations for each individual. And while this may seem unfair and potentially nihilistic, there is simply nothing to be done about it. This does not invalidate the experiences of either end of the spectrum. But if you feel strongly about it — congrats, you just unlocked a moral compass.
