History, hindsight and hopes

LASTING LEGACY A young woman signing one of Belfast’s Peace Walls, erected in an effort to reduce tensions between the Loyalist and Nationalist communities in the city.  Pic: iStock/benstevens

The Cast Stone
Michael Gallagher

Earlier this month, we marked the 100th anniversary of the ratification of the Anglo-Irish Treaty. That agreement brought an end to Ireland’s War of Independence and gave the people self-determination over 26 or our 32 counties.
On the evening of January 7, I watched RTÉ’s coverage of the centenary and the interesting way they portrayed that pivotal moment in our history. It would be fair to say I had very mixed feelings sitting in my comfortable living-room watching a re-enactment of the events in Dublin on that fateful evening.
I can understand why the treaty was signed and ratified, but that doesn’t mean I agree with those who penned their names on that historic parchment.
Like many families, my ancestors were split by those signatures. My grandfather and his brothers had fought side by side in the War of Independence but were on opposite sides in the horrific bloodletting which followed. My grandfather, Brian Gildea, utterly disagreed with the treaty – some of his brothers did not.
Hindsight is a great thing and I’m sure if they could have stood back and assessed the situation the thousands of men and women who were slaughtered in the following months would not have lost their lives. I’m sure many who survived often wondered if the ‘freedom’ delivered was actually worth fighting and killing for.
Was all that horror an acceptable price to pay for a stagnant state where Archbishop McQuaid and a bureaucratic civil-service made it a cold place for creativity and expression? Was all that horror an acceptable price to pay for cutting our island in two and creating two statelets ridden with religious bigotry? Was all that horror an acceptable price to pay when we only achieved partial freedom? I think not.
One hundred years on from the ratification of the treaty, I’m proud to be an Irish republican. What does being a republican mean in my mind? Should the gardaí swarm into our offices in Westport and check my desk for Semtex or a balaclava? When some people hear the word ‘republican’ they immediately think of Armalites and bombs. I find this highly offensive, in the same way my friend is taken aback when his loyalty to Queen Elizabeth often changes the way people perceive him here in Mayo.
My friend was born in Belfast and is loyal to the British queen. It makes not a scintilla of difference to me or our friendship. He’s a proud Irishman who happens to be a unionist; I’m a proud Irishman who happens to be republican. We’re both Irishmen!
I dream of the day when both of us and everyone on this rock we call Ireland will be governed as one – not by a leader wrapped in green or orange; not by someone following the teachings of the Pope or the Queen, but by someone who wants to make life better for everyone irrespective of their creed, colour or countenance.
Of course, the political leaders of today all profess to do this, but the vast majority couldn’t care less. In my view, the vast majority of our leaders do not, and have never, worked towards an Ireland where we could all thrive. They do not have and never had the foresight to create an Ireland for all.
In my view, a new Ireland should be about people and giving every citizen the opportunities to live the best life possible. A new Ireland would not be mired in the quicksand of a stagnant civil service where it takes three meetings to choose what type of tea to drink in the canteen.
In my view, there is little or no difference between the Irish political class of today and the British ruling class they replaced 100 years ago. The letterhead, the flag and the stamp might be different, but very little else.
I’m blessed to be heavily involved in two all-island sporting organisations, the GAA and the IRFU, and regularly see the benefits of people on the rock co-operating and bypassing stereotypes. I’m regularly in rugby clubhouses in East Belfast, Dungannon, Limerick and Cork, and nobody cares a jot whether the person beside them believes in Jesus, Buddha or alien beings. They couldn’t care less if one votes, doesn’t vote or never voted; the only thing people in those clubhouses care about is sport, friendship, connections and helping one another out.
When one casts away perceptions, the real people of Ireland are truly beautiful and very similar. If only we began to realise that a century ago we might be living in a real republic now.