You can learn a lot from YouTube, besides just what tricks people's dogs can do or how college boys can write "DICK" on the foreheads of their passed-out-drunk friends. In watching some of the various documentary gems to be found there, I've learned in recent days about a wholly remarkable person in modern Irish history – Patrick Hillery, the sixth (sometimes noted as fifth) President of Ireland.
Hillery served two seven-year terms, from 1976 to 1990, and is constantly characterized as mild-mannered in any account of his life you come across, particularly those written upon his death back in April, 2008. And yet, he seems to have exerted a great influence on the modern form of Irish life. Born just after Partition, he was educated as a doctor (apparently even living in Canada for a short while), and became involved in politics almost accidentally... as often happens with truly modest and unusually effective people. It seems to have happened because he lived in Clare and was well-known to Eamon de Valera. It was most of a decade, however, before he was given a cabinet position: Minister for Education. Here is where he seems to have made the first of his many marks on the shape of modern Ireland, for he is credited with making the changes to the educational system that, a generation later, saw that the country had a work force possessed of an education of the quality and nature to take advantage of EU transfers and build the Celtic Tiger.
He went on to serve as the Labour Minister and was offered a shot at the job of Taioseach (Prime Minister) on the resignation of Sean Lemass, but declined because he wasn't interested in the position. The job went instead to Jack Lynch, and Hillery became his Foreign Affairs Minister. This was the job Hillery held during the start-up of the Troubles and its most significant early incidents, notably Bloody Sunday, in the aftermath of which the British Embassy in Dublin was burnt down by a mob of 30,000. Hillery went abroad, making speeches about how, in his opinion, the British Government had "gone mad", and calling for a joint British-Irish military occupation of Northern Ireland, or barring that, a UN peacekeeping operation there. Of course, neither of these things happened, but the openness and force of Hillery's statements, including a dire prediction that the situation might lead to war between Britain and Ireland (indeed, hawks in Fianna Fail urged the occupation of border areas by Irish troops), shocked and angered the British Government, but were arguably instrumental in getting them to act. Westminster went on to suspend Stormont and take direct control over Northern Ireland. His quick thinking in response to a charge by Kevin Boland was pivotal in a moment in Fianna Fail's history when the hawks might have taken the reins of the party and thus, the Irish government. The 1970s could have been far more "interesting" in the island of Ireland had not Hillery brought the convention to its senses.
Hillery was instrumental in Ireland's accession to the EEC in 1973, which was to be a major factor in Ireland's eventual growth and development. As president from 1976 to 1990, he was able to oversee, if not actually guide, Ireland's evolution along this route to one of Europe's most dynamic economies.
There's a lot I'd like to learn about Hillery's role, in depth. I've found a biography of him and I've ordered it. Ireland's a land filled to the brim with heroes of all stripes, colours, and sizes... but Patrick Hillery looks to me, at first blush, like the sort the country could use more of... and a lot more of.
Showing posts with label the Troubles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the Troubles. Show all posts
Friday, June 19, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Thoughts on partition
I have a complicated history where my opinions on the constitutional status of the island of Ireland are concerned. I mean, for what it’s worth... I live a long way away in another country, and so far I’ve only spent a week of my life there. So I don’t flatter myself that my opinions count for much. Nevertheless, it’s in the nature of blogging to lay one’s opinions out there, if only to exorcise them, so... here goes.
When I was quite a bit younger, from my early teens to my early 20s, my sympathies were with the unionists in Northern Ireland. For example, I vaguely remember the hunger strikes of the early 80s. I can remember being opposed to the men themselves but admiring their sacrifice. I also remember being at an intersection on King Street in Toronto's west end in the mid-90s, seeing a car with a "26+6=1" bumper sticker and snorting, "Paddy math" at it. I didn’t know much about what had gone on in Ireland at that point, and my opinions were informed more by analogy than by knowledge...
In Canada, “Loyalist” has a particular meaning: it refers to the United Empire Loyalists, those people in the Thirteen Colonies who, during and after the American Revolution, remained loyal to Britain and the Empire. Hundreds of thousands left the US after the war. The wealthy few went to Britain; some left for the British West Indies; but most settled in Canada and became, by and large, the foundation for English Canada, including all those of who followed of whatever race and religion. This is not a divisive term in Canada; and generally speaking, it’s not one that would be typically applied to anyone living today.
But the resonance was there, and so when I heard people in Northern Ireland referred to as “loyalists”, it appealed to the sense of my own country I’d learned in history class. And I suppose there is an element of that. It’s an appeal to value many of the same traditions.
At that time, though, I was uninformed as to the real nature of the Northern Irish statelet. I had conceived that some vote was taken and that the people in the north had freely chosen a different course. I imagined the place to be very much like Canada... where people might be different, but were essentially of the same condition and opportunities, just trying to get along together. I had the superficial opinion that the Troubles were nothing more than some mad hippies trying to force something on everyone else, that no one else wanted...
I didn’t know, then, that even before partition, the unionists of the north had illegally armed themselves, signed a covenant in 1912, and threatened civil war against their own country to, in perhaps the greatest irony of history, force it to allow them to remain in it. I didn’t know, then, that the men who set the statelet up were on public record declaring it to be for people like themselves alone, or that Protestants should not employ Catholics. I didn’t know then about the breathtaking gerrymandering of elected bodies that insured Protestant control even of places with Catholic majorities, that no Catholic ever held a ministerial position in Stormont. I hadn’t heard of the anti-Catholic pogroms of the 1920s and 1930s, and even later, or of the compliciency of the RUC and British Army in enforcing these policies. I was ignorant of the NICRA civil rights struggle of the mid-60s, the violent reception it received, and how that final loss of hope led to the creation of the Provisional IRA. I was unaware of the institution of the Marching Season, and the annual, triumphalist parades through the neighbourhoods of the nationalist community; the needless provocation year after year after year. I didn’t know any of those things then. Once I did, my opinions began to change. And ultimately, they reversed. Eventually, I was the guy with the "26+6=1" bumper sticker.
I’m not sure exactly when I realized I no longer supported the unionists in Northern Ireland, but a some point around the signing of the Good Friday Agreement, I was firmly of the opinion that a united Ireland must come. I suppose it came from a sort of sense of betrayal. I had sympathized with the unionists, if only because my understanding of the situation was shallow, but nevertheless I had. But I am, technically, Catholic. And to discover that, finally, that’s all that matters, and that even being peaceful and toeing the line would have still meant there were places someone like me couldn’t go, jobs I couldn’t have, positions I couldn’t aspire to, angered me. When I looked at the Irish Republic, though, I saw a place that, though largely Catholic, had had Protestant presidents, and senators from Northern Ireland. It seemed to me, for a long time, the only fair thing was to disestablish Northern Ireland and for the Republic to assume it all. That seemed to me to be the only hope for everyone to get a fair shake.
There’s a song by The Monkees called Shades of Grey. It’s a lament for the loss of the simplicity and certitude of youth, in which the singers reminisce about how easy it once was to know right from wrong, truth from lies, and how that surety is lost as one matures. While I recognize that some people become only more firmly entrenched in their convictions as they grow older, I’ve certainly found the sentiments of Shades of Grey to be true in my life...
Again, you know, you can say it’s none of my business because I don’t live there. But in looking at Northern Ireland now, I see a short of manageable equilibrium has been established. Now the barriers to equality are down, and where they’re not, there are ways to bring them down. Now Catholics have a real voice in their own government. Now the opinions of Leinster House have some weight, not just Westminster. I’ve been to Ulster and I’ve seen that there is no indication of the border... I saw trucks from businesses on either side doing work on the other... people moving back and forth as they pleased, buying and selling and living. In a romantic sense, I would still like to see a united Ireland. I’d love to be there in the crowd when it happens. But I no longer see it as inevitable or absolutely necessary. Maybe this is enough. If you can go where you want, be who you want, feel how you want, then does it really matter all that much where your representatives sit or where your tax money goes to or comes from? Maybe not so much. Maybe “good enough” really is good enough.
Shades of grey.
When I was quite a bit younger, from my early teens to my early 20s, my sympathies were with the unionists in Northern Ireland. For example, I vaguely remember the hunger strikes of the early 80s. I can remember being opposed to the men themselves but admiring their sacrifice. I also remember being at an intersection on King Street in Toronto's west end in the mid-90s, seeing a car with a "26+6=1" bumper sticker and snorting, "Paddy math" at it. I didn’t know much about what had gone on in Ireland at that point, and my opinions were informed more by analogy than by knowledge...
In Canada, “Loyalist” has a particular meaning: it refers to the United Empire Loyalists, those people in the Thirteen Colonies who, during and after the American Revolution, remained loyal to Britain and the Empire. Hundreds of thousands left the US after the war. The wealthy few went to Britain; some left for the British West Indies; but most settled in Canada and became, by and large, the foundation for English Canada, including all those of who followed of whatever race and religion. This is not a divisive term in Canada; and generally speaking, it’s not one that would be typically applied to anyone living today.
But the resonance was there, and so when I heard people in Northern Ireland referred to as “loyalists”, it appealed to the sense of my own country I’d learned in history class. And I suppose there is an element of that. It’s an appeal to value many of the same traditions.
At that time, though, I was uninformed as to the real nature of the Northern Irish statelet. I had conceived that some vote was taken and that the people in the north had freely chosen a different course. I imagined the place to be very much like Canada... where people might be different, but were essentially of the same condition and opportunities, just trying to get along together. I had the superficial opinion that the Troubles were nothing more than some mad hippies trying to force something on everyone else, that no one else wanted...
I didn’t know, then, that even before partition, the unionists of the north had illegally armed themselves, signed a covenant in 1912, and threatened civil war against their own country to, in perhaps the greatest irony of history, force it to allow them to remain in it. I didn’t know, then, that the men who set the statelet up were on public record declaring it to be for people like themselves alone, or that Protestants should not employ Catholics. I didn’t know then about the breathtaking gerrymandering of elected bodies that insured Protestant control even of places with Catholic majorities, that no Catholic ever held a ministerial position in Stormont. I hadn’t heard of the anti-Catholic pogroms of the 1920s and 1930s, and even later, or of the compliciency of the RUC and British Army in enforcing these policies. I was ignorant of the NICRA civil rights struggle of the mid-60s, the violent reception it received, and how that final loss of hope led to the creation of the Provisional IRA. I was unaware of the institution of the Marching Season, and the annual, triumphalist parades through the neighbourhoods of the nationalist community; the needless provocation year after year after year. I didn’t know any of those things then. Once I did, my opinions began to change. And ultimately, they reversed. Eventually, I was the guy with the "26+6=1" bumper sticker.
I’m not sure exactly when I realized I no longer supported the unionists in Northern Ireland, but a some point around the signing of the Good Friday Agreement, I was firmly of the opinion that a united Ireland must come. I suppose it came from a sort of sense of betrayal. I had sympathized with the unionists, if only because my understanding of the situation was shallow, but nevertheless I had. But I am, technically, Catholic. And to discover that, finally, that’s all that matters, and that even being peaceful and toeing the line would have still meant there were places someone like me couldn’t go, jobs I couldn’t have, positions I couldn’t aspire to, angered me. When I looked at the Irish Republic, though, I saw a place that, though largely Catholic, had had Protestant presidents, and senators from Northern Ireland. It seemed to me, for a long time, the only fair thing was to disestablish Northern Ireland and for the Republic to assume it all. That seemed to me to be the only hope for everyone to get a fair shake.
There’s a song by The Monkees called Shades of Grey. It’s a lament for the loss of the simplicity and certitude of youth, in which the singers reminisce about how easy it once was to know right from wrong, truth from lies, and how that surety is lost as one matures. While I recognize that some people become only more firmly entrenched in their convictions as they grow older, I’ve certainly found the sentiments of Shades of Grey to be true in my life...
Again, you know, you can say it’s none of my business because I don’t live there. But in looking at Northern Ireland now, I see a short of manageable equilibrium has been established. Now the barriers to equality are down, and where they’re not, there are ways to bring them down. Now Catholics have a real voice in their own government. Now the opinions of Leinster House have some weight, not just Westminster. I’ve been to Ulster and I’ve seen that there is no indication of the border... I saw trucks from businesses on either side doing work on the other... people moving back and forth as they pleased, buying and selling and living. In a romantic sense, I would still like to see a united Ireland. I’d love to be there in the crowd when it happens. But I no longer see it as inevitable or absolutely necessary. Maybe this is enough. If you can go where you want, be who you want, feel how you want, then does it really matter all that much where your representatives sit or where your tax money goes to or comes from? Maybe not so much. Maybe “good enough” really is good enough.
Shades of grey.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)