1. 1
Goldsmith
International
Literary
Festival
Shared
history?
Reflections
on
war
and
revolution
Ballymaon,
Co.
Longford
4
June
2016
The
1916
Centenary
events
have
seen
a
wave
of
popular
enthusiasm
for
learning
more
about
the
Rising
and
a
real
pride
in
the
generation
which
fought
for
independence.
This
has
been
aided
by
digitization
of
a
whole
range
of
primary
source
material
has
democratized
research
into
the
experience
of
those
who
were
part
of
the
revolution.
The
role
of
women,
the
lives
of
civilians
and
the
impact
of
conflict
on
children
are
all
areas
that
thankfully
we
now
know
far
more
about.
Another
positive
feature
of
the
Centenary
has
been
the
awareness
of
the
multi-­‐faceted
layers
of
Irishness
in
the
revolutionary
era.
So
while
there
were
Cockney,
Scouse
and
Glaswegian
rebels
in
the
General
Post
Office,
there
were
also
many
British
soldiers
in
Dublin
with
Irish
accents.
Perhaps
two-­‐thirds
of
the
troops
in
the
city
when
the
Rising
began
were
from
Irish
regiments.
While
we
often
illustrate
the
tragedy
of
our
Civil
War
with
clichés
about
‘brother
against
brother’
the
fact
is
that
brother
literally
fought
brother
during
1916
as
well.
One
of
the
first
British
Army
fatalities,
Captain
Gerard
Neilan
of
the
Royal
Dublin
Fusiliers
was
from
Rathmines;
his
brother
Arthur
was
among
the
Irish
Volunteers
in
the
Four
Courts
close
to
where
Neilan
was
shot.
There
were
also
many
ex-­‐British
soldiers
among
the
ranks
of
the
revolutionaries,
notably
James
Connolly
and
Michael
Mallin
and
dozens
of
the
rebels
had
relatives
serving
in
the
British
military.

2. 2
Seosamh
de
Bruin
recounted
how
at
Jacobs
after
the
surrender;
‘The
factory
was
taken
over
by
a
detachment
of
the
Dublin
Fusiliers
and
by
a
curious
coincidence
as
one
brother
left
the
factory
in
the
republican
ranks,
another
marched
into
it
in
the
uniform
of
the
British
Army.’
It
is
testimony
to
further
layers
of
complexity
that
at
least
four
young
men
who
fought
in
Easter
Week
as
Irish
Volunteers
and
avoided
detention
subsequently
joined
the
British
Army
and
served
on
the
Western
Front;
remarkably
all
four
survived
to
come
back
to
Ireland
and
take
opposing
sides
in
the
Civil
War!
The
presence
of
Irishmen
among
the
British
forces
led
to
some
interesting
encounters.
Patrick
Colgan
described
the
soldier
who
guarded
him
as
‘a
decent
poor
fellow.
When
he
learned
I
was
from
Kildare
he
became
quite
friendly.
He
told
me
he
was
from
Carlow;
his
name
was
Boland
…
he
couldn’t
understand
why
we
should
start
a
rebellion
until
the
lads
returned
from
the
Dardanelles.
I
said
what
would
happen
if
they
didn’t
return.’
But
there
was
also
tension
and
resentment;
John
McGallogly
from
Glasgow
was
held
in
Richmond
Barracks
and
recalled
how
after
he
‘ventured
a
remark
…
one
of
the
guards,
a
red-­‐haired
Irishman,
said,
‘You
shut
up
you
Scotch
bastard.
You
only
came
over
here
to
make
trouble.’
Similarly
James
Burke
described
being
‘brought
over
to
Kilmainham
Jail,
where
some
drunken
soldiery
of
the
Dublin
Fusiliers
immediately
set
upon
us,
kicking
us,
beating
us
and
threatening
us
with
bayonets.
As
a
matter
of
fact
my
tunic
was
ripped
off
me
with
bayonets,
and
our
shirts
and
other
articles
of
clothing
were
saturated
with
blood.
We
looked
at
one
another
the
next
morning
and
thought

3. 3
we
were
dead.
The
Dublin
Fusiliers
were
the
worst
of
the
lot.
The
English
soldiers
were
mostly
decent.
Most
of
them
were
young
fellows
who
did
not
know
one
end
of
a
rifle
from
the
other
as
far
as
I
could
see.’
Burke’s
account
is
one
of
several
that
attest
to
harsher
treatment
being
meted
out
to
rebel
prisoners
by
their
fellow
countrymen
than
by
British-­‐born
soldiers.
One
of
the
most
notorious
incidents
also
points
to
this.
Francis
Sheehy
Skeffington,
a
remarkable
campaigner
for
votes
for
women,
among
other
causes,
was
summarily
executed
after
arrest
in
Dublin’s
Portobello
barracks
on
the
orders
of
Captain
John
Bowen-­‐
Colthurst
of
the
Royal
Irish
Rifles.
Bowen-­‐Colthurst
was
a
Cork
man
who
murdered
several
other
civilians
during
that
week.
And
this
brings
me
to
my
first
problem
with
‘shared
history.’
Recently
Minister
Charles
Flanagan
wrote
about
the
‘shared
and
sometimes
overlapping
histories
of
these
islands’
and
about
the
need
to
remember
British
soldiers
killed
during
Easter
Week,
particularly
as
many
of
them
were
Irish.
Nowhere
in
his
Irish
Times
article
did
the
Minister
mention
what
the
primary
role
of
the
British
military
in
Ireland
(including
its
Irish
born
recruits)
was
or
explain
why
Irishmen
were
in
British
uniform
in
the
first
place.
The
reality
was
that
political
life
in
pre-­‐
independence
Ireland
was
governed
by
the
knowledge
that
the
British
government,
could,
if
it
wished,
deploy
overwhelming
force
if
its
rule
was
threatened.
There
were
usually
between
25-­‐30,000
military
personnel
based
in
Ireland,
soldiers,
sailors,
marines
and
the
rest,
and
almost
every
large
Irish
town
contained
a
barracks.
To
put
this
in
perspective,
there
are
around
10,
000
members
of
the
Republic’s
Defence
Forces
today;
Ireland
a
100
years
ago
was
a

4. 4
far
more
militarized
society
and
one
in
which
political
choice
was
quite
obviously
constrained
by
the
ability
of
the
administration
to
deploy
this
force.
Hence
in
1916,
when
that
rule
was
challenged,
it
was
the
British
forces
who
were
responsible
for
the
majority
of
death
and
destruction
in
Dublin.
There
was
nothing
particularly
unusual
about
Irish
service
in
the
British
army;
very
empire
recruited
armed
forces
from
among
their
subjects
and
often
required
those
locally
recruited
soldiers
to
repress
their
fellow
countrymen.
The
troops
who
carried
the
massacre
at
Amritsar
in
1919
for
example,
were
largely
Indian
themselves.
It
is
possible
to
remember
individual
soldiers
sacrifice
and
acknowledge
the
complexity
of
their
motivations
while
still
recognising
that
their
primary
role
was
to
enforce
denial
of
self-­‐determination
to
the
Irish
people.
And
of
course
many
Irish
people
were
also
complicit
in
the
British
Empire’s
rule
in
India
and
elsewhere.
As
Seán
T.
O’Kelly,
in
1916
a
Sinn
Féin
councillor
in
Dublin
(and
later
President
of
this
state)
told
a
rally
of
the
Friends
of
Freedom
for
India,
the
Irish
were
‘under
deep
obligation
to
work
for
India
and
for
Egypt
until
both
are
free
…
we
owe
a
deep
debt
to
these
countries,
for
has
it
not
been
largely
by
the
work
of
Irish
brains
and
Irish
brawn
and
muscle
that
these
two
ancient
peoples
have
been
beaten
into
subjection
and
have
been
so
long
oppressed
…
Our
Indian
friends,
could,
if
they
wished,
tell
us
many
heart-­‐rending
stories
of
the
brutalities
practiced
upon
their
peoples
by
English
regiments
bearing
names
such
as
Connaught
Rangers,
Munster
Fusiliers,
Dublin
Fusiliers,
Iniskillen
Fusiliers,
Royal
Irish
Regiment
and
so
on.
These
and
many
other
British
regiments
were
largely
composed
of
Irishmen.
Egypt
has
the
same
sad
stories
to
tell
to
our

5. 5
disgrace.
Until
we
Irish
do
something
practical
to
make
amends
for
the
wrong
doing
…
that
shame
will
rest
with
us.’
I
do
not
think
we
do
a
service
to
understanding
history
by
concluding
that
all
of
this
service
is
worthy
of
exactly
the
same
commemoration.
Nuance
and
complexity
must
include
uncomfortable
truths
and
not
be
a
cover
for
arguing
that
ultimately
everybody
in
1916
was
in
the
right.
Much
of
the
commentary
about
the
Rising
in
the
last
year,
particularly
from
journalists
and
‘personalities’
has
been
more
skeptical
about
the
Centenary
than
public
opinion;
there
is
nothing
wrong
with
that.
There
have
been
very
familiar
recitations
about
blood
sacrifices,
holy
wars,
undemocratic
fanaticism,
lack
of
mandates
and
so
on.
But
very
often
we
have
been
presented
with
a
caricature,
usually
divorced
from
any
context,
often
from
people
who
should
know
better
and
sometimes
admittedly
from
people
who
will
never
know
better;
whether
they
be
Bob
Geldof,
Patsy
McGarry,
John
Bruton
or
recently
the
former
Attorney
General,
Paul
Gallagher.
Home
Rule
has
been
described
as
‘independence’
and
John
Redmond,
the
leader
of
the
Home
Rule
movement
described
as
having
been
opposed
to
‘violence.’
We
are
informed
regularly
that
what
was
achieved
in
1921
was
inevitably
going
to
occur
anyway,
without
the
need
for
a
shot
fired
or
a
life
lost.
Indeed
it
is
routinely
suggested
that
it
was
actually
the
1916
rebels
who
were
responsible
for
partition.

6. 6
There
seems
to
be
little
awareness
that
political,
communal
and
sectional
strife
were
well
established
in
Ireland
before
1916
and
that
violence
was
part
of
political
life.
People
were
shot
during
election
campaigns
in
1910;
street
fighting
was
an
established
part
of
electioneering;
hundreds
were
driven
from
their
workplaces
in
sectarian
riots
in
Belfast
during
1912;
suffragettes
were
beaten
up
for
campaigning
for
the
vote-­‐
indeed
Francis
Sheehy
Skeffington
was
stripped
and
assaulted
at
a
rally
for
Home
Rule
in
1912,
by
supporters
of
Redmond’s
party;
strikers
were
batoned
and
sometimes
killed,
not
only
in
the
Dublin
Lockout
but
in
disputes
in
Sligo
and
Wexford
as
well,
and
civilians
shot
dead
by
troops
on
Dublin’s
Bachelor’s
Walk
in
1914.
A
glance
at
the
rhetoric
of
one
Irish
leader
in
1916
provides
us
with
a
clue
as
to
why
we
must
be
careful
when
making
pronouncements
about
violence;
‘It
is
heroic
deeds
…
that
give
life
to
nations
-­‐
that
is
the
recompense
of
those
who
die
to
perform
them
…
It
was
never
in
worthier,
holier
keeping
than
that
of
those
boys,
offering
up
their
supreme
sacrifice
with
a
smile
on
their
lips
because
it
was
given
for
Ireland.
May
God
bless
them!
And
may
Ireland,
cherishing
them
in
her
bosom,
know
how
to
prove
her
love
and
pride
and
send
their
brothers
leaping
to
keep
full
their
battle-­‐torn
ranks
and
keep
high
and
glad
their
heroic
hearts
…
No
people
can
be
said
to
have
rightly
proved
their
nationhood
and
their
power
to
maintain
it
until
they
have
demonstrated
their
military
prowess
(and)
The
Irish
…
are
one
of
the
peoples
who
have
been
endowed
in
a
distinguished
degree
with
a
genuine
military
spirit,
a
natural
genius
and
gift
for
war…
But
they
have
brought
another
quality
into
the
field
which
is
equally
characteristic
…
that
is,
their
religious
spirit
...
the
Irish
soldier,
with
his
limpid
faith
and
his
unaffected

7. 7
piety,
his
rosary
recited
on
the
hillside,
his
Mass
…
under
shell-­‐fire,
his
“act
of
contrition”
…
before
facing
the
hail
of
the
assault
…
though
Irish
blood
has
reddened
the
earth
of
every
continent,
never
until
now
have
we
as
a
people
set
a
national
army
in
the
field
…
‘war
is
a
terrible
thing,
and
it
brings
out
many
brutal
acts;
but
war
also
very
often
brings
out
all
that
is
best
in
man.’
Here
we
have
heroic
sacrifice
in
battle
giving
life
to
nations,
people
earning
their
manhood
on
the
battlefield,
men
dying
with
a
smile
on
their
lips
because
it
was
for
Ireland;
their
brothers
leaping
into
the
ranks
to
replace
them
and
the
association
between
this
military
prowess
and
devout
Catholicism
going
hand
in
hand.
It
is
the
type
of
language
that
many
modern
commentators
find
very
uncomfortable
when
uttered
by
people
like
Padraig
Pearse.
But
it
was
John
Redmond
who
wrote
those
words
after
visiting
the
Western
Front
during
November
1915.
Redmond
also
described
how
while
at
the
front
‘we
walked
to
a
battery
of
two
9.2
British
naval
guns,
enormous
monsters,
which
were
trained
on
a
building
just
behind
the
German
lines,
about
three
miles
distant.
These
guns
have
a
range
of
over
10
miles.
I
was
given
the
privilege
of
firing
one
of
these
huge
guns
at
its
object.
The
experience
was
rather
a
trying
one,
and
I
only
hope
my
shot
went
home.’
It
is
entirely
possible
that
John
Redmond
personally
killed
far
more
people
than
any
of
the
1916
leaders.
In
1916
both
mainstream
Irish
nationalism
and
unionism
were
supporting
the
greatest
violence
ever
unleashed
on
the
world
until
that
point,
and
despite
the
obvious
horror
of
that
war
being
readily
apparent
were
still
encouraging
their

8. 8
supporters
to
enlist
in
it.
I
hope
when
we
rightly
remember
the
Somme
this
year
we
will
see
as
much
rigour
displayed
by
historians
and
commentators
in
indicting
those
responsible
for
that
slaughter
as
we
have
in
dissecting
the
thinking
of
Pearse
and
others.
And
when
we
talk
about
democracy
in
1916
we
could
do
well
to
remember
that
not
one
Irish
woman
and
only
a
minority
of
Irish
men
possessed
a
vote
in
Westminster
elections.
In
Longford
North
in
1911
out
of
22,121
people
there
were
just
3,611
voters.
But
the
local
MP
JP
Farrell
held
the
seat
uncontested
from
1900-­‐1918.
In
Longford
South
there
were
21,699
people
and
3,695
voters
who
from
1900-­‐1917
were
represented
by
John
Philips,
without
the
bother
of
having
to
vote
for
him.
In
Westmeath
North
29,265
people
but
just
4,919
men
with
the
vote.
They
returned
the
independent
nationalist
Laurence
Ginnell,
one
of
the
most
radical
Irish
MPs
in
London.
He
was
also
one
of
the
few
MPs
who
supported
the
right
to
vote
for
women.
Westmeath
South
had
a
population
of
27,061
but
just
4,443
voters.
It
returned
Sir.
W.R.
Nugent,
a
Home
Ruler;
returned,
not
elected
as
there
had
not
been
an
election
in
the
constituency
since
1892.
So
clearly
we
need
to
be
a
little
bit
more
precise
when
we
discuss
mandates
in
1916.
But
we
also
then
need
to
think
about
how
we
will
explain
the
transformation
than
occurs
in
1918.
I
would
question
the
presumption
that
the
separatists
were
a
tiny,
unrepresentative
group
before
1916.
They
were
a
minority
certainly
but
not
an

9. 9
isolated
one;
many
of
their
ideas
were
shared
by
supporters
of
Home
Rule
and
of
John
Redmond.
There
were
few
nationalists
for
example,
who
would
have
disagreed
with
the
young
Redmond’s
characterization
of
the
British
Empire
as
‘a
greedy
and
bloodthirsty
oppressor
of
the
weak.’
While
they
expected
that
their
representatives
should
do
their
best
to
get
what
they
could
from
Westminster,
they
would
also
have
been
aware
that
there
was
no
‘act
of
justice
or
reform
which
has
not
been
extorted
in
one
way
or
another
from
the
British
parliament
by
force
or
fear’,
indeed
that
‘no
single
reform
…
has
ever
been
obtained
by
purely
constitutional
methods.’
That’s
John
Redmond
again.
While
disagreeing
with
some
of
the
methods
of
the
Fenian
bombers
of
the
1880s
they
might
have
nodded
their
heads
when
support
was
sought
for
men
who
were
‘our
kith
and
kin
…
men
who
sacrificed
everything
that
was
most
dear
to
them
in
an
effort
to
benefit
Ireland.
What
do
we
care
whether
their
effort
was
a
wise
one
or
not,
whether
a
mistaken
one
or
not?’
John
Redmond,
sounding
suspiciously
like
what
later
critics
would
call
a
‘sneaking
regarder.
‘
Indeed
in
1897
the
welcome
home
rally
for
one
of
those
men,
Tom
Clarke,
was
chaired
by
Redmond’s
brother
William.
As
late
as
1912
Clarke
would
acknowledge
the
work
done
by
John
Redmond
for
his
release,
including
numerous
visits
to
him
while
in
prison.
But
of
course
Redmond’s
views
on
Britain
and
the
Empire
changed.
But
did
anyone
else’s?
It
was
characteristic
of
Redmond’s
party
that
they
promised
self-­‐
government
would
mean
a
great
deal
more
than
the
reality:
Limerick
MP
William
Lundon
could
claim
that
they
did
not
seek
‘a
little
parliament
in
Dublin
that
would
pay
homage
to
the
big
one,
but
a
sovereign
and
independent
one
and
if
he
had
his
own
way
he
would
break
the
remaining
links
that
bound
the
two

10. 10
countries
…
he
was
trained
in
another
school
in
’67
and
he
was
not
a
parliamentarian
when
he
walked
with
his
rifle
on
his
shoulder
on
the
night
of
the
5th
of
March.’
(A
reference
of
course
to
the
Fenian
rising).
John
Philips,
the
Longford
South
MP
was
also
one
of
many
Irish
Party
members
who
had
been
Fenians
in
their
youth.
So
the
rhetoric
of
the
party
promised
a
great
deal.
At
the
end
of
March
1912
over
100,000
people
gathered
in
Dublin
in
support
of
the
new
Home
Rule
bill.
There
Redmond’s
deputy,
John
Dillon,
told
them
that
‘we
have
undone,
and
are
undoing
the
work
of
three
centuries
of
confiscation
and
persecution
…
the
holy
soil
of
Ireland
is
passing
back
rapidly
into
the
possession
of
the
children
of
our
race
…
and
the
work
of
Oliver
Cromwell
is
nearly
undone.’
Now
undoing
the
work
of
Cromwell
suggests
far
more
than
limited
self-­‐government.
As
the
separatist
Laurence
Nugent
put
it:
‘let
it
be
understood
that
outside
of
the
professional
politicians,
Home
Rule
meant
to
the
ordinary
citizen
freedom
for
Ireland
without
any
qualifications.’
The
problem
was
of
course
that
Home
Rule
would
not
have
brought
even
the
limited
independence
achieved
in
1921.
When
Augustine
Birrell,
the
Chief
Secretary,
asserted
at
the
Royal
Commission
on
the
Rebellion
in
1916
that
‘The
spirit
of
what
today
is
called
Sinn
Feinism
is
mainly
composed
of
the
old
hatred
and
distrust
of
the
British
connection,
always
noticeable
in
all
classes
and
in
all
places,
varying
in
degree
and
finding
different
ways
of
expression,
but
always
there,
as
the
background
of
Irish
politics
and

11. 11
character’
I
think
he
was
correct.
Most
Irish
nationalists
simply
did
not
regard
British
rule
as
legitimate.
As
the
Land
League
alphabet
put
it
succinctly
‘E
is
the
English
who
have
robbed
us
of
bread
F
is
the
famine
they
gave
us
instead’
We
are
talking
about
a
country
only
70
years
removed
from
that
catastrophe.
What
might
that
have
meant
in
1916?
Eamonn
Broy,
then
a
policeman
in
Dublin’s
Great
Brunswick
Street
(now
Pearse
Street
Garda
station)
described
how
during
the
Rising
‘several
loyal
citizens
of
the
old
Unionist
type
called
to
enquire
why
the
British
Army
and
the
police
had
not
already
ejected
the
Sinn
Féiners
from
the
occupied
buildings.
Whilst
a
number
of
that
type
were
present
a
big
uniformed
D.M.P.
man,
a
Clare
man,
came
in.
He
told
us
of
having
gone
to
his
home
in
Donnybrook
to
assure
himself
of
the
safety
of
his
family.
He
saw
the
British
Army
column
which
had
landed
at
Kingstown
marching
through
Donnybrook.
“They
were
singing”,
he
said,
“but
the
soldiers
that
came
in
by
Ballsbridge
didn’t
do
much
singing.
They
ran
into
a
few
Irishmen
who
soon
took
the
singing
out
of
them”.
We
laughed
at
the
loud
way
he
said
it
and
the
effect
on
the
loyalists
present.’
Here
we
have
Dublin
policemen,
agents
of
the
crown,
laughing
at
British
losses
and
Unionist
discomfort.
What
does
that
tell
us?

12. 12
The
reality
was
that
for
all
the
talk
of
a
United
Kingdom,
Ireland
was
thought
of,
and
ruled
like,
a
colony.
It
was
not
Canada,
nor
New
Zealand
or
Australia,
or
even
South
Africa.
It
was
not
a
settler
state
where
the
majority
of
citizens
identified
with
the
‘mother
country.’
That
is
the
reason
why
it
was
India
that
was
continually
referenced
in
debates
in
Westminster
about
Irish
self-­‐government.
That
was
why
Home
Rule
MPs
could
be
dismissed
in
the
Commons
as
‘eighty
foreigners.’
In
1874
Benjamin
Disraeli,
no
less,
had
claimed
that
Ireland
was
‘governed
by
laws
of
laws
of
coercion
and
stringent
severity
that
do
not
exist
in
any
other
quarter
of
the
globe.’
Over
100
such
acts
were
passed
during
19th
century;
the
suspension
of
civil
liberties
and
of
the
subject’s
right
to
protection
from
arbitrary
state
power
in
Ireland
was
almost
permanent.
Like
India,
the
British
administration
in
Ireland
was
headed
by
a
viceroy
(the
Lord
Lieutenant)
and
he
and
the
Chief
Secretary
and
Under
Secretary
were
appointed
to
run
the
country.
At
its
most
benign
such
officialdom
was
characterized
in
the
words
of
one
observer
by
‘a
gentle,
quiet,
well
meaning,
established,
unconscious,
inborn
contempt.’
The
problem
was
of
course
that
Irish
society
had
changed
drastically
since
the
Famine.
The
Catholic
rural
and
urban
bourgeoisie
was
on
the
rise
and
things
were
certainly
changing,
but
not
by
1914,
fast
enough.
It
probably
helps
explain
some
of
the
attitudes
of
the
Dublin
Police
that
constables
were
forbidden
from
being
members
of
any
secret
society,
except
the
Freemasons.
It
was
quite
clear
that
anti-­‐Catholic
sectarianism
remained
deeply
embedded
in
the
structure
of
British
rule
and
Irish
society
itself.
It
was
expressed
quite
openly
during
debates
about
self-­‐government.
When
the
Unionist
MP
T.W.
Russell
warned
that
‘if
you

13. 13
set
up
a
Parliament
in
College
Green
…
the
wealth,
education,
property
and
prosperity
of
Ulster
will
be
handed
over
to
a
Parliament
which
will
be
elected
by
peasants
dominated
by
priests,
and
they
again
will
be
dominated
by
the
Roman
Catholic
Church’
he
was
not
demanding
a
secular
state;
he
was
objecting
to
‘peasants’
and
Catholic
peasants
at
that,
electing
a
parliament.
The
fact
that
by
1914
as
David
Fitzpatrick
has
written
that
‘a
private
army
ruled
in
Ulster
with
the
acquiescence
of
the
state’
further
reinforced
nationalist
alienation.
It
is
certainly
not
widely
understood
in
Britain
today
and
perhaps
even
under-­‐
appreciated
here
what
this
crisis
actually
meant.
Between
1912
and
1914
British
Conservatism
funded
and
encouraged
the
idea
of
armed
rebellion
against
an
elected
British
government.
As
Roy
Foster
has
explained
‘the
removal
of
the
Lord’s
veto,
and
the
subsequent
Home
Rule
bill,
were
presented
in
Ulster
as
issues
that
could
not
legitimately
be
decided
by
party
votes
at
Westminster;
support
for
this
argument
came
from
a
wide
variety,
ranging
from
the
respectable
to
the
great,
including
George
V…
the
Ulster
question
arrived
in
Britain
as
the
issue
upon
which
the
landed
and
plutocratic
interests
decided
to
confront
Lloyd
George’s
welfare
policies
…
‘
The
implications
of
this
revolt
cannot
be
emphasized
enough;
Conservative
leader
Andrew
Bonar
Law
warning
that
there
‘were
things
stronger
than
parliamentary
majorities’
and
that
there
was
‘no
length
of
resistance
to
which
Ulster
would
go
which
he
would
not
be
ready
to
support.’
The
Liberal
government,
victorious
in
general
elections,
was
described
as
‘a
revolutionary
committee
which
has
seized
by
fraud
upon
despotic
power’;
the
situation
in

14. 14
Britain
of
1912
compared
to
that
of
England
in
1688
when
the
‘country
rose
against
a
tyranny.
It
was
the
tyranny
of
a
King,
but
other
people
besides
Kings
can
exercise
tyranny,
and
other
people
besides
Kings
can
be
treated
in
the
same
way.’
The
Tory
leader
noted
that
James
II
had
‘the
largest
paid
army
which
had
ever
been
seen
in
England
(and)
what
happened?
The
King
disappeared
because
his
own
army
refused
to
fight
for
him.’
We
can
take
it
that
this
message
was
understood
by
the
officer
class
of
the
British
military.
A
swathe
of
the
most
powerful
and
wealthy
in
British
society,
from
the
Duke
of
Bedford
to
Waldorf
Astor
pledged
their
support
to
rebellion
against
parliament
while
in
Ulster
the
Unionist
leadership
established
a
Provisional
Government
and
a
private
army.
In
1914
thousands
of
weapons
were
imported
for
the
Ulster
Volunteers
without
interference
from
the
forces
of
the
state.
In
the
spring
of
1914
British
officers
at
the
Curragh
informed
their
government
that
they
would
refuse
orders
to
move
against
the
Ulster
Volunteers.
The
officers
claimed
to
have
been
assured
that
they
would
not
be
asked
to
fight
against
Unionists,
prompting
Labour
leader
J.H.
Thomas
to
ask
if
working
class
soldiers
were
to
be
asked
in
future
their
opinions
before
being
used
to
break
strikes.
Yet
when
supporters
of
Home
Rule
attempted
to
bring
in
guns
for
the
new
Irish
Volunteers,
British
troops
shot
dead
four
civilians
on
the
streets
of
Dublin.
As
Bulmer
Hobson
noted
‘it
seemed
the
English
wanted
to
have
it
both
ways.
When
they
(the
Irish)
sought
to
enforce
their
national
rights
by
methods
of
Fenianism
they
were
told
to
agitate
constitutionally
…
when
they
acted
constitutionally
they
were
met
by
(the)
methods
of
Fenianism.’
This
is
part
of
the
context,
along
with
the
Great
War,
for
Ireland’s
rising.

15. 15
I
do
not
believe
however,
that
the
UVF’s
revolt
caused
the
Rising;
the
Irish
Republican
Brotherhood
believed
in
breaking
the
connection,
Ulster
Volunteers
or
not.
But
the
Unionist
rebellion
and
Tory
support
for
it
radicalized
the
wider
nationalist
constituency.
So
when
the
IRB’s
Irish
Freedom
asserted
that
‘Our
country
is
run
by
a
set
of
insolent
officials,
to
whom
we
are
nothing
but
a
lot
of
people
to
be
exploited
and
kept
in
subjection.
The
executive
power
rests
on
armed
force
and
preys
on
the
people
with
batons
if
they
have
the
gall
to
say
they
do
not
like
it’
that
statement
certainly
had
enough
truth
in
it
for
it
to
resonate
with
many
people
beyond
their
ranks.
But
to
the
separatists
themselves,
those
who
turned
this
feeling
into
rebellion.
In
November
1913
Patrick
Pearse
wrote
that
‘There
will
be
in
the
Ireland
of
the
next
few
years
a
multitudinous
activity
of
Freedom
Clubs,
Young
Republican
Parties,
Labour
organisations,
Socialist
groups,
and
what
not;
bewildering
enterprises
undertaken
by
sane
persons
and
insane
persons,
by
good
men
and
bad
men,
many
of
them
seemingly
contradictory,
some
mutually
destructive,
yet
all
tending
towards
a
common
objective,
and
that
objective:
the
Irish
Revolution.’
It
is
actually
a
very
good
summary
I
think.
And
if
some
of
the
people
involved
do
indeed
seem
eccentric,
we
might
consider
how
Francis
Sheehy-­‐Skeffington
responded
when
he
was
described
as
a
‘crank’;
‘Yes’
he
said,
because
a
crank
was
‘a
small
instrument
that
makes
revolutions.’
But
it
is
notable
that
Pearse
himself
was
not
always
a
revolutionary
and
the
one
thing
we
must
not
forget
is
that
people’s
ideas
changed,
often
rapidly.
Pearse
is
interesting
as
well
because
he
reflects
a
mixed
heritage.
As
he
put
it
‘When
my

16. 16
father
and
mother
married
there
came
together
two
very
widely
remote
traditions-­‐English
and
Puritan
and
mechanic
on
the
one
hand,
Gaelic
and
Catholic
and
peasant
on
the
other;
freedom
loving
both,
and
neither
without
its
strain
of
poetry
and
its
experience
of
spiritual
and
other
adventure.
And
these
two
traditions
worked
in
me
and
fused
together
by
a
certain
fire
proper
to
myself,
but
nursed
by
that
fostering
of
which
I
have
spoken
made
me
the
strange
thing
that
I
am.’
Pearse
was
from
Great
Brunswick
Street,
a
centre
for
monumental
sculpture
and
building
work
and
most
of
the
businesses
there
were
set
up
by
English
artisans
who
came
to
Ireland
during
the
church
building
boom
of
the
19th
century.
Pearse’s
father
James,
was
a
freethinker
and
follower
of
the
MP
for
Northampton
Charles
Bradlaugh,
a
republican
and
an
atheist,
at
least
when
he
arrived
in
Ireland.
The
term
minority
can
conjure
up
images
of
a
tiny
fringe
but
the
separatist
movement
was
deeply
embedded
in
nationalist
Ireland.
In
my
view
it
is
a
mistake
to
compartmentalize:
what
is
striking
about
the
milieu
is
the
level
of
interaction.
There
was
a
world
encompassing
all
strands
of
radicalism,
in
which
people
are
often
members
of
several
organizations
at
the
same
time;
in
which
activists
knew
each
other
personally;
in
which
they
read
each
other’s
newspapers
(of
which
there
were
dozens)
and
went
to
each
other’s
meetings.
They
bought
the
IRB’s
Irish
Freedom,
or
Arthur
Griffith’s
Sinn
Féin
or
Jim
Larkin’s
Irish
Worker
from
Tom
Clarke’s
newsagents
in
Parnell
Street.
They
attended
social
events
and
ceilis
together,
went
out
with
each
other
and
married
each
other.
There
are
the
veterans
of
the
campaigns
against
royal
visits
and
the
Boer

17. 17
War,
the
movement
for
suffrage,
the
radical
theatre,
the
Land
League,
the
Gaelic
League,
the
GAA,
the
labour
movement
and
the
various
military
organizations;
the
Irish
Volunteers,
the
Citizen
Army,
Cumann
na
mBan,
the
Hibernian
Rifles,
the
Fianna
and
Clann
na
nGaedheal
scouts.
As
in
every
movement
personal
likes
and
dislikes
played
a
role
in
decision-­‐making
and
personal
contacts
influenced
choices;
what
strikes
you
is
the
fluid
nature
of
the
movement,
that
the
authorities
often
called
‘Sinn
Feinism’
and
its
members
‘Sinn
Feiners’
though
many
were
not
members
of
that
party
or
adherents
of
its
views.
Nevertheless
we
should
not
underestimate
the
influence
of
Arthur
Griffith
and
his
journalism
either.
There
are
a
number
of
elements
that
were
significant.
One
was
the
activity
of
women.
The
lines
in
the
Proclamation
‘Irish
men
and
Irishwomen’
did
not
spring
out
of
nowhere.
The
promise
of
the
vote
was
significant
when
John
Dillon
could
declare
that
‘Women's
suffrage
will,
I
believe,
be
the
ruin
of
our
Western
civilisation.
It
will
destroy
the
home,
challenging
the
headship
of
man,
laid
down
by
God.
It
may
come
in
your
time
-­‐
I
hope
not
in
mine.’
Only
one
branch
of
the
Home
Rule
party
even
allowed
women
join
it.
But
Griffith’s
Sinn
Féin
supported
suffrage,
and
Griffith
had
backed
Jennie
Wyse
Power’s
suggestion
that
dual
membership
of
Sinn
Féin
and
the
Irish
Womens’
Franchise
League
be
allowed
to
party
members;
the
IRB’s
Irish
Freedom
applauded
the
Suffragettes
who
disrupted
the
visit
of
Herbert
Asquith
to
Dublin
as
‘fighters
for
freedom.’
Of
course
for
many
male
activists
women’s
rights
and
feminism
were
not
important
(and
indeed
some
were
hostile
to
them).
But
Connolly,
Pearse,
Plunkett,
Mac
Donagh
and
Clarke
were
certainly
influenced
by
decade
of
women’s
political
activity.

18. 18
Three
years
before
the
Rising
in
a
Dublin
divided
starkly
by
the
Lockout
Pearse
wrote
that
‘if
I
were
as
hungry
as
many
equally
good
men
of
Dublin
are
it
is
probable
that
I
should
not
be
here
wielding
a
pen:
possibly
I
should
be
in
the
streets
wielding
a
stone
…
my
instinct
is
with
the
landless
man
against
the
lord
of
lands,
and
with
the
breadless
man
against
the
master
of
millions.
I
may
be
wrong,
but
I
do
hold
it
a
most
terrible
sin
that
there
should
be
landless
men
in
this
island
of
…
fertile
valleys,
and
that
there
should
be
breadless
men
in
this
city
where
great
fortunes
are
made
and
enjoyed.’
In
Dublin
the
Home
Rulers
(despite
considerable
antagonism
with
Martin
Murphy
himself)
knew
what
side
they
were
on.
You
can
see
that
clearly
on
Dublin
Corporation,
dominated
by
Redmond’s
party
in
a
city
that
was
notorious
for
its
poverty,
low
wages,
tenement
slums
and
infant
mortality.
In
contrast
seperatists
tended
to
instinctively
take
the
workers
side
in
1913
and
to
promise
to
end
corruption
and
jobbery
in
Dublin’s
politics.
But
of
course
this
was
a
national
movement.
As
Ernie
O’Malley
would
assert
just
a
few
years
later:
‘Each
county
was
different;
the
very
map
boundaries
in
many
places
seemed
to
make
a
distinction.’
The
make
up
and
culture
of
the
movement
varied
from
Belfast
to
Cork
and
from
there
to
Limerick
and
Galway
and
so
on.
The
importance
of
rural
labour
and
the
tradition
of
land
agitation
was
significant
in
many
areas.
Many
still
tend
to
embrace
the
cliché
of
1916
being
a
rising
of
poets,
playwrights
and
dreamers.
But
as
the
experience
of
the
Rising
outside
Dublin
shows
this
was
hardly
the
reality;

19. 19
Chief
Inspector
Clayton
of
Galway
East
was
asked
of
the
rebels
in
his
county
‘’were
there
any
people
of
superior
class
or
education
among
them?
Clayton
answered
‘None
…
one
of
the
leaders
was
a
blacksmith,
and
the
Colonel
of
the
Irish
Volunteers
was
a
publican.
They
were
all
shopkeepers
and
farmers’
sons.’
When
asked
were
‘none
of
them
of
the
literary
type?’
Clayton
replied
‘None.’
(Though
personally
I
think
I’d
follow
a
blacksmith
quicker
than
a
poet).
The
experience
of
landlordism
and
land
agitation
was
not
confined
to
those
living
outside
the
towns.
Significant
numbers
of
those
involved
in
radical
politics
urban
areas
were
from
the
country.
Joseph
and
Seán
Connolly,
for
example,
were
members
of
the
Irish
Citizens
Army
from
Gloucester
Street
in
Dublin’s
inner-­‐city
but
their
father’s
family
had
been
evicted
in
Co.
Kildare
a
generation
before.
This
also
applied
of
course
to
the
large
number
of
activists
who
lived
outside
Ireland;
to
the
members
of
the
IRB,
the
Volunteers
and
other
organizations
in
Britain
and
America.
They
were
in
the
main,
men
and
women
from
the
skilled
working
class,
artisan
or
lower
middle
class
backgrounds,
with
many
grocer’s
assistants,
shop
clerks
and
tradesmen
among
them;
there
were
certainly
some
of
the
literary
type.
But
class
remains
significant
in
examining
the
Ireland
that
emerges
afterwards
I
think-­‐
the
poor
were
underrepresented
among
the
rebels,
even
in
Dublin.

20. 20
There
were
many
varieties
of
separatist.
On
St.
Patrick’s
Day
1916
there
was
a
major
Volunteer
mobilization
in
Dublin.
Many
of
the
participants
went
to
mass
that
morning.
At
St.
Patrick’s
Cathedral
Harry
Nicholls
and
George
Irvine
also
attended
their
morning
service,
in
uniform
and
carrying
their
rifles.
Protestant
rebels
formed
another
strand
within
the
movement
and
there
were
far
more
of
them
than
simply
the
well
known
characters
such
as
Ernest
Blythe
or
Constance
Markievicz;
people
such
as
Seamus
McGowan
or
Fred
Norgrove
in
the
Citizens
Army
or
Arthur
Shields
or
Nellie
Gifford.
Some
Protestant
activists
came
from
Home
Rule
or
even
Unionist
backgrounds
such
as
Roger
Casement,
Erskine
Childers,
Robert
Barton
or
Captain
Jack
White.
Given
their
differences
in
background
and
identity
we
should
be
wary
of
generalizing;
but
when
people
are
still
dubbing
the
Rising
a
‘Catholic’
rebellion
they
might
at
least
mention
that
non-­‐Catholics
from
a
variety
of
faiths
were
also
involved
in
it.
Religion
of
course
was
also
inseparable
from
the
question
of
Ulster
and
partition.
What
did
the
separatists
think?
Well
many
of
them
were
optimists.
Bulmer
Hobson
would
assert
that
‘Protestant
Ulster
is
awakening
to
the
fact
that
its
grandfathers
dreamed
a
dream,
and
its
fathers
tried
to
forget
it-­‐
but
the
call
of
it
is
in
their
ears.’
The
view
after
1912
that
Unionist
mobilization
would
ultimately
force
a
confrontation
with
Britain
and
thus
make
Unionists
recognize
their
Irish
nationality
was
very
widespread.
As
Eoin
MacNeill
put
it
‘A
wonderful
state
of
things
has
come
to
pass
in
Ulster…
it
is
manifest
that
that
all
Irish
people,
Unionist
as
well
as
Nationalist,
are
determined
to
have
their
own
way
in
Ireland.
On
that
point,
and
it
is
the
main
point,
Ireland
is
united.
Sir
Edward
Carson
may

21. 21
yet,
at
the
head
of
his
Volunteers,
“march
to
Cork”.
If
so,
their
progress
will
probably
be
accompanied
by
the
greetings
of
ten
times
of
their
number
of
National
Volunteers,
and
Cork
will
give
them
a
hospitable
and
memorable
reception.
Some
years
ago,
speaking
at
the
Toome
Feis,
in
the
heart
of
“homogenous
Ulster”,
I
said
that
the
day
would
come
when
men
of
every
creed
and
party
would
join
in
celebrating
the
defence
of
Derry
and
the
Battle
of
Benburb.
That
day
is
nearer
than
I
then
expected.’
Patrick
McCartan,
a
leading
figure
in
the
IRB
and
Sinn
Féin
in
Tyrone
took
the
rhetoric
so
seriously
that
he
lent
his
car
to
the
local
UVF
during
the
Larne
gunrunning;
the
Home
Rulers
were
not
slow
to
remind
Sinn
Féin
of
that
in
1918
when
McCartan
stood
unsuccessfully
for
parliament.
But
Pearse
contended
that
‘One
great
source
of
misunderstanding
has
now
disappeared:
it
has
become
clear
within
the
last
few
years
that
the
Orangeman
is
no
more
loyal
to
England
that
we
are.
He
wants
the
Union
because
he
imagines
it
secures
his
prosperity;
but
he
is
ready
to
fire
on
the
Union
flag
the
moment
it
threatens
his
prosperity.
The
position
is
perfectly
plain
and
understandable.
Foolish
notions
of
loyalty
to
England
being
eliminated,
it
is
a
matter
for
business-­‐like
negotiation
...
The
case
might
be
put
thus:
Hitherto
England
has
governed
Ireland
through
the
Orange
Lodges;
she
now
proposes
to
govern
Ireland
through
the
A.O.H.
(Hibernians)
You
object;
so
do
we.
Why
not
unite
and
get
rid
of
the
English?
They
are
the
real
difficulty;
their
presence
here
the
real
incongruity.’
We
can
discuss
how
naïve
or
idealistic
this
view
was
but
it
was
certainly
not
sectarian.
It
was
the
Home
Rulers
who
wanted
Ulster
coerced
not
the

22. 22
republicans.
As
John
Dillon
explained
in
Belfast
during
1915
‘When
the
war
is
over
…
the
section
of
the
Irish
nation
which
has
done
best
on
the
battlefields
of
France
will
be
strongest
in
the
struggle
which
may
be
thrust
upon
us
…
we
shall
never
consent
to
divide
this
island
or
this
nation.’
In
effect
a
promise
of
civil
war
to
settle
the
Irish
question.
Nevertheless
by
this
stage
Dillon
and
Redmond
had
also
accepted
that
Home
Rule
would
come
with
partition;
two
years
before
the
Rising.
What
radicals
shared
was
a
belief
that
a
fight
was
necessary
and
inevitable.
The
world
war
made
the
idea
of
an
insurrection
far
more
practical
than
it
would
have
been
in
peacetime.
Pearse
may
have
talked
about
getting
used
to
the
sight
of
arms,
but
it
was
the
British
state
that
put
arms
into
the
hands
of
hundreds
of
thousands
of
Irishmen
after
1914
and
propaganda
glorifying
death
and
sacrifice
was
the
norm.
So
whether
it
was
the
memory
of
perceived
missed
opportunities
in
the
Boer
War
for
Tom
Clarke;
or
for
James
Connolly
despair
at
the
failure
Socialist
International
to
oppose
the
slaughter
in
Europe,
the
world
war
made
the
Rising
possible.
Connolly
suggested
that
despite
the
weakness
of
the
revolutionaries
sometimes
‘a
pin
in
the
hands
of
a
child
could
pierce
the
heart
of
a
giant.’
But
the
War
also
presented
the
rebels
with
a
potential
ally
in
the
shape
of
Germany
and
belief
that
German
aid
was
coming
was
crucial
to
convincing
the
rank
and
file
that
a
rising
was
possible.
However
even
before
the
Rising
radicalization
was
apparent
across
much
of
nationalist
Ireland
and
growing:
you
can
see
that
in
the
reaction
to
the
threat
of

23. 23
conscription,
the
falling
recruitment
rates,
the
votes
for
Labour
and
anti-­‐
conscription
nationalists
in
Dublin
by-­‐elections,
in
the
increasingly
critical
tone
taken
by
the
Bishops,
in
the
militancy
of
the
Eoin
MacNeill
leadership
of
the
Volunteers,
who
promised
in
April
1916
that
‘if
our
arms
are
demanded
from
us,
we
shall
refuse
to
surrender
them.
If
force
is
used
to
take
them
from
us,
we
shall
make
the
most
effective
resistance
in
our
power.
Let
there
be
no
mistake
…
we
shall
defend
our
arms
with
our
lives.’
The
mood
was
changing
and
it
is
intriguing
to
imagine
how
the
Mac
Neill/Hobson
strategy
might
have
worked
amid
a
conscription
crisis
in
1917
for
example.
But
the
Rising
certainly
brought
matters
to
a
head.
I
think
the
key
point
in
understanding
its
outcome
is
that
British
rule
had
very
little
legitimacy
in
nationalist
Ireland.
That
is
why
the
Rising
was
ultimately
successful,
not
because
a
passive,
cowed
population
were
awakened
by
a
blood
sacrifice.
Most
nationalists
accepted
that
Britain’s
overwhelming
power
made
change
unlikely,
but
to
assume
that
they
were
becoming
happy
west
Britons,
as
some
hoped,
and
the
more
pessimistic
feared,
is
incorrect.
National
self-­‐
determination
was
the
question
of
the
age.
The
generation
that
carried
out
the
Rising
made
it
seem
possible
that
Britain
could
be
challenged,
that
its
power
was
not
unassailable
and
that
the
questions
of
Irish
self-­‐determination
would
have
to
be
dealt
with.
A
pin
in
the
hands
of
a
child
did
pierce
the
heart
of
a
giant.
That
was
their
achievement.
I
want
to
conclude
with
a
few
comments
about
the
politics
of
commemoration.
Because
we
have
another
seven
years
to
go!
In
the
buildup
to
2016
there
was
a

24. 24
real
sense,
among
politicians
and
commentators
that
we
were
‘entering
dangerous
territory.’
Much
of
the
discussion
about
how
the
events
would
be
remembered
seemed
predicated
on
the
idea
that
too
much
commemoration,
let
alone
(God
forbid)
celebration,
would
lead
directly
to
a
popular
revival
of
militant
armed
republicanism.
Indeed
the
Northern
Ireland
Secretary
of
State
Teresa
Villiers
wrote
recently
that
‘It
is
widely
acknowledged
that
tensions
around
the
50th
anniversary
probably
contributed
to
the
outbreak
of
the
Troubles.’
The
question
might
be
asked
‘acknowledged’
by
who?
Because
saying
something
often
enough
doesn’t
make
it
the
case
and
few
seem
to
remember
that
it
was
actually
Loyalists
who
took
up
the
gun
in
1966.
Partly
this
view
is
a
result
of
a
misreading
of
how
the
50th
anniversary
events
resonated
north
of
the
border.
It
also
reflects
a
curious
pessimism
about
the
ability
of
post-­‐Agreement
Northern
Ireland
to
withstand
debates
about
an
event
that
took
place
100
years
ago;
this
is
not
to
suggest
that
peace
cannot
be
fragile
but
that
it
is
more
likely
to
upset
by
contemporary
problems
than
discussion
about
1916.
But
this
sense
of
fear
seems
to
have
inspired
the
at
times
vaguely
ridiculous
attempts
at
‘branding’
Easter
2016
as
essentially
a
tourism
marketing
opportunity.
The
fearful
approach
encourages
the
bland,
as
the
assumption
seems
to
be
that
too
much
politics
will
frighten
people
off.
This
is
ironic,
since
central
to
the
current
idea
of
commemoration
is
the
very
politically
driven
view
that
it
must
reflect
the
existence
of
‘two
traditions’
in
Ireland
and
our
‘shared
history’
with
Britain.
It
is
an
idea
embedded
in
the
politics
of
commemorative
trade-­‐off,
whereby
nationalists
get
to
celebrate
Easter
Week,
Unionists
to
remember
the
Somme,
and
politicians,
historians
and
civil
servants
congratulate
each
other
on
their
maturity.
The
issues
that
deeply
divided
Irish
people
a
century
ago
are
simplified

25. 25
or
glossed
over
and
the
role
of
Britain
virtually
ignored.
Theresa
Villiers
also
asserted
that
the
‘island
of
Ireland
has
often
witnessed
the
power
of
history
to
fuel
long-­‐held
antagonism’.
Surely
the
fact
that
Ireland
was
ruled
by
Britain
fueled
these
antagonisms
more
than
the
‘power
of
history’?
That
Ireland
and
Britain
share
a
history
is
a
historical
fact
but
they
did
not
share
an
equal
history:
only
one
was
conquered
by
the
other
and
only
one
became
a
global
empire.
Ultimately,
and
allowing
for
all
the
complexities
and
nuances
that
British
rule
in
Ireland
involved,
in
the
last
resort
the
Crown
depended
on
force
to
hold
this
country.
Attempting
to
commemorate
1916
and
avoiding
mentioning
this
lest
it
give
offence
will
ultimately
satisfy
nobody.
As
a
result
of
this
approach
we
now
have
a
wall
in
Glasnevin
Cemetery
on
which
those
who
were
massacred
in
North
King
Street
share
space
with
soldiers
from
the
Regiment
which
killed
them.
There
is
little
recognition
in
the
idea
of
shared
history
of
the
difference
in
the
power
relations
between
nations
or
classes,
between
the
rulers
and
the
ruled,
and
a
too
easy
acceptance
that,
as
part
of
a
commitment
to
friendship
between
states
or
communities,
history
must
be
sanitized.
Whatever
about
1916,
when
it
may
be
argued
most
of
the
British
military
had
little
choice
about
where
they
were
sent
or
what
they
did,
when
we
get
to
2020
are
we
really
going
to
list
Black
and
Tan
fatalities
alongside
the
dead
of
Croke
Park?
Because
that
is
the
logic
of
shared
history;
but
it
is
not
I
would
argue
necessarily
good
history.
And
a
case
can
be
made
for
inclusion
of
forces
such
as
the
Black
and
Tans
and
Auxiliaries
on
the
basis
that,
like
the
soldiers
in
1916,
many
were
Irish.
Indeed
at
least
1,500
Black
and
Tans
or
Auxiliaries
were
from
this
country.

26. 26
As
it
happens
I
am
in
favour
of
critically
examining
the
politics
of
the
1916
rebels,
what
their
vision
of
republicanism
was
and
whether
some
of
the
faults
of
independent
Ireland
are
traceable
in
their
ideas
and
their
actions:
as
a
historian
I
appreciate
and
want
to
understand
the
stories
of
men
and
women
who
fought
on
opposite
sides
or
indeed
did
not
fight
at
all
in
1916.
But
I
do
not
think
there
needs
to
be
equality
between
those
that
sought
freedom
from
the
greatest
empire
in
the
world
and
those
who
fought
for
that
empire.
If
we
try
to
say
everything,
we
may
ultimately
end
up
saying
nothing.
That
surely
would
not
be
an
appropriate
way
of
remembering
our
revolution.