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The Civil War which raged on this island from 1922-1923 was a dreadful human tragedy for so many Irish families. It left many damaging legacies, which for succeeding generations remained taboo, leaving the wounds of the war between former comrades open for decades.
In these centenary years, we are challenged to display courage and honesty as we seek to speak the fullness of the experience of the period, and in recognising that no single side had the monopoly of either atrocity or virtue.
The Civil War, though short, was bloody. It cost the lives of many, some well-known public figures, others lesser-known but not forgotten. Both sides to the conflict carried out brutal acts: anti-Treaty forces killed a TD and several other pro-Treaty politicians, and burned many homes of senators and Free State supporters, while the government executed anti-Treaty prisoners, officially and unofficially. At least 81 were officially executed in several jails and barracks, including seven in the Curragh on December 19th, 1922, all young men in their teens and 20s. Precise figures for the dead and wounded are contested, but recent research suggests a death toll of 1,500-2,000.
We must recognise the atrocities of the Civil War for what they were, on both sides: cruel, vicious and at times informed by vengeance
We must recognise the atrocities of the Civil War for what they were, on both sides: cruel, vicious and at times informed by vengeance. We should also recognise that there were elements within the different forces who were simply out of control. Some civilian losses were inflicted in a way that had little to do with republicanism or any emancipatory version of nationalism. The cover of the war was used by some for the settling of vendettas based on land, hunger and greed. It must also be acknowledged that in some cases the opportunity was taken for a sectarian identification of targets.
Emigration and poverty
The aftermath of the 1920s saw many other lives so damaged that recovery was impossible, leading to forced emigration or poverty at home.
This is painful for many of us to remember. The Civil War divided my own father's family, all of whom served in the War of Independence in Co Clare and Co Cork. My uncle Peter, with whom I would spend a significant amount of my childhood, went on to serve in the National Army from 1922 to 1925 at Renmore Barracks.
My father, John, would meanwhile spend most of the year 1923 as an internee in what was known to the prisoners as Tintown, in the Curragh camp. The diaries of Joseph Campbell offer revealing vignettes of what life was like for those in the camps, providing vivid notes of personal conversations and imaginative reflections on the psychological effects of incarceration.
As with most civil wars, the internecine conflict left a bitter legacy. The violence that was unleashed in the Civil War (and in the wider independence struggle) established violence, in all its manifestations, as an acceptable means of control and coercion within the state. Violence was also an inherited legacy of empire. Given how Ireland and its leaders had experienced the iron fist of empire as a tool in statehood and state management, violence and the infliction of humiliation would become an unsurprising feature of the State and its institutions. It was unleashed in various forms, particularly as it impacted on women, minorities and those from the poorest social classes, with varying gradations of violence and exclusion affecting people from all backgrounds.
The pension files record my father’s long and exhausting battle for a small pension, which was eventually granted in 1956, eight years before his death and almost 22 years after his first application, in 1935.
While these events may be hard for us to remember, it is crucial we realise that any amnesia will not help us. Our concern for the truth must not, however, collapse into shallow point-scoring. Comparing atrocities is futile and amoral. An act of commemoration requires more.
Given how <a class="search" href='javascript:window.parent.actionEventData({$contentId:"7.1213540", $action:"view", $target:"work"})' polopoly:contentid="7.1213540" polopoly:searchtag="tag_location">Ireland</a> and its leaders had experienced the iron fist of empire as a tool in statehood and state management, violence and the infliction of humiliation would become an unsurprising feature of the State and its institutions
We have the opportunity to develop a clearer understanding of what factually occurred and the different versions of context. We need to acknowledge that different, informed perspectives on the same events can and do exist. The acceptance of this fact can release us from the pressure of finding, or subscribing to, any singular, unifying narrative of the past.
Through the Machnamh 100 series, I have sought to provide a forum for such discussions. Each of the seminars is available on the RTÉ Player, with the fifth of the six seminars available from May 26th, while a book bringing together the contents of the first three seminars is also now available.
I would urge such discussions to take place across the country, in our communities, schools and universities. Over the last decade we have seen a flourishing in local history groups as well as the publication of excellent pieces of scholarship which have made up many gaps. We now see surfaced accounts of women’s role in all of the different events in 1916 and long before. We also have access to the various records which we can view and consider.
Ethical remembering is about putting ourselves in the shoes of the other and allowing for the existence of different narratives, narratives which we can put alongside one another to give a full picture of all that happened. We have an opportunity to look at our history in its fullness, its sorrow and its lost possibilities that might be recovered, an opportunity to learn of the lived experiences of those previously neglected and even excluded – the “history from below”.
We have in the past experienced lost opportunities for reconciliation from our violent struggle for independence and what followed it, but we now have an opportunity to seek true, lasting reconciliation and to build a bright, emancipatory future for all of us, with our diverse histories and memories respectfully taken into account. In doing so, we may work together towards that to which we all might be united - sharing ideas of sustaining our planet, of delivering a new symmetry of ecology and society, a shared future that offers hope and capacity rather than a ransacking of old hatreds and bitterness.
