Études irlandaises

41-2 | 2016 L’Irlande et sa république passée, présente et à venir Ireland’s Republic: Past, Present and Future

Karin Fischer et Clíona ní Ríordáin (dir.)

Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/etudesirlandaises/4948 DOI : 10.4000/etudesirlandaises.4948 ISSN : 2259-8863

Éditeur Presses universitaires de Caen

Édition imprimée Date de publication : 30 novembre 2016 ISBN : 978-2-7535-5358-3 ISSN : 0183-973X

Référence électronique Karin Fischer et Clíona ní Ríordáin (dir.), Études irlandaises, 41-2 | 2016, « L’Irlande et sa république passée, présente et à venir » [En ligne], mis en ligne le 30 novembre 2018, consulté le 23 septembre 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/etudesirlandaises/4948 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/ etudesirlandaises.4948

Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 23 septembre 2020.

Études irlandaises est mise à disposition selon les termes de la Licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d’Utilisation Commerciale - Partage dans les Mêmes Conditions 4.0 International. 1

SOMMAIRE

Avant-propos

Introduction : « L’Irlande et sa république passée, présente et à venir » Karin Fischer et Clíona Ní Ríordáin

« La République au collège », Paris, 29 octobre 1792 : catholicisme, radicalisme et républicanisme entre France et Irlande pendant la Révolution française (1792-1795) Mathieu Ferradou

Republican themes in the Irish constitutional tradition Eoin Daly

La souveraineté irlandaise à l’épreuve de l’intégration monétaire européenne Christophe Gillissen

What do we need for a Second Republic? High Energy Democracy and a Triple Movement Mary P. Murphy

Ireland and its vulnerable “others”: the reception of asylum seekers in Ireland Bairbre Ní Chiosáin

Irish Bastards: Celia de Fréine and Merriman’s The Midnight Court/Cúirt an Mheán Oíche Briain Ó Conchubhair

Who fears to speak of the Republic? Robert Ballagh

“The right of the people of Ireland to the […] unfettered control of Irish destinies”: Edna O'Brien, Willful Subjects, and Counter-narratives of the Republic Fiona McCann

History’s Prison: Escaping the Temporality of the State-Still-To-Come Daniel Jewesbury

To Rise Again, Revising The Republic Theo Dorgan

Céad Bliain Anonn Aifric Mac Aodha

Comptes rendus de lecture

John McGahern and the Imagination of Tradition de Stanley Van Der Ziel Bertrand Cardin

Colum McCann Intertextes et interactions de Bertrand Cardin Cécile Maudet

The Shaping of Modern Ireland – A Centenary Assessment d’ Eugenio Biagini Karin Fischer

Journal d’automne de Louis MacNeice Elizabeth Pearce

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Transforming post-Catholic Ireland – Religious Practice in Late Modernity de Gladys Ganiel Catherine Maignant

La Musique irlandaise d’Étienne Bours Erick Falc’her Poyroux

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Avant-propos

1 Pour ce numéro d'Etudes Irlandaises nous avons fait appel à des auteurs universitaires d'Irlande, de France et des États-Unis, mais aussi à deux grandes figures de la scène artistique irlandaise, Robert Ballagh et Theo Dorgan, qui ont bien voulu apporter chacun leur regard personnel sur la république irlandaise et ses commémorations, et sur les rapports entre son passé, son présent et son avenir. Aifric Mac Aodha, autre poète irlandaise, nous a également fait l'honneur d'écrire un poème en gaélique spécialement pour ce numéro.

Robert Ballagh

2 Robert Ballagh (né en 1943) est l’un des artistes contemporains les plus renommés d’Irlande. Ses œuvres sont aujourd’hui exposées à la National Gallery of Ireland, au musée d’Ulster, à la Hugh Lane Gallery et au Musée d’art contemporain irlandais (IMMA). Épousant l’idée d’un art populaire, il a toujours été soucieux de faire en sorte que ses productions artistiques soient accessibles au plus grand nombre, au-delà du cercle restreint des amateurs de galeries d’art. Il est également connu pour ses décors de théâtre et de scène, pour des pièces de Samuel Beckett ou d’Oscar Wilde comme pour les spectacles de Riverdance. Artiste engagé, il a souvent surpris, parfois choqué, par ses œuvres sortant des sentiers battus, et liant souvent directement expression artistique et préoccupations politiques et sociales.

Theo Dorgan

3 Né en 1953 dans une famille ouvrière de Cork, Theo Dorgan est l’aîné de 15 enfants. Diplômé de University College Cork (UCC) en 1974, il y fait des études de philosophie et de littérature, et recueille le soutien de ses professeurs, les poètes Seán Lucy et John Montague. À ses débuts, Theo Dorgan exerce les fonctions d’administrateur au centre culturel Triskel Arts Centre et ensuite à Poetry Ireland/Éigse Éireann. Élu membre de Aosdána en 1999, il se consacre aujourd’hui entièrement à l’écriture. Auteur de cinq recueils de poèmes et de deux romans, librettiste et polémiste, traducteur accompli, son recueil le plus récent est Nine Bright Shiners (Dedalus Press, 2014) qui a reçu l’Irish

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Times Poetry Now Award en 2015. Theo Dorgan incarne la figure de l’intellectuel engagé qui donne voix aux aspirations de la nation.

Aifric Mac Aodha

4 Née à Dublin, Aifric Mac Aodha est une poète phare de la jeune génération de poètes irlandais. Son premier recueil Gabháil Syrinx (La Capture de Syrinx) est paru en 2010. Lexicographe de formation, elle dirige les pages gaélophones de The Stinging Fly.

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Introduction : « L’Irlande et sa république passée, présente et à venir »

Karin Fischer et Clíona Ní Ríordáin

1 La commémoration des événements de 1916 en Irlande a toujours été un exercice périlleux, mais les vicissitudes de la vie politique et sociale irlandaise à l’aube du XXIe siècle lui confèrent aujourd’hui une toute autre dimension. À tel point que la pratique commémorative, souvent utilisée pour promouvoir une vision romancée du passé ou dans un souci de légitimation de l’État, s’en trouve potentiellement transcendée, la comparaison entre passé et présent poussant certains à une remise à plat et à une réflexion tournée vers l’avenir, entre bilan critique et laboratoire d’idées pour un renouvellement en profondeur. Au cœur de ces questionnements figure un retour sur la notion de république : nombre de celles et ceux qui considèrent aujourd’hui que l’État irlandais ne peut prétendre être une république au sens plein du terme et qui appellent à des changements radicaux en conséquence le font par référence à la promesse républicaine de 1916. Mais ils reviennent également sur des pans entiers de l’histoire irlandaise de 1798 à nos jours, en exhumant d’autres expressions ou prises de position républicaines quasi-oubliées telles que la Proclamation de 1867 ou le Programme démocratique de 19191.

2 Au cours des années 1990 et jusqu’au milieu des années 2000, certains auteurs en étaient venus au contraire à interroger la pertinence contemporaine de la notion de république, face à l’essor parallèle des entités politiques supranationales telles que l’Union Européenne et des forces économiques et financières globales2. Les unes comme les autres paraissaient en effet échapper au contrôle de gouvernements nationaux élus démocratiquement, jusqu’à remettre en question leurs fondements. La confiance dans la main invisible du marché ou dans l’avis supérieur ou expert de ces entités supranationales étant aujourd’hui ébranlée, les réactions semblent maintenant osciller entre une nouvelle montée de l’individualisme d’une part et un sentiment de résignation sociale d’autre part, en écho à l’impuissance politique perçue ou proclamée aux niveaux local, national, européen et international. Ces questions sont ici abordées

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sous des angles différents à la fois par Christophe Gillissen et Mary P. Murphy. Le premier explore la relation entre l’Etat irlandais et l’Union Européenne par le biais de la crise monétaire et de la perte de souveraineté irlandaise au tournant des années 2010. La seconde ancre ses réflexions dans l’actualité politique et sociale en proposant un tour d’horizon des positionnements contemporains des partis irlandais, des mouvements de transformation de la société et des institutions politiques. Murphy réclame avec d’autres une seconde république irlandaise3, dans un esprit de renouvellement de la notion de république qui s’inscrit d’emblée dans une conception internationale, voire altermondialiste. Ce faisant, elle interroge également les notions de démocratie plus ou moins faible ou forte, de démocratie représentative ou participative.

3 Le contrecoup politique, financier et socio-économique de la « crise » depuis 2008 a conduit à un travail d’introspection collective, menant notamment à ce retour sur la signification et les enjeux de la notion de république au sein de la société irlandaise. Tandis qu’en Irlande la conception traditionnelle dominante, idiosyncratique du terme et de ses dérivés tels que « républicanisme » était en fait nationaliste et identitaire au cours du XXe siècle, la plupart des auteurs ou commentateurs irlandais se sont très nettement éloignés de cette tendance ces dernières années, dans un mouvement de réappropriation de la notion dans son sens international plus large et dans la tradition du républicanisme civique européen et américain4. La conception traditionnelle irlandaise n’en est pas moins toujours présente. Les deux républicanismes se côtoient en effet aujourd’hui, comme on a pu le voir dans ce qui s’apparente à une double commémoration : d’une part un État irlandais qui, par le titre même de son programme officiel « Remember, Reflect, Reimagine5 », comme par la variété des projets financés, a cherché à couvrir un spectre large de possibilités interprétatives, d’autre part une commémoration officieuse le samedi 23 avril à l’initiative du Republican Sinn Féin6, qui appelait tous les « vrais républicains » (« genuine republicans ») à une assemblée au Jardin du Souvenir (Garden of Remembrance) suivie d’un défilé vers le General Post Office de Dublin7.

4 Des débats passionnés ont d’ailleurs fait rage autour des manifestations politiques ou culturelles prévues pour 2016 : au-delà d’une vidéo gouvernementale qui oscillait entre propagande politique et publicité commerciale (elle a provoqué un tollé et a été vite escamotée)8, les pressions diverses de l’opinion publique, d’historiens et d’intellectuels ont conduit les autorités à revoir au moins en partie une approche dont beaucoup avaient craint qu’elle reste trop réductrice, voire utilitariste, et à reconnaître ou en tout cas à permettre la mise en valeur de différents aspects de la période, dans un esprit d’ouverture et de questionnement. Les commémorations politiques officielles, comme cette vidéo donc, ont cependant fait l’objet de critiques ; à l’issue des cérémonies au Château de Dublin début janvier, on a aussi par exemple reproché au gouvernement de citer uniquement les noms des insurgés tués, en ignorant les autres victimes du soulèvement, certains allant même jusqu’à accuser le gouvernement de continuer à glorifier la violence politique9.

5 Au contraire, les commémorations officielles par la suite, et en particulier la cérémonie autour du Mur du Souvenir (Wall of Remembrance) au cimetière de Glasnevin – sur lequel sont gravés les noms de tous ceux qui ont trouvé la mort au cours du soulèvement, des enfants dublinois aux soldats britanniques –, ont montré que le gouvernement irlandais cherchait à adopter une perspective inclusive, dans une

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démarche de réconciliation que l’on pourrait qualifier de radicale. Le ministre des Affaires étrangères Charlie Flanagan déclarait ainsi : « Such differences do not divide us and need not hinder us from coming together to reflect upon the moments that have shaped our islands’ history10. » Le choix de mettre sur le même plan les insurgés et les soldats britanniques a à son tour provoqué des réactions critiques de la part du Sinn Féin entre autres11. Robert Ballagh revient sur cette thématique dans sa contribution au présent numéro. Le mouvement « Reclaim the Spirit of Easter » avait cherché à renouveler l’idée même de commémoration dès 1990, à contrecourant d’une commémoration officielle en demi-teinte pour le 75e anniversaire en 1991. Declan Kiberd, auteur et intellectuel irlandais, avait à l’occasion écrit un article intitulé « L’éléphant de l’amnésie révolutionnaire », dans lequel il insistait comme d’autres sur l’importance du débat public sur cet héritage controversé au contraire12. C’est par ce biais et à travers ses souvenirs et réflexions personnelles que Ballagh aborde ici la question de 1916, à partir d’une intervention qu’il avait faite à Trinity College, Dublin en 2006, propos qu’il reprend et élargit pour inclure les commémorations de 2016. Ballagh met l’accent entre autres sur l’importance des expressions artistiques et populaires dans de telles commémorations.

6 Un nombre impressionnant de manifestations culturelles ont été échelonnées sur l’ensemble de l’année 2016 : de nombreuses expositions et événements organisés par le Musée national, la Bibliothèque nationale etc., mais aussi un documentaire, « 1916 The Irish Rebellion », produit par le Keough-Naughton Institute of Irish Studies de la University of Notre Dame en partenariat avec le gouvernement irlandais et explicitement destiné à un public mondial13, une série télévisée, « Rebellion », écrite par Colin Teevan et réalisée par Aku Louhimies (réalisateur finlandais) et de nombreuses émissions sur les chaînes publiques irlandaises. Ces initiatives diverses ont cherché à offrir différentes perspectives sur les événements, sur leurs racines et sur la réaction en chaîne qu’ils ont provoquée, jusqu’à la partition de l’île et la création d’un État irlandais. Nombre d’entre elles font maintenant également une place à la mémoire parallèle et imbriquée de la Première Guerre mondiale et de l’engagement de nombreux soldats irlandais dans la guerre14, un aspect de la période et de la vie des Irlandais qui a longtemps été passé sous silence dans l’histoire officielle de l’État irlandais, alors qu’il était au contraire mis en exergue en Irlande du Nord.

7 Le Centre Culturel Irlandais de Paris a par exemple proposé une manière originale d’envisager ces histoires imbriquées lors d’un spectacle multimédia intitulé « Twinsome minds » le 11 mars 201615. Ce projet met en scène une histoire non officielle aux multiples facettes à travers des micro-récits personnels ou familiaux. D’autres projets artistiques originaux ont vu le jour sous l’égide du Arts Council of Ireland, qui disposait d’un budget spécial de deux millions d’euros pour l’occasion, et a pu encourager ainsi les artistes et écrivains à ré-imaginer les événements historiques. Cela a donné lieu à un nombre impressionnant de projets et à un véritable foisonnement imaginatif, citons, parmi beaucoup d’autres, la commande de six poèmes qui s’attacheraient chacun à commémorer une journée du soulèvement, « A Poet’s Rising16 », ou encore le Casement Project de Fearghus Ó Conchúir, où l’on « danse avec le corps queer de Roger Casement chevalier britannique, rebelle irlandais et figure humanitaire afin d’imaginer un corps national qui accueille l’étranger venant d’au-delà des frontières comme celui-ci qui est déjà présent17 ».

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8 La question de la résonance contemporaine de ces événements est aussi abordée, dans certaines actions du Musée national irlandais par exemple, qui a organisé une série de présentations et de débats dans cette optique18. Le fait que le centenaire soit associé à des circonstances sociales et politiques contemporaines difficiles (en Irlande et ailleurs) a plus largement donné lieu à un débat public sur la signification de ces événements, en revenant notamment sur la notion de république telle qu’elle a pu être portée par les protagonistes du soulèvement et telle qu’elle peut être – voire devrait être – entendue aujourd’hui en Irlande. Fiona McCann explore cette résonance contemporaine dans l’œuvre la plus récente d’Edna O’Brien ; elle met en évidence la démarche critique et esthétique de l’écrivaine qui cherche à faire ressortir les façons dont l’oppression et la répression agissent dans la société irlandaise aujourd’hui, proposant ainsi un « contre- récit de la République ».

9 Le concept de république peut en effet permettre d’aborder tous les domaines de la vie en société, des fondements constitutionnels de l’État et du système de gouvernement aux questions de pouvoir politique démocratique populaire, d’égalité ou de domination sociale et de droits humains, ces derniers éléments faisant écho à la notion de « bien commun » et à l’objectif « social-républicain » de bonheur et de prospérité pour tous présent dans la Proclamation de 1916. Dans son article, Bairbre Ní Chiosáin se penche sur le traitement des demandeurs d’asile et de leur famille par l’Etat irlandais au cours des quinze dernières années, mettant en évidence la défaillance de l’Etat et les atteintes aux droits humains d’une population particulièrement vulnérable. Bairbre Ní Chiosáin le rappelle, des figures telles que Emily O’Reilly, alors Médiatrice de la République (Irish Ombusdman, 2003-2013) ont fait le parallèle entre le traitement des demandeurs d’asile en Irlande aujourd’hui et les scandales liés aux « industrial schools » et aux blanchisseries des Magdalenes d’autrefois, qualifiant ce traitement de « point aveugle dans notre image de nous-mêmes en tant que société ». Cette notion de « point aveugle » est aussi explorée dans l’article de Brian Ó Conchubhair, qui étudie la réécriture contemporaine par Celia de Fréine du Midnight Court de Brian Merriman. De Freine emprunte la structure de Merriman pour rendre compte de la place accordée aux femmes dans l’Irlande contemporaine, à travers leur place dans le mariage, dans les relations de couple, et du point de vue de leurs pratiques sexuelles.

10 Pour revenir aux récits de l’Irlande et de sa république tels qu’ils ont pu être mis en scène à l’occasion de la « décennie des centenaires » (1912-2022)19, l’ampleur des manifestations diverses autour du soulèvement de 1916 est telle que l’importance qui lui est accordée risque de faire pâlir les commémorations prévues pour la naissance de l’État irlandais actuel en 1922 – elle explique aussi peut-être une certaine confusion chronologique dans l’industrie touristique irlandaise sur l’avènement de la « marque Irlande », comme en témoignent les T-shirts « Ireland Established », estampillés 1916 ou 1922. Certains se demandent ce qu’il restera encore à faire en 2022, mais aussi si 1919, un moment pourtant crucial dans l’histoire démocratique et républicaine de l’Irlande avec le premier parlement irlandais (First Dáil), sera purement et simplement oublié. Il faut dire que les événements qui ont suivi, et peut-être en particulier une Constitution adoptée en 1922 dans un contexte controversé et qui a été remplacée depuis, n’ont pas la résonance historique d’un soulèvement armé révolutionnaire, même éphémère, malgré tous les efforts des historiens.

11 D’un point de vue institutionnel, un enchaînement de circonstances à partir de 1916 a bien conduit à la création d’un État irlandais qui devient officiellement quelque deux

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décennies plus tard (en 1949) la République d’Irlande20, mais à proprement parler, il n’est pas possible de dire que la république ou même qu’une république irlandaise soit née en 1916 : l’exposition du Musée national qui a ouvert ses portes le 3 mars 2016 était intitulée « Proclaiming a Republic : the 1916 Rising », et c’est bien exactement ce qui s’est passé au cours du soulèvement : une république a été proclamée par les insurgés, comme elle avait déjà été proclamée en 1867 par le mouvement de la Fraternité républicaine irlandaise (Irish Republican Brotherhood), auquel appartenaient nombre des instigateurs du soulèvement de 1916. Mais dans les deux cas sans mouvement populaire d’ampleur et sans prise de contrôle qui l’ait faite advenir réellement. Par contraste, au cours des années 1792-1798, et avec toutes les précautions qui s’imposent, on peut dire qu’il y a eu dans le contexte irlandais des initiatives populaires d’inspiration républicaine, toujours très éphémères et locales, mais bien réelles, comme la « République » de Wexford (qui dura trois semaines), ou même la prise de pouvoir des étudiants au Collège irlandais de Paris en 1792 (29 oct.-16 nov.), qu’évoque Mathieu Ferradou dans son article.

12 D’un autre côté, l’installation d’un premier parlement irlandais à Dublin en 1919, parlement qui se réclamait directement de la République proclamée en 1916, était effectivement le résultat de cet enchaînement de circonstances à partir d’avril 1916. Le parlement fonctionna, des ministères furent mis en place, mais les circonstances politiques extrêmement difficiles, et surtout la situation de conflit armé, rendirent impossible l’instauration d’un véritable système politique républicain. Ses principaux protagonistes n’en proposèrent pas moins un « Programme démocratique » ambitieux sur le papier, redécouvert aujourd’hui, comme d’ailleurs la Proclamation de 1867 – plus proche de l’idéal d’une république sociale –, par des auteurs et commentateurs tels que Fintan O’Toole21 et Theo Dorgan, dans sa contribution au présent numéro intitulée « To Rise Again, Revising the Republic ». Dans son introduction à l’ouvrage qu’il a dirigé sur la perspective d’un renouvellement constitutionnel en Irlande (Foundation Stone, 2014), Theo Dorgan montre par ailleurs que l’inspiration politique peut venir de l’histoire, mais aussi des expériences contemporaines ailleurs dans le monde qui peuvent nous aider à dépasser « nos cadres habituels de référence » pour « penser différemment », lorsqu’il choisit de mettre en exergue certains éléments de la nouvelle Constitution adoptée par l’Équateur en 2008, qui situent l’humain au sein d’un système éco-politique global22.

13 En contraste direct avec les perspectives historiques privilégiées malgré tout par la plupart des commentateurs, Daniel Jewesbury se place délibérément dans son article ici en porte-à-faux avec ce qu’il décrit comme des visions téléologiques de l’histoire irlandaise. Il insiste au contraire sur l’ici et le maintenant de la république irlandaise et sur la nécessité d’« occuper l’espace » de cette république, dans une perspective de redéfinition des relations sociales contemporaines, plutôt que de s’en tenir à une adhésion abstraite à un État encore en devenir.

14 Il est vrai que la grande majorité des commentateurs actuels en Irlande, acceptant le « principe commémoratif » de manière plus traditionnelle, tendent à situer leur réflexion dans un certain rapport, plus ou moins conflictuel, utilitaire ou célébratif, aux événements et aux idées de 1916. D’un point de vue idéologique, c’est-à-dire du point de vue des idées républicaines, on peut rappeler pour commencer que la Proclamation de 1916 avait une nette dimension « catholique-nationaliste » (une dimension évitée par celle de 1867), à la fois dans ses références à Dieu, dans la perspective historique

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privilégiée et dans le point de vue adopté sur les « frères » unionistes trompés par un gouvernement britannique étranger et perfide. Mais elle reprenait aussi un credo républicain plus traditionnel hérité des Lumières : La République garantit la liberté religieuse et civile, des droits égaux et les mêmes opportunités pour tous les citoyens. Elle proclame sa volonté de construire le bonheur et la prospérité de la nation entière et de ses composantes. Elle chérit tous les enfants de la nation de façon égale.

15 On retrouve cette tension dans la Constitution adoptée en 1937 sous l’impulsion de Eamon de Valera, alors chef du Conseil exécutif. L’article conférant à l’Église catholique une « position spéciale » a été supprimé en 1972, mais un Préambule et des articles imprégnés d’une idéologie catholique traditionnelle côtoient toujours des articles et un système politique d’inspiration républicaine et même laïque. Les constitutionnalistes irlandais parlent aujourd’hui d’une « ligne de faille » de la Constitution, et depuis les années 1990 des groupes ou conventions de révision du texte se sont succédés pour recommander un certain nombre de changements allant notamment dans le sens d’une séparation plus nette de l’Église et de l’État, mais avec des effets limités jusqu’à présent.

16 La Constitution de 1922, par contraste, si elle faisait mention du Dieu chrétien en préambule, était dans ses dispositions d’inspiration laïque, comme l’étaient d’ailleurs la majorité des Constitutions européennes adoptées après la Première Guerre mondiale23. L’article 8, seul article sur la religion, instaurait liberté de conscience et liberté de religion d’une part et neutralité de l’État vis-à-vis des religions d’autre part (même s’il acceptait de fait une instruction religieuse dans les écoles publiques). Elle suivait en cela d’ailleurs la Proclamation de 1867, pour une « absolue liberté de conscience et la séparation complète de l’Église et de l’État ». Eoin Daly, pour sa part, tout en reconnaissant la prégnance de l’inspiration catholique dans la Constitution de 1937, soutient dans son article ici qu’un certain nombre de ses dispositifs institutionnels centraux peuvent être interprétés dans une perspective républicaine dans la tradition française et américaine.

17 Au cours des quinze dernières années, et singulièrement en réaction à la crise financière de 2008 et à ses conséquences dramatiques en Irlande (même si beaucoup n’avaient pas attendu ce moment), on peut plus largement parler d’un mouvement de réappropriation des notions de « république » et de « démocratie républicaine », dans son sens historique et international plus large et dans la tradition du républicanisme civique français, européen et américain24. L’arrivée du centenaire de 1916 a contribué à cette tendance d’au moins deux manières en apparence contradictoires, mais qui reviennent en fait à la complexité de cet héritage.

18 D’un côté elle a encouragé un débat souvent critique sur les prétentions des insurgés à incarner la république – à commencer par Éamon de Valera lui-même, qui avait refusé la présence de femmes (acceptées ailleurs) sous son commandement, comme l’a rappelé par exemple l’écrivain Dermot Bolger25. Un autre exemple est celui de Gene Kerrigan, journaliste et romancier, auteur de The Scrap (paru fin 2015 26) qui retrace les pas de protagonistes jusque là inconnus du soulèvement, et selon lequel les pro et anti-traité accusaient les autres de « trahir la république », sans avoir ni les uns ni les autres une idée très claire de ce que « la république » signifiait27 ; d’autres encore se sont attaqués au personnage complexe et controversé de Patrick Pearse28, au caractère non démocratique du soulèvement29, ou encore à sa dimension catholique-nationaliste et donc exclusive…

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19 De l’autre côté, nous y avons déjà fait allusion, l’approche du centenaire a encouragé un retour sur les « promesses républicaines » de 1916 (comme l’objectif social-républicain de bonheur et de prospérité pour tous énoncé dans la Proclamation) mais aussi de 1867 ou 1919, et une confrontation avec le bilan, les forces et les faiblesses de l’État irlandais en tant que république concrète aujourd’hui : des questions de souveraineté populaire et d’implication démocratique, d’égalité des citoyens, de droits socio-économiques, évoquées dans le débat intellectuel et dans le débat public, comme la série d’articles publiés dans l’Irish Times intitulée « Renewing the Republic » en 2010 en témoigne notamment. De nombreuses contributions, fruits des réflexions de journalistes, d’historiens, d’acteurs politiques ou de la scène artistique et littéraire, ont participé au développement d’une conception républicaine davantage débattue, plus réfléchie et plus ambitieuse, même si celle-ci peine aujourd’hui à trouver une expression politique concrète. Dans cette mouvance, on peut citer le Président de la République d’Irlande Michael D. Higgins lui-même, qui publiait en 2011 un ouvrage intitulé Renewing the Republic30, pour un renouveau républicain au sens plein du terme, mais aussi Mary Robinson, ancienne Présidente irlandaise devenue Haut Commissaire aux Droits Humains de l’ONU (1997-2002), qui aimait à citer le poème de Seamus Heaney « From the Republic of Conscience » (« Nouvelles de la République de la Conscience », 1985). Dans son introduction à ce poème écrit à l’occasion du soixantième anniversaire de la Déclaration universelle des droits humains, Heaney disait la chose suivante :

I took it that Conscience would be a republic, a silent, solitary place where a person would find it hard to avoid self-awareness and self- examination; and this made me think of Orkney. I remembered the silence the first time I landed there. When I got off the small propeller plane and started walking across the grass to a little arrivals hut, I heard the cry of a curlew. And as soon as that image came to me, I was up and away, able to proceed with a fiction that felt workable yet unconstrained, a made-up thing that might be hung in the scale as a counterweight to the given actuality of the world31.

NOTES

1. Par exemple Fintan O’Toole, « “Do you know what a republic is ?” : The Adventure and Misadventures of an Idea », in Fintan O’Toole (dir.), Up the Republic ! Towards a New Ireland, Londres, Faber and Faber, 2012, pp. 11-14. 2. Liam O’Dowd, « The changing world order and the republican ideal in Ireland », The Republic, n° 1, 2000, 22-39. 3. Voir aussi Peadar Kirby et Mary P. Murphy, Towards a Second Republic — Irish Politics after the Celtic Tiger, Londres, Pluto Press, 2011.

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4. Pour une étude des vicissitudes historiques et contemporaines du « républicanisme » en Irlande, Iseult Honohan (dir.), Republicanism in Ireland — Confronting Theories and Traditions, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2008. 5. Voir le programme sur http://www.ireland.ie/about (au 20 juin 2016). 6. Le Republican Sinn Féin est né d’une scission avec le Sinn Féin en 1986, lorsque Gerry Adams a abandonné la politique abstentionniste du parti. Le Republican Sinn Féin soutient toujours la lutte armée. Il fait actuellement partie des organisation interdites aux Etats-Unis. Voir rsf.ie (20 juin 2016). 7. Voir site du Comité national pour le centenaire de 1916 du Republican Sinn Féin, http://1916centenary.blogspot.fr/p/national-events.html (20 juin 2016). 8. Au 20 juin 2016, la vidéo était néanmoins encore disponible sur youtube : www.youtube.com/watch?v=en_02HqvNQ8. 9. Ainsi Patsy McGarry, « Pádraig Pearse’s overtly Catholic Rising was immoral and anti-democratic », Irish Times, 5 janvier 2016. 10. Brian Hutton, « Charlie Flanagan lays wreath to remember British soldiers killed », Irish News, 26 mai 2016, http://www.irishnews.com/news/republicofirelandnews/ 2016/05/26/news/charlie-flanagan-lays-wreath-to-remember-british-soldiers-killed- during-easter-rising-533309/ (20 juin 2016). 11. Voir par exemple Mark Moloney, « State ceremony to remember British soldiers who died crushing 1916 rising “not appropriate” », An Phoblacht, 25 mai 2016, http:// www.anphoblacht.com/contents/26065 (20 juin 2016). 12. Declan Kiberd, « The Elephant of Revolutionary Forgetfulness », in Máirín Ní Dhonnchadha et Theo Dorgan (dirs), Revising the Rising, Derry, Field Day, 1991. 13. Ce documentaire a été diffusé simultanément dans vingt-quatre ambassades d’Irlande. Site officiel, http://1916.nd.edu/1916-the-irish-rebellion/ (20 juin 2016). 14. Geraldine Byrne Nason, l’ambassadrice d’Irlande en France depuis 2014, a ainsi tenu à rappeler cet engagement et le nombre élevé de victimes irlandaises sur les champs de bataille en France et ailleurs lors de son allocution à l’occasion du lancement de la série de manifestations commémoratives autour de 1916 organisées par le Centre Culturel Irlandais, le 18 février 2016 à la mairie du Ve arrondissement de Paris. 15. « Twinsome minds — Recovering 1916 in images and stories » (Richard Kearney et Sheila Gallagher), http://www.centreculturelirlandais.com/en/agenda/twinsome- minds-recovering-1916-in-images-and-stories (20 juin 2016). 16. Avec les contributions de Theo Dorgan, Paul Muldoon, Thomas McCarthy, Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin, Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill et Jessica Traynor. Voir site du Irish Writers Centre, http://irishwriterscentre.ie/pages/a-poets-rising (20 juin 2016). 17. « The Casement Project dances with the queer body of British knight, Irish rebel and international humanitarian Roger Casement, to imagine a national body that welcomes the stranger from beyond the border, as well as the one already inside ». Présentation du projet sur le site officiel des commémorations, http://www.ireland.ie/ events/butterflies-and-bones-casement-project-0 (20 juin 2016). (notre traduction). 18. Voir site du Musée, « 1916 Public Engagement Programme », http:// www.museum.ie/Visit-Us/Events/Featured-Events1/1916-Public-Event-Programme (20 juin 2016).

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19. Un site officiel recense les événements autour de cette décennie des commémorations centenaires : www.decadeofcentenaries.com. 20. La date communément retenue pour la création de l’État irlandais est logiquement 1922, date de l’adoption de la Constitution, mais même alors ce n’était pas encore tout à fait une république au sens purement institutionnel du terme, les liens avec la monarchie britannique restant forts au moins d’un point de vue formel. C’est la nouvelle Constitution de 1937 qui mit fin à cette ambiguïté en coupant la plupart des liens institutionnels subsistants avec la Grande-Bretagne et en instaurant un régime institutionnel essentiellement républicain (même si le nom de République d’Irlande ne fut adopté qu’en 1949, l’État irlandais se débarrassant alors des tout derniers éléments du rôle symbolique du monarque britannique et quittant le Commonwealth par la même occasion). 21. Voir note 1. 22. « We need, above all, the courage of imagination, the nerve and verve to think differently. And, certainly, the humility and intelligence to look beyond our habitual frames of reference for inspiration ». Theo Dorgan, « Introduction », in Theo Dorgan (dir.), Foundation Stone — Notes towards a constitution for a 21st-Century Republic, Dublin, New Island, 2014, p. 9 et suivantes. 23. Allemagne, Autriche, Estonie, Lituanie, Tchécoslovaquie, Turquie, Royaume des Serbes, Croates et Slovènes. Les religions majoritaires occupaient une place spéciale en revanche dans les constitutions grecque, polonaise et roumaine. Paul Brennan, « La délaïcisation de l’Etat (1922-1937), in Paul Brennan (dir.), La sécularisation en Irlande, Caen, Presses Universitaires de Caen, 1998, 105-128. 24. Iseult Honohan notamment en fait état dès 2008 dans « Introduction : putting Irish republicanism in a wider context », in Iseult Honohan (dir.), Republicanism in Ireland, op. cit., 1-20. 25. Dermot Bolger, « Women in 1916 were not first aiders — they did military work », herald.ie, 25 février 2016. 26. Gene Kerrigan, The Scrap, Dublin, Doubleday Ireland, 2015. 27. RTE Radio interview, Sean O’Rourke, 27 octobre 2015. 28. Patsy McGarry, « Pádraig Pearse’s overtly Catholic Rising was immoral and anti- democratic », Irish Times, 5 janvier 2016. 29. Diarmaid Ferriter, « The First World War : a mix of despair and optimism », Irish Times, 18 novembre 2015. 30. Michael D. Higgins, Renewing the Republic, Dublin, Liberties Press, 2011. 31. Seamus Heaney, 15 avril 2008, cité sur le site de Amnesty International UK, https:// www.amnesty.org.uk/blogs/belfast-and-beyond/seamus-heaney-human-rights-you- should-read (au 20 juin 2016).

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AUTEURS

KARIN FISCHER Université d'Orléans

CLÍONA NÍ RÍORDÁIN Université Sorbonne Nouvelle-Paris 3

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« La République au collège », Paris, 29 octobre 1792 : catholicisme, radicalisme et républicanisme entre France et Irlande pendant la Révolution française (1792-1795)

Mathieu Ferradou

An 1792, le 1er de la République françoise, le 29 [octobre], 8 heures du matin. Nous, membres du Conseil général de la Commune de Paris, commissaires nommés […] à l’effet d’assister et être présents à la nomination à faire par les Boursiers & étudians irlandois d’un proviseur supérieur préfet des études & un administrateur temporel de l’Etablissement irlandais […], se sont transportés […] dans la Maison du Collège où […] nous avons fait appeler le Citoyen Truchon, substitut du procureur de la Commune, […] & sommes entrés […] dans la Chapelle & avons assisté à une Messe du St Esprit […] après laquelle […], nous avons aux termes […] des règlements de l’établissement formé […] en assemblée les jeunes irlandais […], leur avons lu à haute voix […] & avons en exécution d’icelui pris & reçu d’eux le Serment prescrit par lequel ils ont promis d’élire en leur Conscience les sujets les plus propres sans aucun Motif d’intérêt ou de sollicitation […], nous avons de fait procédé à la nomination du proviseur supérieur préfet par la voix du scrutin. Se sont trouvés neuf votants, Murray, Duckett, MacSheehy l’[ainé], M[ac]Sheehy le j[eune], Curtayne, B[artholomew] Blackwell, J[ean] O’Neill, Ferris & MacMahon & par le dépouillement du scrutin le Citoyen MacMahon, a eu quatre voix et le Citoyen Duckett cinq voix […]. Le Citoyen Duckett […] a été nommé & élu proviseur supérieur préfet de l’Etablissement Irlandais pour en conduire & gouverner les boursiers & étudians […], ce qu’il a accepté […] et promis de faire exécuter ponctuellement. Les votans ont de suite procédé à un second scrutin pour élire un administrateur temporel de l’établissement irlandois. […] Son dépouillement a donné le nom du Citoyen Nicolas Madgett prêtre irlandois ancien curé & préfet des Etudes dans une maison irlandoise sise en province demeurant actuellement à Paris […], élu à l’unanimité administrateur du temporel de l’Etablissement irlandois à Paris. En conséquence les dits votans [ont] arrêté qu’ils se transporteraient tous, leur

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supérieur à leur tête, pour lui faire part du choix qu’ils ont fait de lui & de le prier de venir […] parmi eux leur servir de père et rétablir l’ordre soit dans le dit établissement soit dans les finances et revenus d’icelui […]1.

1 Alors que la France était en pleine effervescence juste après la chute de la royauté et l’entrée en république, des étudiants du collège irlandais prenaient ainsi le contrôle de leur établissement au cours d’une procédure mêlant cérémonial catholique et pratiques républicaines.

2 Cet événement remarquable a déjà attiré l’attention de Liam Swords, qui, s’il en a fait un récit précieux, discréditait implicitement cette tentative des étudiants, adoptant ainsi le point de vue des supérieurs des collèges irlandais, Charles Kearney et Jean- Baptiste Walsh, ainsi que celui des autorités françaises, depuis les administrateurs du département de Paris jusqu’aux ministres des Affaires étrangères et de l’Intérieur, Pierre Lebrun et Jean-Marie Roland. De fait, il intitula cet épisode le « coup d’Etat du Kerry », en référence à l’origine géographique de la plupart des étudiants2. Liam Chambers a plus récemment mis en lumière comment les supérieurs avaient déployé une rhétorique prorévolutionnaire (et occasionnellement antibritannique) tout en développant un réseau de prêtres réfractaires, ce qui provoqua la colère et l’hostilité des habitants des sections environnantes du faubourg Saint-Marcel, particulièrement politisées et radicales3.

3 Ce contexte local parisien doit cependant être mis en regard avec le contexte irlandais. L’impact en Irlande des étudiants et des prêtres formés en France a été souvent mentionné. Dès juin 1798, Leonard MacNally, l’avocat des Irlandais Unis et informateur du gouvernement anglo-irlandais de Dublin, voyait dans les « prêtres et maîtres d’école des campagnes […] les principaux agitateurs des idées politiques françaises », plus particulièrement « les prêtres expulsés de France et les étudiants fugitifs », les qualifiant de « démagogues » et de « déistes4 ». L’historien W. E. H. Lecky, à la fin du XIXe siècle, distinguait les prêtres qui avaient reçu une éducation prolongée au contact avec un catholicisme tolérant sur le Continent de ceux qui ne s’y étaient rendus que tardivement, une fois devenus prêtres : aux premiers il attribuait des « sentiments et manières de gentlemen cultivés » et un attachement à la liberté religieuse ; aux seconds un « fanatisme », une « crédulité » qui s’exprimait dans des « sermons grossiers, violents et grotesques ». Ce clergé fruste partageait les « goûts, passions et préjudices d’un paysan ignorant » et formait la partie la plus importante du clergé irlandais qui était aussi la partie « démocratique », s’impliquant dans les troubles agraires puis révolutionnaires de la fin du siècle5. Dáire Keogh a étudié l’impact de cette « maladie française » parmi le clergé irlandais dans la décennie 1790. Il met en évidence une opposition de classes entre un haut-clergé catholique loyaliste à la Couronne britannique qui en espère plus de tolérance religieuse et professe ainsi un conservatisme dogmatique et politique pour contrer les « idées jacobines » et un bas- clergé plus réceptif aux idées révolutionnaires et prenant part, selon la situation matérielle et l’insertion des prêtres dans des réseaux familiaux notamment, au soulèvement de 17986.

4 L’étude de la « République au collège », malgré son échec, semble pertinente pour chercher à résoudre les contradictions au sujet des catholiques irlandais et de leur rôle dans la Révolte de 1798, et mieux comprendre les liens entre les républicanismes français et irlandais, tous deux naissant simultanément et s’inspirant l’un de l’autre7. Pour cela, il s’agit de suivre ces dix républicains irlandais dont la voix, plus difficile à

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faire émerger des archives, a été jusqu’alors négligée. Cet épisode, parce qu’il incarne une bifurcation sans retour dans leurs parcours individuels, fait d’eux des protagonistes de la Révolution française et du premier républicanisme irlandais : d’une part, il cristallise de nombreux enjeux au cœur du processus révolutionnaire – place de la loi et de la religion dans la république, luttes de pouvoirs entre les différentes institutions républicaines, et utilisation par des Irlandais de ces enjeux pour leurs intérêts – et, d’autre part, il montre que le Paris révolutionnaire de 1792 est aussi un foyer du républicanisme irlandais, se développant en synergie avec le républicanisme français8.

La « République au collège » et le « catholicisme des Lumières »

5 Pour redonner son sens et sa portée à cet événement à première vue mineur, il semble tout d’abord nécessaire de se concentrer sur la manière dont la « République au collège » combine praxis révolutionnaire et religiosité, interrogeant le rapport entre républicanisme et catholicisme.

6 Aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècle, environ 11 000 étudiants irlandais firent leurs études à Paris. En 1788, 478 ecclésiastiques irlandais avaient suivi leurs études sur le continent au sein des différents collèges irlandais, dont 348 en France et 180 à Paris (dont quinze des 26 évêques irlandais). Le collège irlandais de Paris était en fait une structure duale : le collège des Lombards, le plus ancien, accueillait des prêtres déjà ordonnés qui y étudiaient la théologie avant de retourner prendre en charge une paroisse en Irlande ; le collège des Irlandais, qui ouvrit en 1775, recevait des élèves laïcs qui se destinaient à la prêtrise ou à des carrières dans la médecine, l’enseignement ou l’armée9.

7 Les troubles révolutionnaires eurent un impact fort sur le nombre des étudiants au collège des Irlandais : de 70 en 1789, ils passèrent à 23 en août 179210. C’est donc une petite moitié des étudiants qui participa à la « République au collège » le 29 octobre. Beaucoup avaient en effet choisi ou furent contraints de retourner en Irlande face à l’hostilité grandissante contre l’Eglise catholique. Bien que non astreints, en tant qu’étrangers, au serment de fidélité à la Constitution exigé envers les prêtres depuis 1790-1791, les étudiants ont pu être intimidés par le sort que connurent plusieurs d’entre eux : deux, au moins, furent menacés voire manquèrent de peu d’être « pendus à la lanterne » au début de la Révolution : le Père Mogue Kearns et le Père James Coigly11. Les multiples incidents qui émaillèrent la vie du collège des Irlandais purent également en décider certains à partir. Les 25 septembre, 9 octobre, 8 décembre 1791 et 2 février 1792, la foule prit à partie les fidèles qui se rendaient ou qui sortaient de la messe soit au collège des Lombards soit au collège des Irlandais. Dans ce quartier très en pointe du processus révolutionnaire, la persistance d’une Eglise non- constitutionnelle (bien que techniquement non réfractaire puisque non astreinte au serment) était perçue comme une provocation d’autant plus que plusieurs processions de réfractaires furent organisées au collège des Lombards. Walsh réussit à contrer ces accusations en soulignant le statut d’étrangers des prêtres et des étudiants tout en réclamant la liberté de culte garantie dans la Déclaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen, ce que le Département confirma par plusieurs décrets en octobre 179112. Ainsi, la Constitution civile du clergé eut un impact sur les collèges irlandais, car même s’ils en étaient exemptés, elle soulignait leur statut d’« étrangeté ».

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8 Dans ce contexte, les pratiques mis en œuvre par les étudiants prennent tout leur sens. La prestation de serment, tout d’abord, est éminemment révolutionnaire et un acte civique central depuis le serment du jeu de Paume et celui de la Fédération : il est « un instrument d’encadrement politique, un rituel patriotique formalisé par la loi13 ». En prêtant serment, les étudiants réparent symboliquement la fracture entre la population du quartier et les supérieurs du collège. La célébration d’une messe avant l’élection est également significative d’une conception d’un catholicisme permettant la régénération politique tel que le défendait l’Abbé Grégoire avec lequel plusieurs des protagonistes irlandais, notamment Madgett, étaient liés14. Cette conception d’un « catholicisme civique » peut être rapprochée de ce que Bernard Plongeron a appelé le « catholicisme des Lumières15 ». S’inscrivant dans cette perspective, Thomas O’Connor a montré comment Luke Joseph Hooke (1714-1796), théologien irlandais, avait produit une œuvre longtemps vue comme apologétique en réaction aux Lumières et condamnée comme telle par le Parlement de Paris proche des jansénistes, mais qui étaient en réalité une tentative d’intégrer les idées des Lumières dans la théologie catholique, conciliant droits naturels et Révélation : religio et res publica, favorisant toutes deux la vertu, deviennent alors indissociables16. Une telle « théologie des Lumières » influença considérablement les nombreux étudiants irlandais venus en France du fait des lois pénales et considérés comme « citoyens » de seconde zone, des « esclaves » en Irlande17. Ils ramenèrent en Irlande cette conception du catholicisme18.

9 L’association d’une messe, de deux serments et deux scrutins dans ce lieu traduit ainsi la volonté des étudiants républicains de renouer par le geste et la parole le fil rompu par leurs supérieurs entre catholicisme et république, de réinscrire le collège des Irlandais – microcosme de l’Irlande – dans la République française.

Un lieu au cœur de rivalités personnelles et de conflits idéologiques

10 Pour autant, la « république au collège » doit être aussi comprise comme la continuation d’un conflit antérieur qui mobilise alors des acteurs variés de la Révolution et contribue ainsi à l’identité politique des protagonistes.

11 En effet, le conflit entre les étudiants et les supérieurs remontent à 1786 avec l’arrivée de James Coigly en tant que prêtre-étudiant au collège des Lombards. Né en 1761, dans une ancienne famille catholique d’Ulster dont il se vantait qu’« aucun des colons pillards qui avaient réduit [son] pays en esclavage » ne faisait partie, Coigly fut ordonné prêtre en 1785 avant d’être envoyé à Paris. Là, il demanda la jouissance d’une bourse vacante, ce qui provoqua un conflit avec Walsh. Ayant obtenu satisfaction, Coigly s’éleva contre la nomination de Walsh par décret royal en 1786 grâce au comte Walsh de Serrant. Dénonçant « l’esclavage » des étudiants, les prévarications de Walsh et sa nomination illégale, Coigly s’appuyait sur un arrêt du conseil du roi de 1728 qu’il avait retrouvé dans les archives du collège qui garantissait le droit pour les étudiants d’élire leurs supérieurs19. Six étudiants avaient alors protesté, en vain, contre cette nomination20. Coigly avait donc planté l’arbre de la liberté au sein du collège avant de quitter la France en 1789 puisque c’est sur ce règlement que les étudiants appuyèrent leur élection de leur nouveau supérieur. De retour en Irlande, il joua le rôle de médiateur politique et culturel auprès des Defenders par l’écriture d’un pamphlet extrêmement important, publié à l’été 1792, dont le but était de montrer qu’une

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alliance entre les catholiques et les presbytériens était possible, alliance qui faisait si peur au Château de Dublin. Coigly fut également le passeur qui introduisit les références à la France dans les serments des Defenders21.

12 Après le départ de Coigly, la contestation des étudiants se poursuivit donc : dans un « acte » du 21 février 1791, l’archevêque de Dublin John Thomas Troy renouvela son soutien aux deux proviseurs, fustigeant l’idée que les étudiants (ou quelconque « corps politique ») puissent élire leurs supérieurs, leur enjoignant « obéissance » et « de ne se mêler aucunement des contestations locales », car le gouvernement anglais « ne souffrirait pas sur son territoire des ecclésiastiques liés par serment à une constitution étrangère quelconque »22. La contestation des étudiants était donc également synonyme de politisation puisqu’ils paraissent s’être impliqués dans les débats qui divisent le clergé français en 1790 à propos de la Constitution civile du clergé.

13 Les journées des 10 et 12 août 1792, lorsque le collège fut envahi par la foule, furent une révélation, suscitant une réinterprétation de leur conflit et de tout le passé du collège : leurs prédécesseurs, fuyant l’oppression et le « fanatisme » de l’Angleterre, avaient trouvé en France un asile « sous la douce garde la Loi » et fondé une « petite République », le règlement du collège étant la garantie de la « plus pure égalité ». Dès lors, Walsh et Kearney devenaient l’incarnation de l’aristocratie et du clergé réfractaire, donc de la tyrannie et de la Contre-révolution23.

14 Lorsqu’ils déclenchèrent la lutte contre leurs supérieurs en octobre 1792, les dix protagonistes de la « République au collège » avaient eu jusqu’alors des parcours qui correspondent à ce que Haim Burstin a appelé la « bohème intellectuelle » particulièrement présente dans le quartier24. Quatre seulement étaient en réalité encore étudiants au collège : Bartholomew Murray y était boursier ; Edward Ferris, Bernard MacSheehy (fils d’un officier irlandais servant dans l’armée française) et Jérémie Curtayne y étaient pensionnaires. MacSheehy « l’ainé » et le « jeune » étaient Bernard MacSheehy, né en 1774, et son frère Jean, tous deux orphelins et adoptés par leur oncle, un ancien médecin du roi Louis XVI. Les quatre autres étudiants avaient également quitté le collège irlandais pour suivre des études de médecine. William Duckett, né en 1768 à Killarney, avait intégré en 1784 le collège des Irlandais et avait également fréquenté le collège Sainte-Barbe. Il avait quitté le collège le 24 juillet 1789 et était devenu « professeur de mathématiques à l’université de Paris » avant de s’impliquer, semble-t-il, dans le processus révolutionnaire25.

15 Quant à Nicolas Madgett, il est né en 1738 dans le Kerry. Il vint à 11 ans à Paris où son oncle homonyme était président du collège de Sainte-Barbe avant de devenir évêque de Killaloe et du Kerry de 1752 à sa mort en 1774. Il y suivit des études au collège du Plessis et au collège de Navarre. En 1760, il intégra le collège irlandais de Toulouse. Bachelier puis licencié en théologie en 1764, il fut ordonné prêtre en 1767 à 29 ans puis fut professeur de philosophie et de mathématiques « pendant plus de vingt ans » dans les universités de Toulouse et de Bordeaux, et peut-être en même temps curé d’une paroisse non loin de Bordeaux. Il revint à Paris en 1783 où il s’occupa « à faire des traductions et à enseigner quelques langues étrangères26 ». Au début de la Révolution, Bertrand Barère l’employa dans son journal, Le Point du jour27. Sa participation à la « République au collège » est d’autant plus intéressante que Madgett est choisi par les étudiants pour devenir leur « père », ce qui reflète son statut d’ancien prêtre, mais aussi le fait qu’il se présente comme un « républicain par principe depuis plus de trente ans28 ».

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16 L’événement provoqua un conflit d’échelles autant que d’influences entre les différentes institutions républicaines. Les étudiants reçurent le soutien de la « sans- culotterie » de leur section et de la Commune. Germain Truchon dit « Barbe Longue », le substitut du procureur de la Commune, envoyé superviser la procédure le 29 octobre et qui avait déjà participé à l’invasion du collège le 12 août, était un avocat de la section des Gravilliers et clairement un sans-culotte radical, impliqué dans les massacres de Septembre avec Tallien et auxquels il est possible que Duckett ait participé personnellement29. Deux sources évoquent en effet son implication dans les massacres : le marquis de Pelleport, aventurier responsable de l’arrestation de Duckett non loin d’Hanovre en 1798, prétendait que Duckett avait « porté la tête de la malheureuse princesse de Lamballe sous les fenêtres de notre Reine de glorieuse et infortunée mémoire » ; James Craufurd, le chargé d’affaires britannique à Hambourg, s’appuyait sur le témoignage de Madgett lui-même qui aurait vu « le 2 septembre, […] Duckett revenir de l’une des Prisons couvert de sang et avec son épée ensanglantée en main30 ». Jean-Baptiste Lafitte, justice de paix de la section de l’Observatoire, fut envoyé le 5 novembre pour placer les sceaux sur les effets de Kearney à l’invitation de deux étudiants, Ferris et Curtayne31. Face à eux, les supérieurs Kearney et Walsh, en invoquant le droit des gens et la tradition, reçurent le soutien du Département et des ministres girondins Lebrun et Roland, et furent rétablis dans leurs prérogatives le 16 novembre32.

17 C’est à la Convention qu’il incomba de trancher puisque les étudiants s’adressèrent à elle en dernier lieu le 2 décembre33. Malgré le soutien de deux députés à la Convention, le Girondin Léger-Félicité Santhonax et le Montagnard Léonard Bourdon (membre du Comité d’Instruction publique depuis le 13 octobre), la Convention renvoya leur pétition au Comité d’Instruction publique et au Comité d’Aliénation et des domaines34. Kearney et James Maher purent alors déployer toutes leurs ressources en faisant imprimer deux pamphlets dans lequel ils déploient un argumentaire de défense de l’ordre social : « Une Manufacture étrangère, légalement établie, seroit respectée dans tous les pays policés, & […] la Commune locale, ne seroit pas en droit d’en détruire l’organisation en mettant les Ouvriers à la place des Directeurs, & des hommes totalement inconnus des Propriétaires, à la place des chefs35. »

18 Il s’agit là du motif du monde « sens-dessus dessous » habituel à ceux qui dénoncent, dans le monde anglophone depuis la Guerre civile anglaise, les « niveleurs » qui menacent l’ordre économique et social36. De leur côté, les étudiants dénoncèrent Kearney pour avoir aidé et encouragé ses élèves à rejoindre l’armée des émigrés. Kearney réfuta ces accusations en alléguant que les étudiants étaient « aidés des conseils & des manœuvres d’un ancien Curé des environs de Bordeaux », Madgett, et qu’ils « avoient formé le projet de se rendre maîtres de cette maison avec ses revenus37 ». La Convention ne semble pas avoir pris de décision et ne désavoua pas le Département.

19 Ainsi, la « République au collège » fut éphémère. Elle n’en est pas moins porteuse de sens et montre comment le bouillonnement politique parisien se combina avec l’effervescence intellectuelle pour provoquer chez les étudiants, des membres de la « bohème intellectuelle », un processus d’engagement radical au point, dans le cas de Duckett, de peut-être participer aux massacres de Septembre. L’engagement en faveur de la République française se combina avec l’établissement d’une république dans cette

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petite Irlande qu’était le collège, conception qui provoqua une opposition entre les pouvoirs républicains38.

La « République au collège » et les origines du républicanisme irlandais

20 En continuant de suivre les étudiants républicains, il s’agit de montrer que la République au collège fut une bifurcation irréversible dans leur parcours, dont les linéaments les rattachent à l’émergence du premier républicanisme irlandais.

21 Alors que l’affrontement entre Irlandais se poursuivait, les collégiens républicains participèrent au « festin patriotique » le 18 novembre 1792 à l’hôtel White, non loin du Palais-Royal. Ce dîner, qui rassembla une centaine de convives, fut une manifestation de sociabilité de toute la galaxie révolutionnaire et républicaine atlantique dont de nombreuses figures du radicalisme britannique, parmi lesquelles Thomas Paine, mais également une quinzaine de radicaux irlandais dont Lord Edward FitzGerald et les frères Henry et John Sheares, les futurs organisateurs de la Révolte de 1798. Ce dîner fut l’acte inaugural de la fondation de la Société des Amis des Droits de l’Homme (SADH), improprement connue dans l’historiographie sous le nom de « Club britannique ». Elle présenta une adresse de félicitations à la Convention le 28 novembre, demandant aux armées françaises victorieuses de ne poser « les armes, que lorsqu’il n’y aura plus ni tyrans ni Esclaves ». Six des dix protagonistes de la « république au collège » signaient l’adresse à la Convention : Duckett, O’Neill, Ferris, Murray, Bernard MacSheehy, Curtayne et Madgett. Cet appel avait été entendu puisque dès le lendemain du dîner, la Convention, sous la présidence de l’Abbé Grégoire qui avait probablement assisté au dîner, votait le décret du 19 novembre promettant « fraternité et secours à tous les peuples qui voudront recouvrer la liberté ». Ce décret contribua à augmenter les tensions entre la France et l’Angleterre, précisément au sujet de l’Irlande d’autant que la SADH préparaient un projet d’insurrection en Angleterre mais surtout en Irlande39.

22 Dans ce contexte, les collégiens devenaient également des « patriotes » et des « apôtres de la liberté » (le surnom de Paine). En effet, dès décembre 1792, Duckett contactait le ministre des Affaires étrangères Lebrun pour se proposer d’aller en Irlande dans une mission d’information et de propagande. Cette mission fut effectivement mise sur pied par le Comité diplomatique de la Convention en mars 1793 après la déclaration de guerre de la France contre l’Angleterre. Duckett en était le chef ; Edward Ferris et Jérémie Curtayne l’accompagnaient40. Prévenu par un autre Irlandais résidant à Paris, l’ex-prêtre né en Jamaïque Charles Marian Somers, qui les décrivait comme jeunes et donc inexpérimentés, le gouvernement anglais les fit arrêter dès leur arrivée à Londres. Interrogés, ils furent ensuite déportés en Irlande41. Oubliés et abandonnés par le gouvernement français, les jeunes républicains poursuivirent pourtant leur mission et tissèrent des réseaux de contacts, participèrent à plusieurs journaux, entretinrent la « fermentation » des esprits, notamment dans le sud de l’Irlande. Ainsi, Edward Ferris est mentionné dans un rapport de janvier-février 1794 comme étant l’un des cinq agents français en Angleterre et en Irlande : « il s’est fait connaître par plusieurs écrits patriotiques et surtout par la formation d’une société révolutionnaire en Irlande », plus précisément à Tralee42.

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23 Duckett lui-même participa à plusieurs journaux en Irlande et en Angleterre, notamment « au journal le plus républicain qui se trouve en Europe » : la Cork Gazette du déiste anticlérical et painite Denis Driscol43. Sa participation coïncide avec les premières émeutes « d’aspirations politiques », déclenchées par la lecture publique des journaux devant les chapelles pendant l’hiver 1793-1794, moment où la Cork Gazette devint plus radicale. Ces émeutes furent violemment réprimées et Driscol jugé pour sédition et condamné à deux ans de prison, malgré la défense de ces avocats, les frères Sheares et Thomas Addis Emmet44. Curtayne est également mentionné pour sa participation « à la cause de la Liberté » dans le comté Cork45. Dans ses rapports, Duckett mentionne régulièrement les Defenders. Cette mention, ses propres relations avec les Sheares, sa collaboration avec Driscol : autant de liens qui le rattachent aux acteurs principaux de la reformation des Irlandais Unis en 1794 à Dublin et à leur rapprochement avec les Defenders via une nébuleuse de sociétés dans la capitale46. Enfin, Duckett, sous le nom de plume de Junius Redivivus, publia un long article incendiaire dans le journal londonien, le Morning Chronicle du 17 novembre 1794, repris dans The Morning Star du 27 novembre, le journal des Irlandais Unis à Belfast. Brûlot contre le gouvernement anglais et plus particulièrement contre Pitt, ce fauteur de guerre qui ne cherche ainsi qu’à écraser toute contestation intérieure et garder son pouvoir, se moquant de provoquer la ruine financière et économique de son pays, cet article prédit également la défaite de l’Angleterre, car celle-ci mène une guerre injuste contre une « nation en armes » qui lutte pour sa liberté.

24 Parallèlement, Madgett entrait au service du gouvernement français vers 1792-1793. Au sein des ministères de la Marine et des Affaires étrangères puis au Comité de Salut Public, Madgett créait un comité de contre-espionnage à Paris composé de « Citoyens Britanniques d’un civisme éprouvé47 ». « Chef du bureau des traductions », il était « chargé […] de la correspondance avec les agens que le département de la Marine entrenoit dans les pays étrangers » et « de l’envoi des émissaires secrets dans l’Angleterre, l’Écosse et l’Irlande48 ».

25 Dès le 13 mars 1793, Madgett suggérait à Lebrun d’envoyer « en Angleterre et surtout en Irlande un certain nombre de patriotes Anglois ou Irlandois pour y répandre les principes de la liberté et de l’Egalité » et proposait le révérend William Jackson, membre de la SADH. Avec le soutien du membre du Comité de Salut Public Jeanbon Saint-André (en charge de la Marine), du ministre de la Marine Dalbarade et du représentant Joseph-François Laignelot, Jackson fut envoyé, en janvier 1794, via Hambourg, en Angleterre puis en Irlande, pour y sonder les réseaux radicaux voire républicains, bénéficiant des contacts de la SADH. La toile qui se dessine alors est celle d’un réseau multipolaire entre Paris, Hambourg, Copenhague, Amsterdam, Londres et Dublin. L’arrestation à Dublin de Jackson provoqua la fuite en France d’Archibald Hamilton Rowan et l’exil aux États-Unis de Theobald Wolfe Tone, ce qui acheva la transformation des Irlandais Unis en une conspiration révolutionnaire séparatiste et préparant une insurrection armée avec l’aide de la France49.

26 A Paris, la déclaration de guerre de la France à l’Angleterre le 1er février 1793 relança l’affrontement entre les collégiens républicains et leurs supérieurs. Chaque camp chercha alors à utiliser contre l’autre la suspicion et les mesures contre les étrangers prises par la Convention qui forçait les étrangers à se conforter à une « orthodoxie politique » de plus en plus étroite50. En mars 1793, les étudiants auprès du ministre de l’Intérieur Garat et Madgett auprès de Lebrun dénoncèrent Walsh, Kearney et Maher

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qui furent arrêtés et interrogés mais sans résultat51. Le 6 septembre, alors que le Convention renouvelait le décret du 1er août contre les étrangers arrivés depuis 1789 des pays ennemis de la France, Léonard Bourdon relaya à la Convention les attaques contre Kearney et demanda de confirmer l’élection du 29 octobre 179252. En réaction, treize étudiants proches de Kearney, inquiets que « des Malveillans de notre païs ont voulu jetter des Soupçons sur nos Sentiments à l’égard de la République », protestaient dans une pétition à la Convention53. Avec le décret du 9 octobre 1793, qui ordonnait l’arrestation de tous les sujets britanniques et hanovriens et la confiscation de leurs propriétés, Walsh mais également les étudiants, tant « loyalistes » que républicains, étaient arrêtés et les collèges fermés. La Convention décida que les étudiants irlandais seraient renvoyés en Irlande, mais la guerre empêcha de le faire et ils furent maintenus en prison avant d’être relâchés au cours du terrible hiver 1794-179554. Par la force des circonstances, les étudiants républicains étaient amalgamés avec leurs anciens supérieurs et les étudiants loyalistes comme bénéficiaires de secours publics55.

27 Un mois plus tard, le 4 mai 1795, Bernard MacSheehy s’engageait dans l’armée en qualité de secrétaire-interprète et, sur recommandation de Madgett, il intégra à l’été 1796 l’état-major du général Hoche et fut nommé aide-de-camp de Theobald Wolfe Tone avant d’être envoyé en Irlande pour y avertir les Irlandais Unis de l’expédition prochaine de l’armée française56. Avec l’arrivée de Tone en France en février 1796, la nature des relations entre les Irlandais et le gouvernement français prit un caractère plus diplomatique et militaire. Coigly, Madgett, Duckett, MacSheehy continuèrent de jouer un rôle de premier plan dans les menées révolutionnaires entre la France et l’Irlande. Blackwell et MacKenna s’engagèrent également dans l’armée et participèrent à l’expédition de 1798 aux côtés de James Napper Tandy57.

28 Ainsi, dans l’écheveau des significations qu’il est possible d’apporter à « la République au collège », les fils multiples ont dessiné un monde réticulaire composé d’étudiants et de prêtres, devenus soldats, espions, traducteurs, publicistes radicaux, nourris au républicanisme classique puis révolutionnaire et au « catholicisme des Lumières », circulant entre Paris, Hambourg, Londres, Dublin. Elle révèle des Irlandais, témoins de la Révolution qui accélère leur politisation et suscite leur engagement, sans cesse renouvelé, faisant d’eux des protagonistes de l’histoire. Etant en France du fait des lois pénales, ils transfèrent cet investissement sur leur pays d’accueil tout en œuvrant à faire advenir, symboliquement d’abord, très concrètement ensuite, une république en Irlande. Cosmopolites par nécessité, médiateurs entre deux ou trois sphères linguistiques (voire davantage), ces collégiens républicains adoptent presque automatiquement un « internationalisme révolutionnaire » qui infuse et nourrit constamment les projets révolutionnaires en Irlande avec lesquels ils sont en contact, que ce soit celui des Irlandais Unis ou, puisqu’ils sont catholiques, celui des Defenders58. D’ailleurs, l’exemple de William Duckett montre qu’ils jouent également le rôle de passeurs entre ces deux mouvements. De fait, la « République au collège » confirme que le premier républicanisme irlandais fut en partie porté, dès le début et très tôt (1792), par des protagonistes impliqués dans un mouvement en synergie avec la France, et le fruit d’une dialectique entre le contexte européen et atlantique et le contexte local.

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NOTES

1. Extrait des registres du Conseil de la Commune de Paris, Archives nationales (AN), F17 1399. Voir également une version tronquée en annexe du Mémoire pour Mr. Walsh…, 30 déc. 1814, p. 26-27, Centre culturel irlandais, E10a1 [en ligne]. 2. Liam Swords, The Green Cockade: The Irish in the French Revolution, 1789-1815, Glendale, CA, 1989, p. 55-70 ; idem, « Irish Priests and Students in Revolutionary France » in id. (éd.), Protestant, Catholic & Dissenter the Clergy, Dublin, The Columba Press, 1997, p. 20-44. 3. Liam Chambers, « Revolutionary or Refractory? The Irish Colleges in Paris and the French Revolution », Journal of Irish and Scottish Studies, vol. 2, issue 1, September 2008, p. 29-50 ; Haïm Burstin, Une révolution à l’œuvre : le faubourg Saint-Marcel (1789-1794), Seyssel, Champ Vallon, 2005, p. 76, 88-89, 134-135, 503-504, 676-677. 4. [MacNally] to __, 6 June 1798, National Archives of Ireland, Rebellion Papers, 620/10/121/111. 5. W. E. H. Lecky, History of Ireland in the Eighteenth Century, 5 vols, London, Longsman, Green & co., 1903 [1892], vol. 3, p. 354-356. 6. Dáire Keogh, The French Disease. The Catholic Church and Irish Radicalism, 1790-1800, Dublin, Four Courts Press, 1993. 7. Mathieu Ferradou, « Histoire d’un “festin patriotique” à l’hôtel White (18 novembre 1792) : les Irlandais patriotes à Paris, 1789-1795 », Annales historiques de la Révolution française, no 382, décembre 2015, p. 123-143. 8. Sur le concept de « protagoniste » : Haïm Burstin, Révolutionnaires. Pour une anthropologie politique de la Révolution française, Paris, Vendémiaire, 2013. 9. Patrick O’Connor, « The Irish College in Paris, from penal days seminary to Irish cultural centre », in Jane Conroy (éd.), Franco-Irish connections. Essay, Memoirs and Poems in Honour of Pierre Joannon, Dublin, Four Courts Press, 2009, p. 258-268 ; Swords, The Green Cockade, op. cit., p. 13-20. 10. « Etat des Citoyens étudians qui composoient la maison Irlandoise rue du cheval vert à l’époque du août 1792… » signé J. Maher, 13 oct. 1792, Archives diplomatiques (AD), Correspondance Politique Angleterre (CPA) 582 fo 358. 11. Keogh, The French Disease, op. cit., p. 32. 12. Chambers, « Revolutionary and Refractory? », art. cit., p. 39-44 ; Swords, The Green Cockade, op. cit., p. 31-57. 13. Bronizlaw Baczko, « “Ici on s’honore du titre de citoyen” », in Raymonde Monnier (dir.), Citoyens et citoyenneté sous la Révolution française, Paris, Société des études robespierristes, 2006, p. 9-21 (p. 10-11). 14. Alyssa Goldstein Sepinwall, The Abbé Grégoire and the French Revolution. The Making of Modern Universalism, Berkeley and Los Angeles, University of California Press, 2005, p. 57-59 ; déposition de Madgett, brumaire an IV [oct.-nov. 1795], AN AF III 28 doss. 97, p. 133. 15. Bernard Plongeron, Théologie et Politique au Siècle des Lumières, (1770-1820), Paris, Droz, 1973.

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16. Thomas O’Connor, An Irish Theologian in Enlightenment France, Luke Joseph Hooke, 1714-96, Dublin, Four Courts Press, 1995, p. 109-119. 17. Sur l’utilisation du mot esclave et son corolaire, tyrannie, comme privation de liberté, dans une tradition remontant au républicanisme anglais du XVIIe siècle, voir Quentin Skinner, Liberty before Liberalism, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2012 [1998] ; Ian McBride, Eighteenth-Century Ireland. The Isle of Slaves, Dublin, Gill & Macmillan, 2009, p. 1-22. 18. O’Connor, An Irish Theologian, op. cit., p. 10-11 ; Liam Chambers, « A Displaced Intelligentsia : Aspects of Irish Catholic Thought in Ancien Régime France » in Thomas O’Connor (éd.), The Irish in Europe, 1580-1815, Dublin, Fourt Courts Press, 2001, p. 158-174. 19. Dáire Keogh (éd.), A Patriot Priest. The Life of Father James Coigly, 1761-1798, Cork, Cork University Press, 1998, p. 32. L’arrêt du conseil de 1728 est conservé dans les Archives diocésaines de Dublin (DDA) 121/8. 20. Swords, The Green Cockade, op. cit., p. 18-19. 21. L. M. Cullen, « Late-Eighteenth Century Politicisation in Ireland : Problems in its Study and its French Links », in Culture et pratiques politiques en France et en Irlande, XVIe- XVIIIe siècle, Actes du colloque de Marseille, 28 septembre-2 octobre 1988, Paris, Publications du CRH, 1991, p. 137-157 (p. 156), Idem, « The Political Structures of the Defenders », in Hugh Gough & David Dickson (éd.), Ireland and the French Revolution, Dublin, Irish Academic Press, 1990, p. 117-138. 22. AN F17 4764. 23. Mémoire présenté par les Jeunes Irlandais à Lebrun, 12 oct. 1792, AD CPA 582 fo 341. 24. Haim Burstin, L’Invention du sans-culotte. Regard sur le Paris révolutionnaire, Paris, Odile Jacob, 2005, p. 84-85. 25. Protestation de Maher, 13 oct. 1792, AD CPA 582 fo 359-360 ; « Mémoire » de Walsh et Maher, [29 oct. 1792 ?], Kearney au Directoire du département de Paris, [29 oct. 1792 ?], AN F17 1399 ; « déposition du nommé Du Bois [Duckett] », 22 juillet 1798, National Archives, Kew (NA), Foreign Office (FO) 33/15 fo 258 ; « MacSheehy, Bernard », Service historique de la Défense (SHD), armée de Terre, Personnel 2e série, 2Ye 2620 ; C. J. Woods, « Duckett, William », in James MCGUIRE & James QUINN (éds.) Dictionary of Irish Biographies from the earliest times to the year 2002, 9 vol. [en ligne] Cambridge, Royal Irish Academy and Cambridge University Press, 2009 (ci-après : DIB) ; Swords, The Green Cockade, op. cit., p. 87-88. 26. L. W. B. Brockliss and Patrick Ferté, « Prosopography of Irish clerics in the universities of Paris and Toulouse, 1573-1792 », Archivium Hibernicum, LVIII, 2004, p. 7-166 (p. 42-43) ; C. J. Woods, « Madgett, Nicholas », in DIB ; Swords, The Green Cockade, op. cit., p. 64, disait de Madgett que, refusant de prêter le serment, il avait abandonné la prêtrise au début de la Révolution avant de « monter » à Paris. Toutefois, il confondait Madgett I avec son cousin homonyme, Madgett II, également prêtre près de Bordeaux. Seul Kearney identifie Madgett I à un « ci-devant curé près Bordeaux » : Kearney à Lebrun, 29 oct. 1792, AD CPA 583 fo 106-107. 27. Témoignage de Mabille, [vers juillet 1795], AN W 548. Ce témoignage, plausible, est sujet à caution : il précise que Madgett « traduisoit et élaboroit les articles de Londres ». Or, Le Point du jour ne consistait qu’en compte-rendu des débats à l’Assemblée législative. Olivier Blanc, Les Espions de la Révolution et de l’Empire, Paris, Perrin, 1995,

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p. 56, prétend que Madgett a rencontré Barère à Toulouse dans les cercles maçonniques, sans donner de sources et en commettant de nombreuses erreurs. Cela dit, Madgett et Barère ont bien des liens avérés : en 1801, ils traduisent tous deux, de l’anglais, l’ouvrage du lieutenant-colonel Taylor, Lettres commerciales, politiques et littéraires sur l’Inde. 28. Déposition de Madgett… [oct.-nov. 1795], AN AF III 28 doss. 97, p. 133. 29. Biographie moderne, ou dictionnaire biographique de tous les hommes morts et vivans… 2nde édition, 4 vol., Leipzig, Paul-Jacques Besson, 1806, vol. IV, p. 421 ; Albert Soboul, Raymonde Monnier, Répertoire du personnel sectionnaire parisien de l’an II, Paris, Publications de la Sorbonne, 1985, p. 319, 506. 30. Pelleport à Craufurd, 22 juillet 1798, NA FO 33/15 f o 262-262A. Sur Pelleport, personnage peu fiable, voir Robert Darnton, « Bohemians Before Bohemianism », 3rd KB Lecture, NIAS, 2006. Craufurd to Grenville, 7 Aug. 1798, NA FO 33/16 fo 52-58. Ce témoignage de Madgett semble accablant. Néanmoins, il s’était brouillé avec Duckett (voir Madgett à [Bourdon de Vatry], [24 nov. 1799], AN G 242 fo 15-16). Ces deux sources semblent faire partie d’une légende noire véhiculée par les milieux émigrés. 31. Swords, The Green Cockade, op. cit., p. 57, 65. 32. Voir AN F17 1399 ; AD CPA 582 et 583, passim ; DDA 121/8. 33. Archives parlementaires, tome 54, séance du 2 décembre au soir, p. 54. 34. Swords, The Green Cockade, op. cit., p. 67, ne donne pas sa source sur le soutien de Santhonax. Celui de Bourdon est confirmé lorsque Duckett devient son secrétaire à Hambourg entre janvier et avril 1798. Bourdon mentionne l’avoir connu « dès le début de la Révolution » : AN AF III 57, doss. 225 : Bourdon au Directoire, 9 ventôse an VI [27 février 1798] ; F7 6151 plaq. 9, p. 47 : [Duckett], « Mémoire sur l’Irlande envoyé au ministre de la Police », 1 floréal an VI [20 avril 1798]. Sur Bourdon et son intérêt pour l’éducation, voir Michael J. Sydenham, Léonard Bourdon. The Career of a Revolutionary, 1754-1807, Waterloo, Wilfried Laurier University Press, 1999, p. 94-97, 300-307. 35. Kearney, Maher, « Aux citoyens de la Convention nationale », 28 nov. 1792, DDA 121/8. 36. Christopher Hill, The World Turned Upside Down, London, Penguin, 1991 [1972]. 37. Kearney, « Aux Citoyens députés à la Convention nationale », 20 déc. 1792, DDA 121/8. 38. Pour un épisode similaire (quoique moins radical) dans le même quartier : voir Haim Burstin, L’Invention du sans-culotte, op. cit., p. 162 sqq. 39. Ferradou, « Histoire d’un “festin patriotique” », art. cit. 40. [Duckett] à Lebrun, [déc. 1792], AD CPA 584 fo 391 ; Madgett à Lebrun, 22 mars 1793, AD CPA 587 fo 45-46 (fo 45 vo) ; Duckett à Delacroix, 8 ventôse an IV [27 février 1796] ; Duckett au Directoire, 9 floréal an IV [28 avril 1796], AN AF III 370 doss. 1814 ; Duckett à Delacroix, prairial an IV [mai-juin 1796], AD CPA 589 fo 157-158 (157v). Ni Madgett, ni un certain Sidderson n’y participèrent donc, même si ce dernier était effectivement un contact de Duckett en Irlande. Contra Marianne Elliott, Partners in Revolution, op. cit., p. 59 ; Swords, The Green Cockade, op. cit., p. 108. 41. Somers à [Bland Burges], 4 mars 1793, NA FO 27/42 fo 2-3. 42. AD CPA 584 f o 142.

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43. [Duckett], « Suite des réflexions sur l’Irlande », [vers nov. 1796], SHD B 11 1. Ce mémoire est bien de la main de Duckett et non de celle d’Edward Lewins. Contra Richard Hayes, Ireland and Irishmen in the French Revolution, op. cit., p. 107 (repris par Swords, The Green Cockade, op. cit., p. 108). 44. David Dickson, « Munster and the 1798 Rebellion », in 1798, op. cit., p. 147-173 ; Michael Durey, Transatlantic Radicals and the American Republic, University Press of Kansas, 1997, p. 112-116 ; David A. Wilson, United Irishmen, United States. Immigrant Radicals in the Early Republic, Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 1998. 45. Bourdon [Duckett] au Directoire, 21 ventôse an VI [11 mars 1798], AN AF III 57, doss. 225. 46. Tommy Graham, « The Transformation of the Dublin Society of United Irishmen into a Mass-Based Revolutionary Organization, 1791-1796 », in 1798, op. cit., p. 136-146. 47. Madgett à Lebrun, vers le 13 mars et 22 mars 1793, AD CPA 587 f o 20-21, 45-46 ; « Projet d’organisation du Comité révolutionnaire anglais » par [Madgett], s. d., SHD BB3 36, fo 116-117 ; Madgett à Dalbarade, [17 octobre 1793], SHD Marine GG1 Mémoires et Projets 58 fo 31 ; F7 4748/1, doss. 1. 48. Madgett au Directoire, [vers fin 1796-début 1797], AD Personnel Ire série, vol. 47 fo 83-85 ; [Madgett], « Note sur M. secrétaire-interprète de la Marine », [vers 1799], AN G 242 f. 4 ; Sylvie Kleinman, Translation, the French Language,and the United Irishmen (1792-1804), Ph. D. dissertation, Dublin City University, 2005, p. 75-84. 49. NA Treasury Sollicitor’s Papers 11/ 965, 3510 A1 et A3 ; Rowan au [Directoire], 18 vendémiaire an III [9 oct. 1794], AD CPA 588 fo 274-280, Elliot, Partners in Revolution, op. cit., p. 63-68. 50. Mike Rapport, Nationality and Citizenship in Revolutionary France: The Treatment of Foreigners, 1789-1799, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 2000, p. 138-258. 51. Garat au département de Paris, 16 mars 1793, AN F17 1399 ; AN F7 4753. 52. Réimpression de l’Ancien Moniteur, tome XVII, 1860, p. 593-594. 53. AP, tome 73, séance du 8 sept. 1793, p. 526 ; AN C 271 fo 29 ; Sophie Wahnich, L’Impossible citoyen. L’étranger dans le discours de la Révolution française, Paris, Albin Michel, 1997, p. 47-49, analyse cette pétition sans toutefois identifier qui en sont les signataires ni le contexte de lutte entre deux factions irlandaises. 54. Décret du 6 floréal an II [25 avril 1794], Collection Baudoin, vol. 49 [en ligne] ; AN AF II 63 doss. 462. 55. AN F17 14764. 56. « MacSheehy, Bernard », SHD, Terre, Personnel 2e série, 2Ye 2620, (où l’expédition aux Antilles est datée par erreur de l’an II) ; Madgett à Clarke, 12 fructidor an IV [29 août 1796], AN AF III 186b, doss. 859, p. 109 et 110 ; T. W. Moody, R. B. McDowell and C. J. Woods (éds.), The Writings of Theobald Wolfe Tone, 1763-1798, 3 vol., Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1998, 2001 et 2007, vol. II, p. 316, 367-369. 57. Elliott, Partners in Revolution, op. cit., p. 231-234, 261-265. 58. Ultán Gillen, « Constructing Democratic Thought in Ireland in the Age of Revolution, 1775-1800 », in Joanna Innes et Mark Philp (éds), Re-Imagining Democracy in the Age of Revolutions. America, France, Britain, Ireland, 1750-1850, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2013, p. 149-161.

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RÉSUMÉS

En 1792, à Paris, dix Irlandais ont tenté de prendre le contrôle du collège irlandais. Cet épisode permet de mieux comprendre comment le républicanisme français, dans sa définition radicale, et le républicanisme irlandais ont partagé des origines communes, ce qui contredit l’idée d’un républicanisme irlandais opportuniste et tardif. Alors que la France entrait en république, ces étudiants ont tenté de faire advenir une république irlandaise, d’abord dans le microcosme du collège, puis en Irlande même.

In 1792, in Paris, ten Irishmen attempted to take control of the Irish College. Studying this rather obscure episode sheds a new light on how French republicanism, in its radical form, and Irish republicanism shared common origins, which belies the idea of a late and opportunistic Irish republicanism. In the context of the advent of the French Republic, these students tried to bring forth an Irish republic, first in the microcosm of the college, then in Ireland itself.

INDEX

Mots-clés : République d'Irlande, républicanisme irlandais, religion - catholicisme, Collège des Irlandais (Paris), Irlandais Unis, relations franco-irlandaises Keywords : Irish Republic, Irish College (Paris), Irish republicanism, United Irishmen, Franco- Irish relations, religion - Catholicism

AUTEUR

MATHIEU FERRADOU Doctorant – Institut d’histoire de la Révolution française (IHRF)/ Institut d’histoire moderne et contemporaine (IHMC) – Université Paris 1-Panthéon Sorbonne

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Republican themes in the Irish constitutional tradition

Eoin Daly

Introduction

1 The approaching centenary of the Irish state has, unsurprisingly, prompted a great deal of reflection as to its republican character and credentials, and particularly as to the legacy of the republican ideas and rhetoric that motivated much of the political revolution from which the independent polity emerged. Much of this analysis has focused on the political culture of the State, and particularly its alleged pathologies of clientelism and corruption. However, relatively little has been said about the republican character, or otherwise, of the Irish Constitution. On the one hand, the Constitution of 1937 was seemingly influenced by Catholic social thought and characterised by a bellicose Gaelic-Christian nationalism that seemed rather bereft of republican potential. On the other hand, there are clear imprints of traditional republican ideas in constitutional provisions and principles relating to the structure and ethos of state institutions – some of which differentiated the new state from the parliamentary-centred model of the British constitution.

2 Accordingly, in this article I will consider to what extent republican ideas have influenced the Irish Constitution both in its historical and contemporary form. On the one hand, I will argue that the Constitution embraces many rather generic, non-specific republican ideas – like the rule of law, equality before the law and even the separation of church and state – that seem unremarkable with reference to the wider landscape of European liberal democracies. Equally, more distinctively “republican” concepts – such as civic participation and civic virtue – are either conspicuously absent or at least muted in the wider landscape of Irish constitutional thought. However, I will also argue that many of the central devices and institutions of the Irish Constitution may be interpreted in a specifically republican light.

3 I will make this argument with reference to two particular areas of constitutional doctrine: popular sovereignty and constitutional rights. I will argue that while the

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ideology of popular sovereignty seems to enshrine a plebiscitary concept of democracy that keeps the people at “arm’s length” in constituted governance, it can equally be understood as a means of checking executive dominance in the area of constitutional change, and ultimately as a safeguard against arbitrary governance. Similarly, while the acceptance of judicial supremacy in relation to constitutional rights seems to stem from an American-influenced liberalism – one that has a depoliticizing and decidedly unrepublican character – equally rights can be interpreted not simply as a guarantee of non-interference for individuals against the state, but rather as safeguards to ensure the primacy of the common good in the context of legislative process. Thus, my argument neither assumes any authentic, true version of the republican tradition, nor does it claim the Constitution itself has a singular or even a distinctive ideological or philosophical character. Rather the argument is a more modest one: it is that while the existing, amorphous precepts of constitutional doctrine have most often been understood in relation to liberal or communitarian ways of thinking, they are amenable to being reinterpreted in light of distinctively republican values.

4 In the first section, I will discuss the transposition of republican themes in different constitutional traditions, and give a brief assessment of their applications in the Irish context. In the second and third sections, I will consider how two of the central doctrines of the Irish Constitution – popular sovereignty and “natural” individual rights – may be reconceptualised in a distinctively republican sense.

Republican constitutionalism: an overview

5 While the republican tradition is usually defined with reference to the ideals of civic virtue, participative self-government and freedom as non-domination, its specific forms and instantiations are diverse and its conceptual and philosophical parameters are deeply contested. Indeed, it is sometimes argued that the republican tradition simply has no conceptual or philosophical unity across different historical and nationally specific instantiations1. Republicans have sometimes understood citizenship in a full-throated, ancient sense as the highest realisation of the good life, but also in a more instrumental sense as a means of protecting individual liberties and private property.2 Republicanism has been associated with austere, martial social mores, but has equally taken root in liberal, commercial societies. Besides, it is not self-evident why republicanism should be considered an attractive framework for contemporary politics: historically, as Goodin points out, republican ideas have carried a price in terms of personal autonomy, cultural pluralism and even toleration,3 while real-life republican societies have engendered various forms of ‘communitarian excess’.4

6 Correspondingly, republican idealism has received startlingly different constitutional expressions. For example, while figures like Jean-Jacques Rousseau advocated a “direct” model of participative democracy, republicans like James Madison argued for a highly mediated and representative form of politics, with both appealing to the overarching ideals of civic virtue and non-arbitrary government. Modern republicanism is associated with the unitary and indivisible state advocated by Rousseau, but also the federalism or “checks and balances” expounded by Madison5. Similarly, both the model of parliamentary supremacy that defines British public law, and the contrasting vision of judicial supremacy that has prevailed for two centuries in the United States, have been interpreted and defended in “republican” terms67. To an extent, this reflects

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reasonable disagreement concerning how abstract ideals such as non-domination or non-arbitrary rule may be institutionally instantiated. However, it also simply reflects the extraordinary malleability of the republican ideal in politics generally, and the fact that it is flexible (or indeterminate) enough to have been invoked in support of opposing political visions, both populist and elitist, radical and conservative.

7 Nonetheless, certain common themes emerge in the historical and contemporary expressions of republican constitutionalism. On the one hand, republican thinkers have historically understood freedom not as the absence of interference or coercion as such, but rather as security against arbitrary power8. In Philip Pettit’s interpretation of the Roman and renaissance republican tradition, “the antonym of freedom [is] not interference but rather domination – exposure to the arbitrary, uncheckable power of a dominus or a master in one’s life9”. In turn, constitutional scholars like Bellamy and Tomkins have argued that this republican concept of freedom is given expression, at the political level, in the parliamentary model of accountable government. Thus, political freedom, in its republican sense, is not realised through any definite set of individual rights, placed above and beyond politics – but rather through a political structure that enshrines the equal status of citizens who are deeply divided as to questions of “right”, as well as the good. In one strand of the republican constitutional tradition, then, there is strong resistance towards any attempt to juridify or depoliticise “rights”.

8 Ostensibly, the contrasting American model of constitutionalism, predicated on judicial supremacy in relation to controversies around rights, appears more remote from historical republican thinking – simply because it seems to depoliticise rights, and privileges negative individual freedom as an overarching normative goal. That is, it seems to conceive of freedom simply as a constraint on government power, and of “rights” as being put beyond the ordinary fray of political contestation, in the sense that liberal philosophers like Dworkin and Rawls defend10. In this framework, citizenship and political participation are assigned a more modest and instrumental value. Yet this liberal model of constitutionalism can equally claim the republican mantle. Judicially enforced constitutional rights may be interpreted not simply as purely negative liberties or as barriers against state power, but rather as safeguards against arbitrary government, and as checks on the predicates of state power rather than as objective moral rights per se11. Indeed, Pettit himself rejects the idea that republicanism should be constitutionally translated as a model of parliamentary supremacy: he embraces a version of “legal constitutionalism” in order to promote broad contestation and “checks and balances” as the best institutional expression of the Roman-republican ideal12.

9 These themes have found a relatively muted expression in the Irish constitutional tradition. Of course, republicanism itself has, in Ireland, been strongly associated with extra-constitutionalist and violent versions of nationalism. Garvin has described Irish republicanism as “nationalist, separatist, vaguely socialist and sometimes Caesaro- papist13”. And with the campaign of the Provisional IRA in the context of the Northern Irish Troubles, republicanism in recent decades became associated with ethno-religious nationalism, in contrast with the older anti-sectarian thinking associated with the United Irish movement14. Indeed a pessimist might conclude that there is little scope for a vibrant republican culture in a policy where civic morality was historically divested to the religious domain – or more recently, identified with the demands of the

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market15. And indeed, for obvious reasons, constitutional debates in the early independent state tended equally to focus on the external dimensions of sovereignty rather than on domestic political structures16. While the American constitutional tradition draws on Madison’s republicanism and its French counterpart more from Rousseau, there is no equivalent or distinctive inspiration in the Irish constitutional context.

10 However, Irish republican discourse has not been completely severed from wider republican thinking. While historical Irish-republican thought was more concerned with freedom from external domination than with internal constitutional arrangements, O’Callaghan has argued that its nationalist rhetoric was infused with and borrowed from the classical and the 18th-century republican traditions17. Indeed there are strong traces of republican thinking in nationalist rhetoric: the 1919 Declaration of Independence affirmed: “the Irish people is resolved to secure and maintain its complete independence in order to promote the common weal.”18 De Valera’s romantic vision of austerity and rural virtue might seem a departure from bona fide republican thought, yet in fact it echoes some of its historical strands: Rousseau, indeed, celebrated peasant autarky as a social framework for republican virtue19.

11 Furthermore, while the “republican” identity of the State was muted in the context of the Northern Ireland conflict, the concept has arguably been rehabilitated or “reclaimed” in recent years20. Increasingly, the idea is invoked not only in the narrow terms of sovereignty and national self-government, but also in relation to broader themes of citizenship across social and economic life. In the discourses of President Michael D. Higgins as well as other public figures, the idea of the Republic has, for example, been invoked against clerical interference in politics, political corruption, and socio-economic inequalities21. And to an extent at least, these republican themes of civic virtue and the common good seemed to have particular resonance during a social and economic crisis that stemmed from the deregulatory excesses and governmental failures of the Celtic Tiger era22. Many of the major political parties have laid claim to the republican mantle, to the extent that, far from representing a violent fringe, the phrase risks becoming empty and banal. Indeed, perhaps it can be argued that “republican” thinking, in Ireland as elsewhere, lacks specificity and has become a synonym for all that is wholesome in politics.

12 Nonetheless, this revived interest in republican thinking invites a reappraisal of the republican influences in the historical and contemporary forms of Irish constitutionalism. Ostensibly at least, the Irish Constitution does not seem to draw its inspiration from distinctively republican thought; rather it appeals both to “natural” rights – this being partly a product of religious influence – as well as appealing to a national identity that is defined in Gaelic and Christian, rather than purely civic terms, as seems evident in the preamble in particular, with its invocation of “our Divine Lord, Jesus Christ”, as well as the “centuries of trial” attributed to ancestral heroes23. While it gives a central position to ideals of popular sovereignty and democracy, these are quite generic and non-specific concepts that are not especially associated with republican thought, and indeed which may seem quite hollow when considered in light of the practical realities of the State to which the Constitution refers. Similarly, a concept of rights as “natural” rather than distinctively civic or political constructs – that is, as being above or beyond politics – seems inconsistent with republican thinking on the subject of individual rights. However, in the following sections I will argue that while

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distinctively republican ideas are not particularly prominent in the constitutional text, and while the Constitution has not been interpreted or instantiated in a particularly “republican” way, the central devices and institutions of the Constitution can nonetheless be re-conceptualised in a distinctively republican light.

Popular sovereignty

13 Popular sovereignty has been understood as the definitive and overarching principle of the Irish constitutional order. Article 6 proclaims that all “powers of Government” are derived – albeit “under God” – from “the people”. In more practical terms, the idea of popular sovereignty served as a legitimating principle for the enactment of the Constitution in the post-independence context as well as something approximating a constitutional doctrine that differentiated the new state from the British constitutional tradition.

14 To an extent, the principle of popular sovereignty served as the philosophical foundation stone of the Constitution, which differentiated it from the parliamentary- focused British tradition. The emphasis on popular sovereignty in both 1922 and 1937 Constitutions “represented a decisive break with the British constitutional tradition, which viewed sovereign authority as vested in the political organs of the State rather than in the people as such24”. O’Cinneide notes an early “desire to give substantive effect to the idea of popular sovereignty [which] led the drafters of both constitutions to experiment with different methods of ensuring greater popular participation25”. While the 1922 Constitution was viewed by republicans as offering a limited and compromised form of national sovereignty, the enactment of a new Constitution through a national plebiscite partly served to put beyond doubt that the State derived from the constituent Irish “people” rather than the consent or acquiescence of the Westminster Parliament. Popular sovereignty both legitimated and defined the new Constitution, with de Valera asserting in the Dáil debates that the new charter made the people the “masters26”.

15 The invocation of popular sovereignty also reflected the contemporary realpolitik. It proved politically expedient in the peculiar historical circumstances in which the current Constitution of 1937 emerged: the enactment of the Bunreacht broke the chain of legal continuity with the Irish Free State Constitution and the Anglo-Irish Treaty, which made no provision for the possibility of a new constitution being enacted. And so de Valera appealed directly to the “people” as an ultimate and overriding source of legitimacy for the new Constitution27. The plebiscite of 1937 – a constituent moment – allowed the authority of the new Constitution to be grounded in new, extra-legal source – the consent and affirmation of the voting “people”. De Valera understood the plebiscite as a mechanism through which the people could re-assert its original sovereignty and thereby override the legal constraints of the constituted order. He appealed to the authority of “the sovereign people who are above the lawyers and above the Government and all others”. The new constitution, he said, would be “the foundation law of the sovereign people of this country28”.

16 Therefore, from the outset, popular sovereignty was associated with the expression of the popular voice in referendum exercises. One of the distinctive, and unusual, features of the Constitution was the fact that it could only be amended through a referendum

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process. In turn, this has been understood as the primary, if not the exclusive mechanism for giving expression to popular sovereignty.

17 The understanding of the Irish people as “sovereign” oscillates between enshrining a purely symbolic status for the people as the constituent power and the nominal source of political authority, and actually according the people a direct role in the governance of the state. Indeed the concept of “sovereignty” is used in ambiguous and sometimes contradictory ways in legal and political theory. In some instances it refers to the supreme governing agent within a polity, as in Hobbes’ or Austin’s account – as the uncommanded commander29. But in contemporary democratic societies, it is typically used to designate the “people” not as an active governing agent, but rather as the source of governmental authority in a more formal and symbolic sense, or as an authorising agent rather than an actively governing one30.

18 In the Irish constitutional case law, the principle has been invoked almost exclusively in relation to the people’s role in the constitutional-amendment process. On the one hand, the device of the constitutional referendum is commonly taken as a hallmark and expression of popular sovereignty. On the other, popular sovereignty has been interpreted, in practical terms, as meaning that the people’s right of constitutional amendment is substantively unfettered. Unusually in European terms, this means that no constitutional principle is unamendable or immutable31. Indeed the concept of popular sovereignty has almost been conflated with the referendum mechanism. The Supreme Court, for example, noted, “the Constitution … was enacted by the people and … can be amended by the people only [as] the sovereign authority32”. Popular sovereignty has consistently been invoked to reject various challenges to constitutional amendments that were alleged to have violated supposedly immutable or essential constitutional principles, particularly the principles of natural law33”. Thus the Supreme Court has rejected the argument that even “natural” human rights in the Constitution are immutable or unamendable, reasoning that “the people intended to give themselves full power to amend any provision of the Constitution34”. Thus “a proposal to amend the Constitution cannot per se be unconstitutional35”. Similarly it has been said “there can be no question of a constitutional amendment properly before the people and approved by them being itself unconstitutional36”. And this view of referendums as expressions of sovereignty has been reflected, to an extent, in wider constitutional theory as well as in jurisprudence: Tierney, for example, suggests that constitutional referendums potentially represent “true conduits of popular determination37 ”.

19 However, this has led to certain conceptual tensions in relation to the substance and scope of popular sovereignty. Unusually, the normative identity of the Irish Constitution has not been associated with any of its substantive principles, but rather its method of adoption and amendment. Relatedly, popular sovereignty itself is understood simply in procedural rather than substantive terms. It has not been identified with any specific rights or principles – for example, the rights citizens might need to meaningfully participate in government. Rather, it has been understood reductively in relation to the people’s formal role in the constituent process. Put simply, popular sovereignty translates to a procedure for determining constitutional content, and not to any definite content. If popular sovereignty is understood in purely procedural terms, this is potentially self-contradicting if the substance or content of popular rule is undermined through the constitutional-amendment process. Thus the

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procedural aspect of popular sovereignty is arguably self-limiting. Arguably it could not, for example, logically be used to remove or undermine the preconditions for the exercise of popular sovereignty itself – particularly the rights of expression, association and suffrage which are needed to participate in the political process. Philip Pettit, for example, argues that rights relating to democratic contestation must be placed beyond the constitutional amendment process.38 The Constitution, he argues, must “put various issues off the popular agenda”.39

20 As discussed, the Supreme Court has affirmed that: “the Constitution … is the fundamental and supreme law of the State representing … the will of the People40”. Correspondingly it has been assumed that interpreting the Constitution is essentially an exercise in retrieving the will of the people as expressed in the referendum process41. In Tierney’s terms, this is the view that the constitutional referendum allows the people to “‘produce’ sovereign decisions42”, such that ultimately the Constitution embodies “the settled will of a democratic people43”.

21 However, this overstates the degree of agency the people enjoys in the context of the constitutional-amendment process. Somewhat ambitiously, it presumes both that the referendum is capable of crystallising a collective “will” – on the part of a unitary corporate entity called “the people” – and in turn that the constitutional text can effectuate this will. The idea that the constitutional referendum inscribes the popular will in the basic law of the state not only makes dubious assumptions concerning group agency and the possibility of collective will44 – more simply, it ignores the various ways in which popular agency is checked and contained by various elite-driven processes. Of course, constitutional referendums cannot be initiated spontaneously by the “people” themselves, not least because the initiative mechanism is reserved formally speaking to the Oireachtas, and in effect, to the Government. Thus while constitutional jurisprudence often speaks as if the people enjoyed an unconditioned, freestanding power of amendment, in effect they only enjoy a veto power in a multi-stage constitutional-amendment process. The people’s agency is constrained by various intermediary institutions45”.

22 Thus, the people’s power is far more modest than what constitutional mythology suggests. In political-theory terms, the constitutional referendum mechanism affords the people (limited) influence, but not control of the kind that “sovereignty” implies. Being couched within a limiting initiative procedure, the people can never be seen as engaged in a freestanding act of creation or control. In the context of the amendment process, the people are very much a constituted, rather than a constituent authority, as part of an interaction of different mutually constraining assemblies and authorities and with a procedurally couched role.

23 Moreover, there has been little sustained effort to relate this foundational political principle of the Constitution to more substantive themes of citizenship and civic participation. As O’Cinneide has argued, de Valera’s assertion that the Constitution made the people the “masters” rings hollow given that, for most practical purposes, the “people” are kept “at arm’s length” in the constituted governance of the State.46 Indeed the State established a marked contradiction between an emphatic official emphasis on popular sovereignty as a definitive constitutional doctrine, and the marginalisation of the abstract, sacralised “people” in the actual business of government47”. Tentative democratic experimentation – such as the popular initiative procedure originally

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envisaged in the Constitution of 1922 – waned in the fraught political environment of the 1920s and 1930s48”.

24 Thus it has been commonplace for constitutional theory and jurisprudence to invoke “the people” as the formal source of constitutional authority almost as an empty formula – as a purely abstract proposition that fails to consider citizenship in concrete, participative terms. It has been argued that popular sovereignty occupies a “quasi– religious” position in constitutional jurisprudence49 – that it is “venerated in constitutional theology50”. But this simply is not reflected in the realities of the independent state, and, in particular, the “sharp disconnect in Ireland between the people and the systems of governance by which they are ruled51”.

25 Nonetheless, the plebiscitary characteristics of the Irish Constitution, and the accompanying rhetoric of popular sovereignty, can be re-interpreted in distinctly republican terms.

26 Of course, the idea that constitutional referendums give the sovereign people “direct control52” over constitutional content is simply unrealistic, for the reasons outlined. Indeed, republicans have historically been sceptical towards “direct” or purely majoritarian democracy, fearing the spectre of majority domination or tyranny. For Pettit, it risks engendering “the ultimate form of arbitrariness, the tyranny of a majority53”. James Madison described “pure” democracy as “incompatible with personal security or the rights of property54”. Instead republicans have advocated a model of “checks and balances” or mutually constraining assemblies55”. From most republican perspectives, “direct” democratic mechanisms undermine the moderating virtues associated with parliamentary democracy. Indeed, Pettit, for example, contrasts the neo-Roman tradition with Rousseau’s “communitarian” conception of political freedom, which, he argues, requires citizens to deliberate upon and directly legislate the “general will, the corporate will of the political community.”56 Thus, republicans are likely to be apprehensive of constitutional referendums, where they are presented as exercises in popular sovereignty that override and sidestep the equilibrium of constituted authorities and assemblies. They will fear that direct-democracy exercises undermine the moderating and deliberative virtues of political representation, exalting “brute preference” above “the good of the group57”. Indeed, Pettit apprehensively describes “a plebiscitarian dispensation in which each participant privately forms his or her judgment about common avowable interests, rather than doing so in dialogue with others58”.

27 However, I argued in the previous section that the constitutional referendum cannot coherently be understood as a pure or unbridled expression of popular will. By the same light, its republican potential becomes apparent. For the same reasons that referendums cannot project an uncompounded popular will, equally they cannot be understood as a vehicle of populist tyranny. And while popular power is itself mediated and checked through various procedural mechanisms, the referendum mechanism itself serves, in turn, to check the power of other political organs in the domain of constitutional change. For contemporary republican theorists, state power is non- arbitrary, and therefore consistent with political freedom, to the extent that it is subject to suitable mechanisms of popular contestation and control59”. The “mixed” constitution will contain or at least minimise arbitrary power by providing suitable avenues of contestation. In turn, the constitutional referendum that has so strongly defined Irish constitutional culture can be understood in this light – not as an authorial

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mechanism through which the people directly exercise constituent power or even “sovereignty”, but rather a contestatory mechanism through which representative and executive organs are controlled and held to account60”.

28 Pettit argues that a “plenary” legislative body is too unwieldy and unconstrained to offer an appropriate mechanism of republican government. However, the lack of constraint post-decision is counterbalanced somewhat by the procedural safeguards that operate at the initiation stage – a “plenary” legislature of the people does not offer the open-ended subject-matter discretion that conventional assemblies enjoy. Since the power of initiative is confined to the legislature, this ensures at least a certain degree of contestation and moderation of the referendum proposal itself. More importantly, while the referendum is itself highly constrained, it serves, in turn, to constrain executive and parliamentary power in the domain of constitutional change. In Ireland, this is especially valuable in a context of particularly strong executive dominance. While the constitutional referendum hardly allows the people to originate or author constitutional content, for the reasons outlined, at least it offers a check on the ability of the executive to effectuate constitutional change via the legislative process. And in systems characterised by strong executive dominance over parliament, this assumes critical importance. Under the Irish Free State Constitution (1922-1937), the possibility of amending the constitution via ordinary legislation, rather than referendum, effectively gave the Executive Council a free hand in diluting various constitutional safeguards – for example, removing the provision for popular-initiative referendum, and allowing extensive powers for military tribunals61. By way of contrast, the requirement of a constitutional-amendment referendum under the new Constitution of 1937 provided some measure of restraint on the government, despite providing a limited degree of popular empowerment. It helped to ensure a certain degree of constitutional stability compared to the 1922 Constitution, as well as a safeguard against constitutional revisions designed to benefit sitting governments. For example, voters twice rejected attempts to remove the constitutional requirement of PR-STV (proportional representation) for Dáil elections, where this would have benefited the governing Fianna Fáil party62. And in addition to the defeated amendments, the referendum requirement has certainly deterred various reforms that Governments would otherwise have pursued through the parliamentary route63. Thus although “direct democracy” is often associated with unhinged populism, the constitutional referendum may play an essentially conservative role in entrenching constitutional content. Moreover, it has counterbalanced a general historical tendency that has seen increasing power accrue to the executive. While failing to provide large-scale popular empowerment, it has facilitated “the diffusion of power across institutions”,64 thus echoing traditional republican themes.

29 Of course, constitutional content might be entrenched and stabilised by alternative amendment mechanisms – for example, a parliamentary supermajority – but referendums demand a wider, and more public process of contestation and deliberation, in contrast to the party-political bargaining that might secure an enhanced legislative majority. Public justifications will be more widely exchanged. The vast majority of constitutional amendments in Ireland have been supported by a cross- party consensus65. But correspondingly, each of these amendments would have mustered a parliamentary super-majority with little public debate.

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30 Relatedly, while the constitutional referendum cannot be understood as giving “direct and unmediated expression […] to the popular will66”, instead it can be valued as a mechanism for promoting popular participation in government. The Irish Constitution has typically been understood as somehow giving voice to an elusive, ephemeral concept of the popular “will” – as implausible as this seems – yet it has rarely been understood as a framework for facilitating participatory and deliberative citizenship, as providing mechanisms through which citizens can participate in the definition of common interests. Yet when re-interpreted in this light, its republican potential becomes more apparent. Of course, compared to traditional republican practices, referendums are relatively undemanding in terms of the scale of civic involvement they demand of citizens (by the same measure they are relatively unintrusive, compared to say, military service.) It may entail relatively superficial, passive engagement. Yet a republican emphasis on participatory constitutional mechanisms may serve as a corrective to the kinds of civic disengagement that may occur in a purely parliamentary system. There is empirical evidence that referendums promote wider participation in politics67. Indeed compared to elections, they are more likely to prompt reflection on discrete political issues. Thus, the shift in constitutional discourse witnessed in post-independence Ireland – that is, a shift in emphasis from parliamentary to popular sovereignty – can be interpreted in a distinctly republican light.

31 While many republicans view direct democracy apprehensively, as a source of potential tyranny or domination, I have argued that the constitutional referendum does not in fact constitute “direct democracy” in a meaningful sense. An alternative understanding of the constitutional referendum – assigning the people a contestatory rather than an authorial or constituent role – reconciles it with the historical republican concern for “mixed” government.

Constitutional rights and non-domination

32 Many liberal thinkers have understood constitutions as mediating a tension between individual liberal rights, understood as negative rights of non-interference, on the one hand and the democratic value of majority rule on the other. However, republican thinking often rejects or bypasses this kind of conceptual dichotomy. On the one hand, republicans will tend to emphasise the ideal of non-arbitrary government, based on the common good (however defined), rather than the value of majority rule as such: indeed republican thinkers like Madison were notoriously hostile to unbridled or unmediated democracy. Republican thinkers might well (but not necessarily) defend a principle of democracy, not because it enshrines majoritarian will as such, but rather because they believe it promotes either civic virtue or non-domination68. Similarly, republicans will typically reject any understanding of individual rights as being purely negative in nature, or as being above and beyond politics. Rather, rights are a part of the “circumstances of politics”, and rather than being intrinsically in tension with democratic government, they are constituted and maintained by political activity and by citizenship itself. Thus in the United States, republicans have “challenge[d] a prevailing understanding of the constitution as primarily a set of rules to limit power … and protect individual rights”, re-interpreting it instead “as a framework for collective self-government based … on deliberation on common goods69”. It has been argued that

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discourses of “rights” and of human rights in particular, tend to “depoliticise” questions of right, suggesting that rights offer a “boundary around the individual […] defined against the state70”, and ignoring the political dimensions of freedom.

33 Relatedly, republicans generally reject any understanding of freedom as an absence of external restraint on individual choices or actions. Freedom, in the republican sense, does not consist of an absence of interference as such, but rather an absence of domination, where domination is the condition of being subject to alien will. We can be dominated, Pettit suggests, without ever suffering interference, and conversely, we can suffer interference that is not the manifestation of alien will – and which therefore is not abrogative of freedom at all71. Freedom, indeed, has no meaning pre-politically – it can only be realised in a framework of coercive laws. In Rousseau’s interpretation of the social contract tradition, we enter into political society not to preserve natural rights that pre-existed political society – but rather to free ourselves of dependency on alien will, which in turn is irreducible to any guaranteed spheres of non-interference for unhindered private actions72.

34 Against this backdrop, Irish constitutional culture seems to be informed by a theory of rights that is decidedly un-republican. While political freedom has been defined in relation to a concept of popular sovereignty as discussed above, individual rights have been defined primarily with reference to a philosophy of natural law. This is partly a product of the Catholic-dominated intellectual climate in which the Constitution originated73. This drew, broadly speaking, on Aquinas’ understanding of natural law as that part of God’s eternal law that is accessible to humans through reason74. Clarke describes this as a “hybrid scholastic theory, partly derived from Aquinas and partly inherited from later scholastics through the intermediary of early twentieth-century Roman Catholic theology75”. This theory is particularly evident in the provisions concerning the rights of the family, marriage and property. In the constitutional text itself, rights are described as “natural”, “inalienable”, “imprescriptible”, or “antecedent to positive law76”. This philosophy of rights has been further expounded in landmark constitutional judgments. In McGee v Attorney General, Justice Walsh observed: Articles 41, 42, and 43 emphatically reject the theory that there are no rights without laws, no rights contrary to the law and no rights anterior to the law. They indicate that justice is placed above the law and acknowledge that natural rights or human rights are not created by law but that the Constitution confirms their existence and gives them protection. The individual has natural and human rights over which the State has no authority77.

35 Thus, natural-law discourse has drawn from secular theories of natural rights as well as the Christian influenced concept that historically predominated. This is particularly evident in the assertion in Article 43.1 that man enjoys the right to property “in virtue of his rational being”. This echoes the secular natural-law tradition, influenced especially by the 17th-century philosopher John Locke, who argued that governmental authority depends on respect for natural rights that exist before the coming into being of political society78.

36 Justice Walsh suggested that natural rights were not merely “an acknowledgment of the ethical content of law in its ideal of justice79”, but rather, in essence, an integral component of the Constitution and an actionable source of constitutional law. In a bold assertion of judicial power, he went as far as to suggest that it fell to judges, in light of their experience, to determine what such “natural rights” consist of – to “determine, where necessary, the rights which are superior or antecedent to positive law80”.

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37 However, partly because the content of natural law is notoriously ambiguous81, natural- law thinking has done little to settle concrete questions concerning constitutional rights in Ireland. Kavanagh argues that in Ireland, “natural law” simply became a by- word for the idea that judges should strike down those elements of the “positive law” (usually equated with legislation) that contradict an ethical idea of justice. Indeed it does not readily translate to an analytical theory of constitutional rights. Natural law has most often been used to identify “un-enumerated” (implied) constitutional rights – rights such as privacy – which are derived from the overall spirit and ethos of the Constitution. Indeed other, equally vague philosophical concepts such as the “human personality” and the “Christian and democratic nature of the state” have also been invoked82. Yet apart from a few cases, natural law has not generally been used to elaborate on the substance of constitutional rights; “judges did not consult the great philosophical texts on natural law, apart from making occasional passing reference to their authors83.” Indeed, in some cases, natural-law concepts were used not to identify but to limit constitutional rights – for example, in the 1983 Norris case concerning the criminal prohibition of homosexuality84.

38 More broadly, since the 1960s there has been increasing reluctance to use explicitly religious sources for identifying un-enumerated rights – and the citation of papal encyclicals in constitutional-rights cases never survived the processes of secularisation that took root from the 1970s85. Indeed in the 1972 McGee case, which legalised contraception, Justice Walsh said that constitutional concepts of natural rights were “conditioned by the passage of time86”. More generally, in recent decades there has been growing reluctance to invoke natural-law ideas as a basis for constitutional rights, and a trend towards using more conventionally “legal” sources87. Clearly, this trend is inseparable from the broader secularisation of Irish politics and society; however, by the same measure it is unclear what the philosophy of natural rights in the Irish constitution now entails. The Constitution references various secular philosophical concepts – such as the “freedom and dignity” of the individual – but with the decline of natural-law thinking, there is no clear alternative philosophy of constitutional rights. In any event, it seems apparent that rights are still conceptualised not as instruments of the common good or of non-domination, whether social, economic or political – but rather as negative rights that are moral in character and that are defined and understood as being beyond or outside politics, contrary to the dominant republican understanding.

39 Since freedom, in the republican tradition, consists of non-domination in the sense of non-arbitrary rule – and since domination is based on asymmetric power relationships rather than interference per se – it is arguable, in one sense, that judicially enforced constitutional rights are alien to the republican way of thinking about freedom and rights.

40 On the one hand, constitutional rights might be thought relatively ineffective in capturing the distributive dimension of freedom understood as non-domination. Freedom, in the republican sense, can be undermined simply by virtue of disparities of power and resources that force some to remain dependent on the goodwill of others. Since non-domination depends on people’s “relative powers” – and in particular, the opportunities and resources they enjoy relative to others – it requires a strong commitment to social and distributive justice that probably cannot be captured or realised as a set of individual rights, whether codified constitutionally or otherwise88.

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Republicans will recognise that domination can be constituted by private as well as public power; thus, non-domination requires a much wider political and social project, and not merely safeguards for individuals against encroachments of state power.

41 Constitutional rights may not only be ineffective, but positively counterproductive in promoting freedom in the republican sense. Republican scholars like Richard Bellamy have argued that so-called “legal constitutionalism” – the entrenchment of constitutional principles in legal form – can itself lead to a form of domination by enshrining unaccountable judicial power89. Again, this reflects a broader republican scepticism towards the idea that individual freedom is best secured through legal rights that purport to transcend the political and legislative process. Given the disagreement that exists in contemporary societies as to concepts of right, judicial review is an arbitrary method for defining rights, since it is largely immune from the usual channels of accountability and contestation that apply in the political sphere. Given that citizens reasonably disagree as to the scope and meaning of rights and as to the reconciliation of competing rights-claims, judicially enforced constitutional rights represent a site of unaccountable political power. Many republicans have simply insisted that republican freedom, understood as non-arbitrary rule, lies simply in the political and legislative process through which competing concepts of “rights” are ordered and reconciled, rather than in any definite concept of rights that is put above and beyond political contestation. Any attempt to depoliticise rights, they suggest, is itself a form of political domination. Any attempt to hive off “rights” controversies from the political and legislative process is not only ad hoc and historically specific, but also risks itself constituting a form of arbitrary rule.

42 However, it is possible to reconceptualise judicially enforced constitutional rights in a manner that is consistent with republican ways of thinking about freedom90. In particular, it is possible to understand constitutional rights not as barriers against state power for individuals, but rather as guarantees of non-arbitrary government. Indeed, the republican understanding of freedom as an absence of domination rather than interference – that is, as security against arbitrary power – is arguably echoed, albeit indirectly, in the analytical theory of constitutional rights91. Arguably, constitutional- rights jurisprudence, whether in Ireland or elsewhere, does not prohibit interference in protected activities as such, but only arbitrary interference. Generally speaking, interference in protected activity – say, religious practice or political expression – is only impermissible if it is disproportionate to a legitimate public goal connected to the common good92. In turn, this is conducive to the historical republican ways of thinking about freedom and “rights”. Constitutional rights, in this lens, are not safeguards for individual interests per se, but rather controls on the predicates of public action.

43 For example, articles 8-11 of the European Convention on Human Rights, in requiring that interferences in protected rights are “prescribed by law” (rather than based on administrative discretion), arguably echo a republican concern to prevent arbitrary interference, rather than a “liberal” concern to prevent interference per se. Similarly, the Irish Constitution references similar formulae such as “public order and morality” (Article 44) or “the exigencies of the common good” (Article 43), while constitutional jurisprudence has embraced a proportionality doctrine that developed originally in Canadian and German law93. In other instances, constitutional doctrine may account for the republican insight as to those forms of domination that occur without any interference per se ever being suffered, simply by virtue of unchecked power

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disparities that pertain in public and private spheres94. Republicans, to generalise, have understood that citizens may suffer domination where they must live in apprehension of interferences that may occur – even improbably – with a change of circumstance or fortune that renders them vulnerable to the discretion or goodwill of others. While constitutional rights cannot account for the various kinds of power disparities that affect individuals in different social and economic spheres, they can account for the fear or apprehension of interference – the essence of domination – as well as interference that is actually suffered. For example, the Irish Supreme Court has given standing (locus standi) to individuals to challenge laws as unconstitutional, even where they have not suffered actual interference, or where interference is unlikely to occur95. The Court has recognised that “the [constitutional] provisions must enable the person invoking them not merely to redress a wrong resulting from an infringement of the guarantees but also to prevent the threatened or impending infringement of the guarantees96 ”… This is attributable in part to an implicit recognition that constitutional rights may be undermined by the state of uncertainty or fear as to the possibility of future interference in some protected conduct as much as by the actual experience of such interference. Furthermore, it supports the idea that constitutional rights may be understood less as safeguards for unhindered actions for individuals, and more as controls against arbitrary governmental power more generally97.

44 Similarly, constitutional judgments have recognised that violations of rights may occur where criminal offences are defined too vaguely or imprecisely – thus echoing an historical republican concern as to arbitrary power98. More generally, Irish constitutional doctrine has reflected a concern not merely to protect certain zones of individual activity, but rather to check the means and process through which activities are hindered or restricted. It has been recognised, for example, that restrictions on constitutional rights must be grounded in legislation rather than official discretion99. This echoes provisions of the European Convention of Human Rights which provide that restrictions on the liberties of expression and of thought, conscience and belief must be exercised “in accordance with law100”. The concern is not to guarantee non- interference per se in relation to particular activities, but rather to protect against discretion, which is understood by republicans, historically, as the essence of arbitrary power101. And while some degree of discretion is inevitable in the modern administrative state, Irish constitutional doctrine has aimed to curtail its potentially arbitrary character in insisting, in particular, that officials vested with discretionary powers are obliged to give those affected by their decisions an opportunity to be heard and to put their case (audi alteram partem), to refrain from taking irrelevant considerations into account, to provide reasons for their decisions, and to avoid any perception of bias or partiality102. Again, more generally, these examples illustrate that the focus of constitutional doctrine is not necessarily “liberal”, as widely assumed, but at least potentially republican – because its concern is not to guarantee non- interference for individuals as such but rather to ensure the non-arbitrariness of governmental power.

Conclusion

45 The Irish Constitution has not traditionally been understood and discussed using a specifically republican discourse, of the kind that prevails in other constitutional

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cultures such as that of France, or perhaps the United States. Instead, Irish constitutional culture has been informed either by rather generic, almost platitudinous doctrines such as that of popular sovereignty – or an elusive notion of rule by the popular “will” – or, indeed, by distinctly un-republican concepts such as Christian values and natural law. While the democratic doctrine of the Constitution seems politically naïve, the philosophy of natural law has not meaningfully survived the processes of secularisation that Ireland has undergone since independence. As a result, contemporary Irish constitutional culture lacks a definite philosophical identity. I have not argued that historically, the 1937 Bunreacht can be understood as a quintessentially or authentically “republican” charter. However, I have argued that despite the absence of a republican discourse in Irish constitutional culture, its existing devices and institutions can be reconceptualised in a republican light, or at least in a manner that is consistent with republican ways of thinking about political freedom and individual rights. In turn, the Constitution provides a fruitful avenue for republican thinking in the context of a revived interest in civic-republican thought in contemporary Ireland.

NOTES

1. Robert Goodin, “Folie Républicaine”, Annual Review of Political Science, Vol 6, no. 1, June 2003. 2. See generally Iseult Honohan, Civic Republicanism, London, Taylor & Francis, 2002. 3. Ibid. Kautz also argues that republicanism breeds intolerance. See Steven Kautz, “The Liberal Idea of Toleration”, American Journal of Political Science, Vol 37, no. 2, May 1993. 4. Goodin, “ Folie Républicaine”. In Honohan’s terms, the classical version of republicanism has been decried as “inherently oppressive, moralistic, exclusive, militarist and masculinist’. Honohan, Civic Republicanism, p. 6. 5. Honohan, Civic Republicanism, op. cit., Chapter II. 6. See especially Richard Bellamy, Political Constitutionalism, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2007; Adam Tomkins, Our Republican Constitution, Oxford, Hart, 2005. 7. See Tomkins, Our Republican Constitution, op. cit. 8. See generally Quentin Skinner, Liberty before Liberalism, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1998. 9. Philip Pettit, “The Tree of Liberty: Republicanism, American, French and Irish”, Field Day Review, vol. 1, no 1, 2005, p. 30. 10. John Rawls, Political Liberalism, New York, Columbia University Press, 1996; Ronald Dworkin, Taking Rights Seriously, London, Duckworth, 1978. 11. Richard Pildes, “Why Rights Are Not Trumps: Social Meanings, Expressive Harms, and Constitutionalism’ The Journal of Legal Studies, Vol. 27, , no 2, June 1998. 12. Philip Pettit, On the People’s Terms: a Republican Theory and Model of Democracy, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2013.

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13. Tom Garvin, “An Irish republican tradition”, Iseult Honohan (ed.), Republicanism in Ireland: Confronting Theories and Traditions, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2008, p. 23-30, p. 24. 14. Kevin Whelan, “Republicanism: The Legacy of the United Irishmen”, in Robert Savage (ed.), Ireland in the New Century, Dublin, Four Courts Press, 2003. 15. See e.g. Fintan. O’Toole (ed.), Up the Republic! Towards a New Ireland, London, Faber and Faber, 2012. 16. Admittedly, there were some attempts at democratic experimentation in the Irish Free State. See Laura Cahillane, ‘Anti-Party Politics in the Irish Free State Constitution’, Dublin University Law Journal, vol. 35, no 1, May 2012, p. 34-71. 17. Margaret O’Callaghan, “Reconsidering the Republican tradition in nineteenth- century Ireland”, in Honohan (ed.), Republicanism in Ireland, op. cit., p. 31-44. 18. Dáil Éireann Debates, op. cit., Volume 1, 21 January 1919. 19. See e.g. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Projet de Constitution pour la Corse, Paris, Nautilus, 2000. 20. See e.g. Honohan, Republicanism in Ireland, op. cit. 21. See in particular Michael D. Higgins, Renewing the Republic, Dublin, Liberties Press, 2012. 22. See generally O’Toole, Up the Republic!, op. cit. 23. See preamble, Constitution of 1937. 24. Colm O’Cinneide “The People are the Masters: the Paradox of Constitutionalism and the Uncertain Status of Popular Sovereignty within the Irish Constitutional Order”, Irish Jurist, vol. 48, no 1, May 2012, p. 251. 25. O’Cinneide, “The People are the Masters”, op. cit., p. 273. 26. See Dáil Éireann debates, Volume 67, op. cit., Col 74-76, 11 May 1937. 27. “The people … can effect this revolution”. See ibid. 28. Ibid. 29. Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan: Or the Matter, Forme, and Power of a Common-Wealth Ecclesiasticall and Civill, ed. by Ian Shapiro, Yale, Yale University Press, 2010; John Austin, The Province of Jurisprudence Determined, London, John Murray, 1832. 30. For this distinction see Peter Steinberger, “Hobbes, Rousseau and the Modern Conception of the State”, The Journal of Politics, 70: 595, 2008. 31. As Casey notes, “other western European constitutions characteristically declare one or more matters immutable.” James Casey, Constitutional Law in Ireland, Dublin, Round Hall Sweet & Maxwell, 2000, p. 709. 32. Byrne v Ireland [1972] IR 241, 262, emphasis added. 33. Finn v Att. Gen [1983] IR 154; Riordan v An Taoiseach (No.1), [1999] 4 IR 321. 34. Finn v Att. Gen [1983] IR 154, 163, emphasis added. 35. Slattery v An Taoiseach [1993] 1 IR 286. 36. Riordan v An Taoiseach (No.1), [1999] 4 IR 321, 330. 37. Stephen Tierney, “Constitutional referendums: a theoretical inquiry”, Modern Law Review, vol. 72, no 3, September 2009, p. 364, emphasis added.

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38. See Pettit, On the People’s Terms, op. cit., Chapter 4. Pettit suggests :“This is not to put a brake on democracy but to ensure people have truly equal access to democratic influence”; p. 207. 39. Ibid. 40. Re Article 26 and the Regulation of Information (Services Outside the State for Termination of Pregnancies) Bill 1995 [1995] 1 IR 1. 41. In Sullivan v Robinson, Justice O’Byrne suggested “a Constitution is to be liberally construed so as to carry into effect the intentions of the people embodied therein.” [1954] IR 161, 174. 42. Tierney, “Constitutional referendums: a theoretical inquiry”, p. 363. 43. Ibid., p. 366. 44. See generally Jane Schacter, “The Pursuit of ‘Popular Intent’: Interpretive Dilemmas in Direct Democracy”, Yale Law Journal, vol. 105, n° 1, 1995. Also see Honohan, Civic Republicanism, p. 220, emphasis added. 45. See Eoin Daly, “A republican defence of the constitutional referendum”, Legal Studies, vol. 35, no 1, 2015. 46. Colm O’Cinneide, “The People are the Masters”, p. 256. 47. Ibid. 48. Ibid, p. 274. 49. Gary Jacobsohn, Constitutional Identity, Harvard, Harvard University Press, 2010. 50. O’Cinneide, “The People are the Masters”, art. cit., p. 256. 51. Ibid, p. 252. 52. Stephen Tierney, Constitutional Referendums: The Theory and Practice of Republican Deliberation, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2012, p. 13, 15. 53. Philip Pettit, Republicanism: A Theory of Freedom and Government, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1997, p. 8. 54. James Madison, Federalist no. 10, New York, Clinton Rossiter, 1961, p. 81 55. Ibid. 56. Pettit, On the People’s Terms, op. cit., p. 4-5. 57. Philip Pettit, “Deliberative Democracy, the Discursive Dilemma and Republican Theory”, James Fishkin and Peter Laslett (eds), Philosophy, Politics and Society, vol. 7, New York, Cambridge University Press, 2003, p. 138-162, p. 140. 58. Ibid. 59. Pettit, On the People’s Terms, op. cit. 60. Ibid. Chapter 4. 61. See Donal Coffey, “Judicial Review in the Irish Free State”, Dublin University Law Journal, vol. 33, no 1, May 2011. 62. Third Amendment of the Constitution Bill 1958; Third Amendment of the Constitution Bill 1968. See also Bill Kissane, “Is the Irish referendum majoritarian?”, in Wilfried Marxer (ed.), Direct Democracy and Minorities, London, Springer, 2012, p. 152. 63. In the Irish Free State, ordinary Acts inconsistent with the Constitution were simply accepted by the Courts as amendments to it. See State (Ryan) v Lennon [1935] IR 170.

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64. Kissane, “Is the Irish referendum majoritarian?”, p. 153. 65. Richard Sinnott, “Cleavages, parties and referendums: Relationships between representative and direct democracy in the Republic of Ireland”, European Journal of Political Research, vol. 41, n° 6, October 2003, p. 815. 66. O’Cinneide, “The People are the Masters”, p. 260. 67. Smith argued before the House of Lords Select Committee: “by offering the opportunity to participate directly in policy-making, [referendums] made the public more likely to participate in political activity, “as they understand that their participation in the electoral process has real policy implications”; “12th Report”, p. 141. See Daniel Smith and Caroline Tolbert, Educated by Initiative: The Effects of Direct Democracy on Citizens and Political Organizations in the American States, Arbor, University of Michigan Press, 2004. 68. Bellamy, Political Constitutionalism 69. Honohan, Civic Republicanism, p. 7. 70. Duncan Ivison, “Republican Human Rights?”, European Journal of Political Theory, vol. 9, no 1, January 2010, p. 34. 71. Pettit, Republicanism, Chapter 2. 72. Jean-Jacques. Rousseau, Du Contrat Social, Paris, ENAG, 1988. 73. Dermot Keogh and Andrew McCarthy, The Making of the 1937 Constitution, Cork, Mercier, 2007. 74. See generally John Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Rights, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1990. 75. Desmond Clarke, “The Role of Natural Law in Irish Constitutional Law”, Irish Jurist, vol. 17, n° 1, March 1982, p. 193. 76. See articles 41.1.1, 42.1, 42A.1, 42A.2.1, 43.1. 77. McGee v Attorney General [1974] IR 284, 310. 78. John Locke, Two Treatises of Government and A Letter Concerning Toleration, Yale, Yale University Press, 2003. 79. McGee v Attorney General [1974] IR 284, 317. 80. [1974] IR 284, 318. 81. John Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Rights, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1990. 82. Ryan v Attorney General [1965] IR 294; Norris v Attorney General [1984] IR 36. 83. Aileen Kavanagh, “Natural Law, Christian Values and the Ideal of Justice”, Irish Jurist, vol. 48, no 1, 2012, p. 80. 84. [1984] IR 36. 85. [1965] IR 294. 86. [1974] IR 284, 319. 87. [2009] IESC 82. 88. Pettit, On the People’s Terms, Chapter 2. 89. Bellamy, Political Constitutionalism.

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90. For a fuller version of this argument see Eoin Daly, “Freedom as Non-domination in the jurisprudence of constitutional rights”, Canadian Journal of Law and Jurisprudence, vol. 28, no 2, July 2015, p. 289-316. 91. Eoin Daly and Tom Hickey, The Political Theory of the Irish Constitution, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2015, Chapter 2. 92. Heaney v Ireland [1994] 3 IR 593; Cox v Ireland 14 [1992] 2 IR 503. 93. Heaney v Ireland [1994] 3 IR 593; Cox v Ireland 14 [1992] 2 IR 503. 94. Daly, “Freedom as non-domination in the jurisprudence of constitutional rights”. 95. Norris v Attorney General [1984] IR 36. 96. King v Attorney General [1970] IR 317, 338, emphasis added. 97. See generally Pildes, “Why Rights Are Not Trumps”, op. cit. 98. King v Attorney General [1981] IR 233. 99. See DPP v Fagan [1994] 2 IR 265; Howard v Commisioners of Public Works [1994] 1 IR 101. Articulating a more general principle of legality, Justice Kearns stated: “every executive or administrative act which affects legal rights, interests or legitimate expectations must be legally justified.” Browne v Attorney General [2002] IEHC 47. 100. See Articles 8-10, European Convention on Human Rights. 101. Timothy O’Neill, “Liberal Constitutionalism & Bureaucratic Discretion”, Polity, vol. 20, no 3, Spring 1988. 102. McDonald v Bord na gCon [1965] IR 217.

ABSTRACTS

Ostensibly, the Irish Constitution of 1937 draws philosophical inspiration from Catholic social teachings and the theory of natural law. While it enshrines rather generic concepts of democracy and popular sovereignty, it seems bereft of distinctively republican ideas, despite the republican influences of the Irish political revolution. However, this article argues that many of the central devices and institutions of the Constitution may be interpreted in a republican light.

La Constitution irlandaise de 1937 s’inspire ostensiblement de l’enseignement social de l’Eglise catholique et de la théorie du droit naturel. Bien qu’elle consacre des principes généraux relativement banals en termes de démocratie et de souveraineté populaire, elle ne semble pas avoir un caractère typiquement républicain, malgré les inspirations républicaines de la révolution politique irlandaise. Toutefois, cet article affirme qu’un certain nombre de dispositifs institutionnels centraux de la Constitution peuvent être interprétés dans une perspective républicaine.

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INDEX

Keywords: constitution, sovereignty, Irish Republic, Irish republicanism, society and religion Mots-clés: constitution, souveraineté, républicanisme irlandais, République d'Irlande, société et religion

AUTHOR

EOIN DALY National University of Ireland Galway

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La souveraineté irlandaise à l’épreuve de l’intégration monétaire européenne

Christophe Gillissen

1 Le quarantième anniversaire de l’entrée de l’Irlande dans la CEE, le 1er janvier 2013, fut largement passé sous silence. En effet, le contexte ne se prêtait guère à une commémoration festive de cet événement, l’Irlande étant alors ce qu’il est convenu d’appeler un pays « sous programme » : ne pouvant plus emprunter sur les marchés financiers à la fin de 2010, elle avait obtenu un financement de 85 milliards d’euros de l’Europe, mais en contrepartie sa politique économique fut mise sous la tutelle de la « troïka », c’est-à-dire de la Commission européenne, de la Banque centrale européenne (BCE), et du Fonds monétaire international (FMI) qui avait également participé à ce financement.

2 En novembre 2010, cette situation avait amené le journal de référence, l’Irish Times, à publier un éditorial virulent, dans lequel il déplorait que le sacrifice des héros de 1916 pour l’indépendance de leur pays avait été dilapidé par l’inconséquence du gouvernement1. En février 2013, la cure d’austérité incluse dans le « plan de sauvetage » provoqua un éclat de la part du dirigeant de la centrale syndicale irlandaise ICTU, David Begg, qui alla jusqu’à déclarer que la troïka avait fait « plus de dégâts en Irlande que l’Angleterre n’en avait fait en 800 ans2 » !

3 De tels propos n’ont pas été souvent entendus en Irlande, longtemps réputée pour être l’un des pays les plus favorables au projet européen. Mais dans un contexte de crise généralisée de l’Union européenne, la désaffection des peuples vis-à-vis de ses institutions se double désormais d’un scepticisme quant aux bienfaits de l’intégration monétaire. L’euro est-il devenu un carcan pour les peuples ? La monnaie unique est-elle devenue incompatible avec l’exercice de la souveraineté nationale ?

4 La crise de la zone euro alimente de fait les thèses de certaines formations politiques dans plusieurs pays européens, qui prônent un retour aux devises nationales3. Elles présentent un tel scénario comme une solution aux difficultés économiques actuelles,

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dans la mesure où l’État disposerait ainsi d’une souveraineté monétaire retrouvée. Il pourrait alors procéder à une dévaluation afin d’améliorer la compétitivité des entreprises, ou encore s’affranchir des critères de Maastricht sur le déficit budgétaire et la dette nationale, pour financer des grands travaux et investissements d’avenir.

5 Ce discours, qui reste marginal en Europe, n’est pas entendu du tout en Irlande, en raison notamment de son statut de petit État. La souveraineté monétaire est en effet un enjeu complexe pour ces États, qui s’avèrent plus démunis que les grands face aux turbulences des marchés financiers internationaux, a fortiori à une période de forte mondialisation de l’économie où le concept de souveraineté monétaire est souvent considéré comme dépassé4. De manière schématique, on peut dire qu’ils ont tendance à opter soit pour la dépendance vis-à-vis d’une grande puissance économique, soit pour l’intégration dans un groupement régional.

6 Pour mieux cerner ces enjeux, il s’agira dans un premier temps de proposer une mise en perspective historique de la politique monétaire irlandaise. Ensuite, il conviendra d’étudier la crise bancaire de 2008-2013 à l’aune d’une comparaison avec l’Islande, qui ne fait pas partie de la zone euro. Enfin, les principales conclusions du rapport de la commission d’enquête parlementaire de 2016 seront abordées, et plus particulièrement celles concernant la dimension européenne de la crise bancaire irlandaise.

L’Irlande entre la livre sterling et l’euro

7 Il faut remonter au début du XIXe siècle pour trouver trace d’une monnaie irlandaise indépendante. Dans le cadre de la loi sur l’Union (1800), la livre irlandaise fut indexée sur la livre sterling dès 1826 et, de manière surprenante, ce lien fut maintenu par Dublin bien au-delà de la création de l’Etat libre d’Irlande. L’objectif était de favoriser le commerce avec la Grande-Bretagne, dont l’économie irlandaise était très dépendante ; en revanche, cela fit subir à l’Irlande des conséquences préjudiciables lorsque Londres décida de rétablir l’étalon-or en 19255.

8 Après l’abolition de l’étalon-or en 1931, l’Irlande devint membre de la zone sterling nouvellement créée, mais les inconvénients de ce statut devinrent apparents pendant la Seconde Guerre mondiale, notamment lorsque l’économie irlandaise connut un fort ralentissement en 19416. Et lorsque Dublin envisagea de transférer ses réserves d’or aux Etats-Unis, Londres s’y refusa, menaçant de geler tous les avoirs irlandais7. En d’autres termes, le gouvernement britannique disposait d’un droit de veto sur les décisions irlandaises. En 1943, une Banque centrale irlandaise fut créée, afin d’accroître l’autonomie monétaire et économique du pays, mais dans la pratique ses pouvoirs étaient limités, d’autant que ses dirigeants adoptèrent une approche très conservatrice8.

9 Au sortir de la guerre, la zone sterling permit au gouvernement britannique d’exercer un contrôle étroit sur les décisions de Dublin en matière de commerce avec les pays tiers. Selon un rapport diplomatique français, ces décisions, de l’aveu même du ministre du Commerce, Seán Lemass, furent prises en concertation avec Londres (« under British guidance »)9. Dublin était ainsi encouragé à promouvoir ses importations depuis l’Espagne, le Portugal, la Suède, les Pays-Bas et la Belgique ; en revanche, Londres lui imposa la modération (« go slow ») vis-à-vis de la Suisse, et particulièrement de la France.

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10 En 1949, à la veille de la dévaluation de la livre sterling, le gouvernement irlandais en fut informé par le gouverneur de la Banque d’Angleterre et le Premier ministre britannique, qui voulurent connaître les intentions de Dublin. Il fut décidé de procéder à une dévaluation en Irlande également, dans la mesure où cette mesure était considérée comme « un moindre mal10 » : les avoirs irlandais détenus à Londres perdraient certes en valeur, mais le commerce anglo-irlandais serait préservé.

11 Cet épisode illustre la forte dépendance économique et monétaire de l’Irlande vis-à-vis de la Grande-Bretagne à cette époque, alors même que le statut de république venait d’être proclamé et qu’en conséquence l’Irlande avait officiellement quitté le Commonwealth pour devenir un Etat pleinement souverain. Selon une analyse américaine de 1952, une telle dépendance économique et monétaire n’était pourtant pas compatible avec le statut d’Etat souverain11.

12 Si la dévaluation britannique de novembre 1967 démontra à nouveau la marge de manœuvre limitée dont disposait Dublin vis-à-vis de Londres, l’inflation élevée au Royaume-Uni pendant les années 1970 fut répercutée en Irlande par le lien entre les deux devises12. Ce fut d’ailleurs l’une des raisons pour lesquelles l’Irlande décida en 1979 de participer au Mécanisme de taux de change européen, considérant que cela permettrait de stabiliser la livre irlandaise13. Un autre objectif était d’assurer une plus grande souveraineté monétaire vis-à-vis de Londres, et de fait les deux devises furent dissociées pour la première fois depuis un siècle et demi puisque le gouvernement britannique préféra pour sa part rester en dehors du Mécanisme de taux de change14.

13 Le choix de Dublin de participer à la zone euro dès 1999 était cohérent avec cette double stratégie, même si la perspective d’une monnaie unique se traduirait par la perte de la capacité de la Banque centrale irlandaise de fixer le taux directeur de la devise utilisée dans le pays. Si, de ce point de vue, l’union monétaire peut être considérée comme « un abandon de la souveraineté monétaire », dans les petits États elle est plus souvent perçue comme un moyen d’exercer une souveraineté effective, fût- elle limitée, dans les limites des « contraintes économiques contemporaines15 ». Ainsi, avant le référendum sur le traité de Maastricht par l’Irlande en 1992, un livre blanc concluait que les bénéfices de la monnaie unique compensaient nettement cette perte de souveraineté, rappelant que de toute manière la souveraineté monétaire de l’Irlande était déjà « sérieusement circonscrite16 ». De même, lorsque Garret FitzGerald, premier ministre de l’Irlande de 1982 à 1987, fit le bilan économique de la participation de son pays à l’Union européenne en 2003, il en vint à la conclusion qu’aucun autre pays membre n’avait autant bénéficié de son appartenance à l’Union européenne que l’Irlande17.

14 Il est vrai qu’il écrivit cela à une période où le « tigre celtique » avait transformé l’Irlande de manière spectaculaire, phénomène auquel l’Union européenne en général et la zone euro en particulier n’étaient pas étrangers18. Cela étant, le taux directeur de la Banque centrale européenne n’a pas toujours été adapté aux besoins irlandais. Après l’éclatement de la bulle internet en 2001 par exemple, la Banque de Francfort réduisit à plusieurs reprises son taux afin de soutenir les grandes économies du continent, qui étaient à la peine, alors même que le « tigre celtique » était en plein essor. L’afflux d’argent bon marché et la facilité à obtenir des crédits contribuèrent de manière significative à la surchauffe de l’économie et à l’expansion de la bulle immobilière19.

15 On ne peut pour autant en rejeter la responsabilité sur la BCE, car le gouvernement irlandais aurait pu prendre des mesures pour tempérer la hausse des prix. Or non

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seulement il ne le fit pas, mais en 2001 il présenta même un budget pro-cyclique, c’est- à-dire qui alimentait cette dérive, et qui lui valut à ce titre une réprimande de la Commission européenne21. Dans le même temps, les banques irlandaises se montrèrent de moins en moins regardantes quant à la solvabilité à long terme de leurs emprunteurs22.

16 En d’autres termes, si la monnaie unique constitue à l’évidence une dilution de la souveraineté monétaire, elle n’exclut en rien une politique économique et fiscale responsable et avisée de la part des États membres. Au contraire, ceux-ci doivent compenser l’absence de la possibilité d’une baisse du taux directeur ou d’une dévaluation par une politique d’autant plus active et rigoureuse.

L’Irlande et l’Islande

17 L’histoire récente de l’Islande offre des éclairages intéressants sur la question de la souveraineté monétaire, en raison de ses similitudes avec l’Irlande. En effet, au cours du XIXe siècle, l’Islande et l’Irlande, deux petites îles au large du continent européen, connurent des difficultés considérables, et en particulier la famine et l’émigration, alors qu’elles étaient sous l’autorité d’un Etat voisin. Après la Première Guerre mondiale, elles obtinrent l’autonomie politique, respectivement en 1918 et en 1922, tandis qu’à l’issue de la Seconde Guerre mondiale elles accédèrent à une pleine souveraineté constitutionnelle (1944 et 1948).

18 Relativement pauvres pendant l’après-guerre, elles connurent toutes deux un essor économique spectaculaire à partir des années 1990, grâce notamment au dynamisme de leurs secteurs financiers, à leurs faibles taux d’impôt sur les sociétés, et à leurs économies dérégulées. Elles furent également caractérisées par des secteurs bancaires hypertrophiés, des niveaux élevés d’endettement des ménages, et par des bulles immobilières de grande ampleur23.

19 Leurs économies connurent des crises de première magnitude après la faillite de Lehman Brothers le 15 septembre 2008. Leurs secteurs bancaires durent être soutenus à hauteur de plus de 40 % du PIB, ce qui ne laissa d’autre choix à leurs gouvernements que de faire appel au FMI. Des politiques d’austérité furent mises en œuvre, tandis que nombre de personnes partirent à l’étranger dans l’espoir d’y trouver du travail.

20 À certains égards, la crise en Islande fut plus brutale qu’en Irlande, le secteur bancaire y étant proportionnellement plus important : en 2008, les trois banques principales y détenaient des avoirs équivalents à dix fois le PIB, et lorsqu’elles s’effondrèrent, le gouvernement dut suspendre les cotations à la Bourse de Reykjavik qui avait perdu plus de 75 %. L’inflation atteignit 20 % tandis que la couronne islandaise perdit la moitié de sa valeur. En octobre 2008, la situation devint si inquiétante que le premier ministre, Geir Haarde, conclut une allocution télévisée par une déclaration à la mesure de son trouble : « Que Dieu sauve l’Islande24. »

21 D’autres différences entre les deux îles méritent d’être relevées. Ainsi, l’Islande ne fait pas partie de la zone euro, ni même de l’Union européenne. Par ailleurs, les autorités de Reykjavik décidèrent de laisser les trois grandes banques du pays faire partiellement défaut : le gouvernement refusa de dédommager les créanciers étrangers, notamment en Grande-Bretagne et aux Pays-Bas, tandis qu’il garantit les avoirs des épargnants islandais25. En d’autres termes, comme l’écrivit l’économiste Paul Krugman, le

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gouvernement islandais alla à l’encontre de toutes les règles en vigueur26. En Irlande, à l’inverse, le gouvernement suivit les prescriptions de l’orthodoxie financière à la lettre : tous les dépôts furent garantis, et une politique d’austérité fut mise en œuvre afin de réduire les déficits.

22 Les résultats de ces approches divergentes présentent quelques différences notables. Si la crise islandaise fut plus sévère, le rebond y fut également plus rapide27. L’une des raisons tient au fait que l’Islande put procéder à une dévaluation de la couronne, alors que l’Irlande ne put procéder qu’à une dévaluation interne, c’est-à-dire tenter de gagner en compétitivité en réduisant les coûts28. De même, le fardeau de l’ajustement fut réparti de manière différente. En Islande, actionnaires et créanciers étrangers durent supporter une partie des pertes, tandis que des mesures furent prises pour améliorer le système de protection sociale et pour aider les ménages surendettés. En Irlande, le contribuable dut supporter seul les pertes, alors même que salaires et prestations sociales furent revus à la baisse.

23 Ces différences tiennent en partie à un sursaut citoyen remarquable en Islande, illustré notamment par la « révolution des casseroles » qui précipita la chute du gouvernement en janvier 2009. Et lorsque le nouveau gouvernement accepta en octobre 2009 de dédommager les créanciers étrangers, le président soumit la décision au peuple dans le cadre d’un référendum. Le 6 mars 2010, l’accord fut rejeté par 93 % des votants, décision confirmée lors d’un second référendum en mars 2011 et par la Cour de Justice de l’Association européenne de libre-échange en janvier 201329.

24 Aucune mobilisation comparable ne fut observée en Irlande, où des décisions lourdes de conséquences furent pourtant prises par le gouvernement en septembre 2008 (garantie de tous les dépôts bancaires) et en novembre 2010 (acceptation d’un prêt de l’Europe et du FMI) sans l’aval explicite des Irlandais. Malgré tout, les électeurs eurent l’occasion de s’exprimer à plusieurs reprises. Ainsi, en février 2011, ils purent se prononcer sur le bilan du gouvernement sortant, à qui ils infligèrent une lourde sanction : le Fianna Fáil subit la pire défaite électorale de son histoire. La nouvelle coalition gouvernementale – Fine Gael et les travaillistes – négocia alors un réaménagement du prêt contracté en novembre 2010 : le remboursement fut étendu sur quinze ans au lieu de sept ans et demi, tandis que le taux de 5,8 % fut diminué de 2 % environ30. Et en mai 2012, les Irlandais furent invités à s’exprimer quant à leur place au sein de la zone euro, lors d’un référendum sur le Traité sur la stabilité, la coordination et la gouvernance (TSCG, ou Pacte budgétaire européen). Une nette majorité – 60,3 % – se prononça en faveur de ce pacte.

25 On peut en déduire que, malgré le rôle polémique joué par certaines instances européennes pendant la crise bancaire, les Irlandais ne souhaitent pas pour autant quitter la zone euro. D’ailleurs, lors de la campagne électorale de février 2016, aucun parti ne proposait d’abandonner l’euro. Même les formations les moins bien disposées à l’égard de l’intégration européenne se limitaient à des engagements de réforme. Ainsi, sur la gauche de l’échiquier politique, le Sinn Féin proposait de renégocier la dette irlandaise et de demander une recapitalisation d’AIB et de Bank of Ireland par le biais du Mécanisme de stabilité européenne31. Pour sa part, l’Anti-Austerity Alliance estimait que si un gouvernement de gauche devait être prêt à gérer une sortie de l’euro, ce ne serait pas de son propre fait, mais en raison de l’hostilité intrinsèque des instances européennes vis-à-vis de toute hétérodoxie économique32. Quant au People Before Profit,

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formation alliée à la précédente, il n’évoquait tout simplement pas la question de l’euro dans son programme électoral33.

26 Au vu du contexte de la crise de la zone euro, cette absence de réaction peut surprendre. Un élément de réponse est à chercher dans le statut de petit Etat de l’Irlande. En effet, la souveraineté monétaire est un objectif quelque peu chimérique pour les petits Etats, surtout lorsque leur économie, comme celle de l’Irlande, est très ouverte sur le monde. Leur priorité dès lors est de stabiliser leur devise face aux turbulences des marchés et, à l’instar de pays en voie de développement, ils choisissent souvent d’indexer leur monnaie sur celle d’un pays plus important, tel le dollar américain, qui agit alors comme une ancre34.

27 En Islande, par exemple, la crise est loin d’être finie : bien des ménages sont lourdement endettés, l’inflation élevée a rogné leur pouvoir d’achat, et des contrôles de change sont toujours en vigueur, sans qu’un projet crédible ait été trouvé jusqu’à présent afin d’y mettre un terme sans précipiter une nouvelle crise35. Une candidature de l’Islande à l’Union européenne fut d’ailleurs déposée en 2009 afin de sortir de cette impasse, et si elle n’est plus d’actualité suite aux élections d’avril 2013, la Banque centrale islandaise reste favorable pour sa part à l’idée d’une entrée dans la zone euro36. En effet, la défense de la couronne, l’une des plus petites devises au monde, est une tâche difficile et onéreuse, et malgré ses efforts la Banque centrale n’a pu prévenir des fluctuations importantes du taux de change, ce qui est préjudiciable aux échanges internationaux et à la stabilité économique de l’île. Il est donc question d’arrimer la couronne à une autre devise, que ce soit la couronne danoise (elle-même indexée sur l’euro), la couronne norvégienne, le dollar américain ou encore le dollar canadien, pays comptant parmi les principaux partenaires commerciaux de l’Islande.

28 Dans le cas de l’Irlande, la seule alternative plausible à l’euro serait une devise nationale indexée sur la livre sterling. L’hypothèse fut d’ailleurs envisagée en 2011-2012, lorsque le risque d’un éclatement de la zone euro ne pouvait plus être écarté 37, mais elle ne suscite guère d’enthousiasme, loin s’en faut.

La Banque centrale européenne et l’Irlande

29 Il n’en demeure pas moins que des interrogations subsistent quant aux conditions dans lesquelles la Banque centrale européenne pesa sur les décisions de Dublin en 2010, à l’occasion du « sauvetage » de l’Irlande par la troïka38. Selon certains, la priorité de la BCE n’était pas tant de sauver l’Irlande que de limiter les pertes de grandes banques allemandes et françaises, très exposées en Irlande, et ainsi de stabiliser le système bancaire européen39.

30 L’une des premières décisions du gouvernement de coalition formé à la suite des élections du 25 février 2011 fut de lancer une enquête officielle pour cerner les causes d’une « crise bancaire qui fut et demeure l’un des événements les plus traumatisants de l’histoire irlandaise contemporaine », selon les termes du président de la commission d’enquête parlementaire, Ciarán Lynch40.

31 Le 27 octobre 2011, un référendum fut organisé sur l’opportunité d’accorder des pouvoirs étendus aux commissions d’enquête parlementaires. Il s’agissait en particulier de leur donner la possibilité de mettre en cause la conduite d’individus, mais l’amendement fut rejeté par 53,3 % des suffrages41. Dès lors, la commission d’enquête

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bancaire créée en novembre 2014 dut se limiter à l’examen du rôle des diverses instances impliquées dans la crise : les acteurs du secteur privé (banques, cabinets d’audit et promoteurs immobiliers), le régulateur (la Banque centrale irlandaise), le gouvernement irlandais, et les institutions européennes42.

32 Si le rapport n’épargne aucune de ces instances, le rôle de la Banque centrale européenne – et par extension celui de son président, Jean-Claude Trichet (2003-2011) – y apparaît sous un jour particulièrement peu flatteur, pour deux raisons. D’une part, la BCE exerça de très fortes pressions sur les ministres irlandais des Finances en 2010 (Brian Lenihan) et 2011 (Michael Noonan), pour s’opposer à tout transfert des pertes des banques irlandaises aux « grands créanciers », c’est-à-dire les autres banques européennes. C’est le cœur du débat, car ces pertes auraient pu être partagées de manière plus équitable43. En l’occurrence, c’est l’Etat irlandais – et donc le contribuable – qui a dû assumer l’intégralité du fardeau.

33 Du point de vue de la BCE, c’était le prix à payer pour éviter un phénomène de contagion, voire une crise systémique susceptible d’entraîner l’effondrement du système bancaire européen tout entier. Même s’il convient de se garder de jugements rétrospectifs trop sévères, on notera que, lors des négociations, le FMI ne considérait pas qu’il était nécessaire d’épargner totalement les banques, qui pouvaient selon lui endosser une partie des pertes sans mettre en péril le système bancaire44. Mais la BCE, appuyée par Washington, fut intransigeante : il n’y aurait pas de programme de sauvetage si des pertes étaient imposées aux banques créancières.

34 Au printemps 2011, lorsque le gouvernement de coalition nouvellement formé en Irlande chercha à faire supporter une partie des pertes par les banques créancières, la BCE s’y montra à nouveau totalement opposée. Jean-Claude Trichet exprima même son désaccord avec Michael Noonan en des termes qui pouvaient être interprétés comme une menace : il l’avertit qu’une « bombe exploserait à Dublin45 ».

35 On le voit, les reproches formulés à l’encontre de la BCE et de son président Trichet ne sont pas anodins. S’y ajoute leur attitude, en net contraste avec celle des autres acteurs de la crise, dont la plupart, y compris les représentants de la Commission européenne et du FMI, acceptèrent de bonne grâce de répondre aux questions de la commission d’enquête irlandaise. Or la BCE se montra nettement moins coopérative. Du point de vue du droit, la BCE n’est pas responsable devant les parlements des Etats membres, ce dont se prévalut M. Trichet pour décliner l’invitation à une audition. Malgré tout, face aux pressions insistantes de la classe politique et de l’opinion publique irlandaises, il accepta de donner une conférence le 30 avril 2015 au Royal Kilmainham Hospital, dans le cadre d’une manifestation organisée sous l’égide de l’Institute of International and European Affairs. A la suite de son intervention, il répondit aux questions de l’auditoire, où se trouvaient les membres de la commission d’enquête. Il fut souvent évasif cependant, semblant faire obstruction à l’avancée des échanges. Il s’appuya à plusieurs reprises sur ses échanges avec un Brian Lenihan disparu et donc incapable de le contredire, et sa mémoire des faits s’avéra fréquemment incertaine46.

36 Au total, son audition officieuse ne fut guère convaincante, et sa mauvaise volonté apparente, voire son arrogance, eut le don de scandaliser bien des hommes politiques et journalistes irlandais qui s’étaient déplacés pour l’écouter. Prise dans son ensemble, son intervention pouvait en effet laisser entendre que sa priorité avait été de prévenir une crise mondiale analogue à celle des années trente, et que l’Irlande de ce point de vue n’était qu’une considération secondaire, un pion que l’on sacrifie sans états d’âme.

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37 Lors de sa propre audition le 10 septembre 2015, l’ancien directeur du FMI, Aija Chopra, émit un jugement sévère sur les positions de la BCE, et en particulier sur les lettres de son président au ministre irlandais des Finances, Brian Lenihan, datées du 15 octobre et du 19 novembre 201047. Selon lui, les demandes formulées par M. Trichet dans ces lettres allaient au-delà des prérogatives légales de la BCE, dans la mesure où elles exigeaient que des décisions soient prises en matière de politique fiscale et de réformes structurelles, dans le cadre d’une concertation entre Dublin et les instances de la troïka. Non seulement cela n’entrait pas dans le champ d’action de la BCE, mais les mesures qui en résultèrent s’inscrivaient dans une approche déflationniste, alors même que le taux d’inflation dans la zone euro était bien en-dessous de l’objectif de la BCE (2%)48.

38 De manière plus générale, M. Chopra exprima des réserves quant aux ultimatums de la BCE, estimant qu’ils ne correspondaient guère à la manière dont les relations entre Etats membres et institutions de l’Union européenne doivent être conduites. La remarque était d’autant plus pertinente que des ultimatums comparables – la menace d’un arrêt de la fourniture de liquidités d’urgence – furent lancés dans le contexte des crises chypriote (2013) et grecque (2015).

39 Il ne faudrait pas que l’ancien président de la BCE devienne un bouc-émissaire, permettant d’évacuer les responsabilités irlandaises dans « l’une des crises financières les plus sévères qui aient jamais frappé une économie développée49 ». Le rapport de la commission parlementaire irlandaise est d’ailleurs très clair à ce sujet, mais sa recommandation de revoir les statuts de la BCE afin qu’elle puisse rendre des comptes devant les parlements nationaux eut le mérite de souligner un réel problème : le manque de transparence et l’absence de contrôle démocratique d’une institution qui semble avoir pris l’habitude d’exercer « des pressions politiques pour défendre des intérêts qui restent à déterminer50 ».

40 Pour le président de l’Irlande, Michael D. Higgins, cet épisode montre que « la structure institutionnelle de l’Union européenne aujourd’hui » reflète un rapport de forces qui s’est établi au fil des décennies, avec l’émergence d’un « nouvel ordre mondial financier » caractérisé par l’influence croissante d’« acteurs sans comptes à rendre et de forces qui échappent à tout contrôle ou supervision démocratique51 ».

Conclusion

41 Il convient à cet égard de saluer l’action de la Médiatrice européenne, qui n’est autre que la journaliste irlandaise Emily O’Reilly : elle obtint de la BCE en 2014 que les lettres confidentielles échangées entre Jean-Claude Trichet et Brian Lenihan en octobre et novembre 2010 soient rendues publiques. Cette mesure, conjuguée aux travaux de la commission d’enquête irlandaise, permet de faire un peu de lumière sur un épisode « sombre et douloureux », où beaucoup s’est joué en coulisses52.

42 On ne peut que souhaiter que ce contrôle démocratique a posteriori devienne systématique, afin d’encourager tous ceux qui assument des responsabilités, tant en République d’Irlande qu’à travers l’Union européenne, à faire preuve de davantage de vigilance à l’avenir.

43 En effet, si la souveraineté monétaire au sens classique du terme n’est sans doute plus un concept très pertinent dans le cadre d’une union monétaire, il n’en demeure pas moins que toute souveraineté – que ce soit à l’échelle de l’Irlande ou de l’Union

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européenne – suppose une légitimité, et que celle-ci ne sera préservée que dans la mesure où elle satisfait à « des normes élevées de transparence et de responsabilité53 ».

NOTES

1. « Was it for this? », Irish Times, 18 novembre 2010 : http://www.irishtimes.com/ opinion/was-it-for-this-1.678424 [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 2. « The troika has done more damage to Ireland than Britain ever did in 800 years », 28 février 2013. Voir Stephen Kinsella, « Is the troika more damaging than 800 years of English rule? Discuss », Irish Independent, 5 mars 2013 : http://www.independent.ie/ opinion/analysis/stephen-kinsella-is-the-troika-more-damaging-than-800-years-of- english-rule-discuss-29108557.html [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 3. Jean-Marc Daniel, « Les sophismes et dangers des thèses anti euro », La Tribune, 26 mars 2014 : http://www.latribune.fr/opinions/tribunes/20140326trib000822113/les- dangers-et-sophismes-des-theses-anti-euro.html [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 4. Claus D. Zimmermann, « The Concept of Monetary Sovereignty Revisited », p. 799-800, The European Journal of International Law, vol. 24, n° 3, 2013, p. 797-818. 5. Cormac Ó Gráda, Ireland: A New Economic History, 1780-1939, Oxford, Oxford UP, 1994, p. 433-434. 6. Raymond J. Raymond, « Irish Economic Development, 1933-1948 », p. 117, in J. P. O’Carroll et John A. Murphy (eds), De Valera and his Times, Cork, Cork UP, 1983, p. 113-133. 7. Ronan Fanning, The Irish Department of Finance, 1922-58, Dublin, Institute of Public Administration, 1978, p. 378. 8. Cormac Ó Gráda, A Rocky Road: The Irish Economy since the 1920s, Manchester, Manchester UP, 1997, p. 55-64. 9. Archives du ministère des Affaires étrangères, La Courneuve, série Europe 1944-. Sous-série Irlande, vol. 13, p. 87-88 : « Note confidentielle », 17 octobre 1946. 10. Maurice Moynihan, Currency and Central Banking in Ireland, 1922-1960, Dublin, Gill & Macmillan, 1975, p. 356 : « the course of least disadvantage ». 11. Paul Arthur, Special Relationships: Britain, Ireland and the Northern Ireland problem, Belfast, Blackstaff, 2000, p. 97. 12. Rory O’Donnell, « Monetary Policy », p. 77, in P. Keatinge (ed.), Ireland and EC Membership Evaluated, Londres, Pinter, 1991, p. 76-89. 13. Brendan Halligan, « Britain, Ireland and EMU: The Currency Dilemma », p. 107, in P. Gillespie (ed.), Britain’s European Question: The Issues for Ireland, Dublin, Institute of European Affairs, 1996, p. 107-126. 14. Le Royaume-Uni adhéra à ce mécanisme en 1990, mais une forte spéculation financière internationale contre la livre précipita sa sortie le 16 septembre 1992.

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15. Claus D. Zimmermann, op. cit., p. 816 : « monetary union is regarded by some as surrender of monetary sovereignty and by others as its effective exercise under contemporary economic constraints ». 16. Treaty on European Union: White Paper, Dublin, Stationery Office, 1992, p. 58 : « For Ireland this loss […] must be seen against a background where, even today, sovereignty in this area is heavily circumscribed ». 17. Garret FitzGerald, « The Economics of EU Membership », p. 80, in J. Hourihane (ed.), Ireland and the European Union: The First Thirty Years, 1973-2002, Dublin, Lilliput Press, 2004, p. 67-80 : « The economic balance of membership has been hugely favourable for Ireland – more so, I would think, than for any other member state ». 18. Brigid Laffan et Jane O’Mahony, Ireland and the European Union, Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2008, p. 43-46, 231-235. 19. Klaus Regling and Max Watson, A Preliminary Report on The Sources of Ireland’s Banking Crisis, Dublin, Government Publications, 2010, p. 22 : http:// www.bankinginquiry.gov.ie/ Preliminary%20Report%20into%20Ireland's%20Banking%20Crisis%2031%20May%202010.pdf [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 21. Rona Fitzgerald, « Ireland and the EMU Reprimand: A Soft Option or a Suitable “Bad” Boy? », Nordic Irish Studies, vol. 1, 2002, p. 77-92. 22. Valérie Peyronel, « The Banking Crisis in Ireland and its Resolution: Authority(ies) in Question? », in C. Berbéri et M. Pelletier (eds), Ireland: Authority and Crisis, Berne, Peter Lang, 2015, p. 163-176. 23. Voir le documentaire de Charles H. Ferguson, Inside Job, 2010 (2010 Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature) : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9ub25WjEK0 [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 24. Pascal Riché, Comment l’Islande a vaincu la crise : Reportage dans le labo de l’Europe, Paris, Versilio, 2013, p. 30. 25. Jacques Adda, « Leçons islandaises », Alternatives économiques, n° 299 (février 2011), p. 68-69. 26. Paul Krugman, « The Times does Iceland », New York Times, 8 July 2012 (« Iceland broke all the rules ») : http://krugman.blogs.nytimes.com/?s=iceland [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 27. Baldur Thorhallsson et Peadar Kirby, Financial crises in Iceland and Ireland: Does EU and Euro membership matter?, TASC / Centre for Small State Studies, 2011, p. 31 : https:// ams.hi.is/wp-content/uploads/old/Iceland-Ireland- Report%20final%20version_Kirby_Baldur_0.pdf [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 28. Céline Antonin et Christophe Blot, « Peut-on se relever d’une crise bancaire ? Analyse comparée de l’Irlande et de l’Islande », Les notes de l’OFCE, N° 25 (4 février 2013), p. 7 : http://www.ofce.sciences-po.fr/pdf/notes/2013/note25.pdf [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 29. Pascal Riché, op. cit., p. 49-54. 30. Eamon Gilmour, Inside the Room: The Untold Story of Ireland’s Crisis Government, Sallins, Merrion Press, 2016, p. 104-106. 31. http://www.sinnfein.ie/manifesto2016 [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 32. http://antiausterityalliance.ie/2015/03/lessons-from-greece-how-can-the-troika- be-defeated/ [consulté le 19 février 2016].

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33. http://www.peoplebeforeprofit.ie/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Manifesto-up- date-PBP.pdf [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 34. Wilbert O. Bascom, The Economics of Financial Reform in Developing Countries, Basingstoke, Macmillan, 1994, p. 53-57. 35. Archie Bland, « After the storm: Has Iceland learned its lesson from its financial meltdown? », The Independent, 7 septembre 2013 : http://www.independent.co.uk/ news/world/europe/after-the-storm-has-iceland-learned-its-lesson-from-its-financial- meltdown-8798365.html [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 36. Romaric Godin, « Oui, l’euro fait encore rêver… la banque centrale islandaise », La Tribune, 18 septembre 2012 : http://www.latribune.fr/actualites/economie/union- europeenne/20120918trib000720037/oui-l-euro-fait-encore-rever-la-banque-centrale- islandaise.html [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 37. Daniel McConnell et Tom Molloy, « Plans were drawn up for collapse of euro », Sunday Independent, 23 mars 2014 : http://www.independent.ie/business/irish/plans- were-drawn-up-for-collapse-of-euro-30117045.html [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 38. Cliff Taylor et Martin Wall, « Cabinet papers reveal extent of bailout pressure », Irish Times, 28 novembre 2015 : http://www.irishtimes.com/business/economy/ cabinet-papers-reveal-extent-of-bailout-pressure-1.2446797 [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 39. Romaric Godin, « Comment les Irlandais ont sauvé le système bancaire allemand », La Tribune, 18 avril 2014 : http://www.latribune.fr/actualites/economie/union- europeenne/20140418trib000825972/comment-les-irlandais-ont-sauve-le-systeme- bancaire-allemand.html [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 40. Déclaration lors du dernier jour des auditions publiques, le 10 septembre 2015 : « the banking crisis was, and remains, one of the most traumatic events in modern Irish history » – http://www.oireachtas.ie/parliament/mediazone/pressreleases/2015/name-29439- en.html [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 41. Michael Marsh, Jane Suiter et Theresa Reidy, Report on Reasons Behind Voter Behaviour in the Oireachtas Inquiry Referendum 2011, Dublin, Department of Public Expenditure and Reform, janvier 2012 : www.per.gov.ie/wp-content/uploads/OIReferendum-Report-Final-2003- corrected.pdf [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 42. Voir le site de la commission d’enquête : https://inquiries.oireachtas.ie/banking/ [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 43. Cet enjeu (Burden Sharing) est l’objet du dernier chapitre du rapport, Report of the Joint Committee of Inquiry into the Banking Crisis, Dublin, Houses of the Oireachtas, 2016, vol. 1, p. 357-373 : https://inquiries.oireachtas.ie/banking/wp-content/uploads/ 2016/01/02106-HOI-BE-Report-Volume1.pdf [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 44. Voir l’audition d’Ajai Chopra, ancien directeur adjoint du FMI, devant la commission d’enquête (10 septembre 2015), p. 7-8 : https://inquiries.oireachtas.ie/ banking/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/10092015_Chopra_vol1.pdf [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 45. Romaric Godin, « La BCE a-t-elle menacé l’Irlande d’une “bombe” en 2011 ? », La Tribune, 11 septembre 2015 : http://www.latribune.fr/economie/union-europeenne/la- bce-a-t-elle-menace-l-irlande-d-une-bombe-en-2011-504577.html [consulté le 19 février 2016].

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46. https://inquiries.oireachtas.ie/banking/hearings/jean-claude-trichet-iiea-event- not-an-official-inquiry-hearing/ [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 47. Ces lettres, rendues publiques en 2014, peuvent être consultées sur le site de la BCE : http://www.ecb.europa.eu/press/html/irish-letters.en.html [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 48. Voir son échange avec John Paul Phelan, p. 7-8 : https://inquiries.oireachtas.ie/ banking/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/10092015_Chopra_vol1.pdf [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 49. Jacques Adda, « Irlande : l’envers de la reprise », Alternatives économiques, n° 309, janvier 2012, p. 70. 50. Romaric Godin, « Irlande : la Commission d’enquête sur la crise financière met en cause la BCE », La Tribune, 28 janvier 2016 : http://www.latribune.fr/economie/union- europeenne/irlande-la-commission-d-enquete-sur-la-crise-financiere-met-en-cause-la- bce-546559.html [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 51. Michael D. Higgins, « Recovering Possibilities – Discovering the Rich Promise of a Moral Foundation to Economy & Society Speech at the Launch of the Centre for the Study of the Moral Foundations of Economy and Society », Royal Irish Academy, 13 novembre 2015 : « The present institutional structure of the European Union can be seen as reflecting the distribution of political power in recent decades, decades that have seen the emergence of a new financialised global order, where unaccountable agencies and forces removed from democratic oversight or control are in the ascendancy » – http:// www.president.ie/en/media-library/speeches/recovering-possibilities-discovering- the-rich-promise-of-a-moral-foundation [consulté le 19 février 2016]. 52. Report of the Joint Committee of Inquiry, op. cit., p. 6. 53. Claus D. Zimmermann, op. cit., p. 814 : « it is important that the exercise of contemporary monetary sovereignty as cooperative sovereignty satisfies high standards of transparency and accountability ».

RÉSUMÉS

Publié en 2016, le rapport de la commission d’enquête parlementaire sur les origines de la crise bancaire de 2008-2010 n’a pas minimisé les défaillances irlandaises, mais n’a pas manqué non plus de mettre en évidence l’approche controversée de la Banque centrale européenne lors des négociations qui aboutirent au plan de financement de 2010. Si cet épisode révèle de réels dysfonctionnements au sein de l’Union économique et monétaire, une mise en perspective historique et comparative semble indiquer que la meilleure solution pour un petit Etat comme l’Irlande est d’œuvrer à réformer la zone euro plutôt que d’en envisager une sortie, qui n’aboutirait en toute probabilité qu’à une devise irlandaise arrimée à la livre sterling.

The report of the parliamentary commission of 2016 did not gloss over the domestic factors of the 2008-2010 banking crisis, but neither did it minimise the controversial approach of the European Central Bank during the negotiations that led to the 2010 bailout. If this event revealed

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undeniable problems in the workings of the European Economic and Monetary Union, history and a comparison with Iceland nonetheless suggest that the best option for a small State like Ireland is to work at improving European institutions rather than to leave the Eurozone, which would likely only result in an Irish currency pegged on the British pound.

INDEX

Mots-clés : crise financière, Irlande - questions économiques et sociales, Irlande - relations internationales, souveraineté, monnaie, Union Européenne / CEE Keywords : financial crisis, Ireland - international relations, Ireland - socio-economic issues, sovereignty, currency, European Union / EEC

AUTEUR

CHRISTOPHE GILLISSEN Université de Caen Normandie

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What do we need for a Second Republic? High Energy Democracy and a Triple Movement

Mary P. Murphy

Introduction

1 Reflecting on the outcome of the 2011 Irish general election (GE), Peadar Kirby and I discussed the prospects of Ireland emerging from crisis renewed and reformed as a second republic1. We mapped Irish political and civil society’s capacity for a values-led discourse that could promote a transformative type of change. Five years later, reflecting on the outcome of the 2016 Irish GE, this article revisits the challenge of achieving the type of fundamental political, economic and social renewal encapsulated in the idea of a “second republic”. It is clear that the 2011 “pencil revolution” and rejection of FF as the dominant political power actor did not transform the direction of the Irish republic, but it did signal “the beginning of the beginning”. It remains to be seen whether the 2016 GE represents a watershed in realigning politics away from civil war or tribal politics and towards more traditional European socio-economic cleavages.

2 Ireland survived crisis without significant change, but with a path-dependent intensification of the neoliberal model2. We see increased levels of privatisation and managerialism and continuous loyalty to a low tax regime and foreign direct investment-led industrial policy3. We also see regression in key republican outcomes, with child poverty doubled from 6%-12%, increases in the gender pay gap from 12.6% to 14.4%, deprivation of up to 63% for lone parents and poor progress in addressing many forms of social and economic exclusion and spatial inequality4. Domestically, little has happened to foster a contestatory and participative citizenship, to separate power or make elites transparent or accountable5. Likewise, international power arrangements have evolved to undermine national autonomy and sovereignty.

3 In 2011, Kirby and Murphy argued “To date one key barrier to transformation is the lack of significant demand from below and an apparently low level of ambition for

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change in society, without which change is unlikely to emerge from above6”. In early 2016, it is not yet clear that a substantial proportion of Irish people will mobilise around shared progressive republican values. Over the crisis period, various movements and campaigns emerged to popularise such values but, other than the Right2Water movement, none had a significant impact in influencing public discourse, and the framing of the Right2Water campaign did not champion republican values. This article is concerned with recent political and social change in Ireland and the type of political, structural and funding challenges Irish political and civil society faces in the context of fallout from austerity. It reviews the restructuring of power relations in the context of an increasingly fractured political society and offers some assessment of the impact civil society might have in shaping post-crisis and post-2016 discourse in Ireland. The first section reflects on what recent European Social Survey, Eurobarometer, domestic polls and political narratives tell us about how citizens value solidarity, equality and trust in state institutions, key requirements in any republic. The next section reviews the present state of Irish political society as it emerged from 2016 GE. The third section reviews different dimensions of post-crisis Irish civil society. The final section draws on lessons from elsewhere to interrogate the links between Irish political and civil society and to assess prospects of momentum towards a political project based on equality – a second republic.

Values and Narratives

4 This section reviews whether Irish values are consistent with those we might expect to find in a republic. In April 2015 a Red C poll7 commissioned by the Irish Human and Equality Rights Commission (IHREC) found mixed results about awareness of equality and human rights in Ireland. Overall, people express positive views on human rights and equality issues with some variation from issue to issue and with young people and women expressing stronger support. The poll found almost universal (96-93%) endorsement of the general importance of equality and human rights and support for regulating to create a fairer, more equal society. It seems that Irish people believe that no matter who you are or where you come from, you should be treated equally. They also care deeply about making Ireland a fairer place in which to live, 79% per cent believing that Ireland has more to do in protecting human rights and equality. A Red C poll after the May 2015 Marriage Equality referendum recorded an increase in the proportion viewing Ireland as a leader in Europe on equality and human rights. This affirms leadership, public narratives and mobilisation are important in building support for and pride in such values. TASC’s8 (a think tank for action on social change) 2014 annual “solidarity factor” poll by Behaviour and Attitudes found over 80% polled want Ireland to be more equal and that 50% of the Irish people – up from 35% in 2010 – are willing to pay higher taxes for guaranteed high quality public services. 80% believe that income in Ireland is unfairly distributed and 90% are in favour of either increasing the minimum wage and/or establishing a maximum wage to reduce the gap between high and low earners. TASC attributes increased awareness of the value of public services to citizens’ practical reflection on what was lost in cutbacks. Exit polls from the 2016 general election confirm public support for increased taxes to boost investment in public services9. Garry’s10 analysis of the RTE GE 2016 exit poll confirmed that the average position of the Irish voter is 5.9 on the economic leftist side of the taxes v. public services debate. The same poll found significant variations in attitudes

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to inequality, but the majority agreed that the government “should act to reduce differences in income and wealth”. Likewise, most voters were on the liberal side of the question of abortion. These findings confirm that Irish citizens consistently identify with republican values.

5 Economic crisis in the Eurozone is associated with a significant loss in citizens’ trust in their national parliament in Ireland, Spain, Portugal, and Greece11. O'Sullivan et al.12 used European Social Survey data to examine political legitimacy in Ireland over the economic crisis. Trust in political institutions and satisfaction with government have declined since 2008. While satisfaction with government has been increasing since the 2011 election, trust in government continues to decline. Social trust is declining for those who did not vote for the parties in power, making for political marginalisation or exclusion of a significant group, so evident in anti-establishment rhetoric and success of independent candidates in GE 2016, particularly in rural and working class areas.

Figure 1: Index of trust in national political institutions in Ireland 2004-2015 (%)

Source of data: EB62–EB84 [See Eurobarometer Report 84, Figure 2, p. 5].

6 Despite a nascent economic recovery, trust in 2015 remains similar to levels at the height of the recession. The 2015 Edelman Trust Barometer13 ranked Ireland second from bottom of 27 countries for levels of trust and found that while government experienced a modest recovery in trust over 12 months, trust in Irish NGOs, business and media declined in the same period. The lack of trust is evident in Hearne’s14 survey of 2,500 Irish water activists. 54% of respondents were new entrants to protest politics and, while reasons for protest varied, lack of trust was a key factor in protesters shifting towards protest-oriented political tactics (including greater use of social media) and their support for extending such protest to other issues as well as openness to new political parties. Pre-crisis, Irish citizens had some sense of power or political efficacy and felt able to influence the political system15. Polls since do not necessarily show more “powerlessness”, but show a clear mistrust in politics and political parties. The Irish, along with most Europeans, still have a broad notion of democracy and

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attach importance to key procedural aspects of a liberal electoral democracy, such as free and fair elections and equality before the law, as well as the social and direct democracy dimensions of democracy which enable citizens participate directly in decision-making16. This helps explain demand for a “new politics” even as the European (and international) political environment stifles democracy and change.

7 Who might citizens trust as leaders, and who might people listen to? The crisis illustrated how government, as part of a strong ruling elite, very effectively manufactured consent and maintained hegemonic power17. Edelman’s survey measured trust across various media sources, with traditional media (newspapers, radio and television) the most trusted source of information in Ireland and academics or industry experts the most trusted spokespeople at 78%, with CEOs and Government officials the least trusted, at 34% and 33% respectively. Mercille’s18 analysis of 431 editorials and opinion articles discussing fiscal consolidation between 2008 and 2012 in three leading Irish newspapers (Irish Times, Sunday Independent, Irish Independent) found little in terms of alternatives to austerity and even less in terms of anti-capitalist narrative. Murphy19 examined how ideas, institutions and actors interacted throughout the crisis to either maintain or intensify policy continuity or to create path-shaping moments of change, and identified three austerity-related discourses: reform, transformative and revolutionary narratives. The dominance of the fiscal consolidation reform narrative in mainstream media reflects the successful framing activities of the dominant political and economic coalition who proactively reshaped institutions to centralise power and continue to direct the nature of political discourse to maintain an already strong path-dependence in the Irish economic and social model.

8 Those presenting alternatives are protest-oriented and sometimes uncertain, or differ with each other about how to define core problems or potential policy solutions. Harvey20 shows how key institutional shifts in funding, regulation and policy implementation centralised power and narrowed democratic representative and participative space. This weakened non-elite political coalitions and their capacity to build alternative narratives. Despite significant degrees of social dislocation, opposing political coalitions have been relatively weak and not yet sufficiently articulated, nor have they won support for any alternative or been able to contest dominant narratives. The challenge remains building capacity and developing narratives to mobilise different groups in support of alternatives encapsulated in the concept of a second republic. This question is particularly relevant in this decade of commemoration which itself offers opportunities to both reflect on what kind of society and economy Irish people want and to translate such reflection into meaningful political mobilisation.

9 In summary overall we see core values of equality and human rights intact and even strengthened over crisis but see significant mistrust in political and social institutions including NGOs and traditional media. We also see emerging forms of political participation and social media and the opportunity presented in a decade of commemoration. But how are citizens reacting to engaging with new and emerging forms of politics and who might they trust as leaders? The next section sheds some light on these questions by reviewing Irish political society and assessing its capacity to generate or reflect demand for a second republic.

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Looking forward – mapping political society

10 What political possibilities opened up in the 2016 general election? Has Ireland inched closer to a second republic? The Fine Gael (FG) /Labour Party (LP) coalition government (in power from 2011- 2016) had previously used rhetoric about and implied a vision for a second republic and the 2011 Programme for Government committed to a constitutional convention to review and renew the Irish Constitution. This potential for political reform proved somewhat of a damp squib as government proved themselves unambitious about the scale of reform they were willing to engage in or able to implement. Sceptical citizens demonstrated how little they trusted the government’s reform agenda when they rejected three political reform referenda. On distributional issues, government budgets were largely regressive and were hardly informed by republican principles or values21.

11 Pro-business FG, associated with the mantra “the best little country in the world to do business in”, was eager to promote a lightly regulated and low-tax competitive state, privatisation, and a more conditional approach to social policy. FG’s association with corruption22, numerous scandals (SiteServ), close relationships with business actors such as Denis O’Brien and political appointments23 also cost the party; their preoccupation with the economy at the expense of society led to a resounding electoral defeat, losing 26 of their 77 seats.

12 The junior 2011-2016 coalition partner, the LP, still espouses rhetorical ambition for substantive outcomes. The LP influenced government policy, generating some equality oriented policy outcomes including the marriage equality referendum, protection of life in pregnancy bill, and the reversal of minimum wage cuts. However, it was unable to direct overall government policy away from a low tax and low social expenditure framework and was itself directly implicated in cuts that hurt vulnerable groups. The LP tactically entered the 2016 GE willing to re-enter government as an even more minor coalition partner and without championing serious reform. The electorate resoundingly rejected the LP who lost 25 of its 32 remaining seats. The LP had experienced five parliamentary resignations over the 2011-2015 period, one of whom, Roisin Shortall, went on to co-lead a new party, the Social Democrats, who stood on a pro-tax public services and political reform platform and returned their existing 3 seats in the 2016 GE.

13 The largest outgoing opposition party, FF, regard themselves as a republican party and entered GE 2016 with a “fairness” rhetoric but with a policy platform consistent with a neoliberal political economy model. This rhetoric aligned with strong local constituency work to generate an expected political revival where they doubled their seats to 44 in GE 2016. A number of liberal but economically centre-right independents, rather than developing a political party, have brokered an “Independent Alliance” under the leadership of the centre-right Shane Ross and won 6 seats in the 2016 GE. Sinn Féin, a nationalist republican party with origins in the Northern Ireland conflict and aligned to the physical force republican movement, continued its incremental growth in the Republic positioned as a centre left party; it increased from 14 to 23 seats. The radical United Left Alliance who entered the 2011 parliament with seven seats subsequently fell into disarray with two individual members leaving to become independents and the Socialist Party splitting from ULA (and subsequently experiencing its own internal splits). A subsequent reconciliation saw the Socialist

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Party (Anti Austerity Alliance) and Socialist Workers’ Party (People Before Profit) registering as a political party AAA-PBP and winning 6 seats in the 2016 GE24. A mixture of centre-right gene pool, left and single-issue independents won 18 seats, 5 of whom have grouped into a centre-right rural alliance.

Table 1. Outcome of 2016 General Election compared to 2011 General Election, political parties and Independents

Political Party Seats 2011 Seats 2016

Fine Gael 77 50

Fianna Fail 21 43

Labour Party 37 7

Sinn Fein 14 23

United Left Alliance (2011) 7 0

AAA PBP (2016) 0 6

Social Democrats 0 3

Green Party 0 2

Independent Alliance 0 6

Independents 14 18

14 The GE 2016 Seanad vocational panel elections returned 11 FG seats, 14 FF seats, 7 SF seats, 4 LP seats, and 1 GP seat alongside 5 seats for “Independents and Others” who had a notably strategic election25. The Trinity and NUI constituency returned a gender balance with two conservative males, one progressive male and three progressive women. The elected Seanad is now more gender balanced (28.6% of the 49 candidates) and Taoiseach’s nominees may stretch the gender balance to 30%, the tipping point thought necessary for cultural change. The minority Fine Gael government with a maximum of 24 of out 60 seats will not command an overall majority in the new Seanad based on their current seat levels, but it is still the case that like the lower house, the majority of senators are from the two centre right parties (FF and FG).

15 At the time of writing, FG had their return as a minority government with a three-year “supply and confidence” deal with FF. It remains to be seen how long this arrangement will last and when the next GE will be. The question for this discussion is whether the next election will contribute to a further dissolution of old politics and open up potential for a “new politics” capable of generating demand for a second republic. In 2011 Kirby and Murphy argued that left-wing parties leading a left-led government were more likely to promote a republic based on equality and sustainability. Opinions diverge about the degree to which GE 2016 represented an electoral advance for the Irish left. Hearne26 and O’Toole 27 argue there was a seismic shift towards social democratic politics, but Storey28 opines that “sadly, we didn’t vote for a fairer Ireland”,

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rather “‘all over the place’ is a better description of the Irish political landscape than a claimed social-democratic majority”. Smyth29 observes that the combined left vote of 35% hardly shifted from the 2011 combined left vote of 33%30, he observes not “realignment towards the left” but “a realignment of the left” away from LP and towards SF, left independents and the radical left.

16 Debate about the future of the Irish left is made more difficult by a lack of consensus about who is on the left, with the Socialist Party questioning both LP and SF aspirations to be left parties and with GE 2016 marked by significant hostility towards both LP and SF from AAA-BPB31. LP choices in government and what Browne32 calls the myopic tactics of more radical left parties have contributed to the failure to build a coherent united opposition capable of capitalising on electoral dissatisfaction and demand for a new politics. Mullally33 suggests this absence of headline alternatives leaves citizens with little option but to retreat to local constituency politics and independent candidates.

17 Smyth concludes left unity is a pipe dream. In 2011 Kirby and I argued “it would be naïve to underestimate the degree of challenge in arriving at a realignment of the Irish left”34. In exploring this possibility, Ó Broin35 (now a Sinn Féin TD) identified the difficulty of realigning the different political strategies of the three left parties, with LP following an institutional tradition, the various bodies that comprise AAA/PBP following a mobilisation tradition and Sinn Féin (SF) emerging into an institutional strategy from a long history as an adjunct to a physical force republican movement. Distinctions can also be made among these parties between more reformist politics with a government-oriented policy agenda (LP and SF), and those with more radical oppositional strategies (AAA/PBP). These differences make it difficult to develop and present a credible left alternative to the electorate. Such challenges should not be underestimated, differences in both analysis of the problems and positions adopted through tactical opportunism can widen the gap between different left party positions on issues like service charges. In Ó Broin’s description of the Irish left he sees the hard left wing shouting from the side lines and the social democratic wing acting as a mud guard for the centre.36 He argues, the reformist left led by Labour and SIPTU have always set their sights too low, overwhelmed by their lack of political strength they were never able to raise their horizons beyond mitigating the worst effects of centre right governments, while the revolutionary left, led by an alphabet soup of Leninist grouplets, has never been able to lift itself out of the comfort zone of pure opposition and slogan based politics and despite the important role they play in many mobilisations their impossibilism has led to their marginalisation37.

18 Smyth is dismal about the prospects of post-GE 2016 left co-operation, arguing that “if anything they are less likely to co-operate, … are more bitterly divided personally and politically, and are inveterate splitters and expellers of dissent”38. Some had put energy into new left alignment through the Right to Change movement which emerged from the 2014 Right2Water campaign to provide a coherent platform for change, mobilising over 100 GE 2016 candidates behind a set of policy principles, and interacting with international political and civil society alliances including Podemos, Syriza, and trade unions at European level. However, post-GE 2016 Right to Change proved to have little subsequent traction; having found themselves outflanked by political party manoeuvring the participating trade unions are reviewing their involvement.

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19 The Polling Indicator39 display of party support from 2011-2016 demonstrates significant volatility and fragmentation; this continues post-GE 2016. From an international perspective, it is striking that one of the consequences of the on-going political and economic “crisis” has been the rise of radical/extreme right-wing parties (and in some countries a relative polarisation of the political scene, with the parallel rise of a radical left). Ireland experienced volatility and fragmentation but less extreme right or left populism than in some European states. One factor that differentiates Ireland from other European states is the Irish Proportional Representational Single Transferable Vote electoral system which facilitates election of local independent individual candidates in 40 local constituencies. These candidates to some degree became the focus for the electorate allowing them to express dissatisfaction with political parties and articulate local concerns40. The ease with which local individuals can successfully compete in national level elections can make alternative party formation less likely. This also militates against growth in populist parties. This might also partially explain the absence of a new party, modelled on the Spanish Podemos movement, that Hearne41 argued could be fuelled by the type of community activism behind the Right to Water campaign.

20 What might we conclude? The 2016 GE outcome suggests a societal rejection of the economic narrative in favour of one that privileges fairness and society; however it is also the case that the deep fragmentation of the left and increased presence of independents means a persistent lack of coherent political alternatives for citizens to demonstrate these values. Given that political society is not offering coherent alternatives, the next section explores Irish civil society and its potential to offer an alternative basis for organising.

Looking forward – mapping civil society

21 What of Irish civil society and its potential contribution towards the evolution of a second republic? Edwards’s42 somewhat optimistic vision of civil society is of collective, creative and values-based action capable of being a counterweight to individualism, an antidote to cynicism and a balance to both state and market. However, Irish civil society is broad-ranging, with much of it organised around voluntary service, charities and sporting activity and imbued with various political ideologies, not all of which are progressive or transformative. Some are neutral about or compatible with a neoliberal model and so are consistent with and reinforce elite common sense or hegemonic neoliberal narratives. Others mobilising around change work through progressive think tanks, trade unions and NGOs43 to pursue social democratic agendas that are progressive but may not stretch to significant transformation nor promote a counter- hegemonic project. Others including ecological movements and groups give reality to ecological values which are often radical but are rarely couched within a counter- hegemonic or anti-capitalistic frame44.

22 To better distinguish these spheres of civil society we adapt Wright’s45 framework to distinguish the different traditions within which progressive civil society mobilises. Wright identifies three strategic logics of transformation that characterise the history of anti-capitalist struggle. Ruptural or revolutionary transformations envision a sharp break with existing institutions and social structures through direct confrontation. Interstitial transformations seek to build new forms of social empowerment in

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capitalist society’s niches and margins that serve as both critique and evidence that alternative ways of working and living are possible. Symbiotic transformations involve strategies where the state and civil society simultaneously help to solve practical problems faced by dominant classes and elites through “non-reformist reforms”, reforms that simultaneously make life better within the existing economic system. While some symbiotic reforms might also expand the potential for future advances of democratic power, other reformist agendas are parasitic in nature in that they prop up and ultimately reinforce the status quo.

Table 2: Irish Civil Society - strategic logics

Strategic logic Strategic logic with respect to Likely Tradition Pivotal actors with respect to the capitalist trajectory the state class

Oppositional protest Continue in Revolutionary Classes in political politics, small fractured Ruptural socialist or society (small and Confrontation unlikely to clusters but communist factured) enter some growth government

Less involved in distributional and Some creative status issues but Non state- alliances with Interstitial Anarchist vibrant in Ignore oriented both ruptural ecological, urban and symbiotic and gender politics

Contribute to Distributional, narrative of Symbiotic Offensive employment and State-oriented, alternatives Social status issues, civil and social Engage but in comfort democratic equality and rights dialogue Reformist zone of social frames dialogue

Protecting Symbiotic Defensive vulnerable and State oriented, Co-opted in Social often focused on civil and social Collaborate maintaining Reinforcing democratic services and life dialogue status quo. contingencies

Source adapted from Wright (2013).

23 Table 2 illustrates how these political traditions involve not only different relations with the state but also translate into different attitudes to interaction with political society. The state also shapes the context in which civil society operates and has structurally shifted in its power relations with civil society, both ceasing controversial social partnership arrangements and eroding broader civil participative networks. The

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2015 UN ICESRC46 committee report to Ireland raised concern at the lack of meaningful consultation with civil society, and civil society seems relatively more eager to reconstruct methods of state/society dialogue than to engage in wider mobilisation for transformative political mobilisation47. The shifting role of trade unions is particularly important in this shift from social partnership to social dialogue. While some, including the largest trade union SIPTU, are eager for dialogue relations with the state, others, including Right2Water campaigning unions, have fostered an alternative approach focused on forms of mobilisation and protest-oriented “politics”. Many civil society NGOs identify as progressive and symbiotic. However, over the crisis, some may have shifted into more defensive and narrow instrumental campaigns48. This defensive political space is often characterised by a lack of solidarity and has potential to undermine more strategic narratives with longer term capacity to realise greater solidarity and more sustainable resistance to the overall neoliberal direction of the Irish state49. This lack of NGO leadership and solidarity also opens up a vacuum where those who seek more meaningful change must seek alternative civil or political leadership. In Europe this has raised conditions for populism.

24 We also need to be realistic about the strength of civil society as a source of alternatives. While there is a rich history of social movements in Ireland, recent scholarship suggests civil society has become more muted over the last decade as a proactive state sought to co-opt civil society and shape its direction and diminish capacity for social transformation50. Various statutory initiatives have discouraged or prohibited the political capacity of civil society with legal mandates disallowing advocacy if an organization is in receipt of state funding51. This has had a “chilling effect” on many organisations and has clearly diminished civil society capacity to be socially transformative. This has had gendered impacts: austerity measures have heavily impacted on the organisation of feminist, and women’s advocacy and support services52. Civil and political society is rendered weaker by the absence of women in both formal politics and broader public and media spheres, and by the tendency to restrict women to commenting on social but not economic affairs.

A new politics?

25 In September 2015 Jeremy Corbyn was elected British Labour Party leader, while at the time of writing in April 2016, outsider Bernie Sanders continues his campaign for the United States Democratic Party presidential nomination. Both seek to promote a new politics giving voice to those who feel excluded. The experience of GE 2016 suggests Irish political and civil society is struggling to develop a new politics. What might we learn from elsewhere? Silva’s53 analysis of building a social left in four Latin America countries (Argentina, Ecuador, Bolivia, and Venezuela) found that, while unions took the initial lead in mobilising against neoliberal reforms, wider society took the lead in the context of weakening of unions. Over several waves and decades of popular mobilisation around concrete issues, they built forms of collective power, eventually creating the conditions and the constituency for the emergence of strong new left governments and new politics. Crisis was used as opportunity to create and use political “space” and to build “alliances” across and between different sectoral interests, transnational ideas and networks were utilised to create broad domestic agendas to sustain alliances. Finally, through promoting practical pragmatic reformist

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agendas, advances were made and greater changes achieved. All this required a patient coalition-building over decades and waves of mobilisation. How have the Irish fared on coalition-building across political and civil society and have they the patience for decades of mobilisation?

26 Irish left parties generally do not have a strong track record of co-operation with civil society organizations. Ó Broin argues that they often treat NGOs and civil society as little more than a recruiting ground. Nonetheless, they overlap with civil society and how they choose to work and develop alliances will impact on civil society (and, of course, vice versa). Support for independents is interpreted as support for a new politics in Ireland; However, proliferation of independent candidates might also be an indicator of lack of motivation for and capacity to mobilise a new politics. Conditions trigger motivation for mobilisation. Neoliberalism has caused economic volatility in Ireland. However, despite unresolved high levels of individual and collective indebtedness, unemployment, emigration and increased deprivation, conditions do not compare to other European countries in crisis, nor does the extent of social disruption reach Latin American proportions. While the 2016 GE showed the extent of anger and disillusionment of many, it may also be the case that the Irish crisis has not been grave enough to cause a reaction with sufficient force to provoke a change of course or a new politics. That said crisis is still alive in Irish society, and the potential for increased conflict remains. This is evident in the anti-water charges protest movement which echoes some of the approaches found in Latin America, both in terms of coalition building and issue framing. On the other hand, this movement is relatively narrow in its “frame” and so limited in its capacity to develop alliances. Motivation is also stimulated by extensive political exclusion and a crisis of representation, where citizens mistrust political institutions. Opinion polls and election results highlight the turbulence and volatility in Irish politics and it is unclear, at the time of writing, what politics will evolve over the next decade.

27 Silva emphasises the importance of associational power, or the formation of groups, and collective power, the formation of new coalitions or alliances, in achieving change. He argues that Latin American elite leaders tried to fragment different parts of civil society. This has echoes in Ireland where the elite tries to divide public and private and creates divisions between key groups of trade unions and NGOs54. Many trade unions and NGOs are sectoral and organised around specific campaigns to advance policy or row back individual austerity measures. They are also conditioned by a consensus relationship with the state. Government has implemented rollbacks in some cuts that, while not significant in terms of percentage of GDP, are politically significant in encouraging groups to persist in sectoral campaigns and justify resistance to the harder and riskier work of coalition building. At the same time there is some evidence of the type of collective mobilisation that happened in Latin America. Various types of attempts to link across sectors can be found in various grassroot gatherings, such as Claiming Our Future, We’re Not Leaving, and various campaigns against precarity. Right2Water also demonstrates significant capacity for protest and collective action. These efforts have not yet created the conditions for a significant “new politics”; elsewhere indeed, this took decades. There also appears to be a shift in culture in protest and electoral politics. Old cultures are eroded by the decline in trade union membership and civil society. New cultures of communication have emerged through social media and organisations like Uplift and the street protest culture of the small but

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revived and energetic Trotskyite left55 and of the Irish presence in the global Occupy movement. The challenge is to recognise the fragmented, complex and diverse nature of social politics and the public sphere and to mobilise across this complexity.

28 There is some optimism that the development of a national conversation about credible alternatives evident in the Right2Change campaign and among various oppositional movements has achieved some critical mass in the context of wider dissatisfaction with austerity and the political elite56. This builds on work by think tanks NERI and TASC and from contributions from civil society including the National Women’s Council, the European Anti-Poverty Network and Community Platform and is consistent with earlier attempts to build alternative budget frames by Claiming our Future in Plan B campaigns in 2011 and 2012. The question is whether any can develop sufficient momentum, resilience and persistence to last the time needed to develop broader alliances.

29 Silva emphasises ideological power and the need to frame messages and narratives with a view to brokering new linkages. Unger describes the challenge of creating a high- energy democracy and raising the temperature of politics57. To date there has not been effective framing in the various Irish protests. Issues have not been framed in a manner that might unite a critical mass around a positive vision of alternatives that can inspire or motivate united action to create a world without the social, democratic, cultural and economic damage associated with neoliberalism. Silva advises that such a framing is crucial to brokering the linkages necessary to achieve change. A new politics requires a “new policy consensus”. In Latin America that new consensus reaffirmed the legitimacy of state involvement in the economy and society; an ecologically driven model of development; less reliance on and greater regulation of markets; less reliance on foreign investment; and more social investment in welfare, health, education, and pensions as well as a focus on inclusion and equality of status for all, including women. Such an Irish narrative could create new solidarities based on an understanding of our collective interdependence. More, and more effective, protest could emerge on foot of this new politics.

30 New tactics and new types of civil society linkages and new alliances between civil society and political society are crucial to fill the vacuum or “void” in democratic left politics described earlier.58 New ideas are also crucial and need to be bigger and bolder than ideas recently promoted in the context of New Left Review sponsored debate on a “second republic” (the defence of the traditional European model of social democracy59, or a national project to eliminate child poverty60). Fraser61 draws our attention to the need for a conceptual framework that offers a way to interpret the crisis in ways that unite us and allow us to find a new emancipatory way to build a new narrative and create new political solidarities. She argues for “a triple movement” against the “self- regulating market” that commodifies nature, labour and money and in contemporary terms creates new markets in ecology (carbon emissions and biotechnology), in care and social reproduction (child-care, schooling, and care of the old), and in money (financial derivatives and speculation). Linkages can be made across the triple crisis of “capitalism, social reproduction and the environment”. A second republic requires a strong vision and narrative. An Irish triple movement which incorporates gender and social reproduction, environmental and traditional distributional concerns about income equality and public services could inspire a new politics. This framing offers potential to mobilise across a wide range of actors, enables people to see what unites

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them rather than what divides them, and increases the likelihood of a lively battleground in which the interests of a much wider section of the population can find expression, create new alliances and reshape power relations.

NOTES

1. Peadar Kirby and Mary P Murphy, Towards a Second Republic – Irish Politics after the Celtic Tiger, London, Pluto, 2011. 2. Mary P. Murphy, “Ireland: Celtic Tiger in Austerity – Explaining Irish Path Dependency: Social welfare and the ethics of austerity in Europe – justice, ideology and equality”, Journal of Contemporary European Studies, vol. 22, no 2, April 2014, p. 132-142; Colin Coulter and Angela Nagle (eds), Ireland Under Austerity, Neoliberal Crisis, Neoliberal Solutions, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2015; Julien Mercille and Enda Murphy, Deepening Neoliberalism, Austerity, and Crisis Europe’s Treasure Ireland, Basingstoke, Palgrave, 2015. 3. Mary P. Murphy and Fiona Dukelow (eds), The Irish Welfare State in the 21st Century, Challenges and Changes, Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. 4. Irish Human Rights and Equality Commission, IHREC Submission to UNECSR, Dublin, IHREC, 2015. P. Kirby and M.P. Murphy, Towards a Second Republic, op. cit., Chapter 10. 5. David Farrell (UCD), Eoin O’Malley (DCU), Theresa Reidy (UCC) and Jane Suiter (DCU), “Smaointe: Assessing the parties’ reform proposals”, taken up on the Irish Politics Forum (“A PSAI blog for discussion of politics, policy and political reform”), 24 February 2016, http://politicalreform.ie/2016/02/24/smaointe-assessing-the-parties- reform-proposals/2016 6. P. Kirby and M.P. Murphy, Towards a Second Republic, op. cit., Chapter 10. 7. Irish Human Rights and Equality Commission, RED C Poll, April 2015, http:// www.ihrec.ie/news/2015/07/30/ 8. TASC, http://www.tasc.ie/news/2014/12/15/1-in-2-irish-people-willing-to-pay- higher-taxes. 9. Election 2016: Irish Times exit poll, 27 February 2016, http://www.irishtimes.com/ news/politics/election-2016-irish-times-exit-poll-shows-coalition-well-short-of- overall-majority-1.2550489. 10. John Garry, “Analysis of ideological positions in RTE exit poll”, RTE News, 27 February 2016, http://www.rte.ie/news/election-2016/2016/0227/771246-ideological- voters/2016. 11. Eurobarometer Standard Eurobarometer 81, Public Opinion in the EU 2014, Spring 2014 http://ec.europa.eu/public_opinion/archives/eb/eb81/eb81_publ_en.pdf 12. Siobhan O'Sullivan et al., “Political Legitimacy in Ireland During Economic Crisis: Insights from the European Social Survey”, Irish Political Studies, vol. 29, no 4, 2014, p. 547-572.

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13. Edelman Trust Barometer, http://www.edelman.ie/edelman-trust-barometer-2015-2/ 14. Rory Hearne, The Irish water war, austerity and the “Risen people”, Maynooth, NIRSA, 2015. 15. John Garry, Niamh Hardiman and Diane Payne (eds), Irish Social and Political Attitudes, Liverpool, Liverpool University Press, 2006. 16. European Social Survey, Top Line Results Issue 4 Europeans’ Understandings and Evaluations of Democracy, EC, ESS, 2012. 17. Mary P. Murphy, “Ireland: Celtic Tiger in Austerity”, Journal of Contemporary European Studies, vol. 22, no 2, April 2014, p. 132-142. 18. Julien Mercille, “The role of the media in fiscal consolidation programmes: the case of Ireland”, Cambridge Journal of Economics online, 11 December 2013, p. 1-20. 19. M.P. Murphy, “Ireland: Celtic Tiger in Austerity”, op. cit. 20. Brian Harvey, Are we paying for that ?, Dublin, Advocacy Coalition, 2014. 21. IHREC, IHREC Submission to UNECSR, op. cit. 22. Elaine Byrne, The Crooked Harp, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2012. 23. “Timeline: the Siteserv controversy – What’s the story behind the issue?”, Irish Times, 29 May 2015, http://www.irishtimes.com/business/financial-services/timeline- the-siteserv-controversy-1.2230748 24. Sarah Bardon, “Irish Times Anti Austerity Alliance and People before Profit to launch new party”, Irish Times, 16 September 2015, http://www.irishtimes.com/news/ politics/anti-austerity-alliance-and-people-before-profit-to-launch-new- party-1.2353674 25. Adrian Kavanagh, “Seanad Elections 2016, a final overview”, posted 28 April 2016, https://adriankavanaghelections.org/2016/04/28/seanad-elections-2016-a-final- overview/ 26. Rory Hearne, “Electorate want a fairer society”, Irish Examiner, 29 February 2016, http://www.irishexaminer.com/election2016/election2016-news-and-analysis/ electorate-want-a-fairer-equal-society-with-another-seismic-shift-in-irish- politics-384614.html 27. Fintan O’Toole, “The winner of Election 2016 is social democracy”, Irish Times, 29 February 2016, http://www.irishtimes.com/opinion/the-winner-of-election-2016-is- social-democracy-1.2552917 28. Andy Storey, “Sadly we didn’t vote for a fairer Ireland”, Dublin Inquirer, 1 March 2016, http://dublininquirer.com/2016/03/01/andy-sadly-we-didnt-vote-for-a-fairer- ireland/ 29. Patrick Smyth, “Left unity still a pipe dream”, Irish Times, 29 February 2016, p 20. 30. Smyth calculates 53 seats, estimating one third of independents as “left”. Ibid. 31. Vincent Browne, “Coalition of the right the price of left myopic stunts”, Irish Times , 29 February 2016, p. 20. 32. Ibid. 33. Una Mullally, “Absence of Alternatives”, Irish Times, 1 March 2016. 34. Peadar Kirby and Mary P. Murphy, Towards a Second Republic,, op. cit., Chapter 10.

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35. Eoin Ó Brion, “The Future of the Irish Left” paper to session “Political Change and People Power”, Left Unity Conference , Gresham Hotel, 5 February 2011. 36. Eoin Ó Broin, “The rights easy ride stops now”, Sunday Business Post, 21 June 2015, p 15. 37. Ibid. 38. P. Smyth, “Left unity still a pipe dream”, art. cit. 39. Tom Louwerse, “Irish Polling Indicator: Government parties bounce back a bit”, Irish Politics Forum (“A PSAI blog”), 27 March 2015, http://politicalreform.ie/ 2015/03/27/irish-polling-indicator-government-parties-bounce-back-a-bit 40. The scale of defeat of FF in 2011 opened up significant possibilities in the political landscape. Despite significant entry barriers, the 2011 General Election saw the emergence of political parties such as Democracy Now, New Vision (an association of independent candidates) and Fís Nua (a registered political party), none had any electoral impact. In GE 2016 Social Democrats, Independent Alliance and AAA/PBP successfully contested while other parties that emerged include Renua, People’s Democracy, Direct Democracy Ireland and National Citizens Movement (aligned as DDI/ NCM), none of whom won seats in the GE 2016. 41. R. Hearne, The Irish water war, austerity and the “Risen people”, op. cit. 42. Michael Edwards, “Civil society”, The Encyclopedia of Informal Education, 2005, www.infed.org/association/civil_society.htm 43. For example Social Justice Ireland, European Anti Poverty Movement, TASC (think tank for action on social change). 44. Jesuit Centre for Faith and Justice, “Protecting the Environment”, Working Notes, no 72, Dublin, Jesuit Centre for Faith and Justice, 2013, http://www.workingnotes.ie/ index.php/component/zoo/category/issue-72-protecting-the-environment?Itemid=155 45. Erik O. Wright, “Transforming Capitalism through Real Utopias”, American Sociological Review, vol. 78, no 1, 2013, p. 1-25. 46. Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, Concluding observations on the third periodic report of Ireland, E/C12/IRL/CO 3, Geneva, UN, 2015. 47. Paul Gillespie, “World View: The case for a new type of social partnership”, Irish Times, 11 March 2016, http://www.irishtimes.com/opinion/world-view-the-case-for-a- new-type-of-social-partnership-1.2569760 Michael Clifford, “Godfather of social partnership believes it is time for its rebirth”, Irish Examiner, 3 January 2015, http:// www.irishexaminer.com/viewpoints/analysis/godfather-of-social-partnership- believes-it-is-time-for-its-rebirth-305022.html 48. Mary P. Murphy, “Irish Civil Society: Rearranging the Deck Chairs on the Titanic? A Case Study of Fighting Irish Social Security Retrenchment”, Journal of Civil Society, vol. 12, no 1, 2014, p. 1-16, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/17448689.2016.1117244 49. R. Hearne, The Irish water war, austerity and the “Risen people”, op. cit. 50. Brian Harvey, Government Funding and Social Justice Advocacy, Dublin, The Advocacy Initiative, 2014; Kieran Allen, “The model pupil who faked the test: Social policy in the Irish crisis”, Critical Social Policy, vol. 32, n° 3, 2012, p. 422-439. 51. Community Work Ireland, In Whose Interests, Galway, CWI, 2015.

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52. Mary P. Murphy, “Gendering the narrative of the Irish Crisis”, Irish Political Studies, vol. 32, 2015, p. 1-20. 53. Eduardo Silva, Challenging Neoliberalism in Latin America, Cambridge and New York, Cambridge University Press, 2009. 54. K. Allen, “The model pupil who faked the test: Social policy in the Irish crisis”, art. cit. 55. Dan Finn, “A Second Republic”, New Left Review Seminar, Central Hotel Dublin, 25 June 2015. 56. Eoin Ó Broin (2015), op. cit., p. 15. 57. Roberto Unger, “The Future of the Left”, The European, 24 October 2011, p 1-5. 58. Peter Mair, Ruling the Void, London, Verso, 2015. 59. D. Finn, “A Second Republic”, art. cit. 60. Fintan O’Toole, “A Second Republic”, New Left Review Seminar, Central Hotel Dublin, 25 June 2015. 61. Nancy Fraser, “A Triple Movement? Parsing the Politics of Crisis after Polanyi”, New Left Review, no 81, 2013, p. 119-132.

ABSTRACTS

This article discusses the prospects of Ireland emerging from crisis renewed and reformed as a second republic. Evidence from opinion polls and surveys confirms Irish citizens value key republican principles of equality, rights and fair distribution; however, trust in politics, government and non-government organisations is low and the 2016 general election confirmed the absence of leadership to create political momentum around such values. The answer to the question of what is needed to generate a new politics or a high energy democracy lies in understanding how the crisis has impacted on values and attitudes towards key leadership institutions and how it has changed Irish political and civil society. Examining the relationship and linkages between the two allows some assessment of Irish political and civil society’s capacity for a values-led discourse that could promote a transformative-type change. We identify the absence of effective framing, a necessary prerequisite for effective linkage and mobilisation. What is required for new politics is an Irish triple movement which incorporates gender and social reproduction, as well as environmental and traditional distributional concerns about income equality and public services. Such framing offers potential to mobilise across a wide range of actors and create a livelier battleground in which the interests of a much wider section of the population can find expression, create new alliances, reshape power relations and, over time, create a second republic.

Le présent article examine et évalue la perspective d’un renouvellement politique en Irlande qui pourrait prendre la forme d’une seconde république à la suite de la crise. Enquêtes et sondages confirment que les citoyens irlandais sont attachés aux principes-clés républicains d’égalité, de respect des droits et de répartition équitable ; cependant, la confiance dans la politique, dans le gouvernement et dans les organisations non-gouvernementales est faible, et les élections

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législatives de 2016 ont confirmé l’absence d’une direction structurée pouvant créer un effet d’entraînement politique autour de telles valeurs. Pour identifier les éléments nécessaires à la production d’un nouvel environnement politique et d’une démocratie dynamique, il faut d’abord comprendre l’impact que la crise a eu sur les valeurs et les attitudes vis-à-vis des principales institutions politiques et comment elle a transformé la société politique et civile irlandaise. L’analyse des relations et interconnections entre les deux permet d’évaluer dans une certaine mesure la capacité de la société politique et civile irlandaise à développer un discours fondé sur des valeurs et qui serait de nature à promouvoir un processus de changement profond. Parmi les facteurs de transformation manquants, on peut identifier en particulier l’absence d’un cadrage ou discours cadre (framing) efficace, pré-condition nécessaire à une mise en réseau et une véritable mobilisation. Pour rendre possible un renouvellement politique, il faut pouvoir imaginer en Irlande un triple mouvement prenant en compte la problématique de la reproduction sociale et genrée, celle de l’environnement et celle, plus traditionnelle, de la répartition socio-économique, autour de l’égalité de revenus et des services publics. Un tel cadrage (framing) pourrait mobiliser un large éventail d’acteurs et ouvrir un champ de discussion politique plus dynamique, au sein duquel les intérêts d’une bien plus large part de la population pourraient trouver leur expression, dans un mouvement propice à la création de nouvelles alliances, à la reconfiguration des relations de pouvoir et, à terme, à la mise en place d’une seconde république.

INDEX

Mots-clés: République d'Irlande, débat public, société civile, crise financière, partis politiques Keywords: civil society, Irish Republic, political parties, public debate, financial crisis

AUTHOR

MARY P. MURPHY Maynooth University

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Ireland and its vulnerable “others”: the reception of asylum seekers in Ireland

Bairbre Ní Chiosáin

1 This article examines Ireland’s policy regarding the reception of asylum seekers, describes the living conditions of people in the direct provision system and assesses to what extent it is adapted to their needs, drawing in particular on numerous primary sources and media reports spanning the decade and a half of the existence of direct provision. Asylum seekers are in a very vulnerable position, having to wait, sometimes for years, before knowing if they are to be granted refugee status and consequently, permission to stay in Ireland, or if they are to be deported back to the countries they left for political, economic or other reasons. During this time, as a result of the direct provision system, they are marginalised, and their children grow up in difficult circumstances. This article carries out a rights-based analysis of the problems directly related to the system of direct provision. It also outlines criticism of government policy emanating from both national and international organisations and shows how governments over the years have reacted to calls for the reform or abolition of the system. Much academic literature exists on the topic of asylum in Ireland. There will be a particular focus here on work which deals with the human rights of asylum seekers in direct provision and with government policy on this issue.

The introduction of Direct Provision

2 Until 2000, all asylum seekers arriving in Ireland were dealt with by the Health Boards of the region where they arrived. People seeking asylum had the same entitlements as any other destitute person requiring assistance, in relation to emergency accommodation and access to Supplementary Welfare Allowance. At the time, 90% of people seeking asylum were to be found in Dublin, where most of the services necessary to apply for asylum were located1. This is where applications were made, where interviews to assess a person’s case were held, where the various support groups

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or NGOs dealing with asylum seekers were based and where networks of asylum seekers from the same country took form. For these reasons, most asylum seekers wished to stay in the capital2.

3 The number of people seeking asylum annually rose steadily from 31 applications in 1991 to 7,724 in 1999. This resulted in a high demand on accommodation in Dublin. In October 1999, the Eastern Health Board, then responsible for the Dublin Area, reported a crisis situation with approximately 1,000 new asylum seekers arriving every month and looking for accommodation, hundreds of whom were being turned away because of a lack of places. The government therefore decided to disperse asylum seekers around the country and to implement a policy of direct provision. This was initiated on a pilot basis in November 1999, and extended nationwide in April 2000, to coincide with the introduction of a similar policy in the UK3.

4 For people awaiting a decision on their asylum application, the system provided for their accommodation for 10-14 days in reception centres in Dublin. They were then dispersed to direct provision centres throughout the country, where accommodation was provided on a full-board basis. These centres were either purpose-built buildings or, more commonly, privately-owned hotels, hostels, guesthouses, former convents or nursing homes, and even a former holiday camp and a mobile home site. Accommodation was obtained across the different Health Board areas to ensure a more equal distribution of asylum seekers throughout the country. In almost all of these accommodation centres, three meals a day were provided to residents4, together with a weekly allowance of €19.10 per adult and €9.50 per child. This allowance, described officially as a “payment to cover personal requisites”, was calculated as a percentage of the full Supplementary Welfare Allowance as it existed in 2000, because accommodation and meals were provided. It was decided that asylum seekers would not have access to the labour market while their asylum claims were being examined5.

5 A decade and a half after the introduction of direct provision, the system remains largely the same as when it was introduced. The State assumes responsibility for providing accommodation for asylum seekers until such time as they are granted refugee status (or some other form of protection6) and move into the community, or, if their case is refused, until they leave the State voluntarily or are deported.

6 When direct provision was introduced in 2000, it was stated by the Minister of Justice of the time, John O’Donoghue, that with the efforts being made to shorten application processing times, most asylum seekers would stay “on a short-term basis and not more than six months” in these accommodation centres7. However, statistics show that in practice, the majority of direct provision residents remain within the system for several years8. Today, approximately one third of residents have been living in accommodation centres for over five years9. Many of the problems that have arisen in relation to the direct provision system have been exacerbated by these lengthy stays.

The problems of direct provision

7 Over the years, numerous reports, published by organisations working in the areas of immigration, human rights and children’s rights, or by NGOs and community groups working on the ground with asylum seekers, have criticised the direct provision system10. There have been calls to abolish or significantly reform this system, and successive governments have been accused of failing to respect certain human rights

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obligations as outlined in international treaties of which Ireland is a signatory11. These include UN treaties such as the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR), the Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC), the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICERD), as well as the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR).

Accommodation conditions

8 There are problems related to the living conditions in direct provision centres, where overcrowding and lack of privacy are common. Single people often have to share a bedroom with several others. Single women and mothers of small children sometimes have to share bedrooms, while married couples are entitled to a family room, which they generally have to share with their children12. Teenage children of different sexes have to share rooms with their parents, and bathrooms are shared in most centres. In centres with no recreational facilities, children are confined to their shared bedrooms. Many centres do not have a study space for school children to do their homework13. In some centres, parents consider the communal areas to be unsafe for their children, where some residents watch adult videos and smoke14.

9 The experience of communal living in close quarters leads to tensions among residents, particularly the requirement to share bedrooms with strangers, who may not even speak the same language15. This was highlighted as a problem as early as 200116, but it continues to cause difficulties. In 2010, an article in the Irish Times gave the example of a pregnant woman and her five-year-old daughter who had to share a small bedroom with another mother and her one and a half-year old baby. The woman in question miscarried and lost twins, and attributed this to her stressful living conditions17. While this cannot be proven, a report from the Irish Refugee Council highlights the high number of miscarriages among women in direct provision18.

10 The Department of Justice, Equality and Law Reform, in its 2005 Annual Report, identified a “need to ensure a proper mix of accommodation (e.g. family, single male, single female)19”. Indeed, according to information supplied by the Reception and Integration Agency (RIA) for catered accommodation, there are currently two centres for family use only, one centre which houses single individuals of both sexes, eight for single males and 24 for a combination of single individuals of either or both sexes as well as families20. The fact that there is no dedicated facility which caters for single women, who in some cases may be young, alone and vulnerable, raises serious concerns. A number of these women may have suffered traumatic experiences of either a violent or sexual nature which caused them to flee from their home country. As the 2008 UNHCR Handbook for the Protection of Refugee Women states, all women living in direct provision should be accommodated in a safe environment with appropriate protection procedures in place. One of the actions suggested in this handbook to address sexual and gender-based violence includes “lobbying national and local government authorities to persuade them to fund places in women’s refuges for asylum-seeking women fleeing domestic violence as common practice and to offer all asylum-seeking women single sex accommodation if preferred21”. Currently this option is not available to women in direct provision. Furthermore, they generally cannot

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access mainstream women’s refuges as they are not entitled to social welfare assistance, which is usually a prerequisite to obtaining a place in a refuge22.

Financial situation

11 Although the weekly Supplementary Welfare Allowance has almost doubled between 2000 and 2016 (going from €96.50 to €186), the money paid to asylum seekers, which was initially calculated as a percentage of this allowance, has remained unchanged since 2000. The Irish Refugee Council and other groups such as Combat Poverty and the Free Legal Aid Centres have consistently called for an increase of the Direct Provision Allowance to €65 a week for adults and €38 a week for children23. However, successive governments have refused to increase the payment.

12 Asylum seekers are entitled to a medical card. In the past, they could also apply for other social welfare allowances like the One-Parent family allowance, child benefit, disability allowance, old-age pension, exceptional needs payments, and back to school allowances. However, with the introduction in May 2004 of the Habitual Residence Condition (HRC)24, those who sought social welfare benefits (other than the €19.10 Direct Provision Allowance) needed to prove that they were habitually resident in Ireland for two years. In the vast majority of cases, people living in direct provision were found not to meet the qualifying criteria. Following a successful appeal against the policy of not counting the time spent in direct provision25, a last-minute amendment made to the Social Welfare and Pensions Bill 2009 was put through the Dáil without debate, changing the law to explicitly exclude all asylum seekers from ever being able to satisfy the HRC. Ombudsman Emily O’Reilly was highly critical of the manner in which the law was changed, saying that “a very far-reaching decision on how we as a society should provide for asylum seekers was taken without any real notice, without explanation and without discussion by the elected representatives of the people26”.

13 In 1997, in its National Anti-Poverty Strategy, the government adopted the following definition of poverty which underpins all of its anti-poverty and social inclusion policies: People are living in poverty if their income and resources (material, cultural and social) are so inadequate as to preclude them from having a standard of living which is regarded as acceptable by Irish society generally. As a result of inadequate income and resources, people may be excluded and marginalised from participating in activities which are considered the norm for other people in society27.

14 According to this definition, it can clearly be seen that those in direct provision are living in poverty. Child Benefit, which was once a universal payment, is no longer available to the parents of asylum-seeking children, one of the most vulnerable groups of children in Irish society. It is worth noting that these children are not included when compiling statistics for the EU survey on Income and Living Conditions on child poverty, as they are not considered to be living in a “household28”. The Combat Poverty Agency declared that these children, along with homeless children, Traveller children and children living in institutional care, are at a “high risk of poverty29”. The allowance families receive means that any extra costs such as clothes, school supplies, sports equipment or school trips simply cannot be met, setting these children apart from their classmates.

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15 In 2001, one year after the introduction of direct provision, a study commissioned by the Combat Poverty Agency revealed that a certain number of children and pregnant women living in direct provision centres suffered from malnutrition due to the fact that the food served in the centres was not adapted to their eating habits. They had three meals a day served at fixed times, the quality of which was considered poor or mediocre. Some mothers said they had problems breastfeeding their babies as their milk supply was low because of their diet. Access to the kitchens was prohibited at all times, even to prepare babies’ bottles or a snack for the children. Buying food to make up for this was often difficult, given the very low allowance they received. Some families prepared bottles and meals in their bedrooms on gas stoves, which was against the regulations for fire safety reasons30.

16 This report received significant media coverage and some of the problems were dealt with, in particular those concerning infants. Centres are now obliged to provide those who have young children with powdered milk, sterilisers, kettles, microwaves and fridges. However problems persist, in spite of the establishment by RIA of guidelines on the quality and variety of food as well as on other aspects of the centres. A study published in 2014 found that food in direct provision centres is often “inedible”, “of poor quality” and, in certain cases, “culturally inappropriate”. It is considered “unsuitable for babies, toddlers and children”. As a result, the report says, many parents spend a significant part of their meagre weekly allowance on food to try to ensure the nutritional well-being of their children31. The Children’s Rights Alliance have strongly criticised the direct provision system where children suffer from food poverty, described as “the inability to have an adequate and nutritious diet due to issues of affordability or accessibility32”.

Children’s rights

17 The UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC), signed by Ireland in 1990, states that the best interests of children, and this includes asylum seeking children, must be a primary consideration in making decisions that may affect them33. Article 4 declares that States Parties must help families protect children’s rights and create an environment where they can grow and reach their potential. However, the very nature of the direct provision system is not conducive to the development of children and their families. They are living for long periods in a communal setting, where parental autonomy is constantly undermined. All intimate aspects of life are controlled: when to eat, what to eat and who to share a room with. Children never see their parents preparing meals or going out to work, and they see them reporting to accommodation staff on many aspects of their lives. As Fanning and Veale point out, the Convention also stipulates that states should not impose lesser welfare entitlements upon any one group of children, which is the case since the withdrawal of child benefit payments to asylum seekers34.

18 The Ombudsman for Children’s Office was established in 2004 to promote the rights of children as outlined in the UNCRC, as well as to investigate complaints about how the State is providing services for children. Children in direct provision were excluded from the Ombudsman’s remit, despite requests from that office to have them included. The UN Committee on the Rights of the Child, in its periodic report on Ireland published in March 2016, has voiced concerns about this situation and recommended

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that the Ombudsman’s remit be extended to safeguarding the needs of asylum-seeking children and investigating complaints in this area35.

Institutionalisation

19 Article 12.1 of the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights declares: “The States Parties to the present Covenant recognise the right of everyone to the enjoyment of the highest attainable standard of physical and mental health36.” However, direct provision has been shown to be detrimental to the mental health of many residents. Research by the Royal College of Surgeons published in 2009 concluded that long-term stays spent in direct provision centres lead to institutionalisation, that not being allowed to work can lead to mental health problems and issues of self- esteem37. In one study in Waterford, many of the men interviewed were on anti- depressants and sleeping tablets38; another study in Cork and Kerry found that 48% of people surveyed had poor mental health39. Even the HSE itself recognised, in its National Intercultural Health Strategy 2007-2012, the negative impact that direct provision could have on residents, particularly if their stay is a long one40. A consultant psychiatrist in a Cork hospital who has worked with asylum seekers said that obliging them to stay in the direct provision system and not allowing them to work “is part of a whole process of invalidation of them as people, of powerlessness, giving rise in many cases to a depression more insidious than the initial trauma41”.

20 It has been suggested that the right to work should be granted to people who have been in the asylum system for a certain length of time. Since the introduction of the 2003 EU Reception Directive, this is now the case in all but two EU member states, one of which is Ireland42. Since the introduction of direct provision, successive governments have argued that allowing asylum seekers to work would create a “pull factor” and so increase the number of arrivals in the country43.

Problems with service providers

21 All but seven of the 35 accommodation centres are run, on a for-profit basis, by private companies, many of whom specialise in the property, catering and hotel businesses. These private contractors received over €44 million in State-funding in 201444. The staff of these companies have no obligation to undergo specialised training in order to be able to deal with a very diverse population or to understand the rights of asylum seekers in Irish and international human rights law. The managers of some of these centres have admitted when interviewed that they have often found themselves in difficult situations of conflict, tension or psychological distress, and that they are untrained for the work they do45. While staff in other such institutions have to be vetted by the Gardai, it took the Department of Justice over ten years to introduce similar procedures for employees of centres for asylum seekers46. In 2007 and again in 2013, inspection reports obtained by the Irish Times through the Freedom of Information Act showed lapses across some centres in ensuring that all staff managers got training in child protection issues47. Local Community Welfare Officers (CWO) who have asylum centres in their area can be available to spend one half-day a week there, but cannot, in that short spell of time, respond effectively to all the needs of the

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residents. This means that the managers of the centres often find themselves trying to do the work of a CWO, but without the necessary training.

22 Numerous reports since 2001 have highlighted the problems encountered by residents in these centres and have shown evidence of overcrowding, poor fire safety practices, as well as problems with cleanliness and hygiene. A system of inspections was introduced in 2005, but it proved inefficient and under-resourced. Centre managers were notified in advance of visits from RIA officials; inspections never took place at weekends, a time when tensions could be high and problems more apparent as all residents are present all day; centres were supposed to have two or three visits a year, whereas they often only had one48. Following a highly critical report by the Free Legal Aid Centre in 2009, the RIA made improvements so that most establishments now have the required three inspections per year, which are unannounced. A complaints process was set up for residents; however, this is run by the RIA itself and not by an independent body49. While the RIA maintains that the complaints procedure is completely independent from the asylum process, the fact that both are the responsibility of the same government department means residents believe that by speaking out, they may be labelled troublemakers, thus jeopardising their chances of being granted asylum50. Some of those who have made formal complaints or who have spoken to the media about their problems have been moved to other centres, far away from the contacts and supports they have built up51.

Opposition to direct provision

23 A number of organisations have been campaigning on behalf of asylum seekers in the hope of effecting change in government policy. Many groups have, in the past, called for an end to the direct provision system and continue to do so today52. They have backed up their demands with data and research and have consistently recommended the system be abolished for the reasons already cited. The system, critics say, dehumanises people and denies them the dignity to which they are entitled, and it is administered as a business rather than a means by which the government is fulfilling its human rights commitments53.

24 Criticism of direct provision has also come from religious orders working on the ground with asylum seekers and refugees such as the Vincentians, the Spiritans or the Jesuits54. Cori (the Conference of Religious in Ireland)55 and the Church hierarchy, through the Bishops’ Conference56, have also been quite vocal in their opposition.

25 Certain decisions from the courts have exposed the problems related to direct provision. In a damning indictment of the Irish system, the High Court of Northern Ireland in August 2013 quashed an order by the UK authorities to return a Sudanese asylum seeker and her three children to the Republic of Ireland, where they had initially sought asylum, stating that such a return would be contrary to the best interests of the family. The court declared that given the conditions associated with the reception of asylum seekers in the Republic, removing the family would amount to a failure to promote the welfare both of the children and their mother. In his ruling, Justice Stephens paints a bleak picture of the situation of asylum seekers living in Ireland’s direct provision accommodation centres, where children have no place to call their home, in which they could “interact with each other as a normal family” and “develop a sense of belonging and separate identity”. He also refers to “problems with

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enforced isolation and poverty”, as well as “ample evidence of physical and mental health issues” due to the long periods spent in direct provision accommodation centres57.

26 In the same year, this time in the Republic, three families of asylum seekers were granted leave by the High Court to challenge the direct provision system of housing and allowances, on the basis that it violates rights to private and family life, and amounts to “inhuman and degrading treatment” under the Irish Constitution and the European Convention on Human Rights. While the Court did not find in their favour, the judge, in his ruling, did find certain aspects of life in direct provision to be unlawful and disproportionate. He did accept that in general, life in direct provision impaired the right to private and family life as guaranteed by Article 8 of the European Convention on Human Rights, although he ruled that the claimant had not succeeded in proving his own particular case58. He also stated that direct provision was not an ideal environment for a child to grow up in59.

27 The reception policy for asylum seekers in Ireland has also been criticised by international bodies over the years. In 2008, Mr Hammarberg, the Council of Europe’s Human Rights Commissioner, expressed concern at “the low degree of personal autonomy asylum seekers may retain throughout the process, knowing that it can take three to five years to have an asylum application determined60”. His successor, Nils Muiznieks, wrote to the Irish government four years later to say that the facilities, which were established to accommodate applicants for up to six months, were unsuitable for long-term stays and had “negative consequences on their mental health, family ties and integration prospects61”. The United Nations Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD) had expressed similar concerns in 2011 and recommended that the State should take “all necessary measures to improve the living conditions of asylum seekers by providing them with adequate food, medical care and other social amenities, including also a review of the direct provision system62”. The European Commission against Racism and Intolerance (ECRI), another Council of Europe body, recommended in 2013 that the authorities “conduct an in-depth systematic review of the policy of direct provision, in particular with a view to allowing asylum seekers greater control of their everyday life” and “consider creating an alternative system that would promote independence, ensure adequate living conditions and address the cultural, economic, health, legal and social needs of people seeking protection63”. More recently, in 2015, the Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (CESCR) expressed its concern at “the poor living conditions and the lengthy stay of asylum seekers in direct provision centres”, as well as at “the restrictions asylum seekers face in accessing employment, social security benefits, health-care services and education64”. Each of these international committees, responsible for monitoring the application of different human rights treaties, finds Ireland is not respecting its obligations as a State Party, and although the years go by, the problems raised each time remain unaddressed.

Government response

28 Some politicians have been critical of direct provision when in opposition, but once in government, they review their position. Alan Shatter, Minister for Justice in the 2011-2016 Fine Gael/Labour coalition government until he resigned in 2014,

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considered, when in opposition, that the system was inhumane and unnecessary, and on one occasion compared the centres to prisoner of war camps65. In the same way, the Labour Party continuously criticised the system while in opposition66, but then, with its Fine Gael coalition partners, rejected calls for the abolition of direct provision once in power67.

29 In the last fifteen years, successive governments have consistently concerned themselves more with reducing the “pull factors” which they have suggested attracts these people to Ireland, than with their international obligations. Any improvement in the system, they argue, will make Ireland more attractive as a destination and lead to a large increase of asylum applications. An illustration of this attitude is the response, in 2009, of the Principal Officer of the Reception and Integration Agency to criticisms of direct provision: (a direct provision centre) provides basic shelter and board but does not represent suitable long-term accommodation for the families who live there, (this) is an arguable point. […] Direct Provision […] was the only system that could have fulfilled Ireland’s humanitarian and international obligations and, at the same time, not have created an economic pull factor for economic migrants using the asylum system to enter the State68.

30 The approach of the authorities, since the introduction of dispersal and direct provision in 2000, has been to presume that asylum seekers are bogus until proven otherwise. It has been argued down through the years that the country is dealing for the most part with fraudulent asylum applications from people who come for economic reasons rather than political ones and want to take advantage of the Irish State and its “generous” welfare system. But even those who are clearly in need of protection are treated as suspect and are obliged to spend long and indeterminate periods in these accommodation centres and even then, cannot be sure their case will be heard sympathetically. Ireland currently has the lowest rates in the EU for granting refugee status to asylum seekers: while the EU average is 40 percent at first instance, Ireland’s acceptance rate is only 18 percent69. Their access to certain supports has been gradually reduced over the years in what is described by human rights specialist Liam Thornton as a policy which, over the years, has withdrawn “the protection of the welfare state from those who are viewed as not having a definitive right to be within the country70”. Withdrawing this protection and confining them to direct provision centres has resulted in many Irish people adopting what Lentin describes as an “out of sight, out of mind” view of asylum seekers71.

The Working Group on the Protection Process and Direct Provision

31 In spite of the numerous reports from Irish and international organisations outlining the serious problems related to direct provision, the Fine Gael/Labour government in office from 2011 to 2016 said for many years that the system as it stood was the most cost-effective means of maintaining reception conditions for asylum seekers, and that it had no intention of abolishing it. However, in October 2014, it announced it was committed to legislating to introduce a single application procedure to reduce delays in the asylum process72, and was therefore establishing a working group to examine how the protection process and the direct provision system could be improved. The group,

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chaired by a High Court judge, included representatives from the UNHCR, NGOs and the asylum-seeking community, academics, and officials from the relevant government departments and offices73. The group was asked to propose improvements to the existing system which would show “greater respect for the dignity of persons in the system” and “(improve) their quality of life”, ensuring nevertheless that what they proposed cost less or approximately the same as the current system74.

32 Following several months of consultations, where the group met with and received written submissions from different groups and individuals, the final report was presented to government in June 201575. Among the proposals made was that people who have been in the asylum system for over five years should be given leave to remain, and that people awaiting deportation for over five years have their orders revoked. Regarding living conditions in direct provision centres, it was recommended that all families in centres be given access to cooking facilities and private living space. Inspections should no longer be carried out by the RIA itself, but by a wholly independent inspectorate, which would also be responsible for ensuring that all centres provide a similar quality of accommodation. The group proposed changes to the complaints procedure and an extension of the remit of the Ombudsman for Children to cover asylum-seeking children. An increase in the weekly allowance from €19.10 to €38.74 for adults and from €9.60 to €29.80 for children was strongly recommended. Regarding access to the labour market, the group said it was “very conscious of the sensitivities around this issue in view of the long-standing Government policy on this matter”. The report stated that many of the human costs associated with the ban on access to employment are similar to the negative impacts of living long term in Direct Provision. These include: boredom, isolation and social exclusion; obsolescence of skills and creation of dependency; and negative impacts on physical, emotional and mental health76.

33 For this reason, it recommended that after nine months in the protection system, asylum seekers should be granted the right to work. Many other proposals are included in the report, all of which have been costed in order to comply with the budgeting restrictions which were part of the terms of reference.

34 While most of these proposals had been made previously by other groups, this time the recommendations were being made by a group of people officially appointed to advise the government, which gave cause for hope to people campaigning for the rights of asylum seekers. However, this optimism was short-lived, as the government published its International Protection Bill several months later and proceeded to push it through parliament in record time by guillotining all debate, despite protests about some aspects of the bill which, according to human rights groups, eroded certain rights of asylum seekers77. Protesters included members of the Working Group, one of whom said: The Minister claims that this Bill implements the key recommendations of the Working Group, this is simply not true. With the exception of the single procedure, the Minister has cherry-picked a handful of the more conservative recommendations and ignored any positive recommendations, such as the right to work, early identification of vulnerable applicants, and the application of the Best Interests of Child principle for all asylum-seeking children. In addition, the Bill erodes rights to family reunification and brings in harsher detention measures. The single procedure is necessary to improve the protection system, but not at this cost78.

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35 Nine months after the publication of the Working Group’s report, very few of the recommendations have been implemented. Regarding the weekly allowance, the government has made no change to the amount received by adults, but announced an increase in the children’s allowance from €9.60 to €16.60 (instead of the recommended €29.80), just days before appearing before the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child in Geneva, where it was expected to face severe criticisms for not having implemented previous recommendations related to child poverty in direct provision79.

Conclusion

36 Since 2000, there has been continuity in the approach to the treatment of asylum seekers, regardless of which parties have been in power. Ireland’s international obligations regarding protection seekers in the direct provision system are fulfilled on a minimum basis by providing asylum seekers with accommodation and food, and their children with schooling. However, international human rights instruments define these rights in a broader manner, dealing with questions of respect for privacy and family life, dignity and self-reliance, health and well-being. It is in this regard that the Irish system has come in for significant criticism.

37 In recent years, several prominent figures have started to draw parallels between the treatment of asylum seekers and that of the vulnerable people who suffered at the hands of the state and its institutions in the past. The scandals of the industrial schools, the Magdalen laundries and more recently, the Mother and Baby Homes rightly provoked outrage among the public. Where, they asked, was the outrage at what was going on today? Retired Supreme Court Judge Catherine McGuinness warned that a future government may have to issue an apology for the manner in which asylum seekers, children in particular, are being treated80. The Special Rapporteur on Child Protection, Geoffrey Shannon, at an event to mark 2014 World Refugee Day, said that Irish people would look back in ten years’ time and ask themselves how they had allowed the direct provision system to exist81: “We do outrage very well, but why are we not outraged about an issue that currently needs fixing in our system82?”

38 Direct provision, described by Fanning as “a scheme designed as a ‘punitive’ measure aimed at discouraging asylum seekers from coming to Ireland83”, has been in place for a decade and a half. Little has changed in that time, despite numerous calls for improvement or for the abolition of the system. The human rights of the residents of direct provision centres continue to be breached as criticisms from at home and abroad remain largely ignored.

39 Titley describes the system of direct provision as “a politicised system of deterrence and control”, and establishes a parallel between “the wasted lives of the ‘immoral’ and ‘deviant’ subjects of the past” and “the ‘bogus’ and ‘undeserving’ of the present84”. Presenting asylum seekers as bogus applicants who will never be recognised as refugees, Tyler argues, enables a government to circumvent the rights of the refugee as prescribed by international law85. “It is within this frame that the radical redefinition of asylum-seekers as outside of the sphere of rights, that is, as less than human, has come to make ‘sense’86.” Today’s ‘others’ remain marginalised in direct provision centres, outside the sphere of rights, in much the same way as the ‘deviant others’ of the past

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were kept behind the walls of the industrial schools, Magdalen laundries and Mother and Baby homes.

40 As Ombudsman Emily O’Reilly succinctly puts it, “ultimately, it comes back to priorities and to ethics and values. We have known for a decade and more that our treatment of asylum seekers is unacceptable and we have failed, mostly, to do anything about it. With some honourable exceptions, that failure is a collective failure of a republic which needs to re-engage with what ought to be its core values87”.

NOTES

1. Source: Interview by the author with Frank Edwards, Department of Justice, Equality and Law Reform, 14 March 2003. Mr Edwards was working for the Directorate for Asylum Support Services (DASS) in 1999-2000, when these events were unfolding. The DASS was subsequently replaced by the Reception and Integration Agency (RIA) in 2001. 2. Ibid. 3. The Immigration and Asylum Act 1999 introduced dispersal and a voucher system for asylum seekers in the UK, which began nationwide in April 2000. For more information on the situation in the UK, see R. Sales, “The deserving and the undeserving? Refugees, asylum seekers and welfare in Britain”, Critical Social Policy, vol. 22, no 3, 2002, p. 456-478. The Irish Prime Minister Bertie Ahern admitted at the time that events in the UK influenced government policy: “The importance of solving the problem increased when other countries, notably the United Kingdom, decided to replace direct financial aid with a voucher system. We know from experience that every time another country tightens up, the numbers coming in on boats, cattle trucks and the backs of lorries, increase dramatically”. Quoted in Geraldine Kennedy, “Ahern says immigrant centres are under review”, Irish Times, 15 March 2000. 4. A small number of self-catering facilities exist: there were nine in 2005, but today there are only two, representing a very small percentage of accommodation for asylum seekers. The number of places in self-catering centres dropped from 690 in 2007, to 412 in 2009, to 149 in 2011, to 88 in 2013. Information obtained from the Reception and Integration Agency’s annual reports, available at http://www.ria.ie/en/RIA/Pages/ Annual_Reports (last accessed 25 February 2016). 5. EU Directive 2003/9/EC (the “Reception Directive”) granted access to the labour market for asylum seekers six months after they had lodged their application. Ireland and Denmark were the only member states to choose not to opt in to this Directive. Today, Ireland and Lithuania are the only EU member states to have a blanket ban on working. For more details, see Migration Watch, “Asylum seekers and the right to work in the European Economic Area”, 10 October 2013. Available at http:// www.migrationwatch.co.uk/briefing-paper/4.24 (last accessed 30 January 2016).

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6. Applicants who do not qualify for refugee status under the terms of the 1951 Geneva Convention, but who do run a real risk of suffering serious harm if returned to their country, are eligible for subsidiary protection, while applicants who qualify neither for refugee status nor for subsidiary protection may, at the discretion of the Minister for Justice, be granted leave to remain for humanitarian or other compelling reasons. See “The Asylum System”, on the website of the Irish Naturalisation and Immigration service (INIS), http://www.inis.gov.ie/en/INIS/Pages/asylum-status-eligibility (last accessed 2 July 2016). 7. Statement by Minister for Justice, Equality and Law Reform, John O’Donoghue, 28 March 2001, on the Department’s website http://www.justice.ie (accessed 22 April 2003, since removed). 8. According to RIA’s annual reports, the majority of people have been in direct provision for over 2 years: 54% (2009), 67% (2010), 73% (2011), 70% (2012), 69% (2013) 64.5% (2014). See http://www.ria.gov.ie/en/RIA/Pages/Statistics (last accessed 25 February 2016). 9. The number of people who have been in direct provision accommodation for over 5 years has been very high in recent years: 38% (2013), 37.7% (2014), 31.9% (Sept. 2015). Ibid. 10. Among them, in chronological order: Comhlámh, Refugee Lives: the failure of direct provision as a social response to the needs of asylum seekers in Ireland (2001); A. Collins/Nasc, The needs of asylum seekers in Cork (2002); Free Legal Advice Centre (FLAC), Direct Discrimination? An analysis of the scheme of Direct Provision in Ireland (2003); M. Mandahar et al., Food, nutrition and poverty among asylum seekers in North-West Ireland (2005); Waterford Area Partnership, The Needs of Asylum seeking Men Living in Viking House Direct Provision Centre, Waterford (2006); NASC, Hidden Cork: The perspectives of Asylum Seekers on Direct Provision and the Asylum Legal System (2008); Children’s Rights Alliance & Integrating Ireland, Children and Families living in Direct Provision (2009); FLAC, One size doesn’t fit all: a legal analysis of the Direct Provision and dispersal system in Ireland 10 years on (2009); H-O. Pieper et al., The Impact of Direct Provision Accommodation for Asylum Seekers on Organisation and Delivery of Local Health and Social Care Services (2009); AkiDwA, Am only saying it now: Experiences of Women seeking Asylum in Ireland (2010); S. K. Arnold, Irish Refugee Council, State-sanctioned Child Poverty and Exclusion (2012); E. Quinn, Jesuit Centre for Faith and Justice, “Lives on Hold: Living Long-Term in Direct Provision Accommodation”, Working Notes, no 71 (April 2013). 11. See for example research by legal academic Liam Thornton, “Upon the Limits of Rights Regimes: Reception Conditions of Asylum Seekers in Ireland”, Refuge: Canadian Periodical on Refugee Studies, vol. 24, no 2, 2007, p. 86-100; “The Rights of Others: Asylum Seekers and Direct Provision in Ireland”, Irish Community Development Law Journal, vol. 3, no 2, 2014, p. 22-42; “Direct Provision and the Rights of the Child in Ireland”, Irish Journal of Family Law, vol. 17, no 3, 2014, p. 68-76. See also Claire Breen, “The Policy of Direct Provision in Ireland: A Violation of Asylum Seekers’ Right to an Adequate Standard of Housing”, International Journal of Refugee Law, vol. 20, no 4, 2008, p. 611-636. 12. This has led in some cases to inappropriate precocious sexual behavior in children, as reported in Ronit Lentin (2016), “Asylum seekers, Ireland, and the return of the repressed”, Irish Studies Review, vol. 24, no 1, p. 26. 13. These problems are recurring, as detailed in the different reports cited in footnote 10, and which date from 2001 to 2013. See in particular Helen Uchechukwu Ogbu (2012),

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Parenting in Direct Provision: Parents’ Perspectives Regarding Stresses and Supports, UNESCO Child & Family Research Centre, School of Political Science, NUI Galway. Available at: http://www.childandfamilyresearch.ie/files/parenting_in_dp_report_nov_2012.pdf (last accessed 1 July 2016). 14. B. Fanning and A. Veale, “Child Poverty as Public Policy: Direct Provision and Asylum Seeker Children”, Child Care in Practice, vol. 10, no 3, 2004, p. 247. 15. Ronit Lentin, “Asylum seekers, Ireland, and the return of the repressed”, art. cit., p. 26-27. 16. Bryan Fanning et al., Beyond the Pale: Asylum-seeking children and Social Exclusion in Ireland, Dublin, Irish Refugee Council/Combat Poverty Agency, 2001, p. 39. 17. Jamie Smyth, “‘Grave concern’ after latest death in asylum hostel”, Irish Times, 18 June 2010. 18. Samantha K. Arnold, State-sanctioned Child Poverty and Exclusion, 2012, p. 16. Available at http://www.irishrefugeecouncil.ie/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/State-sanctioned- child-poverty-and-exclusion.pdf (last accessed 15 February 2016). 19. Department of Justice, Equality and Law Reform, Annual Report 2005, p. 41. Available at http://www.justice.ie/en/JELR/AnnRpt05-en.pdf/Files/AnnRpt05-en.pdf (last accessed 16 February 2016). 20. Reception and Integration Agency Annual Report 2014, p. 21. Available at http:// www.ria.gov.ie/en/RIA/Pages/AR2014 (last accessed 16 February 2016). 21. UNHCR Handbook for the Protection of Refugee Women, 2008, p. 212. Available at http:// www.refworld.org/docid/47cfc2962.html (last accessed 10 February 2016). 22. FLAC, One size doesn’t fit all: a legal analysis of the Direct Provision and dispersal system in Ireland 10 years on, 2009, p. 20. 23. Irish Refugee Council, op. cit., p. 8; Combat Poverty, Making a Decisive Impact on Poverty Through Social Partnership: Submission on a new National Partnership Agreement, November 2005, p. 15; FLAC (2009), op. cit., p. 139. 24. The Habitual Residence Condition (HRC) was initially introduced by the government in the context of EU enlargement, when the government feared an influx of ‘welfare tourists’ from the 10 accession countries. A decision was taken to limit access to all means-tested allowances and Child Benefit to anyone, irrespective of nationality, who could not demonstrate two years’ habitual residence in Ireland or in the Common Travel Area. 25. FLAC, One size doesn’t fit all…, op. cit., p. 59. 26. Emily O’Reilly, “Asylum Seekers in Our Republic: Why have we gone wrong?”, Studies, Summer 2013, vol. 102, no 406, Summer 2013. Available at http:// www.studiesirishreview.ie/lead-articles/67-asylum-seekers-in-our-republic-why-have- we-gone-wrong (last accessed 1 June 2016). Emily O’Reilly has since been appointed European Ombudsman. 27. Department of Social, Community and Family Affairs, Sharing the Progress: National Anti-Poverty Strategy, Dublin, Government Publications, 1997, p. 3. 28. FLAC, One size doesn’t fit all…, op. cit., p. 64. 29. Combat Poverty Agency, Child Poverty in Ireland (no date), http:// www.combatpoverty.ie/povertyinireland/childpoverty.htm (last accessed 15 February 2016).

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30. Bryan Fanning et al., Beyond the Pale: Asylum-seeking children and Social Exclusion in Ireland, Dublin, Irish Refugee Council/Combat Poverty Agency, 2001. 31. Barry Keelin, What’s Food Got To Do With It? Food Experiences of Asylum Seekers in Direct Provision, Cork, Nasc, 2014, p. 7. 32. Blog post by Saoirse Brady of the Children’s Rights Alliance, “The Impact of Direct Provision on Children and Young People”, 10 April 2014. Available at http:// humanrights.ie/economic-rights/directprovision14-the-impact-of-direct-provision-on- children-and-young-people/ (last accessed 2 February 2016). 33. UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, Article 3.1. 34. Fanning and Veale (2004), op. cit., p. 248-249. 35. Committee on the Rights of the Child, Concluding observations on the combined third and fourth periodic reports of Ireland, 1 March 2016, § 20. Available at http:// tbinternet.ohchr.org/_layouts/treatybodyexternal/Download.aspx? symbolno=CRC%2fC%2fIRL%2fCO%2f3-4&Lang=en (accessed 4 March 2016). 36. International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESR), Article 12.1. Available at: http://www.ohchr.org/Documents/ProfessionalInterest/cescr.pdf (last accessed 24 February 2016). 37. Magzoub Toar et al., “Comparison of self-reported health and healthcare utilization between asylum seekers and refugees: an observational study”, BNM Public Health, 2009, 9:214. 38. Waterford Area Partnership, The Needs of Asylum seeking Men Living in Viking House Direct Provision Centre, Waterford, 2006, p. 59. 39. Cliodhna Foley-Nolan et al., A better world healthwise – a health needs assessment of immigrants in Cork and Kerry. Cork, Southern Health Board, 2002, p. 34. 40. Health Service Executive, National Intercultural Health Strategy 2007-2012, Dublin, HSE, 2008, p. 42. 41. Dr Pat Bracken, Bantry Hospital, who has worked previously with asylum seekers in the UK and with torture victims in Uganda, quoted in Kitty Holland, “Stuck in Ireland’s hidden villages”, Irish Times, 9 April 2005. 42. Ireland and Lithuania are the only member states not to apply the 2003 EU Directive on the Minimum Standards for the Reception of Asylum Seekers (Council Directive 2003/9/EC of 27 January, 2003). See footnote 5. 43. John O'Donoghue, Minister of Justice, in a speech to the Irish Business and Employers Confederation on 30 September 1999 declared: “Let us be clear about it. Our current economic boom is making us a target. […] Giving a right to work would simply create another pull factor which would put further pressure on the asylum processing system and continue to delay recognition for genuine refugees in need of protection”. Quoted in Steve Loyal and Ciarán Staunton, “The Dynamics of Political Economy in Ireland: The case of asylum seekers and the right to work”, Irish Journal of Sociology, vol. 10, no 2, 2001, p. 43. Minister for Justice Alan Shatter, in response to a parliamentary question on this issue on 27 March 2013, said that “(e)xtending the right to work to asylum seekers would almost certainly have a profoundly negative impact on application numbers.” Dáil Éireann Debates, vol. 798, no 1, p. 250. More recently, Nuala Butler, Senior Counsel, representing Minister for Justice Frances Fitzgerald in a case before the Court of Appeal, said there was a “clear policy rationale behind the Section 9

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prohibition on asylum seekers working which the courts must respect. There was a “big pull factor” evidenced by a three-fold rise in asylum applications when a right to work was permitted and, if this appeal succeeded, every asylum seeker who wished to work could apply to the Minister”. Quoted in Mary Carolan, “Man says almost all ‘autonomy’ lost in direct provision system”, Irish Times, 10 February 2016. 44. Department of Justice, RIA Annual Report 2014, June 2015, p. 31. Available at http:// www.ria.gov.ie/en/RIA/Pages/Annual_Reports (last accessed 15 February 2016). These companies received over €53m in 2012, €66m in 2010 and over €71m in 2008. 45. Interviews carried out by the author for the purposes of a PhD thesis. “Immigration et Intégration 1992-2008: vers une politique d’intégration?”, Université Paris 3- Sorbonne La Nouvelle, 2011. 46. Pamela Duncan, “Group criticizes delay in Garda vetting process for staff working in asylum seeker centres”, Irish Times, 1 November 2010. 47. Ruadhan Mac Cormaic, “Health and safety risks exposed in asylum centres”, Irish Times, 31 October 2007. Carl O’Brien, “Inspectors find asylum seekers kept in dismal conditions”, Irish Times, 8 October 2013. 48. FLAC, One size doesn’t fit all…, op. cit. 49. On the problems related to the complaints procedure, see Integrating Ireland, “Submission on the Review of the Direct Provision Reception and Accommodation Centre, Rules and Procedures”, December 2007, p. 17. Available at http:// www.integrationcentre.ie/getattachment/c503918e-784c-4fba-baef-a3e208520974/ Review-of-the-Direct-Provision-Reception-and-Accom.aspx (last accessed 20 February 2016). 50. “Statement by the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, Margaret Sekaggya, at the end of her visit to Ireland (19-23 November 2012)”. Available at http://www.ohchr.org/en/NewsEvents/Pages/ DisplayNews.aspx?NewsID=12823&LangID=E (accessed 12 February 2016). 51. Doras Luimni, “Direct Provision Briefing”, May 2001, p. 2. Available at dorasluimni.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/Briefing_Direct-Provision_issues.pdf (accessed 29 January 2016). See also É. Ní Shé, T. Lodge and M. Adshead, Getting To Know You - A Local Study of the Needs of Migrants, Refugees and Asylum Seekers in County Clare. Limerick, University of Limerick, 2007, p. 52. Available at http://www.hse.ie/eng/ services/publications/SocialInclusion/localstudy.pdf (last accessed 2 March 2016). 52. The most prominent grouping is the NGO Forum on Direct Provision, a network of organisations including Akidwa, Barnardos, BeLonG To LGBT Youth Services, Crosscare Migrant Project, Cultúr, Doras Luimní, FLAC, Galway Refugee Support Group, Irish Catholic Bishops’ Conference Refugee and Migrant Project, the Integration Centre, the Irish Refugee Council, the Jesuit Refugee Service, Mayo Intercultural Action, Spirasi and Tralee International Resource Centre. 53. FLAC, One size doesn’t fit all…, op. cit. 54. “Languishing in limbo”, Jesuits in Ireland website, September 19, 2014. Available at http://www.jesuit.ie/news/languishing-limbo/ (last accessed 31 January 2016). 55. See “CORI Justice Commission calls for greater priority to be given to racial justice”, Press statement, 11 September 2005. Available at http://www.socialjustice.ie/sites/ default/files/file/m_c_newsrelease_090905.pdf (last accessed 31 January 2016). See also

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“IMU/CORI Universal Periodic Review Submission – Ireland 2016”. Available at http:// www.imu.ie/imucori-upr-submission-ireland-2016/ (accessed 31 January 2016). 56. See for example Patsy McGarry, “Direct provision a denial of family life, say bishops”, Irish Times, 2 October 2014. 57. In the Matter of an Application for Judicial Review by ALJ and A, B and C [2013] NIQB 88, Para [102]. For the full text of the Court’s decision, see http://www.courtsni.gov.uk/en- GB/Judicial Decisions/PublishedByYear/Documents/2013/%5B2013%5D NIQB 88/ j_j_STE8712Final.htm (last accessed 20 February 2016). 58. In such a case, the burden of proof lies with the plaintiff, in this instance the asylum seeker. 59. For a detailed analysis of the court’s decision, see L. Thornton, “C.A. & T.A: The Direct Provision Case”. Available at http://humanrights.ie/economic-rights/direct- provision-in-the-irish-high-court-the-decision/ (last accessed 2 March 2016). 60. Council of Europe, Report by the Commissioner for Human Rights, Mr. Thomas Hammarberg, on his visit to Ireland, 26-30 November 2007, Strasbourg, Council of Europe, 2008, §108. 61. “Letter from the Council of Europe Commissioner for Human Rights, Nils Muiznieks, to the Minister for Justice, Equality and Defence of Ireland, Mr Alan Shatter, CommDH (2012)35 / 6 December 2012”. Available at https://wcd.coe.int/ViewDoc.jsp? id=2011899 (last accessed 30 January 2016). 62. UNCERD, Concluding observations of the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, 2011, §20. Available at http://www2.ohchr.org/English/bodies/cerd/ docs/co/Ireland_AUV.pdf (last accessed 30 January 2016). 63. Recommendations 116 and 117 of ECRI Report on Ireland (fourth monitoring cycle), 2013. Available at http://www.coe.int/t/dghl/monitoring/ecri/Country-by-country/ Ireland/IRL-CbC-IV-2013-001-ENG.pdf (last accessed 30 January 2016). 64. Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, Concluding observations on the third periodic report of Ireland (E/C.12/IRL/CO/3), 8 July 2015, §14. 65. Joint Committee on Justice, Defence and Women’s Rights, debate on “Asylum Policy and Practice and Gender Issues”, 7 July 2010. Available at oireachtasdebates.oireachtas.ie/Debates Authoring/DebatesWebPack.nsf/ committeetakes/JUJ2010070700003?opendocument (last accessed 28 January 2016). 66. See for example Joe Costello TD, “Govt must review policy of direct provision for asylum seekers”, 2 May 2010, available at http://www.labour.ie/press/2010/05/02/ govt-must-review-policy-of-direct-provision-for-as/ (accessed 25 June 2014, since removed). See also Making food poverty history Labour’s Blueprint for Eliminating Food Poverty (2007), p. 8, available at http://www.labour.ie/download/pdf/document.pdf (last accessed 3 March 2016). 67. For example, Labour TDs while in government voted against a motion calling for the abolition of the direct provision system. See Dáil Debates, vol. 852, n o 1, 30 September 2014, p. 86-107, and vol. 852, no 2, 1 October 2014, p. 120-146. 68. Response to draft Strategy Statement for an Integrated Strategy for the Co- ordination of services to Immigrant Communities in County Clare 2009-2012. (Extracts from letter from Mr. Noel Dowling, Principal Officer, Reception and Integration Agency,

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to Mr. Tony Quilty, Social Inclusion Specialist, HSE West, 19th March 2009), in É. Ní Shé, T. Lodge and M. Adshead (2007), op. cit., p. 100. 69. Eurostat asylum statistics for 2013, as quoted in Jim Cusack, “Céad Míle Fáilte – but not if you’re fleeing for your life”, Irish Independent, 29 June 2014. 70. Liam Thornton, “The Rights of Others: Asylum Seekers and Direct Provision in Ireland”, Irish Community Development Law Journal, vol. 3, no 2, 2014, p. 22-42. 71. Ronit Lentin, “Asylum seekers, Ireland, and the return of the repressed”, art. cit., p. 25. 72. Rather than applying for asylum, and then, if refused, applying for subsidiary protection, and then humanitarian leave to remain, applicants’ cases would be examined once to consider which status, if any, could be granted to them. This would ensure speedier processing of claims. 73. For more information, see http://www.justice.ie/en/JELR/Pages/ Membership_of_the_Working_Group (accessed 4 March 2016). 74. For terms of reference, see http://www.justice.ie/en/JELR/Pages/ Terms_of_Reference (accessed 4 March 2016). 75. Working Group to Report to Government on Improvements to the Protection Process, including Direct Provision and Supports to Asylum Seekers: Final Report, June 2015. Available at http://www.justice.ie/en/JELR/Pages/ Working_Group_on_Improvements_to_the_Protection_Process (accessed 3 March 2016). 76. Ibid., p. 22. 77. Nasc et al., “JOINT STATEMENT: NGOs call for the International Protection Bill to be withdrawn and reconsidered”, Press Release, 4 December 2015. Available at http:// www.nascireland.org/latest-news/joint-statement-ngos-call-for-the-international- protection-bill-to-be-withdrawn-and-reconsidered/ (accessed 6 December 2015). 78. Fiona Finn, CEO of Nasc, ibid. 79. Marie O'Halloran, “State faces UN sanction over direct provision payment for children”, Irish Times, 18 December 2015. 80. Judith Crosbie, “Next apology will be to asylum seeker children, warns former judge”, Irish Times, 23 April 2013. 81. Quoted in Lorraine O’Hanlon, “Direct provision is ‘storing up trouble for the future’”, Galway Independent, 25 June 2014. 82. Quoted in Michelle Hennessy, “Ireland treats children seeking asylum as ‘second- class citizens’”, The Journal, 20 June 2014. Available at http://www.thejournal.ie/ geoffrey-shannon-1529115-Jun2014/ (accessed 29 January 2016). 83. Bryan Fanning, Racism and Social Change in the Republic of Ireland, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2002, p.103. 84. Gavan Titley, “Asylum seekers in Ireland languish in the Magdalen laundries of our time”, The Guardian, 3 October 2012. 85. Imogen Tyler, “‘Welcome to Britain’ The Cultural Politics of Asylum”, European Journal of Cultural Studies, vol. 9, no 2, 2006, p. 189. 86. Ibid., p. 190-191. 87. Emily O’Reilly, “Asylum Seekers in Our Republic…”, art. cit.

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ABSTRACTS

In Ireland, the system of Direct Provision, where asylum seekers are dispersed around the country and housed in accommodation centres on a full-board basis, has been in existence since 2000. This article examines this policy and how it has evolved since its introduction. Using a rights-based approach, it describes the problems encountered by asylum seekers living in these centres, outlines the criticisms made by organisations, both Irish and international, and analyses how the State authorities respond to such criticisms. It argues that the government has been more preoccupied with reducing the perceived “pull factor” than with respecting its international human rights obligations.

En Irlande, le régime d’accueil des demandeurs d’asile, qui consiste à les héberger en dehors de la capitale dans des structures spécifiques en pension complète, est entré en vigueur en 2000. En utilisant une approche basée sur les droits fondamentaux, cet article décrit cette politique de prise en charge des demandeurs d’asile et son évolution depuis son introduction. Il détaille les problèmes que soulève ce régime et les critiques émises par des organisations nationales et internationales, et analyse la réponse des autorités de l’État à ces critiques. Il soutient que le gouvernement se préoccupe davantage de réduire l’attractivité de l’Irlande comme pays d’accueil que de ses obligations internationales en matière de droits humains.

INDEX

Mots-clés: droits humains, République d'Irlande, immigration, enfance - protection, demandeurs d'asile Keywords: asylum seekers, immigration, Irish Republic, children - protection, human rights

AUTHOR

BAIRBRE NÍ CHIOSÁIN Université de Toulouse 1 Capitole

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Irish Bastards: Celia de Fréine and Merriman’s The Midnight Court/Cúirt an Mheán Oíche

Briain Ó Conchubhair

1 Celia de Fréine, born in Newtownards, County Down, is an established poet with eight published collections of poetry in English and Irish1. Widely anthologized and translated, her awards include the Patrick Kavanagh Award, the British Comparative Literature Association Translation Award and the Gradam Litríochta Chló Iar- Chonnacht. Her dramatic work in English and in Irish includes operatic and cinematic texts as well as scripts for TG4’s soap-opera, Ros na Rún (1997-99) as well as six published plays, three of which have been translated into English2. Focusing on her provocative re-imaginings of Brian Merriman’s canonical eighteenth-century text Cúirt an Mheán Oíche / The Midnight Court, her trilogy is as much a response and riposte to Celtic Tiger Ireland and social and sexual attitudes that seeks to discriminate against the vulnerable in society, as it is a refashioning and recalibrating of Merriman’s eighteenth-century long dramatic poem.

2 De Fréine’s drama is steadfastly and confidently rooted in contemporary social, ethical, and moral issues. Her plays, including her adaptations – and even more so in her Irish- language plays which examine detention centres, “direct provision”, refuges, war zones and attempted suicide – leave unanswered social questions concerning sexuality and treatment of women and emigrants. They raise doubts about the value of whether examining, debating, and discussing or relying on the established system will actually achieve anything or even alter society’s habits and behaviours. Such issues, these plays suggest, cannot be solved by introspection and call instead for action and engagement. Her willingness to confront such major concerns and her Shavian engagement with social issues not only marks de Fréine out but it places her in a direct line with Maireád Ní Ghráda, whose 1964 play An Triail boldly and courageously addressed the treatment of single mothers and the Magdalen Laundries. It also links her with Pádraig Ó Conaire’s earlier Bairbre Ruadh, an Ibsen-type play that examined arranged marriages between younger women and older men3. It is the direct non-apologetic challenge her

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plays issue to audiences and their forthright discussion of individual responsibility for society’s ills that distinguishes her plays from those of many of her contemporaries. The plight of the title is as much the characters’ collective plight as it is society’s and the feelings it intentionally provokes among the audience.

3 De Fréine may write in Irish and English, but the canvas on which she paints extends far beyond the shores of Ireland. She is very much an international playwright. Shaw’s belief that the art of the dramatic poet knows no patriotism is relevant for de Fréine. Her multi-genre body of work – regardless of genre and language – speaks directly to an audience and addresses issues wider than those of the Republic of Ireland. Her medium may be Irish and Hiberno-English, but her substantial body of dramatic work, both published and unpublished, not only speaks to, but resonates with audiences far beyond the coastal confines of her native island. Indeed, de Fréine’s body of work demonstrates her refusal to be bound by conventional notions of theatrical form and theme. For all the breadth of her creative interests – poetic, cinematic, operatic, dramatic – de Fréine remains something of a cult figure rather than a mainstream writer in Irish or in English. In part this stems from her refusal to occupy an easily categorized bilingual Irish-English fusion niche writing about folklore and sociolinguistic impact and hybridity, but also from her disinclination to conform to the system’s expectations of what bilingual playwrights write about – cultural and linguistic conflict. Her heritage exerts a gravitational force on her drama, but overt references are rare.

4 De Fréine, more fortunate than most Irish-language theatre-makers, developed and cultivated a link with Amharclann de hÍde, a professional Irish-language theatre company, founded in Dublin in 1992 (closed in 2001). With no permanent venue, Amharclann de hÍde produced predominantly original plays but also, on occasion, some translated classic plays in various theatres and venues in the capital city4. In collaboration with Aisling Ghéar (established in Belfast in 1997), the Dublin-based theatre company Amharclann de hÍde staged de Fréine’s play Nára Turas é in Aistear (That the journey may not be in vain) on 2 May 2000 at the New Theatre in Dublin’s Temple Bar5. Aisling Ghéar also produced Anraith Neantóga, de Fréine’s futuristic play where warfare is endemic and two women survive on the edges of the fight zone although both are in denial of their realities. The play opened on 22 September 2004 at Belfast’s Cultúrlann McAdam/Ó Fiach with Dorothy Cotter, Máire Hastings, Barry Barnes, and Tony Devlin in the cast and directed by Bríd Ó Gallchóir. This play’s production resulted from close collaboration between de Fréine and Aisling Ghéar’s writing workshop led by Artistic Director, Bríd Ó Gallchóir.

5 The staging of these two de Fréine plays, both accorded professional productions, occurred not only while Ireland enjoyed the Celtic Tiger economic boom but at a time that was, in hindsight, possibly a golden era for Irish-language theatre. Amharclann de hÍde, Aisling Ghéar, and An Taibhdhearc, the Irish-language National Theatre based in Galway, provided opportunities, options, and venues for Irish-language writers and for Irish-language women writers who were previously conspicuously absent from the tradition: Maireád Ní Ghráda was the exception that proved the rule. Tellingly perhaps, she also benefitted from a vital link with the Dublin-based An Damer. Irish-language productions at the Abbey Theatre, on the main stage or at the Peacock (the formerly proposed dedicated Irish-language stage) are as scarce, if not more scarce, than plays by Irish women over the past twenty-five years. “The Abbey Theatre, or Amharclann na

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Mainistreach, has mounted just one full-length Irish-language production in the past 15 years (Aodh Ó Dómhnaill’s Idir an Dá Shúil in December (2010)) and you’d have to go back to the 1960s to discover the last in-house Irish-language production that graced its main stage6”.

6 In such circumstances, de Fréine is again distinguished in having had her work chosen for an Abbey workshop during this period. The formation of Amharclann de hÍde in Dublin, and Aisling Ghéar in Belfast, provided a coherent structure, infrastructure, and network for new plays to be read, work-shopped, produced, and staged. Prior to this development, women as Irish-language playwrights, directors, or producers, other than translators, were scarce: Áine Nic Giolla Bhríde (Cor na Cinniúna 1961), Maireád Ní Ghráda and Siobhán Ní Shúilleabháin being the main dramatists who carried the female flag on stage7. Historians of Irish theatre may consider this period an artistic acme. De Fréine, therefore, came to theatre at an opportune time: women had acquired positions of influence in the decision-making processes, the cultural and economic climate was not unfavourable. The presence of Ní Ghallchóir at Amharclann de hÍde, Hynes at the Abbey, and subsequently Ó Gallchóir at Aisling Ghéar allowed for a flowering of Irish- language drama, and, in particular, a bourgeoning of drama by Irish women and plays providing a framework for an intervention in a manner not always offered through the traditional channels. De Fréine is at the heart of that cultural configuration8. Nevertheless, in 2010 de Fréine stressed in her article “Women Playwrights, Whither?” that “…while most theatre-goers are women, all major theatres nurture the talent of male playwrights. Women have seldom moved into positions of power in theatre as they have in publishing, editing and translating; where they have, there is no evidence that this has had any consequences in terms of nurturing women playwrights to date9”.

7 Celia de Fréine is perhaps distinct among the plethora of translators, interpreters, and adaptors who have reimagined the eighteenth-century Irish-language poem Cúirt an Mheán Oíche/The Midnight Court, attributed to Brian Merriman, the Clare poet, scribe, and scholar, into English, German, Esperanto, French and most recently, Japanese. The poem has been recorded for commercial records, adapted for radio and opera, and interpreted by stage and graphic artists across the globe. De Fréine distinguishes herself by being one of just two women to adapt the 1,026-line Irish-language poem for stage. In 1982, when the Dublin Shakespeare Society (founded in 1907), performed her translated adaptation at the Studio North Great George’s Street Dublin10 she became the first person to produce three print adaptations/responses to this classic and iconic text11. Given the centrality of women, women’s perspectives, societal attitudes towards sexual behaviours including monogamy, pre-marital sex, non-marital sex, clerical celibacy and sexual relations between partners of disparate ages, and gender issues in the original eighteenth-century text, as well as the powerful role played by Aoibheall, queen of the Munster fairy-folk, female writers’ traditional reluctance to engage with it is nothing if not remarkable. Less remarkable is that de Fréine would gravitate towards this canonical text given how prominently historical literature featured in her early world. “When I first began writing plays, I based my work on Irish myths: The Courting of Emer12 (1985) and Diarmuid agus Grainne13 (1986); and on women in history: I Have Seen the Stars (1988); Holloway, 1918 (1989); and Girls in Silk Kimonos (1991). By 1997, however, my plays had begun to address contemporary issues14.”

8 De Freine’s engagement with Merriman dates back to 1982 when the Dublin Shakespeare Society produced her translation and dramatisation of Brian Merriman's

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poem as The Midnight Court as part of their centenary celebrations. Subsequently De Fréine’s creative response to Cúirt an Mheán Oíche / The Midnight Court expanded to Lorg Merriman, a trilogy of plays that comprises (1) Desire: Meanmarc; (2) Brian Merriman’s The Midnight Court, and (3) Plight: Cruachás. Published by Arlen House in 2012, Desire: Meanmarc forms Part I of a three-part engagement and reimagines Brian Merriman’s social network and personal life immediately before he composed his poetic masterpiece. Written in 2009, Desire: Meanmarc received the 2010 Duais an Oireachtais do Dhráma Ilghníomh (Oireachtas Award for multi-act play), before the author subsequently revised and translated it into English as Part I of her Lorg Merriman (Merriman’s Mark/ Footprint) project15. The text performed by the Dublin Shakespeare Society in 1982 became the basis for the second part of this innovative trilogy. Plight: Cruachás (Arlen House, 2012), written in 2005 to celebrate the two-hundredth anniversary of Merriman’s death in 1805 and first staged in Irish by Aisteoirí Bulfin in the Brehon Hotel, Killarney, Kerry, on 1 November 2014 as part of the Oireachtas Literary Festival, is the trilogy’s third and final instalment. The play considers the implications of the imaginary court reconvened in the second decade of twenty-first century Ireland and asks which sexual mores might be offered up to an extra-terrestrial deity for consideration16. The play’s premise is an ancient, but recently discovered, tribe, living on the margins of Irish society with its own indigenous customs and traditions, removed from mainstream Irish culture. To protect its youth from the dangers that mainstream society poses, these parents encourage their offspring to marry within the tribe while still in their teens. This play examines the problems such young people would face.

9 Cúirt an Mheán Oíche / The Midnight Court is a canonical eighteenth-century text widely considered to be one of the greatest comic Irish poems in either English or Irish. Despite its simple linear storyline, Merriman’s poem addresses a wide range of themes, from its satirical treatment of sexuality to its biting social commentary. Banned as a translation in the Irish Free State for obscenity, its famously frank and bawdy descriptions of human sexuality have delighted and enraged readers and listeners for centuries. “The good drama survives”, according to David Mamet, “because it appeals not to the fashion of the moment, but to the problems both universal and eternal, as they are insoluble. To find beauty in the sad, hope in the midst of loss, and dignity in failure is great poetic art17”. Cúirt an Mheán Oíche adheres impeccably to this maxim. The eternal plight of the sexes, the constraints of marriage and the torment of unfulfilled lust and desire, are neither transient fashions nor fads of the moment. Irish- language drama, and those involved in its creation, production, and facilitation, know full well the benefit of finding beauty in sad empty halls and (in)dignity in failing to generate enough public interest to even stage a play. The text’s attraction for de Fréine may have been that it afforded both a canonical text and established form to deal with social issues in a manner that was firmly established, sanctioned and familiar in both English and Irish18. Indeed in a recent interview in the Dublin Review of Books, she discloses that “Although not written by me, The Midnight Court is what kick-started my writing19”.

10 Her first engagement as a creative writer with this canonical text, presumably, occurred when she adapted it in 1982 for collaboration with the Dublin Shakespeare Society. Coincidently, 1982 was a significant year for Merriman studies: it marked the publication of Cúirt an Mheon-Oíche, Liam P. Ó Murchú’s scholarly edition of the text, four separate reprints of various mid-twentieth-century English translations of the text

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by Percival Arland Ussher (1899-1980), Canon Coslett Ó Cuinn (1907-1995), Frank O’Connor (1903-1966) and Denis Woulfe’s 1789 translation, in addition to an art exhibit by Portlaw-born artist John Verling (1943-2009) at the Caldwell Gallery, Cork. Whether related or not, de Fréine’s first public involvement happened at a time when the text was circulating in twentieth-century public popular discourse rather than narrow academic spheres in Ireland20.

11 Several factors distinguish de Fréine’s intervention. She is the sole woman writer to publish a translation and adaption of the poem; hers was the only one to reconfigure the poem’s structure by manipulating the narrative voice to create a more conventional set of monologues. The original text, with its social commentary and dramatic plot twist at the conclusion, lends itself impeccably to modern theatre where we expect and indeed often demand, to witness, what Josipovici terms “the author’s manipulation of plot to create exciting theatre, driving towards its (surprising and often unexpected) conclusion.”21 In the English-language Brian Merriman’s The Midnight Court, translated and dramatized by Celia de Fréine, the foreword explains how the author decided “to explore its dramatic potential rather than reproduce it as a poem in English. To this end, I re-sequenced lines, and allocated some to newly-created characters: the wenches, the codgers and the fairy maidens22”. In addition, rather than rehash the issue of “illegitimacy” in the same terms as Merriman, de Fréine expands and updates the debate by expanding and elaborating on the controversy to resonate more with contemporary readers and, in a Brechtian move, strips audiences of the safety and comfort of viewing this issue through the lens of history and humour and forcing them to face contemporary social controversies and irregularities.

12 This text, Brian Merriman’s The Midnight Court, treats of the Court as it is in the act of being composed. In contrast to the two other texts that precede (Desire/Meanmarc) and follow (Plight/Cruachás) it details events as Merriman composes the “text”; that is, the play commences with Merriman having composed in Irish the opening lines before he rests and verbalizes his thoughts, in English, to the audience before falling asleep. When the character Merriman speaks, he does so in words and lines translated from the original poem. The two fairy maidens, introduced into the narrative by de Fréine, reduce the burden on the bailiff to convey information, provide context and background for the audience, and reduce the strict reliance on two monologues. Similarly the two codgers serve as male counterparts to the fairy maidens, and consequently break up the monologues while providing diversity and variety to the voice and narration23. This change, in turns, speeds up the narrative exchange, increases the intensity, and heightens the narrative tension. Such features are central in translating the text from a series of monologues to a conventional multi-actor play.

13 In keeping with the original, the text concludes with Aoibheall’s speech. De Fréine’s version differs in that “someday soon the priests will wed/Heed my advice; what is needed is patience: /a time will come with the Vatican’s leave,/when a seal will go on a Papal Bull;/the Cardinals will consider the country’s woes/and having debated the issue, agree/to release forthwith these spancelled lads24”. The “original” text as provided by Ó Murchú, is less conclusive and more ambiguous in anticipating a future time when the Pope may abandon the rules attending celibacy: “Seachain go fóill na comhachtaigh íogmhar/Is caithfid siad pósadh fós pé chífeas,/Tiocfaidh an lá le lánchead comhairle/Is cuirfidh an Pápa lámh na gcomhacht air, suífidh an chuideachta ar thubaist na dtíortha/Is scaoilfear chugaibh fá urchall cuibhrigh/Fiantas fola agus

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fothrom na feola/Is mian bhur dtoile, na tollairí teo seo25”. The play ends, as the poem does, with the narrator awakening just as the women were about to punish him for his celibacy. This version follows the conventional dramatic adaptations of the poem in that it plays on the sexual humour and sexual complaints, remedies and desires of the various characters and achieves a boisterous humorous conclusion.

14 Desire / Meanmarc, the trilogy’s first instalment, is arguably the richest and most historically nuanced of the three parts. A delight for anyone familiar with the original and its surrounding subplots, it displays a comprehensive and scholarly awareness and knowledge not only of the text but of the folklore, anecdotes, and theories surrounding the text itself, the text’s creation, and the creator’s biography, all of which is imaginatively reinterpreted and reimagined in dramatic form with vividly conceived characters and finely calibrated dialogue which harps on, and harks back to, the original. This rich play demonstrates how an early-twenty-first-century writer can mine a rich lode of material to produce a play that interrogates social issues, gender relations, and class distinctions that cross the centuries and the decades. The play succeeds as a recreation of late-eighteenth-century rural Ireland with its attendant cultural and socio-economic tensions, while also critiquing the same issues in contemporary Ireland. Indeed, de Fréine’s plays, while understandably lacking the original’s shock factor and linguistic wealth, render Merriman relevant for twenty- first-century audiences, less in her dramatization of the poetic text than in her recalibration of the narrative focus to address the status and role of single mothers and children “born out of wedlock”. This task she focuses on in Plight/Cruachás, the third instalment, in which she considers the social issues and concerns to be discussed were the imaginary court described in Cúirt an Mheán Oíche to be reconvened in early twenty-first century Ireland. The Lorg Merriman project rebounds and reverberates off a controversy surrounding the role and status of unmarried children and single mothers in Irish society. The text’s charge is less concerned with sexual practices than with the social position of children and mothers. In attuning her text to foreground the role of mothers whose children were engendered out of traditional wedlock, the third de Fréine text draws on the uproar surrounding Kevin Myers’ infamous 8 February 2005 Irish Times op-ed, known readily as his “Mothers of Bastards” article.

15 Myers, a controversial polemicist and provocative commentator with a deserved reputation as the chief challenger of Irish social orthodoxies, penned – arguably – the decade’s most incendiary article26, in which he endorsed comments about unmarried mothers attributed to Ed Walsh, former President of the University of Limerick (1989-98). Walsh, in the course of a lecture, allegedly claimed that the absence of fathers destabilizes society and linked children raised in single-parent families to violent crime, burglary, child abuse, truancy, rape, murder and social problems27. Myers, ever the controversialist and ever loyal to those mavericks whom he admired, attempted to defend Walsh and deride his detractors. Eager to run a polemic up the flag mast, he indiscriminately lumped together a variety of women – rape survivors, widows, divorcees – without using any sources and confidently asserted: … our system of benefits to unmarried mothers is creating a long-term time-bomb. Even as things stand, we are bribing the unmotivated, the confused, the backward, the lazy into making the worst career decision of their young lives, and becoming professional unmarried mothers, living off the State until the grave takes over. Our welfare system is creating benefits-addicted, fatherless families who will be raised

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in a culture of personal and economic apathy – and from such warped timber, true masts are seldom hewn.

16 Myers’ article, published in the Irish Times, drew widespread condemnation, including from Nuala Fennell, a former Irish government minister of state for justice, the threat of libel and a demand for a retraction from fellow Irish Times columnist John Waters, and an extensive denunciation for its tone, attitude, and language. Myers’ position became ever more untenable when Walsh, who had initiated the debate, criticized Myers. Soon afterwards Myers broke with the Irish Times and joined the more popular and populist Irish Independent. Despite being a watershed moment in Irish social history, it did not dispel the underlying issues. Writing four years later, in 2009, Niamh Ní Chearúil argued: […] blanket stereotyping of single parents – specifically lone mothers – as scroungers who chose to live off the State is both an undeniable reality, and a shameful one. As a result of this stereotyping, which takes place in the media, in our print publications, and in the discourse of our public representatives, a thoroughly negative image of these people is concocted. This filters through to become a general attitude that society has adopted in relation to them… Once popularized through the media, these ideas take on the appearance of objective reality. It is all too possible to stigmatize and exclude a group in society with a negligible voice – they pose little opposition – so as to preserve the status quo, and maintain an economic system where no huge spending is made in social welfare28.

17 It is possible, if not probable, that this controversy informed de Fréine when writing in 2009. It certainly informed her audience’s opinions as they approached her trilogy published in 2012. In her foreword to Brian Merriman’s The Midnight Court, de Fréine claims that “It is almost certain also that he was the illegitimate son of a member of the gentry, raised by the stonemason his mother married29.” In translating and dramatizing the poem, de Fréine had an opportunity to familiarize herself intimately with a text that addressed and spoke not only to eternal human concerns and preoccupations, but to work with and immerse herself in a text that offered a powerful corrective to the aforementioned controversy. De Fréine directly addressed the role and status of single unmarried mothers and their fatherless children in Irish society at the point when it was undergoing tectonic social change.

18 In Plight: Cruachás the issue of “bastard” children is addressed both by Áine, the main female plaintiff, and by the Judge. Áine relates Peig’s incestuous rape by her unnamed rural uncle with whom she was sent to live during his wife’s illness. Her modern day Aoibheall refers to such fatherless children in her summation: As for insulting Peig’s child – I don’t believe I heard the like In this court. The children Of this country are blessed, No matter how they were born. They have been brought into the world And it is up to you to rear them.

Agus, maidir le leanbh Pheig a mhaslú – Ní chreidim gur chuala mé a leithéid Sa gcúirt seo. Is beannaithe iad Gasúir na tíre seo, is cuma Faoin gcaoi ar rugadh iad.

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Tá siad tagtha ar an saol agus is fúibhse Cúram a dtógála.

19 The bastard, writes Kingsley Davis, “like the prostitute, thief and beggar, belongs to that motley crowd of disreputable social types which society has generally resented, always endured. He is a living symbol of social irregularity30”. But the play’s remit is broader and wider than that of the original. De Fréine’s play catalogues the sexual and abuse scandals that circulate in public and popular discourse in late-twentieth and early twenty-first century Ireland. One criticism of the eighteenth-century text is that it falls away at the end without any major political and social statement and relies on the humour of the poet awakening from his hallucination just as a gaggle of women seek to strip and beat him for his lack of sexual activity. De Fréine’s version recalls the original eighteenth-century poem, concluding as it began with Síle, the teacher, awakening in her urban classroom, reading her students’ love poems, as she was at the outset, thus bringing closure and pattern to the play.

20 This adaptation of Merriman’s text considers the sexual mores and dilemmas of an “ancient but recently discovered tribe” in Ireland. Less comedic than the eighteenth- century text, it is no less compelling in dealing with and debating issues of male sterility, low-sex drive, hand festivals, pornography, rape, violence and abuse within relationships and marriage, incest and child abuse. This version is far more than an updated Midnight Court in raising and addressing the “New Irish”, and homosexuality. Indeed, it is closer to Maireád Ní Ghráda’s An Triail in that the audience is positioned as participants and actors in the social structure by removing the fourth wall31.

21 In Merriman’s original text, the narrator-poet is the accused and the object of the complaints is the main focus. In contrast De Fréine’s version directly challenges audiences to consider their participation in the social conditions that sustain the matters raised in the play. However, unlike the eighteenth-century text that closes humorously, de Fréine closes by posing a question for the audience: what roles should educators, teachers, and influential adults play in the lives of women such as those featured in the play? De Fréine avoids the cheap laugh and light entertainment, which a simple reading of Cúirt an Mheán Oíche offers to even the most limited actor, director and teacher. In replacing the male poet with a female teacher and setting it in a school – the site of socialization – de Fréine not only empowers women as stakeholders but as influential social partners. It raises the stakes and the onus directed at the audience to respond to the questions posed in the play. The ancient tribe, as presented in the play, is sufficiently vague that it allows for it to be read as any ethnic minority or social group – Irish Travellers, the “New Irish”, etc., etc.32. Like I was saying, all that I am is a teacher, Employed to teach literacy And numeracy and social skills To the oldest tribe in the country And what can I myself do To improve the situation – Me that has no wish to poke my nose Into matters that are of no concern to me When all that I am is a teacher?

Faoi mar a bhí me ag rá, níl ionam Ach múinteoir a fostaíodh le litearthacht

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Is uimhearthacht is scileanna sóisialta A theagasc don treibh is arsa sa tír. Agus ceard is féidir liomsa a dhéanamh Le feabhas a chur ar an scéal – Mise nach bhfuil ag iarraidh mo ladar A chur i meadar gan suaitheadh, Mise nach bhfuil ionam ach múinteoir?

22 In this closing section, de Fréine introduces a reflexive note, absent from the original and from most if not all similar adaptations and translations. The issues of rape, incest and arranged marriages all feature in this version which borrows the original poem’s scaffolding and imagery to construct a discussion of contemporary marriage, relationships and sexual practices for young women in contemporary Ireland.

23 De Fréine’s literary sources and imaginative forefathers and foremothers are many and diverse. Her plays fit neither nicely nor linearly into existing patterns or into distinct literary histories and lineages. They are, in some traditional Irish-language dramatic respects, illegitimate “bastard” plays: reworked, rewritten, adaptations and foreign plays belonging neither fully nor clearly to the Irish-language dramatic tradition. But they enrich and enhance that tradition and are welcome and valuable additions regardless of who their imaginative fathers – or mothers – were, or might have been. Behind the linguistic curtain, contemporary Irish-language theatre is addressing some very real anxieties and resentments and offering a window on contemporary global culture and social issues. These “bastard” plays may be uncertain of their historic and literary roots, but they belong to all audiences and demand our attention. Above all they are an appropriate comment on social issues in the Irish Republic and bring to fore the treatment of single mothers, “illegitimacy” and conservative ideologies that seek to discriminate against the weak and vulnerable in society. Such issues and ideologies seem perverse in an Irish Republic that in 2016 celebrated the 1916 rebellion and the proclamation that guaranteed religious and civil liberty, equal rights and equal opportunities to all its citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue the happiness and prosperity of the whole nation and of all its parts, cherishing all of the children of the nation equally, and oblivious to the differences carefully fostered by an alien Government, which have divided a minority from the majority in the past.

NOTES

1. A Lesson in Can't, 2014; Blood Debts, 2014; Cuir Amach seo Dom: Riddle me this, 2014; Aibítir Aoise : Alphabet of an Age, 2011; Imram : odyssey, 2010; Scarecrows at Newtownards, 2005; Fiacha Fola, 2004; Faoi Chabáistí is Ríonacha, 2001. 2. Celia de Fréine, “Soap for TnaG: Writing Ros na Rún,” New Hibernia Review, 3:1, Spring, 1999, p. 142-148. In a 2014 interview with Lia Mills, “Hidden Ireland”, Dublin Review of Books, Issue 61, November 2014, her output consisted of “Eight volumes of

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poetry, six published plays (and others produced in various settings), a libretto, prizewinning screenplays and film-poems, short stories in English – all in thirteen years. This autumn sees the publication of these two collections, five new plays in various stages of production and the installation with Mark McKee”. See: http:// www.drb.ie/essays/hidden-irelands#sthash.LeHv9xKA.dpuf (accessed 26 March 2016). In 2015 Umbrella Theatre Company staged de Fréine’s “Seamstress”, inspired by Kasimir Markievicz’s ‘“The Artist's Wife”, and also “Stamen”, inspired by Mainie Jellett's “Single Element”, as part of Sixteen 10 Minute Plays at the National Gallery of Ireland. Umbrella also staged “Katie & Beth”, two short plays by Lia Mills and Celia De Fréine exploring the lives of fictional characters against the backdrop of real events in Dublin in 1916. 3. In the course of an interview in the Dublin Review of Books (Issue 79, June 2016) with Lia Mills she explains that her play Safe, originally written in Irish but performed in English in October 2014 by the Umbrella Theatre Company, derived from the Pavilion Playwrights (established by Conall Morrison in 2011) “is written in homage to Mairéad Ní Ghráda, whose play An Triail premiered fifty years ago this autumn. An Triail tells the story of a young unmarried mother who, rejected by society, kills her child and then herself. I wanted to revisit this theme and explore the changes in Irish society to women’s reproductive health”. See more at: http://www.drb.ie/essays/hidden- irelands#sthash.LeHv9xKA.dpuf 4. Séamas Mac Annaidh, An Druma Mór, 2000; Alan Titley, An Ghráin agus an Ghruaim, 1999; Brian Ó Riagáin, Buille an Phíce, 1997; Ceacht Houdini, Michael Harding (1994); Éilís Ní Dhuibhne, Dún na mBan Trí Thine, 1994; Liam Ó Muirthile, Fear an Tae, 1999; Liam Ó Muirthile, Liodán na hAbhann, 1999; Seán McCarthy, Mallachtaí Muintire, 1993; Éilís Ní Dhuibhne, Milseog an tSamhraidh, 1997; Tom Sailí Ó Flaithearta, Pósadh an Tincéara, 1996; Liam Ó Muirthile, “Tine Chnámh”, Dir. Michael Scott, 1993. 5. Located at 43 East Essex Street, Temple Bar, Dublin 2. Essex Street West was formerly named Smock Alley, site of the famous Smock Alley Theatre. Amharclann de hÍde subsequently brought the production to Galway. Cast members included Lesley Conroy, Bríd McCarthy, Brendan Murray, Gavin O'Connor, and Brian Thunder. Director Bríd Ó Gallchóir; Set Katherine Sankey; Lighting Aedin Cosgrove; Costumes Moira Tierney; Music and Sound by JJ Vernon. 6. Caomhan Keane, “Irish language theatre – is it time to stage a revival?,” Irish Times, 13 June 2011. 7. In the 34-year period from 1975 to 2009, women accounted for 26 new plays in Irish, some 23%. Between 1994 and 2004, these two companies with Bríd Ó Gallchóir as the common denominator – Aisling Ghéar’s Artistic Director and former Artistic Director with Amharclann de hÍde – produced and toured eight new Irish-language plays by six women: Siobhán Ní Shúilleabháin’s Is Tú Mo Mhac, An Taibhdhearc, 1990; Éilís Ní Dhuibhne’s Dún na mBan Trí Thine, Amharclann de hÍde, 1994 and Milseog an tSamhraidh, Amharclann de hÍde, 1997; Biddy Jenkinson’s O Rajerum, Aisling Ghéar, 1999 and Mise, Subhó agus Maccó, Aisling Ghéar, 2000; Nuala Nic an Iomaire’s An tUisceadán, Taibhdhearc & Andrews’ Lane, 2001; Celia de Fréine’s Anraith Neantóige , 2004; and Caitríona Ní Chonaola’s Incubus, 2005. Even in the heyday of An Comhar Drámaíochta, it is unlikely that such a high level of activity was attained and certainly not by female authors and directors.

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8. Among the few, if not only, male playwrights to emerge in this period is Aodh Ó Domhnaill, closely associated as writer and actor with the long-established Dublin amateur group Aisteoirí Bulfin. In a recent interview in the Irish Times he cited the poor quality of productions rather than acting or scripts for the plight of Irish-language drama. “Tá aisteoirí againn atá chomh maith le héinne eile ach tá easpa scríbhneoirí agus léiritheoirí ann. Is minic gur sa chaighdeán léirithe a bhíonn na laigí is mó i ndrámaí Gaeilge agus sin an fáth gur thugamar isteach léiritheoir gairmiúil, Barry Byrnes, do LaraeDó.” See Seán Tadhg Ó Gairbhí, “Blazing Saddles na Gaeilge,” Irish Times, 4 Nollaig 2013. For the development of plays by Irish women, see Patrick Lonergan, http://patricklonergan.wordpress.com/tag/irish-women-dramatists/ (accessed 7 December 2013). 9. De Fréine, “Women Playwrights, Whither?” Creation, Publishing, and Criticism: The Advance of Women’s Writing. María Xesús Nogueira, Laura Lojo, Manuela Palacios, eds., New York, Peter Lang, 2010, p. 196. 10. Directed by Helen Byrne. Written by Celia Hart (Celia de Fréine). Staged at the Studio, Dublin. The Shakespeare Society has since relocated to Club na Múinteoirí, 36 Parnell Square, Dublin. This collaboration was revived in 2007, when the same company again staged a revised version of the play at Theatre 36 as part of their centenary celebrations. In 2009, in association with Opera Ireland, Living Opera presented a showcase performance of the opera The Earl of Kildare, composed by Fergus Johnston, for which de Fréine wrote the English-language libretto. 11. Siobhán McKenna's dramatic adaptation would appear on the Peacock Stage at the Abbey in October 1984. 12. “Tochmarc Emire, the Wooing of Emer,” is an Ulster Cycle tale detailing the courtship and marriage of Emer and Cú Chulainn. 13. Tóraigheacht Dhiarmada agus Ghráinne / The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Gráinne, is a Fenian tale involving a love triangle between the aged great warrior Fionn, the beautiful Grainne, and the younger and more attractive Diarmuid na mBan. Zoë Seaton produced a play in English also based on the ancient text, adapted by Zoë Seaton and Bríona Corrigan for Big Telly in 1999. Jean Butler and Colin Dunne starred in Dancing on Dangerous Ground, a Riverdance-type Irish dance show, which premiered at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, London, in 1999. Paul Mercier and The Passion Machine, in association with John McColgan’s Abhann Productions, also produced a version in 2001, “part Quentin Tarantino, with its gangster-land style, and part Moulin Rouge, with its dancing men” (Irish Independent, 2 June 2002). Mícheál Mac Liammóir produced the classic adaptation at the Gate and An Taibhdhearc in 1928. See Richard Allen Cave “The Dangers and Difficulties of Dramatising the Lives of Deirdre and Grania" Perspectives of Irish Drama and Theatre, edited by M. D. Savage, ed., Barnes and Noble, 1991, p. 1-16. 14. De Fréine, “Women Playwrights, Whither?” art. cit., p. 192. 15. The Abbey Theatre commissioned Casadh, de Fréine’s short play and provided a rehearsed reading at the Peacock Theatre on 21 October 2009, and subsequently at An Chultúrlann, as part of the Gach Áit Eile a short play reading series. Other plays in the 2009 series included Cú Dé by Dave Duggan (cast: Denis Conway, Mary Louise McCarthy), Ar Dheireadh by Aodh Ó Domhnaill (cast: Siobhán O’Kelly, Don Wycherley), and Casadh (cast: Josie Chóilí Óg Ó Cualáin, Mairéad Conneely). The three plays were staged in An Chultúrlann as part of the Belfast Festival at Queens University on 24 October. Paul Mercier directed the “Gach Áit Eile” production. The plays were also produced at

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Oireachtas na Samhna, Letterkenny, 29 October. De Fréine casts doubt on the overall value of such readings in which emphasis is placed on the performance rather than script development: “Working with a director and actors is generally helpful in developing a script, but where these readings were concerned, the rehearsal period was short and we had to focus on preparing for the performance rather than on script development.” See de Fréine, “Women Playwrights, Whither?” art. cit. “Gach Áit Eile” is the phrase used on Irish mail-boxes as equivalent to “All Other Places.” Regarding “Gach Áit Eile,” Aideen Howard is quoted as saying “This was an interesting process for us… as it allowed us to connect with the writers that were out there already and to reconnect with an audience who we haven’t been engaged with for seven years.” The Abbey then approached writers who were writing in the language, but not necessarily for the stage, through a workshop led by Mercier called Bí ag Scríobh [Get Writing]. “It was amplifying our regular, unsolicited script process,” says Howard. “Ramping it up and saying, “We are genuinely interested in engaging with Irish language playwriting, come show us what you have got.” Caomhan Keane, “Irish language theatre—is it time to stage a revival?,” Irish Times, 13 June 2011. 16. The cast comprised of Síle (Solweg Ní Fhiaich), Áine (Aoileann Ní Chonchubhair), Cáit (Róisín Nic an tSíthigh), Nóra (Gráinne Nic Fhirléinn), Jaimsí Mhichíl Liam (Lionel Mac Cárthaigh), Tomás Sheáinín (Colm Ó Broin), Peadar Sheosaimh Mhóir (Cathal Ó Murchú), Máirtín Bán (Aodh Ó Domhnaill), An Breitheamh (Eimear Ní Mhéalóid), An Báille (Fidelma Ní Ghallchobhair), Oifigeach Cúirte 1 (Tadhg Ó Conchubhair), Oifigeach Cúirte 2 (Lelia Ní Chinnéide). Produced by Fidelma Ní Ghallchobhair, costumes by Lelia Ní Chinnéide,and light and sound by Mike Donoghue. 17. David Mamet, “Attention Must Be Paid”, New York Times, 13 February 2005. http:// www.nytimes.com/2005/02/13/opinion/13Mamet.html?_r=0 (accessed 16 March 2016). 18. For an overview of the critical reception of ‘Cúirt an Mhéan Oíche/The Midnight Court,’ see The Midnight Court / Cúirt an Mheán Oíche: A Critical Edition , ed. Brian Ó Conchubhair, Syracuse, NY, Syracuse University Press, 2011. 19. See Lia Mills, ‘Hidden Ireland,’ Dublin Review of Books, Issue 61, November 2014. http://www.drb.ie/essays/hidden-irelands (accessed 26 March 2016) 20. The poem had, of course, been a stable of Irish-language vernacular, manuscript and popular culture throughout the nineteenth century. See Liam Mac Peaircín, An eala ar a bhfuaid: Cúirt an Mheán Oíche i Lámha na Scríobhaithe, Dublin, Coiscéim, 2016. 21. Gabriel Josipovici, What Ever Happened to Modernism?, New Haven, Yale University Press, 2010, p. 153. 22. Celia de Fréine, Brian Merriman’s The Midnight Court, Arlen House, 2012, p. 9. 23. This version calls for thirteen actors, excluding musicians. 24. De Fréine, Brian Merriman’s The Midnight Court, p. 53-54. 25. See Liam P. Ó Murchú, Cúirt An Mheon-Oíche, Dublin, An Clóchomhar, 2005, p. 43, lines 907-914. 26. Ironically Myers had criticized Mary Ellen Synon’s disparagement of the 2000 Sydney Paralympics on 22 October 2000 in the Irish Independent. 27. These claims where not specific to Ireland but rather indicators of what could be expected in Ireland in due course.

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28. Niamh Ní Chearúil, “The Negative Stereotyping of Lone Mothers,” Socheolas: Limerick Student Journal of Sociology, Vol. 2, 1, November 2009. 29. Celia de Fréine, Brian Merriman’s The Midnight Court, p. 9. 30. Kingsley Davis, “Illegitimacy and the social structure,” W. J. Goode, ed. Readings on the Family and Society, Englewood Cliffs, NJ, Prentice Hall, 1964, p. 21. 31. Merriman’s original audience may well have recognized names and references in the text or versions of it. 32. De Fréine spent several years as a literacy teacher with the Travelling community. See Lia Mills, “Hidden Ireland”, Dublin Review of Books, Issue 61, November 2014. http:// www.drb.ie/essays/hidden-irelands (accessed 26 March 2016).

ABSTRACTS

This article examines Celia de Fréine’s re-imagining of Brian Merriman’s canonic text The Midnight Court/Cúirt an Mheán Oíche. Through textual and contextual analysis of specific extracts of the texts, the article illustrates how de Fréine’s version challenges audiences to consider their participation in the social conditions of contemporary marriage, relationships and sexual practices for young women in contemporary Ireland. To this end she draws on Kevin Myers’ “Mother of Bastards” article to highlight the misogyny experienced by unmarried mothers in Ireland.

Cet article s’intéresse à la réinterprétation théâtrale de The Midnight Court/Cúirt an Mheán Oíche, texte canonique de Brian Merriman. Dans la version contemporaine, Celia de Fréine pousse le public à s’interroger sur la condition contemporaine des enfants nés en dehors des liens du mariage en Irlande et à examiner la responsabilité de chacun dans la manière dont sont considérées les relations et pratiques sexuelles des jeunes femmes ainsi que l’institution du mariage. À cette fin, elle s’inspire d’un article polémique du journaliste Kevin Myers pour souligner la misogynie dont sont victimes les filles mères.

INDEX

Keywords: Merriman Brian, childhood, drama, women - artistic representations, sexuality, gender studies, Irish Republic, marriage Mots-clés: femmes - représentations artistiques, République d'Irlande, sexualité, théâtre, Merriman Brian, enfance, études de genre, mariage

AUTHOR

BRIAIN Ó CONCHUBHAIR Notre-Dame University

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Who fears to speak of the Republic?

Robert Ballagh

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This essay repeats and expands on a 2006 essay published online with the Ireland Institute in 2006: “1916 and All That — A Personal Memoir” http://www.theirelandinstitute.com/institute/p01-ballagh_memoir_page.html.

1 The British occupation of Ireland down the centuries was once seen as exploitative and repressive. However, according to “responsible” historians, this British presence in Ireland should be seen as an act of benign generosity. We should accept that the United Irishmen were fanatical bigots and the 1798 rebellion was a sectarian blood bath, that the famine was simply an accident of nature and that the resultant human catastrophe was not the fault of those who controlled the country and its resources, namely the British. The Fenians were violent bunglers; Parnell was a dangerous subversive who toyed with unconstitutional methods, and the Easter Rising was an unnecessary, even ungrateful, orgy of violence, as the British were on the point of ceding national democracy. Anyone who still clung to the point of view that branded British imperialism in Ireland as either a fact or a bad thing was dismissed as old-fashioned, narrow-minded, and, of course, soft on violence.

2 In the 1980s, those who were engaged in the creation of this anti-national bias were greatly assisted by Section 31 of the Broadcasting Act, the most draconian piece of political censorship operating in Europe at the time. The strict application of Section 31, namely the banning of interviews with spokespersons from named organisations, would have been bad enough, but the real situation was much worse than that. The practical operation of Section 31 extended way beyond simply excluding spokespersons, since the guidelines imposed a blanket ban on all members of named organisations irrespective of the subject of the interview. Inevitably, this blanket ban had ludicrous consequences. On one occasion, RTÉ broadcast Mass from a church in Belfast. One of the readers of the lesson was a member of Sinn Féin.

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3 After the broadcast, back at the station, there was an investigation into this “dangerous” breach of the order. Because of the activities of the Stalinist thought police, who prowled the corridors of the TV station, few broadcasters were prepared to risk the hassle involved in trying to piece together a programme on a “difficult” story, so the story remained untold. This is the explanation why all the programmes on such serious issues as the unjust jailing of the Birmingham Six and the Guilford Four and the bombings in Dublin and Monaghan, were made by British TV companies and not by our national broadcaster. This practice quite naturally led to the unconscious development of the most insidious kind of information control possible, self-censorship. Everything that could be viewed as nationalistic was deemed suspect. No more rebel songs or ballads on the radio or TV; Irish speakers and GAA supporters were frequently seen in a negative light; and anyone who subscribed to a “non-revised” version of Irish history was instantly labeled as a fellow traveller of the provisional IRA.

4 The final straw, and there always is a final straw, came for me when a Belfast actor I knew told me that he had auditioned for a part in an drama produced by the national broadcaster RTÉ, but had been turned down on the basis that the TV people felt that a northern accent was too threatening! I thought “enough is enough” and decided, there and then, to do something about this ridiculous situation. I felt certain that the impending seventy-fifth anniversary of the Easter Rising could provide me with a unique opportunity to challenge such feelings of guilt and self-hatred.

5 As an artist, I was always fascinated by the 1916 Rising, by the fact that it involved so many poets, writers, musicians, actors, and artists and as such viewed the “Reclaim the Spirit of Easter” project as a perfectly reasonable vehicle for cultural and historical reclamation that, in my opinion, was not only necessary, but also totally within the law. Imagine my surprise when someone quite casually remarked during the course of a committee meeting that the Special Branch were outside. As a political tenderfoot, I was flabbergasted that our perfectly innocent meeting should be under police surveillance, so, seething with righteous indignation, I marched out to the unmarked car and demanded to see some identification. I got my answer from those particular public servants pretty quickly–just two words: “Fuck off”!

6 On another occasion, I once more approached them, only this time to invite them to attend our meetings so that they could learn at first hand what we were planning. Sadly, once again, I received the same two-word response. However, it was when the one car surveillance was increased to a two-car team, with an obvious increase in the number of detectives involved, that I decided to go to a higher authority. I wrote to the chief superintendent of the Gardaí to say that, while the police had the right to maintain surveillance on certain groups in certain circumstances, what we were experiencing was, in my opinion, more to do with clocking up overtime than in maintaining the security of the State. This seemed to have had some effect because, even though I received no acknowledgement of my complaint, our constant companions from the Branch disappeared for a time. But, return they did and, unfortunately, caused much more serious grief.

7 In the meantime, we set about our work, my first task being to design a logo for the campaign. The resultant effort featured a dove, symbolising the idealism of the Rising, emerging from the GPO. Very quickly, we decided that, even though there was little time before the arrival of Easter that year, we should organise a small commemorative rally in Dublin that might test the waters before we attempted to realise our grand

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ambitions for the following year. Remembering the Rising that had been called the “Poets” Rebellion’, the committee decided to ask Tomás Mac Anna from the Abbey Theatre to devise a small cultural presentation to kick start the rally outside the GPO. This drew on the writings of Pearse, Connolly, MacDonagh, and W.B. Yeats, and featured musicians from Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Éireann and actors Donal O'Kelly, Eithne Dempsey, Séamus MacMathúna, and Breandán Ó Dúill. After the music and poetry, a series of speakers were invited to address the crowd. These included Íte Ní Chionnaith, past-president of Conradh na Gaeilge ; Sean Redmond, trade unionist; Paul Hill from the Guilford Four; Kadar Asmal, anti-apartheid activist; Neil Blaney TD and Bernadette McAliskey, civil rights activist.

8 The committee also established a tribunal, which charged “that the nation had failed to cherish all its children equally”. Submissions were made by the unemployed, travellers, youth groups, environmentalists, and others. In addition, a debate, with the motion “that the concept of a United Ireland is an impediment to peace”, was held in the Mansion House. Jim Kemmy TD and Senator John A. Murphy supported the motion; Senator Éamon Ó Cuiv and Bernadette McAliskey opposed.

9 To underscore our stated intention of highlighting the cultural nature of the Rising, we organised, in conjunction with the National Museum, a facsimile exhibition of Leabhar na hAiséirighe (The Book of Resurrection) in the Dublin Central Library. The Free State government had commissioned this remarkable artwork from Art O’Murnaghan to commemorate those who had fought for Irish freedom in the 1916 - 1921 period. It represents a unique manifestation of the calligrapher's art. Mike Murphy opened the exhibition and was so impressed by the work that he featured some original pieces on his arts programme on television. Art O’Murnaghan was also an actor and designer and later worked with Micheál Mac Liammóir and Hilton Edwards in the Gate Theatre.

10 Even though the programme of commemorative events in 1990 was quite modest, the Reclaim the Spirit of Easter committee felt that the effort involved was definitely worthwhile. Important lessons were learnt, and valuable contacts were made. For example, after experiencing the outright hostility of the Special Branch, we were somewhat surprised, but obviously delighted, by the professional and courteous approach of uniformed Gardaí to our activities.

11 The rally itself however clearly demonstrated that the attention span of any crowd is taxed to the limit by a plethora of speakers. Also, even though we attempted to create as broad a platform as possible, we still managed to exclude Sinn Féin, thus unintentionally engaging in the kind of self-censorship that we ourselves criticised in others. Another consequence of the 1990 activities was that the committee became convinced of the need to broaden and extend its membership; so, with this in mind a public meeting was organised for October 1990 in Liberty Hall, Dublin. About 500 people turned up on the day, and, after considerable discussion, elections were held to form a new, larger, and more representative committee. To my great surprise, at the first meeting of this new committee I was elected to the office of chairman. I was surprised because I still considered myself a novice at what some might call political activity. In fact, at the time, I harboured the perception that I was engaged in a cultural and historical undertaking. The coming months would disabuse me of such a notion.

12 For a start, our “friends” from the Special Branch returned and ominously began to ratchet up their hostility to our activities. One evening, on noticing that an enthusiastic young committee member had missed a few meetings, I remarked, “has anyone seen

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Brian?” “Did you not hear?” replied a colleague. Apparently, the Special Branch had visited his school to inform the headmaster that the boy in question was a member of the IRA. The young lad’s parents were summoned to the school and told that their son faced expulsion. Since it was his leaving certificate year, they were left with little choice. Another committee member discovered, on turning up for work on a Monday morning, that the Special Branch had suggested to her employer that she was involved in subversive activities. Fortunately, he judged the claims to be preposterous and took no action. Others might not have been so lucky. I myself had several unpleasant experiences at the hands of these guardians of the peace.

13 The most bizarre occurred one day when I was walking home along Parnell Square. Without warning, an unmarked police car mounted the footpath and barred my way. Two detectives jumped out, spread-eagled me against the railings and began to frisk me. Soon a crowd had gathered, obviously trying to catch a glimpse of the “dangerous criminal” who had been successfully apprehended. However, having discovered that I was “unarmed”, the detectives then demanded to see some identification. After I showed them my driver’s license, they jumped back in the car and drove off as rapidly as they had first appeared. As I said, bizarre, but nonetheless fairly intimidating! I should say that I officially complained about many such examples of harassment and intimidation to the Garda Complaints Board - none were upheld!

14 Yet, in spite of such hostility, perhaps even because of it, the committee set about its task with increased vigour. Realising that the events of 1990 were exclusively Dublin based, the committee felt that local commemorative events about the country should be encouraged. With this in mind, members of the national committee travelled to many locations to attend meetings where local committees were established. The success of this endeavour was borne out by the final list of activities published in the seventy-fifth anniversary calendar of events. The locations for such locally organized events included Dublin, Meath, Leitrim, Tipperary, Wicklow, Derry, Mayo, Clare, Waterford, Kilkenny, Cork, Belfast, Kildare, Galway, Donegal, and, across the water, London, Birmingham, Manchester, and Glasgow.

15 Another initiative to gain greater recognition for the impending anniversary was to encourage local councils to pass motions of support. We devised a sample motion and sent it to all local authorities. Over a dozen councils passed a version of this motion! At this stage, recognising that we were beginning to create a national profile for the anniversary, we decided to circulate a series of newsletters in order to propagate information about ourselves and our activities. In the first issue, we listed forty-three members of a Cairde Cuimhneacháin , which was fully supportive of our aims and objectives. These included such public figures as Ulick O'Connor, Michael D. Higgins, Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, Senator Éamon Ó Cuiv, Theo Dorgan, and retired Comdt. P.D. O'Donnell. We had invited all party leaders to support the initiative, but only one responded positively, the president of Sinn Féin and it was the presence of Gerry Adams’ name on the list that provided an opening to those in the media who were opposed to our efforts. Several journalists deliberately misinterpreted the facts in such a way as to suggest that Gerry Adams was a member of the organising committee and, as a consequence, implied that the whole endeavour was little more than a front for Sinn Féin. This was an early indication of the kind of media misrepresentation we could expect. Yet, in spite of such negativity, we remained convinced that the majority of Irish people shared our belief that it was only right and proper to celebrate one of the

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most vital events in our history. Our task, as we saw it, was to create an exciting programme of commemoration and celebration that, if successful, would inevitably enjoy the support of most Irish people.

16 However, to succeed in this endeavour we recognised that some serious finance was required. Already, we were organising such staple fundraisers as raffles and pub quizzes, but these only realised limited amounts. We felt we needed a big idea. One notion from 1990 that I was determined not to repeat was the promotion of a sponsored parachute jump. Back then; we nearly killed Paul Hill, who, after so many years in prison, was game for anything! After a lot of thought, the committee finally came up with the idea of producing a limited edition print, and, since I was the only artist involved, I was volunteered for the job. The image I came up with met with some resistance initially. A few questioned my inclusion of Constance Markievicz; others wondered if ideological bias had caused me to place James Connolly centre stage– nonetheless, the image met with popular acclaim and featured not only on the front pages of newspapers and magazines but also on gable walls in the North.

17 As we advanced into 1991, the pace and range of our activities picked up considerably. For example, when I discovered through contacts in An Post that the government had no intention of issuing a commemorative stamp to mark the anniversary, we engaged in extensive lobbying behind the scenes, which, thankfully, saw the government overturn its original decision.

18 Unfortunately, we were not so successful with another endeavour. Believing that a commemorative float in the St. Patrick’s Day parade in Dublin could prove an excellent way of reaching the general public, we decided to request permission from the organisers, Dublin Tourism. I have to say that I was not too surprised when our initial submission, which we had commissioned from a group of art students, was rejected. In the political climate of the time, the design could have been considered provocative in that it portrayed Ireland as an ostrich with its head buried in the ground. However, undeterred, we re-contacted the organisers to suggest that we were quite willing to create a float to any specification that they might deem appropriate. Their final rejection stated that any float commemorating 1916 would be inappropriate. This embarrassed attitude stood in stark contrast to that of the organisers of the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in New York City, who included an essay titled “What Anniversaries Tell Us” by Dr. Eoin McKiernan, the founder of the Irish American Cultural Institute , in the official programme. In the essay, he bemoaned the silence of the Irish government on the seventy-fifth anniversary of Easter Week and asked the question: “Has Charlie Haughey himself acquiesced in the new revisionist philosophy that seems apologetic about Irish nationhood?” On the other hand, he noted that others had moved to fill the void, principally the Reclaim the Spirit of Easter group. He praised the planned cultural programme and called on Irish Americans to support the initiative through purchasing the limited edition print published by the campaign. Finally, he suggested that such “an undertaking, rising out of the heart of the people, convicts the government of lukewarm national aspirations–if not a betrayal of the vision of the founders of the State”. The quantity of print sales in the United States would suggest that Eoin’s appeal did not fall on deaf ears.

19 Because of the nature of the teaching of history in our schools, we were aware that many young people were either ill-informed or misinformed about many aspects of our history. We felt that a nationwide schools competition on the theme of 1916 could

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contribute to a better understanding of this particular period. At a social function, I met Mary O’Rourke, then Minister for Education, and told her of our plans. She agreed that the competition was a good idea and said that the Department of Education might include an information flyer in its next mail out to all national schools. However, when I tried to follow up on this offer with her officials, I was met with obstruction and inaction. I was about to give up when I received a phone call from a senior civil servant in the department who said that he was very disappointed by what had happened and confessed that he didn’t know whether the failure to deliver on the offer had been caused by politicians or bureaucrats, but that he was willing to pass on addressed envelopes for all the national schools in the country as long as I didn’t say where they came from. By the way, this was an attitude that frequently cropped up in the course of the campaign. Senior members of the Defence Forces, civil servants, and even a few journalists declared their support to me in private, but confessed that they were nervous about going public for fear of damaging their career prospects. The schools’ competition was a great success. We received thousands and thousands of entries, from all over the country, in all three categories: an essay, a poem in Irish, and a poster. The judges were Ulick O’Connor, Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, and yours truly; and one of the few politicians to come out and support us, the Lord Mayor of Dublin, Michael Donnelly, presented the prizes.

20 At this stage, with Easter not so far away, public interest in the 75 th anniversary began to swell, stimulated, I would suggest, by our robust defence of 1916 and our determination to organize an adequate commemoration. However, this public influence came at a price. Our enemies were so fearful of any attempt to celebrate the Rising that they endeavoured to discredit the whole idea by daubing those involved with the blood spilt by the IRA. Senator Shane Ross stated that the Reclaim the Spirit of 1916 group was “menacing”, and that the Provisional IRA or one of its front organisations could hijack the1916 celebrations. The seventy-fifth anniversary committee, he claimed, was “heavily infiltrated by fellow-travellers”. Desmond O’Malley, a minister in the government, suggested that “Mr. Ballagh’s committee serves the interests of the Provisional IRA”. Never having been involved in anything like this before, I was shocked at the ferocity of those who attacked us, Also, the poisonous atmosphere that was being engineered created an amazing divide between most Irish journalists and journalists from outside the country. I did interviews with all sorts of people: NBC in America, Sydney Morning Radio , the Boston Globe , the Glasgow Herald , and so on. The first question the foreign journalists asked was “why is the Irish government so embarrassed to celebrate its own past?” The first question, and usually the only question, most Irish journalists asked was “Doesn’t what you’re doing give aid and succor to the IRA?”

21 Now, it’s obvious that the purpose for all the mudslinging was to compromise our campaign; but the collateral damage caused was far more alarming. Indeed, it was only a matter of time before somebody decided to take action on the basis of the smears that were being put about. As Liam Fay wrote in Hot Press at the time, “somebody out there has let it be known that he would like nothing more than to kill Robert Ballagh”. Apart from such murderous threats, I was also subjected to a barrage of abusive phone calls, which resulted in the Gardaí advising me to go ex-directory. Again to quote Liam Fay, “Robert Ballagh has had to pay a very real price in terms of his career. Going ex-

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directory has made him virtually un-contactable by anyone wishing to commission work from him”.

22 I remember wondering at the time, why are so many elements of the Irish establishment so virulently opposed to any remembrance of 1916? Certainly, the constantly repeated mantra that sought to connect the events of 1916 with the activities of the Provisional IRA seemed entirely bogus to me. According to Declan Kiberd, “what created the modern IRA was not any cultural force, but the bleak sectarian realities of life in the corrupt statelet of Northern Ireland”. During Operation Motorman in Derry in 1972, a dying IRA volunteer assured The Observer journalist Mary Holland that “Mother Ireland” or “Cathleen Ní Houlihan” meant nothing to him; he was dying simply to defend his neighbours in the street on which he had grown up. Yet, in spite of such self-evident truths, some continued to argue that historical commemoration would, to parody WB Yeats, send out certain men to shoot the English. A recent example of such nonsense was contained in an article by Mary Raftery entitled Dangers of glorifying the Rising . In it she wrote: “There can be little doubt that the smug and wholly uncritical public glorification of violent nationalism in 1966 played a significant part in the emergence of the violence in Northern Ireland three years later”. What she had in mind here was the drama series Insurrection produced by RTÉ and broadcast each night during Easter week 1966. According to her thesis, we should accept that the young volunteers who joined the IRA in the early 1970s were not driven to do so because they and their neighbours were burnt out of their homes by loyalist thugs, aided and abetted by the security forces, but, rather, because of a TV series that they couldn't possibly have seen because few Northern homes were able to receive the RTÉ signal in 1966. What rubbish! In fact, if forced to proffer a historical precedent for the armed struggle of the modern IRA, you would not look to the military tactics of the 1916 rebels, deprecated by Michael Collins, who was in the GPO, as having the “air of a Greek tragedy”, but to the more ruthless guerrilla campaign he waged in the War of Independence.

23 Those of us involved in the Reclaim the Spirit of Easter campaign were convinced that those who kept bleating on about the connection they saw between the events of 1916 and the violence of the modern IRA were, in reality, erecting a diversion in order to avoid dealing with the obvious contrast that existed between the vision of the men and women of 1916 and the narrow-minded, greedy, and self-seeking attitudes of those in positions of power and influence in contemporary Ireland.

24 You will find that vision laid out in the Proclamation of the Irish Republic, a remarkable democratic document, rightly belonging alongside Jefferson’s Declaration of American Independence and the Declaration of the first Assembly of the French Revolution. In March 1991, the Glasgow Herald quoted me as saying that most Irish politicians “know full well that they have failed to enact the aspirations of the Proclamation, and so any public reading of it is a grave embarrassment”.

25 It seemed to me that the overwhelming concentration on the “undemocratic, violent nature” of the Rising, in the fractious debate about the contemporary relevance of 1916, was a deliberate attempt to divert attention away from what we, in the Reclaim the Spirit of Easter campaign, considered truly relevant and worthy of commemoration, namely the progressive ideas that inspired the Rising.

26 It was with this in mind that we prepared our programme of events for Easter week, 1991. Once again, we co-operated with the National Museum to put on an exhibition of

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watercolours by Constance Markievicz in the Irish Labour History Museum. Bertie Ahern, the Minister for Labour, performed the official opening. This proved singularly appropriate since Markievicz was Minister for Labour in her day. We also organised a lecture series, a debate in the Mansion House, a symposium entitled Women in Irish History, and a week of film. All of these events culminated in a day of action on Saturday, April 6, with a live concert, a massive parade, and a spectacular pageant at the GPO, followed in the evening by a Ceílí Mór in the Mansion House.

27 However, at this stage, before I describe the events of April 6, I think that it is only right and proper to acknowledge the work done by others to commemorate the seventy-fifth anniversary of 1916.

28 The National Museum of Ireland mounted an exhibition entitled The Road to Independence , which covered the period 1916 to 1921, and a book of the same title written by Michael Kenny accompanied it.

29 On Easter Sunday, March 31, John Stephenson, a well-known arts activist, on behalf of Poetry Ireland, organised an exciting all-day event called The Flaming Door . It began with a bus tour of the main sites of the Rising and continued with an historic gathering of Irish writers for a constant flow of poetry and prose inside the GPO. The writers included Anthony Cronin, Seamus Deane, Brendan Kennelly, Máire Mac an tSaoi, John Montague, Paula Meehan, James Plunkett, Francis Stuart, and many more. The day concluded with poetry, prose, drama and music in Kilmainham Jail. Dublin 91 , the European City of Culture organisation, sponsored the event. By the way, Dublin 91 was the only official body that supported the Reclaim the Spirit of Easter group. It provided funding for A Dublin Itinerary , a cassette tape history trail of the Dublin sites of 1916, with narration, music, poetry, and song. It was devised and produced by Tomás Mac Anna and Gerard Keenan, and featured the talents of Donnacha O’Dúlaing, Bosco Hogan, Eithne Dempsey, Joan McDermott, Cormac Breatnach, Niall Ó Callanáin, and Sean Óg Potts.

30 There is one more event that must be mentioned, although the casual observer could have missed it completely, namely the ceremony organised by the government.

31 Scott S. Smith, in the Irish Edition , a Philadelphia newspaper, noted that “at the last moment due to the public uproar over the attempt to ignore what amounts to Ireland’s equivalent of our Fourth of July, the Irish government hastily organised a twelve- minute military ceremony in front of the GPO”. According to Anne Simpson of the Glasgow Herald , it was “an event of simple brevity, no parade, no speeches. Instead, an occasion marked by military ceremonial, a guard of honour inspected by President Mary Robinson, and the hoisting of the national flag above the General Post Office”. The government invited some surviving veterans of the Rising, but managed to insult them by making no travel arrangements for them to attend. Some, in fact, were infirm; also, one stayed away as a protest at what he saw as the current politicians’ betrayal of 1916. At the end of the short ceremony, as the President moved to depart, I noticed some of the veterans struggle to their feet in order to shake the hand of their President, only to be disappointed by officials whisking her past to her state car.

32 In the words of Declan Kiberd, the official “ceremony was spare” and differed sharply from the Reclaim the Spirit of Easter events that unfolded a week later on April 6. As Eilish O’Regan wrote in the Sunday Independent , “the guarded gestures of commemoration which marked last weeks official remembrance of Easter 1916 were ousted yesterday in favour of a rousing and unfettered celebration of the Rising” and

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Trish Hegarty in the Irish Times observed that “even the rain could not dampen the spirit of 1916, as thousands took to the streets on Saturday to celebrate and commemorate the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Easter Rising in a lively, colourful, dramatic, musical manner, which contrasted starkly with the State’s short and sombre event on Easter Sunday”.

33 The day got off to a damp start with an open-air concert at the top of Parnell Square. This event featured many of Ireland’s leading musicians: Jimmy McCarthy, Donal Lunny, Mary Stokes, Paddy Glackin, Declan Masterson, Noel Hill, and Tony Mac Mahon, and was presented by Marian Richardson. The musicians entertained the groups and individuals from all over Ireland, from Britain, and from the US, before the parade itself set off down O’Connell Street, led by a full pipe band. As it progressed along its route, actors proclaimed extracts from the speeches of many leaders of the period at various points along the way. Jer O'Leary climbed up beside the statue of Big Jim Larkin to exhort the working classes to “rise up,” while, on O'Connell Bridge, Brendan Caldwell took on the persona of James Connolly. At the bottom of Grafton Street, Olwen Fouéré and Ailish Connolly played Constance Markievicz and Maud Gonne; and outside the Dail, Paul Bennett as Patrick Pearse read out the 1916 Proclamation.

34 When the full crowd was assembled in front of the GPO, I delivered an address on behalf of the organising committee. Because of our experience in 1990, we decided on the strategy of just one speech. Steve S. Scott wrote: “committee chairman Robert Ballagh gave a fiery speech, condemning the political, business and media establishment which had tried to block the event at every turn. He said they had underestimated the patriotism of the people. Ballagh told the crowd that by their presence they had clearly demonstrated their pride in their history and culture. Calling the Proclamation a remarkably inspiring and democratic document, relevant to the problems besetting the island today, Ballagh said current leaders were afraid of it because they had betrayed its ideals”. The speech was followed by a satirical pageant written and produced by Tomás Mac Anna. According to the Irish Times , it was “the highlight of the day, giving a dramatic and humorous presentation of what the organisers saw as the concerted attempt to write 1916 out of Irish history. A mock funeral procession, led by a piper, with Éire R.I.P. inscribed on the coffin lid, marched slowly on stage. Actors symbolising the political, legal, and academic elements who wanted to bury Irish nationalism were portrayed in a biting satire that had the huge audience in stitches”. “I’m personifying all of the TDs who have diluted the Proclamation, consigning Cathleen Ni Houlihan to the grave” said an uncannily Dev-like Frank Kelly, while waiting to go on stage. Mark Lambert played a revisionist professor, who suggested that “our school history books should contain a short paragraph to show coming generations how destructive and, indeed, un-Irish the whole event was”. The final speaker was a judge, played by Kevin Reynolds, who confirmed that the Rising was completely “illegal”. But, they were all silenced as the coffin burst open and a woman symbolising Ireland emerged in a bright costume. The proceedings ended with the singing by the large crowd of Amhrán na bhFiann , which echoed the length of O'Connell Street and beyond. Later that evening, thousands packed the Round Room in the Mansion House to enjoy one of the biggest Ceílís held in Dublin for many a year.

35 Media response to the day’s activities was intriguing, to say the least. As Steve S. Scott put it, the “media coverage of the event was cursory – it was too large to ignore and too embarrassing for the powers that be to give it much attention”. Irrespective of the

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obvious success of the day, many media outlets still persisted with the kind of misrepresentation that had become their stock in trade. As Declan Kiberd wrote of the day of action: “Thousands of families took part as did poets, musicians, face painters, and so on. RTÉ’s Six O’clock News reported the event for thirty-two seconds as its final item; and the camera focused not on the crowd of families, but on one face in the crowd, the Sinn Féin President, Gerry Adams MP.”

36 Perhaps, the most bizarre intervention came from the eminent historian Roy Foster, who wrote the following: “When the seventy-fifth anniversary arrived in 1991, it was treated by the Irish Government as a sensitive issue, to be approached in a deliberately restrained way–very different from the unequivocal old-Republican reaction–featuring not historians but out-of-office politicians, free lance journalists, ex-1960s activists (including quaintly, a Pop Art painter), and the members of the Short Strand Martyrs Memorial Flute band”. I suppose the most charitable response I can make to such a chronically inaccurate description is to acknowledge that Dr. Foster appears to think that what was organised for 1990 was what happened in 1991; but, even at that, every single part of his assertion is fallacious.

37 Yet, in spite of all the intimidation, harassment, and misrepresentation, I’m proud to say that the Reclaim the Spirit of Easter initiative succeeded admirably in its main objective to ensure that the seventy-fifth anniversary was celebrated in an appropriate fashion.

38 Furthermore, we can claim some success in stemming the tide of the more eccentric expositions by anti-national historians. However, perhaps our greatest achievement lay in underscoring the efficacy of non-violent political action, which, in my opinion, played some small part in convincing those who were involved in the physical force tradition in Irish politics to consider a viable alternative.

39 The very last event that we organised was on April 24, the date of the commencement of the Rising in 1916. We felt that a wreath-laying ceremony in the Garden of Remembrance would be an appropriate gesture and consequently requested permission from the Office of Public Works. Our application was flatly rejected. However, being the rebels that we were, we simply went ahead anyway and asked seven young lads from nearby St. Mary’s Place National School to lay seven Easter lilies by the pond in the garden. That was all: no speeches, no other ceremony. Beforehand, we had issued a press release, but, sadly, only one journalist turned up, Kevin Cullen from the Boston Globe . His subsequent article expressed amazement at the absence of any official marking of the day in question, whilst also noting that, in Washington DC, Congress had observed a minute of silence in honour of those who fought for Irish independence seventy-five years before.

40 In the quarter century since the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Easter Rising, the most significant achievement has unquestionably been the establishment of peace on the island of Ireland. However, it must be accepted that this achievement was extremely hard-won. The torrid atmosphere that prevailed in the 1990’s did not allow for the discussion and disputation necessary for opposing forces to reach any compromise.

41 Politics of marginalisation and censorship, encouraged by Margaret Thatcher’s official line of “not talking to terrorists”, only resulted in political paralysis and a continuance of intolerable levels of death and destruction. I remember my personal frustration at being publically labeled a supporter of violence when, at the same time, I, with other concerned citizens like Michael O’Riordan, the general secretary of the Communist

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Party of Ireland and Sean Redmond, a trade union activist, were meeting in private with senior republican figures to discuss the efficacy of non-violent political action. Obviously I could not cite such confidential conversations in my defence and as a result had to bear the consequence of public vilification for many years.

42 Someone else who suffered greatly at the hands of the character assassins was John Hume, the leader of the moderate Social Democratic and Labour Party, who courageously entered into private talks with Gerry Adams, the president of Sinn Féin. Hard to believe but when news of what became known as the Hume/Adams initiative broke, this good man was subjected to such a disgraceful level of media abuse for daring to break the official consensus of not “talking to terrorists” that his health was seriously affected. Nevertheless Hume was unswerving in his dedication to peace and the Hume/Adams initiative provided the break-through that eventually lead to the development of a successful peace progress.

43 Of course, in the years that followed, there were many others who made essential contributions to the fragile process, including a significant intervention by Michael D. Higgins, the relevant minister in government, who lifted the strictures of Section 31 of the Broadcasting Act.

44 I remember receiving a call from Michael D during which he articulated his conviction that the removal of political censorship could only make a positive contribution to the peace process but that he was having some difficulty in convincing the majority of his cabinet colleagues. He said that he needed all the help he could get and asked if I would consider proposing an appropriate motion at the upcoming AGM of Aosdána, the self- governing trust of Ireland’s most distinguished artists.

45 I mentioned that Aosdána had already passed a motion opposing Section 31 at a previous AGM but added that I would be quite willing to put down a new motion calling on Aosdána to reaffirm its opposition. When I turned up for the next AGM I harboured the not unreasonable expectation that my motion would be accepted without much difficulty; however I hadn’t taken into account the presence of several new members who carried serious political baggage. This became apparent when, immediately before it was my turn to speak, a new member and fellow painter demanded that before my motion be considered, I apologise for the murder of women and children! This calumny was swiftly followed by a suggestion from a writer that a thorough discussion on my politics take place before any votes on the motion be cast. After a pretty disagreeable argument I found myself faced with the choice of not speaking at all or, in order to be allowed to speak, of making a declaration that I opposed political violence.

46 Now the required declaration did not pose a problem but the fact that no other member had ever been forced to make such a personal disclosure rankled. However since I considered the issue to be of some importance, I made the declaration and as a result was able to put the motion to the meeting. When the votes were tallied, over 80% of the members supported the motion and consequently reaffirmed their opposition to Section 32 of the Broadcasting Act. The entire experience however left me feeling that I had endured something akin to the Senate hearings on un-American activities conducted by Senator Joseph McCarthy! Some time afterwards I wrote to the registrar of Aosdána expressing my disquiet at the treatment I had received, stating that unless I received an apology, it would be impossible for me to play any future role in the organisation. Since no apology was forthcoming, I have had nothing to do with Aosdána for over twenty years. Whether Aosdána’s opposition to censorship proved helpful or

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not, Michael D Higgins eventually succeeded in suspending the operation of Section 31 which in turn encouraged fresh dialogue and debate and unquestionably contributed to a developing peace process.

47 As the years rolled by and the centenary of the Easter Rising approached I hoped that this time around things might be different, after all in 1991 official Ireland’s declared reticence in celebrating the event was based on fear of giving “aid and comfort to the Provisional IRA”. Today, however, with the guns of the IRA silent that particular argument has become incontestably redundant. This in turn begs the obvious question, why does official Ireland still remain ambiguous and uneasy about commemorating the most seminal event in modern Irish history?

48 Certainly a small chorus of strident voices continue to embrace a thoroughly negative appraisal of the rebellion and embarrassingly the Irish government seemed to have adopted that particular point of view when, on an infamous November evening in 2014, it launched its commemorative programme in Dublin’s General Post Office. The centerpiece was a video presentation entitled Ireland inspires that literally airbrushed the men and women of 1916 out of history in the very location where they had made history. No images of the signatories of the Proclamation–Pearse, Plunkett, Connolly, Clarke, McDonagh, McDermott and Ceannt–were on display; the founding fathers of our nation ignored as if they had never lived, as if they had never died. Instead someone seemed to think it would be a good idea to replace them with images of Queen Elizabeth II, David Cameron, the Rev. Ian Paisley, Bono and Brian O’Driscoll.

49 Public reaction was immediate and totally hostile, forcing the government to feverishly embark on a damage-limitation exercise. The offending video was immediately taken offline and new structures were swiftly put in place with instructions to devise programmes that might be more in tune with the public mood. Yet in spite of this, strange and inappropriate attitudes persisted. For example, certain influential voices continued to insist that, at this point in our history, we, the Irish people, should be “mature” and “commemorate” all who died in a “shared history”. This concept is entirely fraudulent; the African slaves brought to North America to work the cotton plantations would hardly have described their experiences at the hands of their masters as a “shared history”, why should the Irish colonial experience be viewed differently? Unfortunately, the Irish government appears determined to pursue this bogus and inappropriate course.

50 What other explanation is there for its decision to hold a state ceremony at Grangegorman military cemetery in May 2016 to exclusively honour the British soldiers who died during the Rising, this at a time when most Irish people will be marking with dignity and respect the execution of the leaders of the Rising in Kilmainham Jail?

51 There can be no equivalence between those who died in the struggle to create an Irish Republic and those who perished in crushing that very republic. Can you imagine the British authorities erecting a plaque at the cenotaph in London to honour those “brave” members of the Luftwaffe who died in bombing raids over London during the Second World War? Of course not! Self-confident nations do not engage in such nonsense, such national self-abasement. In honouring everyone in general we commemorate nobody in particular. Another act of equivalence is the memorial wall erected in Glasnevin cemetery and unveiled on 3rd April 2016 with the names of all those who died in 1916 inscribed in alphabetical order.

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52 Unbelievable! the names of Connolly, Pearse and many others who sacrificed their lives for the Irish Republic inscribed alongside those British soldiers who expired while in the act of destroying that same republic.

53 In Washington DC there is an elegant memorial wall inscribed with the names of the US soldiers who died in the course of the Vietnam War. Families of the dead draw great comfort from visiting the wall and laying flowers beneath the names of their loved ones. Obviously the US authorities considered the inclusion of Vietnamese names as inappropriate, because if you walk from one end of the wall to the other you will fail to come across the name of a single Vietcong soldier. Yet once again official Ireland seems to be of the view that the Irish experience is different and therefore we should do things differently.

54 In this scheme of things, the Easter Rising is presented as “just another event” in a series of events making up a “decade of commemoration”. This is a distortion of history, a deliberate and desperate attempt to distance citizens from the aims and ideals of a golden generation, the likes of which we have not seen since. Among their number were poets, writers, playwrights, teachers, musicians, journalists, trade unionists, actors, artists and ordinary working men and women–citizens–all striving to create a society of equality with no citizen left behind. The men and women of 1916 were prepared to sacrifice their lives for their country; in stark contrast to those in our time willing to sacrifice their country for their life-styles! As such it is only right and proper that we, as Irish citizens, be prepared to mark the bravery and sacrifice of that heroic generation. Furthermore, it would be a disservice to their memory if we fail to recognize and acknowledge the real motivation that lay behind their action. After all, these people were not merely rebels–they were visionaries! What they desired was not simply a government in Dublin, a green flag over Dublin Castle or a harp on the coinage. They were calling for a complete transformation of Irish society and the blueprint for that transformation was set out in the Proclamation of the Irish Republic, first declaimed by Patrick Pearse outside the GPO on 24 th April 1916.

55 This document was a visionary statement of ambition that rightly belongs in the pantheon of human achievement alongside other exceptional documents like the Magna Carta, the American Declaration of Independence, and The Rights of Man by Thomas Paine. The Proclamation of the Irish Republic is far more than simply a call to arms; it represents the articulation of a progressive programme for an enhanced future for all Irish men, women and children.

56 Surely it’s more than reasonable to ask, almost one hundred years later, the question, “Where today stands the republic for which so many sacrificed so much?” Sadly, the vision of 1916 has never been fully realised and the Irish people north and south have been forced to bear the consequences of political, social, economic and cultural failure. The highest suicide rates in Europe, intolerable levels of homelessness, unacceptable rates of poverty and unemployment, a health care system not fit for purpose, catastrophic emigration figures and an economic collapse brought about by greed and corruption clearly point to a state that has consistently failed the majority of its citizens. Unfortunately, failure is not just a contemporary phenomenon; rather it has been tragically woven into the fabric of the state since its very foundation. In his book Ireland, a Social and Cultural History , Terence Brown asks how “a revolution fought on behalf of exhilarating ideals, ideals which had been crystallised in the heroic crucible of

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the Easter Rising, should have led to the establishment of an Irish state notable for a stultifying lack of social, cultural and economic ambition?”

57 Undoubtedly a partial explanation can be found in the dismal economic situation inherited by the new state, yet those same conditions prevailed before independence when Ireland experienced unprecedented levels of social and cultural development! So what changed? The answer can be found in the social forces that came to dominate the new state, social forces that were determined by two disastrous events, partition and civil war. James Connolly accurately predicted that the partition of Ireland would lead to “a carnival of reaction north and south”. The emerging northern state became a sectarian time bomb simply waiting to explode, while in the twenty-six counties, the field lay open for the Catholic majority to express its will unhindered by any significant opposition. On the other hand, the outcome of a bitter civil war was not so much that the republicans lost but that the counter-revolution won! The new southern state was dominated by an emerging conservative Catholic middle class in alliance with the powerful institution of the Roman Catholic Church. As Terence Brown remarked “It was a social order largely composed of persons disinclined to contemplate any change other than the political change that independence represented”. W.B. Yeats so feared this political development that he re-employed lines from his poem September 1913 to speculate that the new state would become a “huckstering nation forever fumbling in the greasy till”.

58 Essentially the conservative forces that created the Irish Free State established a system of governance that was designed to serve the interests of the few rather than the needs of the many and that inequitable system has prevailed, more or less unchanged, to this day.

59 Clear evidence of this unhappy predicament is to be found in the many disgraceful episodes in our recent past that could only have occurred with the connivance or collusion of that state apparatus. The abdication of responsibility for the care of poor, vulnerable and marginalised children through their consignment to institutions run by the Catholic Church where distressing levels of mental, physical and sexual abuse took place. The complete dominance of one particular religious ethos, obsessed with the imposition of sexual continence that condemned half the Irish population, namely women, to second-class status. The outrageous levels of corruption that were exposed in the various tribunals which caused a loss of public confidence in Ireland’s political structures and the rule of law and in governance in general. And finally the recent economic collapse, caused by the greed of a private banking élite, a developer élite and a political élite that brought the state to its knees and unjustly placed on the shoulders of its citizens an unsustainable debt, a debt run up by the gambling of an unaccountable golden circle and a debt that will condemn Irish citizens, their children and their grandchildren to economic bondage in perpetuity. So it does not seem to be overstating the case that the state that was established in the aftermath of the revolutionary years has hardly proved to be an unqualified success; yet there is one achievement that must be acknowledged and that is the fact that, against all the odds, the state has survived, but at a price, a price paid in full by the majority of its citizens by the betrayal and abandonment of the dreams and aspirations of a heroic generation, the men and women of 1916.

60 The centenary of the Easter Rising provides all citizens with a unique opportunity to gather in celebration of that extraordinary moment in Irish history and in so doing

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create a platform to reflect, consider and act upon the aims and ideals of those who in their time decided to act in the cause of freedom; after all their vision remains the yardstick by which we can measure the current state of the nation.

61 For that reason Reclaim the Vision of 1916, an independent, non-party-political citizens’ initiative is organizing a major gathering in Dublin on April 24 th 2016, the actual anniversary of the rising, consisting of a parade themed on the Proclamation, which will progress through the streets of the city in a lively, colourful, dramatic and musical manner along with a pageant, staged in O’Connell Street where some of Ireland’s leading talents will celebrate, with poetry, song, dance and drama the vision of the men and women of 1916.

62 Let us dare to dream!

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“The right of the people of Ireland to the […] unfettered control of Irish destinies”: Edna O'Brien, Willful Subjects, and Counter-narratives of the Republic

Fiona McCann

1 Since she published her first novel, The Country Girls, in 1960, Edna O'Brien has devoted a considerable amount of attention to exposing the failure of the contemporary Irish State to live up to the ideals expressed in the Poblacht na hÉireann proclamation of 1916. She specifically reveals the various ways in which institutions (the State, the Church) and politics (nationalist, revisionist, gender) impinge upon “the right of the people of Ireland to the […] unfettered control of Irish destinies”, one of the fundamental rights stated in the Proclamation. There is, perhaps, no Irish writer who has devoted so much of her/his work to uncovering the hypocrisy endemic to late 20th and early 21st century Ireland. And, as Patricia Coughlan has pointed out, the ways in which O'Brien has been “attacked, critiqued, yet simultaneously portrayed as flagrant” are indicative of her role as “transgressive public figure1”. This was perhaps nowhere more obvious than in Fintan O'Toole's scathing and completely disingenuous criticism of the content of her novel In the Forest (2002) before he had even read it. In his article, while excusing other male writers such as Eoin McNamee or John Banville for their fictionalisation of events that actually did happen, O'Toole, utterly bogged down in what Jacques Rancière would term “the ethical turn”, declares, quite extraordinarily, that “[w]hat matters is not how well or badly Edna O'Brien has told the story […] but whether it is right to tell it at all2”. As Jacques Rancière explains, “it is because everything is representable, and that nothing separates fictional representation from the presentation of reality, that the problem […] arises. This problem is not to know whether or not one can or must represent, but to know what one wants to represent and what mode of representation is appropriate to this end3”. Rancière also reiterates

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that “[c]onsensus is the reduction of the various 'peoples' into a single people identical with the count of a population and its parts, of the interests of a global community and its parts.”4 Edna O'Brien does not, as her fiction shows, have much truck with consensus, and positions herself rather within the realm of dissensus, bringing to the fore silenced, unheard and subversive narratives of the nation. This is evident in the censorship of her earlier work, but also, I would argue, in her later work during the 1990s and right up to the present. The aim of this article is to investigate O'Brien's most recent fiction, notably her increasing interest in political violence and war (House of Splendid Isolation [1994], her short story “Plunder” in Saints and Sinners [2011], and The Little Red Chairs [2015]), and her depiction of a politically repressive State exerting excessive control over individual bodies and behaviours (Down by the River [1996] and In the Forest [2002]). I will be suggesting that these novels and short stories by Edna O'Brien can best be read through the prism of Sara Ahmed’s recent work on “willful subjects” (which also resonates with Rancière’s work on dissensus), and that they constitute a powerful counter-narrative of late 20th and early 21st century Ireland.

Willful subjects and dissensus

2 Sara Ahmed’s Willful Subjects begins with the sinister story of “The Willful Child” by the Grimm brothers, published in 1884, and she continues to use it as a guiding line throughout her detailed and philosophically dense genealogy and phenomenology of willfulness. From the outset, Ahmed explains that “willfulness is a diagnosis of the failure to comply with those whose authority is given” and that it can also signify “compromising” as it potentially “compromises the capacity of a subject to survive5”. She later explains that “weakness of will is offered as an explanation of how subjects ‘willingly’ compromise their own welfare6” and that “the diagnosis of willfulness allows the good will to appear as if it is a universal will, as a will that has eliminated signs of itself from moral agreement7”. As her study moves forward, she makes an interesting case for the ways in which pedagogy is harnessed from an early age to “eliminate the child's will” and explains “how to become a subordinate part of a whole can require giving up a will other than the will of the whole”, particularly when the “will of the whole” is that of the nation. Edna O'Brien's fiction, I will be suggesting, is full of “willful subjects” who offer, like Ahmed does, ways of thinking about what to be willful means and what the consequences of willfulness can be. O'Brien's counter-narratives of the Republic are themselves willful and her novels peopled with “willful subjects”, but, as we shall see, the degree of willfulness imputed to certain characters is linked to both “the side of resistance8” and to the power of State-regulated hegemonic discourses.

3 Ahmed's thinking on willfulness resonates strongly, as I have noted, with Rancière's work on dissensus. One can equate Ahmed's focus on willful parts (workers, citizens, queer feminists and so on), deemed as disruptive of the common good or whole (which is universally accepted, imposed by a willful elite which is, of course, never represented as willful), with Rancière’s conception of dissensus as that which pierces the status quo and renders visible and audible that which had previously been invisible and inaudible9. The focus is, admittedly, different, since while Rancière theorises the radical potential of reconfiguring the sensible as the only form of politics there is, Ahmed investigates negative perceptions of that politics and the attempts made to render it illegitimate under the pretext that it is too embedded in an individual willfulness which

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is fundamentally detrimental to society, the nation, and hegemonic discourses. In the fictional worlds she creates, Edna O’Brien does something similar, and this may account for the portrayal of the author herself as a “willful subject”, a maverick “part” who works against the national “whole” and who is often dismissed, in the manner of O'Toole, as illegitimately (willfully) taking contemporary Ireland as her subject matter.

Willful bodies

4 In many ways, Mary McNamara, the teenage protagonist of O'Brien's fictionalisation of the infamous “X Case”, Down by the River, is presented as a “willful child”, and the author clearly plays with perceptions of willfulness throughout the novel, not least in the choice of onomastics. Mary is the biblical name of both the Virgin and the prostitute and as the legal wrangling goes on, her name changes from Mary (in the domestic sphere) to Magdalene (in the public, media sphere), ostensibly to protect her identity. In a grotesque parody of the Bible, Mary embodies the Virgin, keeping silent about the male progenitor, although here the Immaculate Conception is utterly subverted, the father replacing (God) the Father, brutally raping his daughter several times. The shift to Magdalene in the media allows O'Brien to expose a general sense of Mary's underlying guilt and resonates with the notorious Magdalen laundries, which housed thousands of women with the full complicity of local communities. O'Brien is therefore gesturing towards a history of Irish women's “willful bodies” which must be controlled, policed, repressed, and judged by the State, yet which refuse to allow this, pushing towards dissensus and the exposure of patriarchal attitudes. Other names carry some significance in the novel: Mary's friend Tara is linked through her name with ancient Ireland, although she ironically breaks free of all associations of land/ Ireland as woman, fully embracing her burgeoning sexuality and refusing to be bridled by her conservative mother10; the teenage girl Mary meets at the abortion clinic in London, and who goes through with her abortion, is named Mona, which originally means “noble one”, deriving from the Irish Muadhnat, a name which gestures towards her brave decision and her compassionate behaviour towards Mary; the lawyer who presents a convincing case for Mary's right to travel to the Supreme Court, and wins, is significantly called L'Estrange, a name which draws attention to his otherness or foreignness within the closed-circuit snobbery of the legal profession (“he despises them all, is above them all”) and to his related willingness to take on cases no one else will (“He's taken cases no one else would touch”)11. Only the stranger, it would seem, he who is not willing to fit in, can make, and win, this case.

5 Mary's body comes under intense scrutiny in the novel as a space of transgression. The first violation by her father shifts the emphasis from a rape which she cannot prevent and an intrusion into her body (“a feeling as of having half-died”) to a sexual encounter she has elicited when he says “What would your mother say… Dirty little thing12”, thus imputing to her an agency he has specifically denied her. In the later encounter which results in the pregnancy, O'Brien carefully emphasises the detrimental effect for Mary of expressing her will to extricate herself from the situation: “if she shouted now it would only worsen things13”. This is a case of what Ahmed explains as “[b]ecoming willing to bear” so as “to avoid the costs of not being willing to bear” since “[s]ubjects might become willing if not being willing is made unbearable14”. In the context of Down by the River, the idea of “bearing” is particularly relevant subsequently, since the rest of

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the novel deals with Mary's lack of agency in the decision to “bear” or not the foetus to term. She literally becomes willing because she is faced with the full weight of the nation's disapproval, despite the fact that she has tried to kill herself. From the rape to the pregnancy, Mary is unable to express any willfulness which would go against the dominant discourse, yet as O'Brien shows, this does not prevent her from being perceived as willful for all that.

6 As Ahmed painstakingly explains, “[w]hen willing ‘agrees’ with what is generally willed, a part becomes part of a background. When willing does not agree, the will of the part is too full: willful”.15 She goes on to develop this idea of how “the general will” can have a negative impact on individual wills, stating that “[t]he figure of the willful child becomes crucial to the national project, allowing that project to be framed as a matter of life and death: the project of straightening the children becomes about saving the nation16”. In this novel, O'Brien reveals how Mary (and her real life counterpart) becomes “crucial to the national project” of Ireland as an abortion-free country. This national ideal is also once again expressed in onomastics, since the self-styled leader of the pro-life movement is named Roisin, which means little rose, and as such evokes one of the many symbols of Ireland reinvigorated during the Celtic revival17. Perhaps the most willful character of the novel, Roisin is not perceived as such by the characters in the novel because her will corresponds to that of the hegemonic discourse, that of “straightening the children” and “straightening the nation”. The violence with which she presents abortion to a group of rural parishioners is nevertheless suggested by the narrative voice which stipulates that “[r]ammed down their throats are the details” of abortion, and by the inclusion of a detailed description of the poster she shows them: “a torn baby, its body mangled, pools of black blood in the crevices and in the empty crater of its head18”. However, Mary's will “not to bear” either the situation or the baby is clearly presented in a note she writes to herself and the “child”: “it is just that I cannot bear you19” and O'Brien suggests, in an ironic twist (although it is based on fact) that Mary's will dovetails with “God's will20” when she miscarries just as the Supreme Court decision reaches the group of women who are minding her. Roisin promptly accuses her of having “willed it21”, which is more or less true, and O'Brien clearly emphasises (and rewards) Mary's strength of will, even in the midst of physical, sexual and psychological abuse. The self-importance of “the corporeal figures of knowledge and gravity” and “the men of principle22” introduced in the opening chapter after the first rape is ultimately subordinated to Mary's own will at the end of the novel, a will which O’Brien celebrates in the final paragraph in a poignant description of Mary's voice singing a solo at a cabaret, a voice which is “in answer to [the public's] own souls' innermost cries23”.

7 The more negative consequences of attempting to “straighten the children” are evoked in In the Forest through two willful figures, Michen O'Kane and Eily Ryan, attacker and victim. Both characters are perceived as too willful for their own good (it is no coincidence that they both end up dead) and I have investigated elsewhere the ways in which O'Brien draws attention to Eily's otherness within the community because of her alternative lifestyle and free sexuality24. What I would like to develop here is how O'Brien indicts that community and, by extension, the nation, by revealing the failure of the “poisonous pedagogy25” deployed and by expressing an alternative possibility for rehabilitating willfulness in the final chapter of the novel.

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8 O'Kane's early assertion of his own will is related to a situation of domestic abuse and is in opposition to an abusive father. As Ahmed shows, “the rod” is widely perceived as “the proper instrument for moral correction” and as one of the “techniques of parental will26”. With this in mind, one is tempted to read the act of transgression for which the ten-year old O'Kane is eventually sent to a detention centre (stealing a gun) as a willful attack on patriarchal authority, since he cuddles it and significantly “call[s] it Rod27”. His intention is not to hurt anyone with it, but the very possession of it is, for the patriarchal trilogy of the father, the sergeant and the judge, evidence of “the moral danger of willfulness28” which must be eliminated. It also evokes, from the outset of the novel, the dangers inherent to this type of “poisonous pedagogy” and functions as an early sign of the way “those beaten by the rod become the rod that beats29” since O'Kane will subsequently become a murderous figure to the physical, sexual and psychological abuse he suffers in the detention centre. This failure to contain is clearly expressed at the moment of O'Kane's capture, after he has killed Eily, her son, and a local priest, when the villagers “are afraid of him now, the Kinderschrek, one of their own sons, come out of their own soil, their own flesh and blood, gone amok30”. The triple acknowledgement here of O'Kane's belonging to this community (geographically and genetically), offset by the use of the derogatory nickname which functions as a distancing mechanism, is the moment of recognition of a willfulness which has been exacerbated by “poisonous pedagogy”, with disastrous consequences.

9 The final chapter of the novel, entitled “Scallywag”, appears as something of a postscript, disconnected as it is from the diegesis of the novel. Less than two pages long, it is a short story about a little boy who wanders into a wood, loses track of time, and is feared missing by his worried family. The characters in this chapter all remain nameless, so as to reinforce the moral, which is clearly a plea for perceiving willfulness as a gift rather than a threat31. Framing the novel with, on the one hand, O'Kane's escape into the wood which goes unnoticed because of an abusive father, and, on the other, this chapter which celebrates the young boy's creative imagination, O'Brien draws attention to the potential for a reconfiguration of willfulness which resonates with Ahmed's final thoughts on the matter. The wood which was frightening for O'Kane is idyllic for this young boy and while no one notices O'Kane's disappearance, the idiomatic expression “the whole country was out looking for [the scallywag]32” symbolically suggests that not only are people literally looking for the boy, but also that attitudes have shifted and that “the whole country” is looking out (in the sense of caring) for him. The farmer who finds him calls him a “scallywag”. This is a term of endearment and a recognition of willfulness, in marked contrast with O'Kane's nickname, “Kinderschrek”. The boy's willfulness is enshrined in the final sentences of the novel, “They'd never know, they'd never get to the bottom of it and they shouldn't. Magic follows only the few33.” A call for creativity and adventure, O'Brien ends an otherwise disturbing and somewhat depressing novel on this more positive note.

Willfulness as “political craft34”

10 The final chapter of Ahmed's work focuses on willfulness as a potential form of political action and offers a “way of thinking of sovereign will” as “the right to determine whose wills are the willful wills35”. House of Splendid Isolation and The Little Red Chairs are the two novels in which O'Brien tackles political violence most overtly. The former marked an

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interesting new departure in the author's work and in her memoir she evokes the conviction that she needed to find a story to write about the Troubles and the “sneering insinuation that [she] was ‘sleeping with the Provos’36” once she did. Her sympathetic portrayal of McGreevy in House of Splendid Isolation is part of O'Brien's project of dissensus, since in the literary landscape of the 1990s (and still today) the dominant aesthetics of the Troubles and, in particular, the IRA, was the representation of bloodthirsty, atavistic criminals. As Judith Butler has argued in Precarious Life, the way in which the word “terrorist” is used excludes from sight State-endorsed forms of violence, and how some lives become more grievable than others as a result37. This is what O'Brien is eager to expose in this novel in her portrayal of the tense relationship between Josie, the elderly owner of the Big House, and McGreevy, an IRA volunteer on the run after a botched military operation.

11 The opening chapter of the novel, which is subsequently attributed to an unknown narrator who turns out to be the disembodied child that Josie aborted, emphasises the importance of point of view in any (hi)story: “History is everywhere. […] The tale differs with the teller38”. This functions as a metafictional warning of sorts in which O'Brien obliquely stakes her claim to an alternative perspective on the contemporary Troubles, and rather than being a novel whose “lesson” is “that history should be laid to rest”39, House is more about accepting multiple versions of the past and accepting that perceptions can be erroneous. This is particularly obvious at the end when one of the Guards mistakes the attempts by Josie and McGreevy to chase wasps out of the room as a “lewd, disgusting40” sexual encounter. It is also evident in the shifting points of view which pit the authorities’ view of McGreevy as “terrorist” and “animal41” (amongst other slurs) against the sensitivity and pragmatism of the McGreevy who Josie gets to know42. Finally, when a local man, Martin, comes snooping round Josie's house, his smutty and violent thoughts are in complete opposition with the reserve and respect shown by McGreevy: “he would snuff her, there and then, take her by the neck and hold her till there was not a drop of breath left. […] [H]unt her orchid and a man would find what – ‘Sheela-na-gig’43”. The excess of violence, coupled with the allusion to the architectural grotesques featuring an exaggerated vulva, expose the hypocrisy at work: while McGreevy is considered as so willful that he is a danger to society, men like Martin, who uphold the status quo, are able to give free rein to their sexist and murderous urges.

12 The Big House, as the title suggests, is central to the novel and to O'Brien's project of providing a counter-narrative of the nation. Josie, as she reminisces on her youth, looks back on herself as willful (“stubborn44”) and perceives the foetus she did not carry to term as “more like a banshee than a child45”. She also reflects, twice, on “the house she had married into46” rather than on the husband she married. The house becomes a metonymy not just for wealth and power, but also for her violent husband who rapes her as a means of countering the willfulness he perceives in her. Other critics have noted the significance of the Big House in the novel as a space in which History is reconfigured, where the representative of the Ascendancy shares a meeting of minds with that of contemporary republicanism47. It is significant that the house should be burnt down at the end of novel, but the decline of the house and what is represents has already begun long before this, notably in the local folklore which points out that no children have ever been raised in this home, underlining the end of the lineage. The house is in fact ultimately reduced to another kind of architectural grotesque: “the

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stairs askew with a hat stand wrapped around it, and an old fur coat hanging jauntily off. Inside is worse. In the back where the explosive went off, wood, metal and glass are in weird configurations, remainders of wall wobbling like loose teeth in a gum and a fierce and innocent mass of paint, where a picture of Christ and the virgins has been splashed and muralled onto a wall48.” Bearing all the hallmarks of a grotesque body, the house, reduced to the signifiers of wealth (the hat stand and fur coat), is dead, just as Josie is tragically shot in a case of mistaken identity. O'Brien appears to be suggesting that the Big House and what it represents is now obsolete and grotesque, replaced by an ambivalence among the Guards about the right attitude to adopt: “Half of you hopes you got him and the other half hopes you didn't”; “We're all Irish under the skin49.” What this underlines is the way in which IRA activity, and ambivalent attitudes towards it, are evocative of the failure of the collective will, since the parts no longer fully agree on what “the national will50” constitutes. This is partly because McGreevy is perceived as a foreigner, as not belonging to the land, a point which is reinforced in Josie's diary: “‘The South forgot us’, he said. Aggrieved. A likeness to those children in fable banished, exiled in lakes for hundreds of years, cut off from the homeland51”. McGreevy is clearly associated here with the “willful child” figure of the fairy tale, disbarred from “becom[ing] a member of the national body52” yet the young Guard's remark, quoted above, about them all being Irish “under the skin” disturbs the national narrative, complicating it, and is indicative of O’Brien’s attempts through this novel to present a more complex view of the political situation in Ireland.

13 Her much more recent short story “Plunder”, published in the award-winning collection Saints and Sinners in 2011, although fable-like in its aesthetics, appears to develop her interest in political violence. Although not ostensibly set in Ireland, one reference to a character playing “Boulevouge53” anchors it firmly in Ireland and within a tradition of resistance, since “Boulevouge” is an Irish ballad about a priest, Father John Murphy, who actively participated in the 1798 rebellion, and was composed for the centenary in 1898. As such, it is one of many rebel songs which are part of republican repertoire. The story itself is the account by a young, first person female narrator of a military invasion of the territory in which she lives, the brutal behaviour of the foreign soldiers towards the locals (particularly the women), the gradual erosion of the indigenous language, her eventual capture and gang rape, and her strong survival instinct which is asserted in the final lines of the story.

14 The language of the story is sparse and minimalist, thus giving the impression that the narrator is young, an impression which is subsequently reinforced by her reference to her mother and siblings. In some ways evocative of JM Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians (1980) 54, O'Brien's tale of military hypermasculinity and its impact upon women in particular is atemporal, although the initial impression that it is set in pre- modern times is undermined by references to rudimentary technology for searching for car bombs, thus blurring the temporal frame of the story. Spatially, as in Coetzee's novel, there is nothing to indicate where the story takes place, even though the opening sentence clearly posits territorial transgression as the main issue: “One morning we wakened to find that there was no border – we had been annexed to the fatherland55.” The use of the passive voice here immediately draws attention to the absence of agency of the narrator and her fellow citizens, while the reference to the “the fatherland” suggests a colonial and patriarchal relationship between this unnamed territory and that of the intruders. This patriarchal and neighbouring land also functions as a violent, surrogate father since the narrator reveals that “our father

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had disappeared long ago56”, without offering any explanation why. Gradually, the mother is taken by the foreign soldiers, sexually assaulted, never to return, and the land is, as the title suggests, gradually plundered. The narrator also indicates that there are more than one set of soldiers who “swapped sides the way they swapped uniforms57 ”, suggesting a fratricidal conflict reminiscent of the Irish Civil War.

15 The story is broken down into two parts, separated by a space in the text, and the main difference between the two parts is the move from the first person plural pronoun, “we”, to the first person singular “I”. This shift is not only representative of the gradual murder of every member of her family, but also of the emergence of the voice of individual testimony. The extreme brutality of the description of the gang rape anticipates the almost unbearably violent scenes in The Little Red Chairs, O'Brien's most recent novel, to which I will return shortly. The narrator in “Plunder” is reduced to an object, as the numerous passive constructions reflect: “[He] tossed me”, “He sat me on his lap, wedged my mouth open”, “he splayed me apart”, “I was turned over”, “they bore through me58”.

16 Her body is literally plundered, in the same manner that the land and livestock have been plundered, by the soldiers. However, for all that, the spunky narrator, who has tried to resist the new “sovereign will” by not forgetting the time before (hence the numerous comparisons with a past which, though not idyllic, is certainly presented as much more enviable than the present) and by ultimately discovering “a will that has not been fully eliminated59”. This is expressed firstly in her assertion that although the soldier-rapists “want[ed] to get up into my head”, they “couldn't get to it”, and secondly, in her focusing not on what is being done to her body, but on a pair of buzzards gliding in the blue sky60. For Ahmed, “reaching for will” can be “an opening up of the body to what came before, reaching as going back in time”, in other words, “a recovery of the collective”, notably through the way in which “bodies can remember what has not been fully erased from themselves61”. Edna O'Brien ends her story with the unnamed narrator evoking, in the wake of the gang rape which has almost left her dead, her past simple yet satisfying life with her mother. She thinks in particular of an alarm clock for which they could not afford batteries and the way in which they told the time by being attentive to light and the rhythms of nature. We are invited to see this not just as “a recovery of the collective”, but also as a metaphor for alternative modes of existence and a temporality based on the natural, as opposed to man-made world. This is all the more significant as an act of will as the leader of the soldiers who rape her is named “Head Man”. “Head” might be understood here as leader, the one in charge, or the brain, as in the man who thinks (or wills). The fact that the soldiers cannot “get up into [her] head” is therefore all the more significant, since it signifies both her will to resist psychological intrusion and her rejection of what the “Head Man” represents62.

17 The story ends with the narrator's resolve to get up and go in search of other survivors and although the final sentence gestures towards a grim future (“Many and terrible are the roads to home63”), the emphasis of the penultimate paragraph which precedes the final sentence is on the “recovery of a collective” and “a shared inheritance64”. But this fable-like story begs the question of the agendas at stake. In a collection the title of which nods ironically and critically to the self-aggrandising idea of Ireland as a nation of saints and scholars, and in which most of the stories deal with contemporary Ireland65, it is tempting to read this story as an allegory of the violence of neo-

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liberalism in contemporary Ireland. Borders are nebulous in this story, disappearing and appearing, and the question of annexation to a fatherland quite possibly evokes Ireland's handcuffing to Troika imperatives, especially given the historical associations of Germany (perceived in Ireland as the main instigators of Irish economic subservience post-2008) and the notion of “fatherland”. If this is the case, then O'Brien is emphasising with uncharacteristic violence the economic plunder of Ireland, the price to pay for Irish people of the bailout (“plunder”), the absence of resistance (“Boulevouge” is now just a form of brief entertainment and holds no revolutionary possibility), and the uncertainty of any “safe haven66”.

18 This idea of a “safe haven” is also rendered highly problematic in O'Brien's most recent novel, The Little Red Chairs. Set mostly in Ireland, but also partially in London, it is the story of the arrival in a rural community of an enigmatic and charming Serb, Dr Vladimir Dragan, who sets up shop as a healer of sorts, has a brief liaison with a local women who becomes pregnant, and is then spectacularly arrested and brought to the Hague, charged with crimes against humanity during the Balkans war. Fidelma, pregnant by him, is then kidnapped by three Serbian men who are intent on getting revenge on the doctor and who savagely provoke an abortion, leaving her for dead. The second part of the novel deals with Fidelma’s reconstruction. The plot obviously gestures in ways to Synge’s Playboy of the Western World, with the arrival of this seductive stranger who is welcomed by the gullible locals who defer to his wisdom and who allows them to express their otherwise repressed interest in esoteric practices and latent sexual drives (as opposed to the repressed violent drives in Synge's play). Yet it is just a gesture, as O'Brien's protagonist is no Christy Mahon, unsure of himself and given substance by the narrative the locals create for him. Dr Vlad, as he is nicknamed, is unapologetically guilty of ethnic cleansing and the mass murder of hundreds of Bosnian Muslims, including children, and feels himself utterly superior to the villagers, as several passages narrated from his point of view demonstrate67.

19 A full discussion of this novel would require more space than I have left, but I would like to dwell briefly here on O’Brien’s focus on the migrant figure and link it to Ahmed’s study of willfulness. Migrant figures abound in The Little Red Chairs, from the figure of Dr Vlad to the migrant workers at a local hotel, to Fidelma herself as she is ostracised from her husband and her community for her adultery and migrates to London where she comes in contact with yet more migrants from various war-torn parts of the world. Several chapters in which dialogue (as opposed to description) is dominant give voice to the migrant experience: in “On the Veranda”, each foreign character working in the Castle near the Irish village tells his or her story to the others and later, in “The Centre”, a group of migrant “survivors” in London tell their stories of war, precarious existence, and resilience. These stories of homelessness, love, jealousy, mutilation, tradition, sexual assault, and war mix the banality of human life with the exceptional and give the lie to xenophobic discourses which present “the unwilling migrant” as “unwilling to integrate68”. All the migrants, including Fidelma, are expected to “counter the willfulness charge” lest they should be perceived as “dislocat[ing] the national body, causing discomfort69”. They do so by fitting in, taking on menial jobs, keeping their heads down, and by subordinating their will to that of the nation-state in which they find themselves. Yet the sharing of stories in these two key chapters functions as a means of exposing the “diversity of individual parts”, without for all that showing “an attachment to an unassimilable difference70”. The only migrant character who appears as willful is Mujo, who takes refuge in silence, refusing to share his story,

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and thus refusing to be subsumed into a homogenous migrant narrative. Mujo’s later refusal to serve Dr Vlad, whom he recognises for the war criminal he is, is perceived as outrageous by the hotel management, and through this episode O'Brien exposes their obsequiousness towards the revered stranger and draws attention to a very Irish deference to external authority.

20 Fidelma is sorely punished for her willful adultery and her flouting of convention. She is judged after her attack by her husband, local police and the medical staff for her transgression (“The others stood around the bed in judgement71”), and there is no sympathy forthcoming for the ordeal she has experienced. Both her attackers and the only local woman who has guessed Fidelma is pregnant agree that she should not have this child, Mona because of her discovery that Dr Vlad is guilty of the most heinous war crimes and because she clearly fears that this child could become “the wayward branch of a family tree that threatens the legitimacy of the national trunk72”, and her attackers because they want to get revenge on their old comrade. While Mona plans to convince Fidelma to have an abortion, her attackers literally subject her to the rod, violently provoking an abortion. In a grotesque variation of the rod as a tool for chastisement, the attackers discipline Fidelma and physically eradicate the existence of the potential willful child she is carrying.

21 For all that, the will to survive is presented as strong in this novel. The final chapter is entitled “Home” and is narrated by Fidelma who has since been forgiven by her husband who is now dead. “Home” is now the centre in London where “the world comes in […] every day73” and Fidelma's new moniker is “Delphi”, suggesting through the etymology that from her womb (and her experiences) something fruitful has issued in the form of this drop-in centre for migrants in difficulty. The final passage describes “a very free interpretation of A Midsummer Night's Dream74” put on in the centre by the migrants. This bastardised version of the Shakespearian comedy mixes classic lines from the play with contemporary life expressed in the vernacular (pizza delivery, children's buckets and spades, among other incongruous elements), and ends with the word “Home” being “sung and chanted in the thirty-five different languages of the performers75”. The discordant choir of voices lack harmony and sing “awry”, but the point O'Brien is trying to make is precisely that it is this very discordance which should be celebrated. The power of these migrants’ voices to transcend borders and spaces is emphasised in the imagined shift from the centre to “the lit street, to countryside with its marsh and meadow, by graveyard and sheep fold, through dumbstruck forests, to the lonely savannahs and reeking slums, over seas and beyond, to endless, longed-for destinations”. These willful voices, resistant to an overarching harmony, ultimately make “savage music76” and enshrine willfulness as a positive dynamic, resonating with Ahmed's idea that “willful subjects can recognise each other, can find each other, and create spaces of relief, spaces that might be breathing spaces, spaces in which we can be inventive77”. O'Brien clearly suggests the positive potential of creation and of willful deviance from canonical forms of expression.

22 This brief panorama of Edna O'Brien's more recent fiction has, I hope, shown to what extent this important and prolific Irish author has developed a poetics of willfulness aimed at uncovering a sometimes sinister picture of contemporary Ireland and the repression of individual wills which threaten the integrity of the national will. Her fiction does not directly respond to the Proclamation of 1916, but it certainly exposes the limits imposed on the citizens of Ireland, the repressive policing of behaviour, and

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the failure of the State to enable its inhabitants to have “unfettered control over [their] destinies”. Her most recent novel is testimony to the ways in which O'Brien has incorporated changes in Ireland into her fiction and recognised global influences, good and bad. After nearly sixty years writing about willfulness, Edna O'Brien shows no sign of ceasing to play her own role as “willful subject”.

NOTES

1. Patricia Coughlan, “Killing the Bats: O'Brien, Abjection, and the Question of Agency” in Kathryn Laing, Sinéad Mooney and Maureen O'Connor (eds.), Edna O'Brien: New Critical Perspectives, Dublin, Carysford Press, 2006, p. 180. 2. Fintan O'Toole, “A Fiction Too Far”, The Irish Times, 2 March 2002. 3. Jacques Rancière, Aesthetics and its Discontents, [Translation Steven Corcoran], Cambridge/Malden, MA, Polity Press, 2009, p.125. 4. Ibid., p. 115. 5. Sara Ahmed, Willful Subjects, Durham/London, Duke University Press, 2014, p. 1. In the Grimm story, the child is killed because of her willfulness. 6. Ibid., p. 81. 7. Ibid., p. 95. 8. Ibid., p. 177. 9. Rancière has written extensively about dissensus and how he understands, but see for instance: Jacques Rancière, Dissensus: On Politics and Aesthetics [Translation and Introduction Stephen Corcoran], London, Bloomsbury, pp. 37-9. See also Rancière's writing on “politics” (which, for Rancière is another way of expressing dissensus): Jacques Rancière, Disagreement: Politics and Philosophy [Translation Julie Rose], Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 1999, p. 21-42. 10. It is worth pointing out that O'Brien also acerbically evokes how, because sexuality is so repressed, Tara's only source of knowledge about sex is from teenage magazines which, although they may encourage sexual activity, also couch it in terms which privilege male sexual climax and put pressure on teenage girls to conform to a certain norm: “Turn him on with a sassy walk or your fave raunchy film”; “Slather him in ice cream and lick it off”; “Get him to pull out in time. Keep asking yourself am I climaxing”. Edna O'Brien, Down by the River, [1996] London, Phoenix, 1997, p. 30. 11. Ibid., p. 187. 12. Ibid., p. 5, ellipsis in original. 13. Ibid., p. 97. 14. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 139. 15. Ibid., p. 121, italics in original. 16. Ibid., p. 130.

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17. For a discussion of the overlap between the rose and Ireland in Yeats's poetry and in contemporary poetry, see Vicki Mahafey, States of Desire: Wilde, Yeats, Joyce and the Irish Experiment, Oxford & New York, OUP, 1998, pp. 106-123. 18. E. O'Brien, Down by the River, op. cit., p. 17. 19. Ibid., p. 267. 20. Ibid., p. 291. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid., p. 6. 23. Ibid., p. 298. 24. See Fiona McCann, “Towards an Aesthetics of Violence: Edna O'Brien's In the Forest and Anna Burns' Little Constructions”, Bertrand Cardin & Sylvie Mikowski (eds.), Écrivaines irlandaises, Caen, Presses universitaires de Caen, 2014, p. 117-131. 25. This is the term used by Sara Ahmed to describe the process by which education is a tool used by society for “breaking the child's will”, often as part of a national project. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 62. 26. Ibid., p. 65. 27. Edda O'Brien, In the Forest [2002], London, Phoenix, 2003, p. 3. 28. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 68. 29. Ibid., p. 67. 30. E. O'Brien, In the Forest, op. cit., p. 232. 31. Sara Ahmed makes this very plea in the final pages of her work. In a turn of phrase reminiscent of Rancière's thoughts on dissensus (or politics) as a disruption of the sensible order, she makes a case for embracing willfulness as a means of “relat[ing] differently to the capacity of all things to deviate from the places given as assignments”, and stresses that “disturbance can be creative”. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 191, p. 204. 32. E. O'Brien, In the Forest, op. cit., p. 273. 33. Ibid. 34. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 133. 35. Ibid., p. 136, italics in original. 36. Edna O'Brien, Country Girl, A Memoir, London, Faber & Faber, 2012, p. 236. 37. Judith Butler, Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning, London, Verso, 2004. 38. Edna O'Brien, House of Splendid Isolation [1994], London, Phoenix, 1995, p. 3. 39. Heather Ingman, “Edna O'Brien: Stretching the Nation's Boundaries”, Irish Studies Review, 10, 3 (2002), p. 261. 40. E. O'Brien, House of Splendid Isolation, op. cit., p. 208. 41. Ibid., p. 11, 70. 42. For a discussion of this aspect of the novel and the postmodern narrative techniques deployed by E. O'Brien, see Michael Harris, “Outside History: Edna O'Brien's House of Splendid Isolation”, New Hibernia Review, Vol 10, no 1, Earrach/Spring 2006, p. 111-122. 43. E. O'Brien, House of Splendid Isolation, op. cit., p. 109, italics in original.

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44. Ibid., p. 48. 45. Ibid., p. 46. 46. Ibid., p. 38, 39. 47. See Ingman, Harris, op. cit., as well as the following articles: Iris Lindhal-Raittila, “Negoiating Irishness: Edna O'Brien's 1990s Trilogy”, Nordic Irish Studies, Vol 5, 2006, p. 73-86; Sophia Hillen-King, “On the Side of Life: Edna O'Brien's Trilogy of Contemporary Ireland”, New Hibernia Review/Iris Éireannach Nua, Vol 4, no 2, Summer 2000, p. 49-66. 48. E. O'Brien, House of Splendid Isolation, p. 210. 49. Ibid., p. 177. 50. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 127. 51. E. O'Brien, House of Splendid Isolation, op. cit., p. 99. 52. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 126. 53. Edna O'Brien, “Plunder”, Saints and Sinners, London, Faber & Faber, 2011, p. 80. 54. This is not just stylistic, or thematic. There is an obvious nod to Coetzee's novel when the narrator explicitly evokes a time “before the barbarians came”. O'Brien, “Plunder”, op. cit., p. 81. 55. Ibid., p. 77. 56. Ibid. p. 78. 57. Ibid., p. 81. 58. Ibid., p. 82. 59. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 140. 60. E. O'Brien, “Plunder”, op. cit., p. 82-3. 61. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 140. 62. One might also be tempted to see this as a little essentialist in its presentation of the foreign occupier as “Head Man” and the local indigenous as associated with nature, as it vaguely reproduces familiar colonial stereotypes. I would suggest, however, that by naming the brutal soldier “Head Man”, O'Brien is mocking him, since it is the “Head Man” here who is governed by his baser drives. 63. E. O'Brien, “Plunder”, op. cit., p. 84. 64. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 140. 65. Indeed, political violence is also broached in a less oblique or symbolic fashion in the story “Black Flower” which immediately precedes this one in the collection. For a discussion of the story, see Fiona McCann, A Poetics of Dissensus: Confronting Violence in Contemporary Prose Writing from the North of Ireland, Bern, Peter Lang, 2014, p. 155-159. 66. E. O'Brien, “Plunder”, op. cit., p. 84. 67. The character is based on the real-life character of Radovan Karadžić, known as the “Butcher of Bosnia”, who hid in plain sight as a healer/sex therapist in Austria before being captured and brought to The Hague where he was charged with war crimes. O'Brien even includes some of Karadžić's poetry in the novel. Edna O'Brien, The Little Red Chairs, London, Faber & Faber, 2015, p. 129. 68. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 128. 69. Ibid., p. 129.

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70. Ibid., p. 128. 71. E. O'Brien, The Little Red Chairs, op. cit., p. 151. 72. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 130. 73. E. O'Brien, The Little Red Chairs, op. cit., p. 293. 74. Ibid., p. 295. 75. Ibid., p. 297. 76. Ibid. 77. S. Ahmed, Willful Subjects, op. cit., p. 169.

ABSTRACTS

This article explores Edna O'Brien's more recent fiction and demonstrates how Ireland's most prolific writer continues to systematically expose the ways in which oppression and repression operate in contemporary Ireland. Using Sara Ahmed's work on “willful subjects”, I aim to show how O’Brien enshrines willfulness within the very aesthetics of her texts and, in so doing, offers a counter-narrative of the Republic.

Cet article aborde l’œuvre récente d’Edna O’Brien et démontre comment la plus prolixe des auteurs irlandais met en lumière les modes d’oppression et de répression dans l’Irlande contemporaine. L’article s’appuie sur les écrits de Sara Ahmed à propos des willful subjects [sujets obstinés] afin d’étudier la manière dont O’Brien intègre la notion même de willfulness dans l’esthétique de ses textes, en proposant ainsi un contre-récit de la République irlandaise.

INDEX

Keywords: O'Brien Edna, Ahmed Sara, Irish Republic, history and fiction, narrativization Mots-clés: O'Brien Edna, Ahmed Sara, histoire et fiction, République d'Irlande, mise en récit

AUTHOR

FIONA MCCANN Université Charles de Gaulle-Lille 3/Institut Universitaire de France

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History’s Prison: Escaping the Temporality of the State-Still-To- Come

Daniel Jewesbury

Introduction1

The day was dying and the wind was sighing, As I lay crying in my prison cell, And the old triangle Went jingle jangle Along the banks of the Royal Canal2.

1 Brendan Behan’s play The Quare Fellow, a meditation on a condemned man’s final hours in Dublin’s Mountjoy Prison, emphasises the ways in which the routines and confines of the gaol combine to annihilate time: at various points in the play, verses of a song, “The Auld Triangle”, are heard, sung offstage as if by the (always unseen) prisoner himself. The repetition of the chorus reminds us that the only rhythm in this life, the only punctuation, is the jangling of the triangle used to wake the prisoners every morning. Days pass identically, separated, one from another, by the ringing of the triangle. The words of the song, interspersed through the time of the play, introduce the idea – the possibility – of an elsewhere, a space that is outside prison-time, only for the triangle to reassert itself at the end of each verse, just as in the real prison it rang each day, the same way and at the same time.

2 The centennial commemorations of the Easter Rising have invoked the spectre of a certain kind of nationalism that, in the Republic of Ireland, might have been presumed to have passed away some time ago. The Nineteenth Amendment of the Constitution of Ireland, which followed the signing of the Good Friday Agreement in 1998, proposed relinquishing the Republic’s territorial claim to the six counties of Northern Ireland; it was passed by a “Yes” vote of over 94% of those who voted. A little over a decade later, in 2011, after the collapse of the Irish economy and the popular disgrace of Ireland’s ruling political class, Sinn Féin achieved their best election result in nearly 90 years;

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but only after the party in the Republic had taken pains to brand itself as a populist- left/anti-establishment grouping, distinguishing itself internally from its Northern wing (then administering British government cuts in the Northern Ireland Assembly). The one issue that, since the party’s re-founding in the early 1970s, had always been its core demand, Irish re-unification, had little prominence in their election material. One could be forgiven for believing that following the Good Friday Agreement, the Celtic Tiger, and the economic collapse, the people of the Republic were not excessively concerned about realising the pre-ordained destiny of the nation.

3 Yet the innumerable books, conferences, newspaper articles and magazine features, television and radio dramas and documentaries, public events and artistic commissions currently examining “the legacy of the Rising” have all served to feed national speculation on the missed opportunities and thwarted aspirations of that now mythical rebellion3. Schismatic historical events inspire many “true heirs” and “revisionists”. On the occasion of the commemoration of the Rising, historians, economists, politicians and commentators alike have examined exhaustively the ways in which successive rulers of the Free State and the Republic of Ireland, many of whom themselves took part in the events of Easter Week 1916, have failed to honour the spirit of the Rising in general, and the words of the Proclamation more particularly. Each writer lists their own special grievances, cataloguing the particular ways in which the State has betrayed its citizens, whether in terms of the organisation of the economy, the powers and duties that were abdicated by the State in favour of the Catholic Church, the continued oppression and subjugation of women, or any combination of these and other factors.

4 The dissatisfaction with the Irish State that has been given voice with the centenary of the Rising, then, has reintroduced the Proclamation to us as a document by which to hold contemporary politicians to account. We turn back to the Proclamation to discover the “true meaning” of Ireland, and to find some guidance on how we should reshape the “new republic” (it should be pointed out that there is, paradoxically, no evidence of any desire by the majority of citizens of the Republic to revisit the constitutional position of Northern Ireland, surely the most obvious and unquestionable anomaly to have arisen in the century since the Rising). The Proclamation, in the hands of those offering a contemporary gloss, reveals to us that Ireland was intended to be a profoundly progressive, egalitarian nation, and that its historical shortcomings have arisen because it has somehow been thwarted in its authentic becoming, after the decisive “moment” that was Easter 1916. This is the role of the Proclamation in these narratives: as a guarantee that is in turn an imperative. The “unfulfilled promise” thus becomes a weight upon our shoulders too, a destiny that we too have failed to honour, and that we have the burden of realising. We find ourselves caught within history, defining our future according only to our interpretations of the relics of the past. The triangle rings, and the new day that it heralds is the same as the one which went before it, and the one before that.

From the teleological time of the nation to occupying the space of the Republic

5 Elsewhere, I suggested a way of re-reading a peculiar document that has become more well-known with the commemoration of the Rising, the large sheet of paper that is known as the Half-Proclamation4. This was printed by members of the Dublin

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Metropolitan Police during their raid on Liberty Hall, on the Thursday following the start of the Rising, 27th April 1916. A small number of examples survive of this document, but the one about which I have written was that used in Seán MacDermott’s court martial, which is stored with the rest of the surviving trial exhibits, in a dossier in the British National Archives in London5. The Proclamation was printed the day before the Rising began, with type requisitioned from a nearby print-shop, but so little could be found that it was necessary to print it in two halves. Accordingly, when the police raided the print works, they found the type as it had been set for the bottom of the document. Where the striking heading and the stirring, well-known first words of the Proclamation should be, the Half-Proclamation features only a blank space. This is a blank space, I’ve argued, that is pregnant with the possibilities of a “state yet to come”, one into which, at a banal metaphorical level, we might write our own political aspirations, but which also has a more suggestive and potentially subversive meaning. This blank space is a space which is waiting to be inscribed, not once but repeatedly. It is the blank space in which a future state can be constituted. It now comes to signify a disowned inheritance, an unremembered commitment to republicanism as a historical and political project. Once again, as before, it exercises a dreadful power, nothing less than the capacity to delegitimise the state as currently formulated. The image of the Proclamation that will doubtless be reprinted in multiple commemorative editions, at the behest of a political class who would wish to harness its very “meaningful meaninglessness” to their own ends, can be replaced with a genuinely empty space, in which there is no such hiding place6.

6 I want now to revisit this reading of the blank space, in the light of certain agonised revisions and re-imaginings of the Proclamation that have taken place since I originally wrote this passage. In its edition of Saturday 4th April 2015, the Irish Times commissioned six “new” Proclamations, to reflect the concerns of the people of Ireland today; the texts were written by a journalist, an environmentalist, a theatre director, a disability rights campaigner, an economist and an author7. The week before the official centenary commemorations, on the 15th March 2016, schools around Ireland held a “Proclamation Day”, during which the Proclamation was read and studied; classes were encouraged to draft new proclamations and to submit these to a website maintained by the Department of Education8. This apparently endless process of national navel-gazing (accompanied, for the schoolchildren, by flag-raising and singing of the national anthem), has seen a revolutionary manifesto, one which asserts its legitimacy by an appeal to Ireland’s “dead generations”, and which promises to achieve its goals through armed insurrection, transformed into a series of banal, aspirational “mission statements”. Both the Irish Times’s reprises, and the examples drafted and uploaded by hundreds of schools around the country, are couched in the rights-centred language of so many bureaucratic equality policies and organisational codes of conduct9. As must be expected from a programme delivered by a government department as part of an official State commemoration, the children’s proclamations effectively do the exact opposite of their venerated progenitor: where the Proclamation sought to sweep away the illegitimate domination of a whole people by the ruling class of a foreign nation, the contemporary proclamations tinker at the edges of a political dispensation that they cannot dream of displacing (indeed, they are written at the behest of the State itself), pleading meekly for “respect”, “justice” and “equality”. Where the Proclamation, underwritten by the force of arms, functioned as a kind of auto-

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commentary on the means by which it was simultaneously being actuated, today’s revisions exist entirely in a rhetorical and political vacuum.

7 I want to refocus and refine my attention, then, not on making the blank space of the Half-Proclamation a placeholder for trite wish-lists, but on thinking about how it might yet enable us to move from the exclusively historical-teleological project that the commemorations have engendered. This historical-teleological project requires us to place ourselves, simultaneously, in Easter Week 1916 (here defined as a uniquely historically authentic “moment” or “event”), trying to divine the diverse desires of the socialists, feminists, republicans and nationalists who proclaimed the Republic, and in a present that has been evacuated of its own political contexts and significance, trying to work out how to reconcile those varying aims in an authentic manner 100 years after the fact. Instead of this, I want to attempt to imagine and occupy alternative spaces within the two actually-existing political entities of contemporary Ireland. In short, I want to move away from nationalist-teleological time, which Irish governments of whichever hue can afford to luxuriate in in perpetuity, and toward a consideration of the (plural) spaces of the (plural) Irelands, spaces which people in Ireland occupy or aim to occupy.

8 What follows is somewhat polemical and some of it is doubtless less rigorously substantiated than it might be; I want to present an initial set of intuitions and observations that, I hope, might serve as a basis for further study. However, I have in my mind the words of the feminist geographer Doreen Massey, who died as this paper was being written, and who insisted throughout her work on the spatial construction of the social (the reverse having already been widely accepted, within radical geography, in the 1970s)10. I’m thinking of space here not merely as a clever or convenient rhetorical or metaphorical device, an axis to pose against the relentless temporality that I’ve said characterises nationalism. The “flattening” of political desire toward a teleological trajectory that, like Zeno’s arrow, never reaches its target, constitutes a genuine conceptual and political impoverishment. Following (and sometimes, crucially, departing from) Henri Lefebvre, Massey seeks to understand processes of historical- materialist struggle as being fought in and over space, over access to and control of literal and figurative spaces in contemporary society – the space of the public sphere and the public sector, in which individuals might meaningfully form communities of interest and discover intersectional solidarities; the literal public space of our cities, spaces in which we might construct ways of being, communally, beyond the commodified reach of labour-time (in the workplace), the regulating order of consumption (in the spectacular space of the shopping centre) and the constricting social bonds of the private space of the family; and, in concert with these, spaces of resistance and rupture, where we can begin to set up parallel or alternative structures, where we can occupy the “blank spaces” evacuated by the State as it retrenches and privatises11. In the spirit of Massey’s exceptionally important work, the point of this paper is not simply to reprioritise space and thereby denigrate the critical importance of temporal perspectives, but to distance oneself from a kind of teleology, and a conceptualisation of time, which takes no place, which exists only in the abstract; which, moreover, in the midst of so much State-sponsored commemoration, becomes framed in pseudo-historical discourse as a way of actively avoiding contemporary social relations. The defence of the public, the social, the realm of “lived experience”, and the

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concentration on the possibility of redefining social relations, are far more urgent tasks than any perceived filial obligations to the destiny of the nation.

9 I’d like to return, before moving on, to the motif of the triangle, but this time instead of beating out the inexorable advance of prison-time, it points us to a conceptual triad: instead of the simplistic intersection of axes, the juxtaposition of the x and y of historical time versus a baldly-stated “space”, we have three potential dimensions – firstly, the public, which here stands metonymically for the social, configured in space; secondly, the body, which here represents a problematic of individual sovereignty within the disciplinary space of the State, and the way in which that discipline (and the possibility of resistance to it) is inevitably embodied; and thirdly (and, for the moment, most vaguely), the political, as a realm of action which is activated by the preceding two terms, and which can only take place in space, in a tense of “present space”, a here- nowness to which I’ll return toward the end of this paper.

10 In positing this triad, I’m very much aware of Lefebvre’s own triadic concept of space, which talks of “objective space” (the supposedly empirical space of the plan or the map, “neutral” physical space), “conceived space” (or “representations of space”, mental, ideal or ideological space) and “lived space” (the product of the first two – the space of lived experience)12. I’m also conscious of Lefebvre’s injunction to give an adequate account of the experience of the body within social-spatial disciplines, to understand how space is embodied and how it is bodies that perform the interaction in social space13.

In the blank space of the public square

11 In considering what might be at stake in “the public” in contemporary Ireland, and how that space is compromised in the context of state commemoration and other parades, we need to clarify some terms. I will use a shorthand that purists of political theory might baulk at, eliding concepts that are strictly separate but which I want to consider in relation to one another. When I speak of the “public”, I’m drawing inevitably on the notion of a (bourgeois, rational, discursive) public sphere, as developed by Jürgen Habermas and others, a historical space of being-in-common that arises with the transition from feudal or absolutist systems of government to early bourgeois democracies: the venues where men could gather and construct new forms of sociality, and which also give rise to an abstract (or virtual) space of discourse14. But my notion draws in terms that are traditionally only vaguely related to Habermas’s public sphere: the idea of a “public sector”, of infrastructural, productive and bureaucratic assets and enterprises, public goods owned and controlled by the State in the name and for the benefit of its citizens; and finally the concept, perhaps most under-theorised of this triad, of public space, which is to say (predominantly urban or quasi-urban) space to which “members of the public” have some settled, minimally regulated right of access, which is not owned or controlled for profit, and from which they can only be alienated by its transfer to private hands.

12 We have a nexus, then – of (a) pseudo-public communicative space (I say pseudo-public since, whilst its pronouncements are publicly-accessible – published – its channels are quite likely to be privately owned and regulated; even many originally “alternative” online media channels have recently been subject to concentration of ownership and substantial corporate investment), (b) the public assets of the State, and (c) actual

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public space, in which citizens can gather and associate without excessive regulation, and without reference to spaces of consumption. This complex, multi-valent “public”, touching the citizen in many different ways, constitutes for me a set of prerequisites. Prior to any possibility of collective “being-in-public”, of what we can now call publicness (an awkward English translation from a German word, öffentlichkeit), is this set of public properties, which it is crucial to be able to act within and to defend, since it is, as I’ve suggested, the precondition of political action.

13 In the Irish and Northern Irish neoliberal states, from the late 1990s onward, we are confronted with only slightly contrasting processes of privatisation of the public. In Northern Ireland the paramilitary ceasefires and the signing of the Agreement heralded a new economic era centred around private property speculation, similar to the rapid processes of private accumulation and deregulation which had happened in former Socialist countries in central and eastern Europe after 1989: in the North, however, private capital accumulation was given an added moral urgency, with trickle- down economics presented as the only means to underwrite peace15. In the Republic, a historically depressed economy, dependent on subsidy from Europe, also discovered property speculation and neoliberal economics, centred around low corporate taxes, massive personal and corporate debt, and very high consumer spending. In both regions the rapid transformation of the economy signalled a new era of “primitive accumulation”16. David Harvey has described in detail the process by which post- industrial cities, no longer capable of creating surplus value through production, have been financialised and leveraged, sold and resold as packages of debt which produce short-term, deterritorialised profit (the huge and continuing disparity between the Republic’s Gross National Product – crudely, the size of the economy that stays within the borders of the nation – and its Gross Domestic Product – which includes all wealth that is expatriated to foreign owners – is striking here; since the economic crash of 2007, there are times when Ireland has said to be “recovering”, according to its GDP, while still in recession, according to its GNP)17. The financing of development is itself now the major means of producing profit: and the fads which fuel new capital investments, from the cultural tourism which came to prominence in the late 1990s, to various global sporting spectaculars and, most recently, university infrastructure (including many highly profitable new student accommodation projects), are merely the means to move sums from one side of the balance sheet to the other. It is now possible to consider entire cities as single, massively complex financial instruments. As Harvey shows, the cities participating in this neoliberal spectacularisation of urban form are forced into competition with one another for the slender civic returns of so much investment of public infrastructure: the “bed-nights” and “visitor spend” so impossible to quantify, but which nonetheless are “calculated” according to spurious, self-serving metrics devised by the major accountancy consultancies whose figures and services underpin the contemporary competitive cities (and who work for all the competitors equally)18. The more urban actors attempt to distinguish themselves from one another via their unique “offer”, the more they all become the same: crowded with the same heritage quarters, theme bars, landmark cultural venues, the same riverside restaurants and consumer experiences.

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In the female prison …

In the female prison There are seventy women I wish it was with them that I did dwell, Then that old triangle Could jingle jangle Along the banks of the Royal Canal19.

14 One of the commissions to have arisen from the Arts Council of Ireland’s open call for artistic examinations of 1916 is a collaboration between artists Sarah Browne and Jesse Jones entitled In the Shadow of the State. The project, which takes place across 2016 in spaces in Derry, Liverpool, Dublin and London, examines the manner in which women are situated within the contemporary Irish “body politic”, through co-production with experts from the fields of law, medicine and design, as well as musicians and performers. The image of a “shadow” simultaneously conveys two dissonant meanings; it calls to mind both the subordinate position of women, shadow-citizens of Ireland, as defined through the legal mechanisms of the State, but it also invokes a potential challenge to the State itself, a disordely growth that comes from within, that inserts itself into official discourse with the hope of eventually displacing it.

15 It’s notable that one of the themes of the commemoration, in various media, has been the recuperation of the significant role played in the Rising by women20. One of the reasons, arguably, that this gesture at feminist revisionism has been thought so necessary is that the exclusion of women from the institutions of the Irish State (and its provisional predecessors) began so soon after the suppression of the Rising; and the reason why it is considered so urgent is that it continues to this day21. The 41st Article of the Irish Constitution privileges the Family as the natural primary and fundamental unit group of Society, and as a moral institution possessing inalienable and imprescriptible rights, antecedent and superior to all positive law … The State, therefore, guarantees to protect the Family … as the necessary basis of social order … 22

16 It continues: In particular, the State recognises that by her life within the home, woman gives to the State a support without which the common good cannot be achieved … The State shall, therefore, endeavour to ensure that mothers shall not be obliged by economic necessity to engage in labour to the neglect of their duties in the home23.

17 The Constitution, then, is very clear: women’s primary duty to the State is as mothers; the place in which they do this is the home (that is to say, they are not admitted into the public sphere, or recognised as public beings); and the institution of the family is the disciplinary mechanism through which their lives are to be regulated, in the service of the State, in the home. (And as O’Leary notes, the injunction against labour outside the home was enforced not by subsidising women in the home, but by disadvantaging them in, and even barring them from, the workplace.)

18 The Constitution marks the boundaries of the space of women within the Irish State, but it is merely the most basic codification of their subjecthood; it is circumscribed by myriad complex legal and medical practices around reproduction, contraception, marriage, fertility and medicine; numerous ways in which women’s bodies are clinicalised, subjected to law, or to other (public) professional male discipline. Many of these practices and discourses pre-date the State, originating in 19th century British law

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(the 1861 Offences Against the Person Act was the statute defining abortion law in Republic until 2014; it still fulfils that function in Northern Ireland. In Great Britain it was repealed with the passing of the 1967 Abortion Act). Expedient anti-colonial State rhetoric notwithstanding, colonial provisions for the medicalisation and treatment of women’s bodies have very often only been reformed in response to legal challenges (often from European courts), and have usually been amplified and augmented.

19 Browne and Jones envision their project as a para-legal mechanism: a way of incorporating a female space, from which to explore “how the law has touched women’s lives and bodies”, and from which to return that touch24. In each venue the artists are establishing a “legal drafting session” with academics, activists and lawyers, exploring the interwoven histories of capitalism, gynaecology and law within the State. Following these private sessions, the artists then work with collaborators to realise a public action in each location. The actions perform the critique of the Irish and Northern Irish states, in the disciplinary spaces which give them ideological currency: the home, the hospital, the lecture theatre.

20 Browne and Jones’s fundamental question throughout this project is whether there can be a feminist practice of law, and how this would need to be constructed with reference to other alternative publics or “counterpublics” within the State.

Conclusion

21 I remarked earlier on the curious immediacy of the Proclamation; it is not a set of demands, a manifesto, or a plea for recognition. It is, as I have described it, an “auto- commentary”. It narrates the actions that are taking place behind it, in the GPO, and across Dublin, at the moment when it’s being read out: the violent rejection of foreign rule, actuated in the present. I’ve also described the the defence of the public as something that can only be done through occupation of that public, through the activation (or, following Browne and Jones, the “performance”) of the “nexus” of public discourse/public assets/public space, as a prerequisite of constructing the event that becomes “political”; I want to suggest that a similar process can be at work here, that, rather than seeing in the Proclamation a historic relic, requiring recontextualisation and redrafting by newspaper columnists and schoolchildren, that we can discover in the urgent act of its very proclamation, an affirmation of the “here and now” that must be its “legacy” to us today. I also want to return to that “blank space” in the Half- Proclamation.

22 Throughout this text I have been defining triads, of spaces and of the public. I want to return now to the consideration of temporality with which I concerned myself at the outset of this paper, and suggest yet another triadic arrangement, concerned now with the interpenetration of “space” and “time”. I have already defined two kinds of time: firstly the revolutionary time of 1916, an imagining of a future that is always to be fulfilled; secondly, the self-regarding, teleological stasis of 2016, revisiting and revising 1916 and situating it almost atemporally, “luxuriating in perpetuity” in the time of Zeno’s Arrow; the final dimension I want to suggest is a four-dimensional space-time which is the political possibility of the present moment, an urgent, unfolding, embodied and located moment in which we are, in the formulation of Alain Badiou, both actor and target25. Thinking about the character of the “event” in relation to his own participation in May ’68, Badiou writes:

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we were actors, but actors absolutely seized by what was happening to them, as by something extraordinary, something properly incalculable … [I]f we add up all the anecdotes one by one, we can always say that at any given moment there were certain actors, certain people who provoked this or that result. But the crystallization of all these moments, their generalization, and then the way in which everyone was caught up in it, are well beyond what any one person might have thought possible … None of the little processes that led to the event was equal to what actually took place … ; there was an extraordinary change of scale, as there always is in every significant event … Lin Piao …once said, at the height of the Cultural Revolution, that the essential thing was to be, at a revolutionary conjunction, both its actor and its target. I quite like this formula. Yes, we were actors, but in such a way that we are targeted by, carried away by, and struck by the event. In this sense there can undoubtedly be collective events26.

23 This is a necessarily cursory reference to a theorisation of the event that, in Badiou’s work, is complex and far-reaching. I want merely to suggest that the possibility of being both actor and target, of having a capacity to be decisive and of there being some necessity for one’s action, at the moment, here, begins to allow us to conceptualise an injunction that reaches beyond the “jam tomorrow” of a static, convenient teleology, and the post-revolutionary burden of a history betrayed. The empty space of the Half- Proclamation contains the spirit of this injunction, but it is not a duty that is inscribed in any way in its venerated, anomalous expanse. Rather, the absence of that duty, the irrelevance of History’s deadening temporality to the exigency of our struggle, invites us to gather, to define and defend the public, and from it to find the political, the moment in which our action can be most precisely targeted.

NOTES

1. I would like to thank my colleague Dr. Robert Porter for absolutely invaluable comments and insight into this paper as it was developing, and Rachel Brown for help unpicking the ideas at an early stage. 2. Brendan Behan, Behan: The Complete Plays, London, Methuen, 2000, p. 104. 3. It is unnecessary to list exhaustively the many outlets through which this commemoration has been realised – this journal is one of them. Let it suffice to say that the State commemorations were covered extensively by RTE and by broadcasters around the world, particularly in the UK; that every Irish newspaper carried extensive comment, opinion, feature articles, special supplements and historical reprints; that the National Museum of Ireland and the National Library of Ireland have had several special exhibitions and events; that innumerable State agencies have commemorated the Rising and that countless unofficial ceremonies have taken place too. 4. See Daniel Jewesbury, “The Constitution of a State Yet to Come: The Unbroken Promise of the Half-Proclamation” in Lisa Godson & Joanna Brück (eds), Making 1916: The Material and Visual Culture of the Easter Rising, Liverpool, Liverpool University Press, 2015, p. 49-56.

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5. A Half-Proclamation was sold by Whyte’s auction house in Dublin in March 2016 for €8000, and was described in the catalogue as one of fewer than 15 copies that were made (no source is given for this information). See [http://www.whytes.ie/ 13Main1wide.asp?Auction=20160313&Lot=185&IMAGE=185_1]. 6. Jewesbury, 2015, op. cit., p. 55-56. 7. [ http://www.irishtimes.com/culture/heritage/time-for-a-new- proclamation-1.2164146]. The authors were Fintan O’Toole, Oisin Coghlan, Grace Dyas, Joanne O’Riordan, Constantin Gurdgiev and Gerard O’Neill. 8. [http://www.ireland.ie/events/proclamation-day-2016] 9. [https://www.scoilnet.ie/proclamationtemplate/] 10. Doreen Massey, “Politics and Space/Time” in Space, Place & Gender, Cambridge, Polity Press, 1994, p. 249-272. See also Massey, Spatial Divisions of Labour: Social Structures and the Geography of Production, Basingstoke, Macmillan, 1984. 11. Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, Oxford, Blackwell, 1991. 12. Ibid., p. 33. 13. Ibid., p. 173-174. 14. Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry Into a Category of Bourgeois Society, Cambridge, Polity Press, 1989; see also Nancy Fraser, “Rethinking the Public Sphere: A Contribution to the Critique of Actually Existing Democracy”, Social Text, no 25/26, p. 56-80; Chantal Mouffe, The Democratic Paradox, London, Verso, 2000; Simon Sheikh, “In the Place of the Public Sphere? The World in Fragments”, Transversal, vol. 6, 2005 [http://transversal.at/transversal/0605/sheikh/ en]. 15. Daniel Jewesbury and Robert Porter, “On Broadway” in Jewesbury, ed., The Centrifugal Book of Europe, Belfast, Centrifugal, 2010; Daniel Jewesbury, Infantile City: Inside, Outside, Ljubljana, Likovne Besede, 2010; Daniel Jewesbury, “Belfast: Our Time, Our Place”, Edinburgh Review, no 136, 2012. 16. Karl Marx, Capital: A Critique of Political Economy, Volume 1, London, Penguin Books, 1990, particularly chs. 31-33. Marx is referring specifically to the early Acts of Enclosure by which common land in England was privatised from the 15th century onward; in the contemporary setting, the private appropriation of once-public urban land, carried out with the political support and financial assistance of state agencies, constitutes a new era of enclosures. 17. David Harvey, A Companion to Marx’s Capital, London, Verso, 2010; David Harvey, Rebel Cities: From the Right to the City to the Urban Revolution, London, Verso, 2013, particularly chapters 1, 3 and 4. For a historical account of the history of the neoliberal redevelopment of the post-war city see Rachel Weber, “Extracting Value from the City: Neoliberalism and Urban Development”, Antipode, vol. 34, no 3, p. 519-540. For Ireland’s GNP/GDP disparity, see [http://socialdemocracy21stcentury.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/ irelands-sham-recovery-gnp-versus-gdp.html] and [http://bilbo.economicoutlook.net/ blog/?p=10521]. See also Conor McCabe, The Sins of the Father: Tracing the Decisions that Shaped the Irish Economy, Dublin, The History Press Ireland, 2013. 18. D. Harvey, Rebel Cities: From the Right to the City to the Urban Revolution, op. cit., ch. 4. 19. B. Behan, Behan: The Complete Plays, op. cit., p. 124.

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20. See, for example, the following articles in Irish and international media: Una Mulally, “Why Women Have Risen to the Top in 1916 Lore”, Irish Times, 28 March 2016 [http://www.irishtimes.com/opinion/una-mullally-why-women-have-risen-to-the-top- in-1916-lore-1.2588986]; Sadhbh Walshe, “The Forgotten Heroines of Ireland”, New York Times, 18 March 2016, p. A27; Jim Gibney, “Celebrating the Role of Women in the 1916 Easter Rising”, Irish News, 30 March 2016 [http://www.irishnews.com/opinion/ columnists/2016/03/30/news/celebrating-the-role-of-women-in-the-1916-easter- rising-466171/]; Jayne McCormack, “How Winifred Carney Became James Connolly’s Confidante”, BBC News, 27 March 2016 [http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern- ireland-35849250]; see also RTE’s documentary Seven Women [ https://1916.rte.ie/ risingonrte/seven-women/]. 21. For a short commentary, written in the context of the commemoration, see Olivia O’Leary, “Why, 100 Years After the Rising, Are Irish Women Still Fighting?”, The Guardian, 25 March 2016. [http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/mar/ 25/100-years-after-easter-rising-irish-women-still-fighting-gender-equality]. Also see Fidelma Ashe, “Gendering War and Peace: Militarized Masculinities in Northern Ireland”, Men and Masculinities, vol. 15, no 3, 2012, p. 238: “British colonialism in Ireland provoked notions about the feminisation of Irish men. This concern … was reflected in the discourses of the Irish hero Patrick Pearse … Pearse stated that ‘a nation which regards [bloodshed] as the final horror has lost its manhood’ […] The call to arms in defence of the Irish nation was therefore very much ‘a call to manhood’. The coupling of the ideals of masculinity to physical force violence framed certain forms of masculinity as the medium through which the nation could be restored and framed the national struggle as the medium through which Irish ‘manhood’ could be restored.” (my emphasis) 22. Constitution of Ireland / Bunreacht na hÉireann, October 2015 text, Article 41 [http:// www.taoiseach.gov.ie/eng/Historical_Information/The_Constitution/ Bunreacht_na_hÉireann_October_2015_Edition.pdf] 23. Ibid. 24. Interview with the artists, 2 March 2016. 25. On “space-time”, see D. Massey, “Politics and Space/Time”, art. cit. 26. Badiou, quoted in Peter Hallward, Badiou: A Subject to Truth, Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 2003, p. 123.

ABSTRACTS

The commemoration of the Easter Rising invokes a spectral nationalism which, in the Irish Republic, has for some years largely lain dormant. That invocation attaches itself all too easily to a call to “fulfil the destiny of the nation”. This teleological obligation binds us to a future that has already been plotted, in the past. Against such moribund fulfilment of historical duty, it is possible to identify ways of escaping a doomed temporality, in the here and now.

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La commémoration du soulèvement de Pâques 1916 invoque un nationalisme spectral qui était resté en sommeil dans la République irlandaise depuis quelques années. Cette invocation ne rejoint que trop aisément la volonté d’en appeler à « accomplir la destinée de la nation », une obligation téléologique qui nous lierait à un avenir aux lignes déjà tracées, dans le passé. Contre l’accomplissement sclérosant d’un tel devoir historique, il est possible d’ouvrir des voies pour échapper à une temporalité fermée, dans l’ici et le maintenant.

INDEX

Mots-clés: République d'Irlande, soulèvement de Pâques (1916), nationalisme irlandais, histoire des représentations, féminisme et post-féminisme, histoire et mémoire Keywords: Irish nationalism, Irish Republic, Easter Rising (1916), feminism and post-feminism, history of representations, history and memory

AUTHOR

DANIEL JEWESBURY Ulster University

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To Rise Again, Revising The Republic

Theo Dorgan

1 If we situate the Irish struggle for independence, and the eventual emergence of the Irish Republic, in a lineage of Republics achieved by revolution, we think naturally of the French and American republics as predecessors. Unless we examine the matter carefully, it is fatally easy to consider that the Irish Republic, like its antecedents, was the outcome of a successful revolutionary process. This is to risk glossing over the not inconsiderable difficulty that Ireland, to my way of thinking, never experienced a revolution. The four essential components of revolution are these: a developed revolutionary thesis that proposes a new politics, a leadership cadre capable of leading and developing the pre-revolutionary politics, a military element capable of defeating the incumbent power should that prove necessary, and finally a significant degree of popular assent to the revolutionary project once the bid for power has finally been launched.

2 I believe that Ireland presents an interesting case study in failed revolution, that it might be useful to consider the Easter Rising as a trigger event to a proto-revolution that would be derailed by its own incoherences and internal contradictions. I think it might also be useful to consider the Rising as an event that collapsed a certain revolutionary potential that was building in Ireland at the time, not least because it contained in itself a number of mutually-contradictory, often unspoken or unformulated aims.

3 In Section VIII of his long poem “The Rough Field”, in the section entitled “Patriotic Suite”, John Montague offers us an epigraph from Friedrich Engels: “The real aims of a revolution, those which are not illusions, are always to be realised after that revolution.”

4 First sight, this appears self-evident, not to say trite; of course the aims of a revolution can only be realised once that revolution has been carried through. That, after all, is the point of making revolution – to create a situation which allows you to carry out and implement those purposes for which you undertook to embark on revolution.

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Moreover, the process of revolution in and of itself is an unstable and short-lived phenomenon which cannot be paused in order to stabilise and establish its purposes – in fact, one can say that it is only when a revolution has been carried through and has realised its aims that it can be said to be complete. In other words, the revolution is over when it is in a position to establish and implement the purposes for which it was conceived.

5 Central to this understanding is the need for a developed pre-revolutionary politics, a counter-thesis to the prevailing orthodoxy of those to be deposed; you will forgive me for being somewhat obvious here, but unless the new politics that will supersede the old is in fact radically different from what it replaces, there hardly seems much point in calling the process a revolution.

6 My first question, then: was the Rising an element in an unfolding, consciously revolutionary project? To answer this question, we need to ask, what was the primary motivation of the Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) and Volunteer cadres who planned and organised the Rising? Alas, there are grounds for saying they had no loftier nor more sophisticated aims than that proposed by the 19th century Fenians: to break the connection with England.

7 The involvement of the Irish Citizen Army (ICA) in the Rising is sometimes put forward as evidence that there was in the insurrectionary movement a progressive politics capable of being expanded into the architecture of that Ireland whose liberty would be gained by force of arms. Briefly, James Connolly and the ICA were invited to join with the main body of the insurrectionists, which was not the same thing at all as saying that the majority force was open to a progressive perspective – as things would turn out, quite the opposite. For the moment I am content to suggest that the Rising, effectively, was a gesture neither rooted in nor aimed towards a possible politics.

8 On reflection, perhaps, we can better understand Engels to mean that there is in revolution an agenda that reveals itself once the rupture achieved by armed action has taken place; it might be a reserved agenda, to which some insiders are privy, unevenly or not clearly understood by the majority of participants and contributors, or it might be an agenda which does not disclose itself until the act of insurrection has been carried to a successful conclusion.

9 There are two principal ways in which this proposition can manifest: once the proto- revolution has been carried to completion, that is to say when the insurrectionary forces have taken power, either a cadre with a hitherto-undisclosed revolutionary agenda advances to implement their plans, or the dislocating effect of making revolution unleashes imperatives which, unforeseen until then, nevertheless must be obeyed by those who find themselves exercising power – and these imperatives, then, present as the purposes of the revolution ex post facto.

10 Armed action against incumbent power without a declared agenda, or worse still armed action with a hidden or reserved agenda, is more properly termed a putsch – and history tells us that such actions are often the prelude to, when not the excuse for, repressive actions which rarely have the democratic common good as their primary focus. Still less is a putsch likely to gain popular assent, since the principal actors will not have shown, before taking power any particular commitment to explaining their political project and working to gain support for that project.

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11 It seems perhaps excessively naive to say that a proposed revolution needs, at a minimum, a social and political programme to be carried through and established once power has been seized. History teaches us that revolutions which consolidate themselves either begin with or quickly achieve a considerable popular mandate. Insurrections that rely on force alone, with no political programme, will inevitably become embroiled in a series of internal conflicts, as political tendencies which were temporarily subsumed into the simple common project of seizing power begin to express themselves in terms of division and divergence. Not untypically, in such situations, the contention for authority in the new situation is resolved by the deployment of superior force by one faction or another. Insurrectionary actions, if I might put it like this, are destined to endure a succession of revisionary shocks, as disparate forces attempt to establish political programmes that may differ very considerably one from another. The span from February to October 1917 in Russia, span from the ascendancy of Kerensky to that of Lenin, suggests itself as a case in point, the more disciplined and aggressive Bolshevik forces, with a unified programme, eventually prevailing over the vacillating and schismatic Mensheviks.

12 I do not think it possible to present the Easter Rising as a revolutionary event, presaging and initiating the emergence of a revolutionary Republic.

13 The Rising was not a seamlessly-conceived process, it contained in itself a number of divergences and contradictions, and even as it got under way it began to revise itself drastically, not least in its military aims and objectives.

14 The best way to understand what happened is perhaps to follow the timeline.

15 The Rising as planned by a core cell of the IRB acting inside a wider and looser coalition of forces was intended as a country-wide military enterprise, the objective of which was to seize and hold the centres of power in Ireland. Quite what was to happen once the administrative centres were in the hands of the insurrectionists is difficult to understand. Nevertheless, the Rising was intended to succeed in these purely military and material objectives.

16 That said, from a purely military point of view, even the planners of the Rising were to one degree or another aware that while they might have gained popular support in much of the island, the North East was never going to be an easy proposition; indeed, the overwhelming likelihood is that any attempt by insurrectionary forces to extend their remit over much of Ulster would have precipitated a civil war. The disparity between the number of weapons imported into Larne for the benefit of the Unionist militia, the UVF – anything up to 150,000 modern rifles – and those weapons available to the Irish Volunteers, perhaps at best 20,000 semi-obsolete rifles with a negligible amount of more modern weaponry, would in itself have been enough to make it plain to the military planners of the Rising that they could, at best, hope to establish control over what would become, in time, the de facto 26 County Republic. Thus, even aspirationally, the Rising contained in itself, even at its fullest stretch, an element of unspoken concession, a tacit acceptance that the North would present, at the very least, a particular difficulty.

17 Secondly, following Mac Neill’s countermanding order cancelling the planned nation- wide mobilisation of the Volunteers, those who decided to strike in Dublin, and those lesser forces called out here and there across the island, rose in the light of a lesser ambition. The prospect of military success was no longer realistic, if it ever had been;

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the Rising now would be a merely symbolic gesture, one intended to destabilise British rule for as long as possible, but with the principal aim being to galvanise national sentiment to the point where the agenda of national independence might gain unstoppable mass support.

18 The decision to go ahead with the Rising was, from a military point of view, absurd. En route to the GPO that Easter Monday morning, William O’Brien asked Connolly something to the effect of, “What are we doing?” Connolly’s reply was terse and grim, “We are going to be slaughtered.”

19 Insofar as the Rising was absurd, it may also be considered an unwarranted and even foolish political gesture. Its material effect was to allow the British authorities an opportunity to kill, wound, imprison and otherwise nullify insurrection-minded men and women who had been gaining in strength of arms, among them some of the most driven and gifted of their leaders. This was to deprive the political forces organising for independence, such as they were, of the corollary military power that might otherwise have been accumulated over a span of time. Remember that Mac Neill’s countermanding of planned manoeuvres had authority only in the living span of the moment, that fatal Easter weekend of 1916, and he exercised that authority as leader of the Volunteers only; it was the IRB who had planned the Rising, it would certainly have been possible to organise for Mac Neill to be removed and replaced with someone more in tune with IRB intentions, so that the Rising as originally planned could have gone forward to a future date.

20 In effect, going ahead with a symbolic Rising cancelled the possibility of the actual Rising as originally envisaged.

21 Thirdly, as the events of Easter Week in Dublin unfolded with grim inevitability, even those taking part in the Rising began to question the utility or good sense of the struggle in which they were embroiled. To many, dying for Ireland seemed all too final – all the more so as the Ireland for which they were dying was not noticeably supportive of them as bullets ripped through the garrisons, as cherished comrades fell to the left and right of them.

22 The reality of the fighting stripped away whatever inchoate romantic notions they might have been harbouring; wounds, fire and death tend to have that revising effect on dreams and dreamers.

23 The fourth revision came when the defeated garrisons were paraded to general derision past the citizens of Dublin. I often wonder how those defeated soldiers of the declared Republic felt, being spat upon and jeered by the very people for whose liberty they had risked their lives? Is it unreasonable to suggest that some, perhaps many, would have revised, if they did not abandon, the generous impulses that led them into the fight? Certainly, a proportion of Rising veterans would, once they came to power, display a contempt for the poor and powerless and the unconvinced that in some instances was surely born of that bitter experience.

24 The fifth revision, of course, was the unanswerable revision of failure. For the Rising to be complete, it needed to succeed, even in its truncated ambition. Revolutionary energy depends on many things, but at the heart of the enterprise must always be the hope for success – no matter how remote or irrational such a hope may be. Those who took part in the Rising, having accepted that it would have a largely symbolic value and effect, were dashed in their hopes that the Rising would in itself prove catalytic to a

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movement for independence. With failure came the abandonment of such hopes, and a drastic revision of military strategy. The planned Rising was conceived as an open engagement in arms between forces in uniform, never mind that they were unevenly matched. As such, it was a late expression or manifestation of a naive but honourable concept of warfare. The next stage of Ireland’s struggle for independence, in its military aspect, would be conducted as a protracted guerilla struggle in which only one contending force would identify itself in uniform; the insurrectionary forces would emerge from and sink back into the civilian population, indistinguishable in dress from that population, refusing direct engagement after the old style, striking only when asymmetric advantage was clearly on their side.

25 From Clare’s Dragoons to Barry’s flying columns is a considerable fall in the imagination which can all too easily be portrayed as a fall in virtue; from the dashing cavalier to the farm boy shooting a constable from behind a hedge – this fall from the unreal and the romantic to the ugly, prosaic truths of guerilla warfare, however much it was forced by circumstance on the rebel forces, ceded a considerable propaganda advantage to the enemy who could now, with some apparent plausibility, present war as murder.

26 But I am getting ahead of myself here.

27 When I argue that the Rising was self-revising, I am not attempting to suggest that the protagonists were engaging in any kind of self-critical analysis while Easter Week took its course.

28 Indeed, with very few exceptions, and these all too quickly demonised and marginalised, only a handful of the protagonists would subsequently attempt to draw lessons from the failure of the Rising and attempt to construct a politics informed by this analysis.

29 I mean simply that the intentions which animated the intended Rising were drastically revised, undercut and to an extent nullified in the course of the Rising as it took place, both by the contradictions embodied in the gesture itself and by the fatal political vacuum at the heart of the event.

30 These revisions are perhaps best understood as revisions in understanding brought about by the collision between facts and aspirations. The repercussive effects of this new, revised understanding would go on to have a profound effect on how the succeeding war of independence would be framed and fought. And that war would, in its turn, have a profound effect on the nature of the State that it would help bring into being.

31 The catastrophic failure of the Rising is not that a military adventure was defeated by superior opposing forces, but that its aim might still have been achieved if the gesture had been underpinned by a comprehensive, encompassing and realistic political programme. If there had been a politics behind the Rising, a politics of national liberation and self-determination capable of capturing and expressing a national consensus, most especially a politics of proposing the social good as a primary aim, then the Rising might well have achieved even its truncated purpose of triggering not just national insurrection but a revolution into justice. One might reasonably have expected the insurrectionary forces to draw the obvious lesson from the extent and nature of their defeat, that politics must always and ever come first.

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32 Instead, a defeat in arms led to a continuation and even expansion of armed struggle which had no aim but had nó aim but the transfer of legislative power to an ostensibly independent Irish Parliament. It seems reasonable to describe this as a negative or entropic revision of the original, generous impulse. The Proclamation of the Republic was the self-given charter of the Rising as it imagined itself on the bright Easter Monday. Its understandings and formulations would be considerably revised and recast by the week’s end, and its talismanic value would in time come to outshine and supersede its actual contents, its propositions – all save one, that phrase which above all others endures in the popular imagination, the promise to cherish all the children of the nation equally. In that phrase, and in that phrase alone, we see the authentic seed of revolution.

33 That a revolutionary politics was possible at the time, we can see from the Democratic Programme laid before the first Dáil in 1919. This document, in brief, was designed to set out the political and social imperatives which would, in theory, inform and guide the policies and legislation of the Dáil.

34 Unanimously adopted, the Programme was, in fact, a very radical document. Among its rather startling propositions was this, for instance: [...] the Nation’s sovereignty extends not only to all men and women of the nation, but to all its material possessions, the Nation’s soil and all its resources, all the wealth and all the wealth-producing processes.

35 It went on to proclaim that all right to private property must be subordinated to the public right and welfare.

36 Equally radically, and in words that surely embody the after-echoes of liberté, égalité and fraternité, the Declaration stated: It shall be the first duty of the Government of the Republic to make provision for the physical, mental and spiritual well-being of the children, to secure that no child shall suffer hunger or cold from lack of food, clothing or shelter, but that all shall be provided with the means and facilities requisite for their proper education and training as Citizens of Free and Gaelic Ireland.

37 Influential elements of the IRB, Michael Collins prominent among them, had argued down even more radical propositions, certainly on political instinct, being often deeply conservative men, but mostly on the grounds that adopting and attempting to implement such a radical and thoroughgoing programme would detract from and indeed confuse what they saw as the primary aim, the breaking of British power in Ireland. “To break the connection with England” was always and ever the aim of the Fenians and their lineal successors. Tragically, it would prove to be their only aim.

38 I ask your forgiveness if once again I make an obvious point, but the Democratic Programme was not conjured from thin air, there was an antecedence for its politics, a provenance in debate, discussion and organization, for the programme of social justice and national development towards which it aspired. Nothing will come of nothing, the old king said, and the Democratic Programme was in some sense a distillation of much that had been learned in the labour movement, drawing on lessons foreign and domestic.

39 Nevertheless...

40 Unanimously accepted the Democratic Programme may have been, but it was sidelined, ignored and effectively repudiated every bit as quickly as it was adopted.

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41 Twenty years earlier, in the paper Workers’ Republic, on 22nd July, 1899, Connolly published an article entitled, simply, “Physical Force in Irish Politics”: Other countries and other peoples have, from time to time, appealed to what the first French Revolutionists picturesquely described as the “sacred right of insurrection”, but in so appealing they acted under the inspiration of, and combated for, some great governing principle of political or social life upon which they, to a man, were in absolute agreement…Our people have glided at different periods of the past century from moral force agitation, so-called, into physical force rebellion, from constitutionalism into insurrectionism, meeting in each the same failure and the same disaster and yet seem as far as ever from learning the great truth that neither method is ever likely to be successful until they first insist that a perfect agreement upon the end to be attained should be arrived at as a starting- point of all our efforts.

42 It is a melancholy truth that either Sinn Fein, nor the Irish Republican Army nor indeed the IRB had anything like a coherent, theorized social programme for the post- independence state. This is the lesson that should have been learned from the Rising, the lesson that should have informed and indeed transformed the subsequent War of Independence. Revision may usefully be understood as taking thought again, as reconsideration in the light of new facts, new understandings. We might think of revision, indeed, as renewal of vision. There is no doubt that the facts of the Rising, even as it was unfolding, gave rise to recasting of what had been hitherto understood. The pity of it is, such revision as took place was very much in the wrong direction, a narrowing and a condensation where there should have been a broadening of thought, an expansion of understanding. It is a failure that haunts us to this day.

43 I very much doubt, certainly on the evidence to date, that 2016 will see the emergence in Ireland of a politics based in a broadening and deepening of thought and understanding.

44 More specifically, I see no signs as yet of a political nexus emerging that will gain and hold instructed popular assent for the implementation of a politics that would be as wide and deep in its propositions as was the Democratic Programme adopted in 1919.

45 The mainstream parties, Fine Gael, Fianna Fáil, and Labour, take it as axiomatic that their primary political task is the management of the economy according to the dictates of political formations in the EU (principally the European Commission and the European Central Bank), in accordance with strategies evolved and enunciated by the International Monetary Fund. Their stance, to be blunt, is servile, managerial and contemptuous of the key proposition of a Republic, that the people are always and everywhere sovereign. Their policies and perspectives are, objectively, dismissive and contemptuous of popular concerns, at best patronising and at worst, it seems to me, vicious in their disregard for the better impulses of the people at large. Successive governments since accession to what was then the European Economic Community have pursued agricultural policies as enunciated in the Common Agricultural Policy that have in effect elevated an exploitative stance towards the land over an ethos of sustainable stewardship. The development of native industry has been superseded by a strategy of turning Ireland into an aircraft carrier for the multinationals, buttressed by a subservient tax regime – an extraordinarily dangerous concentration on industries that by their nature are deracinated, driven always and ever by no other imperative than shareholder profit. We have effectively ceded the Irish fisheries in their entirety – a reputable economist, Gerard Delanty, has calculated that the total outflow of profit

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from these fisheries has made us a nett contributor to the coffers of the EU since 1976. We signed a contract with Shell which not only makes over to that company, for a pittance, the most lucrative gas deposit yet discovered in Irish waters, but provides for the State buying back at prevailing market rates such gas as we may need in the future. Worst of all, and a source of considerable unrest in Ireland at present, so far unfocused and undisciplined, the State undertook to impose on the citizens a gigantic and entirely disproportionate responsibility for losses incurred by mainly German, French and British banks in reckless speculation during the years of the so-called Celtic Tiger, the decade prior to 2008.

46 This is, in many ways, the culmination of a process that began when, all unexpectedly, we found ourselves with a State of our own to run with the signing of the Treaty in 1922. The men, and they were mostly men, who had fought the War of Independence, found themselves suddenly charged with the responsibility of a country to manage. Because, of course, there had been no politics in the War of Independence other than the single-minded pursuit of breaking the connection with England, they were faced with a stark choice, a choice made all the more urgent by the implacable opposition of a sizable minority to the Treaty; they had the opportunity to develop a set of values and institutions that would give shape and effect to the Democratic Programme, a massive task to be sure, or they could do what expedience, the imperatives of the moment and perhaps natural inclination prompted – which of course is what they did: the Free State government adopted the departing régime’s corpus of civil and criminal law, their system of Government Departments, their tax system and their Revenue Commissioners, the style of their military and their concern for the paramount rights of property, all these in their entirety. In the popular jibe, and there is always a deep wisdom in the sardonic wit of the powerless, the only thing that changed was that the harp replaced the crown on the stationery and on the postboxes of the new State.

47 The state class that rapidly emerged displayed an attachment to power and the exercise of power that was blithely prepared to pay lip-service to republican ideals without having the slightest intention of carrying them into effect.

48 Their lineal successors today are every bit as prepared to import and implement policies that, far from being grounded in a principled and disciplined inquiry into what best serves the interests of the Irish people as a people, are recklessly and indifferently predicated on the needs of external political and financial interests.

49 We have now a disdainful State-management class of professional politicians and senior civil servants, and at the same time a growing mass defection from political responsibility on the part of a citizenry reduced to a rubber stamp electorate.

50 Until now we have had two main parties, with their roots on opposite sides of the Civil War, whose distinction one from the other is close to arbitrary, even theological, rather than ideological. These have ruled for decades now, increasingly often in coalition with smaller parties who inevitably bear the brunt of popular dissatisfaction when things go wrong. Both governors and governed alike have consistently evaded the all-important question: what kind of Republic do we want to be?

51 It isn’t as if we have entirely forgotten that one brief moment when the independence movement, in the shape of the first Dáil, gave assent, even if it was only lip service, to a radical project of national sovereignty and self-possession.

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52 There will be those who suggest that the growing popularity of Sinn Féin as a possible party in government, perhaps as the dominant party in the next electoral cycle but one, might hold out some hope of establishing a republic in something more than name. I have doubts about this. Sinn Féin, it seems, has a number of internal contradictions to resolve, and I do not believe this can be done easily. On the one hand, the party leadership has proved itself very successful in garnering financial support from the Irish-American business community, a notoriously hard-headed and by-and- large conservative bloc. It seems to me unlikely that they could have done this while proposing themselves as a left-wing alternative to the neo-liberal apologists of the mainstream parties. On the other hand, their support for populist issue-based causes in the Republic is presented as evidence of their having embraced an option for the poor; in the domestic discourse, they present themselves as a left-wing alternative to Fine Gael/Fianna Fáil/Labour. The best insight I can offer into this tangle of contradictions is that there are two conflicting tendencies in Sinn Féin at present, a core of young left- wing progressives struggling to establish a principled left politics, and an older cohort still wedded to the incoherence of nationalism as a substitute for a thought-through politics.

53 Perhaps as a reflection of a larger confusion across the European states, it seems to me they are proposing contradictory versions of the main thrust of their political analysis partly because the situation is confused beyond all precedent, and partly because they have not yet worked out their core values and positions.

54 The fact that Sinn Féin presents itself as an anti-austerity party in the Republic while claiming the imperatives of realpolitik as excusing their implementation of austerity politics in the North suggests, perhaps worryingly, a parallel with the Labour Party in the Republic at the time of the bank crisis: Labour, in theory at least the inheritors of Connolly’s option for the poor, argued strenuously at the time against imposing on the Irish people the burden of paying for the losses incurred by reckless speculators – yet once in power they threw up their hands and told us that things were in fact much worse than had been thought, and that they had no alternative but to implement the very policies against which they had so convincingly argued.

55 But the principal problem facing Sinn Féin is only partly of their own making – the intractable, deep-rooted refusal of the Unionist community to entertain a united Ireland. Sinn Féin, in principle and by historical necessity, presents itself as an all- Ireland party. It follows that they cannot consider themselves successful until and unless they come to exercise power, with the consent of the people, in a united Ireland. Bluntly, none of us here alive today are even remotely likely to see this happen. I do not say that it is impossible to see Ireland united, but there is a bitter paradox here. The only conceivable way in which Ireland can be united is if we in the 26 Counties build a Republic of the 21st century, economically viable, sovereign, founded on principles of justice, equality and tolerance. The task, surely, is to make citizenship in such a republic attractive to people emerging from the backward-looking Unionist tradition, more attractive than citizenship of a declining imperial and industrial power that will very likely, in any case, be in the process of disintegrating. To come to power as the dominant party in such a future republic, however, Sinn Féin would first have to split itself in two – to adopt one formation as a republican party in the North, in the sense that in England, Scotland and Wales there are republican tendencies, a republican politics, and to present in the South a party that unreservedly accepts the existing Irish

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Republic as a legitimate political entity which may retain the right to propose an extension of that Republic’s border to the whole of the island.

56 I see no signs that Sinn Féin are prepared to adopt such a radical position, and must therefore conclude that, rough-hew it how they will, they must inevitably be sucked down into the irreconcilable contradiction between what we say we want and what we are actually prepared to do to get it that has made Irish politics for the past 100 years so static and dispiriting.

57 We should remember that the Rising of 1916 was a considerable shock, to the British, of course, and to the Irish of all traditions, but a shock, too, in the larger politics of the 20th century. Something new under the sun, a small nation rising in arms against a world-dominant power.

58 I cannot conceive a way out of our present impasse unless and until we can conceive of an equally new and radical gesture, this time principled, based on a widely-accepted politics, having wide and deep popular assent, that will be a shock to the globalised world, and to ourselves.

59 I bring to mind here the ringing declaration of the Democratic Programme: We declare that we desire our country to be ruled in accordance with the principles of Liberty, Equality and Justice for all, which alone can secure permanence of Government in the willing adhesion of the people.

60 There is nothing at all ambiguous about the warning encoded in that final clause: the right to govern depends always and only on the willing adhesion of the people. My profound sense at this moment in our history is that we are sliding inexorably towards the withdrawal of that consent to be governed in accordance with a mutually- understood compact. I need hardly point out the dangers of such an historical moment.

61 Neither the first Dáil nor any Dáil since has conceived the Republic in terms of the Democratic Programme, no matter how much lip service has been paid to its ethos and values, no matter how much in our naivety we have always assumed that somewhere in back of government that ethos, those values, were somehow mysteriously at work. Well, there is precious little mystery about what is happening at present: nobody now alive has seen a government so resolutely determined to save the apparatus of the State at the expense of the people and our actual, human interests. Aggregating the sum of our disaffections, and drawing from that mass of negatives a positive, it is hard but not impossible to see a way forward. One such path to salvation certainly suggests itself, the enactment of the Democratic Programme, or some radical, modernised restatement of it.

62 It may be that we are too deeply in thrall to some toxic indifference, too dispirited and lacking in imagination, too habituated by now to handing ourselves over to new masters who will prove to be the old masters in a different set of clothes, I do not know. Perhaps the habits of servility are too engrained in us, perhaps in the present age of the world at large it is too late to undo the profound damage that neo-liberalism has done to the fabric of enterprise, civility and society. I do not know.

63 And yet, still, stubborn as ever, with many thousands of others, I dream of a State in which I might yet feel at home. I think of my neighbours, my family and my friends, their matter-of-fact generosity and goodness, and I dream of a politics founded in such values. I look about me, at the singers and artists and poets, the community activists, the men and women who decently and unremarkably take on their duties and

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responsibilities with tact and care, I look about me at the rising generation, their sense of the wider world, their unassuming acceptance of ecological responsibility their ease with technology and with each other, and I dream of a country where our first care is to care for each other. I dream of a Republic where we might truly cherish the children, a Republic of stewardship, of welcome and decency, innovation and ancient values, a hardheaded practical Republic, a Republic with a sense of humour – and who am I to deny myself this dream, who am I to say we might not, cannot, will not rise again? That this time we might get it right?

64 I dream of a new Rising, not in arms this time but a Rising in our hearts and minds and spirits, in common cause with like-minded men and women all over the world, a Rising that roots in the heart and yet is practical, hard-headed, generous and clear, a Rising that says we hold this world in common, that we can stand in this world together, or go down to a common doom.

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Céad Bliain Anonn D’ici cent ans

Aifric Mac Aodha Traduction : Clíona Ní Ríordáin

Céad Bliain Anonn

1 Obair fhónta ní thiocfaidh den éirí amach, súil siar rósciobtha ní leomhfadh aidhm, cneasú thar ghoimh gach clúdach tosaigh – Fearrde thú filleadh ar imeachtaí ban.

(i) Scéala Ón gCoigríoch

2 Iascaire de chuid na hIndinéise, tháinig ar bhréagán gnéis, thug abhaile í is ghléas.

3 Le teann ómóis, athraíodh an blús is cóitín gach lá: Ba Bidadari anois an bhábóg mná.

4 Feidhm rud a athrú, sin é ár ngnó — Gó a dhéanamh den fhocal fíor, fíor a dhéanamh den ghó.

(II) Sa Bhaile

5 Tá, in Éirinn, bean anois ann

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a léann sleachta d’athair a leannáin,

6 ceann na leapan ag fógairt uirthi labhairt amach, nach labhrófá amach,

7 is a chaitheann go minic, sa chlinic, iomlán an lae le hiníon leis, nuair a atann a béal le cealg.

8 Aici tá agus níl imeacht uaidh — Dá fhad a glúin féin ón nglúin foirtil,

9 is díobh í, ar deireadh, an bhantracht a phlúchadh glór a bhfear le hárais tí an doirtil:

10 ‘Ní chloisim thú, John M’ a deireadh a mamó, an t-uisce á bhrostú d’aon turas aici

11 is í ag caochadh a súile le cual na tine, mar a bheadh pearsa ann i sobal tuaithe.

(III) Ath-Bhean

12 athbhean, f. (gs. & npl. athmhná, gpl. -bhan). Former wife.

13 Idir athbharr is athbhearradh, an leagan sin ath-bhean, ar ais san áit ar thosaigh sí, an t-ath- b’ath- ar lean.

D’ici cent ans

14 Aucun bienfait n’adviendra de cette insurrection Un regard en arrière ne permet pas d’atteindre sa cible Cicatriser une plaie est impossible sans pansement Tu ferais mieux de retourner à tes fourneaux

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(I) Informations de l’étranger

15 Un pêcheur d’Indonésie Trouva une poupée gonflable La ramena chez lui et l’habilla avec [soin.

16 Il changea chaque jour Chemisier et jupon La poupée devint une Bidadari.

17 Changer la fonction des choses est notre occupation Transformer des mensonges en vérités Et faire des vérités avec des histoires fausses.

(II) Chez nous

18 En Irlande, de nos jours, il y a une femme qui lit à voix haute des extraits de journaux au père de son chéri.

19 La tête du lit l’appelle exige qu’elle dise la vérité toute la vérité, pourquoi tu ne dis pas la vérité ?

20 Souvent elle passe toute une journée à la clinique avec sa fille à lui quand elle a la bouche enflée à cause de sa trahison.

21 Elle peut et ne peut pas partir qu’importe le chemin accompli par la génération des femmes fortes

22 c’est en fin de compte pour vous que des femmes ont étouffé la gloire des hommes avec des ustensiles dans l’évier de la cuisine.

23 « Je ne t’entends pas, John M » disait sa mamie quand elle transportait l’eau dans un seul saut

24 en faisant un clin d’œil au bois de chauffage comme une sorcière dans un conte de fée.

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(III) Ath bhean

25 (n. féminin, ex-femme)

26 Entre « athbharr » [l’après récolte] et « athbhearrradh » [l’après-tonte] Vient « athbhean » [l’ex-femme], [version beta de l’épouse Là d’où elle vient le mot « ath » [l’ex ou [l’œdème] revient comme avant.

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Comptes rendus de lecture

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John McGahern and the Imagination of Tradition de Stanley Van Der Ziel

Bertrand Cardin

RÉFÉRENCE

Stanley VAN DER ZIEL, John McGahern and the Imagination of Tradition, Cork University Press, Cork, 2016, 305 p. ISBN 978-1-78205-164-0.

1 L’ouvrage de Stanley van der Ziel a pour objectif de montrer en quoi l’imagination créatrice de McGahern fut alimentée par ses lectures et réflexions sur les œuvres des grands auteurs classiques. Il vise à prouver que les idées et principes esthétiques de ces auteurs se reflètent dans la production littéraire de l’écrivain irlandais. L’imagination de McGahern y est qualifiée de « traditionnelle », car ses romans et nouvelles s’inscrivent dans une large tradition que Van der Ziel définit comme « un potentiel de croissance et de progression », une forme de continuité littéraire qui se doit d’être constamment renouvelée. À sa manière, McGahern modifie la tradition, y laisse son empreinte et éclaire d’un jour nouveau les œuvres qui le précèdent, mais aussi celles qui lui succèdent. Comme le spécifie l’introduction de l’ouvrage, un écrivain véritablement « traditionnel » exploite les leçons du passé pour créer une œuvre à tel point unique et personnelle qu’elle est prise en compte par les écrivains ultérieurs, lesquels évaluent à nouveau la forme et les valeurs de la tradition.

2 McGahern percevait l’écriture comme un dialogue avec les grands auteurs qui l’avaient précédé. Il reprenait volontiers à son compte la métaphore de W.H. Auden qui voyait dans la relation qu’entretient un écrivain avec ses prédécesseurs « un partage du pain avec les disparus ». Dans un essai, McGahern estime que ce pain partagé a toujours été aussi vital pour sa vie spirituelle, artistique et créative, que pour la survie de l’être humain au quotidien.

3 L’ouvrage ne vise pas à identifier dans la prose de McGahern des citations extraites d’autres textes (ce qui serait difficile car elles sont relativement rares), mais isole et commente des idées que l’écrivain emprunte à d’éminents auteurs. Il montre comment

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son œuvre fictionnelle peut être lue à la lumière de traditions littéraires dans lesquelles elle s’inscrit. Il se veut ainsi une histoire des idées littéraires et esthétiques à travers le regard d’un « lecteur solitaire » devenu par la suite écrivain. Celui-ci forgea sa vocation dans les années 1940 : âgé d’une dizaine d’années, le jeune John McGahern avait alors libre accès à la bibliothèque privée de ses voisins protestants, Mr Moroney et son fils. Il put ainsi lire des centaines d’ouvrages et consolider sa culture livresque. De son propre aveu, cette expérience fut déterminante pour sa carrière littéraire.

4 L’ouvrage est divisé de manière thématique et chronologique. Les chapitres qui le constituent abordent en détail les idées principales empruntées et adaptées des grands auteurs d’Irlande, mais aussi d’Angleterre et d’Europe continentale que McGahern admirait et dont la trace est perceptible sur sa propre pensée et sa conception de la littérature. Chacun de ces chapitres fait référence à des périodes marquantes de l’histoire littéraire : poètes anglais romantiques, romanciers victoriens, auteurs modernes, philosophes d’après-guerre… Bien sûr, le chapitre sur Yeats et Joyce, plus riche en exemples que d’autres, est particulièrement passionnant. De la même façon, les nombreuses connections entre l’œuvre de McGahern et celle de Shakespeare, Proust ou Beckett, qu’affectionnait l’auteur, sont très stimulantes. De manière générale, ces échos et résonances font l’objet d’intéressants commentaires de la part de van der Ziel.

5 Certaines de ces analogies sont tout à fait convaincantes, notamment lorsqu’elles sont relativement explicites, car il s’agit de références sans doute délibérément insérées par McGahern dans ses textes. D’autres, en revanche, ne sont que de vagues allusions et s’avèrent donc plus discutables car, incertaines, elles s’apparentent aux sous-entendus et leur perception est souvent subjective. En effet, l’allusion dépend avant tout de l’effet de lecture : tout en pouvant ne pas être lue, elle peut aussi l’être là où elle n’est pas. Van der Ziel fait ainsi des associations libres, des rapprochements analogiques induits par similitude ou par contiguïté, que d’aucuns trouveront peut-être contestables. Du reste, conscient de la subjectivité de son interprétation, l’auteur de l’étude témoigne d’une grande prudence dans ses propos : « The title of the story may contain, the allusion seems to recall… » (p. 199).

6 Il eut été intéressant de se demander si les échos intertextuels dans l’œuvre sont intentionnels de la part de l’auteur, si celui-ci est conscient ou non de ces correspondances, et si les notions substitutives des intentions de l’œuvre et du lecteur sont valides pour l’interprétation du texte. Or la notion d’intentionnalité n’est jamais véritablement abordée par l’étude. De la même façon, la distinction entre les concepts d’influence et d’intertextualité n’est pas développée, mais fait seulement l’objet d’une note (note 45, p. 248), ce que d’aucuns jugeront insuffisant. Eu égard à la problématique générale développée dans l’ouvrage, un propos parfois plus théorique aurait été pertinent.

7 En outre, alors que McGahern est ici présenté comme le maillon d’une longue chaîne de prosateurs, l’influence qu’il exerce sur la génération suivante d’écrivains irlandais n’est guère approfondie. Toutefois, des échos de son œuvre sont clairement décelables dans les textes de Colm Toibin, Colum McCann ou Claire Keegan. Un chapitre entier aurait pu donner lieu à un traitement plus développé de la question, valorisant l’inscription de l’écrivain dans la longue tradition d’une continuité littéraire, alors que seulement une page et demie de l’épilogue évoquent cette postérité.

8 Hormis ces quelques réserves, l’ouvrage de Stanley van der Ziel, John McGahern and the Imagination of Tradition, a le mérite d’enrichir l’appareil critique sur la production

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littéraire de McGahern et de mettre à jour un aspect original et peu exploité de cette œuvre. Incontestablement, il comble une lacune. Passionnante et d’une lecture très agréable, cette étude permet de relire les textes avec un autre regard et suscite un questionnement fertile sur toutes ces formes d’interaction.

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Colum McCann Intertextes et interactions de Bertrand Cardin

Cécile Maudet

RÉFÉRENCE

Bertrand CARDIN, Colum McCann Intertextes et interactions, Rennes, PUR, 2016, 246 p. ISBN 978-2-7535-4943-2.

1 L’ouvrage de Bertrand Cardin, qui est divisé en chapitres explorant pour la plupart une seule œuvre de Colum McCann à la fois, s’emploie à étudier dans quelle mesure et à quelles fins les textes de l’écrivain irlandais se font les échos d’autres textes. Il cherche à démontrer la « pertinence » de l’approche intertextuelle en ce qu’elle représente un chemin privilégié vers les « profondeurs du texte ».

2 L’auteur de l’ouvrage s’intéresse d’abord à la parodie, qu’il définit comme aussi « convergente » par sa valeur imitative que « divergente par la transformation qu’elle opère ». Il souligne qu’elle n’a pas vocation à discréditer les textes sources chez McCann, mais bien à les « revitaliser » à l’aune « des préoccupations du présent ». Il défend l’idée que la convocation éminemment postmoderne de multiples textes et l’hybridité générique de certains d’entre eux, qui ressortissent parfois autant du mythe que du conte et s’inspirent du réalisme comme du fantastique, permettent aussi de renouer momentanément avec la tradition irlandaise de la Renaissance celtique et son « univers métissé, inspiré à la fois de la réalité contextuelle et de la mythologie locale ».

3 S’intéressant notamment à la nouvelle comme genre fragmentaire, Bertrand Cardin rappelle qu’il est naturel que celle-ci ait longtemps été le support privilégié des écrivains irlandais, car elle est la plus à même de retranscrire les dissensions sociales et politiques qui ont meurtri le pays. Dans les textes de McCann, la « dislocation nationale » n’est pas seulement en lien étroit avec la « dislocation individuelle » ; elle se reflète aussi dans le texte par le recours à l’allusion. Au contraire de la citation ou de la référence qui sont lisibles et franches, cet « emprunt non littéral » et « non explicite » qu’est l’allusion ajoute insidieusement à l’impression d’une désintégration de l’univers

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de McCann, car elle « suppose un détour, une déviation, un décrochage du texte lu » pour le lecteur.

4 Bertrand Cardin en vient ainsi à étudier le concept d’influence, qui « repose étymologiquement sur l’image de l’écoulement d’un flux » et suppose donc une certaine linéarité chronologique, ou une ascendance. S’il soutient l’idée que l’écriture de McCann est « hantée par la nostalgie d’une origine », il souligne pourtant que l’intertexte est « une action réciproque et une interaction mutuelle » et pointe donc la qualité plus rhizomique qu’arborescente d’un texte qui en convoque d’autres. Le pouvoir de l’auteur vient donc à être questionné, dans la mesure où l’intertextualité implique une « coprésence » des textes, une « dilution » et un « décentrement », plutôt que leur organisation stratifiée.

5 Dans la même logique, Bertrand Cardin réfléchit à la légitimité de vouloir prêter une « intention » à la figure de l’auteur, et cela même si McCann semble s’engager aux côtés des faibles en leur redonnant leur dignité. Dans sa prose, qui infléchit les textes mythiques pour leur donner « une perspective plus matérielle », les figures religieuses deviennent effectivement des personnages ordinaires voire déchus. Selon Bertrand Cardin, c’est davantage le rôle du lecteur dans la quête de l’intertexte ou de l’intratexte qu’il faut considérer. Les textes de McCann, qui sont de véritables écrins dans lesquels reposent ceux d’illustres prédécesseurs, « donnent libre cours à une créativité renouvelée » dont, indéniablement, celle du lecteur dont le monde est « enrichi par l’Autre » au contact des textes.

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The Shaping of Modern Ireland – A Centenary Assessment d’ Eugenio Biagini

Karin Fischer

RÉFÉRENCE

Eugenio BIAGINI, Daniel MULHAL (eds), The Shaping of Modern Ireland – A Centenary Assessment, Dublin, Irish Academic Press, 2016, XXI + 248 p., ISBN 978-1-911024-00-2.

1 Eugenio Biagini, Professeur d’Histoire moderne et contemporaine à l’université de Cambridge, et Daniel Mulhall, diplomate de carrière, actuel ambassadeur d’Irlande en Grande-Bretagne, ont eu l’idée de s’inspirer directement de l’ouvrage The Shaping of Modern Ireland qui avait été publié en 1960 sous la direction de Conor Cruise O’Brien, pour en proposer une forme de relecture historiographique collective dans le contexte actuel de la « décennie des commémorations ». L’ouvrage dirigé par Cruise O’Brien revenait sur le tournant du vingtième siècle en Irlande par le prisme des histoires individuelles de figures considérées comme ayant contribué à « façonner » l’Irlande moderne de manière significative. Pour mener à bien leur entreprise, Biagini et Mulhall ont fait appel à une palette impressionnante d’historiens irlandais, de Joseph Lee à Diarmaid Ferriter en passant par Mary E. Daly et Vincent Comerford notamment, mais aussi à des acteurs de la scène politique et artistique irlandaise contemporaine tels que Martin Mansergh et Theo Dorgan. Du point de vue du choix des figures historiques, la différence majeure entre les deux ouvrages, qui reflète une évolution de taille du point de vue des perceptions dominantes de la période comme le font remarquer Biagini et Mulhall, est la place maintenant faite à quelques femmes, qui n’avaient eu aucun droit de cité en 1960. Le nombre de chapitres a ainsi été augmenté pour permettre l’inclusion de Constance Markievicz, Eva Gore-Booth, Hannah Sheehy-Skeffington entre autres. Un chapitre sur des personnages influents du monde économique de l’époque tels que la famille Guinness a également été ajouté.

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2 Les auteurs des différents chapitres proposent une relecture souvent intéressante de l’histoire individuelle de différentes figures historiques (pour la plupart des acteurs de la scène politique irlandaise de l’époque), de leur rapport à l’histoire irlandaise en devenir et de leur influence réelle ou supposée sur les décennies qui ont suivi, et une comparaison systématique avec les chapitres correspondants de l’ouvrage de 1960 peut se révéler passionnante d’un point de vue historiographique (bien que la plupart des auteurs s’inspirent eux-mêmes pour l’essentiel d’autres ouvrages sur les sujets traités).

3 Dans leur préface Biagini et Mulhall admettent avoir laissé de côté en grande partie la dimension structurelle des changements qui s’opérèrent entre la fin du XIXe siècle et le début du XXe siècle en Irlande, et notamment les réformes agraires et leur impact, un élément qui manquait déjà dans l’ouvrage dirigé par Cruise O’Brien, comme le fait remarquer Paul Bew dans son chapitre. C’est d’une certaine manière le reproche que l’on pourrait faire plus généralement malgré tout au postulat même de l’ouvrage, à savoir l’idée qu’un nombre restreint d’individus particulièrement influents ou significatifs puissent être réputés avoir “façonné” l’Irlande moderne, au-delà ou en deçà des évolutions structurelles et du jeu des forces et tensions collectives à l’œuvre dans le pays tout entier comme au niveau international. De ce point de vue, l’ouvrage reste relativement académique, voire conservateur, d’un point de vue historiographique toujours, mais les points de vue très divers qui ressortent des différents chapitres, sur l’Irlande d’hier comme sur celle d’aujourd’hui, n’en donnent pas moins amplement matière à réflexion.

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Journal d’automne de Louis MacNeice

Elizabeth Pearce

REFERENCES

Louis MACNEICE, Journal d’automne (édition bilingue, traduit par Adolphe Haberer), Éditions Anagrammes, Perros-Guirec, 2013, 204 p., ISBN 978-2-84719-095-3.

1 Louis MacNeice’s long poem Autumn Journal appeared in 1939, to be finally translated into French by Adolphe Haberer and published in 2013 by Éditions Anagrammes as a bilingual edition, in its entirety. Individual sections only of this poem have appeared in earlier published translations in France. The journal consists of MacNeice’s reflections on autumn 1938 as it unfolded, both personal and political, and thus it is valuable as a poetic and historic document. It was the year that preceded the beginning of World War 2, and a year marked by romantic complexities for MacNeice, based in London at the time. In the journal, observations of the confusions, conflicting beliefs and uncertainties of the period as experienced by the general British population combine with the fluctuating optimism and despair of MacNeice himself. This bilingual edition is a striking work, reflecting Haberer’s profound knowledge of MacNeice’s life and poetry as evidenced by his earlier important publication, Louis MacNeice, 1907-1963 : l’homme et la poésie, published in 1986. The translation is enhanced by the context provided by Haberer in the preface and notes.

2 MacNeice’s long poem of 24 sections divided into “flexible quatrains” is marked by a unique rhythm composed notably of his punctuation and phrasing, his rhyming system, alternating short/long lines and various forms of repetition. These “rhythmic components” are retained where possible by Haberer, including the punctuation and the alternating line length. While not attempting to replicate the rhyming pattern, he compensates through alternative forms of emphasis and repetition. Further, Haberer largely stays with MacNeice’s colloquial, conversational writing style, resisting the pull towards ennobling the language and tone, or to clarification of existing, intentional ambiguity. Haberer’s use of key components of MacNeice’s rhythm allows the French reader to experience the complexity and apprehension of pre-war Britain, the political

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voice combining with the unique, clear personal voice to emerge forcefully from his translation.

3 Entries in Journal d’automne constantly reveal MacNeice’s reactions to events, making unexpected leaps between cynicism and despair, tenderness and hope. This ambiguity can be seen in Section XVI for example, which is focused largely on his complicated and ambivalent relationship with his birthplace, Ireland. Here MacNeice reflects bitterly:

Les taches sur la page sont si noires Que le trèfle ne peut les masquer.

4 His ambivalence towards Ireland emerges briefly however a few lines on:

Ses collines sont toujours bleues, l’eau de ses rivières bouillonnantes Court par-dessus les rochers.

5 The final lines of the journal achieve a form of hopeful if weary acceptance, at the very end of 1938:

On aura le temps plus tard d’examiner Les comptes, plus tard le soleil brillera Et l’équation sera résolue à la fin.

6 With the recent renewed interest in Louis MacNeice’s work in France, Haberer’s impressive translation of Autumn Journal, so clearly informed by his deep study of the poet, is certain to provide unprecedented insights.

AUTHORS

ELIZABETH PEARCE University of Melbourne

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Transforming post-Catholic Ireland – Religious Practice in Late Modernity de Gladys Ganiel

Catherine Maignant

RÉFÉRENCE

Gladys GANIEL, Transforming post-Catholic Ireland – Religious Practice in Late Modernity, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2016, 273 p., ISBN 978-0-19-874578-5.

1 Transforming post-Catholic Ireland est le résultat d’un travail de recherche action mené par une équipe pilotée par Gladys Ganiel, chercheuse à l’Institut d’étude de transformation des conflits et de justice sociale (ISCTSJ) à Queen’s University Belfast, dans le cadre de son activité militante au sein de l’Irish School of Ecumenics. L’ouvrage vise tout à la fois à évaluer la diversité religieuse dans l’île d’Irlande, en lien avec les questions d’immigration et de réconciliation, et à proposer des pistes pour faire en sorte que la religion puisse contribuer, mieux qu’aujourd’hui, à la complexe édification de la paix au sens le plus large.

2 Ganiel s’inscrit ainsi en faux contre des théories telles que celle de Beck (A God of One’s Own: Religion’s Capacity for Peace and Potential for Violence, CUP, 2010), qui vise à démontrer que l’individu réflexif moderne tend à créer ses propres dieux hors de toute institution, ce qui serait facteur de tolérance et d’ouverture à l’autre, sur la base d’une recherche de la paix plutôt que de la vérité. Selon Ganiel, les avancées en ce domaine seraient davantage le fait d’organisations religieuses qu’elle nomme « extra- institutionnelles » dont la caractéristique principale est de garder des liens forts avec les institutions à la marge desquelles elles se situent.

3 Afin de tester ses hypothèses, son équipe a mené en 2009 deux enquêtes, la première, directe, auprès de plus de 4 000 chefs religieux, dont quelque 700 ont répondu, et la seconde, en ligne, qui a reçu plus de 900 réponses. Fort de ces données, l’ouvrage passe

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en revue un panel de groupes religieux ou para-religieux, œcuméniques ou non, souvent multiethniques, s’inscrivant, pour l’essentiel, dans une démarche chrétienne, et dont la particularité est d’adopter une position critique vis-à-vis de leur institution de référence, que ce soit l’Église catholique ou les Églises protestantes, presbytérienne, méthodiste ou autre. À noter une passionnante enquête sur le développement en Irlande du Pentecôtisme et l’émergence de groupes charismatiques évangéliques, notamment d’origine africaine (ainsi le Jesus Centre à Dublin).

4 Seul un chapitre évoque la question des religions dites minoritaires (Bouddhisme, Islam, Sikhisme, Hindouisme, Baha’i), auxquelles s’ajoutent les athées. Il n’est plus question alors de religions « extra-institutionnelles » mais des difficultés rencontrées par les minorités religieuses dans une Irlande encore très fortement marquée par le catholicisme malgré l’apparente sécularisation. Le faible nombre de personnes interrogées (10 pour l’ensemble des religions minoritaires, dont 5 Irlandais convertis) limite la portée scientifique des résultats présentés dans cette section. L’auteure est manifestement davantage intéressée par le renouveau du christianisme à partir de ses marges, qu’elle voit comme une source d’espoir dans la perspective de son action engagée au service de l’œcuménisme, particulièrement en Irlande du Nord, dans un contexte ou la réconciliation demeure difficile.

5 Les conclusions de l’enquête se résument aux constats suivants : l’Église catholique, massivement rejetée, notamment en raison des scandales récents auxquels elle est associée, demeure l’institution de référence à la fois au Nord et au Sud. Les tendances identifiées par Ganiel confirment les analyses de ses prédécesseurs au niveau du monde occidental : individualisation et désinstitutionnalisation en sont les maîtres-mots. L’épanouissement personnel résulte de la libération des entraves et de la participation à des initiatives à visée à la fois sociale et religieuse. Le sectarisme sous toutes ses formes demeure toutefois latent et le terme d’œcuménisme est peu compris, voire polémique, au moins dans sa définition. La preuve, enfin, n’est pas faite de l’aptitude des groupes « extra-institutionnels » à faire évoluer les institutions et la société depuis la périphérie, même s’ils en ont le potentiel et l’envie. La fragmentation et la faible masse critique de ces organisations limitent en effet la portée de leur action.

6 L’ouvrage de Ganiel est tout à fait intéressant. Il a le mérite de faire découvrir aux lecteurs des groupes religieux ou para-religieux peu connus qui contribuent au pluralisme, à l’intégration des minorités ethniques et à l’évolution identitaire de l’Irlande. Il situe également son analyse dans le cadre plus large des débats théoriques et conceptuels de sociologie des religions sans jamais s’éloigner des préoccupations politiques et sociales propres à l’Irlande, tant au nord qu’au sud. L’ambition du travail est considérable et l’ouvrage malheureusement bien court pour rendre compte de la richesse manifeste des données accumulées. Les notions de religion « extra- institutionnelle » et d’Irlande « post-catholique » demeurent aussi un peu discutables par certains de leurs aspects, d’autant que l’engagement de l’auteure dans l’action œcuménique est revendiquée. Il n’en demeure pas moins que l’originalité, la richesse et l’orientation thématique de Transforming post-Catholic Ireland en font une lecture indispensable pour toute personne intéressée par les évolutions religieuses de l’Irlande contemporaine.

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La Musique irlandaise d’Étienne Bours

Erick Falc’her Poyroux

RÉFÉRENCE

Étienne BOURS, La Musique irlandaise, Paris, Fayard, 2015, 576 p. ISBN 978-2-213-67511-4.

1 Un ouvrage complet et grand public en français sur la musique irlandaise, cela n’était pas arrivé depuis 1995 ! Et c’est une grande maison d’édition française qui prend le risque, sans doute limité si l’on en juge par la popularité de cette musique, qui ne se dément pas à l’échelle mondiale dans le grand public depuis maintenant plus de 50 ans.

2 Son auteur, le journaliste Etienne Bours, est avant tout un passionné : par son métier de conseiller à la Médiathèque PointCulture de Belgique, par ses émissions de radio à la RTBF1, par ses ouvrages sur les musiques du monde et le folk, c’est sans doute l’un des francophones les mieux placés pour proposer une vision globale des musiques traditionnelles aujourd’hui, et notamment de la musique irlandaise.

3 Nous tenons donc entre les mains un gros ouvrage de 576 pages préfacé par le chanteur breton Gilles Servat, et qui fourmille d’informations dans un style très accessible. L’ensemble est divisé en deux parties bien distinctes : une première se concentre sur l’histoire de l’Irlande en chansons, tandis qu’une seconde se penche sur l’histoire de la musique, suivies d’un résumé des principales dates de l’histoire du pays, d’une discographie, d’une courte filmographie et d’une longue bibliographie, ensemble complété par trois index (chansons, noms propres et termes).

4 Le principal point fort de cet ouvrage, outre cette passion et cette subjectivité évidentes, sera donc le lien constant établi entre l’histoire de la musique irlandaise et l’histoire du pays, et plus précisément les « liens qui unissent musique et société » comme l’auteur l’explicite dès l’introduction et le répète tout au long de l’ouvrage.

5 Il tisse ainsi dans cette première partie le fil de l’histoire de l’Irlande à travers ses chansons, passant en revue les périodes fastes et les invasions, les espoirs et les rancœurs, non sans adopter un cynisme finalement bien irlandais, comme en témoigne l’affirmation en début d’ouvrage selon laquelle « L’Irlande a mal à son histoire et la

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musique est son remède ». La deuxième partie examine, pour l’essentiel, les différents genres de musique instrumentale ainsi que les instruments pratiqués en Irlande, de manière systématique et fouillée, avec un très grand nombre de références, concluant l’ouvrage par une réflexion pertinente sur les concepts de tradition et de modernité, sans toutefois parvenir à établir une véritable synthèse positive des composantes de l’identité irlandaise.

6 Comme souvent cependant, ce qui constitue l’intérêt premier du livre est également à l’origine de ses limites. On regrettera particulièrement, outre les coquilles, erreurs de traductions et anachronismes, les principaux choix opérés pour sa rédaction : ainsi, dans la première partie, la plupart des chansons sélectionnées pour illustrer l’histoire de l’Irlande sont des compositions récentes, qui nous en apprennent beaucoup plus sur notre époque moderne que sur les événements qu’ils décrivent. Plus surprenant encore, l’auteur affirme en début de seconde partie qu’il a du mal à isoler la musique « de son contexte historique, social, environnemental », mais il confine la danse en Irlande à une dizaine de pages sur les 485 du texte, soit environ 2 % (par comparaison, 270 pages sont consacrées au chant et aux chansons).

7 À l’inverse, on sera confronté dès le 1er paragraphe de la préface et tout au long de l’ouvrage aux références obligées à l’IRA, de loin le terme le plus cité dans l’ouvrage comme en témoigne l’index, donnant à l’ouvrage une tonalité finalement très partisane. La filmographie proposée sur 5 pages, notamment, n’a absolument aucun rapport avec la musique en Irlande, mais décline pouir l’essentiel une longue série de points de vue sur l’IRA, les Troubles en Irlande du Nord et les relations entre l’Irlande et son île voisine.

8 Sur un autre plan historique, le Dagda, personnage pourtant central de la mythologie musicale en Irlande, n’apparaît pas même dans l’index (et n’apparaît que très brièvement dans le texte). Toujours parmi les noms propres, on aura beau être un immense fan des Beatles et des Rolling Stones (c’est mon cas), on ne peut s’empêcher d’être surpris en constatant que ces deux groupes anglais sont bien davantage cités que le Bothy Band, l’un des groupes les plus importants du renouveau musical irlandais des années 1970. Ou que les Wolfe Tones (dont l’impact sur le plan musical est pour le moins douteux) sont plus cités que Clannad, Planxty, Altan, Dervish et Solas réunis, des groupes peu enclins au militantisme mais musicalement infiniment plus intéressants.

9 Au final, cet ouvrage imposant et très personnel hésite constamment entre une histoire partisane de l’Irlande et une histoire de la musique en Irlande en raison de choix éditoriaux contestables, sans véritablement parvenir à ses fins. Mais il restera intéressant pour ce qu’il est malgré tout : une vision personnelle et un peu idéalisée d’un pays et de sa musique, où l’on en apprendra davantage sur certains aspects de la musique irlandaise actuelle que sur les origines et sur les cheminements historiques de cette musique.

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