A Constitutional Question

The letters to and from the city of Cologne brought me right back to the subject of history, pre-Uni. While I was being navigated through the likely questions for my Highers, the British Army pushed for a result in a no-go part of Londonderry. The headlines on the banned civil rights march failed to prompt discussion in our class. Of course it wasn’t history then. But it was, by the evening of the 30th January 1972. Or was it? Question: do you have to wait to the end of the day, the end of the month or the end of the year till events are indeed history? No, we never got asked that one either.

For the UK government this was a constitutional question, an internal matter. It could be a different story, abroad, if states wanted to break away or reunite. Also on 30th January 1972, Britain, Australia and New Zealand recognised Bangladesh. Pakistan then withdrew from the Great Commonwealth. For the new Secretary-General of the UN, the aforementioned former Nazi soldier, Northern Ireland was just another civil war. The United Kingdom was a bit curt (sorry) when the Austrian offered to act as a go-between.

So it was not even a thirty per cent possible question:

‘Why were thirteen civilians left dead on the streets and many more wounded by British Army fire during a civil rights March in Londonderry on the 30th January 1972?’ Let’s attempt to apply my history teacher’s methodology to the question that wasn’t asked. I’m a bit rusty on how this is done. History was a bit of a different subject, at Uni. How far back can we go in the attempt to determine a cause for an effect?

The deaths and woundings which occurred in Derry on 30th January 1972 were the result of a complex combination of circumstances, which had developed over a period of centuries. William of Orange’s victory at the Battle of the Boyne has remained a potent symbol, used by both sides. ‘Remember 1690.’ The vibrancy of the colour orange, as manifested on sashes worn on marches and mural paintings displayed on gables in Loyalist areas of Belfast and Londonderry, is set against the intensity of the colour green, which features prominently on murals in Republican areas.

Musical rhythms provide a further manifestation of two opposing cultures. The Lambeg drum has long been used by the Protestant side to project a steady, military and very loud beat, offset by high-pitched fifes. These expressions of the localised domination of one group over another are bound to lead to a series of reactions and counter-actions.

In contrast, Republican songs often work within a Celtic ballad tradition, where narrative and lyrical phrasing is to the fore. Often the lyrics are sentimental. There are many historical precedents for the use of an anthem by a group regarded as ‘Rebel’. Despite the horrors of a more mechanised warfare, there are still romantic songs relating to the ‘Rebel’ forces in the American Civil War.

An additional tier has been brought into the tension by the military traditions associated with particular regiments, deployed with the aim of enforcing the UK government’s policies in Northern Ireland. The distinctive maroon berets of ‘the paras’ or the green and black of Black Watch tartan bring their own associations into the complex mix.

The process of colonisation has left inevitable resentment. There are clear parallels between the encouragement of the Planters across the north of Ireland by King James I/VI and other historical situations.

Right, that’s enough of that. I just don’t get it that the Jewish settlers took over Palestinian farms and properties. Just like the Nazis gave confiscated lands to ‘ethnic Germans’ in Czechoslovakia after murdering or deporting the ‘inferior’ folk who were in them.

It was maybe inevitable that the Army would come to be seen as a force of occupation. Violence escalated, in the form of killings and explosions. The degree of ruthlessness, in bombing ‘campaigns’ which were bound to lead to high numbers of civilian casualties, is World War Two again. The failure of successive UK governments to instigate enquiries into the conduct of their troops was another factor. On the thirtieth anniversary of ‘Bloody Sunday’ it’s still not easy to decipher it all. Let’s fucking try.

Civil rights, in matters of arrest and justice, had been withdrawn as a security measure. One side said that not enough terrorist convictions were being made under the normal judge and jury system, so suspension of these rights and adoption of ‘internment’, was a necessary measure. The policy of imprisonment without trial and its apparent application to one sector more than another, led to the decision to organise that civil rights march through Derry.

Now how the hell do we change tack on this argument? The slick teacher did indeed give us a choice of four phrases but I can’t be arsed planting one in.

What about Heath’s memories? It was the Wilson government which first ordered the troops across the North Channel. But Heath was at the helm when it became a war. Sorry. My chronology is arse about face. We’re going backwards and forwards. But we’re going to Derry now.

So, let’s think of the paras in their signature maroon headgear, cooped up and hearing the usual rain of bricks. You’re behind a hot metal wall, in a powered steel pram. You’ve been issued the rounds and told again. You are the agent of delivery. In your warpaint, psyched for the game, this is it. It’s come from the highest authority that you ‘scoop up the yobos’. Once you’ve got separation from the rest of the crowd, you go in. If you see anything, let this be clear, you shoot first.

The boys’ bellbottom jeans are no longer flapping. The old guy who’s gone to help the wounded chap on the ground is killed with him. The priest is waving the hankie that’s more red than white. He’s as near immortal as you can get. He’s an image of the day. He stays at the age he was, on that day.