A sovereign people? Lessons from history
Opinion: Co-ops, Gaelic League and Literary Theatre led the way in ‘self-help’ movements
‘Are there current analogies? Seán Ó Mórdha does not say and every person who watches his documentary, A Sovereign People: The Story of the Irish Revolution, will have a personal response’. Above, O’Connell Street, Dublin at the turn of century
A few years ago, our leaders talked about a mysterious entity called “the sovereign”, denoting not a monarch but an idea of the supreme legal authority of an independent state. In more recent years, the buzzword is “receivership”.
But this is an old story. Students of Gaelic poetry may remember lyrics in which a young prince met a woman who promised him the sovereignty of Ireland, if he passed a few stress-tests. Like sleeping with her. She wasn’t pretty but if he did the necessary, she would walk again like a lovely young queen.
There was a linked story, sometimes called an aisling. A wan, debilitated Irish lass could be brought back to vivid life by means of a deliverer from overseas – Jacobite king or French forces or American money (it varied over time).
Seán Ó Mórdha’s documentary A Sovereign People (to which I’ve contributed) shows that by the 1890s the debate had changed. The failure of Westminster to deliver a promised form of Home Rule in 1893 led many Irish people to conclude that sovereignty was not something to be given or withheld at the pleasure of overseas bureaucrats: it was something that people must take unto themselves as of right.
Hence the “self-help” movements of subsequent years. The Co-ops were designed to revitalise a moribund, under-capitalised agriculture; the Literary Theatre (later the Abbey) was created to tell the national story; and the Gaelic League was founded to revive Irish. The league also initiated the St Patrick’s Day parades, emphasising the link between industrial production and cultural self-belief. A little later came Sinn Féin (meaning “ourselves”).
Reforms to local government did no harm either, as communities were galvanised. Democracy seemed to blossom. In the Abbey Theatre or in the Gaelic League, aristocratic ladies (Augusta Gregory, Edith Somerville) often mixed on a basis of equality with working men (Edward Keegan, Sean O’Casey). A whole people sensed a renewed capacity to rewrite the script of its own life.
The authorities, at first, were smart enough to adjust – to investigate the causes of poverty in the west, to tackle the scourge of emigration, to recognise the Irish language in the educational curriculum.
Some of the Gaelic texts studied were unashamedly aristocratic, extolling ancient warrior elites and dissing such new-fangled institutions as “parliaments”. But others were deeply radical. The Midnight Court (a poem by Brian Merriman from the late 18th century) suggested that a secret convocation of women might right the wrongs of society. Something of that idea would be recycled in the revolutionary edicts of the first Dáil of 1919, a virtual parliament set up within the shell of a still-existing imperial scheme.
Three decades before that date, the Anglo-Irish had begun to lose power as well as land. One of their leading intellectuals, Standish J O’Grady, predicted the future with piercing if troubling accuracy. He said that a literary movement (“not very important”) would be followed by a political movement (“not very important”) – “and then must come a military movement, that will be important indeed”.
This prophecy was fulfilled, as military force trumped not only civic democracy but also cultural revival.
Interned in a British jail after joining the war against the British, Colm O Gaora from Ros Muc offered to teach his fellow rebels some Irish. Many refused his offer and he realised sadly even then that the “cúpla focail” would suffice for most leaders of the emerging new state.