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Documents on Irish Foreign Policy (Vol 14) 1969-73: The North, above all else, required the Department of Foreign Affairs to up its game

Gleanings from departmental archives are pieces of jigsaw puzzles which illuminate decision- and policymaking, and the relationships of key figures

Patrick Hillery, then minister for external affairs, is escorted by police to his car after a meeting in London to discuss taoiseach Jack Lynch's disapproval of the UK government's policy of internment without trial in Northern Ireland. Photograph: Central Press/Hulton Archive/Getty
Patrick Hillery, then minister for external affairs, is escorted by police to his car after a meeting in London to discuss taoiseach Jack Lynch's disapproval of the UK government's policy of internment without trial in Northern Ireland. Photograph: Central Press/Hulton Archive/Getty
Documents on Irish Foreign Policy: v. 14: 1969-1973
Author: Eds. Michael Kennedy et al.
ISBN-13: 978-1802050219
Publisher: Royal Irish Academy
Guideline Price: €50

Among recently released State Papers was a note by Ted Barrington, Ambassador of Ireland to the United Kingdom from 1995-2001, on a conversation with Queen Elizabeth II in late July 2000. Elizabeth, Barrington reported to the Department of Foreign Affairs, had expressed relief that the “silly marching business” – the Orange Order’s July 12th perambulations – was over. Alert to political sensitivities, he asked that his report not get wide circulation.

That the release of Barrington’s note generated only mild amusement may be a measure of how far we have come in quarter of a century. But, in truth, there was long a suspicion that the lady took a dim view of the “state” which those loyal subjects had got themselves with the Government of Ireland Act (1920). She skipped the 50th anniversary of the foundation of Northern Ireland and, in her 70- years on the throne, visited it only 25 times. Bonnie Scotland was dearer to her than that modern contrivance: did a year pass without several visits?

For all that, Barrington’s note is a revealing document and an example too of one type of information that flows to officials who shape policy.

The volume under review is the 14th in a series proposed to the Royal Irish Academy by the same Ted Barrington, when political director of the Department of Foreign Affairs, in 1994. In short order, the department and academy agreed that memoranda, minutes, reports and correspondence – including items such as Barrington’s note – “considered important or useful for an understanding of Irish foreign policy”, should be made available “in an organised and accessible way” to encourage academic study.

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The year 1998 saw publication of the inaugural volume covering 1919 (the foundation of the Department of External Affairs) through 1922 and since then substantial volumes, arranged chronologically, have appeared at two-yearly intervals, all under the executive editorship of Michael Kennedy. The National Archives of Ireland became a full partner in the venture in 2003 and the series is a credit to all concerned.

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To be clear, these volumes are not history books. They are gleanings from departmental archives, pieces of various jigsaw puzzles but not all the pieces of any big puzzle. Still, disparate documents illuminate decision- and policymaking and the relationships of key figures. So, if not themselves histories, they suggest topics and hypotheses to historians. And anybody who enjoys the Yuletide release of State Papers will find that each volume is a selection box of goodies.

This volume covers 1969–73, when the scope of Irish foreign policy widened, not least through entry into the European Economic Community. But it was the North, above all else, that required the department to up its game. By summer 1969, unionism’s violent reaction to civil rights demonstrations – and Britain’s mishandling of that violence – had produced a crisis with an obvious precedent: the “Orange terror” that had followed partition.

The draconian legislation applied with gleeful vigour by Fine Gael and Labour was first used on Fianna Fáil’s watch: the difference was that the coalition seemed to take ‘deliberate pleasure in repression for its own sake rather than treating it, like Lynch, as a disagreeable necessity’

Dublin’s Northern policy to this point amounted to little more than encouraging what the editors term the “functional, non-political, cross-Border co-operation” initiated by Seán Lemass and Terence O’Neill. It had warned London of the gravity of the situation only to be told that the North was an internal matter for the UK.

Rebuffed, Dublin became more active on the international stage, through its consulates and at the United Nations, hoping to get London to involve it in concerted action to stabilise the situation. All that required a clearer articulation of positions and policies. By the end of 1969 Irish officials were discussing ideas such as powersharing and a Council of Ireland (a mothballed provision of the Government of Ireland Act) that would be central to all future peace initiatives. In May 1970, the department established an Anglo-Irish Political Section and the government created an Inter-Departmental Unit on Northern Ireland. In difficult times, the State was getting its act together.

But roads not taken come into view. In early July 1972, Willie Whitelaw represented the British government in talks with leaders of the Provisional Republican Movement.

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Dublin did not approve. In late July, Whitelaw raised with Patrick Hillery, minister for foreign affairs, “the question of political movement in the IRA”, suggested that Dáithí O’Connell “might be the man to lead it” (not Seán Mac Stiofáin), and hinted that Dublin might help in that regard. Hillery replied that it was an “absolute rule in the government, insisted on by the taoiseach [Jack Lynch] since the time of the trouble in the government [the arms crisis of 1970], that there be no contact with the IRA”.

Well may historians ask if that “absolute rule”, a product of Lynch’s handling of the arms crisis, did more harm than good and for a long, long time.

The Cosgrave coalition of 1973–77 is remembered for its hard line against the IRA. But, as historian Joe Lee reminded us, the draconian legislation applied with gleeful vigour by Fine Gael and Labour was first used on Fianna Fáil’s watch: the difference was that the coalition seemed to take “deliberate pleasure in repression for its own sake rather than treating it, like Lynch, as a disagreeable necessity”.

It was Fianna Fáil’s Gerry Collins (not Labour’s Conor Cruise O’Brien) who first issued a directive under the Broadcasting Act to restrict republicans’ access to the airwaves. It was Collins who sacked the RTÉ authority for a breach of that directive.

But the wince was as much a part of Fianna Fáil’s method as the nod and the wink. “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you” may never convince, but it can confuse.

Kennedy and his team have done students of Irish history some service. If only other departments would follow the example of Foreign Affairs and work with the Archives and Academy to illuminate, “in an organised and accessible way”, the evolution of policies in their realms. For 1969–73, and later, the files of Justice and those of Defence would make for an absorbing read.

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