Last month I found myself standing in the prison cell where Patrick Pearse awaited his execution at Kilmainham Gaol in May 1916, writes Diarmaid Ferriter.
I was in the company of poet Theo Dorgan, novelist Anne Enright and a BBC radio presenter and producer who were on location to record a documentary called T
he Poetry of History
, which traces the significance of a major historical event through a poem associated with it, in this case, Easter 1916 by W B Yeats.
Visiting Kilmainham and standing in that cell is still a moving experience. The fact that the jail has not been sanitised or modernised adds to the feeling of stepping back in time, and walking into the execution yard still sends a shiver down the spine. It was clear the BBC men were also moved by the experience. As we left, another tour group, one of a number that day, was being guided around the building. The feelings and emotions evoked by the jail have been experienced by thousands over the years; a mixture of quiet pride, bewilderment, anger, fascination, awe and acute sadness.
The presence of the poet, historian, novelist and general onlooker is a reminder of the sense of ownership that exists with regard to 1916; and also of the many angles that 1916 can be approached from. It also struck me that much of the debate surrounding the commemoration rarely reflects what the general public think and feel about 1916, partly because it is often written about in the context of what some people believe should have happened instead of what did happen. In the context of that jail visit, some of the debate between historians and journalists seems strangely abstract, pedantic and unrealistic.
Commemoration plans for the 90th anniversary have invoked a forceful analysis but it has often been reduced to black and white- "democracy versus dictatorship", "freedom versus tyranny", "treachery versus bravery" and "sectarianism versus inclusivity". The result is often a crude, cartoon history in which sober reflection is drowned in a chorus of bitterness, suspicion and envy; in which a complicated event is disingenuously simplified. But one thing has remained constant - the majority of Irish people are still proud of the 1916 Rising; 65 per cent of them according to an Irish Independent poll in 1991 during the 75th anniversary of the Rising; 80 per cent according to a Sunday Business Post poll two weeks ago in the run up to the 90th anniversary.
In October 2001, when State funerals and reburials were held for the 10 IRA men hanged and buried in Mountjoy Prison during the War of Independence, it was the public who took charge. This was despite the predictions that the events would be hijacked by those seeking to insist, in Fintan O'Toole's phrase, that the only difference between a terrorist and a patriot is the passage of time. The public lined the streets and broke into spontaneous applause as the funeral cortege passed; they made it clear that they welcomed being brought closer to their history, and also wanted to express their gratitude to those who they perceived as having bravely died in the pursuit of Irish independence.They ignored the historians and journalists who rose to prominence in the 1970s and who were deeply uncomfortable with the bloody foundation of the State and their revisionist analysis predicated on what they believed should have happened. But it was Cardinal Cahal Daly who, to my mind, stole the show, when presiding over the funeral Mass. He quoted forcefully from the 1916 Proclamation and made the point that the promises it contained had yet to be delivered on.
Daly that day came to pay his respects but also to remind people that tradition, remembrance, commemoration, military parades and reliance on rhetoric are not enough. The fairness, equality and tolerance promised in 1916 do not exist in Ireland today. Modern Irish republicanism has often been vague, contradictory and ideologically incoherent. To deny this, to perpetuate the myth that it has been consistent and continually positive is counterproductive and dishonest.
It is important to remember and debate the significance of 1916 not just because of the pride it invokes (and there should not be an attempt to bully this pride out of existence) but also because of the continuing failure to deliver on what the rebels sought.
In April 1941, Seán O'Faoláin, then editor of The Bell magazine, wrote an editorial to co-incide with the 25th anniversary of the Rising: "If there is any distinct cleavage among us today it is between those who feel that tradition can explain everything and those who think that it can explain nothing. We are living in a period of conflict between the definite principles of past achievement and the undefined principles of present ambition. Contradiction is everywhere." His words are equally appropriate in the early 21st century, and this a far more important point to make than getting sidetracked by the issue of military commemoration. Such commemorative events often tell us more about contemporary politics than they do about 1916. There were years when the Rising was fashionable and years when it was ignored. Political parties will engage in a scramble for the bones of the patriot dead in response to opinion polls and new competition, but there were times when it seemed to the surviving participants that a new generation did not care.
In June 1962, Frank Casey and Peter Nolan of the Federation of IRA 1916-21 wrote to taoiseach Seán Lemass complaining bitterly that "the citizens of Dublin have become so used to seeing handfuls of old men marching behind the national flag that they no longer turn their heads to look at them, while the drivers of buses and cars hoot them out of the way and break their ranks with indifference, if not contempt".
The 1916 Rising began a process by which Ireland became a role model for the struggle against British imperialism. We do not need to apologise for this in 21st century Ireland, nor should we ignore it. But we do need to reflect on why, once you move outside the walls of the execution yard in Kilmainham Gaol, you re-enter an Ireland that does not reflect the noble aspirations that propelled the Rising and produced the Proclamation.
Diarmaid Ferriter lectures in Irish history at St Patrick's College, DCU. His book, What if? Alternative views of twentieth century Ireland will be published this month by Gill and Macmillan