This
time last week, the name Richard O'Rawe meant little
to most people in Ireland. He has no reputation
as a political scoundrel, nor has he acquired the
notoriety that comes with taking the life of a fellow
human being. Although a republican from childhood,
there are no photographs of him with a tongue sticking
through each cheek, or his nose a foot long. He
is not a prominent writer … yet. So there was
no particular reason for his name to have generated
widespread recognition.
Less
than a week after hitting the headlines via one
of the main Sunday newspapers, he probably feels
the gravity in his world has gone down the plughole.
Throughout republican heartlands the central contention
in his book Blanketmen is being discussed
and debated, frequently in heated manner. It is
talked about in bars, living rooms and taxis. Interest
in the broadcast and print media has not waned.
Opponents have reviled him and friends have worried
for his safety.
O'Rawe,
for a time, was the PRO for the hundreds of republican
prisoners who waged the five year blanket protest
in the H-Blocks of Long Kesh a quarter of a century
ago. His role placed him at the heart of the prison
republican command structure at one of the most
significant historical moments in the evolution
of Provisional republicanism. In the choppy, turbulent
seas of the H-Block hunger strike, the author of
Blanketmen was able to view events as they
happened from a crow's nest.
If
O'Rawe imagined that his book would be received
in a spirit of calm reflection, it was barely off
the printing press before he received the rudest
of awakenings on BBC Radio Ulster's popular Talkback
programme last Monday. His character and perspective
was harangued from the outset by Sinn Fein's undercover
publicity director, Danny Morrison. The leader of
republican prisoners during the 1981 hunger strike,
Brendan 'Bik' McFarlane, vigorously disputed O'Rawe's
conclusions. Few punches were pulled, either by
O'Rawe or his detractors, as charge and counter-charge
electrified the exchange.
Listening
to a nineteen-year-old woman last evening, born
half a decade after the hunger strikes, she described
the shock to her system - 'our whole history has
been ruined.' Like most of us she was comfortable
with the standard Sinn Fein narrative of the era
in which the British state, led by Malevolent Margaret,
wanted not only to defeat the protest but to annihilate
the protesting prisoners along the way. Now someone
who was right at the coalface of events has flagged
up some blemishes in our polished narrative and
invited us to look again.
To
the nineteen year old I said, 'I don't know, but
what if it is true?' She parried by asking if I
shared O'Rawe's contention that the leadership of
the prisoners had accepted an offer from the British
state which would have ended the hunger strike and
prevented the deaths of six hunger strikers, but
were overruled by the IRA leadership. I explained
that while O'Rawe could be mistaken in his account,
possibly in the mists of time confusing one strand
of negotiations with another, one communication
from Gerry Adams with something else, he was certainly
not making it up. A consistent response from people
on reading the book is that its author sounds very
honest and does nothing to portray himself in a
favourable soft focus.
There
was no possible reason that I could think of that
would have prompted Richard O'Rawe to craft a tale
that would bring him widespread opprobrium. He lives
in West Belfast, is aware of the levels of intimidation
and ostracism that kick in against those questioning
the Sinn Fein metanarrative. To invite archaeological
excavation of the site where many forged their political
reputations and became figures in the international
spotlight is an enterprise laden with trip wires.
The powerful do not like being probed. To challenge
the certainties of those with no material stake
in the issue either way, but whose view of events
is settled, is equally fraught with difficulty.
The comfort of certainty is a sleeping giant that
one prods safely only from a great distance.
If
the debate that O'Rawe has opened up is to develop
further, then both he and Brendan McFarlane will
emerge as crucial participants. While many people
are prepared to accept O'Rawe's account solely on
the basis that Danny Morrison has disputed it, this
is more a reflection on how Morrison is perceived
as a Sinn Fein front man - the party's reputation
for honesty is on a par with Ian Paisley's reputation
as a Catholic - than it is a recommendation for
Blanketmen. As a critic of the book McFarlane
will carry much more weight. Like O'Rawe he was
at the nerve centre. Unlike many of his colleagues
who would seek to destroy O'Rawe, he has no history
of spinning and lying. Unfortunately, McFarlane
- no intellectual light weight or coward - has handicapped
his case by failing to defend it exclusively on
its own merits and has instead launched into an
attack on O'Rawe, which seeks to place him in the
midst of the current critical discourse linking
the Provisional movement to criminality. Such an
approach leaves Brendan McFarlane to sound as if
he is parroting a party line. It also clouds the
clarity that his own remarkable insights can bring
to bear on the issue at dispute.
In
opting to make available to the public his account,
Richard O'Rawe has displayed tremendous courage.
Some of his shrillest hecklers have never once shown
the slightest inclination to critically comment
on or challenge the dominant narrative within their
own community. There is not much courage required
to lob thought-bombs over the wall at the 'other
side.' Having them explode at our own feet and then
stand resolutely in the debris explaining the reason
for detonating blasts of alternative thinking is
the acid test for any real writer. O'Rawe has taken
two necessary steps preached but not practiced by
Danny Morrison. He has moved away from the party
line in order to write searchingly; and he has refused
to allow others to be the author of his history.
How
well Blanketmen withstands the challenges
it continues to meet remains to be seen. But the
idea that the only books the republican constituency
should read are 'true' accounts of the lives of
Sinn Fein leaders outside the IRA is one that is
being subverted as the culture of fear is being
eroded. It has often been said that people are more
afraid of being isolated than of being wrong. Richard
O'Rawe has braved the isolation. Others can conclude
for themselves, once they have finished reading
his book, if he is wrong.
At
the heel of the hunt O'Rawe approaches his readership
as a former republican prisoner who physically and
at great cost took part in one the most arduous
resistance struggles waged in European penal history.
One of his critics has elsewhere told us that the
British agent Freddie Scappaticci was a victim of
a securocrat plot. Let those who read Blanketmen
decide who really should 'hang their head in shame'.
