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Part
4 shall be on Nationalism, in which I hold no belief,
on Republicanism, in which I can understand many of
its traditional values, on ' defined' Socialist Republicanism,
in which I again can understand many of its traditional
values and hold a lot of support and understanding
for. This shall again be done in the context of childhood
and my experiences, this all in relation to my political
understanding today as a defined Socialist {Revolutionary}
During the recent Easter break myself and my partner
Marie and our wee dog Carlice, went for a dander up
the mountains. Although we live in Turf Lodge in West
Belfast we are but a ten-minute walk to sit down on
the side of Black Mountain and are then able to overlook
the city of Belfast. This Easter was a particularly
good few weeks in regard to the weather as we had
plenty of sunshine and sitting on the side of the
mountain with a few sandwiches and the sun beating
down drew our attention to our surroundings, and how
much of it we really take for granted. Both Marie
and I have a love for the outdoors, nature and the
environment; this has been with Marie for a long time
but has only recently grown on myself. I find myself
lost in thought at times when sitting there, or indeed
when I go for a walk, yet the unfortunate thing is
that the beautiful mountain on which we sit is being
quarried away to nothing.
RACE and 'IRISH NESS' {Practical experiences}
Yet as we sat on the side of Black Mountain overlooking
the 'Turf' {Turf Lodge} and the 'Murph' {Ballymurphy},
looking into the distance we could see the surrounding
mountains and the Belfast loch. Marie, who is a good
artist, sat and sketched as Carlice, on his extended
lead, went to explore his surroundings. As for me,
I stared into the distance and in the security of
my peaceful and happy surroundings I again took the
opportunity to revisit the Belfast of my childhood.
It was 1979. 'Republican News Mr, 'Republican News
Misses', 'ask your Ma or Da do they want the Republican
News', as I went from door to door in the Divis flats
area. {Although An Phoblacht and the Republican News
amalgamated just prior we still called it Republican
News} I got my papers from a big friendly grater known
to me as Big Bingo. It always struck me that many
of the people were either big: Big Bingo, Big Jim
Burns, Big Paddy Murphy etc, or they were wee: wee
Sean, wee Paddy, wee Kevin. If not, they were called
by a part of the anatomy such as fingers, bones, knuckles,
etc, or a creature, mousy, pigeon, pigsy etc. This
in many ways is still reflective today in working
class areas. Yet these terminologies or nicknames
given because of size, appearance, shortening of names
or whatever, have on many cases carried through from
childhood to adult life. For me though my nicknames
preteen have long since gone. The names were more
as a matter of featured identification rather that
any racist connotations similar to that of, 'mousey'
or 'hammerhead' given to others that I knew. So for
those kids who knew me slightly I became known in
some childhood circles simply as 'the painted boy',
'the chocolate boy' or similar.
Therefore the pigment of my skin dictated my childhood
nickname amongst such circles, in that childhood naïve
context it was not used in a racist manner as amongst
us kids then; curiosity would have been the limit
to a perceived racial understanding. Yet some nicknames
I would have thought would have been hurtful to the
recipient. The whole race issue was only really brought
into any form of distinction to me as per my previous
article {West Belfast a childhood voyage of conflict}
by the state. Before that I never really recognised
any difference as it was never really raised, and
when it was, it was but curiosity and not in a violent
and racist manner as which happened via the British
and state forces. This quickly intensified my belief
and understanding that perhaps I was different and
different in an inferior way. Yet I am reminded of
the film 'the Jerk' I believe it was called, a comedy,
with Steve Martin, who is a white child brought up
in a black family who on adulthood is told by his
parents something along the lines of, 'Son we have
some news for you, you are different,' 'What do you
mean different? 'Son go look in the mirror, you are
white'. To which Steve Martin voices amazement. I
am not saying this is the way it was for me as I could
see I was black {Brown}{or could the give away have
been my Afro hair, such a source of childhood amusement
where I could bounce things of it or hide things in
it without easy detection.}. I am saying it because
it made little difference to those around me; therefore
it made little difference to me, if people can see
what I mean. It was when the state forces intervened
and singled me out during my childhood in respect
to my 'race' that I then developed a belief that I
had a difference, a difference that really mattered
and with that I believe throughout childhood made
me feel more inferior to those around me.
My answer to those in later life and indeed to myself
at times, in respect to race, was that I was a member
of the only race, that of the human race, yet it was
little comfort against the violent racial abuse. I
say violent not only in the verbal sense but on two
occasions in the physical sense, again in relation
to the state forces. On one of those occasions during
the late seventies I was hospitalised. I told my mum
and stepfather that I fell out of a tree collecting
conkers {chestnuts} or something to that effect. I
had a lot of trouble with my neck thereafter and it
was intensified when 3 or four years later I was hospitalised
again, preteen with a hurly stick across the neck
and then again a few years later hospitalised after
'DM boots danced' on my face, neck and body by some
looking for fun. Again in reference to the state I
believed to give the real truth would have had long
term consequences with state harassment to my family
as I knew what my families reaction would have been.
Like many during those days one had at times only
to endure for the greater good and well being of ones
loved ones, there is nothing more to be said on that
topic other than this, that even from an early age
I could understand how anger could turn then into
intense hatred. I see similar situations on faces
of children and others around the globe due to various
states actions and interventions today, with the Iraq
US/UK occupation, learning lessons from here and Palestine
for example, I believe far from over.
The issue of race and racial identity to me through
my childhood and beyond although intensified by the
vicious state force racism of some, identity to me
at that time was more community aligned. This in relation
to my class, the political situation and affiliation
of my extended family {most would have been Sinn Fein
supporters, others IRSP, others Workers Party, while
a few others again had no interest or had other beliefs}
but in the main most had Republican / Socialist sympathies
in those days. My final direction of a perceived identity
was influenced by both Catholicism and by Irishness,
cultural or otherwise. The Catholicism was through
intense religious doctrine at home, school and church,
not withstanding being an altar boy and personal tuition,
while on the Irishness I was always in the company
of Irish speakers and frequented both Irish speaking
homes as well as the Gaeltacht {Irish speaking district
in Donegal}. I also played hurling and Gaelic football
for various teams {the 'English' sport of soccer was
not allowed to be played in our Primary school to
an extent that when you were playing Gaelic football
and dribbled the ball on the ground as in soccer for
more that a few seconds, you would hear Brother Christopher
scream in his Southern accent 'Pick up da ball, pick
up da ball, no foreign games here'}. I was also fond
of the Irish dancing and attended regularly also a
Ceili or ceilidh depending on how one may spell it.
One can see then that in the community in which I
was raised and which I still now live many influences,
material, spiritual, cultural and political through
childhood created an atmosphere were a particular
understanding of society through those experience
drew ones mind in particular directions, reflective
though, although in differing ways of present society
as a whole.
The sun was now getting warmer sitting on the side
of Blacks mountain and as I looked up the mountain
I remembered the walks up it with my Grandfather or
with my uncle Seamus and his lurchers {across between
a greyhound and a whippet I believe} when I was a
kid.
I thought again in relation to racial identity and
the articles in relation to that about myself, which
have over time been carried in the press in the last
few years. Some in the local press others in the National
press such as an article in a Sunday newspaper a while
back about racists threats I had received. Yet it
was the lead front page article in the Irish News
which had my picture on the front page with a title
that stated 'Black Irishman hits out on Gardai Siochanna
{Guard of peace} Racism' that I thought about. The
article came from an incident in which I was travelling
from the North of Ireland to the South in which the
bus was stopped at the border. The police came on
to the bus and went straight to the back of the bus
and first asked a young Chinese girl for her passport
then asked me. It was such a blatant sign of singling
us out because of the colour of our skin. I refused
to show any identification as such was the blatantness
of their approach and refused to leave the bus stating
that I was an Irish citizen {in a broad West Belfast
accent}. It was also brilliant to see the support
I received from other citizens on the bus. So we had
the bizarre sight of the bus getting a police escort
several strong all the way from the boarder into Dublin
city because I had refused to be singled out for identification.
Yet I again found out that day that for 'some', although
I have no belief in Nationalism, identity and belonging
to this Nation state was presumed on the premise of
'race' - 'colour' as was that 'Irishness'. Which is
reflected I believe in the one question I am always
asked eventually when I meet someone, which is 'Where
are you from'? To which I reply depending where I
am either in Ireland or abroad. 'Ireland, Belfast
or Turf Lodge', to which the reply is almost always,
'No I meant where are you 'really', from'. To me that
question had always begun to answer another question,
that of my Nationalist and Irish identity, and my
ascending perceived racial identity over a 'perceived
Nation state one'. This young understanding through
experience helped lay the base for a more concrete
understanding of my 'race' and its relation to my
'class', through that upbringing of National and Irish
identity.
Yet this article on Race and Class and 'Irishness'
is but a practical piece on my experiences, for a
more theoretical piece on Race and Class and its history
and development read my article entitled The Politic
of Race', {Archive section the Blanket}.
SOLIDARITY -CLASS AND THE STATE
We had returned to our wee spot on the side of the
mountain, it was but a few days after we had returned
from a protest in Geneva Switzerland and Evian France
where the G8 had been meeting. We had had much support
and solidarity from many organisations, groups and
individuals before we left Belfast to go to the protests.
Yet as Marie and I and several others took off from
W/Belfast to our destination of firstly Geneva, Switzerland,
we were doing it against the backdrop of the magnificent
demonstrations a few months prior against the war.
On our touch down in Geneva we were met firstly by
manned tanks on the runway then on the several minute
walk from our plane all the way through the terminal
through to passport control and beyond, it was lined
completely all the way with troops. It was a surreal
experience with those eyes attempting to stare you
out, one thought then that it was almost inevitable
to be pulled out from amongst those others going to
passport control. Even at our last G8 protest, which
we were at in Genoa where the state {and supported
by states} had moved then to murdering activists in
our movement, we were met by only a handful of cops.
After making our way by various methods we eventually
got off 'our train' to the scene of 'Italian cops'
{with some English and American accents} stating through
their radios, 'The Irish have arrived', or words to
that effect. So with what looked like half the Swiss
army greeting us at the airport in Geneva we pondered
as to what confrontations were to lay ahead, of course
it was an intimidatory show to show their potential
clout but nevertheless it could also set ones mindset
for inevitable confrontation with the state.
I have seen then on the various protests how the state
will use intimidation, violence and the murdering
of its own citizens as it has done here. I have see
how states will help other states to learn their methods,
for example the Irish police have been 'observers'
at the last several international mobilisations to
gain experiences, given the fact they are hosting
a number of International summits in the months ahead,
{with the WEF which was to be hosted in Dublin later
this year now cancelled, must have got a whiff of
the mobilisations being prepared against them} or
the two thousand or so German police who were put
in the front line in Switzerland, one state learning
from and helping another. I have seen also how the
state attempts to set one against the other and not
content with that will actively attempt to further
split particular groups and organisations with quite
similar beliefs, as and when it is in the state interest.
I have found increasingly also how they use agent
provocateurs which was quite noticeable in Genoa and
increasingly so in Geneva, to attempt to damage and
tar a movement.
Yet such is used also to sow confusion, is he/she
one, and is he /she not. A recent experience was at
the Hillsborough demonstration against US President
George Bushes visit while another was in Genoa when
we were at one stage lead down a street and then found
ourselves completely surrounded by the cops at all
avenues and out numbered. In that situation it was
decided if we could we would attempt to retreat in
strength {to fight another day} and if that meant
negotiation then so be it. We were after a long time
able to negotiate our way out past the police but
as we were coming out a young man in a mask and armed
with an iron bar attempted to move towards police
lines. The police armed to teeth were already attempting
to take a swipe at the odd person going by. So while
comrades argued with him to stop until our comrades
came through he still continued to move forward. Whether
he was agent provocateur or an Italian youth wanting
to get stuck in I knew that whomever he was, for our
comrades to come through safely, for a period, he
would need to be incapacitated. Our comrades came
through safely.
In Geneva I witnessed, also like Genoa, that when
most activists leave the state lets the police run
riot even more so than the brutality that they have
already inflicted. The blood soaked Schoolhouse in
Genoa soaked deep in the blood of peace activists'
right up to the high ceilings or the masked police
running riot with grenades and rubber bullet guns
through Geneva/ and near Evian. Just like this state,
with its long history, seeped in state brutality,
like the smashing of skulls and brutality on the Ormeau
or the Garvaghy Roads. Or its collusion in targeting
and again murdering {like Genoa} of its citizens,
including children in the North of Ireland, has with
many others instances shown me in real experience
that the state and its various wings will use and
be allowed to use any means necessarily in the perceived
interest of the state. It is therefore on the basis
of Internationalism where working class people working
in unity and solidarity, can therefore provide the
lever for delivering real and fundamental change.
As opposed to that of the International based and
inter nation state supported ruling class interest,
motivated both economically and politically and driven
by terror and brutality. Such internationalism in
solidarity should also be built for and replicated
locally in 'United Fronts', or coalitions where the
problem does not lay within the diversity of our organisations,
but that our strengths are together directed towards
our collective problem.
Do you want a sandwich? Thanks. It was not as hot
as the Easter weeks as we sat on the side of the mountain
but it was nevertheless warm. I thought of some of
the faces we had seen on various protests and the
state brutality dished out to them. Then I thought
back.
'Mummy whose he', I asked. It was again the late seventies
as I looked upon the vinyl cover of a record. The
picture was of a man, his face hardly recognisable
because of the bruising and scarring due to the after
math of a terrible beating. 'He's a political prisoner,
a volunteer, imprisoned in the Kesh {Long Kesh prison}
son', my mum replied. I looked at the picture and
in a sense it haunted me in my dreams in youth as
the face despite its markings, the eyes though breathed
fire. I always thought as to what was going through
that mans head as one could think of the obvious pain
he must have been in, Yet I had seen through that
battered face, eyes for the second time in my life,
of fire, of complete and absolute defiance. The songs
that such records held were always blasted out of
our house with the window wide open and the one that's
wording always sticks in my head is that of the 'Snipers
song'.
Such instances although small in note in the bigger
picture of the recent conflict are experiences for
one reason or another which is stuck on my mind as
would be the case with hundreds of thousands of other
individual's experiences.
'Green cross', 'support our prisoners, join the demonstration
on such and such a date, wear a badge, buy a paper,
sell a ballot', etc etc. There were always calls for
support and solidarity for protests, marches, meetings
or other things. Even for a child it seemed such an
intense time, a time that one would participate, yet
not fully understand as to why. The actions though
of a brutal state, the pictures seen, the stories
told, of seeing and witnessing at a personal level
a state and its various wings at work, were reason
enough preteen to eventually make me realise. Realise
that although like many others it was my childhood
norm, it did eventually dawn on me as I got older
7/8 that despite that norm, that something was really
seriously wrong within my world, the world to me then
was 'the Road', it was the {the Falls} and it was
the 'Murph'. It was there that I first witnessed solidarity,
real solidarity of a working class community in struggle,
the support of one person to another, of a people
to a community, could be seen in the smallest of activities.
I remember people giving food to others who had none,
even though they had little, of clothes been given
to those whose were torn and ragged, despite others
again having little, of a yellow plastic pineapple
that sat in our home which contained money that would
not be touched as it was for those more in need. I
also always wondered how people were able to survive
and feed such big families, with for example my grandmother
by her early thirties having thirteen children, yet
people adapted and coped with whatever was thrown
against them and on many occasions they did it as
a community.
RELIGON
Yet I was soon to learn that many in the community
were devoutly religious as was and is my family. My
grandmother now almost eighty prays for all her children
and grandchildren. Yet she constantly tells me that
she dedicates rosaries so that I might return to God.
As is similar with my mother and others, who pray
for my return to 'our Lord'. Yet, as was the case
when I joined the SWP, many differing aspects of my
extended family debated with me as to me joining more
'Traditional', republican/socialist organisations.
This has all but gone, as they all now know that my
belief is as strong as theirs in relation to particular
aspects of ones life. It must be said though that
the pressure for one to return to my perceived political
or religious tradition was initially a very strong
one. I hold every respect for their belief and understanding,
all I asked in return is that they would respect my
right to come to my own conclusions and draw my own
understandings and beliefs in life by looking outside
'a tradition' and myself therefore educating, learning
and understanding more of a world and its history
in its many aspects. With that we now can discuss
and debate our various beliefs and understandings
of the world in a way that each might not agree with
each other but at the least we respect each other's
right to those beliefs. Such discussion I believe
in which I have engaged in many different walks of
life and traditions, while maybe not agreeing, I can
at least attempt to grasp an understanding as to why
others have reached their conclusions.
'Can I go, can I go? 'OK', was my mother's reply.
I believe it was 1978 or thereabout. So I made my
way around to a wee street beside the Dunville Park
on the Falls Road. As I arrived there were hundreds
of people waiting in a line. I took my place and as
I did I said to the woman in front of me, 'Is this
where I can see Jesus and Mary who have appeared on
the Fireplace'? 'Yes, Yes son, this is where you will
see a miracle son', as she said it I remember the
genuine belief in what she was saying, held in her
face. Once inside the house that woman knelt in front
of the fireplace, took of her headscarf and first
touched the mark on the fireplace, then prayed, then
cried. To me that is a very powerful memory as I looked
at a mark on a fireplace, in a wee house on the Falls
Rd and watched that woman kneel, pray and then cry.
As I said in my document in Part 1 of these articles,
{A personal voyage of taboo - to get a more in depth
look at my childhood and religion}, that it is not
a coincidence that in the most exploited, oppressed
and poorest community that 'A god' finds a larger
hearing, as one is desperate for hope. Yet to me all
are non believable, when I hear people talking about
how non believable other religions are I think to
myself is it any more believable than 'our lord' or
Mary coming to fireplace on the Falls RD, statues
moving or crying, a burning bush talking or whatever.
I respect people beliefs when it comes to such issues
and more importantly I can understand how people who
hold such devout traditions or religion have such
faith in such. Yet for me when I looked outside and
self studied many aspects of life and death, {although
very hard due to my upbringing} from an objective
position, such questions and on many others I began
to search for and find my own answers.
'COMMUNITY'
The whole sense of community as I have stated in my
early youth was very strong to me as were other such
issues, as like many others because of the political
and economic situation of the community. Yet for my
understanding I have developed a belief in a class
as opposed to a community, although I once again can
understand fully the 'politic' of community. Again
it took me both practically and in mindset to develop
again my own understanding, with the mindset changing
due to the practicalities. I have on this site written
about many engagements, discussions and practical
working with others I have had on the base of class.
Many initially were small-scale situations but increasingly
so more large scale where tradition was crossed on
a commonality of purpose. The first such large scale
practical experience was when a young postal worker
Daniel McColgan was murdered by loyalist paramilitaries.
Many trade union and community activists within the
SWP worked tirelessly on the ground including within
the postal Union with others to help initiate an anti
sectarian march up to 30,000 strong in Belfast. Although
eventually called by the trade union movement after
the postal worker walkouts, our work at the base with
our modest numbers, was acknowledged by aspects of
the media, within some working class communities where
we laid a lot of ground work and eventually by leading
members of the trade union movement {ICTU} as they
have done recently on several occasions over our initiation
and bringing about of the magnificent Anti war march
on Feb 15th 2003.
Such a demonstration was a breath of fresh air to
that of the sectarianism and communal politics and
we as socialists will continue to build on that and
attempt to create a large opening for those who like
many others in society want to see a differing form
of politics.
'Davy, it's getting chilly, do you want to head down?'
asked Marie. It was getting a bit chilly and I had
taken many notes of thoughts that needed to be put
into words. As we took our dander back towards our
home I saw a young boy on the grass playing with toy
soldiers and I thought of how long it was in which
I seen kids playing with toy soldiers. Now it is all
computer games or kids motorcycles and such. For a
brief second though, it brought me back again to the
late seventies.
I had ventured into the shop at the bottom of my street,
{Sevastopol Street} where now stands the Sinn Fein
centre. 'What happened to the battle field in the
window'? The battlefield was made I presume by prisoners
in the Kesh. It was of I presume the IRA attacking
a British army vehicle. It was not the political reasoning
that attracted me to it but a child like many others
past and present who enjoyed playing with such figures
of war. I would stand and stare at it when I was coming
home from St Finians school and image were I would
place the figures on the battle field and how to launch
my ambush etc. I had saved long and hard by doing
errands, selling papers etc as I knew at home money
was in limited supply like in most others at the time,
and had saved almost three quarters of the money needed.
'It was sold yesterday son'. I closed the door on
my way out and stood on the Falls road, I felt gutted,
all that work put in, all those errands run, all those
dreams at night as to the fun I would have playing
with it and some one walks in with a wad of money
and walks away with it. Although I have never blamed
those who bought it, I remember walking back up my
street in the late seventies thinking once again 'What
an unfair world'.
'What did you say?' Marie had said. I had not realised
that I had spoke out loud. 'What an unfair world,'
I replied. With that Marie said, 'Isn't that why you
are trying to change it, isn't that why you are a
socialist?'. We put our arms around each other's waist
with Marie's head nestled upon my shoulder and with
the dog in tow I thought once again that I shall revisit
the times gone by as we made our way those few minutes
back to our home.
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