The SNP and the IPP

The dominance of the SNP in the recent British election has, inevitably perhaps, drawn comparisons between the Scottish nationalism of today and the SNP’s position in British politics, and Irish nationalism during the 19th century and the IPP during the Home Rule years. I think it might be useful to step back a little and remember the context that both came from. Primarily, in Paul Bew’s words, that there are Scots who remember the poll tax, whereas there were Irish with living memory of the Famine.

In his new book The Great Famine, Ciarán Ó Murchadha spent two chapters describing the society and culture of pre Famine Ireland, culminating with this personal portrait:

For those schooled in the ways of traditional Ireland, all the changes of the period leading up to 1845 were disconcerting and difficult, a dissatisfaction that is perhaps personified in the figure of Rory Oge, the blind uileann piper encountered by Anna Maria and Samuel Hall at a fair in Killaloe in 1841. The Halls go to some trouble to present the piper, whose last name we are not told, as one of the last of his kind, and in a colourful conversation that takes up seven pages of text, and which includes a roguish illustration of Rory Oge in his tent, they allow him vent his spleen on the current age. Rory Oge resents the fact that ‘faction fights have altogether ceased, and [that] dances are now a days few and far between,’ and is ‘wrathful exceedingly’ on issues ranging from the disappearance of illegal stills and the decline of dancing to what he sees as a general loss of spirit among the ‘boys.’ His particular bete noir, however, consists of the temperance bands, which appear to him to be the harbingers of a new tame orthodoxy among the people that was killing of the old, wild cheerful anarchy of Ireland. For the new disciplined Ireland in the making Rory Oge has nothing but withering contempt.

A generation earlier, Tom Garvin described the effect the Famine had on Irish society and politics:

In an unpublished paper, J.G.A. Pocock has characterised Ireland’s political experience since the Great Famine of the 1840s as one of revolutionary politics in the paradoxical context of a society which was becoming steadily more stable. The Irish revolutionary movement derived its energies from a series of grievances that were slowly being rectified. The real enemy of the Irish rebel was not the British soldier or police but the reformer and the continuing steady adjustment of Irish society to commercialised, capitalist, modern civilisation. Emigration also acted as a safety valve to drain off the discontented and unemployed young.

A further twist that can be added to this argument is that the rebels themselves sensed its validity and were tempted to preserve those evils in the society that generated discontent and helped their political project to survive. Ireland has indeed been a modernising society since the Famine of 1845– 7, although that modernisation has been slow and has been resisted by many elements. The tragedy of the Famine was itself the occasion of a great, even convulsive, modernising change. In some ways, few European societies have travelled as far as Ireland has in the ‘long century’ since 1847. This is so despite a persistent popular and even academic stereotype of the country as unchanging. The highly disciplined and austere Tridentine Catholicism of modern Ireland dates from the mid-nineteenth century.

Linguistically, the country was also transformed; the language of the masses changed from Irish to English, and literacy in English replaced the non-literate use of Irish. To change language entailed changing cultural worlds, and millions migrated mentally from the medieval Gaelic world to the modern world of the English language. Few countries have undergone so sudden and complete a linguistic shift; in parts of the island, the exchange of languages appears to have occurred in one generation. Again, the agrarian property system was revolutionised as a consequence of the Land War of the 1880s, as the land was transferred from a mainly Anglo-Irish and Protestant landlord class and became vested in the mainly Catholic and post-Gaelic tenantry. This tenantry in turn evolved into a newly dominant stratum of small-and medium-sized owner-occupier farmers.

The economy was revolutionised. Whereas in 1830 agriculture was mainly subsistence and the island was encumbered with a huge landless rural proletariat, by 1890 commercial agriculture, based mainly on cattle exports to England, had become important. The rural proletariat had largely melted away and the owner-occupier farmer dominated the scene. An important turning point in the life of any underdeveloped country had been reached and passed; Ireland since the 1880s has had many serious problems , but they have been insignificant when compared with the appalling situation of much of the population prior to the Famine. By the end of the century the main outlines of the process were obvious; one Anglo-Irish observer of that time saw it clearly as a huge social and cultural revolution, one which could not fail to be followed by a political revolution.

Pre-Famine culture was ruthlessly dismantled by the people themselves in the decades after the Famine, almost as if there was a hatred for the heritage that had led them to such disaster. Diet, superstitious beliefs, sexual life, ideology, political life, dress and kinship systems were radically remodelled. The cultural revolution of Victorian Ireland prefigured much of what is happening in the underdeveloped world of the later twentieth century, where the efforts of peoples to cope with the invading culture and international economy of the West often bear an uncanny resemblance to the almost desperate attempts of the Victorian Catholic Irish to come to terms with the overwhelming culture and power of imperial England

Of course that is only part of the story, and there are undoubtedly parrallels that someone (more knowledgable than me) could draw out. As Garvin goes on to note:

Once the alliance of English Liberalism, Irish agrarianism and Irish constitutional nationalism had destroyed landlordism, the ‘agrarian motor’, which revolutionary separatists had hoped to use to move their own rather different cause along, slowly began to run out of fuel; it is arguable that had the ‘accident’ of the First World War not intervened, the Irish revolution would have died by the mid-twentieth century without realising its objective of complete separation of Ireland from Britain. Since 1890 there has always been a curious revivalist quality to Irish separatism and republicanism deriving from their ambiguous attitude toward reform, cultural change, capitalist development and modernisation.

But we should still recognise the rage and bewilderment faced by a people who had their entire society devastated and transformed beyond recognition within a generation when trying to understand their, often conflicted and complicated, relationship with the Union.

What could an epidemiology of violence tell us ?

Let me declare straight up that I’m arithmetically incompetent. I’ve been trying to teach myself statistics over the past year or so but this process hasn’t been entirely succesful (partly because of time constraints, partly through the inability to self motivate and partly because of a lack of a natural aptitude for the subject). I’ve also been reading up on research methodology, how to structure a research project, ask a question so on and so forth.

I’m saying that as a lead in so people understand that (1) I’m an interested layman at most and (2) I don’t mind being spoken to as an idiot (so long as any opinions are constructive and interesting). What I’m wondering is to what extent an epidemiology of violence during conflict would be a useful research project, either for scientific purposes or on a practical level (ie when responding to humanitarian crises) ? If you take something like this and Statius Kaylvas’ project on the micro-dynamics of conflict violence, could you develop a meaningful and useful epidemiological approach to violence during war ?

I guess I have some initial questions here; (1) could you gather enough timely and accurate data to make such a project useful (2) what would an epidemiological approach to studying violence actually tell us (3) would it have any practical application (4) would it have any scientific merit ?

These are just initial thoughts, more than likely confused for a number of reasons, but I’d be interested to see if anyone has anything to say about this in comments.

The dead of the Irish Revolution

From Eunan O’Halpin‘s project ‘counting the dead of the Irish Revolution’, and chapter 8 in the book Terror in Ireland :

                           Between January 1917 and December 1921, 2141 fatalities have been recorded. That number may be broken down by the historic county (or country outside Ireland) where each death occurred:

FATALITIES BY COUNTY OR COUNTRY OF DEATH, 1917–1921

Cork 495                             Wexford 23                Dublin 309          King’s Co. (Offaly) 21

Antrim 224                                Donegal 20                         Tipperary 152       Kilkenny 19

Kerry 136                                 Westmeath 18                         Limerick 121         Sligo 18

Clare   95                                  Meath 17                         Galway   58             Tyrone 16

Roscommon   58                           Leitrim 15                         Mayo   43     Carlow 13

Londonderry   41                    Kildare 12                         Waterford   35     Great Britain 11

Armagh   28                      Queen’s Co. (Laois) 10                     Down   28            Cavan 9

Longford   26                             Fermanagh   9                    Louth   26            Wicklow 7

Monaghan   25                                 India   3

The number of fatalities in each county is, of course, a very crude index of the intensity of disruption experienced by people and communities during the Irish revolution…..Assigning responsibility for the 2141 fatalities reported is not a matter of simply splitting the total between rebels and government forces. The IRA were definitely responsible for 46% of these fatalities, and Crown forces for 42%. A further 6% were the work of undenominated snipers or rioters, almost all in sectarian clashes in Belfast. 2% occurred in cross-fire between Crown forces and separatists, 1% were killed by loyalists, 1% by civilians, and the killers of the remaining 2% are unknown Within the aggregate of 2141 deaths, 898 (48%) were civilian and 1243 (52%) combatant.

The civilian proportion rose from 39% in 1920 to 45% in 1921. This confirms Peter Hart’s finding that the proportion of civilian fatalities grew in 1921, which was also the most violent year accounting for 61% of all deaths between 1917 and 1921. However, Hart’s estimate that 64% of deaths in 1921 were civilian is clearly excessive. The discrepancy cannot be explained simply by methodological differences, such as our inclusion of deaths in motor traffic accidents involving police and military vehicles, which some might find problematic. Rather, it arises mainly from the restricted range of sources available when Hart conducted his research. Of the 1243 combatant fatalities, 467 (38%) were IRA, 514 (41%) police and 262 (21%) British military. Within these categories, 9% of IRA fatalities were inflicted by the victim or his comrades, as were 14% of police fatalities and no less than 26% of British military fatalities. Accidental shootings were mainly responsible, along with premature explosions in the case of the IRA and motor vehicle accidents in the case of the police.

It seems remarkable that a professional army should lose so many men in this manner, particularly by comparison with the hastily expanded police and the part-time, under-trained IRA…. Determining responsibility for the 898 civilian fatalities is quite challenging, particularly in Antrim. For the 194 civilians killed there during riots and sectarian clashes, it is often impossible to determine who fired a particular shot, and we can be fairly sure of responsibility in only 91 cases. Across the country, many civilians died at the hands of mixed groups of soldiers and police. Consequently, those forces have been banded together in assigning responsibility. The IRA may confidently be held responsible for 281 (31%) of civilian fatalities, compared with 381 (42%) attributable to Crown forces. A miscellany of rather vague categories (loyalists, snipers, civilians, either IRA or Crown forces) accounts for the remaining 236 (27%).

Only 92 (10%) of all civilian fatalities were female. The majority of these were untargeted killings in riots, or traffic accidents involving Crown forces. The IRA abducted and shot at least three women as spies in 1921 (Bridget Noble and Mary Lindsay in Cork, and Kate Carroll in Monaghan). Two of the victims had a reputation for social deviance: Kate Carroll kept an illicit still and Bridget Noble, although married, was held to be too friendly with a number of RIC men on the Beara peninsula. These killings caused acute embarrassment locally and at GHQ.

The project elucidates another vexed question, the experience of ex-servicemen during the War of Independence. Between 1919 and 1921, 420 ex-servicemen were killed, constituting 19.6% of all deaths. Of these, 227 (54%) were serving policemen, so their fates cannot be ascribed to their previous military service. Of the remaining 193 cases, 16 (4%) died as IRA men, leaving 177 (42%) who were civilians. Of these, the IRA clearly killed 99 (56%) and Crown forces 46 (26%). In the remaining 32 cases, including 13 in Antrim, it is impossible to determine responsibility.

What is more telling is the distribution of responsibility for civilian ex-servicemen’s deaths across the country. In Antrim, 26 civilian ex-servicemen were killed, mainly during riots or sniping in Belfast. In all 13 cases where responsibility can reliably be assigned, Crown forces were to blame. In Dublin, the IRA killed 14 of the 25 civilian ex-servicemen who died. Even there, it is dangerous to assume that all were singled out on account of their backgrounds: for example Frank Davis, caretaker in the Custom House, was shot because he supposedly went towards a telephone, not because he was a Boer War veteran. In Cork, the most violent county, 49 civilian ex-servicemen were killed. Of these, 32 were definitely victims of the IRA, while Crown forces killed 15, including one shot when caught in the act of raping a young girl (meaning that Cork accounted for almost a third of all civilian ex-servicemen killed by the IRA and likewise by Crown forces).

Though the evidence that ex-servicemen were systematically targeted by the IRA is strongest in Cork, more than half of all civilian casualties in two relatively ‘quiet’ counties were ex-servicemen, all killed by the IRA. In King’s (Offaly), the figure was 6 (60%), and in Meath 5 (50%). The 35 fatalities occurring on Bloody Sunday reflect the diversity of circumstances, often contested, associated with revolutionary killings in general. As noted above, members of the IRA (3), Crown forces (16) and civilians (16) were all represented, the civilian proportion approximating that for all fatalities (48%). All died after being shot, the predominant means by which death was inflicted throughout the War of Independence. All fatalities were investigated in an expeditious but cursory manner through military courts of inquiry. What sets Bloody Sunday apart is the three spectacular events for which it became notorious: the co-ordinated assassinations in the morning, the indiscriminate shooting of civilian spectators in the afternoon, and the killings in custody of three prisoners during the night. None of these three episodes, however, was truly representative of the conduct of either the IRA or its enemies during the Irish War of Independence. To that extent, the events of Bloody Sunday were sui generis.