1968 was the Paris riots, the Tet offensive, Soviet armies advancing on a Prague Spring and
the assassinations of Dr King and Robert Kennedy. It was a year of jubilation and a time of
defeat and disillusionment. In Ireland, in 1968, protest and social transformation were much
in evidence. Distrust, resentment, doubt, despair - and yes, dreams - affected a growing,
energetic generation. Much of the significance of the social turbulence was lost on me,
but I became part of '68 and its aftermath.
My story is not unique. Twenty years ago, I was a thirteen year old Belfast kid, typical of
the ghetto youth in segregated, impoverished, nationalist, Catholic Belfast. The future
seemed uncertain, yet our lives were laid out, unchangeable as the lives of our parents and
their parents before them. I was born an Irish Catholic in Protestant British-controlled
northeast Ireland. On the 20th of January, 1955, with my birth cry, I committed my first
offense against the state.
Naturally, I was unaware of my political illegitimacy and disenfranchised role in the
Anglo-created society. Being a member of the underclass, I gradually developed an awareness
of deep social inequalities, of discriminatory measures, judicial imbalances and police
batons. As I grew up the nature of the Unionist-British rule began to take shape in my
young mind. I cautiously took notice of the abnormalities of everyday life around me.
'A Protestant government for a Protestant people ' was the Unionist's cry. No empty
rhetoric either.
Too young to appreciate the intricate complexities of Unionist quasi-apartheid rule, I
nonetheless could not help but observe our differing environments. They, the Unionists,
permanently controlled all aspects of government and in turn all other facets of society.
Partition of the country and gerrymandering insured Unionists a permanent majority. It was
their government, their factories, their law and forces of law.
We nationalist Catholics lived in a separate, outcast world. Our ghetto existance
guaranteed poor housing, high unemployment and inadequate socio-educational facilities.
Beneath the alienation and physical violence of our subjugation were the psychological
despair and indignity of second-class citizenship. Even within the family, Unionist
oppression had its effects. My father and mother urged me to leave Belfast; they did not
want me to repeat their failure to provide a secure future for their children. My father
insisted I concentrate on trade classes in school, to prepare myself for emigration to a
foreign shore where I might find work.
But in 1968, my last year of school, hope replaced despair; our parents began to think that
perhaps emigration was not the only answer, perhaps real political change was possible at
home. I began to notice the growing movement for political change, but at thirteen I was
confused about this matter called 'civil rights'. Even so, I could feel the deep emotion,
the cautious hope and the anxieties of those times. We were gaining political ground with
new organisations such as People's Democracy and the Northern Ireland Civil Rights
Association. New, formidable leadership took the headlines: Bernadette Devlin, Michael
Farrell, John Hume. Their youthful, positive, non-violent energy inspired. The days of the
old Irish rebel were closing and the era of enlightened reformation of the state was
dawning - we thought.
Instead, as the world watched, basic demands for civil rights and political reforms were
met with the full force of the state's police. Banning orders, arrests and beatings of
peaceful marchers were the response of a regime undemocratic and politically bankrupt.
There were then no calls for the downfall of British sovereignty, no cries about eight
hundred years of British oppression. Nationalist Catholics submissively stated their
acceptance of British rule. All we asked was equal citizenship and justice within the
system. What we received was violence and intransigence in meeting with our demands for
these basic reforms. Twenty years have passed. Not much has changed.
These years have
brought suffering and sadness to many. Heartache and death engulf communities on both sides
of the Irish sea. The violence highlighted on our television screens hides the true issues
underlying our eight hundred year old problem. The oppressive nature of British presence is
denied, covered up and painted over for international consumption. Britain's unwillingness
to accept its responsibility for creating partition and an undemocratic, unjust and immoral
statelet in northeast Ireland points to the ultimate solution it must face. Britain's final
and only option is a phased withdrawal. There are no other alternatives. Absent it, twenty
years from now, yet another generation will inherit the hate, the distrust, the fears. 1968
was a year of great hope. That generation marched and sacrificed that future generations
would live in a peaceful, egalitarian society. Twenty years later, we are a diverse people
in the roads we take to that end. Ultimately, our paths will meet in a free and united
Ireland; our children will benefit from our sacrifices. History will judge our pain and our
faults on the way there.
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