by Dermot Keogh
37 Miley, Jim (ed.), A Voice for the Country: 50 Years of Macra na Feirme, Macra na Feirme, Dublin, 1994.
38 Ó Tuama, Seán, The Gaelic League Idea; Ó Cíosáin, Éamon, An tÉireannach; 1934–1937, An Clóchomhar, Baile Átha Cliath, 1993; Kelly, A., Compulsory Irish: Language and Education in Ireland 1870s–1970s.
39 Ó hAnluain, Eoghan (ed.), Léachtaí Uí Chadhain, An Clóchomhar, Baile Átha Cliath, 1989; Ó Cíosáin, Éamon, An tÉireannach; 1934–1937.
40 Ó Riagáin, Pádraig (ed.), International Journal of the Sociology of Language: Language Planning in Ireland, Mouton de Gruyter, Amsterdam, 1985; Ó Riagáin, Pádraig, Language Policy and Social Reproduction. Ireland 1893–1993, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1997; Ó Riain, Seán, Pleanáil Teanga in Éirinn 1919–85, Carbad/Bord na Gaeilge, Baile Átha Cliath, 1994.
41 Ó hAnnracháin, Stiofán (ed.), An Comhchaidreamh: Crann a Chraobhaigh, An Clóchomhar, Baile Átha Cliath, 1985.
42 Ó Súilleabháin, Donncha, Scéal an Oireachtais 1897–1924, An Clóchomhar, Baile Átha Cliath, 1984; Mac Aonghusa, Proinsias, Ar Son na Gaeilge: Conradh na Gaeilge 1893–1993: Stair Sheanchais, Conradh na Gaeilge, Baile Átha Cliath, 1993; Ó Cearúil, Mícheál, Gníomhartha na mBráithre, Coiscéim, Baile Átha Cliath, 1996.
43 Ó Buachalla, Séamas, Education Policy in Twentieth-Century Ireland, Wolfhound Press, Dublin, 1988.
44 Lee, J. J. & Ó Tuathaigh, M. A. G., The Age of De Valera, Ward River Press, Dublin, 1982; Lee, J. J., Ireland 1912–1985: Politics and Society; Keogh, Dermot, Twentieth-Century Ireland: Nation and State.
45 Ó Conaire, Breandán, Myles na Gaeilge, An Clochomhar Tta, Baile Átha Cliath, 1986.
46 Ó hAnluain, Eoghan (ed.), Léachtaí Uí Chadhain; Ó Cadhain, Máirtín, An Ghaeltacht Bheo: Destined to Pass, Coiscéim, Baile Átha Cliath, 2002.
47 Ó Tuama, Seán, The Gaelic League Idea; Maume, Patrick, ‘Life that is Exile’: Daniel Corkery and the Search for Irish Ireland, Institute of Irish Studies, Belfast, 1993.
48 An Coimisiún um Athbheochan na Gaeilge, An Tuarascáil Dheiridh, Oifig an tSoláthair, Baile Átha Cliath, 1994, pp. xiv–xv.
49 Crotty, Raymond, Ireland in Crisis: a Study in Capitalist Colonial Underdevelopment, Brandon, Dingle, 1986; Tobin, Fergal, The Best of Decades: Ireland in the 1960s, Gill and Macmillan, Dublin, 1984; Lee, J. J., Ireland 1912–1985: Politics and Society; Kennedy, Kieran A., Ireland in Transition, Mercier Press, Cork, 1986; Litton, Frank (ed.), Unequal Achievement: The Irish Experience 1957–1982, Institute of Public Administration, Dublin, 1982; Ó Caollaí, Maolsheachlainn, Tiarnas Cultúir: Craolachán in Éirinn, Conradh na Gaeilge, Baile Átha Cliath, 1980.
50 Ó Tuama, Seán, The Gaelic League Idea, p. 30.
Eamon de Valera: the price of his achievement
Garret FitzGerald
With O’Connell and Parnell, de Valera was one of three Irish political leaders of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries who had not alone the capacity and the ability to play a major political role over an extended period of time, but also the opportunity to do so. There are others who, if they had lived and had had the opportunity to exercise their remarkable talents in the political sphere under conditions of peace, might have rivalled or even outshone some or all of these three – most notably Michael Collins in this century. But those whom the gods love die young, and the nature of Ireland’s almost always tragic, but at times heroic, history has been such that many men of exceptional talent have died or, more frequently, been killed before they reached the age of 35, no more than a third of the way through their potential working life.
All three of the men I have mentioned – O’Connell, Parnell and de Valera – excited controversy and division amongst Irish nationalists at some point in their lives. O’Connell especially, perhaps, towards the end of life, when he and the new generation of Young Irelanders found themselves at odds, and Parnell also at the end of his career and life. De Valera, by contrast, became a controversial figure amongst Irish nationalists before he was 40 and, inevitably, living longer than any other major political figure, well into his 90s, continued to divide Irish politics thereafter. This has made especially difficult an objective assessment of his achievements and defects within his own lifetime, or even within the generation following his death in 1975.
The political system of the Irish state remains today largely based upon a party system, the origins of which are to be found substantially in a polarisation around de Valera. The issues that led to this polarisation ceased to have any current relevance in domestic politics many decades ago, and the two major political parties moved on to seek, and find, new roles as they addressed the complex and difficult problems of Ireland in the last third of the twentieth century. Nevertheless, the memory of the circumstances that brought these two parties into existence lingers on and while virtually none of their members have any direct recollections of these events, even the youngest voters continue to associate these two parties vaguely with their historical origins. Because of this, many Irish people still have difficulty in seeing the two parties in question as they actually are today, with their current policies and different styles of leadership and organisation. To many Irish people, and especially to those who support other parties or none, they remain the two ‘civil war parties’.
In a very real sense, therefore, de Valera’s influence still pervades the Irish political system as it is perceived by those outside it, even though to the vast majority of those within the system, the active practical politicians, the divisions that led to their parties coming into existence are almost totally irrelevant and long forgotten.
Thus in twenty-seven years in active politics, I cannot recall a single disagreement or argument with an active politician of the Fianna Fáil party founded by de Valera that related to that distant past – the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1921 or Civil War of 1922–23, or indeed to the other events of the 1920s and early 1930s that provided the original basis for the main divide in the party system that we know today. Consequently I – and I believe most other active Irish politicians of these two parties – are often frustrated, and indeed irritated, to hear people outside politics referring to ‘the perpetuation of civil war politics’ in our party system. Yet in so far as this is the external perception of so many outside politics it is, like all myths that are still believed, a reality we have to face.
I have made this point at the outset for several reasons. First, in so far as our existing political party system owes its origins to divisions eighty years ago in which de Valera played a crucial role, this represents a significant part of his influence on contemporary Ireland.
Second, because however anachronistic – in the eyes of active politicians at least – may be the common public perception that what divides the parties and their political representatives in parliament today is still ‘civil war politics’, this belief is a reality of modern Ireland that is equally a product of the controversial events eighty years ago.
And, third, because having made these two points I do not feel that it is necessary, or indeed, relevant to contemporary Ireland to discuss the controversial role of de Valera in those historical events, except where in very specific, but relatively limited, ways that role may impinge indirectly upon the contemporary scene.
What is, I think, more relevant is to consider how the actions and policies of de Valera in the period after the Civil War that ended in May 1923 have left their mark upon the institutions, and possibly in some respects upon the character, of contemporary Ireland. In attempting even a provisional assessment of this influence one must have regard, first, to the problems that faced the new Irish state in the aftermath of the Civil War, and, second, to the condition of Ireland today eighty years later. What has been achieved, what has been left undone, and what has been made worse over this period? And in relation to each of these questions, what was de Valera’s role?
Legitimacy
The most fundamental problem fa
cing the Irish state after the Civil War of 1922–23, in which those who wished to continue the struggle with Britain for an independent republic rejected dominion status within the British Commonwealth, was the stability of the state itself.
A substantial proportion of its people – at least one-third, on the evidence of the general election of summer 1923 called in the immediate aftermath of the Civil War – withheld their consent from the new state in its early years and by so doing challenged its legitimacy. The resolution of this fundamental problem of the legitimacy of the state required a development of its initial status. For, like the other dominions of the commonwealth at that time, that state when established was an autonomous, self-governing, political unit – but one with a question mark over its complete sovereignty vis-à-vis Britain.
Another different but related problem was that created by the partition of the island, that had been brought about by the decision of the provincial parliament in Northern Ireland to opt out of the new state on the day after its foundation as an internationally recognised political unit through the enactment of its constitution, vis., 6 December 1922. This right for Northern Ireland to opt out had been agreed as part of the Treaty terms and, contrary to popular mythology, had not been the subject of much discussion in the debate on the Treaty in Dáil Éireann which had preceded the outbreak of the Civil War. That debate had, of course, centred instead on the issue of the symbols of monarchy that the Treaty had imposed upon the independent Irish state. Would this division of the island, a division that had no historical precedent, endure – or could it be reversed, and the parts brought together again?
Next, there was a fundamental question as to what would be the political ethos of this new state. Would it be pluralist, giving full recognition to the cultural and religious tradition of many centuries of settlers, as well as the native cultural and religious tradition, or would it attempt to become mono-cultural, elevating to a position of primacy the native Gaelic and Catholic tradition of the great majority of its people – those who had sought and secured its independence – with all the problems that this might create for an eventual coming-together of the predominantly Protestant north with the overwhelmingly Roman Catholic state comprising the remainder of the island?
There was also the problem of the economics of a country that had suffered colonial exploitation in the eighteenth century and earlier, as well as considerable neglect at the hands of laissez-faire Britain during much of the nineteenth century. This unhappy economic history, together with the state’s peripheral geographical location, had deprived Ireland of the possibility of industrial development. And this had left it a predominantly agricultural country with a high fertility and birth-rate.
In the absence of opportunities for employment in its weak agricultural sector, the state continued to suffer a massive erosion by way of emigration of a high proportion of those born within its territory during the first quarter-of-a-century of political independence. Of that generation one-third had emigrated by the age of 35, and one-sixth had died, principally due to infantile mortality or TB, thus reducing the size of each age cohort by one-half.
Finally, there was the question of the social organisation of the new state: would it develop into a property-owning democracy or into a socialist state; and, if the former, would it be a socially-conscious democracy, caring for the under-privileged in Irish society?
These were the five main challenges that faced the new state, although, of course, there were many others, including the immediate task of physical reconstruction in the immediate aftermath of a civil war that had involved much more damage to its infra-structure than the struggle against Britain that immediately preceded independence.
Consensus and Legitimacy
In the midst of the Civil War, in which the very foundations of the new state were challenged in arms, albeit unsuccessfully, the legitimacy of the new state was juridically established and internationally recognised. In 1923 it also became a member of the League of Nations. Moreover, by mid-1923 domestically the authority of the state was established with the defeat of those who opposed the Treaty.
But there remained the problem of securing free acceptance of this legitimacy and authority on the part of those who had rejected it at the outset. This posed a problem both for victor and vanquished in the Civil War.
The victors were, of course, the government led by W. T. Cosgrave, the supporters of which had during the latter stages of the Civil War formed themselves into a political party, Cumann na nGaedheal. Later, in the aftermath of their loss of power in 1932, and following a merger with several other groups, this party developed into the present Fine Gael party.
Cumann na nGaedheal’s contribution to securing acceptance of the authority of the new state lay partly in a sustained external diplomatic campaign to transform the dominions of what was then commonly known as the British empire into sovereign independent states within a commonwealth in which Britain would no longer claim or exercise any authority over the countries enjoying dominion status. In this diplomatic battle Canada played a willing part, although the primary impetus in the crucial period from 1926 to 1931 has been attributed, with, I believe, some justice, to the Irish government. Indeed the extent of the Irish contribution has been well reflected in the title, as well as in the contents, of the authoritative work on the subject by David Harkness: The Restless Dominion.
By 1931, British resistance had been overcome and, through the Statute of Westminster, Ireland and Canada, as well as the other dominions, including a rather reluctant Australia and New Zealand, had secured their unfettered sovereignty.
But this achievement did not itself satisfy the aspirations of the many Irish people who remained hostile to the monarchical form of dominion status, under which the crown remained the nominal fount of authority in each of the several dominions. Given the importance of symbols, which in Ireland as in many other countries sometimes count for more than reality, this was an important qualification. In these early years of the new state there were in fact few indications that political independence and sovereignty achieved within a theoretical monarchical structure would induce those who had been defeated in the Civil War to go beyond a mere cessation of hostilities and enable them to accept and join in the political institutions that had been established.
Moreover, even if such a degree of popular acceptance of this status could have been achieved, there was the further potential problem of securing that, if and when the political representatives of the anti-Treaty tradition, having entered parliament, came to secure a popular mandate to govern, the resultant hand-over of power could be accomplished smoothly and without any attempt to inhibit it on the part of the army. For that army had established the authority of the state during the Civil War and might perhaps be expected not to relish serving within a few years under a government drawn from among those whom they had defeated in that struggle.
On the other hand, those who had been defeated in the Civil War faced the reverse side of this coin.
The de Valera of the post-Civil War era found himself the leader of a dispirited group, many of whom at that point did not hold him in high regard – a group which, after its military defeat, was overwhelmingly rejected by the Irish people politically in the post-Civil War general election of August 1923. In that election republicans – admittedly at the lowest ebb of their fortunes – received only about one-third of the votes cast.
And, in any event, those whom de Valera led had rejected the constitutional foundations of the new state, and were little disposed, as they emerged from internment in 1924, to sit down to work the system which they had fought to reject.
To many people in that situation the way ahead must have seemed hopeless – and many did indeed give up hope and emigrate to the United States. For what chance was there that, if a political U-turn were to be attempted involving the recognition and acceptance of that which they had just sought to re
ject in arms, the Irish people would accord respect or support to those who had undertaken this humiliating policy reversal? For such a U-turn was bound to leave those engaged in it open to a challenge: if you can accept the constitution now, why did you seek to reject it in arms several years ago and destroy much of the country in the process?
And even if de Valera were to attempt to lead the republicans of the post-Civil War era along such a constitutional path, how many would be willing to follow him? Would that number be sufficient to ensure stability and peace under the new dispensation, or would too many remain outside the system, continuing to challenge its legitimacy and to claim the right, if a suitable opportunity arose, of using arms against it?
It is for the historians to give their verdicts in due course on the manner in which de Valera tackled this problem. In particular it will be interesting to see to what extent historians eventually judge the events of the period 1926 to 1937 – from the decision to found a constitutional party, Fianna Fáil, in 1926 and to bring it into the Dáil in 1927, to the enactment of the new constitution of 1937 – to have been the result of a plan thought out from the outset, or to have been the product merely of a process of groping forward towards a goal perhaps only imperfectly defined, even in de Valera’s own mind.
For the observer of contemporary Ireland it is sufficient to remark that the outcome of the process started in 1926 included a very substantial achievement, in the form of a largely successful conversion of the 1922 constitution (the verbal formulation of which – although not its real content – had necessarily been determined in a number of key respects by the outside force of the Anglo-Irish Treaty provisions), into a document expressed in the language of nationalism to a degree that rendered it acceptable to the vast majority of those who had rejected the Treaty.
