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Patrick Radden KeefeA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
State armed forces and paramilitary volunteers alike committed illegal acts of violence in the name of their respective causes during the Troubles. Official reports found that the British military and the RUC colluded with, and covered for, illegal loyalist paramilitaries and even perhaps some of the most violent IRA informants. Keefe maintains that formal and paramilitary organizations probably never meant to randomly kill civilians for spectacle. Still, missions like public bombings come with a great risk of collateral damage, and IRA plans often seemed shoddy at best. Amidst the brutality that Dolours Price and other Provos deemed contrary to human nature, those involved often remained steadfast in the ideology that the ends would justify the means, or in other words, that their behavior would be vindicated when the conflict ended in their favor. For many former IRA volunteers, the fact that the British maintained a presence and meaningful political control in Northern Ireland at the end of the Troubles represented a failure that rendered the entire armed strategy tragically wasteful and their personal actions irredeemable. This notion haunted people like Dolours Price and Brendan Hughes for the rest of their lives. Keefe presents their late-life struggles as sympathetic, despite the histories of violence in their turbulent youths.
British authorities in the 21st century admitted to collusion and alluded to atrocities, but State authorities failed to ever establish procedures for reconciliation and accountability. Paramilitary participation remained illegal and immunity for former combatants was exceptionally rare, reserved only for cases related to disappeared victims’ remains. Keefe stresses that the Good Friday Agreement was strictly forward-looking, and military and political leaders in Northern Ireland and England could use this framework to skirt meaningful discussions about or apologies for what had happened over thirty years of warfare. Civilian commentators still condemned the wartime actions of police forces, soldiers, and paramilitaries alike, but these criticisms rarely amounted to any real accountability. The Troubles had ended in stalemate and compromise, so no side alone could claim victory, emerge dominant, and establish a retrospective narrative of moral justification through the strife. As a result, questions about acts of war and their reasonable ramifications remained open and public, but unsolved.
A related question is about self, rather than civilian, sacrifice. Many activists died for their cause. Any enlistee in a paramilitary assumed great risk in undertaking armed and covert missions against sworn enemies, but self-sacrifice in the form of hunger striking was more intentional and direct. The gamble one made was not with the luck and timing of avoiding explosions or gunfire, but instead with state officials occupying awkward and precarious, though not life-or-death immediate circumstances. Ultimately, Margaret Thatcher and the British State let 10 men starve to death in quick succession rather than meet their conditions for an end to the hunger strike. They were, after all, criminals in the eyes of the British, and therefore were not in a respectable position to negotiate.
The general public, however, felt sympathy for the strikers. The death of Bobby Sands and the other hunger strikers bolstered republican support in a quantifiable way. Common people mobilized to symbolically elect Sands to Parliament. This base of voters largely remained Sinn Féin voters when Adams ran for office. In this way, members’ deaths strengthened IRA platforms. At the end of the conflict, however, republicanism in Northern Ireland accepted conditions contrary to the articulated values that the hunger strikers had died for. It is possible to interpret the change of tide as abandoning and nullifying these self-sacrifices.
Though Brendan Hughes and Dolours Price did not die from their hunger strikes, they sacrificed their healthy, youthful bodies, mental health, and freedom for Irish unification. They lived long enough to reflect on the betrayal of Adams and the IRA within Sinn Féin, who enjoyed productive political careers as other former IRA volunteers suffered trauma and addiction.
The title of the book comes from a poem by Seamus Heaney called, “Whatever you Say, Say Nothing.” This motto described the IRA strategy during the Troubles. The whole mission had to be clandestine in order to persist. Adams, we see, eventually built a career off of this mentality. In general, silence remained one of the most powerful and impactful forces in a story littered with explosives and gunfire. So many of the mysteries of what had happened and who had acted during the Troubles remain open at the book’s ending because cultures and legal structures in post-conflict Northern Ireland deter people from openly speaking about or debating history.
During the Troubles, public silence often aided the IRA. Non-combatants would even conceal republican weapons when police came searching for them. Though informants were common, neighbors and city residents ostracized them for their betrayal. This silent judgment undermined any larger sense of community. For example, nobody helped the McConville kids after their mother left; neighbors merely watched them struggle. Fear of associating with the wrong people helped to keep people silent, and it is possible that Jean McConville made herself a target through an act of kindness directed at the perceived enemy.
A lingering commitment to silence plagued victims’ families at the end of the Troubles. The Independent Commission for the Location of Victims’ Remains had trouble collecting verifiable tips to aid their searches. Individuals suffered in their own minds and homes with no public space for conversation or reconciliation. Silence came at the expense of healing. Perhaps the best example of this pattern is the fact that the McConvilles have never learned the truth about their mother’s death.
Some figures have attempted to break the silence. It required the enduring cease-fire for “the families [to feel] secure enough, finally, to go public” (217).The Independent Commission for the Location of Victims’ Remains only came into existence because families spoke out about their pain and confusion and demanded that politicians intervene. Though investigations lasted years and some altogether remained unsolved, the commission did unearth numerous bodies with public tips.
People in the modern era are also more willing to speak up about other abuses as well. Sexual abuse carried out by priests and family members of prominent public figures come to light when people such as Billy McConville and Gerry Adams go public with stories of experiencing or witnessing abuse. Both in direct relationship to Troubles-era violence and well beyond it, people have continued to battle the histories of silence and concealment to make room for understanding, justice, and healing.
Some elements of secrecy persist despite the public challenges and demands for information. The capacity for retrospective justice is limited by the fact that the state forces that control investigations were involved in the conflict themselves. It is a well-known fact that paramilitaries remain organized and mobilized in the 21st century. As IRA membership is still a punishable offense, former volunteers protect their own and their fellows’ identities or risk being labeled a “tout” and possibly murdered.
The Belfast Project aimed to create a private and nonjudgmental space in which former combatants could negotiate the “queasy sense of irresolution” that followed the Troubles (230). It was, of course, supposed to remain secret, but still proved to be remarkably cathartic for participants who opened up to interviewers. Though the total secrecy of the project was compromised by temporary legal confiscations, most of the interviews’ contents remain unknown to the general public. Keefe’s book is proof that there is still much to work through and interpret in the history of sectarian conflict in Northern Ireland.
Keefe’s research is based on archival sources and oral histories. In many cases, oral histories and human recollections are the only sources available—the IRA intentionally did not leave much of a paper trail. Memory distorts truth in many ways, rendering multiple reported scenarios possible in controversial historical moments, such as the reason for Jean McConville’s abduction or the timeline of her run-in with the IRA. Keefe also addresses the many ways in which memory is revealing, not in reconstructing exact details, but detailing the impressions that various experiences left on the people involved.
Former IRA members insisted that McConville had been an informant and that in the context of the time, her betrayal was punishable by death, but many wonder what valuable information McConville could have possibly offered British intelligence. The McConville children maintained that the IRA targeted their mother because she comforted a dying British soldier instead of ignoring him, and yet army records could not account for that casualty. Keefe suggests that “it was tempting to wonder whether the children of Jean McConville, like the people who abducted her, had not constructed a legend around the vanished woman that they could live with” (296). Their memories were not just to protect historical actors in the past, but to protect themselves and safeguard their worldviews.
Similarly, Dolours Price recalled that she did not like McConville, because she was boastful and openly disrespectful towards Provo leaders. This characterization of McConville was “so starkly at odds” with her family’s memories of “a cowed and tentative recluse” (307). Keefe suggests that Price had demonized McConville to “[cope] with her own sense of culpability” in her fate (307). When he later reveals his theory that Marian fatally shot McConville, he wonders if Dolours’s recollected distaste for McConville actually helped her dismiss her sister’s culpability (343).
An epigraph from Vietnamese American Viet Thanh Nguyen opens the book: “All wars are fought twice, the first time on the battlefield, the second time in memory.” Nguyen presented this theory in reference to the Vietnam War, but it captures the ongoing struggle that warfare in general leaves in its wake. Part of understanding and accepting violent history in Ireland would have involved public reconciliation and commemoration, but “because there was never any mechanism established for dealing with the past, the official approach to decades-old atrocities was entirely ad hoc, which left everyone unhappy” (329). Certain entities, most noticeably Sinn Féin, held monopolies on historical narratives that did not jive with individuals’ lived experiences. It could be dangerous to refute the claim that the Good Friday Agreement was a betrayal or that Gerry Adams had ever been a criminal. The narratives that get publicized, therefore, are not necessarily true, but strategic, just like personal recollections.
By Patrick Radden Keefe
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