6.10.03
Sunday Business Post
Anniversary of march into chaos
By Tom McGurk
All of 35 years ago this very afternoon, a crowd of demonstrators gathered at Duke Street in Derry.
They were relatively small in number and, apart from some nationalist politicians, including Gerry Fitt and the late Eddie McAteer, and a handful of socialist and left-wing agitators, most were what could be described as the ordinary people of Derry.
In all, a crowd of about 400 were intending to march across Craigavon Bridge and into the centre of the city.
The previous day, October 4, 1968, the then Home Affairs Minister, William Craig, had banned the march and the RUC were present in large numbers intent on enforcing his order. Among the marchers themselves there was some dispute about whether they should defy the ban, but a group led by the Derry Young Socialists would wait no longer and began to move towards the police lines.They had a blue civil rights banner and a collection of badly printed posters demanding votes, jobs, houses and fair employment.
What happened next was quite extraordinary. The RUC, who by now had sandwiched the marchers front and rear, suddenly attacked with batons and water cannon.To the astonishment of the demonstrators, who were still standing waiting to march, the police ran among them, belting people around the heads and arms. One RUC District Inspector was even wielding his blackthorn stick, the official symbol of his authority.
Something else quite extraordinary happened. In those days when television news on this side of the Atlantic consisted mainly of formal, static reporting, the RUC seemed to forget that there were cameramen present. Or perhaps, more significantly given the political climate of the times, they didn't seem to care. Among the cameramen was the late Gay O'Brien of RTE who worked calmly amid the chaos, finger on the button.
His 12-minute reel of black and white film was shown that night on RTE, and subsequently, all across the globe. O'Brien's footage was a defining moment in the coverage of the troubles and instantly established the unparalleled impact television images would play over the next decades in the North.
Because of O'Brien's images, nothing in Ireland would ever be the same again. The RTE coverage of that moment in Duke Street was like a starting pistol fired across the sleeping landscape of an Ireland then a mere two generations into partition. There could hardly have been a more articulate expression for the then state of Northern society than the casual brutality of the RUC, which was, of course, defended by the Stormont government.
Looking back,the irony is that, in the immediate years preceding the outrage in Derry, the North had actually begun to drag itself out of its one-party state torpor.
Terence O'Neill's brand of unionism had begun to melt the political ice and a generation of post eleven-plus nationalists had begun to produce a new middle class. In those rock 'n' roll years,young Catholics and Protestants had even begun to mix as never before.
Of course, the sectarian structures of the one-party unionist state were still firmly in place, but a rising tide of economic progress, education and opportunity had served for the moment to camouflage the old barriers.
That summer of '68, as discos endlessly played the Beatles' Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, there was even a sense of hope in the air. Even the Orange State, it seemed, couldn't resist the Swinging Sixties. But those violent events in Derry proved how how ephemeral all this was.
Perhaps the most ironic and subse-quently, tragic, moment of all was to come in the virulent reaction of unionism to the civil rights movement itself. If, just for a moment, unionists had stepped back and looked more carefully at what the new political phenomenon actually represented we might all have avoided the abyss that was to follow.
In realpolitik,what the civil rights movement demonstrated was that two generations into partition, there was a formidable movement among nationalists to accept the Northern state provided they could be guaranteed equal rights and status. What nationalists were demanding - at that moment anyway - was full British rights within a British state. Perhaps it was only a tactic, but it was the furthest a nationalist hand had ever reached out towards acceptance of the Six Counties as a political entity.
There is no doubt that their continuing political powerlessness in contrast to their emerging economic and educational power, was primarily responsible for this shift. With militant republicanism hibernating since the failed 1950s campaign, with their political representatives (who had actually then become the official opposition at Stormont) still left powerless and with mostly indifference, apart from rhetoric coming from Dublin, nationalism had now discovered a third, extra-parliamentary and peaceful strategy.
Tragically, mainstream political unionism, with Paisley's ranting off stage ringing in their ears, remained true to type. As the demand for civil rights was met by the resurgence of the anti-Catholic conservative evangelical tradition as represented by Paisley, mainstream unionism fell in behind.
Even O'Neill's initial steps to meet the civil rights agenda were used by unionism as weapons to destroy him.Within avery short time those nationalists who had originally withdrawn their consent from the state because it treated them as second-class citizens, and had then tried the experiment of civil rights, were once again withdrawing consent because the state had now proved itself to be unreformable. And it was into this new catharsis that militant republicans eagerly stepped.
`What ifs' are mere historical parlour games, but had that October 5 march not been banned, and had O'Neill been allowed by mainstream unionism to respond to the civil rights campaign, maybe a perilous corner might have been negotiated safely.
But such was the determining power of sectarianism within unionism, that the potential politics of the crisis was rendered invisible - simply be caus e they were Catholics. As ever, anti-Catholicism was used as a mobilisation to defend the socioeconomic and political position of Protestants and as a rationalisation to legitimise all consequent discrimination.
Those drawn police batons of October 5, 1968 - 35 years ago today - slammed shut a tiny window of opportunity that had unexpectedly opened.
comment@sbpost.ie
They were relatively small in number and, apart from some nationalist politicians, including Gerry Fitt and the late Eddie McAteer, and a handful of socialist and left-wing agitators, most were what could be described as the ordinary people of Derry.
In all, a crowd of about 400 were intending to march across Craigavon Bridge and into the centre of the city.
The previous day, October 4, 1968, the then Home Affairs Minister, William Craig, had banned the march and the RUC were present in large numbers intent on enforcing his order. Among the marchers themselves there was some dispute about whether they should defy the ban, but a group led by the Derry Young Socialists would wait no longer and began to move towards the police lines.They had a blue civil rights banner and a collection of badly printed posters demanding votes, jobs, houses and fair employment.
What happened next was quite extraordinary. The RUC, who by now had sandwiched the marchers front and rear, suddenly attacked with batons and water cannon.To the astonishment of the demonstrators, who were still standing waiting to march, the police ran among them, belting people around the heads and arms. One RUC District Inspector was even wielding his blackthorn stick, the official symbol of his authority.
Something else quite extraordinary happened. In those days when television news on this side of the Atlantic consisted mainly of formal, static reporting, the RUC seemed to forget that there were cameramen present. Or perhaps, more significantly given the political climate of the times, they didn't seem to care. Among the cameramen was the late Gay O'Brien of RTE who worked calmly amid the chaos, finger on the button.
His 12-minute reel of black and white film was shown that night on RTE, and subsequently, all across the globe. O'Brien's footage was a defining moment in the coverage of the troubles and instantly established the unparalleled impact television images would play over the next decades in the North.
Because of O'Brien's images, nothing in Ireland would ever be the same again. The RTE coverage of that moment in Duke Street was like a starting pistol fired across the sleeping landscape of an Ireland then a mere two generations into partition. There could hardly have been a more articulate expression for the then state of Northern society than the casual brutality of the RUC, which was, of course, defended by the Stormont government.
Looking back,the irony is that, in the immediate years preceding the outrage in Derry, the North had actually begun to drag itself out of its one-party state torpor.
Terence O'Neill's brand of unionism had begun to melt the political ice and a generation of post eleven-plus nationalists had begun to produce a new middle class. In those rock 'n' roll years,young Catholics and Protestants had even begun to mix as never before.
Of course, the sectarian structures of the one-party unionist state were still firmly in place, but a rising tide of economic progress, education and opportunity had served for the moment to camouflage the old barriers.
That summer of '68, as discos endlessly played the Beatles' Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, there was even a sense of hope in the air. Even the Orange State, it seemed, couldn't resist the Swinging Sixties. But those violent events in Derry proved how how ephemeral all this was.
Perhaps the most ironic and subse-quently, tragic, moment of all was to come in the virulent reaction of unionism to the civil rights movement itself. If, just for a moment, unionists had stepped back and looked more carefully at what the new political phenomenon actually represented we might all have avoided the abyss that was to follow.
In realpolitik,what the civil rights movement demonstrated was that two generations into partition, there was a formidable movement among nationalists to accept the Northern state provided they could be guaranteed equal rights and status. What nationalists were demanding - at that moment anyway - was full British rights within a British state. Perhaps it was only a tactic, but it was the furthest a nationalist hand had ever reached out towards acceptance of the Six Counties as a political entity.
There is no doubt that their continuing political powerlessness in contrast to their emerging economic and educational power, was primarily responsible for this shift. With militant republicanism hibernating since the failed 1950s campaign, with their political representatives (who had actually then become the official opposition at Stormont) still left powerless and with mostly indifference, apart from rhetoric coming from Dublin, nationalism had now discovered a third, extra-parliamentary and peaceful strategy.
Tragically, mainstream political unionism, with Paisley's ranting off stage ringing in their ears, remained true to type. As the demand for civil rights was met by the resurgence of the anti-Catholic conservative evangelical tradition as represented by Paisley, mainstream unionism fell in behind.
Even O'Neill's initial steps to meet the civil rights agenda were used by unionism as weapons to destroy him.Within avery short time those nationalists who had originally withdrawn their consent from the state because it treated them as second-class citizens, and had then tried the experiment of civil rights, were once again withdrawing consent because the state had now proved itself to be unreformable. And it was into this new catharsis that militant republicans eagerly stepped.
`What ifs' are mere historical parlour games, but had that October 5 march not been banned, and had O'Neill been allowed by mainstream unionism to respond to the civil rights campaign, maybe a perilous corner might have been negotiated safely.
But such was the determining power of sectarianism within unionism, that the potential politics of the crisis was rendered invisible - simply be caus e they were Catholics. As ever, anti-Catholicism was used as a mobilisation to defend the socioeconomic and political position of Protestants and as a rationalisation to legitimise all consequent discrimination.
Those drawn police batons of October 5, 1968 - 35 years ago today - slammed shut a tiny window of opportunity that had unexpectedly opened.
comment@sbpost.ie
Anniversary of march into chaos
By Tom McGurk
All of 35 years ago this very afternoon, a crowd of demonstrators gathered at Duke Street in Derry.
They were relatively small in number and, apart from some nationalist politicians, including Gerry Fitt and the late Eddie McAteer, and a handful of socialist and left-wing agitators, most were what could be described as the ordinary people of Derry.
In all, a crowd of about 400 were intending to march across Craigavon Bridge and into the centre of the city.
The previous day, October 4, 1968, the then Home Affairs Minister, William Craig, had banned the march and the RUC were present in large numbers intent on enforcing his order. Among the marchers themselves there was some dispute about whether they should defy the ban, but a group led by the Derry Young Socialists would wait no longer and began to move towards the police lines.They had a blue civil rights banner and a collection of badly printed posters demanding votes, jobs, houses and fair employment.
What happened next was quite extraordinary. The RUC, who by now had sandwiched the marchers front and rear, suddenly attacked with batons and water cannon.To the astonishment of the demonstrators, who were still standing waiting to march, the police ran among them, belting people around the heads and arms. One RUC District Inspector was even wielding his blackthorn stick, the official symbol of his authority.
Something else quite extraordinary happened. In those days when television news on this side of the Atlantic consisted mainly of formal, static reporting, the RUC seemed to forget that there were cameramen present. Or perhaps, more significantly given the political climate of the times, they didn't seem to care. Among the cameramen was the late Gay O'Brien of RTE who worked calmly amid the chaos, finger on the button.
His 12-minute reel of black and white film was shown that night on RTE, and subsequently, all across the globe. O'Brien's footage was a defining moment in the coverage of the troubles and instantly established the unparalleled impact television images would play over the next decades in the North.
Because of O'Brien's images, nothing in Ireland would ever be the same again. The RTE coverage of that moment in Duke Street was like a starting pistol fired across the sleeping landscape of an Ireland then a mere two generations into partition. There could hardly have been a more articulate expression for the then state of Northern society than the casual brutality of the RUC, which was, of course, defended by the Stormont government.
Looking back,the irony is that, in the immediate years preceding the outrage in Derry, the North had actually begun to drag itself out of its one-party state torpor.
Terence O'Neill's brand of unionism had begun to melt the political ice and a generation of post eleven-plus nationalists had begun to produce a new middle class. In those rock 'n' roll years,young Catholics and Protestants had even begun to mix as never before.
Of course, the sectarian structures of the one-party unionist state were still firmly in place, but a rising tide of economic progress, education and opportunity had served for the moment to camouflage the old barriers.
That summer of '68, as discos endlessly played the Beatles' Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, there was even a sense of hope in the air. Even the Orange State, it seemed, couldn't resist the Swinging Sixties. But those violent events in Derry proved how how ephemeral all this was.
Perhaps the most ironic and subse-quently, tragic, moment of all was to come in the virulent reaction of unionism to the civil rights movement itself. If, just for a moment, unionists had stepped back and looked more carefully at what the new political phenomenon actually represented we might all have avoided the abyss that was to follow.
In realpolitik,what the civil rights movement demonstrated was that two generations into partition, there was a formidable movement among nationalists to accept the Northern state provided they could be guaranteed equal rights and status. What nationalists were demanding - at that moment anyway - was full British rights within a British state. Perhaps it was only a tactic, but it was the furthest a nationalist hand had ever reached out towards acceptance of the Six Counties as a political entity.
There is no doubt that their continuing political powerlessness in contrast to their emerging economic and educational power, was primarily responsible for this shift. With militant republicanism hibernating since the failed 1950s campaign, with their political representatives (who had actually then become the official opposition at Stormont) still left powerless and with mostly indifference, apart from rhetoric coming from Dublin, nationalism had now discovered a third, extra-parliamentary and peaceful strategy.
Tragically, mainstream political unionism, with Paisley's ranting off stage ringing in their ears, remained true to type. As the demand for civil rights was met by the resurgence of the anti-Catholic conservative evangelical tradition as represented by Paisley, mainstream unionism fell in behind.
Even O'Neill's initial steps to meet the civil rights agenda were used by unionism as weapons to destroy him.Within avery short time those nationalists who had originally withdrawn their consent from the state because it treated them as second-class citizens, and had then tried the experiment of civil rights, were once again withdrawing consent because the state had now proved itself to be unreformable. And it was into this new catharsis that militant republicans eagerly stepped.
`What ifs' are mere historical parlour games, but had that October 5 march not been banned, and had O'Neill been allowed by mainstream unionism to respond to the civil rights campaign, maybe a perilous corner might have been negotiated safely.
But such was the determining power of sectarianism within unionism, that the potential politics of the crisis was rendered invisible - simply be caus e they were Catholics. As ever, anti-Catholicism was used as a mobilisation to defend the socioeconomic and political position of Protestants and as a rationalisation to legitimise all consequent discrimination.
Those drawn police batons of October 5, 1968 - 35 years ago today - slammed shut a tiny window of opportunity that had unexpectedly opened.
comment@sbpost.ie
They were relatively small in number and, apart from some nationalist politicians, including Gerry Fitt and the late Eddie McAteer, and a handful of socialist and left-wing agitators, most were what could be described as the ordinary people of Derry.
In all, a crowd of about 400 were intending to march across Craigavon Bridge and into the centre of the city.
The previous day, October 4, 1968, the then Home Affairs Minister, William Craig, had banned the march and the RUC were present in large numbers intent on enforcing his order. Among the marchers themselves there was some dispute about whether they should defy the ban, but a group led by the Derry Young Socialists would wait no longer and began to move towards the police lines.They had a blue civil rights banner and a collection of badly printed posters demanding votes, jobs, houses and fair employment.
What happened next was quite extraordinary. The RUC, who by now had sandwiched the marchers front and rear, suddenly attacked with batons and water cannon.To the astonishment of the demonstrators, who were still standing waiting to march, the police ran among them, belting people around the heads and arms. One RUC District Inspector was even wielding his blackthorn stick, the official symbol of his authority.
Something else quite extraordinary happened. In those days when television news on this side of the Atlantic consisted mainly of formal, static reporting, the RUC seemed to forget that there were cameramen present. Or perhaps, more significantly given the political climate of the times, they didn't seem to care. Among the cameramen was the late Gay O'Brien of RTE who worked calmly amid the chaos, finger on the button.
His 12-minute reel of black and white film was shown that night on RTE, and subsequently, all across the globe. O'Brien's footage was a defining moment in the coverage of the troubles and instantly established the unparalleled impact television images would play over the next decades in the North.
Because of O'Brien's images, nothing in Ireland would ever be the same again. The RTE coverage of that moment in Duke Street was like a starting pistol fired across the sleeping landscape of an Ireland then a mere two generations into partition. There could hardly have been a more articulate expression for the then state of Northern society than the casual brutality of the RUC, which was, of course, defended by the Stormont government.
Looking back,the irony is that, in the immediate years preceding the outrage in Derry, the North had actually begun to drag itself out of its one-party state torpor.
Terence O'Neill's brand of unionism had begun to melt the political ice and a generation of post eleven-plus nationalists had begun to produce a new middle class. In those rock 'n' roll years,young Catholics and Protestants had even begun to mix as never before.
Of course, the sectarian structures of the one-party unionist state were still firmly in place, but a rising tide of economic progress, education and opportunity had served for the moment to camouflage the old barriers.
That summer of '68, as discos endlessly played the Beatles' Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, there was even a sense of hope in the air. Even the Orange State, it seemed, couldn't resist the Swinging Sixties. But those violent events in Derry proved how how ephemeral all this was.
Perhaps the most ironic and subse-quently, tragic, moment of all was to come in the virulent reaction of unionism to the civil rights movement itself. If, just for a moment, unionists had stepped back and looked more carefully at what the new political phenomenon actually represented we might all have avoided the abyss that was to follow.
In realpolitik,what the civil rights movement demonstrated was that two generations into partition, there was a formidable movement among nationalists to accept the Northern state provided they could be guaranteed equal rights and status. What nationalists were demanding - at that moment anyway - was full British rights within a British state. Perhaps it was only a tactic, but it was the furthest a nationalist hand had ever reached out towards acceptance of the Six Counties as a political entity.
There is no doubt that their continuing political powerlessness in contrast to their emerging economic and educational power, was primarily responsible for this shift. With militant republicanism hibernating since the failed 1950s campaign, with their political representatives (who had actually then become the official opposition at Stormont) still left powerless and with mostly indifference, apart from rhetoric coming from Dublin, nationalism had now discovered a third, extra-parliamentary and peaceful strategy.
Tragically, mainstream political unionism, with Paisley's ranting off stage ringing in their ears, remained true to type. As the demand for civil rights was met by the resurgence of the anti-Catholic conservative evangelical tradition as represented by Paisley, mainstream unionism fell in behind.
Even O'Neill's initial steps to meet the civil rights agenda were used by unionism as weapons to destroy him.Within avery short time those nationalists who had originally withdrawn their consent from the state because it treated them as second-class citizens, and had then tried the experiment of civil rights, were once again withdrawing consent because the state had now proved itself to be unreformable. And it was into this new catharsis that militant republicans eagerly stepped.
`What ifs' are mere historical parlour games, but had that October 5 march not been banned, and had O'Neill been allowed by mainstream unionism to respond to the civil rights campaign, maybe a perilous corner might have been negotiated safely.
But such was the determining power of sectarianism within unionism, that the potential politics of the crisis was rendered invisible - simply be caus e they were Catholics. As ever, anti-Catholicism was used as a mobilisation to defend the socioeconomic and political position of Protestants and as a rationalisation to legitimise all consequent discrimination.
Those drawn police batons of October 5, 1968 - 35 years ago today - slammed shut a tiny window of opportunity that had unexpectedly opened.
comment@sbpost.ie
