From The United Irishman, June 2, 1900.
Were one to judge by the papers, the country is convulsed with excitement over the approaching convention of the parliamentarians. Resolutions of boards of guardians and district councils might lend colour to the illusion, but anyone who knows the temper of the time knows that there is practically little or no interest in any of the doings of the gentlemen who masquerade at Westminster or their collaborateurs in the country. The great wave of enthusiasm, the sigh of relief, the thrill which was to go through the land when the ‘united’ party would consent at last to draw all their salaries out of the same purse, has not been experienced up to the present. The wild and fierce vigour which characterised pre-chaotic days has gone, never again to be called into being by the silver-tongued orators of the party, or the carefully prepared passion of the local organiser. These men and their styles have had their day—a very long day—unlimited power, all but unlimited resources, an all but unanimous people and the ear of the world. How have they utilised their opportunities, how have they performed their duty, how have they taught the people the truths of Irish Nationality?
Let the political chaos of the last two years, the mental, moral, and intellectual darkness of a longer period, the absolute effeteness of Ireland everywhere to-day answer. The Land Reformers of 1880 found the country truly in a deplorable condition, with famine facing them and rack-rents yearly accumulating. Yet though hungry and well nigh hopeless they lacked not soul or spirit, the teachings of Fenianism had kept the national faith high, had taught the people that ‘twere better to go down fighting, to fall with the flag still flying, to shout defiance to the enemy as the sun went out for ever on this world, than to compromise the future and belie the past, by bending in the slightest to the foe. Had the movement of 1880 been carried out, as it might have been had its leaders had the courage to dare all, to risk everything, to fight to the last trench—but never to surrender, Mr. William O’Brien’s United Irish League would never have had existence for the land question would have passed out of the hands of the quacks and pettifoggers, and become settled. But the Parliamentary people, instead of coming, as they should amongst their people, and standing by them, contented themselves by meeting in Paris, and firing off a series of resolutions that frightened nobody, and reflected no great credit either on their patriotism or their perception. Their inaction killed the movement, and the people were led to look to Westminster as the point objective towards which they should direct their efforts. The National League was founded, and every independent organisation, literary, social, or otherwise, was subordinated to the movement which was to do everything that Ireland needed to bring peace and prosperity to her people. The ‘party,’ of course, controlled the Press, abuse of local officials, of landlords, land agents, bailiffs and emergency men, was elevated into National work, the whole object of Irish National life was taught to be the returning of Home Rulers to the British Parliament, everything that had kept the spirit of the people anti-English was neglected, and the result was the decay of interest in our language, history, music, songs, in fact, of all things that had differentiated our people from the British. A great victory was supposed to have been achieved when 85 men were sent in the November of ’85 from Ireland to demand ‘Irish Freedom,’ otherwise a Parliament in College-green. Complete victory was at hand when Gladstone capitulated, and though the Home Rule Bill was beaten, we were told the end was near—victory was assured. The manly honesty and sympathy of the British worker had been aroused, and he would see that justice would be done to us.
Then began that soulless, senseless, slavish worshipping of the Britisher, which filled every Irish county with Liberal ladies and gentlemen eager for some new fad to dispel their ennui—that propaganda which did more to demoralise, distort, and destroy Irish Nationality than all the British Acts of Parliament since the Statute of Kilkenny to the Local Government Act. We had been careless of our National characteristics before, we began to forget that we possessed any now. We began to look on Radical M.P.’s as Heaven-sent Liberators, and to thank God that though we might be in chains our jailors were not all unsympathetic. We wept when some Liberal was left at the bottom of the poll, and congratulated each other when the reverse occurred. Meanwhile our young men and women imitated the accents and fashions of their ‘liberators,’ heads were broken and lives were lost to provide food for British Liberals to shock their followers with the enormities of Tory rule. Home Rule under such circumstances would have spelled ‘Finis’ for Irish Nationality. Fortunately that was averted, the crash came, the seething elements of discontent were given full play.
A few years of internecine strife convinced the people that it is criminal to strike at a fellow-countryman while the enemy of both remain uncombatted, consequently Mr. Dillon’s and Mr. Harrington’s organisations died of inanition. A little money, however, remained, and while it lasted some show of fight was carried on by the Parliamentarians of both factions. Ninety-eight approached and the people both in Ireland and wherever else they have been scattered throughout the world prepared to fittingly commemorate it. The movement was broad in its scope, essentially national in design, and embraced men who came then together for the first time for years. The people took it up enthusiastically, branches were started everywhere, the songs and literature of and pertaining to the United Irishmen began to circulate through the country, the Irish language was heard and advocated from its platforms, no effort was spared to conciliated every phase of Irish National opinion, opinions and views that had not been mooted for years were once again heard, and the commencement of real National re-union seemed at hand. The Westminster folk of both sections recognised the fact, and seeing how much their occupation would be endangered by the growth of such a spirit endeavoured to nobble the new arrival. They failed, so a bogus organisation was started, to which some few well-meaning Nationalists were induced to attach themselves, and they played their cards sufficiently well to prevail on a majority of the original organisation to believe they were genuine and permit them to take a dominant position in the movement.
Taking advantage of the awakening of the people, Mr. O’Brien, who had refused to join the ’98 Executive, launched his United League, fraudulently attempting to identify its objects with those of Tone and the United men. The Parliamentary gentry backed out of the movement as soon as the great public meetings were over, for of course they were of too much importance to bother themselves with committee meetings or mere matters of detail. Their presence in the thing at all ruined it; Irishmen abroad had taken their measure, and decided not to touch anything with which they were concerned; the consequence has been the almost entire disappearance of the movement, which by a steady, consistent appeal to the past, a reverence for and cultivation of every single characteristic that has helped us to resist English influences through all the centuries, an insistence for tolerance of opinion, a gradual spread of National education, and friendly co-operation with every organisation making for an Irish Ireland, would in a short time have restored much of that national self-respect, much of that pride in what belongs to ourselves, which twenty-five years of insincere eloquence have nearly succeeded in obliterating.
It is of the wreckers of this national movement of 1898, of the men who allowed every native characteristic to wither during their years of power, who trusted or affected to trust Englishmen, who proved worthless in an hour of national travail, and who only united when extinction stared them in the face, that the promoters of this coming convention are composed. There may be many honest, many truly patriotic, many earnest men in the throng—men heartily anxious to see some programme evolved which shall give some hope of doing good for this unfortunate country; for unfortunate it is in more senses than in the curse of English government. Outside a general belief that the policy of the United Irish League will be made the basis of its deliberation the general public have little information of what policy or plan of action the convention will be asked to accept. It will not be a particularly militant one, if a person may judge by Mr. John Redmond’s recent oration at Blackburn, where he assured a body of Irishmen that he had every hope the claims of Ireland would receive consideration if they were moderate. We do not profess to know how far Mr. Redmond speaks even for his party or for Mr. William O’Brien, but it is as well to remember that this ‘United’ party which will monopolise all the talking on the 19th is the same party which Mr. Davitt left in disgust last winter as being utterly useless to effect anything. There may very possibly be a rally of all the elements which have figured on all such show occasions since ‘conventions’ became one of the recruiting agencies of the Parliamentarians.
We do not impugn the honesty, the patriotism, or the sincerity of the vast bulk of the men who are about to attend this gathering, but we do most assuredly believe that their hearts are swaying them more than their heads in blindly binding themselves to any programme that looks exclusively to the British Parliament to remedy our grievances, and seeks to make the land question the be-all and end-all of Irish Nationality. Without at all sympathising with the shrieks of caballing and bossism which one hears repeatedly, anyone can see that the negotiating and coalescing of the moment has one great objective—the restoration of the status quo ante bellum, 1890, the revival of the glorious days when there was no place in the press or on the platform of Ireland for any man who dared to differ with the pioneers of the Plan of Campaign and the trumpeters of the ‘Union of Hearts.’ There will be resolutions, doubtless, congratulating the country on the restoration of ‘National’ unity, otherwise the open fraternising of the ‘parties’ who for ten years led the people to imagine the other was wilfully betraying the country. There will be resolutions announcing the immediate capitulation of the enemy. Doubtless, the resolutions will be adopted unanimously, for there is little fear of any wretched ‘factionist’ being allowed to enter any protest. Mr. Redmond will possibly be as polished, as stately, and as severely and calmly statesmanlike as usual, but what then? The men of Ireland have seen and heard enough of him to know his value; the record of all his followers, and his new friends is happily not quite unknown—nor will it be unremembered. The men of Ireland, whose hopes for Ireland are as moderate as the demands of all freemen who have seen many conventions, and watched the progress of all their programmes from the cradle to the grave, will also survive this one.
Irish Nationalism that seeks nothing through the Parliament of Britain, that recognises everything Irish as deserving of support, is still a living, active force; more active to-day than at any period since Mr. Redmond’s or Mr. O’Brien’s stars rose. No one knows that fact better than the promoters of this Convention—and few, possibly, regret it more sincerely. That this gathering will waken the Irish race into universal action, will consolidate their forces, formulate their designs, shape their policy, or speak their mind, no man outside the ranks of the ‘Executive Directory’ of the League believes. That it may initiate a recrudescence of the Home Rule idea, give an artificial existence to the shallow theory of an English established Corporation in College-green being an Irish National Parliament, is quite possible, but it can no more affect the tide of Irish Nationalism than it can control the weather. Like its prototypes it will make a splash—a great one, probably—but its place in history will be about as marked as the surface of a lake broken by a stone for one brief instant.
SHEL-MARTIN.