THE Taoiseach’s recent claim that Michael Collins was “one of the greatest Irishmen ever to have lived” raises the question of how exactly we might go about defining what constitutes greatness in Irish men or women.
In a country pre-occupied with history, being dead is always a useful first step towards pre-eminence in Ireland and dying young is also a good help. But apart from those guidelines, what criteria did the Taoiseach use to determine greatness – and how would you determine it?
The Taoiseach’s speech suggests that greatness is often measured not so much by historical facts, but by the modern political values and attitudes of the person doing the measuring. Mr Martin’s measuring was somewhat selective.
For example, Collins accepted partition, showed relatively little interest in radical social and economic policies and made noises about the north, but did little about it. That places him comfortably in the mindset of modern Irish nationalism, as expressed by the Dublin government.
By their standards, he was indeed great. By other standards, however, his status in Irish history is more debatable.
Of course, ranking the dead is a particularly futile exercise. (How would you rank O’Donovan Rossa in relation to the man who spoke at his graveside, Patrick Pearse?)
Collins (aged 31) was the head of the pro-Treaty army who was killed by anti-Treaty forces. Liam Lynch (29) was head of the anti-Treaty forces who was shot dead by the Free State army seven months later, but his death passes largely unmarked every year. He has yet to be the subject of a film.
Lynch was involved in much more military action against the British than Collins, who worked mainly in intelligence. However, Collins has that romantically dashing image which endears him to so many today. Perception always beats reality in Irish history.
The role which Collins played in the Civil War tends to highlight his death, while often ignoring his actions before it. For example, he was reportedly present when Free State forces used British artillery to bombard anti-Treaty republicans in the Four Courts in 1922. So was he a victim or a perpetrator?
For some, signing the Treaty constituted a betrayal of the Republic, as identified in the 1916 Proclamation. For others, including the Taoiseach, it signifies greatness.
The Treaty caused all the difficulties associated with partition and created the sectarian northern state. The argument that it was a stepping stone to an all-Ireland republic has yet to be proven.
Although a first-class organiser and strategist, Collins was essentially apolitical. Unlike James Connolly, for example, Collins offered little by way of political ideology, analysis or even comment.
While Connolly left a huge amount of political theory, explaining the inequality, abject poverty and deprivation in Ireland then and now, the Collins diaries are just a record of what he did every day.
So when Connolly wrote that governments in capitalist society are just committees of the rich to manage the affairs of the capitalist class, it is not surprising that the Taoiseach has yet to praise him. (Show me your heroes and I will tell you your politics.)
The Taoiseach applauded Collins for effectively creating what is today a highly progressive state (no mention of Ireland’s housing crisis) “based on our centrist politics” (none of your left wing rubbish for Ireland).
That, said Mr Martin, is the reason Ireland joined the EU, presumably suggesting that Collins would have done the same. In what was otherwise a fine speech, the Taoiseach sadly strayed from commemoration, through conjecture and into canvassing.
All our patriot dead deserve to be honoured, not ranked in a historical fashion parade. That means sticking to what they said and did while they were alive, rather than allowing politicians to act as their present day self-appointed spokespeople.
Today the dead are silent. To honour them we should allow them to remain that way and not claim that they can somehow speak to support selective political beliefs.
