Old Man

I used to go to a Republican bar with a “liberal” crowd when I was in school. The place was called the Phoenix, and it had risen from the ashes just as its namesake had. It was the only bar in Cork, or in Ireland as far as I could tell, that had exposed post and beam construction. It was made from the beams of destroyed British warships from pilfered Irish oak. I would sit with the crowd of activists from the environmental group I had come to know through my research. I would listen to traditional music and the stories from the experiences of the “movement” from around the globe. They flicked their ashes on the floor into the sawdust. I thought for sure the place would go up in flames. They cadged beer off of each other at every possible chance. Once a night an old man would come through the pub offering copies of a Republican newspaper for any contributions you could afford. He would move slowly through the crowd, taking the time to be noticed by each customer. When he came close he would say under his breath, “Every fiver buys a magazine for the boys up north. Twenty P will buy a bullet.”

When he go to the eclectic crowd I was a part of he tried to sell his newspaper, but they would look at the floor, look at the musicians, head off to the bogs, do anything but catch his eye. The ones who could not avoid his eye plead poverty by gesture only. I didn’t mind just telling him that I didn’t want it, but I wasn’t as constrained as they were. They had adopted radical chic and were duty bound to buy into the radical part. They were Irish, many espoused socialism as the best way to heal the dying world, and many were happy to decry the actions of the erstwhile oppressor when in their own company. But when it came time to pay for bullets to perpetrate acts of violence, they were in no position to publicly condone or aver the activity. It is one thing to sing about it, another to support it, and a third to participate.

But the old man blamed the British for Ireland’s troubles and was doing what he could to support the armed conflict. He had no qualms either way; there was no vacillation on his part. It is my opinion that Ireland has a government and an army, and that the country will speak for itself in the family of nations rather than let the belligerence of the maligned few drive its policy, but I admired the old man’s strength of character more than that of the youths who could not meet his gaze. They could talk of the barricades, but they would not man them. I decided thereafter that I would go to the North to see it for myself, and that I would live by my convictions in things I found to be central to my beliefs.

More later.