I always have had
difficulty remembering historical dates (and a few present ones, although that
is a story for another day). They either
blur together or present themselves only long enough to finish a final exam. I was never overly concerned by this fact. So long as I remember the important centuries
and a handful of world changing years, I am under the impression that I will
not be any worse for my lack in memorization.
After all, its knowing what happened that counts.
But there are a handful
of dates that I simply never will forget.
One is September 11th, 2001. Another is January 30th, 1972. Granted, when I read about Bloody Sunday in
my high school textbook, it had only been another date to me. I had scanned the page, taken the test and
moved on with my life. This fact only
made standing in Derry all the more moving, the more chilling and, frankly,
filled me with all the more shame.
Bloody Sunday should never be forgotten or ignored. And, should you find yourself in Derry, it is
something that never will be.
January 30th,
1972 would have dawned not much differently than the day that our college group
took the walking tour of Derry. Overcast
skies breathed icy wind down our backs, twenty-one students huddled together as
a violent scene was painted before our eyes.
Forty-one years ago, in a peaceful attempt to bring equality to
Protestants and Catholics in Derry, Ivan Cooper led an unarmed march for the
Civil Rights Association down the streets of Derry. Men, women and children cheered for peace and
justice as they walked. Engines hummed,
gravel crunched and the wind sighed through the protesters’ hair just as it now
twisted through mine. The British army,
brought in to maintain order during a troubled time, watched from the safety of
their stone walls, rifles lying heavily in their gloved hands. The march was going peacefully, as Ivan
Cooper had intended. As nearly everyone
in that march had expected.
When the first shot
rang across the streets, were the people confused? Afraid?
Did they understand what was happening?
Or did the realization not sink in until they saw the man sprawled in
their midst, bleeding from a wound he had not foreseen and screaming from a
fear that he had never known? When the
marchers were peppered by the frightened bullets of a foreign army, did they
know that they were in a war zone? Did
they stand in confusion as the women, men and children were shot down?
Thirteen Irish citizens
died that day. Fifteen others were
wounded, one of whom dying in the months to follow. An investigation, initiated by the British
army, followed immediately afterwards.
The inquisitors refused to hear from eye witnesses and only took
testimonies from disguised British soldiers.
This was later admitted to have been tampered with. A second investigation was conducted in the
following years, during which time it was proven that none of the marchers had
been armed and that every person killed had been shot down in cold blood. It was a mass murder and one that still
bleeds in the hearts of the citizens of Derry.
Memorials have been sculpted, murals painted by the Bogside Artists and
statues erected to remind people of the violence suffered here. But the Irish people will never forget,
especially not when the deaths are still in living memory. Ivan Cooper is alive today and has in the
past years talked to visiting St. Scholastica students. I was told that when he was asked for some
bit of advice, he responded, “Stand for something.”
Perhaps the most heart
wrenching story from the Derry Troubles for me was the death of Annette
McGavigan, whose walk home from school was ended by the gun of a British
soldier—who later stated that he mistook her book bag for a bomb. Her mural was not allowed to be painted until
after the British army had admitted its wrong.
Called the ‘Death of Innocence’, it depicts a young girl with her school
things scattered around her feet. There
is a butterfly to symbolize innocence and rebirth and a broken rifle to plead
for an end to violence. Her plaque
reads, “Shot dead by the British Army.”
While Derry is on the
road to improvement, the two sides of the River Foyle still separate the
majority of Protestant and Catholic peoples.
Old wounds are still bleeding, shown on the walls as murals and on the
gates and signs as graffiti. Bloody
Sunday is fresh in Ireland’s history.
Violence is fresh in the Irish heart.
A statue near the dividing river is of two men reaching out to one
another—representing Catholics and Protestants—with their hands almost touching. Almost, not quite. Derry is almost there, a finger’s brush away,
but they aren’t there yet. And as the newly
constructed, winding foot bridge over the river shows, the way is never sure.
If you want to see
history live, visit Derry. Northern
Ireland is steeped in political involvement and Derry drums near the heart of
the troubles, pulling violence and injustice into a city that has rarely known
peace. And while in the ideal world the
people will eventually forgive, no one can ever forget.
~K
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