Across the generations
Bloody Sunday has shaped the course of people's lives - both
young and old. Here four of them describe what that day
meant to them
Barney McFadden
There are some remarkable people whose destiny seems
entwined with all of the tremendous, tragic and - in the
case of Bloody Sunday - terrifying events which our
ever-changing communal struggle throws up. Derry republican
Barney McFadden is one of those people.
In the years after 1972 Barney was interned, grazed in the
head by a British army bullet, the victim of a ``supergrass
stitch-up'' and one of Sinn Féin's most respected
councillors. But it was Bloody Sunday which has embossed
itself most vividly on Barney's memory.
``I remember Gerry ``The Bird'' up on the lorry,'' Barney
recalls. ``He was in charge of the formation of the crowd. I
was in charge of about ten stewards and our task was to
flank the lorry carrying the civil rights banner.''
Describing the crowd as ``being on their best behaviour,''
Barney remembers the march stopping at the top of William
Street as a message came through to the stewards that a
British Army barricade had located further down William
Street at the old city picture house.
``The parade organisers did not want a confrontation and
decided not to try going to the Guildhall, but to proceed to
Free Derry Corner. But just as the parade moved off again a
shot was fired. Undercover Brits who were lying in an old
shirt factory had shot a marcher and of course at this, some
of the crowd panicked and some just pushed aside the
stewards at the front to run down to the Brits' barricade.''
After trying to calm the young people who, by now, had begun
throwing stones at the British Army, Barney says stewards
were forced to withdraw from the area ``due to the likelihood
that we were going to get hit on the head with a stray
brick!''
However, within minutes the atmosphere had changed
drastically - as Barney puts it, ``you know the crack of a
live round.''
The shooting had then begun, as the British soldiers began
to charge up Chamberlain Street, William Street and across
little James Street fanning out onto Rossville Street.
Barney ran for cover beside a telephone kiosk at Rossville
Flats, cramming tight against a wall with several others,
including his son John. He describes what happened next:
``There seemed to be a lull in the shooting when one of our
group got to his feet and took a few steps forward. A shot
rang out and he collapsed on the ground. He was shot in the
head. I hope I'll never see the like of it again. The blood
form his head was very thick and was spreading slowly over
the ground - I can tell you, I was scared. The Brits said he
was firing at them but all the man had in his hand was a
hankie.''
The shocking scene seconds later as Fr O'Geara despairingly
stood over Barney McGuigan's dead body, just feet in front
of Barney and John McFadden was permanently preserved in a
press photograph. Barney is keen to correct those people who
assume the priest is Denis Bradley. ``It was young Fr
O'Geara,'' he says, ``He's dead now - a young man. He was
moved out of Derry soon after Bloody Sunday because he was
too revolutionary.''
Barney had another harrowing experience as he continued to
take cover. He spotted his wife, Roísín, opposite on the far
side of Rossville Street - knowing that any attempt to reach
her would end in death, Barney was unable to go to her aid.
Thankfully Roísín got cover from the shooting by lying
behind a low wall at Glenfada Park.
In retrospect Barney is not confident that any tell-tale
signs could have forewarned of the carnage that was
inflicted by the British soldiers that afternoon. But he
does recall one incident before the march. ``My son Brian and
his friends used to go for a pint on a Sunday morning,'' he
says, ``and before they got home, they were stopped by the
Brits and one of the Brits told them, `we'll be sorting
youse out today' ``
Although he agrees with the necessity of keeping the
spotlight of blame fixed firmly on the British government
Barney points out the role of Derry RUC boss Frank Lagan on
the day. ``Lagan has been let off the hook too long. Legally
the Brits were only supposed to be supporting his men. So
either he ordered them in or he allowed them to take charge.
Either way, Lagan has plenty to answer for,'' says Barney.
On Bloody Sunday the tragedy of partition was spelt out with
British bullets and Irish blood. Individuals like Barney
McFadden have kept this message alive. Barney says simply,
``We got out of the way. We were the lucky ones.''
Barney was interviewed by Deaglan O Coileain
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It is vital to our survival as a party and movement that
young people's opinions and ideas are seriously asked for
and considered, especially on events that have happened
``before our time''. After all, they have shaped our lives
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Deirdre McDaid
When asked to write this piece I tried to recall my first
memory of Bloody Sunday. I could not. For as long as I can
remember Bloody Sunday has been a part of my life and my
family's life. However, it is very worthwhile to seek young
people's memories of key events that have happened in our
community, even if they were not born at the time in
question.
Some may say that a person who was not born during Bloody
Sunday doesn't have as important an opinion as someone who
was present on the day. I would disagree. I believe it is
vital to our survival as a party and movement that young
people's opinions and ideas are seriously asked for and
considered, especially on events that have happened ``before
our time''. After all, they have shaped our lives.
From looking at pictures of Bloody Sunday and indeed the
ages of those murdered, I think it is fair to suggest that
Bloody Sunday was a young march and young people were
centrally involved in the direction of the civil rights
movement. The young people of `97 need to be motivated to
the same level that they were in `72. Unfortunately I don't
have the blueprint on how to do this but at least young
people should be welcomed into the party and feel
comfortable, not feel inferior because of the age and
perceived lack of life experiences.
The reason why young people need to be involved is simple.
The same injustices that existed in January `72 exist in
January `97. Nothing has changed. The rights that people
marched and died for on Bloody Sunday have not been
realised, despite twenty five years of hard work and
sacrifice.
Of course it is a two-way thing. Young people must want to
become more involved and they must be matured to a greater
extent by the older generation. Young people are our future
leaders. We need their help to create a society where
Derry's Bloody Sunday becomes the last that Ireland sees.
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As a young Irish republican I do not believe in the
philosophy of revenge or retribution, but I do advocate the
concept of ``restitution''
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Deaglan O'Coileain
Just a few months after the IRA ceasefire of August `94 a
remarkable gathering took place. Crammed into a hall in the
heart of the Bogside were representatives of the loyalist
paramilitaries, the DUP, the UUP, the SDLP and leading
republicans from all over Ireland. This diverse congregation
assembled at the Bloody Sunday commemorative weekend two
years ago to discuss the issue of ``Protestant/Unionist
perspective.'' Every speaker got a respected and fair hearing
and I believe it was a powerful testimony to those murdered
on Bloody Sunday.
My first emotional experience of Bloody Sunday occurred just
a few years ago. Not having grown up in Derry, but coming
from a politicised family, I knew the facts, the street
names and the politics. But I did not begin to understand
the real feelings of hurt and loss until I was glancing
through a photographic book one day and I gazed at the
static despair of a priest silently screaming out as Barney
McGuigan's life-blood soaked into the flagging below. The
horrible poignance of that image had a strong impact on me.
Yet I could only grasp a semblance of the anger, hurt and
sorrow still suffocating the nationalist psyche in Derry.
Which is why, I feel, the discussions on Protestant/Unionist
perspectives and the personalities present that day were so
significant.
As a young person I have been constantly amazed at the
incredible ability of the Bloody Sunday survivors and our
community, in general, to confound those who doubt our
communal desire for truth and justice, and our never-ending
capacity to confront our detractors and opposites on an
equal and civilised basis.
The big problem is that the Protestant/Unionist community,
who describe themselves as ``the real British presence' in
the north, have never organised a comprehensive, civilised,
open discussion about ``republican/nationalist perspectives''
informed personally by senior republicans/nationalists
present among their community on the Shankill Road or
Newtownards Road. Nor for that matter has the British
government, either at Stormont Castle or Downing Street.
Older republicans often speak of their fear that their
children will be forced to lead the lifestyles they have
led. As one of those children, I share that fear. In
general, the Protestant/Unionist community and the British
government still do not appear to recognise that our dead
are as important as theirs, that we are equal to them. The
inevitable consequence of their collective unwillingness to
recognise these facts, is that no meaningful attempt to
tackle the roots of the conflict here can succeed. Thus,
sooner or later, armed conflict will continue and more
Bloody Sundays will be orchestrated.
As a young Irish republican I do not believe in the
philosophy of revenge or retribution, but I do advocate the
concept of ``restitution''. And I believe republicans need to
aggressively urge the general Protestant/Unionist community
and the British government to engage wholeheartedly in a
process of restitution. For too long some republicans have
allowed their fear of being misrepresented as ``sectarian
warmongers'' to prevent them aggressively tackling hard
issues and criticisms of the Protestant/Unionist community,
in general, and the British government. But as Martin Luther
King wrote:
``The comfortable, the entrenched, the privileged cannot
continue to tremble at the prospect of change in the status
quo. When millions have been cheated for centuries,
restitution is a costly process.''
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I wasn't even born
I remember people happy and the confidence of that morning.
The Creggan Shops.
I remember the banner that was carried. The gathered
message.
I remember live fire.
A pool of blood on the pavement.
I remember Hugh Gilmour and Patrick Doherty.
I remember running. The Flats.
I remember Jim Wray and Micheal McDaid.
I remember screaming.
English accents.
I remember William Nash and Gerald McKinney.
I remember a crazed army.
A white hanky.
I remember Micheal Kelly and John Young.
I remember it black and white. But blood is always red.
I remember Jackie Duddy and Bernard McGuigan.
I remember looking for my friend from the confusion and then
through the quiet.
I remember Gerald Donaghy and Kevin McElhinney.
I remember hearing the news.
I remember John Johnston and William McKinney.
I remember thirteen coffins. Black flags.
I remember a young woman with an old face.
The funerals.
I remember my father crying hot angry tears.
I remember the lies.
d I wasn't even born.
Killian Mullan and Sharon Meenan. Age 21.
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Sharon Meenan
It is somewhat strange for an event to have so much impact
and depth of emotion on people who were not born at the
time. Bloody Sunday for young people in Derry is seldom
thought of as a historical event, this is due to the legacy
of fear and injustice it has imposed on our city, which has
scarred all our lives.
Bloody Sunday forced the nationalist community to wake up to
the reality that the murder and brutal treatment of
nationalists would not only be sanctioned but in some cases
rewarded and celebrated. It is frightening to think that a
few of our Protestant neighbours danced on the night of 31
January 1972 and are offended by the justice campaign for
fourteen murdered civil rights marchers. Frightening because
this signifies the extent of the divisions which must be
overcome if we are ever to have a lasting peace.
In the twenty-five years since Bloody Sunday the reality for
nationalists is unchanged but never unchallenged. Young
nationalists recognise this and their peaceful protest
during the marching season of `96 reflects their commitment
to justice.