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Review: The Retreat by Conor Kostick

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The cover of Conor Kostick's novel, The Retreat. A knight on horseback rides through a mysterious dark green forest. He seems despondent, to judge from the lowered lance.
Conor Kostick’s new book The Retreat is a ‘thrilling tale set in the Middle Ages during the crusades’

Conor Kostick’s new novel, The Retreat, is a thrilling tale set in the Middle Ages during the crusades. It is narrated by Guibert of Rocadamour, a naïve aristocratic youth, who joins a crusade expedition having soaked up the propaganda of the chansons and the chronicles. He is swiftly disabused of his illusions when the expedition is derailed at the outset, with the would-be crusaders sacking the castle of Devinium and stealing its wealth. From there, the novel follows a course of violent actions and reprisals all determined by the cupidity of the characters. So exciting is this tale that it is easy to overlook the political dimensions to the novel and the intriguing ambiguity at its centre. 

This is not a history. I write because I feel a dark geas upon me: almost as though I have been condemned to search my own memories and relive these experiences.

Throughout The Retreat, there are references to Hades, the underworld. The narrator, Guibert of Rocadamour, references the line that Achilles’ shade gave to cunning Odysseus: ‘you told him to choose one day of life as a slave in dusty fields over an eternity of death as the ruler of Hades’. Later, he imagines himself as Orpheus, another voyager to Hades. Geas is a Gaelic word that the dictionary defines as ‘(in Irish folklore) an obligation or prohibition magically imposed on a person.’ This central ambiguity about whether the narrator is dead provides a fascinating lens to interpret the novel. 

Historical accuracy is subtly present in the novel 

Kostick is also an historian of the crusades who has written works like The Social Structure of The First Crusade, which built on his doctoral thesis, ‘The Language of Ordo in The Early Histories of The First Crusade’. So, there is considerable historical erudition subtly introduced in the story. In Chapter 5, Guibert writes:

The news of an expedition travelling to the Holy Land had attracted peasants and burghers of all ages. Entire families of poor people had joined the enterprise: grandparents, parents, and infants. Some of these farmers and city dwellers bore arms, worthless rusty scythes or spears with flimsy points. Most didn’t. Then too, we had monks and nuns of all ages marching with us. 

The narrator is a noble who is forced to confront his class bias. This is fundamental to the story. Why? In part it is because the heterogenous make-up of the expedition’s members eventually upend his world view. Guibert often must rely on the good advice of Gerard, a commoner, for example, ‘I did not resent the fact that Gerard, a footsoldier, gave the orders for our army. Unnatural as it was by the standards I was used to at home, we were a long way from Rocadamour’. The is a double meaning in the word ‘unnatural’, implying both a break from the strict hierarchy but also ‘not existing in nature’. The excellent Song of Count Stephen which appears in chapter 16 captures the notion of a world turned upside down in one of its verses:

A monstrous roar comes from the trees. 

Another army has appeared where none should be. 

It is the cook, the nurse, the old and the sick. 

The smith, the washerwoman, the former serf. 

In their hands are tools not weapons of war. 

The world has turned upside down. 

To the monks, the nuns, adolescents and wives. 

Count Stephen and his knights owe their lives. 

There are some great conversations in the novel that quite subtly fill in the background realities of life in the middle ages. In one instance, there is a tantalizing glimpse of religious heterodoxy when Robert, a knight tells Jacques, a mercenary, about his experiences in the Holy Land. ‘Did you know the Bible doesn’t have all that should be in it?’ Guibert’s tart appraisal is, ‘his voice had in it the enthusiasm of men and women who carried obsessions in their hearts’. ‘Enthusiasm’ conjures up images of religious heresy which was rife in the middles ages.

Later in the novel, Gerard offers an amusing summary of the situation in Ireland, 

There are a hundred kings in Ireland, each with a dozen princes, each with a dozen lords and each of them has at least a dozen followers. But every one of these men reckons a descent from the high-kings and that he would make a great and famous king himself one day. So fortunes rise and fall there faster than anywhere else in the world. 

An historical novel about the crusades that shows how myths begin

We witness in the novel the myth-making process of the middle ages: the creation of chansons and chronicles which celebrate the valorous deeds of lords and knights. Through a single reference to a chronicle entitled The Deeds of Count Stephen the novel hints of the existence of a history of these events and the reader gets to witness the performance of a section of a chanson, The Song of Count Stephen, which exaggerates the bloody battle that we witnessed in the Beserkir chapter. Guibert is apotheosised as follows: ‘I am thunder and lightning. I am / Storm and wrath. I plunge my blade through iron / And bone. Unquenchable heat burns through me, / Like a forest fire.’ Guibert is slightly dismayed at the liberties that the poet takes with the truth. But the poet is unperturbed, ‘the song requires it. If you want history, speak of your deeds to a scribe. If you want fame, then have me leave the verse as it stands’ 

Turning the world upside down is probably one of the most enduring leftist slogans of all time, so it’s not accidental when it appears in the work of a left-wing writer. But here, its impact is compounded by the ambiguity at the heart of the novel. That is, the continual reference to ‘Hades’, the underworld, in lines like: 

And I had not rid myself of the sensation that the shadows of the forest were those of Hades and we were all dead, that perhaps we had all died in the field with the rest of Shalk’s army, it was just that we did not know it.

Or, 

 ‘…then the sky beyond the windows changed to a silvery grey and I knew we were now in Hades.’

Interestingly, this description occurs during the narrator’s nightmare episode in the chapter entitled:  ‘A Dream That Affrightens’. I count ten references to Hades in the novel. Is the narrator in fact dead, hence his susceptibility to the levelling of class distinctions? 

Class and gender are brilliantly interwoven in the relationship between Guibert and Cataline. Our narrator, the young knight, is full of the cliches of courtly romance while the peasant girl Cataline has already lived through a life of hardship and the savage death of her parents. Her post-coital words are profound: ‘Hush. It’s done. It’s all done. We live.’ Her later brusque rebuttal of his oppressive proprietary romanticism is brilliant and deeply problematic. 

I lay with you because you deserved it, for what you did for us. And also because I think we will all be dead soon. Why not enjoy a little sweetness while we can? But I’m not some farmer’s daughter with designs upon a local knight.

Guibert’s relationship with the woman Cataline is a lens through which to view the class differences in medieval society. Noble women did not go on crusades, whereas Cataline and Melinde (a powerful wife of a mercenary leader) are active participants. Guibert is full of romantic clichés, no doubt gleaned from chansons, whereas Cataline is alert the hard reality of life. Her experiences provoke Guibert’s observation that ‘a lady who had never experienced the certainty of her own death, never witnessed a battle, nor carried a knife to slit the throats of wounded enemies, such a lady could never understand and comfort me like this’. 

The Retreat is a tragedy driven by greed

Cupidity is the undoing of the expedition. Greed for loot provokes atrocities that propel the group towards disaster.  The ‘Mutur’ leader, Rainulf, murders the rapacious Bishop Wernher later in the novel and steals his treasure.

One of the most interesting aspects of the novel is the very just criticisms that characters direct towards their class enemies. For instance, when Rainulf disdains the contempt of Count Stephen (and Guibert, too), ‘do I need to witness the contempt of a man whose refined ways are paid for by the toil of a thousand serfs?’ While they are tracking down the forest dwellers that kidnapped Cataline, Guibert offhandedly makes a stunningly revealing statement of his cruel class position: 

‘Sometimes a serf runs. But they hardly ever get far. One time though, Count Theobald sent one of ours all the way back from Troyes. Runaways would never manage to set up a home or village of their own.’  

This is a savage world where the innocent are slaughtered by paid mercenaries, ‘when a man is paid to wield a sword, he loses the right to follow his own wishes’. There is a dark irony in an expedition ostensibly travelling to Jerusalem to ‘lift our sins’ (as Melinde says at one point), which perpetrates atrocities along the way.  

The Retreat is a great novel which merits a second reading to really get to savour the morally complex and brilliantly rendered ambiguity of this failed expedition. I read it the first time as a gripping and violent adventure tale. But then, looking through it again, I began to appreciate the novel’s many subtleties. It is fascinating how the novel successfully condenses so much of the world of the Middle Ages in the text.

The Retreat is currently available as an ebook or as an audiobook.

An online book launch for Conor Kostick’s novel took place on 2 May at 9pm (Dublin) via zoom.

The online launch of The Reatreat by Conor Kostick

The Connaught Rangers’ Mutiny of 1920

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Dagshai prison, northern India, where 88 Connaught Rangers were imprisoned after mutinying in 1920. In a valley between two hills is a long building with grey triangular roof and whitewashed walls and arches. A mist fills the skies and the whole is rather bleak.
Dagshai prison, northern India, where 88 Connaught Rangers were imprisoned after mutinying in 1920

One of the most extraordinary acts of defiance against the British Empire took place in India on 28 June 1920 when four Irish soldiers, members of the British army, thousands of miles from home, decided to protest against the suppression of the independence movement in Ireland. The soldiers belonged to the Connaught Rangers and were stationed at the north of the country in the Wellington Barracks, Jullundur (modern day Jalandhar). At eight a.m. that morning, Joseph Hawes, Patrick Gogarty, Christopher Sweeney and Stephen Lally, all members of C Company, approached an officer they felt they could trust, Lance Corporal John Flannery, and told him that they wished to ground arms and cease fighting for the British Army due to the oppression of their friends in Ireland.

Jim Hawes, one of the initial instigators of the Connaught Rangers mutiny is shown in a full length black and white portrait. He wears the uniform of the Munster Fusiliers, his peaked hat resting on a table against which he leans, hands in pockets, a nonchalant expression on his face.
Joe Hawes, one of the leaders of the mutiny, in the uniform of the Munster Fusiliers

Joe Hawes had been on leave in Clare in October 1919 and had seen a hurling match proclaimed by troops with bayonets drawn. He had spoken about this with his colleagues (plus another man, William Daly) the night before and had made the point that they were doing in India what the Black and Tans were doing in Ireland. Their garrison was only ninety kilometres from Amritsar, where a massacre of Indian civilians had been carried out by British Indian soldiers less than a year earlier.

The four men wanted Flannery to have their addresses in Ireland in case their protest would led to their immediate execution. If they were going to die, they wanted to the true reason to be made known to their families. Then reporting to the guardroom, the protesters voluntarily asked to be arrested for being ‘in sympathy with Ireland.’

Joe Hawes and the start of the mutiny of the Connaught Rangers in Jullundur 1920

This initial action, however, rapidly changed from being one where a few individuals would prefer imprisonment and the risk of execution to continuing in their role as British soldiers to a full-blown mutiny of hundreds of men. Soon after the protest had begun, excited groups of soldiers gathered here and there in barracks talking about the stand being made by their four comrades. At that time, half of C Company, fifty men, were away in the Solon barracks (guarding an important route from Delhi to Simla). This left forty-six soldiers of the company who formed up for parade at nine a.m., with Hawes, Gogarty, Sweeney and Lally conspicuously absent. Another soldier stepped out of line, Jimmy Moran, and announced that he wanted to join his comrades in the guard room. With that action, the discipline of the remainder of the company shattered and twenty-nine more members of C Company, plus the (armed) duty guard himself joined the protest.

A black and white picture of a large parade ground with a very big building at the top of the picture. It is Jullundur barracks and has two floors, arched decorations around the windows and a triangular roof.
Jullundur Barracks, scene of the mutiny of the Connaught Rangers in 1920

Now thirty-five strong, the mutineers entertained themselves by singing rebel songs and shouting ‘Up the Republic!’. When the two-hundred strong B Company, who had been away at the nearby rifle range, returned and heard the commotion, the soldiers – still bearing their weapons – made their way to the guardroom and a lively discussion took place with the prisoners. Colonel Deacon, officer commanding, thought he could successfully challenge the mutineers in front of his men and so ordered B Company to sit on the steps of a bungalow nearby.

Colour photo of Jullundur barracks, where the mutiny of the Irish national sympathisers in the Connaught Rangers is still remembered. In modern times the arched building has an upper floor or orange brick and a large whitewashed ground floor, with tall arches and red and black horizontal lines painted towards the bottom.
The guardroom today, where the mutiny of the Irishmen in the British army is still remembered in India.

Deacon then had the protestors line up in front of the sitting men and proceeded to harangue the rebels, attempting to shame them with the great history of the Connaught Rangers; working himself up to tears with the regiment’s proud record; all their various honours. The colonel then offered to forget the whole matter if the protestors returned to their bungalows. Hawes, a private and therefore on the lowest rung of the military hierarchy, nevertheless stepped forward, uncowed and defiant, and confronted the senior British officer: ‘All the honours in the Connaught flag are for England and there are none for Ireland but there is going to be one today and it will be the greatest of them all.’ A resulting attempt to isolate Hawes was thrown back by the mutineers marching off in good order back to the prison with their hero safely among them. Humiliatingly for Deacon, when he now attempted to order B Company to move on, they refused to leave. Instead, they swarmed over to Hawes and his friends, leaving Deacon distraught. The other senior officers, along with NCOs hurried away as the rank and file soldiers realised they had the upper hand and could take over the whole barracks.

Rebel British soldiers form a committee and take over the Jullundur barracks

Urging Hawes to lead them, the crowd of Connaught Rangers released all the protesters from the guardroom and rallied as many other soldiers as they could. A rebel muster took place with around 300 participants. They elected seven soldiers to be their committee: Joe Hawes and Patrick Gogarty – two of the original protesters – along with John Flannery as messenger to the officers and Jimmy Moran, J.A. McGowan, Paddy Sweeny and James Davies as the other members. The Union flag was removed from a bungalow occupied by the rebels and replaced with a hastily sewn Tricolour.

Now in firm control, the mutineers doubled the guard; distributed the task of making regular patrols; placed a permanent guard to monitor the senior officers (to ensure they didn’t attempt any rash action that might lead to violence); put a guard on alcohol; and commissioned a hundred green, white and orange rosettes from the local bazaar. According to an army telegram of the time, the attitude of the men was respectful but ‘obdurate in their refusal to perform any military duty.’ That day, too, they sent messengers off some two hundred kilometres to A Company, who were stationed at Jutogh and the other half of C Company, who were in barracks at Solon.

A book cover illustration. In red writing: Mutiny for the Cause. Four British soldiers have taken down the union flag, which is on the ground, while one of them hauls up the Irish tricolour. Another, to the right of the flag pole, leaps in the air, hat held high. In the background is a barracks and several other soldiers with raised hands.
Mutiny for the Cause: cover of Sam Pollock’s
book on the mutiny of the Connaught Rangers in 1920

Frank Geraghty of Castleblayney, Co. Monaghan, was one of the mutineers who travelled to Solon and his background gives the lie to the official account of the mutiny by a regimental historian anxious to dismiss it as the action of ‘green recruits’. As Geraghty said in an interview, ‘I had served in France from January 1915 to the end of the war and had been wounded twice. And despite all my service, by mutinying, I knew what I was doing. But the news coming from Ireland disturbed my mind to such an extent that I was quite prepared to suffer anything, irrespective of what it might be.’

Of the sixty-one men subsequently tried for mutiny, most were veterans of the Great War, and, indeed, thirty of these had been in the British Army for more than five years: five bitter years in which several of them had fought at the Battle of Loos in 1915 and in a grim, cholera-stricken campaign around Baghdad from 1916 – 1918, before moving towards Egypt and engaging in a fierce encounter with German and Turkish troops near Jaffa in 1918, not to mention their notable achievement in capturing a Turkish artillery column.

These veteran soldiers were not afraid of fighting, nor had they mutinied as a result of inexperience and dismay at what being a soldier actually meant. They were profoundly aware of the vast power of the British war machine and up until 1920 had played their part in it. Now, however, times had changed. Joe Hawes later explained, ‘When I joined the British Army in 1914, they told us we were going out to fight for the liberation of small nations. But when the war was over, and I went home to Ireland, I found that, so far as one small nation was concerned – my own – these were just words.’

In the face of these politically resolute soldiers, it was difficult for the authorities to regain control. Major N. Farrell of ‘B’ Company, Connaught Rangers, tried to get his men to obey their officers once more and warned them that the mutiny would play into the hands of Indian nationalists and that they would all be slaughtered. To this, Hawes answered spiritedly, ‘if I am to be shot, I would rather be shot by an Indian than an Englishman.’ Local Indian feeling was, in fact, sympathetic to news of the mutiny of Irish soldiers in the British army. In Delhi, the popular newspaper Fateh reported the mutiny of the Irish soldiers as an implementation of Gandhi’s strategy of civil disobedience, demonstrating ‘how patriotic people can preserve their honour, defy the orders of the Government, and defeat its unjust aims.’

Some of those involved in the mutiny felt, too, that there was a real hope of an alliance with those involved in India’s struggle for independence. Stephen Lally, one of the leaders of the Jullundur mutiny and later a member of the IRA, recalled: ‘I thought we might as well kill two birds with the one stone, and if we could get the Indian National Movement with us it would mean a great victory not alone for Ireland but India as well . . . we could have officered the Native ranks and in a very short time India would have gained her freedom.’

A physical map of northern India in light green and yellow. A white border runs from top to bottom towards the left, beyond which is Pakistan. A purple arrow points to Jullundur and another to Solon. The letter barracks is directly north of Delhi at the start of the Tibetan mountain range.
Just 90km south east of Amritsar, where British soldiers had killed hundreds of civilians in 1919 was the barracks of Jullundur, the site of the mutiny of the Connaught Rangers that began on 28 June 1920

The mutiny spreads to Jim Daly and the Connaught Rangers in Solon

For the first two days, it did seem that momentum was with the rebels. Frank Geraghty recalled his mission to spread the mutiny to the rest of C Company in Solon.

On the 30 June 20, I with private Patrick Kelly, were detailed to go to Solon in the Simlar hills to communicate the fact that the troops in Jullundur had mutinied and to give the reason for the mutiny and to give instructions also that the mutiny, if they did mutiny, would be on the lines of passive resistance with no violence. I appealed to James Joseph Daly whom I approached as the most competent man and whom I knew personally wished to carry out an effort to start a mutiny. Daly, I knew, was inclined to the republican movement in Ireland.

A sepia-tinged photograph of 12th Platoon, C Company 1st Battalion Connaught Rangers. Four men sit on the ground in the front row (the second from right having a dog in his lap), eight are seated in the middle row and six men stand at the back. Highlighted in a green box is the young man, front row right hand side. This is Jim Daly, leader of the mutiny at Solon in 1920.
Jim Daly, C Company, 1st Battalion Connaught Rangers and his comrades, several of whom also joined the mutiny at Solon in 1920

Borne in Ballymoe, County Galway and raised in Tyrrellspass, Mulingar, County Westmeath, Jim Daly, was an ‘active sympathiser with Sinn Féin’ and responded with determination to the news from Jullundur. According to the version of events Daly later told to Hawes while they were in prison together, the men from Jullundur had been arrested on arrival at Solon but Daly could hear enough of their messages shouted through the bars to realise the situation. Although only 20 at the time of the mutiny and one of the youngest soldiers, that night he rallied about forty men and marched to the bungalow of the Commanding Officer to announce that they were taking over a bungalow in protest at repression in Ireland. In response, the C.O. told the men they were insane and switching between threats and inducements attempted to return the men to their duty as he saw it. The strongest argument at his disposal was that the action would be futile as they were thousands of miles from Ireland. After a long, hard silence Daly gave a curt response: nothing the C.O. said would avail. The mutineers left for their bungalow, which they named ‘Liberty Hall’, and as with their comrades at Jullundur, took down all the Union flags, hoisted the tricolour, made and wore Irish rosettes on their British Army uniforms and sang rebel songs.

A black and white picture of a young soldier in a uniform that has shorts. He seems to be smirking at the camera. This is a full length portrait of Jim Daly, the republican to whom the rebels at Jullundur looked to spread their mutiny to Solon.
The Jullundur mutineers looked to the known republican Jim Daly to extend their mutiny to Solon and the rest of C Company of the 1st Battalion, Connaught Rangers.

Next day, early on 1 July 1920, Major W.N.S. Alexander and his officers arrived at Liberty Hall and managed to get the mutineers to form up to listen to his address. The Major thought that his arguments were having an influence when:

A man named Daly stood in front of the parade; he informed me that similar action would be taken simultaneously by every Irish Regiment in the Army, and that the news would be published in every paper in the United Kingdom: whatever influence I had said may have had on the less determined of the mutineers was promptly wiped out by this man.

Colonel Woodbridge tried next but again, ‘Daly intervened and succeeded in wiping out the good impression made.’

On the night of 1 July 1920, scouts set by the mutineers at Solon, detected the imminent arrival of British troops. On this news Daly and his followers made a mistake, deciding to offer armed resistance to the recapture of the barracks. Lacking genuine contacts in the Indian nationalist movement, the best hope of the soldiers was not to escape and definitely not to fight against vastly superior forces but, as Hawes had urged, to keep the protest peaceful (despite serious risk of execution).

Led by Daly, about twenty rebels went to the company magazine building to attempt to get hold of their rifles. Earlier in the protest, Fr Baker, the camp priest, had urged the men not to carry arms. Lieut. C.J. Walsh, told the subsequent Court of Enquiry: ‘I was officer I/C of an armed guard mounted on the magazine. At about 2200 hours, four mutineers approached the magazine and tried to rush the Sentry. I covered the leader with me revolver. I cautioned these men and warned then that if they approached any nearer I would shoot them. They went immediately in the direction of their bungalow. About five minutes later an attack was made on the magazine by a number of mutineers armed with naked bayonets. By this time the sentries on the magazine were reinforced by the remainder of the Guard, and all Officers living in the line. The mutineers pressed on toward the magazine, they were challenged at least three or four times, they took no notice of the challenge, and, as a further warning I fired two shots from my revolver into the air. This had no effect, so I fired into the attackers who then withdrew. Shortly afterwards three men were removed on stretchers to the station Hospital, two of whom I heard were dead, and one wounded.’

The dead mutineers were Pte Peter Sears, The Neale, Co. Mayo and Patrick Smyth from Drogheda, who was spectating, rather than participating in the rush. Eugene Egan lived, despite having been shot through the right chest. Following a final desperate challenge by Daly to a bayonet duel with anyone on the other side, the mutiny at Solon was effectively over. With the arrival of loyal troops, the participants were placed under arrest.

British officers try to regain control of the mutinous Connaught Rangers

Meanwhile at Jullundur, Colonel Jackson had arrived to take charge of the crisis for the British army. He was in regular contact with the Commander-in-Chief for all India, General Charles Munroe. Under a white flag, Jackson entered talks with the leaders of the Connaught Rangers mutiny and insisted that they could not win: that the British army was intent on retaking the barracks, even if it required very soldier in India. This was almost certainly the policy decided upon by the authorities as they had already mobilised two battalions, the South Wales Borderers and the Seaforth Highlanders, both of which arrived with artillery and machine guns on 1 July 1920.

Militarily, the position of the rebels was now hopeless, but they continued to protest through passive means and in particular, were resolved not to give up the leaders of the mutiny for fear they would be executed: a very realistic appraisal of the thinking of the senior officers. Although some eighty soldiers abandoned the mutiny at this point, the others, over four hundred strong, marched out to prison camp together and refused to allow their leaders to be isolated. This defiance nearly cost dozens of lives, as the camp was designed to ensure hardship. It had almost no protection from the Indian summer sun and the water supply deliberately inadequate. ‘Inhumane’ was how a Captain Kearney put it and only the intervention of the Connaught Rangers’ medical officer prevented lives from being lost from sickness.

A more immediate prospect of death for the mutineers came from the threat of violence. In the process of being moved to another camp on 2 July 1920, Major Johnny Payne made another attempt to separate the leaders from the body of mutineers. He called out twenty names, which included the seven men on the committee. No one moved, so Payne ordered thirty soldiers to pull out one of the people he had identified (Tommy Moran) from the crowd. These soldiers failed and were disarmed in the physical tussle, leading Payne to order fixed bayonets and soon after, the final order before ‘open fire’, that of ‘five rounds, stand and load.’

Fr Livens, the seventy-year-old army chaplain rushed across to Payne and pleaded with the major, managing to delay the crisis by interposing himself between the soldiers with raised rifles and the prisoners. This was a crucial moment, where just in time a rider came hurriedly over, blowing a whistle to gain attention. This was Colonel Jackson who rebuked Payne in public and took over the command of the loyal soldiers.

Major Payne still had a hand in the subsequent mistreatment of the mutineers, forcing some of them to lie on the bare stone ground for hours with little or no food or clothing. James C O’Shea of Derry contracted a gastric illness that remained with him for the rest of his life. In trying to assert his rights, Payne told O’Shea he was entitled to ‘steel and lead and nothing else.’

Over the following days the British officers managed to whittle down the number of mutineers by offering free pardons to those who returned to duty and assuring the rest that they would face death by firing squad. By mid-July there were 48 former Jullundur Connaught Rangers in prison at Dagshai, where they were joined by Jim Daly and 40 men from the Solon mutiny. Conditions in Dagshai were harsh and they were deprived of all but the most basic sustenance. Private John Miranda died there and his case draws attention to the fact that a number of the mutineers were English rather than Irish. John Miranda was from Bootle in Liverpool. An English Sergeant Woods, who had earned a Distinguished Conduct Medal for his behaviour in France, explained his reasons for joining the mutiny to the Court Martial, ‘These boys fought for England with me, and I was ready to fight for Ireland with them.’

At one point, thanks to the sympathy of the Indian staff at the jail, a group of six rebels, including Hawes and Daly, were able to get outside. In order to address the scarcity of provisions, especially cigarettes, Hawes and Daly decided to raid the canteen at Solon. A successful overnight mission saw them return to the comrades in the prison with their ill-gotten cigarettes. Hawes later explained why they did not simply try to abscond:

It might be wondered why we did not make a break for freedom that night or any other night, but you must remember that we were in an alien country, thousands of miles from home, even unable to speak the language. Everyone would be our enemy both the king’s men and the native Indians to whom none of us could explain our position over the language barrier. Soldiers were not popular in India at that time.

The Court Martial of the Connaught Rangers who joined the mutiny of 1920

The court martial of the rebels, beginning with those considered to be the main leaders of the mutiny, began on 30 August 1920. Eventually 59 Connaught Rangers were given fifteen-year prison sentences, while thirteen men were sentenced to death. Fortunately for most of them, the political situation had swung in their favour. By the end of 1920 a radicalised Irish population were driving back British authority in the country and the generals considered it inexpedient to kill all thirteen out of concern for the possible public response. One man, however, they were determined to carry out the sentence upon: Jim Daly. The problem with commuting Daly’s sentence, as far as a review by Major-General Sir George de Symons Barrow was concerned, was the effect leniency might have on equivalent mutinies of British Indian soldiers. Barrow needed to retain the threat of execution as a palpable one.

Group D of the men facing court martial on 4 September 1920, at the top of the list is Pte. J. J. Daly with his sentence: ‘to be shot’. Picture from National Archives, UK, taken by Paul Stevenson

On 2 November 1920, Jim Daly, then 21, was executed at Dagshai jail where a curfew was in place to avert a rumoured Indian attempt to free him from jail. Years later one of the rebels, Michael Kearney of County Clare could still recall the horrible details of the execution.

I was awakened around dawn by the shattering bang of the death volley from the firing party of twelve. The governor of the prison, a humane man, lets us out of our cells later in the day and we had the melancholy experience of seeing the wall of execution.

The poor body had been almost truncated and some of the men gathered tiny portions of human flesh which adhered to the wall. These sad scraps were laced in a little matchbox and given to Father Baker to be buried with our heroic comrade.

With the Treaty negotiations at the end of 1922 came discussion of an amnesty on both sides and the Connaught Rangers who were in prison as a result of the mutiny were specifically included in it, leading to their release on 9 January 1923. Thereafter, however, it was a struggle for many of the men to obtain employment or state support. A campaign for a pension to be allowed the men led to a government report in 1925 that showed fourteen of the ex-mutineers were without work. Following the government refusal of the pension, mutineer John Lyons wrote that ‘those who fought for Ireland fought in vain’. Again, in 1933, a pension was discussed and investigation into the men’s circumstances found that four of the mutineers had died in Poor Law Unions, with six men being out of work. James Devers, who had been among those trying to attack the magazine at Solon was described as being in ‘desperate need.’ Only after the passage of the Connaught Rangers (Pensions) Act of 29 April 1936, were the men were able to claim military pensions from the Irish state based on the time they spent in prison.

Commemorating the Connaught Rangers’ mutiny of 28 June 1920

It should be obvious that the act of defiance by these Irish soldiers was an heroic one that deserves to be remembered and celebrated. To some extent, throughout the twentieth century there were moments that gave the public a chance to express their appreciation of the bravery of the mutineers in risking execution rather than continue to serve in an army that was repressing the national movement. On their return to Ireland there were celebratory meetings and a great deal of enthusiasm for the stand they had made. A poem in the Roscommon Herald, January 1923, gives a flavour of the public mood:

Minced with bullets, their comrade’s

Living flesh

Is spat into their ace,

As if to crush their Irish hearts

Or kill the spirit of their race.

Hopelessly the ruse met blank dismay,

Their determination stronger grew.

Their vows were made and sealed that day

To die for Roísín Dubh.

Had not kind Providence stepped in

And saved them from their doom,

Their hearts would now be lying still

Within the convicts tomb.

On 18 March 1928, a play by M.P. O’Cearnaigh, Flag of India,was performed at the Royal Theatre, Dublin to support the ‘Connaught Rangers Distress Fund’. Veterans of the mutiny paraded along O’Connell St c.1936.

A black and white photograph of a parade outside the GPO, O'Connell Street Dublin, probably taken in 1936. Underneath a banner that reads Connaught Rangers mutiny are seven men in long coats and pulled down hats. In front of them are a row of four women also in long coats and hats. The men were participants in the Connaught Rangers mutiny of 1920.
Veteran participants of the Connaught Rangers mutiny parade outside the GPO.

In the 1950s a campaign grew up to bring back the remains of Jim Daly, the Offaly-Westmeath Old IRA Memorial Committee voting in June 1954 to petition the government to make arrangements for Daly’s body and that of other mutineers to return to Ireland. Soon afterwards a number of local government bodies passed similar motions. The government, however, was not willing to raise an issue that might harm Anglo-Irish relations. In the run up to the 1966 commemorations of the Easter Rising the issue came back to public attention, this time with a precedent having been set in the reburial of Sir Roger Casement in 1965.

Thanks especially to the work of the National Graves Association, not only Daly but Sears, Smythe and Miranda were included in a growing public campaign for the return of the Connaught Ranger mutineers. Ultimately, the campaign was successful (except in regard to John Miranda, who had no family in Ireland) and ceremonies were held in 1970 at Tyrellspass for Daly and Glasnevin Cemetery for Sears and Smythe. Joe Hawes, then aged 77, gave a speech at both events.

Dagshai prison, the yard and wall where Jim Daly was executed. It is a large white building with two small dark windows high, like eyes and a rectangular window off the ground, like an open mouth. A dusty yellow yard in front of the building is where the firing squad formed up.
The wall at Dagshai prison against which Jim Daly was shot; the rifle fire nearly cutting him in two.

As we approached the centenary of the mutiny, an event was planned, which involved the erection of a monument to three of the mutineers who were from Sligo (James Gorman, Martin Boy Conlon and Jack Scanlon) and a series of short talks. Here, however, it should be noted that the effort to find ‘balance’ which caused the Fine Gael government to try to honour the RIC marred the event. For there are many British historians (such as Charles Townshend) – and plenty of Irish ones too – that have very little sympathy for Ireland’s revolutionary past and who construct arguments that belittle the role of figures like Joe Hawes and Jim Daly.

Downplaying the extent of radical Irish nationalism in the mutiny

One of the invited historians was Mario Draper, Lecturer at the University of Kent. Draper’s thesis is that the mutiny was less about Ireland than about discontent with local conditions. He dismisses the explicit testimony of the men that they were braving execution for the sake of Ireland’s national struggle as a ‘narrative of convenience’. In later life, he argues, these men were exaggerating the political side of their protest so as to get adulation and pensions. Instead, it was about local difficulties and poor communication between senior officers and the rank and file. Draper does not provide eye-witness reports to confirm an approach that would no doubt portray Spartacus as a gladiator who was merely disaffected over poor quality food, rather than the existence of slavery.

I, on the other hand, do value the testimony of the men themselves and I do give serious value to the importance of ideals in motivating human behaviour, to the point that people throughout history have been willing to risk their lives to challenge injustice and oppression. So when ‘Tom’ Tierney told Sam Pollock, ‘I didn’t think it was fair that our country should suffer what we fought to stop the Germans doing’, I believe that gives the answer to the apparent contradiction between someone fighting for the British army and yet protesting against the policy of that army in Ireland.

A headstone in Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin. It has faint writing on it and lists fifteen men who were participants of the mutiny of the Connaught Rangers in 1920.
Glasnevin Cemetary monument in honour of the mutineers of the Connaught Rangers

There was many an Irish soldier who joined the British forces during the Great War in the belief they were stopping Germany from exploiting small nations and were earning a reward for Ireland. When, by 1920, it was clear that Britain was straining to the utmost to prevent independence for Ireland and was deploying the Black and Tans in a cruel effort to intimidate the population the same soldiers could experience a deep crisis and a determination to get out of the British army and help the volunteers. This was a journey that is well known for figures like Cork IRA leader Tom Barry and it is entirely plausible that the same considerations shaped the mutiny in the Connaught Rangers in 1920.

Brass badge with a crown on top of a circle. Around the circle are the words Connaught Rangers and in the centre a harp.
Badge of the Connaught Rangers

It is a profound insult to Joe Hawes and his comrades to doubt this was the real reason for the mutiny and to say that in later life they played up their desire to support Ireland’s struggle against the British empire because it suited their self-interest to do so.

Moreover, the contemporary evidence of the British themselves confirms that it was the mistreatment of Irish civilians that was troubling the hearts and minds of the soldiers. Lieutenant-Colonel H.F.N. Jourdain, wrote to the London papers, saying that the men had been ‘led astray by the accounts they had received about the Black and Tans.’ If the real issue behind the mutiny was local discontent why did the mutineers sing rebel songs? Wear green, white and gold rosettes? Fly the tricolour? During the court martial, the men from England who joined the mutiny were asked why they had protested on behalf of Ireland. None of them replied that they had other grievances. Rather, they expressed loyalty for their Irish comrades and sympathy for Ireland.

In 1970, a commemoration took place in Glasnevin cemetery for those who participated in the mutiny of the Connaught Rangers. Pictured is an elderly Joe Hawes, wearing glasses, looking down at a piece of paper from which he is delivering his oration. An army officer in uniform is on the left of the image and is glancing down at Joe's notes.
Joe Hawes reading at a 1970 graveside commemoration of the stand made by the mutineers of 1920.

It is unlikely that the Connaught Rangers who mutinied in 1920 got the 100 year commemoration they deserve from the current event. Fortunately, relatives who have organised in a Facebook group have managed to communicate a more inspiring message than, ‘it was only really about the men being given too much work’.

The mutiny of the Connaught Rangers was an incredibly brave and principled act on behalf of Ireland’s struggle for independence, one that was almost sure to lead to the participants facing the firing squad or many years in prison. That the men were willing to make this stand, rather than continue to serve an army behaving brutally in Ireland, should have been properly honoured in 2020.

Haiku from Gabriel Rosenstock on the Connaught Rangers

With permission from Gabriel Rosenstock, we share this bilingual haiku which was written in response to Lady Butler’s representation of recruitment for the Connaught Rangers in the west of Ireland.

Lady Butler's painting ‘Listed for the Connaught Rangers, recruiting in Ireland 1878’, painted by Elizabeth Thompson, known as Lady Butler. A sombre road leading towards the viewer has two men in peasant clothes walking best a sergeant in the red uniform of the Connaught Rangers a boy, also in the red jacket uniform is just ahead of the new recruits carrying a heavy bad. Two more soldiers are further back on the road. The pale blue sky, mountains and clouds behind the figures are spectacular and there is an air of the men leaving beauty for something dark.
1878 painting by Lady Butler of two new recruits for the Connaught Rangers, a copy of which hangs at Renmore Barracks, the original home of Connaught Rangers.
Éire scriosta  ...
fir thréana ag teastáil
i gcríoch na Gainséise

Ireland in ruins ...
strong men required
where the mighty Ganges flows

Recording of the online public meeting on the mutiny of the Connaught Rangers 28 June 2020

If you enjoyed this feature, you might like to read Conor Kostick’s account of the Kilmichael Ambush, in which the IRA scored their biggest victory over the Auxiliaries, the key British fighting force in Ireland in 1920.

Review: An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz

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The cover of Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz's An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States. A cloudy sky, distant horizon and savanna on which is the faded US flag form the background to the text.
Dunbar-Ortiz’s research speaks to a number of political realities – especially racism – that have evolved in the years since publication in 2014

Speaking in the extended aftermath of the so-called Indian Removal Act of 1830, Andrew Jackson, the slave-owning US president famed for his previous (and merciless) warfare against Creek and Seminole tribes in the American South, laid out the case for indigenous extermination. ‘They have neither the intelligence, the industry, the moral habits, nor the desire of improvement which are essential to any favorable change in their condition,’ he claimed, concluding that as the many native communities of the South were now ‘established in the midst of another and a superior race, and without appreciating the causes of their inferiority or seeking to control them, they must necessarily yield to the force of circumstances and ere long disappear.’ By the end of Jackson’s second term of office, ‘the force of circumstances’ – implemented by a combination of wild-firing federal troops and unrestrained settler militias – had resulted in the violent relocation of almost sixty thousand indigenous people from their land and homes to regions west of the Mississippi river, in what historians (shy of the term ethnic cleansing) oftenrefer to as the ‘Trail of Tears’.

‘All the presidents after Jackson march in his footsteps,’ Dunbar-Ortiz by contrast observes in An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States, a powerful chronicle of native life and struggle over the approximately five centuries of European colonization that witnessed the shaping of the USA as we know it. ‘Consciously or not,’ Dunbar-Ortiz writes, America’s ‘ruling class’ has consistently imitated the task Jackson set for his own administration: how (in her words) ‘to reconcile democracy and genocide and characterize it as freedom for the people.’ Tellingly, Jackson’s portrait today graces the modern $20 US dollar bill, while the nation’s current commander-in-chief has praised him as a political forefather to his own brand of toxic, bigoted, wealth-wielding populism.

In Jackson’s era as now, however, the imperialistic arrogance of the US government was met with (at times brilliantly effective) resistance; and it is one of the many merits of Dunbar-Ortiz’s historical account to foreground the continuous uprisings of indigenous peoples, as well as the persistence and diversity of indigenous cultures, in the face of intensifying colonial aggression. Cataloguing the relentless and self-heroising savagery of US policies (federal and settler alike) towards indigenous populations, her narrative in the process shakes loose many of the foundational assumptions on which American politics and historiography has traditionally been built. Eloquently, meticulously, and with an almost devastating critical focus, she not only dissects the doctrines of manifest destiny (the right to colonize Westwards) and civilizing mission (the right to whitewash such colonization, and expand it globally), but also probes inherited concepts concerning property, the use and ownership of land, industrial development, and the like. ‘The Haudenosaunee peoples,’ she notes of the alliance of tribes spanning the Great Lakes and the St Lawrence River to the Atlantic, and as far south as the Carolinas,

avoided centralized power by means of a clan-village system of democracy based on collective stewardship of the land. Corn, the staple crop, was stored in granaries and distributed equitably in this matrilineal society by the clan mothers, the oldest women from every extended family.

As here, throughout her account Dunbar-Ortiz refuses to fossilise indigenous traditions, writing instead as if the same modes and formations of communal organisation were living possibilities (and perhaps they are). In a similar fashion, we encounter Tecumseh: a Shawnee warrior and one of the key figures of an indigenous confederacy formed in the early nineteenth century to resist the decrees and incursions of the US government and speculators. ‘The way, the only way to stop this evil’, he is recorded as saying,

… is for the red people to unite in claiming a common and equal right in the land, as it was at first, and should be now, for it was never divided, but belongs to all. Sell a country?! Why not sell the air, the great sea, as well as the earth? Did not the Great Spirit make them all for the use of his children?

Such episodes hold up a mirror to the many, violent commodifications of capitalist society – modern and historical – exposing its delusions, as well as its frequent brutality (Tecumseh himself was eventually killed in 1813).

As with issues of land and property, the question of class – of who works, who gains, and how these social relations are developed and enforced over time – is latent in much of the story that Dunbar-Ortiz returns to the record, and sometimes openly bares its fangs. ‘Although a man of war,’ she writes, General Philip Sheridan of the Union Army ‘was an entrepreneur at heart’; she quotes Sheridan in a letter to Ulysses S. Grant in 1867, ‘We are not going to let a few thieving, ragged Indians stop the progress of [the railroads].’ Systematic, sustained colonial violence was the pre-condition for capitalist accumulation in the emerging republic; tracing the profit motive through its history is to discover, again and again, the stench of scorched earth and race hatred that made many of its most esteemed emissaries rich, from the oil and railroad baron, John D. Rockefeller, to industrialist and Wall Street tycoon, J.P. Morgan.

Sheridan himself is an unsettlingly emblematic figure in this narrative. The originator of the genocidal aphorism that the only good Indian is a dead Indian, this ‘entrepreneur at heart’ was born to Irish parents who fled serf-like rural poverty in Cavan for America in the early nineteenth century. As such, Sheridan was never fully accepted as an equal by the political and military elites who nonetheless praised his uncompromising zeal as a commander and, indeed, his later supposed achievements as an environmentalist (he championed the founding of Yellowstone National Park, after having forcibly cleared the same region of its original inhabitants). This dynamic is evident in Abraham Lincoln’s aloof and subtly eugenicist description of the fast-rising officer: as a ‘brown, chunky little chap, with a long body, short legs, not enough neck to hang him, and such long arms that if his ankles itch he can scratch them without stooping.’

Sepia portrait of General Philip Sheridan of the Union army. He is looking past the right shoulder of the viewer, wearing a Union army jacket with two stars conspicuous on the left shoulder, which is nearest the viewer, as he is posed at an angle. He is bearded and has a thick moustache.
General Philip Sheridan of the Union army

Sheridan’s case was in many ways typical. In the second half of the nineteenth century, some of the most ruthless regiments and settler militias of the emerging United States – responsible for the murder, mutilation, and destruction of thousands of indigenous tribes and villages – were lead and stocked by Irish emigrants, themselves (like their relatives in Ireland) very often racialised as un-human or sub-human in popular and press culture. One result, as David Roediger has written, is that ‘politicians of Irish and Scotch-Irish heritage’ in the same period worked diligently to disseminate ‘the idea that a new white American race, decidedly inclusive of the Irish, had superseded the Anglo-Saxon race as the benchmark of fitness for citizenship’ in the new democracy: setting the terms of a discourse with which white nationalists and supremacists, including the likes of Steven Bannon, still engage. Such themes are of course particularly resonant in Ireland today, which in recent months has witnessed a surge in racist mobilising and violence deliberately designed to appeal to a (diffuse, but insidious) tradition that ties Irishness to notions of white supremacist victimhood. Some awareness of the history of these ideological postures is arguably more necessary than ever. As Dunbar-Ortiz summarises, ‘living persons’ may not be ‘responsible for what their ancestors did,’ but ‘they are responsible for the society they live in, which is a product of that past.’

Time and again, in fact, we are reminded that populations dehumanised, displaced, and even exterminated by colonial dogmas and military directives have participated, in one form or another, in the ethnic cleansing and conquest of indigenous communities elsewhere: communities with whom, superficially at least, they would appear to share common cause. On this last point, she is unflinchingly factual, observing that former slaves and freedom fighters of colour in the American Civil War, for example, joined (and were deliberately stationed by federal authorities on) the frontlines of anti-guerilla campaigns against native communities, an apparent contradiction that adds an edge to Bob Marley’s song on the same subject, ‘Buffalo Soldier’. Likewise earlier, during the Spanish campaigns of the sixteenth century, we learn that ‘Cortés and his two hundred European mercenaries could never have overthrown the [Aztec] Mexican state without the Indigenous insurgency he co-opted’. In this case, however, one of the great strengths of Dunbar-Ortiz’s account is her equally clear-eyed perception that ‘resistant peoples’ hoping ‘to overthrow [an] oppressive regime’, should not be blamed for, their cause cannot be used to excuse, the ‘genocidal’ aims of the ‘gold-obsessed Spanish colonizers or the European institutions that backed them.’ By persuasion, force, or guile, every colonial enterprise in history has enlisted sections of the populations it sought to subjugate for the furtherance of its aims (exploiting existing divisions in order to secure whatever form of hegemonic power best favoured its own perceived interests); the racist, resource-hungry killing machine of the Spanish conquest was no exception to this pattern.

Although completed in 2014, Dunbar-Ortiz’s research and approach nevertheless speak to a number of political realities that have evolved in the years since. Reading so unified an account of indigenous life and struggle, indeed, it’s difficult not to interpret the extreme levels and incidence of violence against indigenous women in the US today (‘one in three Native American women has been raped or experienced attempted rape, and the rate of sexual assault on Native American women is more than twice the national average’) as a continuation of a history of state formation for which the murder and brutalisation of native women and children specifically was standard procedure: whether in crimes such as the Sand Creek Massacre of 1864 (one of several atrocities that Dunbar-Ortiz rightly posits as precursors to later chapters in America’s imperial story, including the Mai Lai Massacre of 1968) or through federally implemented separation and re-education policies (forcing children into missionary, abuse-laden institutes) of the early twentieth century.

A red banner fills the bottom half of the image with the words: Defend the Sacred. Holding it are members of the Sioux community and behind them a crowd. The issue concerns the Dakota Access pipeline, North Dakota.
Protesters near the the Sioux reservation, Standing Rock, opposed to the Dakota Access pipeline, North Dakota

Dunbar-Ortiz’s prose is also palpably sensitive to the ‘centuries of resistance and storytelling passed through the generations’ of indigenous communities, reminding readers that for native tribes still living under conditions of imposed marginality and social invisibility, ‘[s]urviving genocide’ is itself a form ‘dynamic, not passive’ resistance. From which vantage-point, the Wet’suwet’en nation’s ongoing, militant opposition to the Canadian government’s decision to install a gas infrastructure on their land – like the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe’s resistance (beginning in 2016) to the Dakota Access Pipeline in the US – may be seen as part of the long, many-seasoned trajectory of indigenous self- and environmental protection that Dunbar-Ortiz outlines: protection in the face of settler-colonialist state projects that have always regarded such actions as illegitimate, such communities as disposable. As the preface has it, everything in this ‘history is about the land: who oversaw and cultivated it, fished its waters, maintained its wildlife; who invaded and stole it; how it became a commodity (‘real estate’) broken into pieces to be bought and sold on the market.’ In that respect, the struggle goes on, drawing on traditions that books like this keep fresh in the memory, vivid as spring.

Coronavirus in Ireland: challenging misinformation and offering solutions

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Ireland and the cornavirus feature illustrated with an electron microscope image of a virus. About a dozen large orange balls float in a deep green sea. They are coated all over with what looks like green pins.
The coronavirus outbreak has reached Ireland and is far more dangerous than it should be due to business pressures on the caretaker government

The spread of a new coronavirus – 2019-nCoV – has to be of concern to everyone. Efforts to keep the virus out of Ireland have failed and any attempt to shrug off the dangers posed by the situation by saying, for example, that many more people will die of the flu this year, are seriously misplaced. Unlike the flu, as of March 2020 there is no vaccine for the coronavirus. Nor is there a method for ensuring the survival of those who contract it.

True, some four out of five people who become sick from the coronavirus will not suffer greatly but about 3.4% of those who contract the virus will die. Those who are old, those with underlying conditions, and those who smoke or who previously smoked are most at risk of death, which typically comes from respiratory failure.

The virus enters the lungs and penetrates deep into the tissue there, creating pneumonia and becoming life threatening for older people, particularly if the person already has hypertension or diabetes. Men (5%) are more likely to be killed by the virus than women (3%).

At the time of writing (1 March 2020), there are 88,382 officially confirmed cases; there have been 2,996 deaths; and – more positively – 42,769 people who have recovered. You can see the latest, up-to-date, live data for the spread of COVID-19 here.

Live data on COVID-19 cases provided by Johns Hopkins CSSE. A dark map of the world has red circles across it, especially in Asia but also Europe. A few numbers stand out including in red, the figure of 88, 382 confirmed cases.
Coronavirus COVID-19 Global Cases by Johns Hopkins CSSE

Ireland’s first confirmed case was announced on 1 March 2020 and within hours, Scoil Chaitríona, Mobhi Road, was closed for two weeks. Shockingly, and this is something I’ll return to below, only for the fact that the information was shared by parents on social media were the public informed of this important news.

Letter sent by the HSE on 1 March 2020 to parents of children at Scoil Chaitríona informing them of the closure of the school after a student was diagnosed as having been infected by the coronavirus COVID-19. Header in red with the HSE logo top right. Begins Dear Parent and has subheadings: what is coronavirus; what is my risk; what happens next; what are the symptoms of COVID-19.
Letter sent by the HSE on 1 March 2020 to parents of children at Scoil Chaitríona informing them of the closure of the school after a student was diagnosed as having been infected by the coronavirus COVID-19

The official HSE website failed to explain that the case was that of a student who had returned from Italy or give a timeline or location for the report that someone had tested positive for the virus.

What are the causes of the coronavirus COVID-19?

Flu-like viruses have intermittently troubled humanity throughout our existence. Recent outbreaks include the SARS virus of 2002 – 4 and the H1N1 pandemic of 2009. The latest, 2019-nCoV, is said to have started at the massive Wuhan market in China; Wuhan, capital of the Hubei province, has over 11 million people. There is some evidence for transference of the virus from livestock in the Wuhan market, with early clusters of cases associated with activity there.

At the same time, a certain amount of what is frankly, racism, has obscured the origins of the virus. Some accounts of the appearance of coronavirus have expressed in mocking and hostile terms the belief that it has arisen from the wide variety of animals eaten in China, including those that do not feature in the Western diet.

Yet only a minority of the infections arose in people who had been in the Wuhan market streets near wildlife. A quarter of those originally infected had never been to the market and the earliest case of the coronavirus had arisen before anyone from Wuhan market was infected. One research team has speculated that the local hog population was the source of the new virus, based on the fact that this livestock species has similar physiology to humans in critical respects.

The increase in factory farming in China is likely to have been a contributor to the appearance of the coronavirus. In the past, new viruses often failed to spread beyond a small, local area because their means of transmission to large human populations was disrupted. In the twenty-first century, the speed of transmission is completely different to even the twentieth. A Chinese farmer can bring poultry, say, to the urban market very quickly with modern industrial methods and an infection can be shipped to a major city very quickly.

And as the environmental scientist and socialist, Rob Wallace, has written, the connectedness of the entire planet means the unprecedentedly swift spread of new viruses.

H1N1 (2009) crossed the Pacific Ocean in nine days, superseding predictions by the most sophisticated models of the global travel network by months. Airline data show a tenfold increase in travel in China just since the SARS epidemic.

Why is there so much misinformation about the coronavirus?

Unfortunately, in 2020 there exist vested interests that mean instead of a unified, planetary response to the coronavirus, one where everyone is accurately informed about the necessary steps to halt the increase in cases and deaths, there exist people who have a reason to put out misinformation.

For a start, there are those who have the incentive of making money to drive them to create confusion around the virus. There are websites selling cures and medical equipment that professes to be the answer to the virus, but isn’t. Iran, in particular, has had some wild nonsense passed around via websites and social media, suggesting mint, vinegar, saffron, rosewater and turmeric, among other substances, can act to prevent the virus. More criminally, worldwide but with a focus on Japan, there are email scams which seem official and to be containing important information about coronavirus, but when you open them, they install trojans into your computer and search for valuable personal information.

Politicians have misinformed their constituents about the coronavirus

From the very beginning of this outbreak, politicians in authority have had a dangerous, irresponsible approach to dealing with the virus. A tragic example is that provided by Li Wenliang, an ophthalmologist in Wuhan. At the end of 2019, he posted on a chat group for doctors that there might be a new SARs-type virus as there were seven patients showing symptoms at his hospital. He advised medics to wear protective clothing. For this, he was visited by the police, brought to the Public Security Bureau and made to sign a document acknowledging that he would be brought to justice if he persisted in stubborn, impertinent and illegal activity. On 10 January 2020, Dr Li started coughing, he had caught coronavirus from one of his patients. On 30 January the diagnosis was confirmed and he died at the start of February.

Li Wenliang who tried to alert his colleagues to the danger of a new coronavirus but was punished by the Chinese authorities. Pictured in a green mask, white gown, he is 34 years old and wears glasses.
Li Wenliang tried to alert his colleagues to the danger of a new coronavirus but was punished by the Chinese authorities

Long after the evidence was overwhelming for the coronavirus outbreak, Chinese officials were still underreporting it and discouraging an effective response. Yet the West is little better.

Donald Trump, for example, has twice explained to the world that the threat of coronavirus will ‘go away’ in April with warmer weather. He’s said that life will return to normal after the spike and that the media have been exaggerating how dangerous the virus is.

And in their own way, the caretaker Irish government have been failing us. Their theme is ‘don’t panic’. Well, yes, panic wouldn’t help the situation. But is it panicking to want to know where the virus has been present and what measures are being taken to prevent it spreading? As the case of the student from Scoil Chaitríona shows, Fine Gael have a strategy of keeping detailed information out of the public domain as much as possible and assuring us that no special measures are needed.

This approach is creating panic rather than ending it. The less we know, the more we speculate and rumours (not without foundation in respect to the Mater hospital, but made up in other instances) of other possible cases fly around social media. Crucially, too, lives will be lost if the message goes out – as it did this morning on RTÉ’s panel discussion – that public concern about the coronavirus was massively exaggerated and we should carry on as normal. We shouldn’t even cancel travel plans to centres of infection like northern Italy.

By repeating the idea that more people will die of ordinary flu and failing to have someone on the panel with genuine expertise in pandemics, RTÉ ensured a complacent message came across, one that was exactly in tune with the ‘don’t panic’ theme of government communication. Yet the comparison with annual flu is utterly misleading. Not only is coronavirus far more likely to kill someone, we are still at the very early stages of its spread. If coronavirus is anything like H1N1 from 2009, which it seems to be, the final figures will be grim. According to the Lancet, probably some 284,000 people were killed in one year as a result of that last virus.

Business interests are preventing the necessary measures to stop the coronavirus

What unites the Chinese authorities, Donald Trump and Fine Gael is the terrifying prospect of massive losses to business if they take strong measures to stop coronavirus: measures such as closing airports, schools and factories. In the last week, even at the thought that such measures might prove necessary, stock markets lost nearly six trillion dollars in value.

The world economy had been picking up slightly in the wake of the resolution of the US-Chinese trade war but now it will plunge downwards. Already, indicators are showing we are heading for a dip comparable to 2008 and this is likely to worsen.

There is a clash of interest between many businesses and the needs of public health. In insurance, for example, companies only have to pay out to passengers who cancel their trips, if the government has placed official advice not to travel to the region of the planned trip. There is pressure, therefore, on the government from this industry not to introduce notices advising against travel or to limit the regions covered by the notices.

Or, to take the example of large sporting events such as the 2020 Olympics. So much vested interest and wealth is tied up in the Olympics that authorities have been extremely reluctant to announce its cancellation, when it is an obvious precautionary step to take to do so. On a much smaller scale, despite the advice of Ireland’s chief medical officer, there was considerable delay before Ireland’s rugby international with Italy was postponed.

Yes, people will lose fortunes over this outbreak. But lives lost can never be regained and nor will they be compensated for, in the way that some businesses will escape the full hit of the impact of the cancellation of events and the temporary closure of factories.

Ireland is not ready for the impact of coronavirus COVID-19

We have a particular problem in Ireland when it comes to coping with an outbreak of the coronavirus: we are already starting from a situation where there is a huge shortage of hospital beds. Years of neglect of the public health system, both in terms of staff and facilities, means there is already a crisis, even before the spread of the coronavirus. Every major hospital, the HSE tells us, has identified an isolation room to which a COVID-19 patient will be taken. In other words, with the exception of the Mater hospital, which does have an isolation unit already functioning, these are hypothetical spaces.

And of course, as soon as the outbreak hits hard, the theoretical preparations are going to prove pathetic, inadequate and dangerous to hospital patients and staff. Coronavirus patients are going to need intensive care to survive, particularly in regard to equipment to assist their breathing. Yet, as Dr Michael O’Dwyer of St Vincent’s Hospital told the press the use of intensive care beds was at ‘a hundred and ten percent capacity’. There has not been a free intensive care bed at St Vincent’s since Christmas.

It would only take around a hundred coronavirus cases and the consequent five or so patients who need life-saving interventions would strain the system, with knock-on effects in other areas. Instead of identifying rooms, ‘in case’, the government should prepare for a worst-case scenario and immediately recruit the extra staff and actually set up the extra intensive care rooms that have been identified. To do this, however, would be a complete reversal of Fine Gael’s approach to health, where there has been an unofficial embargo on recruitment for months.

Another failure of the government in Ireland with regard to the coronavirus is that they have not insisted that all large workplaces and public transport hubs provide facilities for the hygiene measures needed to reduce the spread of the coronavirus. Where are the hand sanitizers at all the LUAS, Dart and railway stations? At the major colleges? At the libraries? Theatres? Big workplaces? Some have them, most don’t.

I gave a lecture at Trinity College Dublin two days ago on another threat to humanity, that posed by geo-engineering. The hand sanitizers I passed were empty. Whether that was a failure by the college or government or both, it was symbolic of a deep complacency and resistance to spending money to avert a crisis.

Will workers in Ireland be paid if the coronavirus means that their workplace closes?

If the virus spreads through Ireland, there will be more closures like that of Scoil Chaitríona. The situation for entire workplace closures seems to be that while the employer might request workers do what they can from home, failure to pay staff who are available for work would probably be a breach of contract. For individual workers, however, there is likely to be something of a battle between unions and management.

HR information to staff at Trinity College Dublin that does not encourage self-isolation and only increases the likelihood of the spread of COVID-19.
On 5 March, HR at Trinity College issued this guide to staff, suggesting we take Annual Leave, Parental Leave or Unpaid leave if self-isolating.
HR information to staff at Trinity College Dublin concerning the situation if a creche or school is closed as a result of the COVID-19 outbreak. Staff are put under pressure to take Annual Leave, Parental Leave or Unpaid Leave.
Directions from HR, such as that at TCD, to take Annual Leave, Parental Leave or Unpaid Leave only increases the likelihood of the spread of COVID-19.

In theory, if you are advised by the HSE to self-isolate, your employer is not obliged to pay for your absence. Or if you have to leave work to care for a child sent home from a school closed because of coronavirus, you might be told this has to be paid leave, that the situation is not one of force majure. In the examples above, which were issued by TCD HR on 5 March, pressure is put on staff to take annual leave, parental leave or unpaid leave. Obviously, in the interests of public health, the government should insist that all workers who are being responsible and self-isolating must be paid. Ditto the parent who cares for a child in isolation. But again, this is not Fine Gael’s approach. They are, along with Fianna Fail, the friends of the employers and have issued no such guideline. It will be up to the unions to establish this policy or workers themselves, taking industrial action in support of their member who has protected everyone by not coming in to work.

From the UK comes a warning on this issue, where Wetherspoons, who also have businesses in Ireland, have refused to pay workers for their absence, other than the statutory payments under the sick pay regulations and that means nothing for the first four days then only £94.25 a week. Not only is this a moral disgrace, financial hardship might well will lead to people with the virus coming to work instead of self-isolating. In other words, a tough line by the employers is a disastrous one for the public.

There is a petition in support of workers rights in Ireland here, demanding that the government insist that workers who are self-isolating should be paid.

Will workers be paid while self-isolating? In Finland, France, Netherlands, Sweden and Spain they will be paid if self-isolating after advice from the employer or relevant authority. A black and white chart with the details in writing.
Most European countries say that employees should not be deducted pay if they are self-isolating on advice. Ireland and the UK are yet to act in this way.

The free market is not the way to develop a vaccine for the coronavirus

Another way in which competition between businesses is making the the coronavirus far more dangerous than it should be is in regard to developing anti-viral solutions. Those pharmaceutical companies involved in the development of vaccines are doing so for the potential to profit from the crisis. Shares in Moderna for example, rose by eleven percent in one day in January when the company said it had US health funding for research on a vaccine. Clearly, investors calculated there was money to be made for the company, after fulfilling its obligations to the US state.

This private company solution to the development of a vaccine means we must be concerned about its cost and that inability to pay might lead to a divide between the rich and poor, in terms of who is protected from the virus. This is happening all the time in medicine and the Irish government should have no hesitation in breaking a private monopoly over a vaccine should one arise. Again, this is not a step that the Fine Gael caretakers would endorse.

The market has already failed us in regard to a vaccine for the coronavirus: as Professor Peter Hoetz explained to the Guardian, the tragedy is that after SARs a vaccine could have been stockpiled and made ready to go. But ‘the investor enthusiasm for a Sars vaccine was zero.’ No global health organisation or government stepped in and we are now racing against time to develop a vaccine. The issue is not so much the creation of a vaccine, there are several promising approaches, but the necessary delays in testing, to make sure there are no unforeseen and dangerous consequences.

The US provides a clear case what happens when the right to make a profit and the free-market are seen as essential to health care.

The Miami Herald reported how it works there. Osmel Martinez Azcue, acting responsibly, reported to hospital for a check after returning from China. The subsequent bill to his insurance company was $3,270. In a country with 27.5 million people without health insurance and more than a third of the workforce are not entitled to sick leave, the private system of medicine clearly doesn’t make sense in the face of a public health care challenge like an epidemic.

A socialist society would be a lot less vulnerable to coronavirus-type outbreaks. Agriculture would be less likely to create the conditions in which viruses develop among animals and cross over to humans; our representatives would not be under pressure from businesses to delay the necessary measures to halt the spread of the epidemic; we’d have much more investment in hospitals and staff to treat patients, and we’d share knowledge about the epidemic and possible vaccines and cures globally, for free.

FAQs about the coronavirus based on information provided by the World Health Organisation.

What are the symptoms of the new coronavirus, COVID-19?

Like a bad flu, the symptoms of COVID-19 are fever and tiredness. Also a dry cough. Some people report aches and pains, nasal congestion, a runny nose or diarrhoea. The symptoms usually begin gradually. If you have a temperature, cough and difficulty breathing, look for medical help.

What should I do if I think I have coronavirus?

Isolate yourself, including from your family e.g. occupy a room for yourself only. Seek medical advice promptly from your GP or the HSE helpline (below). Call before leaving for care to help prevent the spread of the virus and also to be directed to the appropriate place.

What should I do to limit my exposure to the coronavirus?

Firstly, everyone in Ireland now needs to take the risk of infection seriously. The virus can spread when an infected person sneezes or coughs. Try to maintain at least 1 metre distance between yourself and anyone who is coughing or sneezing. As it can probably survive on a surface for days, regularly and thoroughly wash your hands after being in public places.

How can I minimize the risk of becoming infected?

Regularly and thoroughly wash your hands with soap and water or an alcohol-based hand rub (at least 60% alcohol and let the santizer dry on the hand). Don’t bring your fingers to your eyes, nose and mouth (entry points to your body for the virus).

Is there a vaccine for COVID-19?

Not at present.

Who should I call in Ireland for more information about the coronavirus?

The HSELive helpline on 1850 24 1850.

Pro-Life Fianna Fáil Mayor of Dublin elected with the support of the Greens and Social Democrats

by 1 Comment

At a special meeting of Dublin City Council, a pro-Life Fianna Fáil Mayor, Tom Brabazon, was elected on 24 February 2020 with the support of the Green Party and the Social Democrats. Picture of the front of City Hall, Dublin, with a blue Dublin City flag flying above the building. It is a grey day with a white sky above the pale stone building.
At a special meeting of Dublin City Council, a pro-Life Fianna Fáil Mayor, Tom Brabazon, was elected on 24 February 2020 with the support of the Green Party and the Social Democrats

On 24 February 2020, Raheny Fianna Fáil councillor Tom Brabazon was elected Lord Mayor of Dublin at a special meeting of Dublin City Council. His victory came in a vote of 34 to 26 (three absences) against independent candidate Anthony Flynn. In 2015, Tom Brabazon let slip an extremely conservative view of women, when he wrote an article for the Northside People against gender quotas in politics and said, ‘we should want real women with real life experience of the education system, the workplace, childbirth, childcare…’ He went further on the Sean O’Rourke show on RTÉ (9 March 2015), saying that women who had actually given birth were best placed to discuss abortion.

Tom Brabazon in a blue suit, wearing the Mayoral chains of office for Dublin City and while wearing a smile, looking a little uneasy, with clenched right fist and hunched shoulders.
Tom Brabazon, Lord Mayor of Dublin from 24 February 2020, thanks to the votes of the parties in the ‘Dublin Agreement’

Immediately, this drew a huge reaction from women who considered themselves perfectly real without having to give birth or raise children.

Slapped on the wrist by Micheál Martin, Brabazon issued an apology and retreated to the extent that he said he did not intend to be hurtful. The new Lord Mayor did not, however, revise his core conservative beliefs in regard to women and this became apparent during the Repeal campaign. On 5 October 2015 and again on 6 March 2017, Brabazon voted against a DCC motion that called on the government to hold a referendum to repeal the 8th amendment of the Constitution. During the campaign he put his name to a Pro-Life statement in support of the ‘No’ position.

Independent Left’s Niamh McDonald said, ‘As the chair of Dublin Bay North Repeal group I am disgusted that such a man was voted in as Lord Mayor. His past history and comments have shown him not to be in favour of women’s empowerment or women’s equality. Dublin constituencies voted overwhelmingly for women and pregnant people to have reproductive choices and if our new lord Mayor had his way this would never have become a reality.

‘What I feel is a real betrayal of the Repeal movement comes from those parties such as the Social Democrats, Greens and Labour who were active in the Repeal campaign in Dublin Bay North and beyond, who have now agreed to Tom Brabazon’s nomination and who have voted him in. These parties won votes from the Repeal campaign in order to get elected and have now used those votes go against this movement.

‘Repealing the 8th was only half of the battle to ensure everybody has reproductive justice. Our current legislation is too conservative and narrow, it excludes many in society who are already marginalised. At a minimum, we need exclusion zones and to end the three day waiting period.

‘We have a review of the current legislation in less than two years and we need representatives who are willing to stand up to those who want to remove the gains we have made and also who will fight for more.’

Brabazon’s conservative family values fit with his connections to the previous generation of Fianna Fáil politicians. A strong supporter of former Taoiseach Charles Haughey, Brabazon tried to challenge the popular perception of Haughey as corrupt by proposing that Dublin’s port tunnel be named in Haughey’s honour: ‘You would like to think that somebody whose public life was dominated by goodness would have a memorial,’ said Brabazon in 2006, apparently without smirking.

Why did the Greens and Social Democrats vote Fianna Fáil?

After the local government elections of 2019, Fianna Fáil did a deal with Labour, the Green Party and the Social Democrats to get control of Dublin City Council. “The Dublin Agreement 2019 – 2024” is the excuse that the Greens and the SocDems (Labour don’t seem to feel the need to excuse voting for Brabazon) are now giving for their support for Tom Brabazon as Lord Mayor of Dublin. The agreement itself is ten pages of dry, well-intentioned phrases. But the practical action arising from the document does not serve the real needs of the people of Dublin, nor our desire for urgent action on housing. This agreement allowed the sell-off of public land like O’Devaney Gardens and the wasting of millions on a white-water rafting facility.

Many people who voted for Green and Social Democrat candidates in general election 2020 just cannot understand why these parties would support Fianna Fáil in general and an anti-woman figure in particular. The vote on 24 February 2020 in Dublin’s council chamber seemed to completely contradict the spirit of ‘vote left, transfer left’ that swept through working class communities in the general election. It would have been easy, in the light of the general election results, for the Greens, Labour and the SocDems to leave the Dublin Agreement, saying that it was clear there was now a mandate for change. No doubt far more of their supporters would have agreed with such a stand than will agree with their vote for Tom Brabazon.

The explanation for the apparent contradiction in the behaviour of these parties is to be found in their history and their politics. Elsewhere in Europe, Greens can be found who are definitely on the left and side with working class communities but in Ireland that has never been the case. The Irish Green Party is a particularly conservative one, highly networked to Irish business (Ciaran Cuffe is a millionaire who notoriously held shares in General Electric, Chevron Texaco, Merck, Citigroup, Abbott Laboratories and Johnson & Johnson before this information became public). With honourable exceptions, they have often been hesitant on the struggle for abortion rights, preferring silence to leading the way towards change, and while their decision to run David Healy, a candidate with pro-life views, in Dublin Bay North was terrible, it was their attempt to escape the issue when it was raised that is the real indicator of their weakness in this regard. Although the general election campaign raised hopes that the Green Party had changed since its shocking, anti-working class performance in coalition with Finna Fáil 2007 – 2011, essentially, it has not. Its commitment to helping run Irish and international capitalism as a context for its policies means that even on issues to do with climate action, it will do little more than provide cosmetic, trivial changes.

As for the Social Democrats, they were born from a split from the Labour Party and have the same politics as Labour except with a pleasant purple colour-scheme and a lack of support from trade unions. They too start from a premise that they must be ‘responsible’ in respect to the economy and that any changes on behalf of working class communities can only be introduced insofar as such changes are acceptable to the wealthy and the owners of businesses and property. This attempt to mediate between us and the rich wasn’t particularly successful for Labour even in times of prosperity, where there was a certain amount of space for improved spending on housing and health. Sitting on the fence can be tricky and it is particularly difficult to be on a fence that is wobbling. In the 2020s, politics is highly polarised, such as is evident in the vast difference in beliefs between Bernie Saunders and Donald Trump in the USA. And what the vote for Dublin Mayor demonstrates is that when forced to come off the fence, the Social Democrats (just as with Labour) will jump down on the side of the elite.

What does the Dublin Mayoral Vote show for the future of Irish politics?

At the time the vote for Mayor of Dublin was made, the national picture was unclear, with Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael looking to form a government that excluded Sinn Féin, one that would need a willing partner or two from among the smaller parties. While the Social Democrats ruled out joining that particular combination, they conspicuously did not rule out joining with either Fianna Fáil or Fine Gael in a different alignment. The Green Party are equally willing to participate in government alongside one of the right wing parties. Whatever combination of parties eventually emerges to create the Irish government (or, if there is another general election), we can draw a number of conclusions from the vote for Tom Brabazon.

Firstly, the exciting and positive vote for change in general election 2020 is only the beginning of a process of a widescale move to the left in Ireland (and especially in working class communities). As people who want decisive and urgent action on climate, housing and health see that the Social Democrats and Greens (and Labour) won’t take that action, it’s likely that parties to the left of these will grow.

Secondly, even if we had a left government that was trying to tackle these challenges in a manner that – for once – favoured working class communities, the Greens and the Social Democrats would not make for reliable partners. Probably, a government reliant on them would face the same issues that Syriza in Greece faced in 2015. When international pressure from businesses and powerful politicians came to hammer down on Greece, the left government caved in and backtracked on all its radical ideas. If the Greens and the Social Democrats can’t even bring themselves to stand up to Fianna Fáil in Dublin City Council and ditch the Dublin Agreement and a pro-Life Mayoral candidate in favour of a housing activist (Anthony Flynn), we aren’t going to see Che Guevara-style t-shirts being worn of SocDem and Green Party leaders. They are bound to give in to the demands of landlords and business.

A screenshot from 12 February 2020 from People Before Profit's Facebook feed, with the headline: Form a Left Minority Government - Mobilise on the Streets.
On 12 February 2020, People Before Profit posted on Facebook that it was their duty to join with Sinn Féin, Greens and Social Democrats in forming a left minority government

Thirdly, on a smaller point but one that might prove important in the long term, the results of the election led to a difference in approach on the socialist left. While People Before Profit considered it a duty to enter a left government alongside the Greens and Social Democrats, the Socialist Party and Paul Murphy (RISE) were, quite rightly, more cautious. Supporting such a government from the outside is much better than being part of it. As soon as even a small strike or protest breaks out against the government, if you were outside of government you’d have your hands free to support the protest. If you were inside, you’d have to bring the government down, which might not be the worst outcome (the worst outcome would be if you sacrificed the cause of the protestors to your presence in government) but it would make it look like you were dishonest in your negotiations around the program for government.

Finally, and the most important conclusion for us in Independent Left, is that the campaigns for change that are bubbling away in Ireland, such as over childcare, pay equality and housing, must continue. It doesn’t matter that there isn’t a government. Even a ‘left’ minister might fail us, while the caretaker ministers and the senior civil servants can be forced by successful strikes and protests to implement the changes we need. Waiting for a Sinn Féin-lead government could take months and ultimately could lead nowhere. In the meantime, we can use the boost provided by the election and especially the demoralisation among Fine Gael and their supporters to galavanise existing campaigns and launch new ones.