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Desmond Tutu
I had the honour and pleasure of meeting Desmond
Tutu over the years. He was a friend of Ireland and a supporter of the Irish
peace process. He was a remarkable, compassionate and inspirational human
being. He never compromised on his belief in the essential goodness of people
or on the imperative of dialogue as the means of resolving differences.
In Irish there is a saying: “Is ar scáth a
chéile a mhaireann na daoine” which translates as: “We all live in
each other’s shadow.” Few people understood the essence of this
connectivity between people better than Archbishop Tutu. It was a fundamental
part of his religious faith and of his humanity. He worked for a better South
Africa and for a better world. As an internationalist he welcomed the
solidarity of others for the people of South Africa in their struggle against
apartheid.
In 1984 as he travelled to Oslo to receive his
Nobel Peace Prize Archbishop Tutu stopped briefly in London where he met Karen
Gearon and Mary Manning, two of the Dunnes Stores strikers who were refusing to
handle South African products. He applauded their solidarity. The efforts of
the Dunnes Stores’ workers and others eventually forced the Irish government to
ban South African goods.
Seven years later, in April 1991, Desmond Tutu was
back in Ireland to meet with Anglican Church leaders and to take part in the
annual Louisburg ‘famine’ walk in Mayo. During his visit Archbishop Tutu
commented on efforts at that time to establish a talks process in the North.
Drawing from his South African experience Desmond Tutu advised: ‘Let
your negotiations be as inclusive as possible. Don’t let any feel they’ve been
excluded. Let them be represented by those they regard as their authentic
spokespersons, otherwise talks, as we have discovered at home, become an
exercise in futility.’
The British and Irish governments and most of the
Church leaders ignored his advice and the talks process collapsed. It was
another six years before inclusive all-party negotiations commenced in
September 1997.
As an internationalist the Archbishop was equally
vocal in his opposition to the apartheid policies of the Israeli state and its
ill-treatment of the Palestinian people. This aspect of his public work was
also largely opposed by many in the political establishments and in the media.
They failed to support him on these issues while he was campaigning on them.
Yet after his death they praised him for his courage and vision.
The Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS)
movement for Palestinian rights was established in 2005. Archbishop Tutu was
among the first to endorse its strategy and efforts. In March 2014 Archbishop
Tutu reflected on the role that boycotts and divestment played in encouraging
world governments to end their support for the White apartheid regime; “The
same issues of inequality and injustice today motivate the divestment movement
trying to end Israel's decades-long occupation of Palestinian territory and the
unfair and prejudicial treatment of the Palestinian people by the Israeli
government ruling over them.’
Desmond Tutu’s internationalism, compassion and
humanity also saw him speak out against other forms of injustice and inequality
and the threat posed by climate change. Only two months ago he
took part in a United Nations campaign against homophobia and
transphobia.
The death of Archbishop Tutu has silenced a voice
of reason for a kinder, more caring, just and empathetic society. His courage
through decades of struggle and his determined support for human rights and
especially for the people of Palestine is a challenge to the international
community.
I extend my condolences to the people of South Africa, to President Cyril Ramaphosa, and to Archbishop Tutu’s family.
Tom’s a Singer
Our old pal Tom Hartley is
a fine singer. He and I have been known to duet together. Back in the day in C
Wing in Belfast Prison on the Crumlin Road, his dulcet tones echoed around the
landings like a bird in flight while my rich baritone kept close harmony. Our
sonorous grace notes soared and dipped in perfect tune. Even now decades later,
men locked in the loneliness of their cells at that time, and recalling
nowadays how they were transfixed by the magical quality of our
voices, will shed a tear at this musical memory. I even remember
Prison Officers being moved by these moments. Tom always said he couldn’t abide
mediocrity.
And that certainly is the
case as far as his singing was concerned. The Creggan White Hare bounded
freely along the prison landings. To be followed by the poignant tale
of Sliabh Gallion Braes. For a few liberating minutes we were all free
from the melancholy of the Crum and transported by the strength and
melodiousness of song into another place. That’s where the Blues come from.
From the slave plantations and prisons. From the chain gangs. Or in
our case the latrines in C Wing.
Tom’s musical roots go
deep. A pioneer - though not of the abstemious kind - of music sessions
and a traveler to fleadhs when the best seisuns were on the Monday or
Tuesday after the visitors had gone home. Tom is steeped in
ceol. That was the sixties. Away back in 1969 and behind the barricades I
recall he and I and some friends sharing the new recording of O Riada Sa
Gaiety. We were in Tom McGoldrick’s mother’s parlour and we were all enthralled
by this new confident presentation of traditional music. Here was our music
outted from the backrooms and kitchens and halting sites or the corners of fair
grounds or entrances to GAA pitches.
Two recent RTE programmes brought all
this back to me. Cosc - Seven Drunken Nights the story of how the
Dubliners got on to Top of The Pops and The Flourishing, which is a
wonderful televisual journey back into those days of our folk revival.
Seven Drunken Nights was an English language version of Peigín agus
Peadar recorded by traditional singer Seosamh Ó hÉanaigh years earlier and given
by him to Ronnie Drew in O’Donoghue’s pub one night. When The Dubliners
released Seven Drunken Nights as a single it battled its way into the English
charts in 1967 along with The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jimi
Hendrix and the Kinks.
Back in Dublin RTE banned them from the airwaves.
Because their song is about an unfaithful wife. Too sexually explicit for
the ‘national’- mar dhea - broadcaster. When news of this broke the song went
immediately to Number One in the Irish charts. The people approved.
Seosamh Ó hÉanaigh wistfully remarked that his
Peigín agus Peadar was never banned. It continued to be heard on the airwaves.
Apparently without offending anyone.
The Flourishing reflects on
the emergence of our music from the ‘underground’ into the foreground and
mainstream in the sixties and seventies. It is a terrific documentary.
It reminded me that
traditional music was sustained by families steeped in the tradition, including
the Traveller Community who deserve great credit for keeping our song and music
alive. Comhaltas Ceoltóiri Éireann also deserve great credit. And the people of
the Gaeltacht communities. So too our exiled children in America.
Following the shameful disappointment of the post revolutionary period
and the awfulness and savagery of the civil war and the enforcement of
partition the mass exodus of Irish people included musicians from all parts of
our island, many with their own styles and local sets. Some of the more
prominent of them recorded these tunes.
Others recorded nationalistic or republican songs.
They included The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem. Slowly these recordings
travelled back home. The 50th Anniversary of the 1916 Rising saw them increase
in popularity and the emergence of ballad seasons and ballad groups.
The traditional music
revival took a huge leap forward with Seán Ó Riada’ s musical soundtrack for
Mise Éire, George Morrison’s film about the 1916 Rising. O Riada was
a musical visionary freed from the neo colonial cultural amnesia of his time.
He was proud of our culture and had the vision and talent to reboot it and
bring it to audiences who embraced it also
with pride. They included young musicians who stayed true to the tradition
while fusing it with their own genius. Pipers, box players, fiddlers, fluters,
harpers, tin whistlers. Even the humble bodhrán came into its own. And singers
in Irish and English. And seán nós dancers.
Our pal Tom was useless at dancing. He still is.
Ted is our Michael Flatley. Agus mise fhéin.
Not everyone appreciated our singing. Once in
Grosvenor Road RUC Barracks the RUC took grave exception to our rendition of
The Oul Triangle. I suppose hearing it twenty seven times without pause can be
trying. They threw us out.
‘We wanted you to sing’ said the Duty Sergeant.
‘But not like that. Get out of here and give our heads peace.’
Tom stood in front of him. Legs apart. Shoulders
back. Chest out. He smiled angelically, put his hand up to his ear. He closed
his eyes, cocked his head back and turned his face upwards. He beckoned me to
join him. As I did he put his other hand on my shoulder. We let our voices ring
out.
‘A hungry feeling came o’er me stealing. The mice
lay squealing in my prison cell …’
‘Get out,’ the RUC man screamed at us.
So we did.
Our pal Tom used to make bodhráns. He played them
also. I have one of his original drums. He used goatskins. They stunk to the
heavens when he was drying them out. Incidentally he got some of the tricks of
bodhrán making from an old man in Sandy Row who also made Lambeg drums. Music
unites us all.
So there you have it. Let the music keep your
spirits high.
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