Northern reticence, the tight gag of place
And times: yes yes. Of the wee six I sing
Where to be saved you only must save face
And whatever you say, you say nothing.
Seamus Heaney
‘SAY nothing’ comes from Seamus Heaney’s poem describing the entrenched culture of secrecy and restraint during the conflict in the North of Ireland. It was a coping mechanism of survival; a mantra alluding to the consequences of your words, possibly meaning the difference between life and death.
I read Patrick Radden Keefe’s novel Say Nothing when it came out in 2018. It was given to me by my great pal, Fr John Sweeney. He knew I’d love it and he was right. He later bought me Seamus Heaney’s poetry collection when I graduated. Again, because he knows my love of Irish literature and knew I’d appreciate it. I’m not sure I appreciated at the time that Keefe’s novel was named Say Nothing because of Heaney’s poem. John and I not only share a love of Irish history, we’re both truth tellers and justice seekers, well used to hearing people mangle the truth of many a life story. So for us both, Disney+ thankfully didn’t airbrush the oppression nor the horrific violence that took place in Ireland in their TV dramatisation of the novel. It was imperative they got it right. But did they?
Keefe’s book came about after he read Dolours Price obituary in the New York Times. He had a hunch there was an article worth writing after seeing her obituary describing her upbringing in a staunch Irish Republican family, joining the IRA and her subsequent involvement in some of the worst atrocities in the conflict, her imprisonment, hunger strike, facing down Margaret Thatcher, her release, her marriage to actor Stephen Rea, and long suffering battle with alcoholism—most probably due to PTSD.
After writing the article for New Yorker he knew he’d only scratched the surface of this woman’s story, so when he began digging deeper, it stretched to a novel. The Irish-American writer from Boston wraps the story of Price and other influential Irish Republicans around the case of Jean McConville, mother of ten from Belfast who was abducted and murdered by the IRA in 1972. Rumours circulated that McConville was a government informant. This has been vehemently denied by both her family and the British Government. However, the government knew only too well what happened to informers so it was perhaps in their interest to ‘say nothing.’ Keefe went on to examine previously unpublished documents and conducted numerous interviews in an attempt to reconstruct the final moments of Jean McConville’s life.
The book and TV series go into extensive detail about the Boston College Belfast Project, an oral history recording about the conflict in which Dolours Price admits to driving—along with Pat McLure—Jean McConville down to County Louth the night she was killed. Dolours said there was a third person but refused to name them. Ed Moloney, who directed the project, shared with Keefe the transcripts of the interviews with Dolours, but with one key redaction—he removed certain identifying details about the third person who was at McConville's grave. His rationale was simple: Price and McClure were both dead, but the third person was still alive. Keefe also learned that the third person was asked by Gerry Adams to become his personal driver.
Based on his research, Keefe concludes at the end of Say Nothing that the third person was Dolours’ sister, Marian Price. Price’s lawyer issued a statement to The Irish Times denying any involvement in the McConville murder, and she has never been charged. Price is currently suing Disney. What Keefe failed to share was that when the subpoena was served to Boston College to share the tapes, he was employed as special policy adviser to Defense Secretary and former CIA chief, Robert Gates and was working at the Pentagon. He never made this known to Ed Maloney, those he interviewed for the book, nor his readers. I didn’t know either, but it now makes me question Keefe’s motives for neglecting to mention his government position, particularly when he’s quoted as saying: “As a journalist and a writer, I have a bias. My bias is for openness and for truth.”
McConville case
Jean (Murray) was born on May 7, 1934 into a Protestant family in East Belfast, but converted after marrying Arthur McConville, a Catholic and former British soldier. They had ten children aged between six and 20 and lived in the Divis Flats in the Lower Falls Road. Arthur died of cancer in January 1972. The Divis Flats complex was an IRA stronghold where regular attacks were launched against the British Army and RUC. Her son Robbie was an active member of the IRA, interned in Long Kesh at the time of her death. In the months before she was taken, neighbours grew suspicious of Jean and she was physically attacked. She was warned to stop informing by Brendan Hughes and when Cumann na mBan raided her home a pocket radio was found. On the night of her disappearance, she was taken at gunpoint and driven to an unknown location. Dolours Price admitted she was involved in taking her across the border. Jean was killed by a gunshot to the back of the head and buried on Shelling Hill Beach, County Louth, 50 miles away.
The Guardian reported that Jean was killed because neighbours saw her helping a badly wounded soldier. The British Government and Police Ombudsman both affirmed Jean was no informant. Keefe himself remains agnostic about whether or not she was a spy, however, the book leans more on the belief that she wasn’t. The McConville family believe she wasn’t and that Gerry Adams ordered her execution, but in a disclaimer shown after each episode, Adams denies being in the IRA or any connection with her death. So will we ever know the real truth?
Watching the series brought back the rawness I felt reading about Jean’s execution in Keefe’s Say Nothing, so I can only imagine what it was like for her children to see it played out in all its bloodied horror. I don’t want to believe Jean was an informer. In my Doris Day mind I want to think she was just a mum of ten who despite converting to Catholicism was still viewed as a Protestant who married a former British soldier, so the odds were already stacked against her, and if she helped a young soldier who lay dying, she may as well have pulled her own trigger.
Living anywhere in the North of Ireland during the conflict wasn’t just precarious, it was life or death and oppressed people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. I often think about what I’d have done had I been brought up there at that time and I’ve absolutely no doubt I would’ve fought back against my oppressors. I would’ve marched for my civil rights, against the inequality and discrimination perpetrated by the establishment. I would’ve fought for justice and freedom for myself, my family and my country. Because if we don’t live in truth what do we have? Nothing. Would I have participated or enabled the execution of a mother of ten? Absolutely not. From a humane perspective I couldn’t and wouldn’t have it on my conscience.
Bloody Sunday
As I write this article it’s a cold January day and laid out in front of me is a copy of The Derry Journal emblazoned with the words, ‘NEVER FORGET... 30.01.72.’ It’s the Bloody Sunday 50th Anniversary commemorative edition with the monochrome image of Fr Daly lying prostrate on the tarmac over the body of Jackie Duddy, just 17 when he was shot and killed by the army’s Parachute Regiment. It was a freezing cold but sunny Sunday that began with a peaceful civil rights protest, a carnival atmosphere was described by many, but by sundown the events of that day had tossed Derry into a state of prolonged wake and a shroud of doom fell over the city and its people for years to come. Who knew it would take until June 15, 2010 following the Bloody Sunday enquiry, for the victims’ families, indeed the whole of Derry and beyond to get justice. To hear truth. To hear their beloved sons, brothers, fathers, uncles, friends had been vindicated. To hear an apology from then British Prime Minister, David Cameron.
I don’t need to tell anyone reading this that 13 innocent men died that day, but what we all need reminding of is the importance of truth telling. The value and significance of saying it how it is. Of taking on what might feel like the impossible task of speaking truth against those constructing their own narrative for personal gain or protection. We see it daily when world powers like the US and Britain show unequivocal support for Israel. Their media bias that fails to frame an issue correctly, I’m digressing, but you get my point. In the British Army’s case on Bloody Sunday their narrative was they came under fire from the marchers and merely fought back. These were lies to protect themselves.
So for those families in Derry who kept marching forward year in year out seeking justice, for every priest who ever shouted from his pulpit, for every politician who challenged the establishment, every mother who ever prayed the Rosary, every protestor who continued to march; truth prevailed, as I believe it always does. Sometimes it takes 30 or more years, but remember this, there are three things that cannot be hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth.
L J Sexton, mum of four, returned to university to pursue her passion for the written word. She achieved her Honours Degree in English Literature and Creative Writing and hasn't stopped writing since. Lyn is born of Irish parents and lived in Donegal for eight years. She is also the press officer for Irish Minstrels CCÉ music group based in St Roch’s Secondary School
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