Picket in Support of POWs - Sept. 2nd, Dublin
A picket in support of the prisoners in Maghaberry Prison who are currently fighting for political status will be held at the GPO, Dublin on Saturday, September 2nd 2006 at 12:45pm.
Picket in Support of POWs - Sept. 2nd, Dublin
A picket in support of the prisoners in Maghaberry Prison who are currently fighting for political status will be held at the GPO, Dublin on Saturday, September 2nd 2006 at 12:45pm.
Maghaberry POWs Hold Second 48-Hour Fast
Maghaberry POWs hold second 48-hour fast
Republican POWs in Maghaberry Gaol will embark upon another 48-hour fast at Midday on Thursday 31st August. The protesting prisoners have previously taken part in a 24-hour and a 48-hour fast.
The POWs in Portlaoise will also undertake a 24-hour fast in solidarity with their comrades in Maghaberry, and protests will also continue outside the gaols in support of the prisoners’ demand for full political status.
Republican Prisoners of War incarcerated in Maghaberry have been on protest since Monday 19th June.
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The Price of Our Memory |
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Speech given at the Annual H-Block Hunger Strike Commemoration, 25th anniversary, Bundoran, Dongeal |
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Anthony McIntyre • 26 August 2006 |
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While sorrowful it is a deep honour to speak here today. To the organisers I would like to convey my appreciation for their having bestowed that honour upon me. It is also to the credit of the organisers and a measure of their integrity that they have not reduced this venerable event to a political rally. Their willingness to offer this platform to people who do not share their political outlook is admirable. It is clear that the sacrifice of the hunger strikers is the primary motivating spirit that guides them. The dark spectre of political opportunism may have stalked Casement Park two weeks ago but it is banished from here today as we gather to pay true homage to our fallen comrades rather than use their imagery and exploit their memory to add wind to the sails of political careers. Today there are more than enough people claiming to be close friends of Bobby Sands. It is the price an icon of radical struggle pays. Some see only the celebrity dimension that is often generated by the life, works, or death of an incorruptible activist and tend to downplay the intense agony undergone by them and their families. While the hunger strikers never sought fame, perhaps the definition of a celebrity is apt for Bobby Sands in the current context if we accept the definition of a celebrity as someone who is known by many people he is glad he does not know. I recall once acquiring a certain cynicism upon learning of a book about the late guerrilla fighter Che Guevara. Its title was My Friend Che. These things never fail to strike me as exploitative. Consequently, I was surprised to find in yesterday’s Guardian that I too had joined the illustrious society of close friends of Bobby Sands. It was an honest mistake by the journalist who wrote the story. At the risk of depleting the membership of the society of friends, I was not one of Bobby’s bosom buddies. I didn’t know him well enough to acquire that status. Yet I am mindful of his own comment to Monsignor Denis Faul shortly before he died that man has no greater love than he who would lay down his life for his friends. On that basis we could all claim to be friends of Bobby and the other hunger strikers. They literally gave their lives for us and the republican philosophy that animated us. I take great pride from the fact that Bobby Sands, Frank Hughes, Patsy O’Hara and the other volunteers who died were comrades and that I was on the blanket protest with them. We were young men, who along with young women in Armagh prison, pitted our one weapon, endurance, against the vile might of a state that had massacred an unarmed civilian population on the streets of Derry and would not baulk at the thought of putting us to the sword. Blocks apart we were united, as all blanket men were, in our opposition to a British lie and the reassertion of a republican truth. They, not we, were the criminals. Yes, the H-Blocks were filled with criminal types. They all belonged to the Northern Ireland Prison Service who regularly beat republican political prisoners and inflicted a regime of deprivation upon us in a futile attempt to break the spirit. The British in 1981 demonstrated to the world the essence of their malign character. They give in at the end but they exacted a terrible price for it. Had they have delivered in March 1981 what they eventually conceded in October of the same year, there would have been no dead hunger strikers. But the vindictiveness of Britain is well known to Irish republicans. One lesson to be learned from that terrible time is that all the force of British violence could not defeat the moral power of a peaceful republican protest. The H-Block hunger strike carried out by the volunteers of the IRA and INLA was a defining moment in Irish republican history. It resonated globally and has led us here today to honour the memory of Raymond McCreesh, Kieran Doherty and the eight men who never again were to wear their own clothes but who broke the will of the British to persist in their demand that republicanism walk the face of this earth wearing the criminal mark of Cain. Kevin Lynch and his comrades ensured that never again would Britain be able to succeed in characterising resistance to its rule as the work of common criminals. There are some today who tell us that had Martin Hurson, Joe McDonnell and the hunger strikers survived they would most likely support the corrupt peace process and back the Provisional leadership in its stewardship of that process. Perhaps. But how can we tell? The simple truth is that we cannot. To designate positions and perspectives to people who gave no license for such designation is every bit as dishonest as the attempts by the British to assign criminal motivation to the same people. It is to take a liberty where none was granted. It is theft. It is to steal a sacrifice and put it in a place other than its rightful one. We can say absolutely nothing about where the hunger strikers would stand today. If we were of such a mind we could lie with statistics. We could infer that because some former hunger strikers stand ready to embrace the PSNI then those that died would, had they survived, do likewise. But which ones? Who amongst us would dare pick one of the ten dead men and insult him by saying with any certainty ‘yes - he would bust his gut today to support British peelers?’ To proclaim that the republican dead would endorse Sinn Fein the Peelers Party is not to tell any truth about men such as Michael Devine and Tom McElwee. It is to provide cover for those who cannot walk erect, head held high to the partitionist destination that they have now chosen. They want to take the hunger strikers with them, to lean on them, use them as a crutch. We don’t demand that they have the courage of the ten dead men. That comes to few. We simply ask that they have the honesty of the fallen. They would be better thought of. Perhaps, in a world governed by organised lying, methodical lying, where there are those who lie like the rest of us breathe, honesty is as rare as the courage of the hunger strikers. A fitting epitaph to be engraved on the headstones of those who would use the memory of the hunger strikers for their own scrofulous ends would be ‘here they are, lying still.’ The meaning would be clear to all. Yet there are some things we can say with absolute certainty about the men who died on hunger strike within the corridors of steel and concrete that were the H-Blocks of Long Kesh. And the expression of that certainty in no way exploits the sacrifices made but on the contrary honours each and every life and death experienced by our ten comrades. As has been said, to the living we owe respect, to the dead we owe only truth. When the men lost their lives they died in opposition to a reformed Stormont; they died in opposition to acceptance of the unionist veto dressed up in the language of the consent principle; they died in opposition to Leinster House; they died in opposition to a British police force enforcing the law of the British state in any part of Ireland. Whatever tradition inherits their legacy or lays claim to their suffering it is an absurdity to claim that such a tradition could be made up of all the component parts the hunger strikers died opposing. It is important that we continue to reassert what we believe to be the truth. We live in a world where many are more afraid of being isolated than they are of being wrong. Consequently, they take the easy option and are content to be wrong. Recently, former blanket man Richard O’Rawe, who I am pleased to say is standing with us here today, displayed enormous courage and went against the Provisional narrative of the hunger strike. To his credit being wrong was more repulsive to him than being isolated. He did the right thing, faced down the isolation and published the book Blanketmen. In it he levelled the charge that the lives of six of the hunger strikers could have been saved were it not for some elements in the republican leadership machinating and manipulating events to further their own ambitions. Despite the assaults on his character and integrity, Richard O’Rawe, wearing the tenacity that made him one of the Blanket men, persisted with his conviction. He withstood the whispers, the graffiti sprayers, the ostracism, the labelling of him as some sort of deviant who traded in his human decency for profit. What nonsense. Richard O’Rawe simply opted to bear witness. Given his knowledge of events he feels it is the least he could do. What else but to establish truth were the blanket protest and hunger strikes waged? The key questions asked by Richard O’Rawe remain unanswered. What did the offer made by the British through the Mountain climber constitute? Where are the comms relating to the Mountain climber? There has been a deathly silence on the part of some Provisional leaders in relation to these matters. There is only one place for a republican to be silent; in the barracks. But even some prominent Provisionals managed to fail in this respect. There is independent evidence to support the claims made by Richard O’Rawe in his book. That evidence has been made available to a small number of key leaders within the Irish Republican Socialist Movement who feel obligated to explore the claims out of respect to their fallen comrades and their grieving families. It has prompted that movement to publicly state that it wants the matter further investigated. Richard O’Rawe has faced accusations that his actions amount to launching a blasphemous assault on the most sacred cow within modern republicanism. The truth is that those making the accusations see in the hunger strikers a cash cow rather than a sacred one. And they are determined that it will graze in no field but their own. Blankets were being sold at the Casement Park political rally so that a corpulent crowd could march up the Falls Road and provoke the sarcasm of the press who lambasted it as resembling a Friar Tuck convention more than it did the austere era of the blanket protest and hunger strikes. The contrast between the easy corpulence of today and the hard emaciation of twenty five years ago was no more stark than it was on the Falls Road at that political rally. In a sense the imagery mirrored perfectly the ethical decay that has come to beset republicanism. The screws at least gave out the blankets for free. Our dead hunger strikers are sacred to us. They occupy hallowed ground within our minds. The commercialisation of their memory is a travesty. It is a crime against republican sensitivity and our own natural intellect. But nothing else can be expected. Experience is a good teacher and we know only too well what happens when republicanism falls prey to the Stick virus. It becomes ravished and mutates beyond all recognition. Cast our memories back to 1981, our most intense ideological and emotional year as Irish republicans. The people who today wish to transform the hunger strike into a profit making industry do not with their politics remotely resemble the republican spirit of that year. But they very much look like the Workers Party of 1981. Cathal Goulding, the one time Official IRA/Stick chief of staff, knew exactly how to strangle republicanism. The trick was to corrode it from within. Republicanism can withstand inordinate amounts of pressure from without. But it is always vulnerable to the false messiah, the leader who thinks we exist as playthings in his little dance of deceit. Such leaders prevail only where they go unchallenged. Today the energy and sacrifice of the hunger strikers is in the service of a political project which at the time of their deaths they opposed. There is no need to go into the detail of a political analysis to see where things have ended up. Small human stories allow us to instinctively and intuitively grasp what is going down better than any amount of political treatises. Who would have thought that when Brendan Hughes lay in a bed in a prison hospital leading the 1980 hunger strike, fellow blanket men would two decades later visit him in the Royal Victoria hospital where he lay on a hospital trolley because there were no available beds? The British Health minister at the time was a member of the Provisional Movement. It is in these little vignettes that we are able to see the collapse of the Provisional project, how little it actually achieved. And now it demands that Paisley be prime minister and that their own volunteers hand themselves over to a Diplock judge so that they may be jailed without political status for their role in the leadership-ordered kidnapping of Bobby Tohill. During the Blanket protest one of our favourite acts of defiance was staged when the governor came around to impose punishment on us for refusing to wear the prison garb or do prison work. We would scream in his face ‘up the Ra.’ Imagine had we shouted ‘up Paisley; jail the Ra.’ The governor would have recommended our immediate release as the quickest possible way to secure the defeat of the republican resistance. In 1981 the British inflicted a terrible crime on Irish people. They scarred us deeply and its pain pulsates as we reflect on the lives and deaths of the H-Block volunteers on the 25th anniversary of that momentous occasion. As we leave here today we would do well to remember the words of two Czech novelists. Vaclav Havel urged people to speak truth to power. Milan Kundera said that ‘the struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.’ Let us memorise and never forget those who gave their everything; Allow the awesome power of republican memory to triumph over those who wish to forget what they inflicted and those who conveniently want us to forget what it was all about. As republicans who refused to wear the badge of criminality we will not commit the crime of forgetting. Always and everywhere, remember the hunger strikers. |
Irish Republican Information Service (no. 78)
Irish Republican Information Service (no.77)
August 20th, 1981 - Mickey Devine Dies
Died August 20th, 1981TWENTY-seven-year-old Micky Devine, from the Creggan in Derry city, was the third INLA Volunteer to join the H-Block hunger strike to the death.
Micky Devine took over as O/C of the INLA blanket men in March when the then O/C, Patsy O’Hara, joined the hunger strike but he retained this leadership post when he joined the hunger strike himself.
Known as ‘Red Micky’, his nickname stemmed from his ginger hair rather than his political complexion, although he was most definitely a republican socialist.
The story of Micky Devine is not one of a republican ’super-hero’ but of a typical Derry lad whose family suffered all of the ills of sectarian and class discrimination inflicted upon the Catholic working-class of that city: poor housing, unemployment and lack of opportunity.
Micky himself had a rough life.
His father died when Micky was a young lad; he found his mother dead when he was only a teenager; married young, his marriage ended in separation; he underwent four years of suffering ‘on the blanket’ in the H-Blocks; and, finally, the torture of hunger-strike.
Unusually for a young Derry nationalist, because of his family’s tragic history (unconnected with ‘the troubles’), Micky was not part of an extended family, and his only close relatives were his sister Margaret, seven years his elder, and now aged 34, and her husband, Frank McCauley, aged 36.
CAMP
Michael James Devine was born on May 26th, 1954 in the Springtown camp, on the outskirts of Derry city, a former American army base from the Second World War, which Micky himself described as "the slum to end all slums".
Hundreds of families - 99% (unemployed) Catholics, because of Derry corporation’s sectarian housing policy - lived, or rather existed, in huts, which were not kept in any decent state of repair by the corporation.
One of Micky’s earliest memories was of lying in a bed covered in old coats to keep the rain off the bed. His sister, Margaret, recalls that the huts were "okay" during the summer, but they leaked, and the rest of the year they were cold and damp.
Micky’s parents, Patrick and Elizabeth, both from Derry city, had got married in late 1945 shortly after the end of the Second World War, during which Patrick had served in the British merchant navy. He was a coalman by trade, but was unemployed for years.
At first Patrick and Elizabeth lived with the latter’s mother in Ardmore, a village near Derry, where Margaret was born in 1947. In early 1948 the family moved to Springtown where Micky was born in May 1954.
Although Springtown was meant to provide only temporary accommodation, official lethargy and sectarianism dictated that such inadequate housing was good enough for Catholics and it was not until the early ’sixties that the camp was closed.
BLOW
During the ‘fifties, the Creggan was built as a new Catholic ghetto, but it was 1960 before the Devines got their new home in Creggan, on the Circular Road. Micky had an unremarkable, but reasonably happy childhood. He went to Holy Child primary school in Creggan.
At the age of eleven Micky started at St. Joseph’s secondary school in Creggan, which he was to attend until he was fifteen.
But soon the first sad blow befell him. On Christmas eve 1965, when Micky was aged only eleven, his father fell ill; and six weeks later, in February 1966, his father, who was only in his forties, died of leukaemia.
Micky had been very close to his father and his premature death left Micky heartbroken.
Five months later, in July 1966, his sister Margaret left home to get married, whilst Micky remained in the Devines’ Circular Road home with his mother and granny.
At school Micky was an average pupil, and had no notable interests.
STONING
The first civil rights march in Derry took place on October 5th, 1968, when the sectarian RUC batoned several hundred protesters at Duke Street. Recalling that day, Micky, who was then only fourteen wrote:
"Like every other young person in Derry my whole way of thinking was tossed upside down by the events of October 5th, 1968. I didn’t even know there was a civil rights march. I saw it on television.
"But that night I was down the town smashing shop windows and stoning the RUC. Overnight I developed an intense hatred of the RUC. As a child I had always known not to talk to them, or to have anything to do with them, but this was different
"Within a month everyone was a political activist. I had never had a political thought in my life, but now we talked of nothing else. I was by no means politically aware but the speed of events gave me a quick education."
TENSION
After the infamous loyalist attack on civil rights marchers in nearby Burntollet, in January 1969, tension mounted in Derry through 1969 until the August 12th riots, when Orangemen - Apprentice Boys and the RUC - attacked the Bogside, meeting effective resistance, in the ‘Battle of the Bogside‘. On two occasions in 1969 Micky ended up at the wrong end of an RUC baton, and consequently in hospital.
That summer Micky left school. Always keen to improve himself, he got a job as a shop assistant and over the next three years worked his way up the local ladder: from Hill’s furniture store on the Strand Road, to Sloan’s store in Shipquay Street, and finally to Austin’s furniture store in the Diamond (and one can get no higher in Derry, as a shop assistant).
British troops had arrived in August 1969, in the wake of the ‘Battle of the Bogside’. ‘Free Derry’ was maintained more by agreement with the British army than by physical force, but of course there were barricades, and Micky was one of the volunteers manning them with a hurley.
INVOLVED
At that time, and during 1970 and 1971, Micky became involved in the civil rights movement, and with the local (uniquely militant) Labour Party and the Young Socialists.
The already strained relationship between British troops and the nationalist people of Derry steadily deteriorated - reinforced by news from elsewhere, especially Belfast - culminating with the shooting dead by the British army of two unarmed civilians, Seamus Cusack and Desmond Beattie, in July of 1971, and with internment in August. Micky, by this time seventeen years of age, and also politically maturing, had joined the ‘Officials’, also known as the ‘Sticks’.
He became a member of the James Connolly ‘Republican Club’ and then, shortly after internment, a member of the Derry Brigade of the ‘Official IRA’.
‘Free Derry’ had become known by that name after the successful defence of the Bog side in August 1969, but it really became ‘Free Derry’, in the form of concrete barricades etc., from internment day. Micky was amongst those armed volunteers who manned the barricades.
Typical of his selfless nature (another common characteristic of the hunger strikers), no task was too small for him.
He was ‘game’ to do any job, such as tidying up the office. Young men, naturally enough, wanted to stand out on the barricades with rifles: he did that too, but nothing was too menial for him, and he was always looking for jobs.
Bloody Sunday, January 30th, 1972, when British Paratroopers shot dead thirteen unarmed civil rights demonstrators in Derry (a fourteenth died later from wounds received), was a turning point for Micky. From then there was no turning back on his republican commitment and he gradually lost interest in his work, and he was to become a full-time political and military activist.
TRAUMA
Micky experienced the trauma of Bloody Sunday at first hand. He was on that fateful march with his brother-in-law, Frank, who recalls: "When the shooting started we ran, like everybody else, and when it was over we saw all the bodies being lifted."
The slaughter confirmed to Micky that it was more than time to start shooting back. "How" he would ask, "can you sit back and watch while your own Derry men are shot down like dogs?"
Micky had written: "I will never forget standing in the Creggan chapel staring at the brown wooden boxes. We mourned, and Ireland mourned with us.
"That sight more than anything convinced me that there will never be peace in Ireland while Britain remains. When I looked at those coffins I developed a commitment to the republican cause that I have never lost."
From around this time, until May when the ‘Official IRA’ leadership declared a unilateral ceasefire (unpopular with their Derry Volunteers), Micky was involved not only in defensive operations but in various gun attacks against British troops.
Micky’s commitment and courage had shone through, but no more so than in the case of scores of other Derry youths, flung into adulthood and warfare by a British army of occupation.
TRAGIC
In September, 1972, came the second tragic loss in Micky’s family life. He came home one day to find his mother dead on the settee with his granny unsuccessfully trying to revive her.
His mother had died of a brain tumour, totally unexpectedly, at the age of forty-five. Doctors said it had taken her just three minutes to die. Micky, then aged eighteen, suffered a tremendous shock from this blow, and it took him many months to come to terms with his grief.
Through 1973, Micky remained connected with the ‘Sticks’, although increasingly disillusioned by their openly reformist path. He came to refer to the ‘Sticks’ as "fireside republicans", and was highly critical of them for not being active enough.
Towards the end of that year, Micky, then aged nineteen, got married. His wife, Margaret, was only seventeen. They lived in Ranmore Drive in Creggan and had two children: Michael, now aged seven and Louise, now aged five.
Micky and his wife had since separated.
In late 1974, virtually all the ‘Sticks’ in Derry, including Micky, joined the newly formed IRSP, as did some who had dropped out over the years. And Micky necessarily became a founder member of the PLA (People’s Liberation Army), formed to defend the IRSP from murderous attacks by their former comrades in the sticks.
In early 1975, Micky became a founder member of the INLA (Irish National Liberation Army) formed for offensive operational purposes out of the PLA.
The months ahead were bad times for the IRSP, relatively isolated, and to suffer a strength-sapping split when Bernadette McAliskey left, taking with her a number of activists who formed the ISP (Independent Socialist Party), since deceased.
They were also difficult months for the fledgling INLA, suffering from a crippling lack of weaponry and funds. Weakness which led them into raids for both as their primary actions, and rendered them almost unable to operate against the Brits.
Micky was eventually arrested on the Creggan. In the evening of September 20th, 1976, after an arms raid earlier that day on a private weaponry, in Lifford, County Donegal, from which the INLA commandeered several rifles and shotguns, and three thousand rounds of ammunition.
ARRESTED
Micky was arrested with Desmond Walmsley from Shantallow, and John Cassidy from Rosemount. Along on the operation, though never convicted for it, was the late Patsy O’Hara, with whom Micky used to knock around as a friend and comrade.
Micky was held and interrogated for three days in Derry’s Stand Road barracks, before being transported in Crumlin Road jail in Belfast where he spent nine months on remand.
He was sentenced to twelve years imprisonment on June 20th, 1977, and immediately embarked on the blanket protest. He was in H5-Block until March of this year when the hunger strike began and when the ‘no-wash, no slop-out’ protest ended, whereupon he was moved with others in his wing to H6-Block.
Like others incarcerated within the H-Blocks, suffering daily abuse and inhuman and degrading treatment, Micky realised - soon after he joined the blanket protest - that eventually it would come to a hunger strike, and, for him, the sooner the better. He was determined that when that ultimate step was reached he would be among those to hunger strike.
SEVENTH
On Sunday, June 21st, this year, he completed his fourth year on the blanket, and the following day he joined Joe McDonnell, Kieran Doherty, Kevin Lynch, Martin Hurson, Thomas McElwee and Paddy Quinn on hunger strike.
He became the seventh man in a weekly build-up from a four-strong hunger strike team to eight-strong. He was moved to the prison hospital on Wednesday, July 15th, his twenty fourth day on hunger strike.

Mickey Devine laying in state, with INLA honour guard.
With the 50 % remission available to conforming prisoners, Micky would have been due out of jail next September.
As it was, because of his principled republican rejection of the criminal tag he chose to fight and face death.
Micky died at 7.50 am on Thursday, August 201h, as nationalist voters in Fermanagh/South Tyrone were beginning to make their way to the polling booths to elect Owen Carron, a member of parliament for the constituency, in a demonstration - for the second time in less than five months - of their support for the prisoners’ demands.
Mickey Devine funeral cortege makes way through Derry.
Mickey Devine
R.I.P.
RPAG Stage Sucessful Rally in Lurgan/Prison Struggle Same as 1981 Death Sacrifice
RPAG STAGE VERY SUCCESSFUL RALLY IN LURGAN
In spite of a large RUC presence a very large crowd turned out to support the five demands of the Republican POWs currently on protest in Maghaberry Gaol. The protest – organised by the Republican Prisoners’ Action Group (RPAG) – took place in the Edward Street area of Lurgan, County Armagh, at 2p.m. on Saturday, 19th August. The weekend also marks the 25th anniversary of the death of Mickey Devine on Hunger Strike in 1981.
A white-line picket took place on Edward Street, followed by a rally nearby. A former Independent Councillor for Fermanagh, Tony McPhillips, chaired the proceedings. He introduced Mrs. McKenna – the mother of one of the protesting prisoners from the Lurgan area – who read a statement on behalf of the POWs. Mr. McPhillips then introduced lifelong Republican Des Long from Limerick, who was the main speaker for the occasion.
Mr. Long branded the Provos "liars and hypocrites" for signing away political status under the terms of the Stormont Agreement of 1998, and seeking to criminalise the struggle for Irish freedom. He also emphasised the continuity of the prison struggle from 1981 to the present day, adding that, unfortunately, whilst English rule continues in Ireland there will continue to be prisoners. Political status remained a right and was never a privilege, said Mr. Long.
Tony McPhillips concluded by saying that "those who do not support the prisoners do not support Republicanism and they should be treated like the traitors that they are."
The