THE STORY OF THE IRISH CITIZEN ARMY
by Sean O’Casey
First Published, 1919 – Reprinted by the Journeyman Press, 1980, West Nyack, NY
I was happy to get my copy of this O’Casey classic, written by the legendary playwright, Irish Rebel, Republican Socialist, and former member of The Irish Citizen Army, a less known memoir by the author, which I have enjoyed reading so much that I felt obliged to offer an inspirational excerpt from the first chapter of this brilliant read, which I feel can be a source of inspiration and encouragement from all Socialists, Fenians and freedom loving people, the world over :
THE FOUNDING OF THE CITIZEN ARMY
“The people were waitin’ in thousands there,
An’ you couldn’t hear stir nor breath.”
-The Man from God Knows Where.
Discontent had lighted a blazing camp-fire in Dublin. The ruddy light of the flame was reflected by an earnest and ominous glow in the face of every Dublin worker. Men, full of the fire of battle, thronged in dense masses the wide, expansive area facing Liberty Hall. The city was surging with a passion full, daring, and fiercely expectant; a passion strange, enjoyable, which it had never felt before with such intensity and emotion. It was felt, unconsciously, that this struggle would be the Irish Armageddon between Capital and Labour. The workers were exuberantly confident that the unparalleled spread of the sympathetic strike would overthrow the moneyed hosts of Midiam. Did you not hear it ? It was true, many great scholars had declared in their favour, and even now Captain White, the aristocrat and gentleman, was with their beloved Leader, and had signified his intention to throw in his lot with his socially humbler brothers, abandoning the privileges of position, ignoring the remonstrances of friends, choosing freely and bravely to stand by the people now in their hour of need.
And the eager, toil-worn, care-lined faces of the workers now turned with concentrated uneasy patience towards the window on the left-hand side of Liberty Hall, waiting for it to be raised, that they might listen to this nightly message of hope, progress and encouragement from those Leaders, whom they were convinced would guide them safely through the heavy ordeal that each man must share that there might be preserved to all the elemental right of the workers to choose their Union, and to follow the Leaders in whom alone they placed their whole confidence and trust.
The disappearing Artist Sun had boldly brushed the skies with bold hues of orange and crimson, and delicate shades of yellow and green, bordered with dusky shadows of darkening blue, which seemed to symbolize the glow of determination, the delicate hues of hope, and the bordering shades of restless anxiety that coloured the hearts and thoughts of the waiting, watching masses of men that stood silently beneath the oriental-coloured panoply of the sky.
Suddenly the window is raised, and the tense, anxious feelings of the men crowded together burst out into an enthusiastic and full-throated cheer that shatters the surrounding air, and sends up into the skies a screaming flock of gulls that had been peacefully drifting along the somber surface of the River Liffey. Louder still swells the resonant shout as Jim Larkin appears at the window, with an animated flush of human pride on his strong and rugged face, as he brushes back from his broad forehead the waving tufts of dark hair that are here and there silvered by the mellowing influence of Time and the inexorable force of issuing energy from the human structure. Again the cheers ring out, and Larkin quietly waits till the effort to demonstrate their confidence and affection will give place to the lustful desire to hear what he has to say to them, while hidden under the heavy shadows of the towering Custom House a darker column of massive constables instinctively finger their belts, and silently caress the ever-ready club that swings jauntily over each man’s broad, expansive hip.
Rumours had been circulated that Jim Larkin had forged a new weapon for the workers, some plan which, when developed, would make their resisting power irresistible, a power that would quickly change their disorganized, clumsy, incohesive units into a huge, immovable, unbreakable Roman phalanx.
Hope’s ruddy flame was leaping in their hearts: this day would be an historic one in the unhappy annals of the Irish Labour Movement.
Perhaps this lovely autumn sunset would be followed by the dawn of their social emancipation.
And the lusty cheers died away to a droning echo, which was followed for a few moments by a silence that was so strangely sincere that the mass of people resembled the upright figures of an assembly in the shady and silent regions of the dead.
And then with a sweeping gesture of his arm, that seemed to pass around that tremendous gathering and make them one with himself in thought and hope and action, Jim Larkin began to speak.
In rugged, passionate, vitalizing phrases he told them “that they were engaged in the fight of their lives; that every conceivable combination had united its forces against the workers; that it would be a long and bitter fight between the Titans of Capital and the Titans of Labour.
“Therefore the workers must become disciplined, organized, made of the one stuff in thought and action, so that in all they would essay to do for themselves there would be spontaneous unity of pressure and a hardened and impenetrable unity of resistance. The men must get to know each other. They must no longer be content to assemble in hopeless, haphazard crowds, in which a man does not know and cannot trust the man that stands next to him, but in all their future assemblies they must be so organized that there will be a special place for every man to do.
“They know to their cost that a few determined men, determined because they were imbued with the force of discipline, led by men whom they looked upon as their leaders, could scatter, like spray before the wind, the largest gatherings of men, who, untaught and loosely strung together, would always be dominated by the possibility of fear and panic.
“If they would not agree to bring themselves under the influence of an ordered and systematic discipline, then they could never hope to resist the efforts that were being made to prevent them assembling peaceably to discuss affairs of their Union. By order and discipline only could they hope to secure for themselves the recognition of the sacred heritage bestowed by Nature upon every man born into the world ---- the right to live. All this must be changed, and he, with the help of Captain White, who would soon address them, was determined to begin the work now that would bring about this much desired improvement in the strength and mutual combination of the various sections of the workers.
“Labour in its own defence must begin to train itself to act with disciplined courage and with organized and concentrated force. How could they accomplish this? By taking a leaf out of the book of Carson. If Carson had permission to train his braves of the North to fight against the aspirations of the Irish people, then it was legitimate and fair for Labour to organize in the same militant way to preserve their rights and to ensure that if they were attacked they would be able to give a very satisfactory account of themselves.
“They were going to give the members of their Union a military training. Captain White would speak to them now and tell them the plans he had to create from among the members of the Labour Unions, a great Citizen Army. Captain White would take charge of the movement, and he trusted that the various Trade Unions would see to it that all their members joined this new army of the people, so that Labour might no longer be defenceless, but might be able to utilise that great physical power which it possessed to prevent their elemental rights from being taken from them, and to evolve such a system of unified action, self-control and ordered discipline that Labour in Ireland might march at the forefront of all movements for the betterment of the whole people of Ireland.”
Like the loud rolling of a multitude of drums the cheers broke out again. This was what was long wanted --- a Citizen Army ! What could not Labour accomplish with an army trained and disciplined by officers who held the affection and confidence of the workers ! Now they would get some of their own back; and vivid visions of “Red-coats and Black-coats flying before them” floated before the imaginative eyes of the Dublin workers filled with an almost intoxicated by the wine of enthusiasm.
And once again the cheers rang out as the tall, athletic figure of Captain White appeared, and his boyish face was aglow with gratification as he listened to the cheers that seemed to proclaim to him a ready realization of the schemes he contemplated towards the disciplined consolidation of the lower orders in the battalionised ranks of an Irish Citizen Army.
Captain White told them that the work would commence immediately. He told them to attend the very next day at Croydon Park, Fairview, where they would be marshaled, divided into battalions, sub-divided into companies, and put through the elementary stages of military training. “This was a day of Hope for the workers,” continued Captain White, “the definite result of their plans depended now on the efforts and sincerity of the workers themselves. The Irish Citizen Army would fight for Labour and for Ireland. He asked all those who intended to second their efforts by joining the army, and training themselves for the fight for Social liberty, to hold up their hands.”
Almost every hand was silhouetted out against the darkening sky, and a last long deafening cheer proclaimed the birth of the Irish Citizen Army.
