THIS morning, myself and my two young sons will leave our house and make the short walk to O'Connell Street to pay our respects to those who, 90 years ago, risked - and in some cases, gave - their lives for our freedom. And I will feel a lump in my throat when I see the tricolour flying over the GPO.
I'm aware that the preceding statement appears old fashioned, simplistic, naïve and - some would say - risible, but, if I'm being totally honest, that is how I will feel.
I suspect there will be a lot of people in the country who agree with the sentiment, but I know for certain that many won't. It is understandable that many people recoil from the violence inflicted on the capital city during the Rising and the deaths of innocent civilians. The argument that the creation of an Irish Republic is not worth the death of one person is a powerful and legitimate point of view, particularly in the light of the dreadful events in the North from 1969 on.
And there is no doubt that for decades we had overly idealised the views of the men and women involved in 1916 and the subsequent War of Independence. With any revolution or rebellion, there will be ambitious opportunists, hungry for power, who see revolt as a means of social advancement. And even allowing for the undeniable point that it is simply wrong to apply 21st century morality to events that occurred 90 years ago, it is impossible to be comfortable with the fact that this state was founded in bloodshed.
But viewed from their perspective, what choice did the men and women of 1916 have?
Watching Neil Jordan's Michael Collins the other night, I was particularly struck by the line where Collins, in conversation with Harry Boland says "I hate them. Not for their race, not for their brutality - I hate them because they've left us no way out . . . I hate them for making hate necessary. And I'll do what I have to to end it." Although the lines are presumably fictional, I would hazard a guess that they neatly encapsulated the views of the many involved in 1916 and the War of Independence. In the main, they were not bloodthirsty maniacs. They were desperate men and women driven to do desperate things to achieve what should have been their birthright - the freedom to democratically determine their own destiny.
Those who argue that the Rising was undemocratic seem to forget the obvious point that Britain didn't create an empire where the sun never set via the ballot box. With Home Rule continually put on the long finger - despite its clear democratic mandate - and the Ulster Volunteers flexing their muscles, armed rebellion must have seemed like the only solution to nationalists in the early part of the 20th century.
The argument that Ireland would ultimately have achieved independence by peaceful means is also highly questionable.
For starters, nobody, back in 1916, could have envisaged that the British empire would begin to crumble within 30 years and democratic nation states would become the norm across western Europe.
But if Ireland had remained part of the UK until that point there is no guarantee that independence would have occurred. Certainly, the British would have become amenable to a withdrawal but, as Garret FitzGerald has pointed out, an increasing economic dependency on British subventions (which didn't exist in the early 1920s) would likely have made independence impossible.
For all those reasons, I am glad that 1916 happened, even if I share some of the reservations of its critics. I am glad that we live in an independent state. It is imperfect but it is ours. It is only right that Britain, as our nearest neighbours, should be our closest friends. But, with all respect to their fine democratic traditions, I would not have wanted Harold Wilson, Jim Callaghan, Margaret Thatcher or even Tony Blair as my prime minister, any more than people across the Irish Sea would want to have been ruled by de Valera or Charlie Haughey.
It is right that 1916 is being properly commemorated; that it is no longer the preserve of modern day Sinn Féin. In that context, it is also appropriate that the Irish army, the legitimate �?glaigh na h�?ireann, is involved. My two boys are too young for today's events to mean anything, but one day they will know they were there. And, to me, in this increasingly homogenised, Americanised and material world, it seems more important than ever to remember our past, our roots.
1916 and its legacy is a hugely complex subject. It is important that legacy is debated. The old simplicities that existed 40 years ago on the 50th anniversary no longer pertain for obvious reasons. But that doesn't mean that we cannot feel a genuine pride for what the men and women achieved in founding our state. Listening to RT�?'s archive footage in recent days, the pure idealism of those interviewed was what stood out.
It is that idealism to which I will be paying respect today.
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