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As part of a school project, my eleven year-old son was recently asked to research the history of Blackrock, C0 Dublin. When he asked for my help, I mentioned Éamon de Valera’s strong links to the area. The man who founded Fianna Fáil and who was our longest-serving taoiseach and a two-term president taught in the area before entering politics. He lived in Blackrock while at the peak of his political influence and, in retirement, he died there.
The name de Valera didn’t mean much to my son. And I’m not sure it means much to anyone these days. Despite dominating Irish politics for several decades, de Valera is now a forgotten or marginalised figure in Irish political discourse.
This is odd, not least beacause he founded Ireland’s most popular political party. He dominated national politics between 1932 when he first became taoiseach (or president of the executive council as the position was then known) and 1959 when he finally retired from that office. And it’s not as if he was a marginal figure outside those years. Having been elected president of Dáil Éireann in 1919, he finally retired as Uachtarán na hÉireann in 1973.
It’s not that hard to work out some reasons for this popular amnesia. De Valera is associated with political causes that have fallen deeply out of fashion: taking the anti-treaty side in the Civil War; promoting an inward-looking economic model that has long been discarded; and articulating a socially conservative vision of Ireland. On top of that he’s been portrayed in popular culture as a self-serving plotter.
We often underestimate how influential movie and TV depictions can be. Consider the popular portrayal of people in business or banking. Can you remember one ever being depicted as a hero? Or even as a decent human being? If you did, it was probably only if they were going against type and playing the role of whistle-blower or lonely crusader for justice. Think Erin Brokovich or The Whistleblower.
It is the greedy and malignant Montgomery C Burns in The Simpsons who represents the more usual depiction of business in pop culture and his sidekick Smithers portrays the prevailing view of the needy and amoral middle manager willing to do anything to placate his boss.
Yet, the business sector , whose key people, are caricatured in this way supplies us with electricity, water, groceries, Wifi signals and ever more powerful electronic devices. There is something rather adolescent about portraying something on which we are so fundamentally dependent, so badly.
And there is a similar adolescent aspect to our attitude to de Valera today. Much of it may be based on his very negative portrayal in Neil Jordan’s movie “Michael Collins”. For understandable narrative reasons, Collins was depicted as the heroic light that was quenched too early while de Valera was the sinister political maneuverer who was Collins’ opposite.
There can be little doubt that de Valera played a negative role in Ireland’s descent into civil war, nearly a century ago, but the country would probably have endured a civil war even if he had supported the treaty. We must remember that during the Civil War, de Valera played only a marginal role and if he was as malign as Alan Rickman’s portrayal of him in the film, how do we explain his unparalleled political popularity in the years that immediately followed?
I fear that we are more heavily influenced in our assessment of him by a somewhat caricatured portrayal in popular culture than by balanced historical assessment. There may be similar processes at work in our attitude to the social and economic model that he promoted. Rather than assess him in the context of his own times, we measure him against modern attitudes and find him wanting.
De Valera’s most famous articulation of his vision for Ireland came in his St. Patrick’s Day address of 1943. Note the timing, Europe was at war. The footprint of the Nazi jackboot was at its greatest, the Germans having suffered their first significant defeat at Stalingrad just one month earlier. Meanwhile Ireland was at peace and de Valera was making use of our hard-won national sovereignty to keep it that way.
He stated that “the ideal Ireland would be the home of a people who valued material wealth only as a basis for right living, of a people who, satisfied with frugal comfort, devoted their leisure to the things of the spirit”.
Uttered by an aging revolutionary three quarters of a century ago this sounds tired and hackneyed. By contrast, if we stuck a Hygge label on it and observed that it promotes the meditative over the material, it would sound trendy.
De Valera’s reputation has also suffered for being identified with an autarkic, standalone economic model that ended in demographic disaster as hundreds of thousands emigrated in the 1950s. In his defence it can be argued that it was an attitude of its time as global trade collapsed in the 1930s and protectionist attitudes prevailed. It is also the case that, in his final years as taoiseach, de Valera did little to stand in the way of the shift to open trade then being pushed by Sean Lemass and TK Whitaker.
There is an argument that that de Valera is due a reputational comeback. With a retreat from multilateral institutions such as the UN and EU, his emphasis on national democracy will look smarter. Similarly, as material progress falters and global economic growth slows, his focus on values is worth reflecting on.
It may be Brexit that prompts a revaluation of de Valera’s legacy. That could become a case of England’s opportunity being Ireland’s difficulty. We might well conclude that we were more dependent on Britain than we thought and that we could rely on Europe less than we had thought.
Finding ourselves alone again may be what’s needed to propel us to duly recognise de Valera’s enormous historical legacy.