15 January 1998 Edition
No peace without a public inquiry into Bloody Sunday
The Bloody Sunday campaigners, relatives and friends of the murdered or wounded peaceful protesters have been endlessly seeking truth and justice. But 26 years after the first crown forces shoot-to-kill operation, the British government continues to turn a blind eye on one of the darkest chapters of the conflict. In Derry, as across the entire 32 counties, the sorrow, bitterness and anger has not faded. Mary Maguire spent a day in Derry with families of the murdered and members of the Bloody Sunday Initiative.
Bloody Sunday March and Rally
Derry
Sunday 1 February.
Assemble: 2.30pm, Creggan Shops
London
Saturday 24 January
Assemble: 12 noon
Highbury Fields, Holloway Road
London N7
An ordinary day in Derry. The rain lashes down on the lined brick houses in Creggan and the Foyle darkens under the clouds. John Nash, Liam Wray and Mickey Bradley drive along Central Drive and past the football pitch where on Sunday 30 January 1972, thousands of demonstrators gathered peacefully. Later that day, thirteen people were assassinated by the British parachute regiment in what was the first British state sponsored murder. Another thirteen peaceful civil rights demonstrators were injured. Dozens of other marchers suffered long-term traumas and a fourteenth victim, John Johnson, died.
Today, 26 years after Bloody Sunday, the sorrow, anger and bitterness is not ready to fade. Proof of the solidarity of nationalists and republicans was demonstrated last year as 40 000 gathered in Derry for the 25th anniversary of Bloody Sunday and more should be present this year on 1 February for this year's march.
Mickey Bradley was one of the injured. As he stops the car, he describes how the crowd gathered for the march, the Sunday clothes worn and the ordinary topics discussed as men, women and children assembled.
``When I pass here, I can't help crying. Years have passed but we will fight for justice until the whole truth is revealed''. The car rolls down the route of the civil rights parade, past blocks of houses recently built. Liam Wray's brother, 23 at the time, was also murdered. Today, he recalls every second of the march and the way prams and children joined the mass of marchers.
John Nash is a quiet man and it has taken him years to overcome the pain he suffers when he remembers the murder of his brother William and how his father Alexander came under fire and was injured. ``There was a carnival spirit to this whole march. I got married the day before and was ready to leave for our honeymoon. Since that day, not once have my wife and I celebrated our anniversary. And we shall only be able to, maybe, the day justice is done''.
As the car drives through the busy city centre, Liam Wray recalls the first CS gas, the rubber bullets and the panic. He remembers the surprise and the surreal atmosphere. All remember how Ian Paisley had called off a counter demonstration two days before. After a security council meeting, he had been assured that the ``marchers would be dealt with in a firm manner''...
After driving past William Street, all walk slowly to Glenfada Park where Liam Wray's brother Jim was killed. Mickey Bradley limps past the Disband the RUC mural and points at a brown brick building. ``That is where I was nursed when shot by a para''. He summarises the feelings of the relatives of the victims, the wounded and the relatives of the victims. ``How can you expect me to sleep in peace? Each night, I wake up thinking that some soldier is laughing his head off when he remembers how he shot me and how he is getting away with it''.
Under the lashing rain, Liam Wray and John Nash stand at the exact spot where William Nash, John Young and Michael McDaid lay injured on the Rossville barricade for fifteen to twenty minutes, according to eyewitnesses. At the time, John's father, Alexander, ran to his son's aid before being framed in a sniper's rifle and shot. The two men look up across the street. Their thoughts seem to sum up in three sentences: who murdered them? From where? And even if they know the answer, the question ``why?'' haunts them.
Over the years, Liam Wray has collected what appears to be the most complete photo album of Bloody Sunday. Several pictures of the same bodies, covered in blood, taken from different angles, as well as photos of the panicked crowd. In a box, he keeps a small sealed transparent plastic bag. ``This is what was found on my brother''. A pack of Regal cigarettes and a wooden rosary. For the first time in years, he opens a brown envelope containing the last black and white photo taken of his brother. On his nude back, two black bullet holes are the only answers he has ever been given in his quest for truth and justice. The Bloody Sunday campaigners, the wounded and relatives have had no further success.
Later on in the day, Bloody Sunday spokesperson Tony Doherty overlooks the city under the spy posts from the top of the Derry Walls. He points out a small group of teenagers mounting a Saoirse placard on the Free Derry wall. All are too young to have marched on Bloody Sunday. But in the town, and elsewhere in the Six Counties, the younger ones do more than simply listen to the elders' stories. ``Last year, at the 25th anniversary rally, two 19-year-olds, although too young to have been part of the crowd, read a poem. It started with the words I remember'', he points out.
Their words are the solemn proof that even if today the whole Bogside has changed face and that it is believed that time mellows grievances, Bloody Sunday will never be forgotten.
After the scandalous cover-up, the Widgery report, the Crown's ears are still deaf to the calls for justice. 26 years after the killings, the British government of Tony Blair and Marjorie Mowlam appear to have adopted the same attitude as their predecessors. Despite the mounting evidence released in the past years, no new investigation has been opened. By denying a new investigation the British continue to deny basic truth and justice not only to the relatives of the murdered and the wounded, but to anyone concerned with justice.
``The Brits have to do more than simply apologise,'' explains Liam Wray. ``They have to face their responsibilities. Countless people have lost their lives in an armed struggle, thousands of families have been torn, hundreds of men and women have been interned and are today still in jail because they were taught on Bloody Sunday that civil rights requests and peaceful demonstrations did not work''.
Mickey Bradley's analysis goes further. ``The British government is protecting soldiers who are guilty of murder and are living freely as thousands of Irish prisoners are jailed or detained on remand for so-called crimes they have not committed or for political reasons. The British authorities are brilliant at berating other countries about their human rights record. What about theirs? It is a moral highground question. There can be no peace without truth and justice''.
For Tony Doherty, coming to terms with the past is today the most important move. ``When talking to my son in a few years, I don't want to pass on a history wracked with bitterness and recrimination. I want to be able to give a positive version of what followed Bloody Sunday, even if it was years later. Bloody Sunday is a major embarrassment. That is why it has to be dealt with, so we can move on in an orderly manner''.
26 years after the massacre, will the new British government face up it's responsibilities? Will Tony Blair, Marjorie Mowlam and the new political actors have the courage to face the past to restore an ounce of credibility? As public attention focuses on the talks designed to bring long-lasting peace to our island, it is now or never that one of the darkest pages of Irish modern history can be turned. In dignity with the opening of a new, public and truly objective enquiry. Only then can justice be done and can the political process truly move into a new era.
Bloody Sunday March and Rally
Derry
Sunday 1 February.
Assemble: 2.30pm, Creggan Shops
London
Saturday 24 January
Assemble: 12 noon
Highbury Fields, Holloway Road
London N7
An ordinary day in Derry. The rain lashes down on the lined brick houses in Creggan and the Foyle darkens under the clouds. John Nash, Liam Wray and Mickey Bradley drive along Central Drive and past the football pitch where on Sunday 30 January 1972, thousands of demonstrators gathered peacefully. Later that day, thirteen people were assassinated by the British parachute regiment in what was the first British state sponsored murder. Another thirteen peaceful civil rights demonstrators were injured. Dozens of other marchers suffered long-term traumas and a fourteenth victim, John Johnson, died.
Today, 26 years after Bloody Sunday, the sorrow, anger and bitterness is not ready to fade. Proof of the solidarity of nationalists and republicans was demonstrated last year as 40 000 gathered in Derry for the 25th anniversary of Bloody Sunday and more should be present this year on 1 February for this year's march.
Mickey Bradley was one of the injured. As he stops the car, he describes how the crowd gathered for the march, the Sunday clothes worn and the ordinary topics discussed as men, women and children assembled.
``When I pass here, I can't help crying. Years have passed but we will fight for justice until the whole truth is revealed''. The car rolls down the route of the civil rights parade, past blocks of houses recently built. Liam Wray's brother, 23 at the time, was also murdered. Today, he recalls every second of the march and the way prams and children joined the mass of marchers.
John Nash is a quiet man and it has taken him years to overcome the pain he suffers when he remembers the murder of his brother William and how his father Alexander came under fire and was injured. ``There was a carnival spirit to this whole march. I got married the day before and was ready to leave for our honeymoon. Since that day, not once have my wife and I celebrated our anniversary. And we shall only be able to, maybe, the day justice is done''.
As the car drives through the busy city centre, Liam Wray recalls the first CS gas, the rubber bullets and the panic. He remembers the surprise and the surreal atmosphere. All remember how Ian Paisley had called off a counter demonstration two days before. After a security council meeting, he had been assured that the ``marchers would be dealt with in a firm manner''...
After driving past William Street, all walk slowly to Glenfada Park where Liam Wray's brother Jim was killed. Mickey Bradley limps past the Disband the RUC mural and points at a brown brick building. ``That is where I was nursed when shot by a para''. He summarises the feelings of the relatives of the victims, the wounded and the relatives of the victims. ``How can you expect me to sleep in peace? Each night, I wake up thinking that some soldier is laughing his head off when he remembers how he shot me and how he is getting away with it''.
Under the lashing rain, Liam Wray and John Nash stand at the exact spot where William Nash, John Young and Michael McDaid lay injured on the Rossville barricade for fifteen to twenty minutes, according to eyewitnesses. At the time, John's father, Alexander, ran to his son's aid before being framed in a sniper's rifle and shot. The two men look up across the street. Their thoughts seem to sum up in three sentences: who murdered them? From where? And even if they know the answer, the question ``why?'' haunts them.
Over the years, Liam Wray has collected what appears to be the most complete photo album of Bloody Sunday. Several pictures of the same bodies, covered in blood, taken from different angles, as well as photos of the panicked crowd. In a box, he keeps a small sealed transparent plastic bag. ``This is what was found on my brother''. A pack of Regal cigarettes and a wooden rosary. For the first time in years, he opens a brown envelope containing the last black and white photo taken of his brother. On his nude back, two black bullet holes are the only answers he has ever been given in his quest for truth and justice. The Bloody Sunday campaigners, the wounded and relatives have had no further success.
Later on in the day, Bloody Sunday spokesperson Tony Doherty overlooks the city under the spy posts from the top of the Derry Walls. He points out a small group of teenagers mounting a Saoirse placard on the Free Derry wall. All are too young to have marched on Bloody Sunday. But in the town, and elsewhere in the Six Counties, the younger ones do more than simply listen to the elders' stories. ``Last year, at the 25th anniversary rally, two 19-year-olds, although too young to have been part of the crowd, read a poem. It started with the words I remember'', he points out.
Their words are the solemn proof that even if today the whole Bogside has changed face and that it is believed that time mellows grievances, Bloody Sunday will never be forgotten.
After the scandalous cover-up, the Widgery report, the Crown's ears are still deaf to the calls for justice. 26 years after the killings, the British government of Tony Blair and Marjorie Mowlam appear to have adopted the same attitude as their predecessors. Despite the mounting evidence released in the past years, no new investigation has been opened. By denying a new investigation the British continue to deny basic truth and justice not only to the relatives of the murdered and the wounded, but to anyone concerned with justice.
``The Brits have to do more than simply apologise,'' explains Liam Wray. ``They have to face their responsibilities. Countless people have lost their lives in an armed struggle, thousands of families have been torn, hundreds of men and women have been interned and are today still in jail because they were taught on Bloody Sunday that civil rights requests and peaceful demonstrations did not work''.
Mickey Bradley's analysis goes further. ``The British government is protecting soldiers who are guilty of murder and are living freely as thousands of Irish prisoners are jailed or detained on remand for so-called crimes they have not committed or for political reasons. The British authorities are brilliant at berating other countries about their human rights record. What about theirs? It is a moral highground question. There can be no peace without truth and justice''.
For Tony Doherty, coming to terms with the past is today the most important move. ``When talking to my son in a few years, I don't want to pass on a history wracked with bitterness and recrimination. I want to be able to give a positive version of what followed Bloody Sunday, even if it was years later. Bloody Sunday is a major embarrassment. That is why it has to be dealt with, so we can move on in an orderly manner''.
26 years after the massacre, will the new British government face up it's responsibilities? Will Tony Blair, Marjorie Mowlam and the new political actors have the courage to face the past to restore an ounce of credibility? As public attention focuses on the talks designed to bring long-lasting peace to our island, it is now or never that one of the darkest pages of Irish modern history can be turned. In dignity with the opening of a new, public and truly objective enquiry. Only then can justice be done and can the political process truly move into a new era.