Death of innocence

     
This film will do a lot to help the people of Derry get at the truth about that horrendous day and that is the basis upon which it should be judged
As I watched Paul Greengrass's 'Bloody Sunday' film on television on Sunday night past I was slowly transported back 30 years in time to an era of the struggle which the passage of time and age had almost erased from my memory.

The director skilfully recreated the times that were in it. The fashion of the time was there in all sorts of ways: the dress of the actors, their hairstyle, the motorcars; the poverty of the time in the sparseness of home comforts; the raw energy of the time seen through the youths, the contenders for control of the streets; the human combustion and banter, the chaos of the time: essential ingredients when revolution is in the hearts and minds of the oppressed.

The focus is on the circumstances that led to the killing by the British Army of 14 civil rights protestors and the wounding of 13 others in Derry as they peacefully walked along their own streets seeking entry to their own city centre on a pleasant Sunday afternoon at the end of January 1972.

But within the film there are many layers of political and human tension, which are separately played out on the side of the protestors and the British Army, all heading towards a cataclysmic end for the people of Derry and for the people of Ireland and Britain.

On the protestors' side the contrast, though subtle, is between Ivan Cooper, a Protestant from Strabane, played by Jimmy Nesbit, a cautious yet popular civil rights figure and member of the SDLP, and a youthful actor who plays Gerard Donaghy, who was 17 when the Paras killed him.

Gerard is surrounded by youths like himself throughout the film. With their long hair flowing behind them, they strut the Bogside streets exuding a raw boundless energy, infecting all those they meet with their enthusiasm. They are ready to take on the world and shape it for themselves. But the world that is shaping outside their small Derry homes and their tender years, in the 24 hours immediately prior to the massacre, is more deadly than they can imagine, more ruthless than the words that trip off their tongues as they hurl abuse at the British soldiers.

But then, fear and youth rarely mix. It is young people with their unfettered minds, with their 'attitude', their 'devil may care' approach to life, who drive things forward. They might not make the big political decisions but in situations of conflict as Derry was in 30 years ago, indeed as the Six Counties have been in since 1969, very often it is young people who make the difference.

For those of us old enough to remember or who were a part of the struggle in the early '70s, this film forces you to ask 'How did we get through it all?' The power of the British military is on display. It reminded me of the Falls Road curfew in July 1970, Internment, August 1971, and 'Operation Motorman' in July the following year, to name but a few displays of Britain's military might pitched against a practically defenceless civilian population.

Over the 24-hour period prior to the killings, Derry City was hermetically sealed by thousands of British soldiers. You get a sense of asphyxiation as the film races between the British Army's local HQ, where the orders to seal the streets are being issued by the minute, and the actions of the Brits on the ground as civilian law is replaced by martial law. The ring of steel encircles, squeezing ever tightly the population.

Trying to break out of this straitjacket, to give the threatened populace some assurance, is Jimmy Nesbit's Ivan Cooper. Wherever he meets the British Army he introduces himself as 'a Member of Parliament' for Derry but he is shown no respect; not a yard of territory beyond the military cordon is yielded to him. He moves at breakneck speed, pumping flesh, waving to people, issuing instructions to the March organisers, all the while whispering to his confidantes, 'get the stewards'. He was concerned to ensure that the youths were blocked from going to the British Army barricade at William Street.

The film shows the local British Army and RUC commander being sidelined as the Commander of Land Forces, General Ford and the 1 Para move in. There is surprise all round that Ford and the Paras should be there. It is clear that they are there 'on a mission' never specified. But there is a vortex in the three-way dialogue between Ford, the Paras' Commander Wilford and the local Brigadier MacLellan that points to a prearranged plan.

And that plan we now know.

I've been going to the Bloody Sunday march since 1989, the year after I got out of the H-Blocks. A few years ago was the first time I got a sense of what happened that day. I joined others on Don Mullan's guided tour of the killing zones where the dead and wounded were shot. I was overcome by fear as he recounted the casual manner in which people were shot to death. I was terrified standing in Glenfadda Park as he told us how at point blank range two British soldiers strolled over to two men lying face down on the ground and shot them.

The film affected me even more. For me, there are three powerful scenes: the actual shootings themselves; inside Altnagelvin hospital as the relatives gathered, beside themselves with grief, wailing for their loved ones; and the image of Paddy Doherty crawling across the footpath after being shot. I know his son Tony. He has campaigned vigorously for the truth about his father's death and the deaths of the others and I thought of him and his family and how they must have felt as they saw that numbing scene.

For many people, Bloody Sunday was a watershed in their lives. They were never the same people again. We will never know how things might have unfolded had that day ended differently. What we do know is that armed conflict escalated to unprecedented heights and continued for 23 more years, with disastrous consequences for thousands of people.

Some of my close friends were affected. They watched the film with me in my own home. One of them had his 18-month-old sister accidentally killed by the IRA in an operation against the British Army in September 1971, before he was born. Another lost both his legs in a loyalist bomb attack when he was 16 years old on New Year's Eve 1975. A third spent over 20 years in gaol.

I could be critical of the film with respect to what was missing from it but I won't be. This film will do a lot to help the people of Derry get at the truth about that horrendous day and that is the basis upon which it should be judged. I am looking forward to viewing Jimmy McGovern's film also about Bloody Sunday, called 'Sunday', which will be released next week.

BY JIM GIBNEY