Ag Foghlam Faoi Ghlas: IRA Prisoners and Political Education

Prison is not always thought of when it comes to education. In the 1970–1990s, Irish political prisoners organized their own school within the walls, as Deaglán Ó Mocháin recounts in this semi-autobiographical text. This political education involved an acute understanding of the political and historical conditions that framed the IRA struggle, but also the teaching of Irish language and a broader knowledge of internationalism.

Regardless of where they are imprisoned, or for how long, and irrespective of their official legal status, Irish Republican Army (IRA) prisoners view themselves as political actors, and behave accordingly. They will organize themselves into some form of IRA structure, and appoint a leadership to act and negotiate in the communal interest, and communicate with comrades on the outside. They will develop an approach to improving their living conditions – on issues like access to visits and legal advice, parcels from outside, as well as recreational activities like sports, exercise, and entertainment. They will develop educational classes—they will organize discussions and debates, they will create or register for courses, and they will often start ranganna (Irish language classes) or engage in other cultural activities. They will also immediately try to organize an éalú (escape), if at all possible, even if it seems impossible. The key concepts in respect of IRA imprisonment will almost always feature a political and/or military structure, an overarching political awareness, a strong focus on education and an emphasis on communal action and thought—a world away from popular depictions of prison life as one of intimidation, communal violence, and chaos.

These concepts hold true for republican prisoners across over 150 years of conflict with the British colonial state, both prior to and after the partition of Ireland in 1920–22. 

Even in the strictest of regimes, IRA prisoners find a way to resist, to organize, and to self-educate. While most will engage in some sort of structured educational activity, they also gain from simply existing in a highly politicized environment. They will participate in campaigns, they will be exposed to new thinking and ideas, they will be challenged, and will have the opportunity to challenge in turn, and they will live in a physically confined, intensely political environment with others who share a similar outlook, but will often have very different life experiences—in terms of age, whether rural/urban, their access to formal education, length of time in jail, and their previous activist and/or prison experience. 

So political engagement is a given, with the prison itself and wider political circumstances dictating the precise nature of the prison regime. In developing a few themes about IRA prisoners and prison-based education, a number of observations will be privileged:

The Irish have resisted British colonialism over many decades in many forms, and so-called “Northern Ireland” is, from their perspective, a gerrymandered, colonial remnant of the British state in Ireland. It was constructed specifically to create an artificial British/unionist majority in six of the nine counties of Ulster, Ireland’s northernmost province. “Northern Ireland” has been a contested political entity since its creation in 1920, and will remain contested until its demise. The stated aim of Irish republican activists is to overcome the democratic deficit built into the creation of the northern state in 1920, and establish an all-Ireland progressive and secular republic in its place. 

Secondly, the most recent phase of physical conflict in Ireland, lasting from 1969–1998 (generally speaking) was the longest single period of conflict in the IRA’s history, and it involved a very significant number of prisoners: an estimated 25,000 republican activists went through prison systems, mainly in Ireland and Britain. This phase of conflict came to an end when the IRA’s second ceasefire of 1997 was formalized as part of the Belfast Agreement in 1998, and the IRA subsequently disbanded in 2005. The prisons themselves often became significant sites of struggle involving protests, escapes, and prison-based campaigns, and this in turn had a societal impact as prison resistance leached into the outside world (for example, the H-Block/Armagh protests), and as prisoners were released and engaged politically in their host communities.

Thirdly, the 1969–2000 prison population was made up of cosmhuintir, working class men and women in the main (many imprisoned as teenagers). The organizations they belonged to were also led by people from that class background. Not only did these young people stand up to colonial political and military structures when they joined the IRA, they also increasingly took on conservative political and social structures in nationalist areas such as the Catholic church or middle class political parties and similar agencies who wanted to manage political and economic change for their own advantage. Republicans created alternative power structures opposed to the state, they established rights based campaigns (on issues like discrimination, housing, state violence, culture/language, policing) and a gradual entry into electoral politics at a local and national level meant that social and political issues on the ground were raised and addressed. Community-based politics and campaigns often had an international focus and reach as common cause was made with similar resistance struggles and campaigns across the world.

Finally, it’s also worth noting that the IRA expanded in a very relatively short period of time. From a largely moribund organization in the late 1960s, it had several thousand active members by the early 1970s when the typical volunteer was young and working class, with no military background or training, or sophisticated world view, who was more often reacting to local examples of discrimination, state brutality and violence. These newly energized political activists came into conflict with a very well resourced state apparatus with large numbers of personnel at their disposal to terrorize and control a suspect community via deniable arms length military operations. Indeed, the armed police (between 8,000 and 10,000) and regular British soldiers (between 30,000 and 60,000) were lended support by a locally recruited military militia (between 5,000 and 6,000), and a proxy loyalist structure that was set up and armed by the state as part of standard colonial practice. In addition, the state developed a vast array of repressive legislation, state actors were largely indemnified against prosecution, special interrogation centers were opened, non-jury trials were introduced and political views associated with Irish republicanism were officially censored. A final significant resource at the state’s disposal was a prison estate, newly expanded to deal with this grass roots, working class and community response to state violence.

This is what typically happened in jail as an óglach (member of the IRA): as a young, working-class person, you might have left school or formal education early on. You would possibly have had some rudimentary political education in a family setting, or through popular histories or songs, pamphlets or even through street graffiti. You might have been in a youth organization, or involved in fringe political activity such as rioting or demonstrations, or had family members or friends arrested and imprisoned, beaten, or possibly even killed by state forces. You might have been exposed to political campaigns around prisons, particularly once political activists were interned without trial, or reports emerged of prisoners being tortured or brutalized. Your potential access to IRA membership, once you had made that decision, might have been through family contacts, through friends, or through approaching local IRA figures or ex-prisoners. Generally speaking, it was only once you are imprisoned that any real political education begins as the life of an IRA volunteer outside of jail tends to be very hands-on and conflict related. You very quickly understand that there’s an expectation placed on you as an imprisoned volunteer, and you begin to adjust accordingly. Your political education may start informally through interacting with other prisoners, perhaps from your home area, who have a bit more political and life experience. 

It is likely that there is now some time and space (and motive) to watch news reports and begin to consider and question what was being presented, and wonder why a perspective closer to your own was rarely seen or heard. There may have been more systematic discussions and debates taking place, and you might have begun to participate in these, or start to contribute to jail discussions, and begin to see how different perspectives are possible, and can be framed—even among friends and comrades from similar backgrounds, areas and experiences. You realize you are not alone in your struggle to understand things better, and appreciate any help you might obtain to develop a more coherent political outlook, as you are sometimes frustrated at your inability to frame and present your thoughts properly. You decide you need to work a bit harder on this. 

You will usually have access to political papers, and perhaps also to a leabharlann (library) assembled by prisoners themselves over time, based on smuggled material initially, and later on via donations and through a small fund started on each IRA wing to purchase books in a more systematic way. Some of the earliest political education documents in the H-Blocks were disguised as Frelimo-related, so they would not be removed by the prison guards—a coded reference to the revolutionary movement in Mozambique. These books, and discussions around them, help you start to understand and contextualize your IRA-centered perspective. 

You might have been encouraged to think about taking classes, depending on your interest and previous education, possibly literacy or numeracy, or maybe a state exam in English, or even consider trying to learn a bit of Irish. You will have noticed the small number of Gaeilgeoirí (Irish speakers) gathering to study, or simply to chat, and might find that interesting. They will certainly notice if you show an interest, and will encourage you to take one of the classes pitched at different levels. At the very least, you will learn and understand jail-related terms like ceannfort (leader), cuairt (visit), and taobh amuigh (outside) and perhaps a few greetings and simple phrases for things like báinne (milk) or peil (football). You might never have done Irish at school, and wonder about how difficult it seems, and how different it sounds, but there’s something about hearing your comrades speak Irish that grabs your attention.

So far so good. You are developing an Irish republican analysis, rooted in the here and now, that builds on your interests and activities outside of jail. You are reading your history, often a people’s history or an unofficial history of your struggle, like Thomas A. Jackson’s Ireland, Her Own (1946), or Liz Curtis’ Nothing But the Same Old Story (1984), and you learn to pick apart and contextualize the more general, generic histories of Irish politics. You follow the news and current affairs, and take part in formal and informal debates and discussions on what is happening outside. There’s a focus on what’s happening in Belfast and London, and increasingly in Dublin. You recognize, perhaps for the first time, that there’s a lot to learn about the south of Ireland, and wonder why there’s a distinction between those in power, who are hostile to the IRA, and the general population, who are more supportive. You meet a few comrades from the south, who help you appreciate the fractured nature of the Free State (southern Ireland), and its own tortured history, post-partition in 1922. 

You are starting to understand that this is a complicated war where words and propaganda matter, as well as being a war of action, which is where you had previously and exclusively placed yourself. You now realize that armed actions alone will not be sufficient to achieve political change in the longer term, for many reasons. Significant political change requires significant political activity. 

As your confidence increases, you are open to additional ideas from comrades, some of whom are better read than you (or so it seems). They might suggest a more difficult book, or introduce concepts like class and colonialism, or imperialism. Some of the folks around you are studying politics and history and they have exciting concepts to discuss, and interesting resources to share. There’s pamphlets from left-wing and anarchist book shops that introduce you to ideas like communism, feminism, environmentalism, and internationalism, and that offer a critique of racism and nationalism. There’s an element of self-criticism built into these discussions. As well as constant discussion, there’s also disagreement and dissent, and the occasional argument and challenge to the IRA authority on the wings. You find it interesting that there’s such a wide variety of political opinions in the jail, despite the overlap in political and class background and motivation. As you enter your second, third or fourth year in prison, you realize that you are now helping newer prisoners find their way politically, to navigate the sometimes torturous discussions around the legitimacy or morality of armed struggle, important points of history, the role of socialism and where the IRA (and increasingly Sinn Féin) sits in relation to these positions both in the past, in the here and now, and in the planned future. These discussions revolve around history: where we came from, and strategy – where we are positioned now, and where we want to be in the future.

At this point in your jail journey you have learned an important lesson. There’s no hiding place in jail and what you are is what you do, and you can’t pretend otherwise. You can’t claim to be a revolutionary, and stay in your bed most of the day, or talk about solidarity if you don’t contribute to the communal life of the wing. You can’t be a socialist if you hide your tobacco, you can’t be an internationalist if you laugh at racist jokes on the TV, and you can’t be a feminist if you make sexist comments or act in a macho or bullying manner. It worries you that you can be an Irish republican and do all of these things. 

It seems like a natural progression to be introduced to the African National Congress (ANC), to the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), Euskadi ta Askatasuna (ETA), and other anti-imperial struggles. You’re less convinced of the Brigade Rossa (the Red Brigades in Italy) and Baader Meinhof (the Red Army Faction in West Germany), but you enjoy the discussions, and you read all the books. You begin to link the Irish struggle to similar struggles globally, particularly those within a British colonial context.

This feeling that we are not alone nor unique, feeds into your growing realization that the Irish struggle has a significance outside of Ireland itself, and there’s an additional responsibility to make sure that we get it right, politically. 

You now find yourself debating things, contributing to the wing, perhaps offering more confident opinions, as well as offering to, or being invited to take part in the wing structures. This isn’t easy, as people can be problematic. You’re having to think differently about relationships, about structures and power, and how we live together as activists in a confined space. We operate, more or less, as a tight-knit commune, but the thread that binds this together, our political identity, can be stretched by personal problems, personalities, egos, and political differences. You have to learn to distinguish between these things. There’s an IRA code of conduct that is mainly unwritten, that really only comes to the fore when problems develop. You uncover this code in all of the political theory you read: it’s based on concepts like respect, empathy, understanding and solidarity. It emerges from understanding, study, discussion, reflection, criticism and practice. You understand that the IRA’s solidarity is rooted in the wing, among your friends and comrades. It cannot exist as a theory in a book, and it is meaningless if it is not in evidence in everyday life. You discover there are terms for all of these things, like praxis or dialecticism or conscientiousness. You managed ok without these terms, but they do bind you to a bigger intellectual tradition you can feel a part of, and that expands your understanding, your personal potential, and the potential of the struggle itself. 

You also understand that not all of your comrades are interested in political debate and personal development, but they are often the most reliable and hardest working, and would do anything for the struggle, and for their comrades. They might even be openly dismissive of political education, yet are 100% committed, and would be the first to come forward when something needs to be done. 

You are more cautious as a result and are less likely to find fault with people. You become a bit more interested in, and understanding of the viewpoints of others, as you can see that we are all part of a continuum of political thought, shaped by many factors, some of which seem beyond our control. You might have been encouraged to think this way by some comrades, to consider the opposite and the alternative, and to develop intellectual and emotional flexibility: to listen a bit more, and explain a little less. You realize that you are not immune to being played by the system, including systems you implicitly agree with and support.

As your Irish improves something shifts inside you. You feel, and understand that acquiring do theanga féin (your own language) is a profound political step. For others, it might simply be a way of communicating, but for an Irish Republican, it opens up a pathway to a deeper understanding of a colonized past, of the deep trauma associated with language, cultural and societal shift as an enforced by-product of colonial violence and physical exploitation, capitalism, and psychological subjugation. You recall how you disliked Irish in school, when it was taught as a subject to be learned by roté. As it was thoroughly depoliticized, you never understood its significance, until you were in jail, where it fits tightly with your anti-imperial and anti-colonial thoughts and actions. Once acquired, the scales fall from your eyes. A monolingual English speaker (your past status) can never fully comprehend a bi-lingual or multilingual person: your present and future life that awaits you. You begin to use the Irish language form of your name.

With an inventory of political thought, experience and practice to draw on, there’s plenty of opportunities to apply these skills on your release. You will see former prisoners working (along with others) in Irish language schools, community groups, advice centers, economic forums, youth groups, arts festivals, human rights groups, political campaigns. The themes? Grassroots organizing, alternative community structures. Empowerment and education, resistance. It’s not so dissimilar to jail. There remains the broad strokes of internationalism and class politics, a deep awareness of political history and the centrality of community. On a more personal level, there’s self-awareness, confidence, growth, and a sense of pride of being part of a culture of resistance that has spanned generations, and that gives you a place at the table with Vietnam, South Africa, Palestine, and Euskadi. For after all, what was your time in jail for if not to solidify and codify the simple decision you took as a young person to stand up to oppression, and to appreciate, over time, that this positive action is being replicated to this day in countless progressive scenarios you have a natural affinity with. ■