#bogside

This month (April) in 1969, the BBC reported on a surprising by-election result;

“…A 21-year-old woman, Bernadette Devlin, has become Britain’s youngest ever female MP and the third youngest MP ever…Standing as an independent Unity candidate, Miss Devlin wrested the seat of Mid-Ulster in Northern Ireland from the Ulster Unionists…”

She had grown up in a working class family of six children, and both parents had died by the time she was a teenager, forcing her to balance furthering her education while taking care of her younger siblings.

Bogside 1969 (image BBC News)

Having been arrested and subsequently imprisoned for her role in the Battle of the Bogside, violent sectarian protests in Derry in August of that year, she was re-elected at the UK general election in 1970 and served one full term.

Following Bloody Sunday, she (literally) smacked Conservative Home Secretary Reginald Maudling in the face for asserting in the House of Commons that the behaviour of members of the the British Parachute Regiment, (which had killed 14 civilians and wounded at least a further 15 during street protests in Derry), had been justified on the grounds of acting in self-defence. Devlin had personally witness these events.

Having not sought re-election in 1974, she remained active politically, supporting the cause of the hunger strikers in 1981 and standing unsuccessfully for seats in the European Parliament and the Dail Eirreann (Parliament of the Irish Republic).

On January 16th, 1981, the BBC reported:

“…The Northern Ireland civil rights campaigner and former Westminster MP, Bernadette McAliskey (formerly Devlin) has been shot by gunmen who burst into her home…The three men shot Mrs McAliskey, in the chest, arm and thigh as she went to wake up one of her three children. Her husband, Michael, was also shot twice at point blank range…Three men are now being questioned by police. They were arrested by members of the Parachute Regiment, who were on patrol nearby when they heard the shots…The McAliskeys were flown by army helicopter to hospital in Belfast, where their condition is said to be serious, but not life-threatening…”

(Irish news sources claim that the British soldiers were 'watching the home' but did not intervene).

The BBC also reported that Loyalist paramilitaries were going after those who were campaigning for H Block prison reform, in the heightened tensions surrounding hunger strikes over demands for ‘prisoner of war’ status by Republicans in custody. Four campaign activists had been killed to that point.

Bernadette McAliskey continued to advocate for civil rights in Northern Ireland, and for inmates and former inmates of the Maze Prison. She later founded the South Tyrone Empowerment Programme, a community welfare organisation, now listed as a resource on the UK government family support webpage for Northern Ireland, researching and campaigning in areas such as housing, family support, civil rights, and the welfare of migrant workers.

Ireland, 1969.

“It is 2 pm on January 30 and the sun from the clear sky reflects on the faces of 20 thousand demonstrators. In front of a truck and the Civil Rights banner. No sound system, we sing: We shall not be moved… We shall overcome… just to make it clear that we are not marching only for us, but also together with the millions who in those years marched in half the world against the same gentlemen. Down from the Creggan neighborhood on the hill, into Bogside, downstream. Towards the large square after the eco monsters at the entrance, where you can lock up ants overflowing from the matchbox houses. The appointment is on the square at the entrance to the Bogside houses, Bernadette Devlin, passionate of the movement, will speak.

I am in the rear of the march, my head is already under the stage, 100 meters away. A very strong roar, two, three, four, many Saracens, armored vehicles of the occupants, emerge from behind me very quickly. Some stop at my level. Others proceed towards the rally, but are stopped by a barricade. From those close to me and a few meters from the last hundred, two hundred of the march, large insects emerge in uniform, with gas masks for proboscis, long carbines, large sticks. Knocks are heard. Someone from the crowd turns, distorts his terrified face, yells "Its live!", Real bullets. The massacre begins. One, with frogs and Greek frets, shouts from the top of the turret: "Thirty is the limit", we stop at thirty shot down.

I don't believe it yet, but luckily the camera and recorder believe it: a boy runs, falls, raises his arm, a para approaches, mounts on him, shoots him in the head, moves away, his body remains, inert. Another boy runs past a para, covers his face, shouts "Don’t shoot, don’t shoot", the para shoots. A woman, a mother of six children, collapses, a large piece of bloody and grainy flesh comes out of her thigh, someone tries in vain to put it back in place. A wiry young man leaps in front of the parà. He shouts: "Shoot me, shoot me!" . He is hit next to him, he falls with a crash. Others, under the blows, lift him up and take him to a house. In the middle of the clearing in front of the concrete beehive, a boy, almost a child, is lying inert on the ground. I notice his torn sweater, a white white face, his arms outstretched, as if on a cross. I move closer, his face is turning yellow, blood throbs from his mouth.

 A priest approaches. It is Father Daily, later Bishop of Derry. He kneels, he would like to help. Too late, he cries, administers his rites. A nurse and an elderly man approach under the shots. They lift the body, move, the shooting continues, the priest precedes them with a red-soaked handkerchief that he waves over his head, folded in two, to avoid the whistling bullets. I can't stand, the professional outfit comes undone. I yell "Bastards, stop it, stop it". One points at me, someone gives me a yank back, shouts "Are you crazy?" Three shots in quick succession splinter the wall behind me. They will try again, that time with six shots, when I look out from a close-up to photograph other chapters of the massacre. Many people have taken refuge beyond the hive, they are still a small group crushed by terror against a wall, under fire. We move too, on all fours, one in front of me is hit, jumps to the side, then starts crawling again. He makes it. We do it, we are beyond the building, in the back. Safe. The rest is screams, tears, swearing, cursing, invocations. A hurricane".