Author's Note:
I just wanted to take a moment to bow a head for all of those that died 32 years ago today (1/30) in Derry, Northern Ireland. During a peaceful march to protest internment, modelled after one of Martin Luther King Jr.'s marches, 13 civilians were killed by british military forces. Internment was policy adopted by England the year previous which allowed for inprisonment without trial indefinitely. The USA also currently has this policy sadly, pushed through the Homeland Security Act. At least at the moment though, the US does not seem to be abusing it.
Those who died that day were: John 'Jack' Duddy (17), shot unarmed while running away from the military. Patrick 'Pat' Doherty (31), shot from behind while crawling away from the shooting. Bernard 'Barney' McGuigan (41) shot while waving a white handkerchief, trying to help Pat Doherty. Hugh Gilmore (17) shot while fleeing. Kevin McElhinney (17) shot while crawling away. Michael Kelly (17) unarmed when shot. John Young (17) also unarmed. William Nash (19) unarmed and trying to aid the wounded when shot. Michael McDaid (20), unarmed and trying to leave the area. James Wray (22), wounded in the arm and then while lying paralyzed on the ground, shot point blank in the back. Gerald Donaghy (17) unarmed, shot while fleeing. Gerald McKinney (35) had his arms raised in surrender crying "Don't shoot!", trying to escape. William McKinney (26) (no relation) shot from behind while trying to assist Gerald McKinney.
None of the soldiers were held accountable at the time, although Tony Blair has reopened an inquiry into the matter because of the irregular findings of the first inquiry. Several of these people had bullets enter through their tailbone and then exit through their shoulders as they tried to crawl to safety.
This event and the government's reaction to it sadly only fueled the flames of sectarian violence and terrorism on both sides, and was the true start of the most recent Troubles in a troubled country. It was unnecessary death and sparked too much violence on both sides. As the song says for which this fic was named, "An eye for an eye, it was all that filled their minds, and another eye for another eye til everyone is blind." There are eyes remaining in Ireland and hopefully with the new inquiry into Bloody Sunday, both sides will come to terms with what happened and realize that violence is no longer needed and diplomacy can work.
Thanks for indulging my rambling. On with the story.
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"And you dare to call me a terrorist, while you look down your gun?" Wolfe Tones, "Ballad of Joe McDonnell"
---------------------------------------------------
Shana sat a few hours later, nursing a warm Guinness, waiting for the man named Rourke to approach her. Her grandmother seemed certain he would recognize her. Her eyes kept alert and she was careful to drink slowly, she didn't know what was in store for her, but she did know that she was in a foreign country with a history of violence and she seemed to be in a Republican bar.
As she took another small sip, she heard a voice at her elbow, "You Shana?" The voice belonged to a man in his thirties with the ugly harsh accent of a Belfast native. He was dressed in faded pants, a polo style shirt and a knit cap. In some ways she was reminded of Shipwreck, though this man was much more stern and solemn than Shipwreck ever could be.
She turned her head to face him fully, "Who is it that wants to know? You Rourke?" She kept her voice low and casual, watching his reaction.
A slight smirk appeared, "Nah. He an' I go back though. I'm Donnell. I'm here to check you out though. Ya look a lot like the picture."
Her eyebrow shot up, "Picture? What picture?" Although her face betrayed none of it, her mind was racing, trying to figure out when she had been tailed unaware and photographed. "Donnell ...? Or ...Donnell?" Her facial expressions punctuated the question.
"Doesn't matter." He held forward a photograph, it was of her mother as a young woman, sitting on the lap of a man that was not her father, with people gathered around and seeming happy. "Though I must say, she looks a bit more up than you. Your gran said you looked like her."
Shana resisted another frown, taking the photo into her hands. "May I keep this?"
Donnell shrugged, "Take it up with Rourke. It's his. C'mon. Let's get out of here."
She quickly slipped the photo into her breast pocket, holding up a hand, "Where is he? I'm not going along with a wild goose chase. Where do you want to go?"
Donnell let out a sigh of annoyance, "It's not a wild goose chase, it's just a little quieter. It's a little shop just up the road. C'mon then."
Suspicious eyes scanned the crowd. If Rourke was out there, she wouldn't know it. She was also fairly confident that she could take down this man in a fight, but always better to avoid one. It was a gamble either way and she decided that her Gran wouldn't have sent her if it was dangerous. She nodded and motioned for him to lead the way.
He led her out of the pub, her Guinness abandoned. Motioning to a car parked out front, he opened a door for her. Shana shook her head, "No cars. We can walk."
The annoyed look returned to Donnell's face and he grimaced. "Fine, but if you have any weapons, you'd best leave them here now. Knives, guns, explosives." He waited expectantly, opening up the boot of the car.
She arched another eyebrow at the man, "Why would you think I was carrying any of those?"
He shrugged, "SOP. That and it's a bit warm for a jacket and the leg of your pants hangs differently on the left." He glared at her, waiting for her to unload. She was a bit surprised, most people didn't notice that she ever had weapons on her, especially those who don't know her.
Immediately she took off the knife strapped to her calf, handing it over. Casting a glance around and moving outside of the light of the streetlamps, she removed her gun from its holster and took out the clip and showed him that the chamber was empty. "You can keep my ammo, you can keep the firing pin, but the rest of it belongs to me and I will not let it out of my possession." Her voice dared him to challenge her.
He grumbled, taking the clip and the firing pin that she offered. He had the idea with the speed in which she was able to do that, this was the best he would get. Most trained professionals get attached to their primary gun. He wondered what she did for a living, eying her cautiously as she reholstered her gun. "Police or military?"
She shrugged, "Doesn't matter. I just want to speak with Rourke."
An argument to that sprung to his mind, but decided to let it go. If Rourke wanted to cut her loose, he could. "Fine there. Let's go."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
A short while later she was led into what appeared to be a closed cafe. But in the back there was a small living area and sitting at the table with a cup of tea was a man that she guessed was Rourke. He strongly resembled the man that held her mother in the old photo. Without a word, she sat across from him. Donnell moved out of the room, allowing them some privacy.
Rourke's face had a small smile on it, "YOu look a lot like your mother, Shana."
She nodded a little, "I've been hearing that a lot lately. You are Rourke I take it?" She watched him, waiting for confirmation.
He nodded his head in response, "Your gran said you were looking for information about your ma." He watched her carefully as he spoke, "What do you know about her already?"
"I know of her life after she moved to the US. Gran," She inadvertantly picked up the man's way of referring to her grandmother, "told me about her childhood and growing up. But no one would talk to me about what caused her and my father to cut off all ties and move to the U.S."
A sigh, "And she sent you to me. Alright. Where to begin with this." He leaned back in his chair pensively, "Your ma and I grew up together; my family lived just a couple doors down. We had always been close. When we got older, we went out and everyone thought we'd eventually get married." He paused, sipping his tea.
"What happened?" Shana was intrigued by this story so far.
"Didi -"
"Didi?" Shana interrupted suddenly with a smile, "I've never heard her called Didi before."
Rourke smiled in return, "It's what I called her. She hated it and would only put up with it from me," he chuckled, then turned more serious, "We were passionate about things." He seemed reticent about continuing, not sure how the woman before him would take the news or what her political leanings were, "We were young Irish Catholics during a time when it wasn't legal to be that. We felt strongly that things were wrong up here and there weren't many legal ways to change them."
The color drained from Shana's face and her stomach flipped over uneasily. She could see where he was leading her and the rest of the security that came around this meeting. Her voice was a dry rasp, "My mother was a terrorist?"
Rourke's eyes blazed and he slapped the table angrily, "No! She was a freedom fighter! She was fighting for civil rights and her life and country!"
Now Shana's anger began to rise, "No! You are all terrorists, don't pretty it up with fancy words!" She stood up.
"You tell me then what's the difference between a terrorist and a freedom fighter? What makes us different than you Americans when you fought against England? They are on OUR soil. They were and are oppressing us! Back then they did the same to your country and you fought against it. You didn't have official armies or uniforms, you hid and you killed when you were able! It is the only way to win a war against a larger opponent!" His voice was strong with anger and held her where she stood, listening to his words.
"There is no war though." Her voice was no longer so angry, an element of confusion entering the tone.
"Says who? England? Of course they say there is no war! That way they don't have to follow the Geneva Convention! It isn't to their benefit to admit that there is or was a war. Now sit down and think about this with me."
She sat, feeling disconnected and slightly ill. She had devoted her life to fighting terrorism, and her own mother was a terrorist. Or freedom-fighter. Did it really matter what it was called? She wasn't sure.
"Alright. Now there's a lot of misinformation that is out there. But both sides had unofficial armies and paramilitary groups, Unionists and Republicans both. I won't say that no civilians were killed, but sometimes collateral damage happens. But it was our only option. We were given no other way out of the mess we were in, we still do not have equal rights under the law here as Catholics. No one even would speak with us until we made it so they had to listen. That's how the lower 26 got their freedom. We're still fighting a war they gave up on though." He ran his hand through his silvery hair, "We don't like killing people Shana. But sometimes it must be done."
Silence reigned for a moment, she couldn't deny many of his words, then finally managed, "But now they listen, now they want to talk and are willing to change and you still are killing."
"Some are, I am not. My men and I honor the Good Friday Accord and ceasefire. Not everyone involved cares about this country, we also draw in those who just want an excuse to kill people and when they gather together, it's hard to control them sometimes."
She nodded a little, knowing it could be like that in the military too. She kept trying to wrap her mind around the concept that her mother, if she were still alive, would be deeply ashamed of her daughter's work. She thought of Cobra, doubt over what she was doing in her life washed over her. What made a cause justifiable? Could she be certain no civilians were never harmed as collateral damage from their side? What seperated them from Cobra? These questions swirled uneasily in her mind as she continued to listen.
"But for us, back then, it was really about just trying to be heard and win our freedom. As well as just staying alive. The Protestant paramilitary was killing Catholics left and right and we had to protect ourselves if the corrupt government wouldn't."
Shana nodded mutely. Rourke could see the conflicting emotions playing across her face and felt pity for her. He had found most Americans either felt that the IRA was totally in the wrong or totally in the right and had a hard time adjusting to the shades of grey. He reached out and patted her hand lightly in a fatherly gesture, "I'm sure this isn't what you wanted to hear about your Ma. But it is the truth."
Finally finding her voice, she questioned him, "So what changed? Why did she leave all of it?"
"Your Da." A note of bitterness was in the other man's voice. "We were hiding out in Drogheda after a mission and she met him in a pub. He convinced her that this was going to get her killed and that he didn't approve. She said she was in love, they got married here, and when she came up pregnant not too long after, he insisted they were going to leave the country and cut all ties." The anger bubbled to the top again, "And she did it. She left and we had no idea where she went. We didn't even know she died until years after the fact! And your poor gran, she missed Didi so much and wished she could meet you kids but she was denied that!"
Shana quickly came to the defense of her father, "He wanted to do what was right for them and to keep her safe! He wanted a good life for his children."
Rourke's anger faded again, "I suppose you are right. But it still hurt like hell. We all missed her terribly after she was gone." Grief took the forefront as the man thought of his lost love. "Missed her more than she would ever know." He looked away, trying to hide his pain, and when he turned back, the gruff exterior was back. "Any more you want to know Shana?" His tone clearly indicated that he wanted this conversation to be done.
She shook her head, "I can't think of anything right now. Can I contact you if I want to talk again?"
A curt nod, "Leave a note with the pub where you met Donnell. Be sure to leave a number I can ring."
"Thank you Rourke." She couldn't think of anything else to say, so she just turned and left. Donnell matched her pace as she walked out. "Thank you for taking me." Her voice was quiet and reflective, she had so much to digest now and all the pieces of information she had from her childhood began to fall into place. She wondered where this left her, how she could continue on as she did before, knowing what she did now.
Donnell wisely stayed silent during the walk back and when they arrived back at the car, he handed her back her knife, clip and firing pin. "Stay safe out there Shana. Come back here if you are ever in any trouble."
She expertly replaced the pin and clip, reholstering the gun and strapping the knife back to her calf, "I can handle any trouble that comes my way." She strode off into the night to return to her hotel and continue examining the night's events and maybe call her father.
I just wanted to take a moment to bow a head for all of those that died 32 years ago today (1/30) in Derry, Northern Ireland. During a peaceful march to protest internment, modelled after one of Martin Luther King Jr.'s marches, 13 civilians were killed by british military forces. Internment was policy adopted by England the year previous which allowed for inprisonment without trial indefinitely. The USA also currently has this policy sadly, pushed through the Homeland Security Act. At least at the moment though, the US does not seem to be abusing it.
Those who died that day were: John 'Jack' Duddy (17), shot unarmed while running away from the military. Patrick 'Pat' Doherty (31), shot from behind while crawling away from the shooting. Bernard 'Barney' McGuigan (41) shot while waving a white handkerchief, trying to help Pat Doherty. Hugh Gilmore (17) shot while fleeing. Kevin McElhinney (17) shot while crawling away. Michael Kelly (17) unarmed when shot. John Young (17) also unarmed. William Nash (19) unarmed and trying to aid the wounded when shot. Michael McDaid (20), unarmed and trying to leave the area. James Wray (22), wounded in the arm and then while lying paralyzed on the ground, shot point blank in the back. Gerald Donaghy (17) unarmed, shot while fleeing. Gerald McKinney (35) had his arms raised in surrender crying "Don't shoot!", trying to escape. William McKinney (26) (no relation) shot from behind while trying to assist Gerald McKinney.
None of the soldiers were held accountable at the time, although Tony Blair has reopened an inquiry into the matter because of the irregular findings of the first inquiry. Several of these people had bullets enter through their tailbone and then exit through their shoulders as they tried to crawl to safety.
This event and the government's reaction to it sadly only fueled the flames of sectarian violence and terrorism on both sides, and was the true start of the most recent Troubles in a troubled country. It was unnecessary death and sparked too much violence on both sides. As the song says for which this fic was named, "An eye for an eye, it was all that filled their minds, and another eye for another eye til everyone is blind." There are eyes remaining in Ireland and hopefully with the new inquiry into Bloody Sunday, both sides will come to terms with what happened and realize that violence is no longer needed and diplomacy can work.
Thanks for indulging my rambling. On with the story.
=================================================================
"And you dare to call me a terrorist, while you look down your gun?" Wolfe Tones, "Ballad of Joe McDonnell"
---------------------------------------------------
Shana sat a few hours later, nursing a warm Guinness, waiting for the man named Rourke to approach her. Her grandmother seemed certain he would recognize her. Her eyes kept alert and she was careful to drink slowly, she didn't know what was in store for her, but she did know that she was in a foreign country with a history of violence and she seemed to be in a Republican bar.
As she took another small sip, she heard a voice at her elbow, "You Shana?" The voice belonged to a man in his thirties with the ugly harsh accent of a Belfast native. He was dressed in faded pants, a polo style shirt and a knit cap. In some ways she was reminded of Shipwreck, though this man was much more stern and solemn than Shipwreck ever could be.
She turned her head to face him fully, "Who is it that wants to know? You Rourke?" She kept her voice low and casual, watching his reaction.
A slight smirk appeared, "Nah. He an' I go back though. I'm Donnell. I'm here to check you out though. Ya look a lot like the picture."
Her eyebrow shot up, "Picture? What picture?" Although her face betrayed none of it, her mind was racing, trying to figure out when she had been tailed unaware and photographed. "Donnell ...? Or ...Donnell?" Her facial expressions punctuated the question.
"Doesn't matter." He held forward a photograph, it was of her mother as a young woman, sitting on the lap of a man that was not her father, with people gathered around and seeming happy. "Though I must say, she looks a bit more up than you. Your gran said you looked like her."
Shana resisted another frown, taking the photo into her hands. "May I keep this?"
Donnell shrugged, "Take it up with Rourke. It's his. C'mon. Let's get out of here."
She quickly slipped the photo into her breast pocket, holding up a hand, "Where is he? I'm not going along with a wild goose chase. Where do you want to go?"
Donnell let out a sigh of annoyance, "It's not a wild goose chase, it's just a little quieter. It's a little shop just up the road. C'mon then."
Suspicious eyes scanned the crowd. If Rourke was out there, she wouldn't know it. She was also fairly confident that she could take down this man in a fight, but always better to avoid one. It was a gamble either way and she decided that her Gran wouldn't have sent her if it was dangerous. She nodded and motioned for him to lead the way.
He led her out of the pub, her Guinness abandoned. Motioning to a car parked out front, he opened a door for her. Shana shook her head, "No cars. We can walk."
The annoyed look returned to Donnell's face and he grimaced. "Fine, but if you have any weapons, you'd best leave them here now. Knives, guns, explosives." He waited expectantly, opening up the boot of the car.
She arched another eyebrow at the man, "Why would you think I was carrying any of those?"
He shrugged, "SOP. That and it's a bit warm for a jacket and the leg of your pants hangs differently on the left." He glared at her, waiting for her to unload. She was a bit surprised, most people didn't notice that she ever had weapons on her, especially those who don't know her.
Immediately she took off the knife strapped to her calf, handing it over. Casting a glance around and moving outside of the light of the streetlamps, she removed her gun from its holster and took out the clip and showed him that the chamber was empty. "You can keep my ammo, you can keep the firing pin, but the rest of it belongs to me and I will not let it out of my possession." Her voice dared him to challenge her.
He grumbled, taking the clip and the firing pin that she offered. He had the idea with the speed in which she was able to do that, this was the best he would get. Most trained professionals get attached to their primary gun. He wondered what she did for a living, eying her cautiously as she reholstered her gun. "Police or military?"
She shrugged, "Doesn't matter. I just want to speak with Rourke."
An argument to that sprung to his mind, but decided to let it go. If Rourke wanted to cut her loose, he could. "Fine there. Let's go."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
A short while later she was led into what appeared to be a closed cafe. But in the back there was a small living area and sitting at the table with a cup of tea was a man that she guessed was Rourke. He strongly resembled the man that held her mother in the old photo. Without a word, she sat across from him. Donnell moved out of the room, allowing them some privacy.
Rourke's face had a small smile on it, "YOu look a lot like your mother, Shana."
She nodded a little, "I've been hearing that a lot lately. You are Rourke I take it?" She watched him, waiting for confirmation.
He nodded his head in response, "Your gran said you were looking for information about your ma." He watched her carefully as he spoke, "What do you know about her already?"
"I know of her life after she moved to the US. Gran," She inadvertantly picked up the man's way of referring to her grandmother, "told me about her childhood and growing up. But no one would talk to me about what caused her and my father to cut off all ties and move to the U.S."
A sigh, "And she sent you to me. Alright. Where to begin with this." He leaned back in his chair pensively, "Your ma and I grew up together; my family lived just a couple doors down. We had always been close. When we got older, we went out and everyone thought we'd eventually get married." He paused, sipping his tea.
"What happened?" Shana was intrigued by this story so far.
"Didi -"
"Didi?" Shana interrupted suddenly with a smile, "I've never heard her called Didi before."
Rourke smiled in return, "It's what I called her. She hated it and would only put up with it from me," he chuckled, then turned more serious, "We were passionate about things." He seemed reticent about continuing, not sure how the woman before him would take the news or what her political leanings were, "We were young Irish Catholics during a time when it wasn't legal to be that. We felt strongly that things were wrong up here and there weren't many legal ways to change them."
The color drained from Shana's face and her stomach flipped over uneasily. She could see where he was leading her and the rest of the security that came around this meeting. Her voice was a dry rasp, "My mother was a terrorist?"
Rourke's eyes blazed and he slapped the table angrily, "No! She was a freedom fighter! She was fighting for civil rights and her life and country!"
Now Shana's anger began to rise, "No! You are all terrorists, don't pretty it up with fancy words!" She stood up.
"You tell me then what's the difference between a terrorist and a freedom fighter? What makes us different than you Americans when you fought against England? They are on OUR soil. They were and are oppressing us! Back then they did the same to your country and you fought against it. You didn't have official armies or uniforms, you hid and you killed when you were able! It is the only way to win a war against a larger opponent!" His voice was strong with anger and held her where she stood, listening to his words.
"There is no war though." Her voice was no longer so angry, an element of confusion entering the tone.
"Says who? England? Of course they say there is no war! That way they don't have to follow the Geneva Convention! It isn't to their benefit to admit that there is or was a war. Now sit down and think about this with me."
She sat, feeling disconnected and slightly ill. She had devoted her life to fighting terrorism, and her own mother was a terrorist. Or freedom-fighter. Did it really matter what it was called? She wasn't sure.
"Alright. Now there's a lot of misinformation that is out there. But both sides had unofficial armies and paramilitary groups, Unionists and Republicans both. I won't say that no civilians were killed, but sometimes collateral damage happens. But it was our only option. We were given no other way out of the mess we were in, we still do not have equal rights under the law here as Catholics. No one even would speak with us until we made it so they had to listen. That's how the lower 26 got their freedom. We're still fighting a war they gave up on though." He ran his hand through his silvery hair, "We don't like killing people Shana. But sometimes it must be done."
Silence reigned for a moment, she couldn't deny many of his words, then finally managed, "But now they listen, now they want to talk and are willing to change and you still are killing."
"Some are, I am not. My men and I honor the Good Friday Accord and ceasefire. Not everyone involved cares about this country, we also draw in those who just want an excuse to kill people and when they gather together, it's hard to control them sometimes."
She nodded a little, knowing it could be like that in the military too. She kept trying to wrap her mind around the concept that her mother, if she were still alive, would be deeply ashamed of her daughter's work. She thought of Cobra, doubt over what she was doing in her life washed over her. What made a cause justifiable? Could she be certain no civilians were never harmed as collateral damage from their side? What seperated them from Cobra? These questions swirled uneasily in her mind as she continued to listen.
"But for us, back then, it was really about just trying to be heard and win our freedom. As well as just staying alive. The Protestant paramilitary was killing Catholics left and right and we had to protect ourselves if the corrupt government wouldn't."
Shana nodded mutely. Rourke could see the conflicting emotions playing across her face and felt pity for her. He had found most Americans either felt that the IRA was totally in the wrong or totally in the right and had a hard time adjusting to the shades of grey. He reached out and patted her hand lightly in a fatherly gesture, "I'm sure this isn't what you wanted to hear about your Ma. But it is the truth."
Finally finding her voice, she questioned him, "So what changed? Why did she leave all of it?"
"Your Da." A note of bitterness was in the other man's voice. "We were hiding out in Drogheda after a mission and she met him in a pub. He convinced her that this was going to get her killed and that he didn't approve. She said she was in love, they got married here, and when she came up pregnant not too long after, he insisted they were going to leave the country and cut all ties." The anger bubbled to the top again, "And she did it. She left and we had no idea where she went. We didn't even know she died until years after the fact! And your poor gran, she missed Didi so much and wished she could meet you kids but she was denied that!"
Shana quickly came to the defense of her father, "He wanted to do what was right for them and to keep her safe! He wanted a good life for his children."
Rourke's anger faded again, "I suppose you are right. But it still hurt like hell. We all missed her terribly after she was gone." Grief took the forefront as the man thought of his lost love. "Missed her more than she would ever know." He looked away, trying to hide his pain, and when he turned back, the gruff exterior was back. "Any more you want to know Shana?" His tone clearly indicated that he wanted this conversation to be done.
She shook her head, "I can't think of anything right now. Can I contact you if I want to talk again?"
A curt nod, "Leave a note with the pub where you met Donnell. Be sure to leave a number I can ring."
"Thank you Rourke." She couldn't think of anything else to say, so she just turned and left. Donnell matched her pace as she walked out. "Thank you for taking me." Her voice was quiet and reflective, she had so much to digest now and all the pieces of information she had from her childhood began to fall into place. She wondered where this left her, how she could continue on as she did before, knowing what she did now.
Donnell wisely stayed silent during the walk back and when they arrived back at the car, he handed her back her knife, clip and firing pin. "Stay safe out there Shana. Come back here if you are ever in any trouble."
She expertly replaced the pin and clip, reholstering the gun and strapping the knife back to her calf, "I can handle any trouble that comes my way." She strode off into the night to return to her hotel and continue examining the night's events and maybe call her father.