O’Connell Street, the main thoroughfare in our capital city, was reshaped in the late 18th century to become the grand boulevard it is – or at least it should be – today. Crime, a lack of policing, and shameful neglect from the authorities allowing the proliferation of fast-food joints and generally grubbiness, does not take away from its historical importance. But a new row over the proposed redevelopment of one of its most distinguished buildings speaks, perhaps, to an old conflict.
I still remember the impact on me as a child of seeing the sheer width and sweep of O’Connell Street for the first time when my aunt Mary brought us in on the bus for ice-cream sundaes (with a cherry on top) and a trip to the Savoy to see Jungle Book.
It was magic: we were newly arrived up from Cork and though we thought ourselves obviously superior in every way to the Dubs, there was no denying that this was a splendid main street, with monumental statues and gorgeous architecture. And, of course, a sense of history. On this street, Irish men and women had fought an Empire to win our freedom.
The centrepiece of O’Connell Street is the iconic GPO, the creation of architect Francis Johnston and finished in 1815, with its neo-Classical lines and Ionic columns and its enormous historical significance. As everyone knows, it was at the GPO on Easter Monday in 1916 that Pádraig Mac Piarais, poet, barrister, teacher and revolutionary, dressed in the uniform of the Volunteers, read the Proclamation of the Irish Republic. It was a seminal moment.
The Rising had begun. The general post office was to be its headquarters. The eye witness accounts of what transpired in that week before the bombardment of Dublin forced a surrender are now part of our collective memory and collective pride. Five of the Proclamation’s signatories were headquartered there. Plunkett, already grievously ill with tuberculosis and recovering from surgery, was a “striking figure” according to Desmond Ryan, “assiduous and persistent in keeping up the spirits of the men”.
Pearse was the “most central figure in that dangerous front room. McDermott was as gentle and as fiery as he always was. Tom Clarke seemed quite at home,” Ryan later wrote. James Connolly, wounded and lying on a stretcher, “refused to remain a patient in the Casualty Station and his bed was moved to the main hall where headquarters were”. The women of Cumann na mBan attended the wounded as the conflict raged, and carried dispatches and weapons.
It was in the GPO that the Volunteers sang An Dord Féinne, Óró Sé Do Bheatha Bhaile, which Pearse had repurposed as a cry for freedom. Amidst the smoke and noise and chaos, the heroism of those who took up arms against such terrible odds became a beacon of inspiration – and remains so.
After days of shelling from British forces, the conflagration in the buildings around them grew and spread, and the roof of the GPO collapsed. The O’Rahilly, who had been surprised to see the Rising go ahead after MacNeill’s countermanding order, turned up ‘immaculately uniformed’ declaring that “I’ve helped to wind up the clock – I might as well hear it strike”. He led a desperate charge, sword in hand, from the burning GPO against a British Army barricade, seeking to clear an escape route for his fellow Volunteers onto Moore Street, but was shot down: bleeding to death in Sackville Lane.
In order to evacuate the building, the rebels tunneled through the walls of the neighbouring buildings and took up a new position in 16 Moore Street – another street of historical importance that is now the cause of controversy over its proposed use.
There are bullet holes in the columns outside the GPO, and visible scars from the bombardment mark its façade. It’s a physical representation – and a physical connection – of an momentous, exciting and vital part of our history. But now the government is proposing to, according to this RTÉ report, turn it into some sort of mixed-use development.
Earlier this week, the Government backed plans to redevelop the building into a mixed-use precinct, which would include possible retail components, offices, the retention of a post office and significant cultural use.
“Possible retail components”. What does that mean? A god-awful Starbucks or a Dealz or maybe one of the ubiquitous Vape Shops? Even if the government has the best intentions, it sounds like a grubby aspiration for a site of national importance. It’s no wonder that so many responses have relied on Yeats’ September 1913:
“What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone;”
The criticisms seem fair. No other country would treat hallowed historical ground in a cavalier fashion. Independence Hall in Philadelphia isn’t being refashioned to include retail because the Americans understand the significance of history and of preserving and protecting heritage, especially their own. While this government might insist that their plans will afford the GPO the respect it deserves, there are several reasons why it could be felt that they can’t be trusted with such a project.
Firstly, there is the long and persistent echo of the Civil War divide, which still manifests itself in much of the extraordinary, almost inexplicable, antagonism from some quarters towards anything that might be considered nationalistic: from the language, to our culture, to the memory of those who fought and died for our freedom. It is seen in the endless attempts to denigrate Irishness mostly by those who don’t show any real appreciation of our heritage, but who are often driven by what seems to be an ingrained desire to tug the forelock to our former colonisers. The right of said colonisers to elevate their own historical figures and culture is never questioned, however.
That attitude came to the fore in the disastrous attempts by the government during the preparations for the 2016 centenary commemorations to airbrush the Rising and its heroes out of the national remembrance of the same. Those plans were shelved after a public outcry – an outcry which might arise again if the deep attachment to the history of GPO, which many Irish people feel, is trampled on.
Secondly, the government has already shown some disregard for the historical sites of the Rising in the ongoing tussle regarding the conflict between the plan for a 1916 Rising National Monument buildings at 14-17 Moore Street, and commercial developments for the area. While most reasonable people will be happy to see dereliction in the city addressed and revitalisation happen, it need not be – nor should it be – at the expense of the duty of the State to recognise and protect our history and our heritage.
Peadar Tóibín asked this week if nothing was “sacred anymore in this country”. He added that “even the very mention of the GPO pulls at the strings of Irish men and women. It is in our hearts. Our bones. We have a visceral attachment to it and love and respect for it. To us it’s not just a building.”
What will concern many of those alarmed at the proposals for the GPO is that we have an establishment that rails against “backward-looking sovereignty”, views the Tricolour with suspicion, and seem to think that adding the halfpence to the pence trumps all else.