Shortly after John F Kennedy’s 1963 visit to Ireland, when he left a country hoarse from cheering, Time magazine informed its readers that there was a “New spirit in the ould sod”. Ireland had a dynamic leader in Seán Lemass, known as “an old man in a hurry”.
In July, the magazine featured the 63-year-old taoiseach on the cover; behind him a leprechaun opened a green curtain, with a shamrock pattern, to reveal an imposing factory. Under his captaincy, Ireland had shaken off its gloomy mood to become unashamedly optimistic. While there was still “thoughtful consumption of stout” and “weighty disputation”, Time reported that for the first time in decades most people in Ireland saw a bright future ahead. In his address to the Oireachtas the US president told the TDs and senators that the world needed what he described as the Irish combination of “hope, confidence and imagination”. Kennedy also told them that if his great-grandfather had not emigrated to America he might be sitting “here today among you”. He added that if Ireland’s president, Éamon de Valera, had not left Brooklyn as a child he might be sitting in the White House. “Jack’s homecoming,” as Time put it, “epitomised to the Irish the successful distance they themselves have travelled.”
The reasons for optimism were evident everywhere, according to the magazine’s profile of Lemass – new industrial plants and office buildings, Fords and Volkswagens in the streets, TV aerials crowding the rooftops. And the taoiseach personified the new “can do” mood.
Whereas his predecessor, de Valera, had the “martyr’s face” and the “mystic mind” that the Irish had always adored, the magazine’s correspondent wrote, Lemass was the opposite in being a “reticent, pragmatic planner”. He had laboured single-mindedly for a long time as a minister to break the vicious circle of economic stagnation and dwindling population. The tide of emigration had ebbed, and many exiles had returned to find employment at home. “Today”, the Time writer added, “the Irish are beginning to stand on their feet”.
‘An old man in a hurry’ – John Mulqueen on Seán Lemass
Trial by Drury – Frank McNally on how a small Dublin street became a flashpoint for debate on the city’s future
Blast from the past – Frank McNally on the shock of a 1965 recording of the national anthem
Ostentatiously discreet – Frank McNally on the French honours ribbon
The “newly outward-looking” Irish state had secured international influence out of all proportion to its size and commanded respect in the United Nations.
When the often-abrasive Lemass finally took over, in 1959, de Valera’s cherished protectionism was discarded and foreign investors were welcomed. Industrial Development Authority executives – or “blarney-blessed salesmen”, in the words of the (blarney-blessed) Times writer – travelled the world to persuade industrialists to invest in the Emerald Isle.
The taoiseach’s biggest disappointment had been Charles de Gaulle’s rejection of the British bid to join the European Economic Community (EEC) – Ireland’s application fell along with Britain’s. To prepare the ground for a successful attempt at joining the bloc – Lemass thought this would not happen before 1970 – he committed the Irish state to Nato’s policies, as the then six EEC members were also members of the military alliance.
During the Cuban Missile Crisis, the previous October, he told the Dáil that 99 per cent of the population opposed the Soviet Union’s “communist empire” – Ireland did not have a politically neutral position and aligned itself with the West.
De Valera’s anti-partitionist rhetoric had also been jettisoned. If Britain and Ireland joined the EEC, Lemass argued, the dismantling of tariff barriers would necessitate North-South economic co-operation that would bring the reunification goal closer. Overall, he famously held the view that “a rising tide lifts all boats”. Unfortunately, some problems in his jurisdiction stubbornly remained – in particular, housing. And then, beyond his control, there was the sectarian Northern Ireland state.
Following the failure of its “border campaign”, the leadership of a broken IRA began to emphasise socialism, secularism, and anti-sectarianism. This course was guided by republican teaching, especially the foundational ideas of Theobald Wolfe Tone, particularly Tone’s argument that overcoming sectarianism was the means to revolutionary change in Ireland. Symbolically, in September 1963, during a series of lectures marking the bicentenary of Tone’s birth, Cathal Goulding, the IRA chief of staff, invited Hubert Butler, a Protestant, to speak in the Mansion House on “The ideology of Tone”. This focused on what Butler described as Tone’s “imperishable ideal”, the common name of Irishman.
The 1960s were socially turbulent years. Television broadened people’s horizons, and subjects that had previously been almost taboo were examined openly. Challenging the power of the Catholic Church, for example, did not involve the same social and political risks as hitherto. Television viewers could watch coverage of international issues such as the US war in Vietnam and the struggle against the apartheid regime in South Africa. Left-wing republicans later organised protest movements that focused on the provision of public housing, and, most significantly, civil rights in the North.
And who would support a revolutionary struggle for national independence? The answer – invoking Tone – was “the men of no property”.
However, in August 1969 violence erupted between Catholics and Protestants in Derry and Belfast, and the deployment of British troops signalled the end of the northern civil rights campaign and the onset of the Troubles.
Not everyone subscribed to Lemass’s “rising tide” theory.