There is a unique piece of Irish history located somewhere in Miami. Its loss to this country is a tale of nasty suppression culminating in callous indifference, writes Mary Raftery
This Eastertime, rather than watching weaponry jaunting through the capital city, the Government might more usefully have applied itself to undoing the shameful injustice that now deprives us of this history.
The story begins, somewhat ironically, with one of the first acts of generosity by the young Irish Free State. Taking its place among the nations of the world in the 1920s, the Irish government was enthusiastic about presenting a gift to the new League of Nations building for the headquarters of the International Labour Office in Geneva.
With great imagination, the Cumann na nGaedheal government decided in 1926 to commission stained glass artist Harry Clarke to design a window for the Geneva building.
Clarke had at the time an international reputation for his church windows, and the bulk of his work was religiously themed. However, for the Geneva window, he was given complete artistic freedom and clearly revelled in his liberation.
He decided to create eight panels based on selected works by 15 major Irish literary figures.
WB Yeats was, according to Clarke, "wildly enthusiastic and was of tremendous help with his suggestions". Among the authors chosen to have their work represented in the window were Yeats himself, James Joyce, Sean O'Casey, James Stephens, AE, Liam O'Flaherty, GB Shaw, JM Synge, Lady Gregory, Pádraic Colum and Lennox Robinson.
It was not an entirely safe subject to choose. With the Censorship of Publications Act coming into force in 1929, several of Clarke's chosen writers were about to be banned in their native land. Some had already achieved the status of pariah.
Clarke was wise to this, according to an article by his son, Michael, in the catalogue for the 1988 London exhibition of his father's work. In the case of James Joyce, for instance, Harry carefully chose an early and inoffensive poem. For Liam O'Flaherty, however, he was not so circumspect.
The O'Flaherty panel caused consternation among government ministers when they finally saw the finished work. It was based on his highly successful 1926 novel, Mr Gilhooley, which had been described by WB Yeats as "a great novel".
Art historian Nicola Gordon Bowe describes the panel as showing a wart-faced Gilhooley, his fat body slumped in an armchair, ogling the almost naked form of a siren draped in a translucent veil.
It did not, however, appear to be the nakedness which gave offence. Rather it was the fact that O'Flaherty had been included in the first place. He was a sometimes savage critic of conservative Ireland, had fought on the anti-treaty side in the Civil War and had become a communist.
The file on the fate of the Geneva window, which is to be found in the National Archives, contains an exchange of letters between taoiseach WT Cosgrave and Clarke. On viewing the completed window at Clarke's Dublin workshop in September 1930, Cosgrave wrote to Clarke: "I consider that it would not be desirable to include the panel which contains representation from the books of Mr Liam O'Flaherty." Cosgrave hastened to add that he did not dispute the artistic merit of the piece, which he described as "a most remarkable and successful artistic achievement". His difficulty, he wrote, arose from "the fact that the inclusion of scenes from certain authors as representative of Irish literature and culture would give grave offence to many of our people". Other notes in the National Archives file indicate that the inclusion of James Joyce was also a subject of concern. Later speculation even blamed the presence of a bottle of Guinness beside the figure of Sean O'Casey's Joxer Daly.
Harry Clarke thanked the taoiseach for his letter, the contents of which "surprise and worry me very much". The artist was by then dying of tuberculosis. Although the State had spurned the window, even refusing to put it on public display, Clarke was eventually paid for his work. The check for £450 arrived three weeks after his death in January 1931. He was 41.
The government then set about "disposing" of the window. Two years later, they arranged for Clarke's widow, Margaret, to buy it back - it cost her £450. This, of course, was now a Fianna Fáil government, but nothing had changed.
The Clarke family allowed the window to go on display at the Hugh Lane gallery during the 1970s, but in 1988 they decided to sell it. There appeared to be no interest from the State. It was bought for a six-figure sum by the Wolfsonian Foundation in Florida, where it now resides.
The fate of the Geneva window encapsulates what this country became on foot of the 1916 Rising - narrow, mean-spirited and dishonourable. It is easy to wallow in sentimentality and smug notions of inclusiveness, celebrating the aspirations of the Proclamation and parading around the place with big guns. It is more uncomfortable, but profoundly more worthwhile, to set right the sins of the past. It is time to bring the Geneva window home.