Markievicz was neither monster nor heroine – she was much more complex than that
“My enemies will make a monster out of me, my friends a heroine. Both are wide of the truth.”
SO Constance Markievicz wrote to her brother, Josslyn Gore-Booth, from prison in 1916. Such distortions could be expected in the aftermath of the 1916 Rising, but a century later we should have a clearer view of her life and achievements. As we approach the anniversary of her death tomorrow, and the centenary of her election to Westminster in December, it is a good time to examine her personality in all its complexity and humanity.
When I started writing about Constance and her family I discovered that she means many things to different people. Many people hold positive and negative views about her.
The “monster” agenda is still prevalent, such as the inaccurate derogatory depictions in recent RTÉ dramatisations of Easter Week. Ironically, a few feminists think she attracts too much notice and needs taking down a peg. But there is also much distortion from admirers who use her as a poster image without interest in her multi-faceted life.
I attempted to discover the real Constance from direct sources – her writings, art and letters, accounts by close friends and comrades and the marvellous Lissadell Papers in Belfast.
I found a woman who was passionate, humorous, obstinate, bossy, creative, spiritual and loyal – someone who did not fit into the standard boxes or categories, then or now.
I hoped Constance admirers would be delighted to discover the many aspects of her life and character and brought my first book, ‘The Polish Irishman: Life and Times of Count Casimir Markievicz’, to a conference under her name. I explained to an organiser about my new research on the influence of her husband and the Markievicz family. The lady looked at me as though I were slightly unbalanced: “Her husband? We don’t want to know anything about that.” As I attempted to explain the part
Casimir and the Polish connection played in Constance’s story I could see she was not having any of it. It took me some time to realise that her lack of response was part of a pattern. While the event does highlight many worthy causes, it was obvious that female speakers were expected to represent Constance.
Then came the 1916 commemorations, with a major conference on Constance. When I asked to be included, the message returned that speakers were exclusively female. Having written two books on the family, (‘Sisters Against the Empire: Countess Markievicz & Eva Gore-Booth’ was now out) more than any of the speakers, stood for nothing – I was the wrong gender. It seemed contrary to the spirit of everything Constance stood for.
Silence made no difference; in the meantime I spoke about Constance to local historical societies, arts organisations, even in the Jagiellonian University in Kraków and the Shevchenko University in Kiev, but in Ireland the commentary appears controlled by coteries who choose the same speakers time after time.
Many groups use Constance as a figurehead, a poster image for a photocall, but have no interest in the personality behind the image. Even Catholics were puzzled when I offered to give a talk on Constance’s conversion in 1916: “Wasn’t she a Bolshevik supporter?” Yes, but only at the start when it looked as though the Revolution would bring peace and justice.
However, parties and groups of all colours use the past as a source to be plundered to justify present policies. That is our loss as well – to fail to understand the past is a sure way to repeat it.
In the past century, Constance has become an archetypal figure on which people project their fears and hopes, loves and hates.
Modern activists with an à la carte approach to the past find it hard to understand that there was a time when the same person could be a nationalist, feminist, socialist and Christian. She moved between the different organisations and did not limit herself to a narrow agenda.
Our obsession with victimhood and persistent complaining would be alien to her. She encouraged people to develop themselves and be self-reliant, not to whinge at the State to do everything.
Instead of preaching gender equality, she practised it all her life – but did not use it as a stick to beat others.
In 1924 she wrote to her stepson, Stasko, in
I found a woman who was passionate, humorous, obstinate, bossy, creative, spiritual and loyal – someone who did not fit into the standard boxes or categories, then or now
Poland about the situation in Ireland. She was distressed over the demobilisation of a large number of soldiers by the Free State government. She had been violently opposed to the same soldiers in the Civil War a short time previously, but the hardship to the families were her main concern.
I hope the current commemorations will have some lasting impact; there should be a full collection of her letters in which we can hear the voice which Dorothy McArdle compared to “a living stream”.
The Prison Journals in the National Museum, with scores of beautiful drawings and poems, should also be made available, and the best of her journalism.
She was a feminist in the broadest sense – she recognised that real equality comes when men and women treat each other with respect, not as opponents. She was a champion for the rights of all humanity, not just a part of it.
Patrick Quigley’s biography of Stanislaw Markievicz, ‘Stasko: Ireland, Poland and the Legacy of Countess Markievicz’, is forthcoming.