Dr Patrick Pinkerton is a Lecturer in Politics and International Relations at Queen Mary University of London, and a Module Convenor for the Queen Mary Online International Relations MA. He has published work on the post-conflict situations in Northern Ireland and Bosnia-Herzegovina, and is currently finalising a book on this topic. In the post below, he explores the ongoing criminal proceedings into the 1972 ‘Bloody Sunday’ massacre in Londonderry.
Anyone familiar with the politics of Northern Ireland will know that summer is often a contentious time, with parades and bonfires regularly provoking violent clashes with police. While the Twelfth of July marches passed off relatively peacefully this year, August has seen increased tensions, and some violent incidents, around ‘anti-internment’ bonfires and the annual Apprentice Boy parades.
This post is not the place to unravel the long and complicated history of contentious cultural displays and commemorative events in Northern Ireland: but one recent addition to this tradition is worthy of further discussion. This is the use of the emblem of the Parachute Regiment of the British Army, either as a hated symbol to be set alight by those opposed to British jurisdiction over Northern Ireland, or an image of defiance used to demonstrate loyalty to the British state and crown.
The Parachute Regiment occupy this contested position in Northern Ireland largely due to one event: the ‘Bloody Sunday’ massacre of 30th January 1972, when a civil rights march in the city of Derry ended with the killing of thirteen innocent people by soldiers from that regiment. A fourteenth person was to die one month later from their gunshot injuries. Bloody Sunday was the symbolic death of the peaceful movement for political change in Northern Ireland. It signalled the stepping-up of the violent IRA campaign, and the beginning of twenty-five years of near-uninterrupted conflict and killing.
The families of the victims of Bloody Sunday have engaged in a long campaign for justice. After a landmark apology for the deaths by then Prime Minister David Cameron in June 2010, when the unlawful nature of the killings was affirmed, attention turned to seeking criminal prosecution of the soldiers implicated. In March 2019 the Public Prosecution Service said that such proceedings could begin against the paratrooper known as ‘Soldier F’, for the murder of two of the fourteen victims.
For the families of the others killed on Bloody Sunday, the fact that only one soldier will face trial is a matter of grave disappointment, and an indication of the flaws in the British justice system. However, for some others, this turn of events is scandalous in a very different way.
A large number of MPs from the governing Conservative Party, including the current Prime Minister, have expressed concern and outrage over the treatment of those who served in Northern Ireland, and the dangerous precedents this may set for current and future military operations. They have been joined by veteran associations and former military chiefs in rallying against the threatened prosecution of soldiers for actions taken while serving Queen and Country several decades ago.
The ongoing case of ‘Soldier F’ therefore throws up a whole range of contentious questions, that go far beyond the politics of Northern Ireland. One fundamental issue raised here is the role of the military in society. While the common understanding is that the armed forces should be deployed only to secure a state from external attack or to defend the state’s interests overseas, Bloody Sunday demonstrates that the army are sometimes called upon to play an internal security role. When they do, this challenges the traditional distinction between the military and the police: something that is also being blurred by the creeping ‘militarisation’ of the police, in the UK and elsewhere.
The case also raises complex questions about how soldiers themselves are treated by society. While the idea of a ‘covenant’ between the army and society is long established in the UK, research has highlighted signs of the breakdown in this relationship, with tens of thousands of ex-soldiers homeless, in prison, or struggling with mental health issues.
For the Conservative MPs and veteran associations campaigning in support of ‘Soldier F’, the convenant should go further still, with serving personnel excused from the standards of law and human rights that others are held to, due to the fact that they risk their lives to secure and protect their country. For the families of those killed on Bloody Sunday, and in other incidents involving the British Army in Northern Ireland, these same soldiers should face the full force of the law.
Finally, the case raises pressing questions about justice and reconciliation in the aftermath of war. If we step outside the opposed viewpoints of survivors of massacres, and those who would protect the armed forces at all costs, can we identify a process of engaging with the aftermath of conflict that can best serve the interest of peace? From such a perspective, perhaps a South African-style ‘truth and reconciliation’ commission, with attendant amnesties for those who take part, would be a more effective form of peacebuilding: particularly as it can side-step the accusations of victimhood and persecution that accompany a criminal justice process.
We explore a range of issues relating to contemporary practices of war, militarism and peacebuilding in the Queen Mary Online International Relations MA module ‘International Security: War and Peace in a Global Context’.