Forgetful remembrance: Social forgetting and vernacular historiography of a Rebellion in Ulster

Guy Beiner’s Forgetful Remembrance (2018) offers an investigation into historical events, and what happens when communities affected by or related to the event attempt to either remember or forget. Focusing on the 1798 United Irishmen’s Rebellion, Beiner crafts a potent analysis not only of how the Rebellion has been remembered but the attempts that have been made to forget the event. In reviewing Forgetful Remembrance, it is fundamentally necessary to first offer feedback on Beiner’s introductory framework, paying particular attention to how the concepts of ‘vernacular historiography’ and ‘social forgetting’ lay the base for an in-depth case study on the 1798 Rebellion. Equally, I extend on Beiner’s analysis of the concepts of ‘silence’, and ‘social memory/cultural forgetting’ in different times and spaces. As Beiner situates contemporary Ulster as ‘a particularly suitable setting for a study of social forgetting’ (p. 30), I have elected to pay special attention to these aspects of Beiner’s Forgetful Remembrance, reviewing through the lens of living in Belfast in 2020. As a city which is undeniably affected by cultural, political, religious and sectarian division, reading this work has both illuminated for me how memory and forgetting plays out in the specific cultural context of Northern Ireland. It has also reinforced how social memory and forgetting shapes everyday life here: as quoted, ‘the shape of Irish history’ deems it ‘difficult to see where the past ends and the present begins’ (Stewart, 2001, in Beiner, p. 4). I must initially note that while rich historical narratives clearly have a saturated role in the social fabric of Belfast, moving here in 2016, I initially underestimated just how different the experience of living here would be as opposed to my native ‘mainland’ United Kingdom. Consider for instance that on a fifteen-minute daily commute from my residence into Belfast City Centre, I see street signs in both Gaelic and English, and pass a ‘peace wall’ which currently has sixteen politically thematic murals on its Falls Road facing side. As any observation from a bar stool or taxi driver would relay, living in largely nationalist West Belfast as a lapsed Catholic with an English regional accent would have been ‘unthinkable thirty years ago’. So then, a ripe time has emerged to observe and demonstrate how the themes in Forgetful Remembrance play out in everyday life.

Forgetful Remembrance offers a chronological charter of social memory and forgetting in relation to the 1798 Rebellion. The book’s chapters are divided by relevant issues in the era in which they arose. Foremostly, the chapter, ‘Pre-Forgetting: Before 1798’ provides an analytical frame in which to view memory and forgetting, in terms of the unfolding events of the Rebellion. Then, Beiner analyses the course of social memory, forgetting, and the legacy of the 1798 Rebellion within these frames throughout the first (‘The Generation of Forgetting: The First Half of the Nineteenth Century’) and second (‘Regenerated Forgetting: The Second Half of the Nineteenth Century’) parts of the nineteenth century, accounting for themes emerging at the turn of the nineteenth to the twentieth century (‘Decommemorating: The Turn of the Century’), and beyond (‘Restored Forgetting: The Short Twentieth Century’). Memory and forgetting is also approached in terms of the modern day (‘Post-Forgetting: Into the Twenty-First Century), while the concluding chapter clarifies contemporarily pertinent issues, notably social forgetting further afield from the backdrop of Ulster (‘Social Forgetting beyond Ulster’). This provides both ease of reading, and dimension to analysis, by way of a book organised through the accords of time and space.

In this review, I firstly wish to discuss Beiner’s use and depiction of ‘vernacular historiography’. The vernacular aspects of historiography are certainly found in relics, notably Thucydides’ History of the Pelopponesian War: even at his time of writing, Thucydides had a demonstrable awareness of ‘imperfect memory’ – that is, the processing of historical events through particular audiences, and therefore through common ‘undue partiality of one side or another’ (1910, in Beiner, p. 6). Beiner identifies the foundations of historiography as processes of remembering and forgetting which are dependent on the particular backdrop of the individual audience. ‘Undue partiality’ in historical memory is clearly something which underpins issues of division in Northern Ireland. An example of particular clarity is the recent debate surrounding the introduction of an Irish Language Act, which would provide the Irish language with equal status in Northern Ireland legislatively. Enormous debates have emerged surrounding the proposed Irish Language Act on account of its benefit to the cultural memory of one ‘side’ here (Irish speakers, including Irish nationalists and republicans), at the argued detriment of the ‘other side’ (non-Irish speakers, including some unionists and loyalists). Assumedly then, some fervent unionists and loyalists feel that the introduction of an Irish Language Act offers to their ‘oppositional side’ a kind of cultural protection, therefore imposing a threat to the cultural rights and establishment of unionist and loyalist communities. Equally, the un-ackowledgement of sectarian violence and murders perpetuated by loyalist or republican paramilitaries against members of the ‘other side’ is a common theme in Northern Ireland, as suggested by scholars dealing with post-conflict memorialisation in the region (Viggiani, 1997, in Beiner). Beiner’s nod to histories of ‘undue partiality’ then is a simple, effective lens through which to view how, and of course why, particular audiences process historical knowledge in different ways, account for exaggerations and omissions alike.

In dealing with the emergence of vernacular historiography, Beiner also charts how histories have been produced in scholarly circles, taking into consideration pivotal attempts to make history more accessible. The History Workshop Movement’s build on ‘history from below’, intended to aid ‘democratising the act of historical production’ (Samuel, 1981, in Beiner, p. 9). Beiner raises an important point about attempts to ‘democratise’ processes of history here: as Marxist historical scholars attempt to achieve grounds for democratisation and progressiveness within the historiographical process, these same scholars ascribe intentions of progressiveness to movements, institution and individuals who may be succeeding in, but not necessarily operating with the intention, of progression. This poignant element of Beiner’s introductory analysis could again be markedly aligned with the debate surrounding the Irish Language Act: it would not be out of turn to assume that the base intention of those who wish to see the Irish Language Act legislated is simply to see the Irish language protected and officially recognised in Northern Ireland. While progressiveness would be achieved as a sort of collateral impact then, it is not necessarily reasonable to conclude that social progress is the core aim of the Irish Language Act’s introduction. Beiner is equally noteworthy in his related analysis that ‘democratic’ historiographies are not immune to scholarly hierarchy. To illustrate this hierarchy in action, Beiner draws from prominent works by Grele (1988, in Beiner) and Frisch (1990, in Beiner) who assess that non-professional historians call for equal recognition of their contributions to the historical field, which tend to be rooted in local history, community history projects, and oral history compendiums; thus, a divide emerges between amateur, grassroots historians, versus curators and an unconvinced arena of historical scholars. This ‘shared authority’ divide (Frisch, 1990, in Beiner, p. 11) is something to be aware of in undergoing any analysis of how any historical event is intentionally remembered or forgotten, as history will always be vulnerable to elitist perceptions based on rigid standards of scientific purity. Perhaps this also links to the previously discussed concept of ‘undue partiality’, in that historians are in themselves an audience after all.

Beiner equally offers a powerful conclusion about the seemingly esoteric and hidden nature of vernacular historiographies: ‘one just has to look outside of the conventional repositories of historical knowledge’ (p. 14). This recalls the importance of unorthodox or ‘alternative’ histories, and methods of gathering and transmitting historical knowledge, in order to give dimension not readily available by traditional historical scholarship alone. In 2020, we certainly see these other kinds of historical knowledge transmissions emerging, taking for instance ‘meme culture’ as coined by Richard Dawkins (in Beiner, p. 15). Or, take for example the rise of satirical news outlets: the popular ‘Dundonald Liberation Army’ Facebook page, which has a fanbase of 40,000, provides witty, and sometimes contentious, satirical news articles written from the perspective of a ‘cross-community paramilitary organisation’ in Northern Ireland. Sporting crossed water pistols as a logo, and dealing with historical events and Northern Ireland-related social issues such as paramilitary violence, Brexit, and scandals from Stormont, the fictional Dundonald Liberation Army utilises humour to both address and cement some of the more contentious or troubling aspects collective historical memory in Northern Ireland. Equally, as Beiner points out, the emergence of storytelling as a popular means of dealing with the past in Northern Ireland has transformed into a burgeoning cultural scene of events, workshops and festivals on conflict storytelling in Belfast alone. This is indicative of the point that historical knowledge does exist outside of the traditional scholarly sense – it is up to the scholar to seek out these other wellsprings of history.

Beiner also raises the introductory point that social forgetting initially requires remembrance (p.1). Remembrance takes its place as an initial framework which is then seceded by social forgetting, thus forgetting can become a method of remembrance in itself. Though this may seem paradoxical, it is exemplary to consider for instance ‘remembrance days’ in general: for 364 days of a year, the events commemorated on these days do not simply cease to exist in social consciousness. Yet instead, they are regaled in a special way on given remembrance dates. Beiner also exemplifies the use of forgetting in courtroom settings. A judge may determine that certain portions of evidence are dubious or legally impermissible, and then asks the jury to discard this evidence, thus ‘forgetting’ it. While this may manifest as a verdict otherwise uninhibited by the evidence the judge has ordered to be disregarded, there is always a marked chance that jury members have indeed ‘remembered’ it (p. 17). A parallel example which illustrates Beiner’s point might be the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia’s use of Clause 96 of the Rules of Procedure and Evidence (until the Tribunal’s conclusion in 2017). Clause 96 prohibits the prior sexual conduct of witnesses coming into question in court session (Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe, 2014). While prohibiting prior sexual conduct of the witness is an agreeably positive aspect of the justice process in itself, there is no way to know whether this knowledge could subtly impact jurors, and no measurement of a kind of psychological safeguard exists against it. As confirmation bias is not a new concept, while a measure of combating impunity is provided by Clause 96, for better or for worse we can never really know what impact such knowledge could have on a juror’s process of reaching a verdict. Speaking of which, I also wish to commend Beiner’s feedback on Rieff’s In Praise of Forgetting. Therein, Rieff presents historical memory as a possible social harm. Beiner argues that historical memory cannot simply be switched off and negated (pp. 24–25). It could be argued that manufactured and intentional forgetting in fact has the capacity to present the regurgitation of institutionalised injustices of survivors of heinous crimes in violent conflict settings. While there is certainly an ongoing debate between ‘forgetting’ as a positive factor in post-conflict rebuilding and the ethical and practical invalidity of intentional ‘forgetting’, it is important to be aware that individual lived experiences are not automatically denigrated in terms of importance, irrespective of whether not ‘forgetting’ provides stable grounds to foster progress in post-conflict settings.

A point of particular interest in Beiner’s Forgetful Remembrance is his analysis of silence in the wider nexus of historical remembrance and forgetting. Providing commentary on the enduring bond between discourses of social forgetting, and ‘a perceived veil of silence’ (p. xvii), Beiner asserts that silence is in fact multivocal. This is an interesting foundation, as Beiner suggests that silence (a) has to use beyond the perception of a concept that is enforced and (b) in the context of the remembrance of the 1798 Rebellion – and assumedly in remembrance of historical events more widely – silence is not necessarily silent. It is simply the case that the methods of orthodox historical scholarship do not give space for memory. Again, this feeds into the debate around the validity and scientific rigour of non-professional modes of history, or what we might call unorthodox, alternative measures of capturing history. As such, Beiner’s work raises the key question: is silence passive? Charting silence as a seldom authoritative tool, Beiner exemplifies the conviction of William Orr and the instrumental silence in the remembrance of him: Orr’s execution has been described as an ‘impressive’ though ‘unnecessary show of arms’, with the ‘popular response to the ordeal … marked by silence’ and ‘horror-struck reactions’ (p. 72). This characterises the way in which silence may manifest through the sheer shock and trauma of some historical events. However, the point is also made that the United Irishmen had perceived ‘the liberty of the press’ as the opposite, and the counterbalance, of silence (Press, 1797, in Beiner, p. 75).

Silence is also typified in histories of the 1798 Rebellion in poetry, famously William Drennan’s The Wake. Consider the following verse:

This overt reference to silence as a provision of memory is certainly blatant enough to warrant Beiner’s assertion that ‘silence was making a strong point’ (p. 81). Beiner therefore powerfully blends analyses that silence is not passive, as it can be used as an adaptive technique of memory, particularly in times and places where giving voice to memory carries risks to reputation, association, or essentially life. Meanwhile, in 2020 we still see silence as a symbol of remembrance in itself. Consider the way in which we use two-minute silences to commemorate fallen soldiers every 11 of November. Carving out this time to focus on giving memory and thanks is a stark example of Beiner’s assertion in action. Equally, silence has become synonymous with its own symbolism, of staunchness, stealth, and dignity. Perhaps this is why ‘poetic [calls] for silence – not actual silence – embedded a discourse of omissions into the cultural memory of the United Irishmen (p. 79). With silence being used as a tool of this intimate kind of remembrance, I am reminded of a poignant argument raised in wider conceptual analyses of ‘silence’. That is to say, that silence expands understanding through what is not said, rather than what is Bhambra and Shilliam (2009). Conversely, Beiner contributes to the analysis of silence as an attempted enforcement, and the resistances to silence which followed. For example, the attempts by authorities to prevent the circulation of William Orr’s ‘dying declaration’ nonetheless failed, finding its way into the popular press (p. 73). This demonstrates Beiner’s ability to seamlessly integrate the many types and uses of silence within his analysis of the events following the 1798 Rebellion.

Furthermore, in the presence of silence, Beiner also notes that non-verbal communicative codes come into practice in communities who are engaged in remembrance of historical events. For instance, the wearing of the green ribbon and coloured coat at the time of Orr’s ‘struggle’ became instrumental to the uniform of the United Irishmen. Thus, dressing in memory can be used as a ‘non-verbal memorial practice’ (p. 79). The reference to Orr’s green ribbon is not unlike remembrance flower pins that can be seen in Northern Ireland; particularly, the white lily symbolising remembrance of those executed following the 1916 Easter Rising, or the red poppy which was originally produced to symbolise commemoration of fallen soldiers during the First World War (the latter is also commonly seen throughout the month of November in the United Kingdom mainland). I feel it is necessary here to give comment to the deeper political divisional connotations of the red poppy, in the wider backdrop of Northern Ireland. It is not likely to see poppies on sale in convenience stores in predominantly nationalist areas of Belfast, due to their production by the Royal British Legion. The poppy also provides an area of contention in sport too, as some footballers who play for England but consider their ancestry to be Irish have expressed disdain at the obligation to wear a symbol which presents personal issues to them, and have consequently refused to do so. Footballer James McClean, who is from the Creggan estate in Derry (which lost six residents to British soldiers during Bloody Sunday in 1972) vocally refused to wear the poppy due to its extension of commemoration – from those who died in the First World War, to British military personnel who have died more widely (Stromberg for The Independent, 2017). It is here then that in 2020 Northern Ireland, the use of wearing symbols is both a tool of expressing remembrance of historical events, and also a way in which people can provide the outside world with a sense of their identity, using clear marks of who they are and which ‘side’ of the divide they stand on.

A rigorous review of Forgetful Remembrance would not be complete without comment on Beiner’s analysis of ‘paramnesiac history’. The term, originally coined by O’Malley (2017, in Beiner, p. 312), is presented in Forgetful Remembrance as a kind of alternative parallel to historical memory of the 1798 Rebellion and the timespace in which it occurred. Providing the backdrop of the popularity of British fictional works set in 1798 Ireland during the Victorian era, Beiner typifies ‘paramnesiac history’ through the replacement of violent events with lighter, and essentially more accessible themes, such as love or family. This overwriting of the past means that ‘paradoxically, writing about Ninety-Eight could also function … as an act of forgetting’ (p. 312). Such overwriting of history is an aspect of silencing in itself, as the grim reality of historical events has been bypassed in favour of escapism. Perhaps this response to historical violence is thematic of the proportion of unionists and nationalists who divert their attention away from the violent backdrops of the [12] of July celebrations, or the Easter Rising commemorations respectively. Yet, it would not be impudent to suggest that loyalists and republicans tend to take lesser measures to forget violence, and in fact, commemorate violence itself as an unfortunate circumstantial element of righteous struggle. We are all familiar with the concept that ‘one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter’, and this is a reference I have heard countless times during my interactions in Belfast. Perhaps this is best captured in the political murals which adorn streets on both ‘sides’ of the divide here. In Mount Vernon, a protestant estate in North Belfast, an enormous road-facing mural suggests that the two masked gunmen pictured are ‘prepared for peace, ready for war’. Equally, graffiti in the Beechmount area of the historically nationalist Falls Road still heralds the use of ‘gun and ballot box’, a renowned strategy of the Irish Republican Army (IRA) throughout the 1980s and beyond. It is interesting that historical violence is liable to both overwriting to ignore it, and accepted when given a wider frame of righteous purpose.

Overall, Forgetful Remembrance asserts that the 1798 United Irishmen’s Rebellion persists as a topic of interest in contemporary regional scholarship. Memory of the event has nonetheless captured attention, irrespective of historical attempts to selectively remember, misremember, conceal, or disremember it (Douglas, 1995, in Beiner, p. 604). Delivering an accessible, thoughtful, and thoroughly digestible account of how communities remember and forget, Beiner’s study empowers the reader with a deepened understanding of the issues in question. Beiner’s multidimensional analysis of how silence plays out in historical events, both at that present time and retrospectively, offers a beautifully crafted expression of silence not just as a passive venture, but as something which can be embodied to essentially defy and bypass restrictions on memory. Additionally, Beiner’s stance on ‘social forgetting’ can be used as an all-purpose foundation on which to view historical events both from the space of Northern Ireland and further afield. His related analysis of ‘vernacular historiography’ presents a concentrated chronicle and analysis of what would, on a surface level, appear to be a straightforward concept. Thus, Beiner’s presentation of vernacular historiography reminds the reader that history cannot be monopolised by one contingent, as rigorous inquiry into historical events is in fact aided by ‘alternative’ modes and resources. Having read Forgetful Remembrance on the cusp of a new decade, from my workspace in Belfast, this book has affected my understanding of where I live, as I now notice previously unforeseen aspects of remembrance and forgetting at each turn in everyday life. While the era-by-era chapter structure of Forgetful Remembrance provides useful dimension and ease of following, rigid chronology may provide space for error, in that subtle thematic overlaps have perhaps been missed by the author to fit the structural criteria of chronology. However, it is important to note that thematic incongruencies are subtle, if at all existent, on account of how thorough an analysis this book provides. Forgetful Remembrance is an undeniably valuable asset to the knowledge of social sciences scholars, and people who want to understand why historical events are remembered – and forgotten – in the way they are, alike.