After the Civil War, Eamon de Valera spent a year as a guest of the nation in Arbour Hill. His cause defeated, his career in ruins, and with no apparent way to recover, he began to think about his reputation, a matter of some importance to him.
From his cell, he sent instructions to his long-suffering secretary, Kathleen O’Connell, to start preparing a book of documents covering the independence struggle, from 1916 to the Civil War cease fire in 1923.
He believed this collection would prove that he had been right all along, quoting the words of the French historian Charles Seignobos: “History is made with documents… No documents, no history”.
Seignobos was right; so was de Valera. Which might explain why the State he was to govern for so long was notably reluctant to allow historians to see the documents they needed to write the story of Ireland.
It wasn’t until the 1970s and 1980s that proper access was allowed; the opening of the National Archives in Bishop Street in 1991 brought the process into the 20th Century.
One of the first beneficiaries of the new openness was Ronan Fanning, who died yesterday. He was part of a generation of historians who made the most of the new access to documents to write – and rewrite – the history of the State.
Later researchers are following in their footsteps; sometimes literally. Some years ago I was in the British National Archives in Kew, ordering up an obscure file I hoped would reveal some previously unseen nuggets. When I opened up the file, there was the receipt from the previous reader, just a couple of weeks before: Ronan Fanning.
His skill as a researcher informed his writing, which was also first class. His history of the Department of Finance was ground-breaking (though not for the faint-hearted given its length); his criminally overlooked Independent Ireland is one of the best surveys of the early years of the State; and in recent years he produced perhaps his most important book, Fatal Path, which charts the high politics of the 1912-22 period.
The central thesis of that book was that that without the use of violence, there is no way Ireland would have secured the degree of independence it won in 1922. He was well aware that this message would upset some people – in fact, he was gleeful about the discomfort it would cause – but he argued his case with vigour.
I think the last time I met him was last year during a Prime Time special debate on whether the use of violence in 1916 was justified. In his contribution he added debating style to the substance on which he based his argument – literally decades of research in the source material of history, the Irish and British records.
Apart from his own published works – and his lectures, still fondly remembered by former students – perhaps his greatest contribution was in helping to direct the Documents in Irish Foreign Policy project.
Begun in 1994, with the first volume published in 1998, this collects key documents in the development of our foreign relations for the use of students, researchers, or anyone interested in how we got to where we are. If you can’t get your hands on the printed volumes (many libraries have them), the early volumes are online at http://www.difp.ie/ - they are well worth a look, often giving a surprising and sometimes entertaining look at what diplomats were saying in private.
Ronan Fanning will be missed as we grapple with the commemoration of our history in the years ahead; he provides an example of how a strong, committed voice can inform the way we look at our history, and how our understanding of the past must be based on the facts. No documents, no history.
