One 1978 morning, during the transition from autocracy to democracy in Spain, amidst the intensifying Basque unrest, I ventured into a post office in a Basque fishing hamlet and inquired from the elderly clerk about postage stamps for Ireland.
Her retort came with a streak of bitterness. “Ireland, indeed? Does it not shame you to be an Irish?”
Surprised, I took a pause before posing a query, “What conceivable reason should trigger my shame?”
With conviction, she hit back, “You’ve been free for six decades and yet you hardly speak your indigenous language.”
The lady had consumed an essay by Eta’s founding member – a group pledging its loyalty to an armed struggle for Basque’s liberation. Ireland, he stated, was an unfavourable reflection for her motherland. In my endeavour of chronicling the Basque country and Spain for this news outlet for over four decades, I’ve constantly found reflections both insightful and wildly outrageous, and an array in between, on the parallels or the absence of it, between Basque and Irish.
Fittingly as Niall Cullen succinctly states in his impressive publication, a true mirror angle varies based on the observer’s preference. This explains why Spanish nationalists vehemently deny, even now, any acknowledgement towards the self-governance facet in the Belfast Agreement. Conversely, Eta, with equal obstinance, took a long time to accept that the IRA’s involvement in the peace agreement required relinquishing cherished republican “principles”. Eta lost two truces and numerous lives before comprehending the message.
Cullen’s work offers an insightful, detailed and easily comprehensible analysis of radical Basque and Irish nationalists’ perception of each other’s narratives and their attempts to embed them in their own strategies. It stands as a superb preface into this intricate labyrinth of ideological, political, and, correctly stressed by him, personal relationships spanning a century and a half.
My involvement in this subject runs in twofold; I was once an inconsequential participant in a certain aspect of these relationships, during my tenure as an activist with the now obsolete Official Sinn Féin/The Workers’ Party. Moreover, I have penned two literary works on the Basque Country. Cullen has referred to my words in both roles, which are quoted correctly.
He appropriately employs a critical viewpoint towards the high-flown claims concerning the operational links between the IRA and Eta, reiterated by a sensationalist media and spouted by those in positions of security – the so-called ‘securocrats’. He meticulously supports only the facts and analysis for which he can substantiate with first-hand evidence. I am aligned with his conclusion that, while there may have been occasional exchanges of techniques, contacts, and maybe even resources between varied versions of the two militant groups, the ensuing security implications far surpassed the advantages.
Cullen highlights the politics of these secret organisations and public defenders. He presents an engaging outline of pivotal, yet mysterious and relatively unknown characters like Ambrose Martin and Eli Gallastegi. These individuals were virtually autonomous agents for the Irish and Basque radicals, respectively, during the early-to-mid 20th century.
His primary examination is on the deepening connections between Gerry Adams’s Sinn Féin and a generalised Basque equivalent, Batasuna, since the late 1980s to the present. Using his extensive author interviews skilfully, he exposes that this association was “lopsided”. Mostly, Sinn Féin was more influential on Batasuna than the opposite.
His Sinn Féin interview subjects stress that they never initiated strategies for the Basques and only counselled when asked. However, they barely veil the increasing discomfort they felt over Eta’s continuous violent episodes over the years.
While it is apt that Cullen concentrates on Sinn Féin for his intended domain of research, in my perspective, it unintentionally exaggerates the Irish influence on the Basques and undermines the significant role of South African ANC lawyer Brian Currin in resolving the conflict.
In 2008, it was through Currin’s influence that the dejected leaders of Batasuna were inspired to urge a severely compromised Eta to pursue a notably one-sided peace operation. Consequently, Eta announced a continuous ceasefire, used up its armament, and dissolved its association entirely without obtaining even a hint of an advantage from the Spanish authorities. Regardless, Batasuna’s successors now stand ready as the most powerful party in a tranquil Basque Country.
This unique historical process’s intricacies are precisely emphasised in Teresa Whitfield’s vital writing, ‘Endgame for ETA’, a source that Cullen often cites. Yet, it is further elaborated in a helpful though biased insider’s account by Batasuna’s Urko Aiartza, ‘Strategic Thinking and Conflict Transformation (Berghof Foundation, 2019)’, which, Cullen, interestingly, fails to cite.
However, it must be noted that the publisher Routledge, demanding an inflated £135 for the hardcover edition, has done the author a disservice with some notably negligent copyediting.
Thankfully, this does not undermine Cullen’s notable success in accurately portraying the Basque-Irish radical association in a way that no other has managed to do so.
Paddy Woodworth is the author of numerous books including ‘Dirty War, Clean Hands: ETA, the GAL, and Spanish Democracy (2001)’ and ‘The Basque Country (2007)’.