Remarks by President McAleese on the Opening of the Cost of the Troubles Exhibition
Remarks by President McAleese on the Opening of the Cost of the Troubles Exhibition “Do you know what Happened”
It is a great honour to open such an important and deeply moving exhibition. I would like to pay a warm tribute to the organisers, to whom I believe we all owe a debt of gratitude, and to thank them for bringing this extended exhibition to Dublin.
It is all too easy to reduce thirty years of conflict to cold, hard, scientific statistics. The numbers killed. The numbers wounded. The numbers beaten. The numbers forced to leave their homes. Such an approach, perhaps, allows us to feel that we have the measure of what happened and that, having quantified its scale, we can put the past behind us.
What this exhibition does, and does so effectively, is to demonstrate that we can never know the scale of the pain, hurt and trauma we have inflicted on each other, the suffering and torment so many have endured silently and privately for so long; the struggle people went through to keep families together and heads above water in very difficult circumstances; the number of people who had their entire lives devastated in a single moment. It shows that we can never know the story of the person walking past us in the street or standing beside us in the shop unless we hear them tell it and unless we listen attentively and respectfully to what they have to say.
The Cost of the Troubles Study, and this exhibition in particular, allows some of those who have had their lives profoundly affected by three decades of conflict to speak to us directly, in their own words, telling their own stories in their own way. In doing so, we hope it restores to them the respect and dignity to which they are entitled.
The exhibition challenges us to see beyond those categories of victims who, for one reason or another, are deemed to be more “worthy” of our support and sympathy. In reading the stories around these walls one is immediately struck by the fact that the consequences of conflict know no boundaries. We can read the stories of people from all sections of our communities, the stories of mothers, of children, of the victims of punishment beatings, of people who were maimed for life, of people who witnessed horrific events, of people for whom dealing with the results of violence were part of their everyday lives. We see that grief too, knows no boundaries and that pain is as keenly felt wherever it is inflicted. In bringing these stories to memory today, we remind ourselves that grief can ambush us many years after the event and that forgiveness if it comes needs to be renewed, refreshed and recommitted to time and again.
It is, particularly appropriate that this exhibition opens in Dublin on a day in which the city is remembering the unspeakable carnage which was visited upon it twenty five years ago. Between the four car bombs which exploded here and in Monaghan town, thirty three people were killed and 240 injured – those statistics again.
Cold, hard statistics, and terrible ones at that. In no way do they easily reflect the devastating cathartic impact of those explosions on people’s lives. I am very glad that in bringing the exhibition to Dublin, the organisers have offered the victims and their families the opportunity to tell their stories. As these stories show, those who survived, those who lost loved ones, those who to this day nurse scars that will never heal continue to shoulder the appalling burden of the consequences of that terrible deed. There are many many people for whom the Dublin and Monaghan bombings are a legacy with which they deal, not only on anniversaries such as this, but all day, every day. It is right that we should listen to their pain.
The Good Friday Agreement, which offers such a remarkable opportunity for a new beginning, rightly recognises the deep and profoundly regrettable legacy of the suffering of our past. In framing their proposals the two Governments and the Northern Ireland political parties agreed that it was important that we never forget those who have died or been injured and their families. But they also suggested that the best way to honour them was through firmly dedicating ourselves to the achievement of reconciliation, tolerance and mutual trust.
Reconciliation after so much heartache and pain will not be easily achieved. But exhibitions such as this, and the larger projects which it represents, will make an enormous contribution to bringing true understanding and reconciliation between all of our people that much closer.
I am often reminded in the work I do daily with victims of Alzheimer’s disease, cystic fibrosis, the deaf, muscular dystrophy, blindness, poverty, hurricanes in Honduras that the everyday cruelties and caprices of life visit plenty of hardships and challenges upon us, enough to consume any lifetime. To deal adequately with these would be a big enough challenge. To add to them through man-made conflicts and hatred is to have lost a true sense of respect for life. To watch as we have, endless millions of pounds go to repair the physical damage or to police the hatred when it could have gone to spreading opportunity, is to have watched in despair the inhuman face of violence. Make no mistake – we could have avoided the days this exhibition is based on.
Choices were made which caused these days to happen, these lives to be broken. Choices made by people like you and me. Lets create a future where we make the kind of choices which build up decency, respect, hope, true equality and let us hope that in an exhibition like this, hearts of stone will be softened and we will all know what happened and commit ourselves to never letting it happen again.