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- Yeah, I’ve done that.
- Yeah. And if there’s a red light on...

You’re gonna see me.
I’m trying to see myself – ah, here I am.

I’m zooming in on myself.

Dear Arthur,

I found these images on an old videotape
among your things,

a few months after your death.

Sometimes I envy that ability

to grow up inside all that...

and not question it.

To maintain that strength.

He’s been able to...

to keep that
image together.

I found the tape in your apartment,

clearing it out before it was sold.

A place I’d never entered
when you were alive.

In Paris, where you’d
lived for many years.

An American, living in Paris,
making films about Ireland.

Belfast, Northern Ireland.

65 years after its creation, this tiny state
governed by London remains unstable.

The British forces have constantly
been opposed by the IRA,

the Irish Republican Army,
a clandestine military organization.

I sorted through your belongings:

photos, films, tapes, notebooks...

The entire life’s work of
a man I didn’t know.

This film is a brief
voyage onto one side of this conflict;

that of the Irish nationalists.

This part of the city is
occupied, patrolled

and placed under constant
surveillance by the British army.

Nonetheless, West Belfast
remains an IRA stronghold.

11th March 1985 – Dear Maeve,

Felicitations as they say here.

I must say if I was shocked
to get the news I got from you.

I wasn’t really surprised,
for some mysterious reason.

Once I heard your message
on the answering machine, I knew it.

I knew what you were
to say when I called.

One of those premonitions I get
every now and again.

Suffice to say I’m really glad,
and I’m glad you’re glad. Really.

As for being involved, recognized,
responsible, or who knows how to put it,

for our collective effort, as it were,
well yes I want to be.

But given my most precarious, unstable lifestyle,
I don’t quite know how to go about it.

And for me, it’s much too serious
to be discussed in letter writing,

especially since I’m not one
for writing letters.

So I think the wisest,
clearest thing for me to do

would be to pop over
and pay you a visit,

as soon as I’ve got the time
and cash to do so.

When that could be,
it’s hard to say right now,

but I’ll ring or write
as soon as I know.

As I told you briefly over the phone,

I’m currently in the midst of preparing
a short film for French TV,

after two months of haggling over important
questions of money & conditions.

It’s once again another
mission impossible,

a crazy, very difficult project.

It’s hard to say how it will turn out.

Hope you’re keeping well,
in any event.

Take good care of yourself
and the little one in you.

I’ll be thinking of you both; a lot.

Love, Arthur.

In 1997,

I was making my first film
while you were making your last.

Luke, do you not want to hold it
with your other arm?

Yeah, Luke, you shouldn’t really
have your hand up there.

I mean, you have to have access
to the zoom and stuff.

No, no, no, no.

I usually just go
like that.

It started as a game
to play with friends

...a way to create our own world.

You know you’ve got blood
all over your fingers.

Have I?

– Ok, now just angle on the door.
– This is record.

Charlie, stand here and he'll
take a photography of you.

It’s alright, I got him.

I want you in there
to get cleaned up.

There, you got enough?
Ok, bye. Cheerio.

You want a wee bit more??

Ah! Shit! Sorry, cut!

Scene one– scene two–
scene one–

Hello!

Take... something like
9 of scene 1...

Your camera always looked
out into other people's worlds;

never your own.

Filmmaking is
nothing more than people

who find themselves
in front of a camera,

confronted by a filmmaker and
their own experiences.

In effect, they must have the courage
to account for their lives.

Where are you coming from?

What have you done?
Why and how?

What was the motivation and
sense of your actions?

What were the consequences
for yourself and others?

...and I had been held for about
three days at the time,

and I had undergone
the usual torture treatment,

that is the beating, the threats...

We called upon the British
government to recognize

the right of the Irish people
as a whole, acting as a single unit,

to decide the future of Ireland

and we called upon
the British government

to withdraw all their forces
by a specified date...

When a paratrooper stepped right
in front of my window

and fired a rubber bullet
directly into my face.

And that was in front of my young family.

Well I was taken to hospital

and my eyes were so badly damaged
that they had to be removed.

Wherever I am at any particular time,
I have a cover story.

Why I’m there: I’m working,
I’m on holidays...

I’d always have a reason to be in a
particular place at any time.

The broadcasting bill
was brought in,

ironically enough,
as part of a package.

One part of the package took away
the right to silence,

and the other part
of the package

took away the right
to free speech.

There’s no right to silence here.

If you’re being interrogated,
you have no right to silence.

These are the bullet holes.

The British government was not
going to give into our demands

until there was death.

Anything the British dish up
to me propaganda-wise

to try and label me as a terrorist

or as some sort of a maniac for
carrying a bomb, just won’t work.

Because this is a war situation.

Our strategy is that, through
the effective use of guerilla warfare,

we will eventually sap
the political will

of the British government
to remain in Ireland.

I had to look closely
for any trace of your image.

Your voice was more of a presence...

They carry a certain
knowledge that cannot be ignored:

the smallest of things, the nucleus of the atom,
contains the greatest of energies

Such is the universe:
it is that way, and no other way.

In your photos,
you were easier to find.

In your whole archive,
there were no images of me...

...and only one of my mother.

She took the only
photos of us together,

those few times you visited.

I’m piecing together an image of you
from these scraps.

A fiction of who you might have been.

I guess I've done this before.

In my twenties, I staged a young man’s
encounter with his estranged father.

Around the time I was born,

you were working on a script for a film
that you were never able to make.

You gave your main character my name.

Donal is 30 years old, Irish

and an important member of the IRA.

He’s exuberant, with a playful sense of
humour, despite his responsibilities.

But maybe that was just a coincidence.

In Dublin, around the corner
from where I grew up,

trains cross the Royal Canal
on their way to Belfast.

It seems you only ever filmed
one shot in this city.

It was the reverse shot of this image,
27 years ago.

It’s only a two hour trip,

but the first time I travelled
to Belfast was for your funeral.

Ireland for me
had always been Dublin.

For you, Belfast.

Welcome to our battle of images!

An Irishman never speaks to the person
in front of him, but to an image!

Are you ready now?
1, 2, 3....

It was just one-sided.

There wasn’t anything about Bloody Sunday,
about Gibraltar, about the killings,

about the oppression, the non-jury courts...

Well this is basically just an answer,
telling our side of the story...

You came here first as a tourist.

But you kept coming back.

You would die here in the end,

collapsing from a pulmonary
embolism on a street corner.

You’re buried here now.

1st August 1985.

Chara Maeve,

Sorry for the long lapse.

As you've noticed,
I’m not one for writing letters.

Not often, anyway.

I hope you’re keeping well.
I’m fine.

But I’m still in Paris, evidently.

Feeling a bit trapped and frustrated
as I’d love a little trip to Dublin.

A few things went wrong
this past month.

The film was up for a prize that would
have meant a lot of money.

Only it didn’t come through,

for reasons that have been
well-hidden somewhere

in the depths of the bureaucracy of
the Ministry of Culture.

Otherwise I was to get a job
on a film here as assistant director.

That too would have meant a lot of
money, only it didn’t materialize.

Which is to say, my finances are
in a shambles right now.

Nothing catastrophic,
but still a pain in the arse,

and it definitely limits
my movements.

So I’m not quite sure when I’ll be
able to visit you...

It doesn’t look promising,
but then you never know.

So much for the bad news.

How was your trip
to Belfast this time?

I imagine there was a bit more
action than when I was there.

I hope this little note
will make its way to you.

I’m glad to see your family has
more or less accepted

your imminent motherhood.

Take care of yourself and the baba.

Much love, Arthur

Hello, Mr. MacCaig. I’ve seen your
films when I was a kid...

He never took responsibility for anything...

A quiet man, a man of few words...
I think his films actually speak for him...

– You’re terrific.
–... I’m not terrific. My films are!

... representing other people
and what they came through...

Ireland and I, it’s a story
that goes back a long way...

roughly 150 years.

My family was forced to leave the island
at the time of the Great Famine.

Like 1.5 million of their countrymen,

they managed to save themselves
by emigrating to the US.

I’m an Irish-American,
born in the working class area

of North Bergen, New Jersey,
just opposite Manhattan.

On the street, my friends were
"Micks", "Wops" and "Kikes"

and each of us kept a double pride:

that of our origins and
that of being American.

In my family, there were workers,
cops, firefighters, nurses,

and they all spoke of Ireland and
the struggle against the English.

This dimension will draw together

the various strands of Irish-American
and Irish national opinion

and weave them into
a very tight rope

which we will string
around Britain’s neck

and hang that filthy scumbag

that has dared to brutalize
our country for almost 800 years.

And I would say to
the American-Irish, the Irish-American:

Bear in mind, we are all children
of the great Irish race.

We are a race that should
be proud of our existence.

We have been scattered across
the world not as colonials,

not to ram our culture,
our language

down the throats
of indigenous peoples,

not to take the bounty
of their nations,

but as exiles driven unjustly
from our own homeland.

Wherever the Irish went,

they were sure to take up the cause
of justice and democracy,

and that is exactly what
we must be proud of this day.

We have never subjected anybody,

but we have survived brutality
like no other race has.

That is why we are a hardy people.

We will never be broken,
our spirit will never be crushed-

I never shared
this idea of Irishness with you.

Never cared for the parades
or rituals or flags.

I always thought of myself
as coming from a place...

...not a nation.

Even if I was intimately linked,
on my mother’s side,

to that nation’s birth.

My great-grandfather fought
in the 1916 Easter rising,

and was almost executed.

50 years later, he took part in
the official commemorations.

My mother’s uncle, Seán Brennan,
was there shooting.

The other filmmaker in the family.

Now we...

...are turning our backs to the past...

...only insofar as when we look round
from time to time, the past inspires us.

We have to look to the future.

For Seán and his father,
the revolution was long finished.

Now it was simply
a matter of remembering.

In 1916, the IRA
started the most important uprising

against British occupation.

The aim of the uprising:

the creation of an independent,
united and socialist Republic.

By the early 1920s,
the IRA's guerilla campaign

was making British rule untenable.

But the British government
was able to save the situation

by imposing a compromise treaty
with rebel forces

that resulted
in the partition of the island.

This compromise succeeded in leaving
British imperialism

with a permanent base
for the domination

not only of the North,
but of the whole of Ireland.

Partition divides the nation
as it divides the working class,

facilitating the political control
and economic exploitation

of the North and the South,

where British investment
is even more important.

You preferred those who remembered
as a way of continuing the struggle.

This state is not
the Republic proclaimed in 1916!

Current efforts to pretend
that it is are an insult

to the brave men who lie here.

Uncle Seán’s eye
was drawn to other things.

Though the
constitution of the Irish Republic

lays claim to sovereignty
of the whole island,

Dublin has always preferred
to ignore "the Troubles"

and chosen to give a free hand
to the British authorities.

Why is it I feel closer
to his work than to yours?

Since the partition
of the country in 1921,

Ireland has limped
through its history.

This double division,
first of the nation,

and then the two
communities in the North,

is a source of perpetual violence
which convulses the island.

Only reunification can bring
an end to the conflict.

Yeah,
75, take 1.

Seán and I both
left Ireland for New York.

The opposite journey to you.

When Seán returned,
he did so as a tourist.

In 1968, on a road trip
around Ireland,

he visited Derry, in the North.

1968.

The year before
the conflict erupted.

Yet nothing of that here.

Nothing but sights.

At that point I was just
curious to know what was happening.

Like most people,
I was completely ignorant

and it took a long time
before I could figure it out.

I spent some time in Belfast,
in Nationalist areas like Ardoyne.

That just blew my mind.

This was the first time I had really seen
the strength & power of the mass struggle.

All the ideas I’d previously had
were shown to be completely false.

The people I met I hadn’t seen
in newspapers or on television.

The basic divisions here
were not religious,

but political and economic–

that is, the division
of the colonizer and the colonized.

The loyalists controlled everything.

The police, the courts,
employment and housing.

And the nationalist minority were subjected
to systematic discrimination.

Well, after 50 years of that,

they finally began to seize control
of their lives & their neighborhoods.

And I’d never seen anything like that.

It showed me how we can resist,
not only through our ideas,

but through how we live our lives.

The Republican movement quite clearly

have outlined their proposals
for the future of Ireland.

In the New Ireland, we envisage
self-governing communities,

that is the people on the ground
will have a say in their lives,

will have a say in
how their area is run,

and will have a dignity

that the workers have lacked
for so long in Ireland.

Those community councils will be
affiliated to regional councils

who in turn will be under the
direction of provincial councils.

These councils, at every step,

will take into consideration the wishes
of the people from the ground

to the provincial governments

who, in turn, will be affiliated
to the federal parliament...

Burn, burn, burn the bastard!

Since I was a teenager
I'd been interested in politics.

Seeking ways to engage.

Not sure how.

In New York, in my twenties,
I got involved in Occupy Wall Street,

and tried to film it.

But there were already
too many cameras, too many images.

What is fundamental is the content,

which is to say the people:
their images, their testimonies.

In the end, the form is there
to advance all that:

it’s there to serve the content.

Making formal exercises
doesn’t interest me.

Our idea was to give
as much information as possible –

not too much, but as much as is possible
to handle in an hour and a half.

The necessary historical information.

There needs to be a plan! Otherwise...

we feed into their bullshit!

No military... has ever held power...
without order!

In a chaotic situation, you took a position.

I was always too concerned
with what was being left out.

If people wanted to march
...they'd be marching!

What I'd really like
to say about the film is

I think it's objective
in the real sense of the word,

in that it gets to the
root of the problem.

For me, the objective truth is the
historical truth of the situation

based on the experience
of the mass struggle.

It doesn’t mean being neutral –
as if that’s even possible.

You had been
able to reach conclusions.

My narratives were
partial, incomplete–

at risk of falling apart
at any moment.

I've never been at ease with this.

I envied your assurance.

Your effortless naming of things.

For me, naming felt like blindness.

But, I also wanted to speak.

Seven soldiers have
been massacred in Country Tyrone.

They were blown up
when a car bomb exploded

as an army unmarked bus ferried
troops to their base in Omagh.

From the scene, Gary Duffy.

There’s a deep sense of shock
in the Ballygawley area

following the blast
that claimed so many lives

The explosion, which ripped
apart the soldiers’ bus,

left a crater 12 foot wide
and six feet deep

MP for the area, William McCrea, says the
government just hasn’t the will

to crush the terrorists.

Well, unreservedly I condemn

such a vicious and brutal slaughter
of the innocent soldiers

and unfortunately the tragedy is this:
the British government,

looking over its shoulder
at international pressure

has failed to take on the
Republican murder gangs

and stop them in their tracks!

To think of those young men

being brought back to their wives
and their mothers and their fathers...

You became a filmmaker
in solidarity with a community,

in opposition to a state – and a media –
that wouldn’t represent it.

...the government’s hands are stained
with the blood of the soldiers.

The explosion caused devastation.

A state which opposed
your images too.

People told me I could
never sell my films to television

but I did.

At the time of The Patriot Game,
the British foreign minister

issued a letter
to all their embassies.

He wrote that "while the film itself may have
technical merit which deserves recognition,

any awards would undoubtedly
enhance a production

which is damaging and highly critical
of Her Majesty’s Government."

It was the best review I ever had.

You felt the strength of
your images – their ability to threaten.

...to show what is certainly the most

extensive, determined
working-class struggle...

I keep looking for what’s not there.

No mention of the splits and feuds
within the nationalist movement,

or the failed struggles
against sectarianism.

No sense of your own
relationship with this world.

Instead:
shot – reverse-shot.

Nothing in between.

You see the one picture

and you don't see further,
you know what I mean?

I take it you’ve all got
forms of identification, yes?

This is all for a documentary?

- Sorry?
- Documentary?

Any ID?
Can we have some ID then?

It's not just that
you and I see differently.

We belong to different times.

We came into cinema, and the world,
at different political moments.

Some people find it
unbelievable that British democracy

could have been responsible
for voting restrictions,

laws of exception, torture,
internment, and so on.

If successive British have been prepared
to pay a high price in this war,

it is because for them
the stakes are even higher.

Their fears are genuine when
they talk of a "Cuba" or an "Angola"

being established off their coast.

You began when
certain things seemed possible;

when armed struggle was
an image you could believe in.

I begin in the wake of
the failure of those movements,

the failure of those images

with no clear way forward.

Look at the South.

How we are fictions
of their nationalism.

If you get killed,
it’ll be part of that story.

But what
you’re proposing is worse than their lies:

no story at all.

You don’t seem to understand

that the idea is to break
out of their fictions.

Reality isn’t given;

you have to take it.

Interior, TV editing room, day.

As Jim Gaffney speaks,
he is looking at the images

streaming by on the TV
monitor at high speed

Suddenly he interrupts his editor.

"Can you stop there? Just for
a second. Yeah, that’s it.

Let me have another look at it."

The editor replies,

"They’re just some cutaway
images we haven’t used."

We come upon
the shot of a woman.

It is an extreme close up
of her face.

Gaffney says, "Hold it.

Can I see that again,
this time in slow motion?"

She is turning,
turning very slowly,

her hair falling down
upon her face.

The shot has an almost
surreal beauty to it.

Gaffney is lost in it...

...fascinated.

Well aren’t you somebody famous?

I don’t know, am I famous?

– Ah, don’t be modest.
– Infamous.

What films have you made?

– What’s her name?
– Who, hers? Ashley Joe.

Ah, look at her face.

11th October 1985.

Dear Maeve:

Sorry for not writing sooner.

Thanks for your letter and photos.

A fine looking fella, that’s for sure.

A big one too.

I can see you had a lot to carry
around the past few months.

It must have been
quite an experience.

It’s hard for me to imagine,
or appreciate.

Anyway, felicitations and well done.

I’m doing fine, on this side.

I finally got some
work in French TV.

Nothing exciting, but by TV standards
it’s all right, and the pay is good,

so I’ll be able to reimburse
most of my many debts.

I’m not sure if there’ll be anything
left over for a trip to Ireland though.

I’ll let you know, as soon as I know.

I’ve also finally taken the plunge –

the serious plunge into the adventure
of making a fiction film.

Currently writing with a good friend,
a scenario for a romantic political thriller.

I’ve enclosed a rough draft
of the synopsis –

revolutionaries, cops, spies,
a journalist, a love story, etc.

It’s exciting and fun.

I still love documentaries –
but the problem is,

no matter how good your film,
if it's a documentary

you don't get much respect

commercially or critically.

Especially here in France.

No complaints though –

I think my documentaries are
good, important films

and the experience of making them
has been invaluable.

As for the rest,
I’ve got very thick skin.

I must run to get this in the mail.

Hopefully, after January when the film
is supposed to be finished,

I should have at least enough
cash to hop over to Dublin

to see you and the baba.

Try not to work too hard;

what with your job and
Sinn Fein and the little fella,

you’ve got a real balancing act.

Anyway, keep well, and
much love to yourself and Donal.

Art.

I finally got hold of an English
language cassette of The Patriot Game,

which I’m sending
by separate mail.

It’s my small contribution
to Maeve, Donal and the movement.

That covers a lot of ground!

Ah, Donal!

Don’t waste it on me, honey!

June 1996.

Dear Art,

It is difficult to write
after our meeting in Paris.

The more I think about it,
the more upset and angry I feel

about your decision not to have
any contact with Donal

over the past five or six years

because your wife did not
want you to have contact

with past relationships.

I did not think I qualified as
a past "relationship" as such,

as we were more friends than
lovers over the years,

but there you go.

What made it worse was
that you did not tell us.

If I knew before we went to Paris
what I know now,

I don’t think I would have gone
and put Donal through that –

especially as it has increased
his expectations.

Before we went, he was very curious
about you and full of questions,

but he was not feeling as hurt
and rejected as he feels

now that he knows it was more of
a conscious decision on your part.

Now, it’s up to you.

I’m not going to subject us to
another outing like that Thursday.

You either want to see him or you don’t.

And if you do, you can make the effort.

So, over to you. Maeve.

You never did reply to her letter.

It was shortly after
that trip to Paris,

my first time seeing you in years,

that I started making films.

As you probably know,

you’re watching
the Dan and Luke Show.

And I bet you’re wondering what the
cameraman looks like.

Me too...

- Here's a group photo.
- The thing is...

How the hell are ya?

Is this recording?

This is one of the
best film producers

not only in Ireland,
but in the world.

This is the man who created
documentary film.

Good man!

That’s true.

Are you news reporters?

- Pardon?
- Are you news reporters?

Filmmakers.

What’s the documentary going
to be about? Just this?

It’ll be... basically
the history of the Troubles.

Where’s it gonna be?

In the statement, the IRA
said there was a complete cessation

of its military operations from
midnight tonight...

After 25 years of war,

3,500 dead and 40,000 injured,

a peace process was finally set up.

IRA ceasefires opened
the door to peace.

Peace demands
justice. Justice demands freedom.

Because peace, freedom and justice

will bring fundamental change.

Making war is not difficult.

Look around the world
at the scores of conflicts.

Making peace is difficult.

Sinn Fein is committed
to taking all of the guns.

The plastic bullet guns,

the British army guns,
the RUC guns, and the loyalist guns.

We are committed to taking
the gun permanently

out of Irish politics.

And Sinn Fein is concerned to build
a lasting peace settlement

and a process of inclusive
dialogue and negotiations.

Despite all of the difficulties,

we are going to have freedom and
justice and peace in our country.

For over 20 years,
much of the British press

portrayed Gerry Adams,
the leader of Sinn Fein,

as a terrorist, a demon,
the godfather of violence.

Since he has opened
the doors to peace,

many of these same journalists

pursue him like a superstar
and treat him like a statesman.

We didn’t just
mean unionists should do it.

We should all do it.

All of us should decommission
our mindsets

and all of us should call
a ceasefire in our heads...

They need to call
ceasefires in their heads...

decomission mindsets
which prevent dialogue.

It’s only by looking forward,
by finding new language...

...I want to listen...

...and let’s lead our people
to the future.

Find new language, new words...

to lead our people forward.

For the first time,

the Nationalists were
to participate directly

in the government
of Northern Ireland,

and former terrorists were
to become ministers.

You witnessed these changes.

You even seemed
to change along with them.

For me, the peace
process is a near miracle.

It shows that we can find a
way out of these conflicts.

It’s possible, but only if people
are willing to talk to each other.

A change in
language, a change in images.

From guerrilla cinema
to TV segment.

From revolutionary to politician.

From mask to makeup.

The solution is not
to get rid of the Brits

and exchange one master for
another master,

the Irish capitalist.

The solution to Ireland
is the Irish people,

who can provide a solution –

and that solution will be found
only under a socialist system.

Here’s a toast to
you and me for we were there!

We were there!
We were there!

Two proud
traditions are coming together...

The Irish
working class are beginning to wake up.

Business confidence grows stronger,

and the promise of prosperity...

...a semblance of class
consciousness is beginning to emerge.

The Good Friday agreement is a sell-out
of Republicanism and Socialism.

...trade was the principle of liberty,

that it made peace
and keeps peace.

Although the physical
manifestations of the occupation

in the North are now gone,

the cultural, economic, sectarian
and social occupations still remain.

Neo-liberalism is the new weapon
in Britain’s arsenal...

The vision of a Northern Ireland

where, in the future,
no-one cares

what religion or community
you were born into.

Where they ask not
where you came from,

but who you are.

The spirit of reconciliation

must be rooted in all you do.

Filmmaking is
nothing more than people

who find themselves
in front of a camera

confronted by a filmmaker
and their own experiences.

Yeah.

In effect, they must have
the courage to account for their lives.

Where are you coming from?
What have you done?

Why and how?

What was the motivation and
sense of your actions?

What were the consequences
for yourself and others?

We’re gonna be on the TV!

Hiya, French people!
We live in...

Ya wee wimps!

What’re ya lookin’ at me for?

– Don’t move! Get up! Get the hell up!
– Who the fuck do you think you are?

What are you doing
in my house?

What were you doing
in my house?

I love you!

Aw, camera...

New York Times:

"Regardless how one may
feel about his politics,

it is a worthy and
well-made documentary."

The Guardian:
"Extraordinary and moving.

Forcefully debunks

the twin myths that the IRA
is a terrorist organization

fighting a religious war."

Il Giorno, an Italian newspaper:
"Tender and powerful."

Another newspaper:
"Informative, vivid and partisan."

And an English newspaper:

"Captures the raw spirit of
Irish nationalist resistance

and shows, for
the first time, incidents

which the British media have
steadfastly refused to show."

So Art was certainly a friend of
this struggle and of the Irish people...

Your mistake is just to look at it

in terms of whether
it’s true or false,

when it’s really about
whether it’s useful or not.

You can’t do that.

You can’t just go back and organize
real events that happened.

that had their own reality
in their own time,

and then arrange them into
some pattern that suits you.

But the work is
to take hold of the myth –

to appropriate it.

And not be used by it
ike our fathers were.

You’re wrong.

The past has its own power.

It feeds off people
believing in it.

The more you focus on it,
the more reality it gains.

What are you saying?

That people should live in some
kind of vacuum without memory?

That is not what I said.

What I said was:

The past is a way of
reading the present.

But it’s only liberating
if it opens you–

Well then there’s no
argument. What are we arguing about?

You’re talking
about a false memory!

I remember the last time we met.

It was on a summer’s day
in the Latin Quarter,

three months before your death.

I hadn't seen you in eleven years,

since that last trip to Paris.

We met at the Jussieu
metro station

and walked to a nearby café.

We sat for an hour
and talked about films.

It had been years since
you’d made your last one.

You said no-one wanted to fund a film
about peace in Northern Ireland.

I asked you if I could
take your image.

Afterwards, returning to
the metro station,

we paused on a street corner.

I asked you if you
had any regrets.

You paused, and thought
about the question.

Then replied...

..."No."

In 1968,
civil rights were going great

“One man, one vote,”
our banners did declare

At Burntollet, we were met

By a mob we won’t forget

It was raining bricks and bottles
from the air

I was there! I was there!

With my little paper banner,
I was there

At Operation Motorman,
when the Brits devised a plan

To raid the No Go
areas in the night

But we foiled their masquerade
when we built the barricades

And we showed the British
duck squads how to fight

I was there! I was there!

When we manned the barricades,
I was there.

It’s 1994,
and peace has been restored.

No more British squaddies
about on our streets.

Sure it’s like a dream come true
After all that we’ve been through

Here’s a toast to me and you
For we were there!

We were there! We were there!