Dark Years

The Dark Years (Dael Blianta Dorcha) is a term used in recent Odannach historical studies to describe the period roughly from 1960 to 1972, in which the country was subjected to severe repression on the political, social and cultural levels, principally under the rulership of Defender Rónán II.

Origins

The Odann which emerged from the Gaste War in 1958 was a much changed creature from the great power which had entered it. Badly beaten on the battlefield and unsure of its place in the new world order which was beginning to emerge as the Long War era wound to a close, the Sacred Kingdom was balancing on the edge of a collective trauma such as it had never before experienced. Overpowered at war by a collective of, in its opinion, the misguided (Elland), the heretical (Savam) and the heathen (Zeppengeran), and then further humiliated and its corpus maliciously wounded at a Treaty of Ostari put together with the cheerful co-operation of a self-righteous and godless Siurskeyti, Odann was already nursing in the depths of its collective consciousness the seeds of some powerful grudges against its neighbours and foes. That the country retained enough credibility to still be regarded as a great power – even if not recognised as such at the Congress of Kethpor in 1959 – seemed to many Odannach to be only because its Messenian rivals needed someone to whom to feel superior. And if this were not enough, the brutal winters and miserable harvests of the first years without summers placed near-insurmountable strains on a people who had already been forced to their knees.

In the circumstances, a lurch towards greater repression and the imposition of sometimes savage constraints was far from unexpected; similar shifts took place at around the same time in other parts of Messenia, most notably in Emilia during the Mênagement period and in Savam, where an attempted coup in 1959 was only narrowly averted and where harsh emergency measures remained in force into the early 1960s. In Odann, however, the shift was much more consciously directed and managed from the highest levels, including Defender Rónán, his Advisors and all three chambers of Odann’s tripartite parliament; and the new status quo was maintained much longer than could be justified by actual events in the country.

The arganic perspective

The Argan of Odann occupied a particularly ambivalent position for much of the period. The argan had shifted its stance on the war while it was in progress, and had definitively come out against further fighting after the notorious Autumn Leaves speech by Holy Mother Aibhlinn níc Uidhir in 1956; but this principled stand had cost it valuable support both from the public at large and from other Odannach authorities, who saw this as bordering on treasonous at a time when the country required unity above all else. Claims have been made that níc Uidhir avoided a prison sentence only because Rónán allowed his residual respect for the argan to stay his hand; certainly, several lesser clerics were arrested and imprisoned after the Autumn Leaves address. Now, to counter this image and in an attempt to win back its lost credibility, the argan abruptly changed tack, seeking to become a much more visible guardian of Odannach morality – and vigorously prosecuting any signs of backsliding from the golden Orthodox Cairan ideal. Swimming against the tide of this change, níc Uidhir was swept away by it; although she had made a gallant effort to build bridges with the Ellish argan through her meeting in Ráth with her Ellish counterpart Ernestine Peace in 1961, her support in the Holy Council was withering away, and she was forced to step down in favour of Sinead an hÉadrom in 1962.

An hÉadrom was vigorous in reasserting the argan’s traditional role as the moral guardians of Odann – aided, in fairness, by a willingness to forgive it its failings which has, in the opinion of many, been inculcated in the collective psyche of the Odannaigh over generations – and played up its position as the loving mother who watches over her sometimes wayward children, nursing their pains and chastising their missteps in proper measure. At the same time, she positioned the rank and file of the argan so as to watch for these missteps and, where necessary, bring them to the attention of secular authority at an early juncture.

The Black Templars

While this observation and enforcement was carried out even at the lowest temple level – and the image of the officious and self-righteous Máthair Fiosrach, “Mother Prodnose”, is a staple of literature of the period – it had a more sinister side, with much of this task being taken up with enthusiasm by the Oifig Slándála an Chreidimh, Odann’s internal security agency and officially an arm of the argan. The “Black Temple”, under the stern tutelage of its director Íonacht an Dhonn, had already been granted extended powers to deal with civil unrest in the immediate post-war period; now it was given almost free rein to enforce the argan’s, and the government’s, ideas of conformity, patriotism and good citizenship, by almost any means which it considered necessary. This included acts of physical and mental abuse, extending to torture and even, on occasion, murder, carried out against people whose only offences, in many instances, were speaking out in support of the right to differ. Nor were those adjudged guilty the only ones to suffer; an Dhonn and the OSC made liberal use of the old Odannach custom of príosúnacht an tuath, under which the family and associates of the guilty were just as liable to punishment for the same offences.

Some of the excesses sanctioned by an Dhonn horrified even her fellow officiants, but firm support in high places – especially from the Defender and from an hÉadrom, an Dhonn’s long-time friend – meant that the woman known widely only as aintín, “auntie”, was effectively untouchable. Only after an Dhonn was forced to flee into exile in Yfirland in 1974 did more of the extent of her crimes, and of her betrayals of her arganic oaths, become clear; many of the OSC’s more gruesome acts would not be brought to public knowledge until the 1990s.

Collective consciousness

One of the “excesses” against which the OSC and other official bodies was most vigilant in this period was collectivism, which emerged as a significant issue during the 1960s. Always viewed with considerable suspicion by the authorities in Odann given its Savamese origins, collectivism had at this time been considered to be a heresy in the eyes of the argan for almost eighty years – a proscription which carried much greater weight for the typical Odannach man in the street than any secular law could give it. However, since about 1940 there had been some efforts by labour groups to create entities which could negotiate with company managements while being sufficiently distinctive so as not to draw any unwanted use of “the C-word”. Some more progressive firms had even encouraged the process as a means of streamlining talks with their labour force and reducing labour disputes and concomitant lost time to a minimum; in some instances, this had had active support from local temples, where the officiants had offered their services as mediators. This was strictly unofficial – the argan could not be seen to be condoning heretical actions – but a blind eye was often turned to the practice.

The end of the war saw these workarounds dragged forcibly into the spotlight. In a vigorous search for explanations as to how Odann had lost the Gaste War, the role of these quasi-collectives in hampering the country’s industrial effort and denying the army effective tools with which to work immediately came to public scrutiny – even though the number of genuine disputes during the four years of the war could be counted in single figures. Even the more sympathetic níc Uidhir had been forced to restate the argan’s official opposition to collectvism early in 1959; and an hÉadrom – with the eager support of an Dhonn – vigorously pursued would-be organisers. Several leading figures of the small and struggling labour movement were forced to flee the country, mostly to Laora and Fiobha; but Eoghan Ó Baoill, more commonly known as an Lus Cré, “the Speedwell”, after the flower which he took as his personal symbol, remained a thorn in the side of churchly and secular authorities alike until his arrest in 1967.

Cultural cringe

The abiding image of the Dark Years, for most Odannaigh who lived through them, was one of an oppressive, dreary conformity and a belief that, if someone did no more than was expected of him and did nothing to attract official attention to himself, then his life might – just – be tolerable. In the words of one author strongly associated with the period, “we wanted sunshine on our backs and the right to speak our minds. What we got was pious sermons and fucking Peadar Ó Duinn and Caireann uí Mhathuna.”

These two actors, stars of the popular ceolscéal film genre much-loved in Odann since the beginning of cinema there, were in some respects the most visible face of a fiercely-circumscribed cultural life in the Sacred Kingdom. Books and plays could not be published before being scrutinised by government authorities; those that were not banned outright were subjected to brutal cuts and rewrites to meet official standards. Cinema, likewise, was severely monitored, not merely for excessive use of violence or sexual content, but for any signs of anticlericalism or disrespect to the monarchy; while it was permissible to make mild jokes at the expense of arganic officiants – the bumbling, but ultimately good-natured temple matron was a stock figure of Odannach cinema – anything stronger than this was savagely cut. Radio, already firmly under government control, was joined by the new medium of television from 1965, with the state broadcast company Líonra le Craoladh as the unyielding guardian of the airwaves.

Into the light

The death of Rónán in 1972, while a severe blow to the country, was not entirely unexpected; the Defender’s health had been declining for several years and his grip on affairs of state had become increasingly tenuous since at least the summer of 1969. However, Odannach society would be shocked by the decision of Liam, Rónán’s only son and Crown Prince of Odann, to turn down the throne in favour of his own son, prince Diarmuid. Liam claimed that his standing aside would allow Odann the opportunity to make a clean break with the past as it looked towards an uncertain future, a stance which arguably served to camouflage long-held personal reservations about his ability to carry out such responsibilities as they merited; certainly, these were known in the royal household and by some senior government officials, even if not public knowledge. Instead, Liam took the specially-created title of Prince-Emeritus and remained as an adviser as Diarmuid ascended to the throne under the style Diarmuid II.

Diarmuid, however he had come to be on the throne, did indeed herald the raising of the dark shroud that had lain over the country. Although the changes were not as quick in coming as collective memory has suggested, a visible relaxation in many of the old rules of conduct had been brought about at least by the summer of 1975, as Diarmuid pushed for a new openness and a sense of re-engagement with the wider world community. A light had broken in on the Dark Years; but, for many, the shadow which they cast continues to hang over Odann even today.