More than five decades have passed since the events of Bloody Sunday, yet its significance has not faded. The recent acquittal at Belfast Crown Court of the soldier known as “Soldier F” — the only person ever charged in connection with the killings and attempted killings of that day — does not close a chapter of history. It instead reaffirms a deeper truth: neither constitutional arrangements nor legal mechanisms have ever produced a settlement acceptable to those most injured by Britain’s long presence in the Six Counties.
On 30 January 1972, thousands marched through Derry to protest internment without trial. Their demands were modest — the restoration of civil liberties and a measure of national dignity in the face of colonial and sectarian repression. Members of the Parachute Regiment opened fire. Thirteen civilians were killed instantly, and another died months later of his wounds. None were armed. None posed a threat of lethal force. That fact stands beyond dispute. They were ordinary people, whose lives were taken without moral or legal justification.
The Saville Inquiry, after years of exhaustive examination, concluded that the killings were “unjustified and unjustifiable.” Successive British governments have acknowledged the moral gravity of what occurred and issued formal apologies. Yet apologies do not constitute justice; they served primarily to preserve the legitimacy of the British state rather than to expose its full culpability.
“Soldier F” faced charges of murdering James Wray and William McKinney, and attempting to murder five others. The trial wrestled with complex evidential issues arising from the passage of time and with testimony that appeared inconsistent with established facts. Ultimately, the judge ruled that the case failed to meet the strict criminal standard of proof — within a legal structure still governed by the very establishment responsible for the killings.
Even in acquittal, the court criticised the conduct of the soldiers and confirmed that discipline had collapsed in a manner wholly incompatible with any claim to maintaining public order.
Readers of The Burkean will appreciate that enduring stability depends upon confidence in the integrity of institutions. Yet no occupation regime can ever command such legitimacy in Ireland. From any legal or humanitarian standpoint, a state that wields force must do so with restraint and accountability. On Bloody Sunday, that relationship between authority and responsibility collapsed — and the consequences have reverberated ever since.
A constitutionalist instinct values order, peace, and continuity. But order cannot rest upon coercion without legitimacy. A state that claims to guard order must recognise that true order arises from the lived traditions and loyalties of a people, not from force imposed upon them. When the Crown’s forces kill unarmed civilians and later escape accountability, respect for law erodes not only among nationalists but across the political spectrum. A society cannot flourish if those charged with upholding law appear exempt from it — particularly when they enforce a constitutional order rejected by the Irish people.
Republicans have long understood what this verdict confirms: for those who do not recognise Britain’s jurisdiction in Ireland, the expectation of justice within British courts is illusory. The power that carried out the killings retains control over the mechanisms that define justice and shields its agents from consequence.
British legal processes may acknowledge wrongdoing, express regret, and condemn indiscipline. What they cannot do is provide remedy. The acquittal will thus be seen as evidence that the British system is structurally incapable of policing itself when confronted with the bloodshed of Irish citizens.
Constitutional nationalists and Republicans may begin from different premises but converge on a shared concern: the unresolved legacy of Bloody Sunday remains a threat to legitimacy itself.
Constitutional nationalists must ask: how can institutions retain public confidence if the gravest abuses of state power go unpunished?
Republicans insist: how can justice be delivered by a state whose very presence is the source of injustice?
Both point to a single conclusion: stability in Ireland requires more than judicial procedure — it demands foundational legitimacy, freely accepted by those who live under its authority.
The facts are known. The moral verdict is clear. The legal outcome leaves bereaved families still waiting. In a conflict many believe long settled, the most fundamental questions remain unresolved: where sovereignty lies, who commands force, and who answers for its misuse. These are questions at the heart of both conservative philosophy and republican principle.
Bloody Sunday cannot be consigned to the past because the structures that permitted it have never been dismantled. Until the demands of truth, accountability, and rightful authority are met, the wounds of that day will remain open.
The acquittal of “Soldier F” reminds us that justice delayed can become justice denied — and that a peace without legitimacy is merely the absence of open conflict. In Ireland, unresolved history will always have a future until national self-determination is fully restored.
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