From Cable Street to Garvaghy Road – They shall not pass!

The defeat of Mosley’s fascists in 1936 was built on an unlikely alliance of Jewish, Irish and English workers. Ninety years on, that spirit of cross-community solidarity remains as relevant as ever, says JOE DWYER

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IN HIS 1911 work, Off the Track in London, George Sims describes entering Cable Street from Ratcliff Highway and discovering a street “one end of which is Jewish and the other Irish, while the middle may be said to be English.”

These two ends of Cable Street did not always live in harmony. The East End of London was defined by severe economic hardship and sharp communal divisions, with the docks frequently serving as a flashpoint for social friction.

Here, Irish Catholic dockworkers found themselves competing directly against Jewish labourers and English-born workers for scarce employment.

This combination of precarious housing and systemic exploitation created a receptive audience for far-right extremism — an unfortunate dynamic that still resonates today.

Furthermore, the Catholic church, which wielded considerable influence over the Irish diaspora, did precious little to discourage animosity between its flock and local Jewish communities. Indeed, back home in Ireland, elements within the church were occasionally found to be nurturing the country’s own brand of fascism: the Blueshirts.

Few were more aware of this fertile breeding ground than Oswald Mosley.

Many now forget that Mosley first gained notoriety when he “crossed the floor” of the House of Commons to protest against the Black and Tans’ actions in Ireland, on November 3 1920.

Such bold action undoubtedly attracted many Irish devotees to his cause, both before and after his fascist pivot.

His reputation was such that even veteran Parnellite MP TP O’Connor wrote to Mosley’s first wife, Cynthia, heralding him as “the man who really began the break-up of the Black and Tan savagery.” A tribute that Mosley frequently quoted from platforms when appealing for the Irish vote in elections.

Given this history, Mosley might well have calculated that such lingering goodwill would carry over to Cable Street and that Irish residents would either join his march or stay out of the fray entirely.

While some Irish East Enders undoubtedly became street-corner fascists, the concerted efforts of trade unionists and Irish republican activists ensured that, by 1936, the wider community had largely rejected Mosley’s divisive rhetoric.

Throughout the 1930s, the republican newspaper An Phoblacht maintained a strict internationalist, anti-Nazi, and anti-Mosley platform. This editorial line mirrored the view of many republican activists, who remembered that despite Mosley’s early opposition to the Black and Tans, he had been equally vociferous in denouncing what he called the “Sinn Fein murder gang.”

The organisational hub for republican activism in London at this time was the local branch of the Republican Congress (An Chomhdhail Phoblachtach), a left-wing group established in 1934 by socialist elements within Sinn Fein and the IRA.

The London branch, which subsequently became the Connolly Club, was spearheaded by Charlie Donnelly — a young poet and republican organiser who later died fighting in defence of the Spanish Republic.

Donnolly, and his Dublin-born Jewish comrade Leslie Daiken, jointly edited Irish Front, a left-wing bulletin and newspaper. Across the pages of this self-published, duplicated circular, the two “impecunious students” — as Desmond Greaves later dubbed them — rallied the Irish in London against Mosley’s Blackshirts. Openly arguing, in May 1935, that the Irish in England had to “cement the alliance between the forces of Irish Freedom and the anti-imperialist section of English workers.”

Their efforts were further enriched by a notable migration of Irish republican socialist intellectuals into London during the interwar period. This coterie of revolutionary thinkers — including Mairin Mitchell, Michael Sayers, Desmond Ryan, Sean O’Casey, Liam O’Flaherty and others — actively contributed to and informed contemporary British left-wing discourse.

Simultaneously, Communist Party activists launched a targeted campaign to undermine Mosley’s enlistment of Irish support. The party produced model speakers’ notes for rallies in Irish pockets of the East End to directly counter fascist propaganda. Irish dockworkers were reminded how during the 1912 strike, it was the Jewish tailors of the East End who had taken in and fed their children throughout the dispute.

And so it was that when Mosley arrived at Cable Street — on October 4 1936 — in his open-top Rolls-Royce, he discovered that the East End Jews were not standing alone and his 5,000 Blackshirts were immediately swamped. Outnumbered 10 to one by a unified East End. With the Irish to the fore.

As the Communist activist Phil Piratin captured: “Never was there such unity of all sections of the working class as was seen on the barricades of Cable Street. People whose lives were poles apart, though living a few hundred yards of each other; bearded orthodox Jews and rough-and-ready Irish Catholic dockers…” Or as his comrade, Charlie Goodman, put it: “the most amazing thing was to see a silk-coated Orthodox Jew standing next to an Irish docker with a grappling iron — the docker had a grappling iron! This was absolutely unbelievable.”

As an example of solidarity against antisemitism, supremacy and authoritarianism, Cable Street carries immense pedagogical value. While those present rallied with different motivations, they stood entirely united on the day.

As a unified front against fascism, the coalition was messy, fractured and ideologically mismatched. Jewish tailors stood alongside Irish dockworkers who, in other contexts, might have held prejudices towards each other. While communists and socialists stood with liberal reformers and anarchists, who might have denounced each other ideologically any other week.

Cable Street succeeded because it prioritised pragmatic coalition-building over utopian idealism. These might not have been natural allies, but when it mattered most, they united to hold the line against a common enemy.

Ultimately, Cable Street teaches us that the optimal counter-strategy to populist demagoguery is not ideological purity tests but rather the establishment of generous cross-communal alliances, anchored in mutual necessity.

Such cross-community solidarity was perhaps best encapsulated by the Cable Street veteran Max Levitas. As he reflected on the lasting impact of Jewish aid during the 1912 dock strike, the Dublin-born Jewish activist observed, “We knew the Irish dockers wouldn’t forget. They wanted to repay the debt.”

The London-Irish can take immense pride in the pivotal role our community played in repelling British fascism at Cable Street. Certainly, its enduring legacy was on full display at Sunday’s 90th anniversary commemoration, visible in the sheer size of the Irish contingent and the sea of tricolours waving through the crowds.

Yet, as Declan Kearney reminded those assembled on Sunday, the stand against sectarian hatred and triumphalism did not end in 1936. Addressing the commemorative rally, the Sinn Fein national chairperson drew an explicit line between past and present, noting how, “Since last Saturday the people of Garvaghy Road, supported by community and political activists from across Ireland, have peacefully resisted the threat of an unwanted sectarian Orange march being forced through their area.”

In a direct call for contemporary solidarity, the Sinn Fein representative added: “My message to the East End today is this: the fascists did not pass here in 1936. The Orange Order will not pass on Garvaghy Road. The historical parallels are unmistakable.”

Highlighting the summer’s racist pogroms in Belfast, orchestrated by fascists and loyalist paramilitaries, and the spectacle of masked extremists marching through Portsmouth and Dover, Kearney observed how, “the forces of reaction in Ireland and Britain are mobilising. International capital is bankrolling race war through social media. Its agenda is clear: divide and conquer the working class.”

Arguing that the sudden drive for an Orange Order march down Garvaghy Road, after 28 years of peace, was a deliberate attempt to destroy the peace and political progress in Ireland, he asserted: “It’s a counter-reaction against the momentum for national self-determination and Irish unity.”

In his concluding remarks, the republican activist issued an urgent appeal to the British left: “Mobilise in the spirit of the Battle of Cable Street. Organise in solidarity with the people of Garvaghy Road. Defend the Irish peace process. Stand with us in support of equality, democracy, and Irish unity.”

Such solidarity would represent the ultimate tribute to the memory of those who fought before us. Grounded in the enduring principle that an injury to one is an injury to all, the instruction remains absolute — from Cable Street to Garvaghy Road — No Pasaran! They shall not pass!

Joe Dwyer is Sinn Fein London office manager and senior researcher for Sinn Fein MPs since 2016.

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