A Rebel and a Traitor by Rory Carroll: When Loyalty Becomes Complicity

The book "A Rebel and a Traitor" was written by Rory Carroll. It is based on real life. A historical non-fiction account.

You start with a man who seems firmly planted where he belongs.

Roger Casement is part of the British Empire, not on the edges of it but inside it. Respected. Trusted. Even knighted. The kind of figure people would point to as proof that the system works.

But then he goes out into the world, and that’s where everything begins to come apart.

He sees what empire really looks like when no one is dressing it up. In places like the Congo and the Amazon, he witnesses exploitation that isn’t subtle or debatable; it’s brutal, direct, and impossible to ignore. People reduced to nothing. Used, overworked, discarded, silenced. And once he sees it, there’s no going back to the version of the world he had before.

That’s where the change starts.

It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s slower than that. A kind of breaking away. He doesn’t just question the Empire, he loses faith in it entirely. And from there, his focus turns home, to Ireland. If such behaviour is what empire does elsewhere, what right does it have to rule there at all?

By the time the First World War begins, he’s crossed a line that most people never would. He’s no longer serving Britain and their wicked doings; he’s working against it. And not quietly either. He travels to Germany, Britain’s enemy, trying to secure support for an Irish rebellion.

That’s the point where everything sharpens.

Because now this isn’t just about belief. It’s about action. Risk. Consequences.

On the other side, the state is watching. Carefully. Patiently. Men tasked and brainwashed with protecting the system see him not as a man of conscience, but as a threat. In wartime, that distinction matters more than anything.

And so the story becomes a kind of quiet pursuit. One man is trying to build something new, another trying to prevent it from ever taking shape.

Casement pushes forward, trying to gather support, organise resistance, and convince others that independence is within reach. But the deeper he goes, the more uncertain things become. Plans don’t hold as firmly as they should. Trust begins to fray. The reality of rebellion proves far messier than the idea of it.

Then comes the turning point.

As the planned uprising draws closer, he begins to doubt it. Not the cause itself, but the timing, the readiness, and the chances of success. He sees the cracks clearly now. And in the end, he tries to stop it.

But by then, it’s too late.

Events are already moving. The rebellion goes ahead. And Casement, caught in the middle of it all, is arrested before he can change the course of anything.

What follows is swift and final.

He is brought back, tried, and condemned. Not as a reformer or a man of principle, but as a traitor. The state does what states have always done when challenged in this way; it makes an example of him. His execution closes the story in the simplest possible terms.

After the execution of Roger Casement and the suppression of the Easter Rising, Ireland did not move into peace. Instead, the resistance evolved. The Irish Volunteers, who had taken part in the rebellion, reorganised and became more structured over time. Political support also shifted strongly toward Sinn Féin, which rejected British rule and gained widespread backing in the 1918 election. From this political and military environment, the Irish Republican Army gradually emerged during the War of Independence that followed. What had begun as a failed uprising developed into a sustained and organised campaign for Irish independence, shaping the conflict that continued into the early 1920s.

But the truth of it doesn’t close so neatly.

What lingers is not just his actions, but what he stood for and how hard it is to place him on one side. He was part of the system, then he rejected it. He exposed injustice but also took risks that others saw as dangerous. He followed his beliefs to the end, even when they led him into uncertainty.

And underneath it all sits the question that gives the story its weight.

Can loyalty to a country still hold if that country is built on the suffering of others?

My View

For me, loyalty has a limit.

I will not stay loyal to any system, country, or authority when humanity is being exploited. Humanity comes first. Always.

When people are being worked to death, brutalised, and treated as if they don’t matter, that is not something that can be justified or explained away. It doesn’t matter what flag is involved or what tradition is being defended. Wrong is wrong.

Roger Casement saw the wickedness carried out under the British system and chose to turn against it. He decided to stand against what he believed was wrong, even though it cost him his life. Now think about the people who were actually being exploited: what happens when they decide enough is enough, especially in times when protections for them were minimal?

And even today, you still see leaders making decisions that affect lives on a massive scale. Figures like Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin are constantly in the spotlight, and people judge them in very different ways depending on where they stand. Some see strength; others see recklessness or harm. The point is not to reduce it to simple labels but to recognise that power, when misused or unchecked, can lead to real human consequences.

History shows the truth clearly. Nations with power-intoxicated leaders have often built wealth and status on the backs of others through control of land, labour, and resources. These nations wake up and call whoever they want a terrorist, attack them, kill their people, and steal their resources. 

Take France and its long involvement in parts of West Africa.

In Niger, uranium has been one of the key resources. For decades, French companies relied on Niger’s uranium to help power France’s nuclear energy system. France generates a large portion of its electricity from nuclear power, and Niger has historically been one of its key suppliers.

Other countries tied into similar economic relationships include Mali, Burkina Faso, and the Central African Republic, all resource-rich in different ways, including gold. These countries have had long histories of foreign companies extracting resources, often with limited benefit reaching ordinary people.

Now, in recent years, several of these nations have begun pushing back, asserting more control over their resources, revising agreements, and cutting ties with French influence.

And this is where facts matter.

France has not collapsed, but there are real effects:

• Disruptions in uranium supply from Niger have raised concerns about long-term energy security

• French companies have lost contracts and access in parts of West Africa

• Political influence in the region has declined sharply

These are measurable shifts. They do not destroy an economy overnight, but they do show how dependent certain systems were on external resources.

When a country benefits for decades from access to another region’s resources, and that access changes, there will be consequences. Not instant collapse, but pressure, adjustment, and loss of influence.

So the question becomes simple.

Do you stay loyal to something just because it is yours, even when it harms others?

Or do you step away from it when you see the truth?

If someone represents a system, helps it function, and chooses to step back and put humanity first, that's the right choice. It may not be easy. It may come with consequences. But it is right.

No amount of wealth, status, or tradition can justify suffering. While some are wearing stolen pearls and jewels on their crowns that make the news all for status, gotten from the slavery age and war waged against innocent communities, waving hands from carriages, those marks have left people in pain.

No matter how one frames it—whether as power, legacy, or pride—any concept based on mistreating others should be questioned, discussed, fought against, and ultimately stopped.

That is what makes this story matter.

No matter how much the focus is placed on one man and his country, the starting point is the same: the harm that was done, and the choice to either accept it or stand against it.

And that choice is still here, even now.