A Personal Memory by Jimmy Burns
The author, who covered Northern Ireland during the 1990’s as a journalist with the FT , remembers the key final stages of the peace process that led to the historic deal.
With the approach of the 25th anniversary of the Belfast Good Friday agreement, and what promises to be a make or break in terms of the latest attempt to settle stormy waters in the province with a planned visit by President Biden later this month (April), personal memories flood back of what , after thirty years of conflict came to be known as the peace process.
It was in the Spring of 1990 that I was sent in my new role as senior reporter with the Financial Times to report on the start of the so-called marching season. The phrase was given to the enduring tradition of mutually antagonistic political and religious camps competing with their territories, totems, uniforms, and bands often to the point of violence.
I spent many hours exploring the two communities living on the front-line of Belfast’s sectarian divide: a 20 ft-high barrier of concrete and reenforced steel that zig-zagged its way through housing estates, and churches. Covered in rival paramilitary slogans , patrolled by the army and local police, ,it was as I described at the time’ “the last solid wall in a Europe of crumbling divides”.
It was a less geopolitically vital piece of political masonry than Berlin’s, but in the closing years of the 20th century, the Belfast Wall showed no signs of being dismantled.
The image and the viscerally antagonistic and uncompromising comments I heard from both sides, ordinary citizens talking about the victimisation by the ‘other side’ , along with open threats by hostile armed men and women, seemed out of step with the post-communist Europe of the 1990s.
But as the season of political marches got under way, this urban mosaic inappropriately excused by government as ‘peace lines’ , remained the most poignant symbol of Northern Ireland’s tragic, seemingly insoluble divisions, along with acts of terrorism.
Later that year in October I returned to Northern Ireland having secured a rare interview with notorious street-fighting man during the worst of the troubles turned key political player in the peace process, Martin McGuinness.
For a Full account of this meeting see Life & Times of Martin McGuinness FT Podcast. March 23rd, 2017 https://www.ft.com/content/e3a4aeee-e752-421f-8e05-9d82e7b14114?shareType=nongift
He agreed to meet me in a building used by the IRA’s political wing Sinn Fein, deep in the predominately Catholic pro-Republican Bogside neighbourhood of his hometown the Derry, or Londonderry as unionists preferred to call it.
At the time I was aware that secret channels had been operating off and on between the IRA and Dublin and London, since the 80s’s, some of which had been revived. The unsung heroes of the peace process were the mediators that ranged from unnamed priests and British and Irish civil servants along with the politicians long committed publicly to ending the violence like John Hume leader of the Social Democratic and Labour Party (SDLP).
When we first met, McGuinness , for what he said were ‘legal reasons’ refused to confirm or deny his IRA past although he said the time would come when he would. He had emerged as a key IRA figure in Derry after the bloody Sunday killings on 30th January 1972 , when thirteen civilians were shot dead and at least 15 others injured when members of the Army’s Parachute Regiment opened fire on civil rights demonstrators in the Bogside – a predominantly Catholic part of Londonderry.
By the early 1990’s McGuinness had together with Gerry Adams come to be seen as not only a leading figure in Sinn Fein,but also a strong influence on the IRA’s military strategy.
In his interview with me ,McGuinness was in an uncompromising mode. He declared himself opposed to any IRA ceasefire as in his view this would only help consolidate British power’, while sceptical of the feasibility of power sharing sovereignty agreement as a steppingstone to a united Ireland. I later reflected that playing hard ball was part of a political strategy to gain more concessions.
A subsequent IRA bomb attack on the City of London seemed to serve as a chilling reminder to John Major’s government of the terrorist organisation’s ability to strike and strike again, and the security forces’ apparent inability to do anything about it.
Yet by the early 1990’s certain war weariness was being felt by both the IRA and the army, a sense of no clear winners and a willingness to seriously consider political options.
There was a new potential broker in the mix: the US administration as I discovered in 1994, when I was sent on an assignment across the Atlantic to test the mood in Boston, New York, Washington and Chicago on Northern Ireland, among Irish republican activists, lobbyists, and government officials.
On St Patricks’ Day (March17th) 1994, President Bill Clinton hosted a gathering in the White House which those attending would not easily forget.
The guest list , led by Irish Prime Minister Albert Reynolds, included US trade union leaders, presidential advisers, human right lawyers, businessmen, congressmen and senators, all draw by enthusiasm for America’s Irish heritage but also the hope that there might be a real chance for peace in Northern Ireland.
Clinton was prepared to meet the challenge laid down by Reynolds that, as ‘political leaders we must show daring as ever before…in bringing about the goal of peace.”
There had been Irish razzamatazz in the White House before. John F.Kennedy held some cultural soirees, and Ronald Reagan entertained Tip O’Neil, the legendary speaker on Capitol Hill. But never had the invitation list been so long; never had the evening been so political in its scope, drawing in so many of those interested in that most touchy of Irish subjects, Northern Ireland.
As Clinton himself later boasted, the last time the White house had hosted a comparable party was under “Old Hickory” Andrew Jackson, the first Irish American to be voted as president.
Clinton had promised the earth-or so it seemed to those Irish republicans who had long sought to draw the US into playing an active role in Northern Ireland. The “earth” was Clinton’s promise to send a presidential envoy to sort out the mess in Northern Ireland.
After becoming president, Clinton delayed on the promise of an envoy- but in February 1994 granted a US visa to Gerry Adams, the Sinn Fein president.
The visa decision stirred British nervousness. But the visa was not intended as an endorsement of the IRA, nor did it turn out that way.
As one of Clinton’ main advisers on Northern Ireland, a senior member of the National Security Council Nancy Soderberg told me at the time.
The plan was to expose Adams to American opinion that was opposed to violence and to move the peace process forward.
Early that autumn a distinctive change of mood became evident with the IRA declaring a total cessation of military activities ahead of publicised talks in Dublin between Adams, Reynolds and John Hume, head of the Social Democratic and Labour Party.
In a statement, accompanied by a public shaking of hands, the three leaders declared the beginning of a new era , “in which we all totally committed to democratic and peaceful methods of resolving our political problems.”
Meanwhile in London , Prime minister John Major had abruptly ended a meeting with Ian Paisley leader of the hard-line Democratic Unionist Party after refusing to listen to his protests.
In response to the IRA’s move, Britain scaled down security patrols in Northern Ireland. Yet publicly at least the government, supported by Tony Blair the Labour leader remained cautious about engaging in direct negotiations with Sinn Fein until a period had passed that could allow London to gauge whether the cessation of violence was permanent.
In spite of their differences , the UK and Irish governments were moving in tandem towards the dual objective of entrenching Sinn Fein within the democratic process while demolishing union suspicions of a sell-out to the IRA.
Mayor’s explicit commitment to submitting any decision on the future of Northern Ireland to a referendum in the province, reassured several leading unionists.
In December 1994, McGuinness and Gerry Kelly , led a delegation into exploratory talks with government officials at Stormont Castle Castle. Both McGuinness , and Kelly had served terrorist-related prison sentences but were now, along with Adams, part of the peace process.
Obstacles evidently remained with both the British government and Ulster Unionists insisting that Sinn Fein had not met the requirements for entering all-party talks,
On February 9th, 1996, the 18-month cease fire was interrupted with a bomb in London’s Docklands that caused numerous injuries and two deaths, after a code warning sent to media organisations had given policy time to clear most of the area. There was a further IRA terrorist attack that ripped through the centre of Manchester in June. There were no fatalities, but 212 people were injured, along with severe damage to a third of the city centre’s retail space, at a cost of millions.
A barrage of bomb scares and smaller explosions plagued the general election campaign the following Spring.
The bombs appeared to have been designed to disrupt with no loss of life-in IRA terms a publicity coup at a time when the issue of Northern Ireland appeared to be slipping down the mainland’s political agenda.
The landslide Labour victory brought about quite a different scenario, with the greatly empowered newly elected Labour Leader Tony Blair announcing early talks with John Bruton, the Irish Prime-Minister to try and kick-start the faltering North Ireland peace process.
As the first world leader to congratulate Blair on his election, Clinton made clear that Northern Ireland remained an important area in UK-British relations while reopening the US administration’s contacts with Sinn Fein in an effort to get the IRA to declare a new ceasefire.
Meanwhile Mo Mowlam, the new secretary of state for Northern Ireland wasted little time in pursuing her priorities including a reform of the Royal Ulster Constabulary , speeding up the transfer of IRA prisoners from the British mainland to Northern Ireland, and a new focus on removing religious discrimination in employment.
In June in the same year, the publication of a joint Anglo-Irish proposal on decommissioning of terrorist arms drew heavily on the recommendation made year earlier by a three-man international body led by the US envoy ,former senator George Mitchell.
The task of monitoring the decommissioning of paramilitary arms -in effect putting beyond use the IRA’s extensive arms dumps -would fall to a retired Canadian General John de Chastelain.
The sheer scale of the challenge was underpinned by the fact that the IRA’s secret armoury, in volume and potential, far outweighed anything held by any rival paramilitary organisation in the UK.
It included large quantities of Semtex and other explosives, Kalashnikov Ak-47 rifles, grenades, state of the art high velocity ‘sniper’ rifles, handguns, machine-guns, and handheld missile systems, all with ammunition.
As security sources conceded the success of any arms handover would depend on the IRA’s willingness to provide information on the remaining secret caches.
On the political front, the peace process faced the additional problem of the hardline Democratic Unionist Party, threatening a revival of tactics used earlier on in the Troubles, that of province wide protest rallies, this time in open dissent with David Trimble’s Ulster Unionist Party’s decision to remain in the Northern Ireland talks.
Then there was also the question of how far Adams and McGuiness could bring the Republican movement, and in particularly the IRA behind a political non-violent solution to the Northern Ireland conflict.
Back in 1972, at the height of the Troubles, Adams had just been released from Long Kesh prison, where he had been interned for his alleged membership of the IRA. The then 23-year-old Adams was part of a delegation led by Sean MacStiofain, the then IRA chief of staff which travelled to meet the British government in London.
At the meeting with Home Secretary Willie Whitelaw, MacStiofain read out a list of IRA demands, including a general amnesty, to include the release of all IRA prisoners, a public commitment to a united Ireland, and British withdrawal within three years.
Three weeks after the collapse of the 1972 talks the IRA broke its temporarily truce , setting off 22 bombs, within an hour in central Belfast. In what came to be known as Bloody Friday, nine people were killed and dozens maimed.
Adams was never cut out to be an Irish Mahatma Ghandi. But he became adept , as did McGuinness in the 1980’s and 1990’s , in out manoeuvring his rivals and winning over former enemies, so that the UK government came round to negotiating politically with both of them , as key figures in the republican movement.
The real test if the two men’s credentials as men of peace had yet to come . It was the extent to which they were prepared and capable of swinging the IRA behind an agreement with the UK, and Irish governments, and moderate Ulster unionists that would fall short of what the IRA had long been fighting for- a united Ireland.
And so, to the Friday Agreement announced at 5.36 pm, after hours without sleep for us journalists that had to work from an unheated portacabin converted into a temporary press centre, and delegates in the talks that continued day and night in Stormont Castle for much of the week.
The historic announcement was made by George Mitchell, who chaired the talks . The breakthrough came after a call from President Clinton in an appeal to all the parties.
As Clinton went on to say of the talks’ participants : “They have chosen hope over hate, the promise of the future over the poison of the past.” ENDS
