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EDITORIAL Long journey from peace on paper to peace on
earth
In Northern Ireland, long a tangled
skein of slogans, Not an Inch was the threat uttered most ominously
and embedded most deeply in the uncompromising Unionist psyche. There were
variations on the theme, such as No Surrender! or No Pope
Here. Behind the swagger and posturing was the fear that an inch, if
given, might become a mile and land all Unionists in Dublin if not in Rome
under the sway of the pope, whom one of them used to call Old Red
Socks.
On Nov. 27 they gave up a historic inch, and the world is about to
find out where it will take them.
The bones of the story are well known. The latest phase began with
a nonviolent struggle for social and political justice by the Catholic
minority, inspired by the U.S. campaign of Martin Luther King Jr. -- and at
this pivotal moment its only fair to say that the Irish Republican Army
was part of that peaceful movement, with scarcely a gun to its name in 1969.
The Catholic slogan at the time was undemanding and almost quaint: One
man, one vote. Only people with property could vote, and Unionists owned
most of the property. If the Unionists had given an inch then, it might have
saved a generation of destruction and 3,300 lives.
Or perhaps not -- logic is an unreliable guide in the face of fear
and anger. So years of suppressed animosities blew the lid off. Few on either
side remain untouched by three decades of tragedy. Guns and bombs and marching
and words all mingled to create a society in turmoil. Amid the death and
destruction, good people, the vast majority of Northern Irelands
population, tried suggestions and risked solutions, mostly in vain. Communities
have souls analogous to peoples souls, and the Northern soul was
sick.
In the past few years Northern Ireland grew weary of war, but not
enough to make peace. There had been so much pain. Yet something was stirring
in a new, volatile Irish stew that included participation by the governments of
London and Dublin; by Sinn Fein, ally of the IRA; by an American named George
Mitchell. Much of this was new, as was the partial repudiation, at last, of the
Rev. Ian Paisley, the most hearty hater in the North.
All these were but straws in the wind, tips of an iceberg. They do
not explain what came after them. Something took place greater than any single
event or contribution and greater even than the sum of these. Something stirred
in the soul of the community, and the unthinkable happened, as it sometimes
does.
People acted out of character, for one thing: from Unionist leader
David Trimble, once a militant not-an-incher, to Martin McGuinness, once an IRA
commander. Old enemies, all walking on ice, moved closer to each other; close
enough to see that the other was human. Former Senator Mitchell must get much
of the credit for this. He took the feuding factions away from the media
spotlight, away out of sight to confront themselves and each other. Some, such
as Trimble and Sinn Feins Gerry Adams, had refused for years to speak to
each other. Mitchell joked, according to news reports, and both sides laughed.
It was as elementary as that.
Such elemental mistrust is repeated, as each days news
reminds us, all over the world. It would be ironic, and immensely gratifying,
if, in years to come, other communities were beating a path to Northern Ireland
to see how a whole people learned to save its community soul.
Paper agreements are not enough, and neither are new structures.
For half a century there was a parliament in Belfast with the very kind of
limited powers this new one will have, with the sharing of power on paper just
like this one. Under that system there flourished one of the most refined and
enduring expressions of discrimination and repression anywhere this century.
It all now depends on what the people, and especially those in
power, do with their new opportunity. Carefully chosen words on paper will
remain just that if they are not backed by an immense urge to goodwill and
healing. There is reason to hope this might happen, that people, as if walking
past a mirror, might recognize themselves in the other side. It
would be a great way to finish out a millennium, a great way to embark on a new
one.
National Catholic Reporter, December 10,
1999
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