Read Voices from the Grave: Two Men's War in Ireland Online
Authors: Ed Moloney
Voices from the Grave: Two Men's War in Ireland (60 page)
On 31 August 1994 the IRA finally announced a ceasefire that came into effect at midnight, following a day of flag-waving cavalcades through Republican areas of the city organised by Sinn Fein and intended to convey the impression that a great victory had been won. But there were differences with past IRA ceasefires that marked this one out as significantly unusual, that perhaps made the street celebrations a little premature. The ceasefires of 1972 and 1975 had been predicated on secret talks with the British but this cessation was attached to nothing more concrete than ‘the potential of the current situation’, as the IRA described the position post-Downing Street Declaration.
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While in prior cessations the IRA leadership played the more prominent role, this time the centre stage would be occupied by its political wing, Sinn Fein. In other ceasefires the IRA was seeking a commitment from Britain for a withdrawal date from Northern Ireland but in this ceasefire that issue had been consigned to the back burner and instead Sinn Fein was seeking admittance to political talks that inevitably would leave the essence of the constitutional status quo largely untouched.
Reaction to the IRA statement was nothing if not predictable. While the Irish government and the SDLP gave it an unequivocal welcome, Unionist leaders chose not to read the ceasefire positively, focusing instead on the use of the word ‘complete’ instead of the adjective ‘permanent’ in the IRA’s description of its action. The British premier, John Major, had ‘no option’ except to reject the IRA’s bona fides because it had not gone far enough in this regard, protested the Ulster Unionist leader, James Molyneaux. His DUP
counterpart, Ian Paisley, declared, ‘I don’t see in the document any renunciation of violence; I hear the salute to murderers.’
The Loyalist paramilitary response was a study in contrasts. The CLMC, which included the UDA, said, ‘[We] wish to make it clear that we will not be dancing to the Pan-Nationalist tune … Is our constitution being tampered with or is it not? What deals have been done?’ Scepticism, fear and suspicion ran through the statement but the UVF’s reaction was mixed. Within a day of the ceasefire, graffiti appeared on a Shankill Road gable wall which reflected both the UVF/PUP analysis of the peace process and their need to cope with the Loyalist anxiety generated by the ceasefire. Past IRA ceasefires usually signalled British treachery, at least in Loyalist minds and a
Belfast Telegraph
poll showing that 56 per cent of people believed there had been a secret deal with the IRA demonstrated that it was no different this time. So the UVF slogan was designed to calm and reassure: ‘On behalf of the Loyalist people on the Shankill Road, we accept the unconditional surrender of the IRA.’ But it was clear that not everyone in the UVF believed the message from their own leadership. Although the ceasefire had been well telegraphed in the preceding days, the UVF went out to kill a Catholic just a few hours before the IRA announcement. Using sledgehammers to break into a house in Antrim, the UVF kidnapped thirty-seven-year-old Sean McDermott, a Catholic building worker who was later found dead in his car, killed by two shotgun blasts to the head. Three days after the IRA announcement, the UVF planted a bomb outside Sinn Fein’s headquarters, a small device was placed on the Belfast–Dublin train, much to Chris Hudson’s anger, and an attempt was made to assassinate a Republican on the Falls Road.
As Gerry Adams flew off to the United States to an ecstatic reception, this time on a regular and unrestricted visitor’s visa, the UVF’s fears that Adams would attempt to claim all the credit for peace looked prescient. With the IRA declaration made, the spotlight turned on to the UVF and UDA. The first indication that a Loyalist ceasefire was on its way came when the CLMC distanced
itself from Ian Paisley. In the wake of the IRA’s ceasefire, Ian Paisley had sounded his customary alarm and offered to create a pan-Unionist forum. But this time the Loyalist paramilitaries shunned his offer, beginning a period of bitter rivalry and hostility between them. To stymie Paisley and accelerate the Loyalist journey towards a ceasefire, the CLMC hosted its own pan-Unionist conference in mid-September which the DUP refused to attend.
By October 1994, the UVF and UDA were ready to call their own cessation although there were telling differences in the approach favoured by the two groups. The UDA was most eager to make the move and wanted to announce it in the car park of the Maze prison, a clear sign that its prisoners, who at that point included the already notorious gunman Johnny Adair, played a dominant role in the decision-making process. The UVF and the PUP preferred a more formal, dignified affair which could generate valuable publicity and kudos for the Loyalists. The UVF got its way and from that as well as the nature of the event that was held, it is reasonable to suggest that within the internal counsels of the CLMC, David Ervine and his people held greater sway. The venue for the announcement was Fernhill House, which during the Home Rule crisis of 1912 had been the headquarters of the West Belfast UVF. To underscore the significance of the ceasefire and to suggest a deeper sincerity than the IRA had shown, Gusty Spence, the first paramilitary prisoner of the Troubles, wrote and read the ceasefire announcement. The words that attracted most media attention came at the start of the last but third paragraph: ‘In all sincerity, we offer, to the loved ones of all innocent victims over the past twenty years, abject and true remorse.’
When the Loyalist ceasefire came, it came with a rush. We were
saying in the CLMC, ‘Yes, we’re working towards it’, but the UDA
wanted to call it virtually instantly. I think one suggestion by the
UDA, and you can check this with the UVF leadership, was to drive
up to Long Kesh car park and declare a ceasefire there. This was
always one of the confusions with the UVF and the UDA, certainly
in the media’s mind. The UVF never placed its prisoners on the
same plane as the UDA seemed to place theirs. Individually they
placed their prisoners on a very high plane, but collectively the
prisoners were an incarcerated battalion. They had no greater
authority than any other battalion; they were entitled to an opinion,
were certainly entitled to discussion and dialogue, but they weren’t
entitled to have such influence. People said [to the UDA], ‘Hold on
a minute, you can’t do it that way … This needs to be vigorous, it
needs to make a splash because it is coming on the back of the IRA
ceasefire.’ There had to be a splash in order to force our way into
the frame. We were being left out of the frame, and that the Loyalist
ceasefire was going to be called was brilliant, but how was it going to
make serious headline news, how was it going to change the atmosphere
and the mood within our whole society? In discussion,
between the UDA, UVF, Red Hand, it became clear that, ‘OK,
maybe that’s not a bad idea, how would you do that?’ ‘OK, we could
… put all our people up on the platform.’ So next was: ‘Who wants
to be on the platform?’ All of the very reticent military people said,
‘Well, it’ll not be me, I’m not going anywhere near a camera.’ In the
main the UVF is still a bit like that. UVF personnel have never
sought the cameras; the PUP who are very close to the UVF do,
because we’re involved expressly and directly in politics, but while
other paramilitaries have sought the cameras, the UVF personnel
have very, very rarely done that. It was clear that it needed to be of
significance. I can’t remember who came up with the idea of the
alpha and omega, [but] Spence was effectively the first Loyalist
prisoner as far as this phase of Northern Ireland’s nightmare is
concerned, and somebody came up with the idea of alpha and
omega, the beginning and the end, which is quite significant, and if
you look at the sentiment behind that, it’s huge. I think it was quite
brilliantly handled. One guy told me he was in a hotel room in
Pakistan, he just happened to be watching – I think it was Sky or
CNN or whatever – and, you know, flash, big news. You don’t have
to travel very far to know that Loyalism doesn’t exist … in the
minds of many people beyond these shores, and all of a sudden they
did, and that was important for a number of reasons. They were
heady days and interesting times and I actually think that the style
and nature of the way it was approached, with the media briefed the
evening before to be at … Fernhill House, and, you know, Fernhill
House had its own significance as well, not just [because of] its
relationship with the UVF, [but] … its relationship with fighting
Ulstermen and Ulstermen prepared to say, ‘Well, I’m not going to
be bullied, I’m not going to be downtrodden, I’m going to stand up
and do something about it’ … and remember, this had never been
done before, and I actually think it was done quite well, and it was
the PUP and the UDP who took the platform and Gusty Spence
who read out the statement. You could argue that Gusty Spence
wrote the statement, which I think is fair enough, but only in draft
form and then to be read and discussed … and then copper-
fastened. I don’t remember, although others may, the draft being
adjusted, because it had some interesting, quite fundamental issues
in it, like abject and true remorse to all of the innocent victims. And
we’re still waiting on the IRA saying that. Also it said that never
again shall we allow our society to dissolve into bloody conflict …
They were quite brilliant pieces. I mean, somebody needs to take it
apart word for word and see what does it really mean, because those
sentiments were real. I think they still are
…
Q.
Was there any opposition within the UVF that you sensed at
that time towards the notion of ceasefire?
A.
Yes, but not jumping up and down or breathing fire or threatening
splits, no
…
Q.
Nervousness?
A.
Nervousness … people who were the leaders were nervous,
people like me who were analysts were nervous. People … had the
right to be nervous, we’d never been there before, and … there’s
also parts of the jigsaw that you are always conscious are either in
shadow or can’t be seen at all and we admitted that … if all that we
know is as we know it this could be OK, but then if it was ‘if’, it was
a big risk, and I can remember one UVF leader saying, ‘It is risky,
but sure there are no guarantees in life’, and … that phrase has
been played in my head for a very long time, but played alongside
it is: ‘Well, we’re at the crossroads’, and the UVF has managed to
maintain itself at the crossroads, I would say, very well. It’s had
discipline difficulties like many others, in fact less than many others,
but nevertheless has sat solidly at the crossroads
.
The positive language notwithstanding, the UVF ceasefire was called on exactly the same terms as the IRA’s: it was not final but was conditional on events and could be called off if it was felt necessary. In the months that followed, those circumstances evolved twice, the first time with the publication of the so-called
Frameworks
documents which outlined very ambitious, and for Unionists, provocative British and Irish ideas about Northern Ireland’s possible future relationship with the government in Dublin, and the second was in February 1996 when the IRA’s ceasefire broke down. In neither instance, however, did the UVF’s nerve break. As things turned out, the
Framework
papers were much diluted down in the Good Friday Agreement while the IRA ceasefire was restored in the summer of 1997.
…
there was only one major issue for me … in calling a ceasefire
the UVF signed up to nothing. The language used meant the UVF
placed itself at the crossroads, interested in viewing down that street
… but retaining the capacity to go in whatever direction it felt
[was] required … The ceasefire meant, ‘We’re looking’; it didn’t
mean you’ve gone away, it didn’t mean you’ve no weaponry, it
didn’t mean you haven’t got the ability. I can remember Francie
Molloy, the Sinn Fein councillor from Coalisland, saying, ‘If things
go wrong we can always go back to what we do best’, and I can
remember saying similar things, because it was actually true. You’re
sitting at the crossroads, you’re having a juke down the road, you
might sent a few scouts out, to find out what’s up the road; if you
don’t like what’s up the road, if up the road is dishonourable, you
come back and you retain the option to go in whatever direction is
required. And that is where the UVF were. No, I think that we need
to extrapolate that a little, that’s where the UVF are. Journalists
who play games with the existence of paramilitaries … need to
waken up and smell the coffee, [and understand] that neither the
IRA, the UVF nor the UDA signed up to anything; they signed up
to the ceasefire for exploration. And [even] what came out of the
exploration has not been signed up to. The Good Friday Agreement,
for instance, is not signed up to by either the IRA or the UVF or the
UDA or the Red Hand for that matter. In that respect I think we all
need to think very carefully about what we think people’s mindsets
are, and if people’s mindsets are confused, as they always have been
in this society by the perceived distrust of the other, well then we’re
going nowhere. It’s slow, it’s laborious, it’s tedious, it’s painful;
against that backdrop there’s also a loss of discipline because the war
isn’t being fought and what do you do with your ‘soldiers’ when the
war is not being fought? All those are nightmare management positions
for leaderships to deal with … Some cope better than others …
but it seems to me that the UVF was saying, ‘Well, we’ll have a look,
let’s explore, let’s see …’ And of course then, you know, we hit all
kinds of shit when the Framework for the Future documents
appeared, I think it was February 1995. That was a nightmare …
because they were expressly green; they were Provo-pandering
material, there’s no question about that. But you had to outwork
[the questions]: ‘What is that for, what game is being played …?’
Certainly, in those early days, you have to realise that the ceasefire
was constantly, constantly under threat, and effectively under
review, because we had the IRA’s abandonment of a ceasefire again
in 1996, never mind the nightmare of the Framework document,
and Loyalism pulling itself apart and Unionism pulling itself apart,
politically and intellectually, over what the future might hold, who
is honourable, who is dishonourable. I’ve never known the British
government to be considered honourable by the Unionist community
… and where I think the UVF got this right was in this way …
Our great leaders within Unionism accused British governments of
being betrayers then demanded that the betrayer look after their
interests, [whereas] the UVF was moving away from the betrayer
looking after our interests and thinking, ‘Well, fuck me, we need to
do this, this has to be done by us, or people like us, insomuch as that
we take responsibility for ourselves, that the judgement isn’t going to
be Robin Eames’s for ever … we can’t keep playing this third-party
game, we’ve got to take responsibility’, and I think that in many
ways that was another brave step by the UVF. I can remember as
well the Framework documents. We took those apart and put them
together, and I mean took them apart and put them together again,
through a process of conference and dialogue … and it was, I have
to say, another interesting time and a time of great fear because
those ceasefires were under strain and stress. And then of course the
IRA detonated bombs in Canary Wharf that killed two people … it
was very, very difficult against that backdrop and yet Loyalism held.
And the same scumbags of journalists, and they’re not all scumbags,
but the same scumbag journalists who play the tittle-tattle were
shocked beyond belief at Loyalism’s capacity to hold … I think the
Loyalist paramilitary leadership need serious appreciation for the
way in which they held the line … there were … a few wobbly bits,
you know, the beginnings of ‘no claim, no blame’, but in the main,
and certainly the people that I was dealing with, were absolutely
solid as a rock … It wasn’t a question of ‘Oh well, they’ve done this
so we’ll do that’; it was a question: ‘What does all this mean, where
is this going?’ That required analysis, and they pulled in all the
avenues for analysis and, and stayed their hand, thankfully, because
it was, it was, it was serious enough
…