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Britain’s future depends on a party made in the destructive image of Ian Paisley Britain’s future depends on a party made in the destructive image of Ian Paisley
(10 days later)
Boris Johnson’s famous policy on cake was pro having it and pro eating it – “pro-secco but by no means anti-pasto” as he wittily told the Sun last year – but with Johnson the “Gosh, I was only joking” defence is always available. The case of the Democratic Unionist party is of a different order. Theresa May’s new partners at Westminster aren’t notable comics – “laugh and the world laughs with you” has never been their motto – so their have-cake-and-eat-it policy has to be admired for its sheer bravura. It isn’t so much a cake, in fact, as an entire Ulster breakfast that they want to see sizzling and permanently undiminished on their plate while at the same time forking it, item by fried item – potato farls followed by sausage followed by bacon, eggs and black pudding – down their ready gullets.Boris Johnson’s famous policy on cake was pro having it and pro eating it – “pro-secco but by no means anti-pasto” as he wittily told the Sun last year – but with Johnson the “Gosh, I was only joking” defence is always available. The case of the Democratic Unionist party is of a different order. Theresa May’s new partners at Westminster aren’t notable comics – “laugh and the world laughs with you” has never been their motto – so their have-cake-and-eat-it policy has to be admired for its sheer bravura. It isn’t so much a cake, in fact, as an entire Ulster breakfast that they want to see sizzling and permanently undiminished on their plate while at the same time forking it, item by fried item – potato farls followed by sausage followed by bacon, eggs and black pudding – down their ready gullets.
On the one hand, and against the wishes of the Northern Irish majority, they want the UK to leave the EU. On the other, they want Northern Ireland to preserve its “frictionless” border with the EU state to the south. On the one hand, they want, in the words of the DUP’s leader, Arlene Foster, to leave the EU “in a way that respects the specific circumstances of Northern Ireland and, of course, our shared history and geography with the Republic of Ireland”. And on the other, they want no special deal, nothing that distinguishes them from mainland Britain, because that might turn out to be the first step in a process of Irish unification that they and their political ancestors were founded to oppose.On the one hand, and against the wishes of the Northern Irish majority, they want the UK to leave the EU. On the other, they want Northern Ireland to preserve its “frictionless” border with the EU state to the south. On the one hand, they want, in the words of the DUP’s leader, Arlene Foster, to leave the EU “in a way that respects the specific circumstances of Northern Ireland and, of course, our shared history and geography with the Republic of Ireland”. And on the other, they want no special deal, nothing that distinguishes them from mainland Britain, because that might turn out to be the first step in a process of Irish unification that they and their political ancestors were founded to oppose.
To many people on the eastern side of the Irish Sea, the DUP has recently become best known for its opposition to abortion, same-sex marriage and the idea of manmade climate change. But it has other achievements to its name. One of them is the brazen way it has gone about destroying any moderate unionist position to the left of it.To many people on the eastern side of the Irish Sea, the DUP has recently become best known for its opposition to abortion, same-sex marriage and the idea of manmade climate change. But it has other achievements to its name. One of them is the brazen way it has gone about destroying any moderate unionist position to the left of it.
When I first went to Northern Ireland,, the DUP had still to be born, while Sinn Féin had long before dropped out of the political mainstream north and south of the border. Stormont, which in those days called itself a parliament rather than a mere assembly, had a unionist government and a nationalist opposition. Captain Terence O’Neill, an aristocratic Ulsterman educated at Eton and Sandhurst, was the prime minister – the fourth since Northern Ireland’s creation in 1920. Like all his predecessors, O’Neill was a member of the Orange Order; unlike them, he saw himself as a liberal moderniser who could help heal the religious and political division that separated Protestants from Catholics and the north from the south. In 1965, a visit to Belfast by Ireland’s Taoiseach had caused controversy and violent protest. When I first went to Northern Ireland, the DUP had still to be born, while Sinn Féin had long before dropped out of the political mainstream north and south of the border. Stormont, which in those days called itself a parliament rather than a mere assembly, had a unionist government and a nationalist opposition. Captain Terence O’Neill, an aristocratic Ulsterman educated at Eton and Sandhurst, was the prime minister – the fourth since Northern Ireland’s creation in 1920. Like all his predecessors, O’Neill was a member of the Orange Order; unlike them, he saw himself as a liberal moderniser who could help heal the religious and political division that separated Protestants from Catholics and the north from the south. In 1965, a visit to Belfast by Ireland’s Taoiseach had caused controversy and violent protest.
I knew a little of this when I set sail on the overnight boat from Glasgow in the autumn of 1967. I had a girlfriend from County Armagh – in 1967 we were travelling to see her parents – and from her and other sources I’d already gathered that the police carried guns; that Belfast pubs offered “hots” – measures of spirits served warm; and that a vociferous cleric, the Rev Ian Paisley, was making a name for himself as an opponent of O’Neill’s mild anti-sectarianism. Of course, I also knew about Orange marches – I lived in Glasgow, after all. But of most other aspects of Northern Ireland’s history and politics I shared the profound ignorance of the British population at large. The 150 miles between Glasgow and Belfast seemed to separate different continents. Travelling by a 1930s-built ship that looked like a little liner heightened this impression. A coal fire glowed in the first class bar, waiters served steak and chips in the dining saloon, and we slept in a cabin where the coat hangers swayed gently once we quit the shelter of the Clyde estuary and entered the North Channel.I knew a little of this when I set sail on the overnight boat from Glasgow in the autumn of 1967. I had a girlfriend from County Armagh – in 1967 we were travelling to see her parents – and from her and other sources I’d already gathered that the police carried guns; that Belfast pubs offered “hots” – measures of spirits served warm; and that a vociferous cleric, the Rev Ian Paisley, was making a name for himself as an opponent of O’Neill’s mild anti-sectarianism. Of course, I also knew about Orange marches – I lived in Glasgow, after all. But of most other aspects of Northern Ireland’s history and politics I shared the profound ignorance of the British population at large. The 150 miles between Glasgow and Belfast seemed to separate different continents. Travelling by a 1930s-built ship that looked like a little liner heightened this impression. A coal fire glowed in the first class bar, waiters served steak and chips in the dining saloon, and we slept in a cabin where the coat hangers swayed gently once we quit the shelter of the Clyde estuary and entered the North Channel.
A different time: we left one shipbuilding river – the newly launched QE2 glowed with lights in the berth at Clydebank – and at daybreak entered another. “One slides up to it at dawn through mists and past the clangor of shipyards,” wrote EM Forster of the sea approach to Belfast, describing the “clammy ooze” that clung to the city’s pavements and dour terraces. of red brick, and the immense City Hall rising above the confusion of mean streets and Protestant chapels ‘like a wardrobe in a warehouse’. Forster wrote that in 1920, but Belfast could still be recognised from it almost 50 years later. The rows of back-to-backs made more English than Scottish; there were linen mills and tobacco and shirt factories as well as shipyards; three daily newspapers flourished; workers queued at bus stops to catch the fleet of single-deckers that fanned out to the suburbs in the evening. A different time: we left one shipbuilding river – the newly launched QE2 glowed with lights in the berth at Clydebank – and at daybreak entered another. “One slides up to it at dawn through mists and past the clangor of shipyards,” wrote EM Forster of the sea approach to Belfast, describing the “clammy ooze” that clung to the city’s pavements and dour terraces of red brick, and the immense City Hall rising above the confusion of mean streets and Protestant chapels ‘like a wardrobe in a warehouse’. Forster wrote that in 1920, but Belfast could still be recognised from it almost 50 years later. The rows of back-to-backs made more English than Scottish; there were linen mills and tobacco and shirt factories as well as shipyards; three daily newspapers flourished; workers queued at bus stops to catch the fleet of single-deckers that fanned out to the suburbs in the evening.
Who could have guessed then that within two years the British army would be deployed on these streets to restore order – the beginning of a military occupation that lasted until 2007. The people I met seemed well meaning. My girlfriend’s parents were teachers who thought of themselves as liberal unionists. Her father was in the Irish bridge team, a cross-border outfit like the Irish national rugby side, which meant that we sometimes dropped in on well-to-do Protestant families. Catholics were never castigated for their religious identity, at least in my hearing; I remember a nervous belief in the good works of Captain O’Neill.Who could have guessed then that within two years the British army would be deployed on these streets to restore order – the beginning of a military occupation that lasted until 2007. The people I met seemed well meaning. My girlfriend’s parents were teachers who thought of themselves as liberal unionists. Her father was in the Irish bridge team, a cross-border outfit like the Irish national rugby side, which meant that we sometimes dropped in on well-to-do Protestant families. Catholics were never castigated for their religious identity, at least in my hearing; I remember a nervous belief in the good works of Captain O’Neill.
But Northern Ireland was beginning to unravel. Many people in the Catholic third of the population had never given their assent to its existence. The American civil rights movement inspired a local equivalent that campaigned against anti-Catholic discrimination in jobs and houses. O’Neill agreed to reforms, but the reforms led to protests, and the protests to counter-protests, until violence turned from truncheons to guns, and O’Neill resigned – to be replaced in his Stormont constituency by Paisley, who had raged against O’Neill as a traitor and thrown snowballs at the taoiseach’s car during his Belfast visit five years before.But Northern Ireland was beginning to unravel. Many people in the Catholic third of the population had never given their assent to its existence. The American civil rights movement inspired a local equivalent that campaigned against anti-Catholic discrimination in jobs and houses. O’Neill agreed to reforms, but the reforms led to protests, and the protests to counter-protests, until violence turned from truncheons to guns, and O’Neill resigned – to be replaced in his Stormont constituency by Paisley, who had raged against O’Neill as a traitor and thrown snowballs at the taoiseach’s car during his Belfast visit five years before.
Paisley founded the DUP and headed it for 40 years, leading it eventually into the power-sharing executive with Sinn Féin. Latterly, he began to be seen as a smiley, engaging old man, a Chuckle Brother (Martin McGuinness was the other) who liked to spend his spare time in secondhand bookshops, hunting down rare works of church history. He charmed me when we met for an interview in 2008. “Oh aye, Margaret Thatcher was a good woman,” he said with a twinkle. “I believe she was sincere and honourable, but of course at night she was sore on the bottle, very sore on the bottle. I have seen her almost drunk, aye.” Paisley founded the DUP and headed it for 40 years, leading it eventually into the power-sharing executive with Sinn Féin. Latterly, he began to be seen as a smiley, engaging old man, a Chuckle Brother (Martin McGuinness was the other) who liked to spend his spare time in secondhand bookshops, hunting down rare works of church history. He charmed me when we met for an interview in 2008. “Oh aye, Margaret Thatcher was a good woman,” he said with a twinkle. “I believe she was sincere and honourable, but of course at night she was sore on the bottle, very sore on the bottle. I have seen her almost drunk, aye.”
I had to force myself to remember all the bad he had done, all the people he had undermined, all the agreements he had stood against, all the causes he had opposed, ridiculed and scorned. O’Neill and his forgotten successors as prime ministers, James Chichester-Clark and Brian Faulkner: in Paisley’s view they were all weak men who gave too much ground to the enemy. The Sunningdale agreement, the Anglo-Irish agreement and the Belfast agreement. The Presbyterian church – that bit not founded by him, at least – the civil rights movement and the ecumenical movement. Paisley attacked all of them as traitors to the unionist or Protestant cause, and destroyed some of them, until the Democratic Unionists were the last unionists left standing.I had to force myself to remember all the bad he had done, all the people he had undermined, all the agreements he had stood against, all the causes he had opposed, ridiculed and scorned. O’Neill and his forgotten successors as prime ministers, James Chichester-Clark and Brian Faulkner: in Paisley’s view they were all weak men who gave too much ground to the enemy. The Sunningdale agreement, the Anglo-Irish agreement and the Belfast agreement. The Presbyterian church – that bit not founded by him, at least – the civil rights movement and the ecumenical movement. Paisley attacked all of them as traitors to the unionist or Protestant cause, and destroyed some of them, until the Democratic Unionists were the last unionists left standing.
As a younger man, he campaigned to Save Ulster from Sodomy and against liquor advertising on the sides of Belfast tramcars. As a younger man, he campaigned to Save Ulster from Sodomy and against liquor advertising on the sides of Belfast tramcars.
He believed the world was created as described in Genesis, and that the Reformation was the last great moment in human history. The DUP is made in his image. On it, apparently, Britain’s future depends.He believed the world was created as described in Genesis, and that the Reformation was the last great moment in human history. The DUP is made in his image. On it, apparently, Britain’s future depends.