SOCIAL IMMOBILITY, ETHNO-POLITICS AND SECTARIAN VIOLENCE: OBSTACLES TO -CONFLICT RECONSTRUCTION IN NORTHERN

A dissertation presented

by

Curtis Holland

to

The Department of Sociology and Anthropology

In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

In the field of

Sociology

Northeastern University Boston, Massachusetts October 2016

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SOCIAL IMMOBILITY, ETHNO-POLITICS AND SECTARIAN VIOLENCE: OBSTACLES TO POST-CONFLICT RECONSTRUCTION IN

A dissertation presented

by

Curtis Holland

ABSTRACT OF DISSERTATION

Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Sociology in the College of Social Sciences and Humanities of Northeastern University October 2016

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Through analysis of semi-structured and open-ended interviews with community leaders in , content analysis of reports, and interpretation of police data on sectarian violence, this dissertation identifies shifts in power dynamics within and between the polarized Protestant and Catholic communities which (re)shape obstacles to post-conflict reconstruction in Northern Ireland. Findings suggest that political provocations which promote ethno-political tensions are facilitated by the economic marginalization of communities historically susceptible to violence; failure of the same elected leaders to deal with the past; ongoing community influence of paramilitary factions; and disjuncture between the political priorities of upper- and lower-classes within each ethno-political community. The research further illustrates how ex- paramilitary prisoners’ political disaffection shapes their social agencies of "resistance," which is underscored by desires for autonomy and recognition, and channeled by ethno- gendered scripts rooted in both violent cultures of paramilitarism and non-violent peacebuilding masculinities. The implications on women of male ex- combatants' takeover of leadership roles in the community sector are also discussed. More generally, the research highlights how a lack of investment in social and economic modes of reconstruction undermines the development of new political forms of cross-community cooperation and contributes to the reconstitution of intergroup division.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank the professors serving on the committee –Drs. Gordana Rabrenovic,

Liza Weinstein, Neil Jarman and Jack Levin –for their thoughtful engagement with the project and overall excellence in graduate student advisement. In addition, I would like to thank my wife, Marie Sillice, for supporting me while I wrote this dissertation, and my parents, Carl and Gail, and sister Jennifer for always being there for me.

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Table of Contents

Abstract 2

Acknowledgements 4

Table of Contents 5

Chapters

Chapter One – Introduction 6

Chapter Two – Data and Methods 63

Chapter Three – Social Inequality, Ethno-Politics, Sectarian Violence, 78 2008-2013 Chapter Four –Exclusion, Ethno-Social Power and Contradictions in Ex-Prisoner Community-based Peacebuilding 146

Chapter Five – Dealing with (Denial of) the Past 205 Chapter Six: Conclusion 257 References 291

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Introduction

Post-conflict societies with generally successful peace agreements continue to experience intergroup tensions and violence (for examples, see Berdal et al. 2012; Dionisio 2012;

Eide 2012; Manz 2008; Shirlow and Murtagh 2006). For many within divided societies emerging from conflict, “peace” is an ambiguous term. For some, it can even mean defeat, and/or invoke anxiety about their place in the future of the society. Eventually, the cessation of violence is typically welcomed by most. Yet it is only the beginning of a long, peacebuilding process which, ideally, intends to more fundamentally transform ethno-political relations, and deepen social integration and interdependency between historically polarized groups (Lederach 1997; Levin and Rabrenovic 2004).

The development of cross-community interests and alliances connecting members of historically divided groups promotes social heterogeneity and thus strengthens pluralistic democracy (Coser 1956; Varshney 2003; Gurr 2000). Yet the development of intergroup interdependency and a politics shaped by cross-community interests, transmuting traditional, ethnocentric foundations, remains rare in post-conflict societies.

Without mechanisms which gradually improve levels of interdependency and trust, shifts in distributions of power and privilege –or lack thereof –might exacerbate simmering resentments, contributing to periodic re-escalations in tensions and hostilities. In this respect, empirical attention to socio-structural dynamics of class and gender inequities –

6 among others –within and between ethno-political communities in “post-conflict” societies are imperative.

Research which evaluates post-conflict reconstruction has been disproportionately concerned with political reconstruction, such as, legislative and criminal justice reform.

While necessary in providing legitimacy for post-war and power-sharing governments and providing a sense of public security, such an approach is, by itself, not sufficient in establishing long-term, sustainable peace. Peacebuilding efforts which also take into account the unique impacts on post-conflict communities of particular socio-structural conditions, shaped along various cultural dimensions of power and identity, will have greater likelihoods of promoting a more transformational type of peace. Much research has examined how “horizontal inequalities” –or overlapping gaps in economic, political and social (dis)advantage between ethno-political or -religious groups –underscores initial escalations of mass violence (Stewart 2008; Gurr 2000). Yet implications of dynamics of inter- and intra-group structural (dis)advantage which persist and shift in the post-accord society has received surprisingly little examination.

With a particular focus on Northern Ireland, this study intends to highlight structural obstacles to peacebuilding in this respect, examining how limitations in social and economic reconstruction underscore the persistence of conflict and facilitate ethno- political and sectarian provocations. Data collection was underscored by the author’s

7 interest in discovering how emerging shifts in dimensions and distributions of political and social power correspond with intersectional identities of class, gender, age, and ethno-nationalism, and how shifts in relations along such lines of social demarcation within the broader ethno-religious communities are shaping obstacles to, and prospects for deepening intercommunity trust and cooperation. The exploratory approach to data collection (see chapter 2) allowed interview respondents and the unobtrusive data

(newspaper reports) to guide processes of inquiry and analysis, telling stories that indicate recent developments in overlapping class-, gender- and ethno-specific relations and mentalities which underscore broader dynamics of social and political domination and “resistance.”

The author sought more generally to identify forms of intragroup conflict in

(post)conflict societies which facilitate or restrict positive interethnic relations, and mitigate or escalate interethnic hostilities. More specifically, by tracing incidences and fluctuations in frequencies of violence –used as a proxy for ethno-political tensions –with corresponding behaviors and discourses of political elite and community leaders, the author identifies dynamics of conflict and cooperation which illuminate or underscore how relations along intersections of class, gender, age, and ethno-national identities underscore processes in the (de)escalation of hostilities and (re)constructions of blame.

What forms of intragroup conflict (if any) correspond with transformations in

(ethno)political identities, interests and ideologies? On the other hand, how do such 8 emerging intra-community divisions (re)shape old, sectarian and ethno-political mentalities and goals? Findings from such inquiries also helped facilitate a critical examination of the very meaning of “peace” within the polarized communities in

Northern Ireland, and how such meaning is inextricably linked with dynamics of social class identities.

The impressive cessation of violence and emergence of relative political stability and urban cosmopolitanism in the country has improved living conditions for most (if not all) within the society, at least in terms of security. The very stability brought about by the peace process has itself opened space for greater attention to issues of social inequality previously subordinated in political discourse and practice by unconditional loyalty to the ethno-national in-group as a collective strategy of group preservation. In this respect, the very emergence of greater in-group disagreement over the direction of

“peace” signals an important marker of societal progress. Yet at the same time, growing class inequality and the persistence of relative poverty in working-class communities which suffer most from legacies of violence –as findings will illustrate –pose a substantial threat to the peace process. Thus, as put by Neil Jarman, it is most appropriate to take a “both-and” approach to analysis of conflict and peacebuilding in Northern

Ireland.1 The important milestones of the peace process remain in-tact; the society both

1 Personal conversation with author 9 continues to move forward in many ways and is faced with serious challenges.

Recognizing this paradox in turn brings additional questions, in particular how to conceptualize the temporal phases of “peace,” and when a peace process can be confidently considered complete (if ever). As findings here will indicate, for example, peacebuilding in Northern Ireland has followed a “two speed” process, where the middle- classes experience positive changes more rapidly and comprehensively than their working-class counterparts.

Results are divided into three chapters, organized according to themes generated by the grounded theory methodology undertaken by the author. The first is focused on dynamics linking incidences and frequencies of violence to conditions of poverty and inequity, as well as self-serving, discursive and legislative strategies of ethno-political leaders. Underlying the discussion is recognition of the shifting social boundaries created by a gradual shift to neoliberal modes of “post-conflict development,” having distinct implications along lines of social class within and across the two major ethno-religious groups. Themes emanating from the data also illuminate the contradictory processes of ex-combatant community-based peacebuilding, and highlight how the positive contributions of former paramilitary prisoners are paralleled –somewhat paradoxically – by pseudo-paramilitary practices geared toward maintaining power and control on neighborhood levels (chapter four). Such cultural motivations, moreover, are inextricably and dually linked to the exclusion of women and the formal labeling, criminalization and 10 exclusion of the broader ex-prisoner community from most legitimate avenues of social mobility, rooted in the politics of blame and resentment by ethno-political leaders. Such a politics is similarly implicated by data which highlights elected leaders’ strategic appropriation or manipulation of culturally-sensitive symbols (flags) and rituals (parades) in promoting mentalities of fear and threat, corresponding to escalations and geographical distinctions in (low-intensity) sectarian violence (chapter three). Cutting-across both chapters three and four is the central issue of economic inequality within the two main communities and its implications for the outcomes of leadership strategies, both in terms of discursive and legislative practices. The third results chapter (chapter five) similarly highlights the role of elected leaders in undermining prospects for intercommunity cooperation, by re-centering political discourse around mutually-exclusive interpretations of contentious issues of the past and legacies of violence, and facilitated by indifference of the British government.

Each of the results chapters (three, four and five) are connected by an underlying theory on distinctive yet intersecting dimensions of power in both the Bourdieusian and neo-Weberian traditions. Through such an approach, questions of legitimacy of state institutions (in the context of policing, for example) and political leadership, traditionally linked with conventional theories of ethnicity or ethno-nationalism can be interpreted in relation to more diffuse “social fields” –or “structured social positions” and unequal access to resources –and corresponding forms of habitus, “schemes of thought, feeling 11 and action” (Allan 2006: 174). Through this perspective, power is necessarily relational, produced through individuals’ sub-conscious complicity with intragroup practices and ideologies of domination –or resistance, depending on one’s perspective –and by objectified structures of exclusion.

Such structures, moreover, are not only exercised by the collective individual agencies of those in the dominant group(s), but also through intragroup hierarchies and dual strategies of both inclusion and exclusion, somewhat paradoxically. Women, for example, have historically exercised pivotal roles in the conflict in Northern Ireland and many other divided societies, and have often been as sympathetic to exclusionary

Unionist or Republican ethno-national ideologies as their male counterparts (Little 1999).

At the same time, “sectarianism, and the construction of political and social life around

[ethno-national] community loyalties, has been a powerful force in maintaining women’s subordination” in Northern Ireland (Sales 1997:4; see also Racioppi and O’Sullivan

2001). In societies emerging from conflict more generally, “ethnicity appears in part to be created, maintained and socialized through male control of gender identities,” while

“women’s fundamental human rights and dignity are often caught up in male power struggles” (Handrahan 2004, 429). As discussed in chapter four, such trends have had negative implications for the development of transformative modes of peace.

More generally, this study links dynamics of class and gender inequities with distinct dimensions of “symbolic power,” that is, “invisible power which can be exercised

12 only with the complicity of those who do not want to know that they are subject to it or even that they themselves exercise it” (Bourdieu 1991: 164). Recognition of such power does not intend to blame women, in this case, or other groups that exercise it in certain, limited respects while being on the receiving end of it in others. On the contrary; women and those from the lower and working classes are best able to provide insight into the processes of social reproduction in this respect due to the very fact that they experience most consistently the contradictory and disempowering nature of such processes. In contexts of everyday social interaction within the society there is, as Bourdieu (1991:97) suggests, “a more or less desperate attempt to be correct, or to silence” in the face of social relations which both allow one to maintain some level of inclusion (no matter how limited) yet simultaneously reconstitute his or her broader marginalization. “Symbolic power is a power of constructing reality” (ibid, 166), but is not equally shared by all groups and individuals. Nonetheless, outside of contexts of everyday forms of social interaction, in alternative spaces, there is also the potential for critical reflexivity –a reflexivity impressively demonstrated by most of the respondents that participated in the study, especially the women and/or those from relatively deprived working-class neighborhoods.

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Dynamics of Social Class and Gendered Relations of Power in Northern Ireland

In its seventeenth year at the time this was written, the milestones of Northern Ireland’s post-conflict reconstruction generally remain in-tact, including the establishment of a power-sharing, consociational government; significant reforms in policing; (partial) paramilitary disarmament and demobilization; and improvements in equity between

Catholics and Protestants on a variety of measures (Coakley 2008; Nolan 2014). A generation of children born after the 1998 Agreement is entering adulthood, while middle-class residents have experienced growth in economic prosperity and have greater options socially. Belfast city center, once occupied by British soldiers, now resembles other cosmopolitan centers across Europe, becoming an increasingly popular tourist site.

Moreover, while (mostly) low-intensity paramilitary attacks and sectarian rioting continue, and the threat of Irish republican terrorism remains (Harland 2011; Horgan and

Morison 2011; Kearney 2016), Northern Ireland has not experienced a surge in crime related to the “greed and grievance” of ex-combatants (Rolston 2007), unlike many other societies emerging from conflict (Collier and Hoeffier 2004).

At the same time, efforts toward the promotion of equity and elimination of

“horizontal inequalities” between Catholic and Protestant communities have been relatively successful in certain respects. While Catholics still “out-score Protestants on almost every measure of social deprivation” (Nolan 2014:13), the gap in economic advancement between Catholics and Protestants has narrowed greatly. Citing Paul Nolan,

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Liam Clarke (2012) indicates that at least “60% of entrants to higher education are

Catholic and 60 percent are female,” leading to the “rebalancing [of] the communal shares of professional and managerial occupations” (Nolan 2014:13). According to the same source, middle-class Catholics have also experienced increases in residential mobility, moving in to historically Protestant neighborhoods, and filling vacancies resulting in part from middle-class Protestant emigration and an aging Protestant demographic (see also Shirlow and Murtagh 2006). Not coincidentally, though middle- class Catholics continue to vote mostly for their traditional nationalist parties –Sinn Fein and the Social Democratic Labor Party (SDLP) –their ascendancy in status contributes to their increasingly favorable attitudes about Northern Ireland’s membership in the UK

(Clarke 2012). On the contrary, the goal of a retains ideological importance within relatively deprived republican communities which were impacted disproportionately by the conflict, and in which anti-accord “dissident republicans” maintain some degree of influence.

Yet for underserved, working-class communities, signs of progress are more ambiguous. Globalization and a post-industrial economy offer few opportunities for undereducated young people entering the job market. Not coincidentally, those without strong qualifications in the “knowledge economy” tend to be working-class and lower- income people from communities historically most affected by sectarian violence.

According to Nolan (2014:78), “Absolute poverty before housing costs” in the province 15 was 24 percent in 2011 –a slight increase from previous years. Moreover, unemployment among those aged 18 to 24 was 20 percent in July 2015, according to Northern Ireland’s

Department of Enterprise, Trade and Investment (2015). For Protestant males ages 16 to

24 in particular, it is even higher (Nolan 2014:13). The global economic crisis of 2008 exacerbated long-standing economic problems, in turn aggravating intercommunal divisions most apparent in working-class locations (Creary and Byrne 2014b). Many young people in segregated, working-class communities in particular “consider themselves imprisoned within their neighborhoods” (McAlister et al. 2014:300), fearing the prospect of sectarian harassment and violence, and without the means to relocate (see also Shirlow and Murtagh 2006).

Moreover, one-third of all young people who left the school system in the

2011/2012 year were 16 years old, and disproportionately working-class males from both

Protestant and Catholic communities (Nolan 2014:98). As middle-class Catholic young people have seen impressive gains in educational achievement, it is a different story for their working-class Catholic and Protestant counterparts. “[T]he highest achievers of education are Catholic girls who do not qualify for free school meals… [with] more than

74% of them obtain[ing] two A-levels [on the General Certificate of Secondary

Education exams]. By contrast, just 11% of poorer Protestant boys who qualify for free school meals achieve two A-levels” (Clarke 2012) –the lowest overall rating in the UK, with the exception of Roma youth. Educational and employment prospects for working- 16 class, Catholic young men are not much better. It is thus not coincidental that young, working-class males remain the most bitter among Northern Ireland’s population

(Smithey 2011:15), and responsible for a disproportionate share of violence. Young men from the working-classes of both unionist and nationalist communities used to gain status as protectors of their communities before the peace agreement; they now find themselves ridiculed for the same behavior (Harland 2011). As the same demographic groups from both communities experience limited options economically and socially, working-class

Protestants have also witnessed disproportionately the social and economic dislocation of their families, traditionally being the more privileged ethno-national group.

At the same time, even as reformed state institutions remain generally stable, and some have experienced significant “peace dividends,” intergroup polarization has deepened in some respects since the peace accord. Compared with many other divided societies, the political identities and interests of Catholic and Protestant communities are especially one-dimensional and mutually exclusive (Mitchell et al. 2008). Currently, 95 percent of children attend religiously segregated schools (Smithey 2011:15), and two- thirds of residents live in areas that are 90 percent Catholic or Protestant (Harland

2011:416). Nolan (2014:11) notes a sharp increase in the number of people intimidated out of their homes between the 2011/2012 and 2012/2013 reporting years, linked to the disputes over flags and parades. Some unionist leaders have apparently encouraged cultural contentions, reflected in the fact that “official recognition of and funding for 17

Orange cultural themes and ‘-Scots’ are…at unprecedented levels” (ibid, 12). Such trends parallel fears of a “culture war” –or that “Britishness” is being removed from

Northern Ireland –reiterated in unionist public discourse (documented below).

At the same time, unionists tend to support conservative economic policies which compound the marginalization of working-class communities. Unionist’s general support for “welfare reform” provisions imposed by Westminster, rationalized by the language of dependency, reflects their more conservative economic ideology. Unionist leaders also tend to come across to non-supporters as xenophobic, illustrated, for example, in a statement by the First Minister Peter Robinson in which he defended comments of a fundamentalist pastor who called Islam “the spawn of the devil” (McDonald 2014). In contrast, the largest nationalist party, Sinn Fein, supports a strong welfare state in both

Northern Ireland and the , and has been more resistant of regressive, neoliberal economic policies. The latter has also adopted a more inclusive, social democratic political strategy in comparison with their unionist counterparts, attracting not only traditional nationalists and republicans, but also supporters from growing immigrant communities and young people from a variety of (non-unionist) backgrounds. As subsequent chapters will show, the promotion of ethno-cultural tensions has been an important factor underscoring apparent increases in intercommunity tensions among unionists especially, and is not unrelated to the particularities of unionist political culture in the aforementioned respects. 18

Finally, and as importantly, the persistence of community tension can be linked as well to the exclusion of women across the society from positions of social and political power. Middle-class women -and middle-class Catholic women especially -have seen impressive gains in access to educational and economic opportunities. Notwithstanding a handful of female politicians, women in general remain excluded from the highest positions of power. For example, in 2008, there were still no female judges in Northern

Ireland (Feenan 2008). Moreover, while the power-sharing framework of governance established since the 1998 Belfast/ brought an impressive cessation of violence in Northern Ireland, it also re-centered politics around issues of ethno-national identity by reifying and legitimizing the mutually exclusive constitutional agendas of Unionism and Republicanism. In doing so, it also “reinforced the marginal location of gender politics in the political realm” (Ashe and Harland 2014, 749) while legitimizing normative, ethno-masculinities with which ethno-politics has been historically constructed (Ashe 2009).

Furthermore, the stability of the peace process has always been predicated on managing the potential threat of paramilitary re-escalations of violence (discussed further in chapter four). Consequently, the political and social interests of marginalized groups – and women in particular –have been sidelined (Gilmartin 2015), while “the legacy of militarized masculinities and the social conditions that shaped those masculinities have not been addressed sufficiently” (Ashe and Harland 2014, 754). Consequently, ex-

19 combatant “community leadership” has entailed the re-colonization of community space and takeover of salaried roles in the grassroots peacebuilding sector by former male combatants and terrorists. The exclusion of female ex-combatants within the republican/nationalist community (Gilmartin 2015) who had been pivotal players during the conflict (Arextaga 1997; Dowler 1998), and whose political violence was considered

“non-normative” (Ashe and Harland 2014, 752) is, in contrast, indicative of the more general centrality of normative, semi-militarized, male masculinities in social structures which constitute the “post-conflict” society.

According to findings from the interviews with community leaders reported here, men’s histories of political violence continue to underscore the ‘legitimacy’ of their takeover of community leadership roles once dominated by women in working-class urban areas. Male ex-combatants are implicitly posited as especially qualified as

“community leaders” due –somewhat paradoxically –to their histories of collective political violence and the militarized, ethno-cultural masculinities which have underscored such histories. At the least, the promotion of ex-combatant community leadership is accepted as a “realistic” or practical approach to local peacekeeping and peacebuilding initiatives (Ashe 2009; Edwards and McGrattan 2011). Given the exponential growth in attention to masculinities and gendered relations of power in social research more broadly, it is surprising that emphasis on the subject has been relatively sparse in studies of conflict and peacebuilding –especially when considering the

20 inextricable link between masculinities and nationalisms. As indicated by Nagel (1998,

750), “terms like honour, patriotism, cowardice and duty are hard to distinguish as either nationalist or masculinist, since they seem so thoroughly tied both to the nation and to manliness” (see also Yuval-Davis 1997). Nonetheless, in the peacebuilding literature specifically, what O’Brien (1981) originally termed “malestream” research remains dominant.2 Generally speaking, it is “all about men and severely neglectful of talking explicitly about them” as men (Hearn 1997, 48). In societies emerging from conflict, moreover, “ethnicity appears in part to be created, maintained and socialized through male control of gender identities,” while “women’s fundamental human rights and dignity are often caught up in male power struggles” (Handrahan 2004, 429). In Northern

Ireland, like other (post) conflict societies, “ethnic dividends” (Cockburn 2004, 35) –or the advantages that might accrue to individuals due to their membership in a particular ethnic or nationalist group –have also been mostly “patriarchal dividends.” Advantages accrue mostly to men, “as individuals and as a collectivity, from a gender order in which men and [semi-militarized] masculinity are dominant” (ibid, 34; see also Connell 2002).

Given the aforementioned phenomena, Northern Ireland provides an especially strategic research site in which to identify dynamics that shape contradictory processes of

2 There are notable exceptions to this trend, however. For example, Ashe (2012), Ashe and Harland (2014), Cockburn (2004), Cockburn and Zarkov (2002), Harland (2011) and Harland and McCready (2015) have implicated the roles of normative masculinities in sustaining cultures of violence in societies emerging from conflict. Nonetheless, most of this work does not deal explicitly with issues of ex-combatant peacebuilding and restorative justice (for an exception, see Ashe 2009). 21 conflict and cooperation in polarized, transitional societies. It is also a strategic site in which to examine the relevant impacts of intra-group social class and gendered divisions in particular. It is a society respected for its milestones in peacemaking, while remaining deeply divided along ethno-political lines, and experiencing increasingly apparent social and economic inequalities that cut-across Catholic and Protestant communities.

Dynamics which continue to undermine cooperation in such a society are likely to exist in others with histories of ethnic or religious division and more limited histories of peacebuilding.

Before summarizing the previous research on obstacles to post-conflict reconstruction in Northern Ireland and, subsequently, the contribution of the dissertation to the broader literature on peace and conflict, I will first summarize the history of the conflict in Ireland, which exemplifies the relevance of a social constructivist theoretical approach.

History of the Conflict in Ireland

The conflict in Ireland is Centuries old, dating back to Scottish settlements in 1609 which displaced the indigenous Irish Catholic population. Losing all but 14 percent of arable land, Catholic rebellion ensued periodically throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries (Tonge 2002). In 1690, the Battle of the Boyne –in which the army of James II, a Catholic, was defeated by the forces of William of Orange, a Protestant –consolidated

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Protestant control over economic and political structures. The victory of William of

Orange is still celebrated by the , accompanied by marching bands every

July 12th, often resulting in rioting and clashes between band supporters and Catholic protestors.

Despite the fact that the conflict is centuries-old, notions of “ancient hatred” between Catholics and Protestants –or assumptions that the conflict is primarily religious- based –are unfounded, though inextricable linkages between religious and political ideologies have played important historical roles in the formation of mutually exclusive ethno-national identities (Elliot 2009). Cooperation between Catholics and certain

Protestant sects were relatively common in the first two centuries of British colonization.

For example, there were significant tensions between Presbyterians and other Protestants throughout the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries. In one notorious case, Wolff Tone, a Presbyterian, rebelled against British rule in 1798, and cooperation between

Presbyterians and Catholics at the time was common. The consolidation of Catholic and

Protestant identities with republicanism and unionism, respectively, is the result of cultural and political shifts stemming from the institutionalization of anti-Catholic discrimination in general, and the establishment of the Orange Order –an anti-Catholic organization committed to Irish unionism –in particular. Membership in the Orange

Order, led by powerful Protestant/unionist men, brought access to privileges for all

Protestant sects unavailable to Catholics, and contributed to the polarization of economic 23 and political interests between the two groups and the systemic marginalization of the latter (Tonge 2002).

Moreover, the notion that the struggle of Irish Catholics has been historically geared primarily and consistently toward opposing British colonization, as argued by most Irish republicans, is disputed by numerous events which indicate the fluidity of both

Catholic and Protestant political identities; both Irish Catholic nationalism and Protestant unionism were socially constructed over time, consolidated in the partition of the island in 1920. For example, at an earlier period, when the formal establishment of the Union of

Ireland with Great Britain was underway, many Catholics supported it, while the Orange order resisted. Catholic nationalism emerged due primarily to the institutionalization of anti-Catholic discrimination across economic and political institutions, and sparked by the indifference of British authorities to the mid-nineteenth century Irish famine, in which

Catholics in the south starved while food continued to be exported by Britain. This event sparked a political movement that culminated in the establishment of the Irish

Revolutionary Brotherhood in 1858, which later become the Irish Republican Army

(IRA) (Tonge 2002). Other examples of the fluidity in British-Irish relations include the

Catholic Church’s condemnation of republican socialist ambitions, and British efforts in gaining support from population periodically throughout the course of last two centuries. It was generally the local Protestant elite who sought to consolidate

24 overlapping privileges associated with religion and class, excluding Catholic landowners from access to political power (Elliot 2009).

In 1920, in response to ongoing republican revolt, and simultaneous pressure from unionists to maintain their membership in the UK, British authorities partitioned Ireland, with the goal of pleasing as many people as possible. In the preceding years, Irish republicans refused to concede, and Ulster unionists became increasingly wary of the prospect of a United Ireland, threatening their distinct cultural and political position in the

UK. An independent Irish Republic was established, but the six counties of Ulster remained part of the . Similar to other societies which have undergone partition, it ultimately “legitimized sectarianism by creating a majoritarian political system designed to favor those holding a particular religious creed and ethnic identity”

(Tonge 2002:29). Following partition, the Ulster government quickly abolished policies that guaranteed representation for the Catholic minority, and guaranteed Protestant domination politically by gerrymandering, giving businesses extra votes, and allowing only homeowner rate payers to vote in local councils. Because Catholics disproportionately depended on public housing and owned few businesses, such measures ensured their disenfranchisement. The exclusion of three Catholic-majority counties traditionally comprising the North of Ireland from the new Ulster province further contributed to a decisive Protestant majority.

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At the onset of partition, the North’s police force became embedded within a larger informal structure tied to Orange Order lodges and the –a loyalist paramilitary organization –and discrimination against Catholics became rampant.

Regardless of education or skill, Catholics consistently remained twice as likely to be unemployed as Protestants. “Although advantages were slight, economic superiority was useful in maintaining loyalty of working-class Protestants to the Unionist regime. Internal dissent was neutered by the token privileges offered by the perpetually governing

Unionist Party to its supporters” (Tonge 2002:28).

After more than fifty years of a general passivity of Catholics, who lived silently under conditions of oppression, events in 1968 brought an escalation of violence that would last thirty years, referred to locally as ‘’ (reflecting the Irish tradition of understating crises). Non-violent protests for civil rights, led by students from both

Catholic and Protestant backgrounds, and inspired by civil rights movements in the

United States, resulted in violent backlash by unionists and loyalists, facilitated by complicity of the state. Non-violent civil rights protestors were repeatedly attacked by police and civilians while trying to enter city center. In one major event, hundreds of Catholics were burnt out of their homes in west Belfast by a Protestant mob, as the police refused to intervene. Soon after, the arrival of British troops in 1970 was initially welcomed by Catholics, who saw them as “peacekeepers who would prevent attacks by

Protestant mobs” (Tonge 2002:39). Catholics, realizing that change had to be imposed 26 upon Ulster leaders, expected the army to play a role in protecting them and forcing political reforms. On the other hand, Protestants expected the army to re-enforce the status-quo. Ultimately, untrained as peacekeepers,

the army alienated working-class by using powers of search and detention. In April 1970, the Army fired baton rounds against Catholics in Ballymurphy. Two months later, the growing estrangement of the Army from Nationalists was virtually complete, following the imposition of a thirty-six-hour curfew upon the Lower Falls in Belfast, as part of an arms search (Tonge 2002:39). The presence of the by this time was considered by Catholics as an illegitimate occupation, and became the target of “anti-imperialist” IRA violence. In

Derry, in 1972, moreover, the killing of 14 unarmed Catholics by British soldiers, known as “Bloody Sunday,” led to huge escalations in recruitment by the IRA and greater

Catholic support (McKittrick and McVea 2002).

Subsequently, while the IRA intensified bomb attacks throughout Belfast in an effort to convince Britain to pull its soldiers out, loyalists felt that the British army was not doing enough to destroy the insurgency, and established paramilitary organizations to defend their communities. The Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF) and Ulster Defense

Association (UDA) were established in 1966 and 1971, respectively, and engaged in tit- for-tat killings and bombings with the IRA up to the formerly declared ceasefires of 1994

(Shirlow 2012). Unlike middle-class unionism, whose sense of superiority over republicans corresponded in part with belief in the state’s moral monopoly of the use of force, loyalists feel that they had (and have) the right to engage in extra-state political 27 violence in order to respond to IRA attacks and preserve the province of Ulster (Rolston

2006). Victims of loyalist paramilitary terrorism were overwhelmingly civilian, while the

IRA was responsible for the largest overall number of casualties when combining soldiers, RUC officers, and civilians in the count (Shirlow 2012).

Twice over the course of ‘the Troubles,’ in the 1970s and 80s, peace agreements were under negotiation. Loyalists and unionists aggressively protested any measures that sought to increase the role of the Republic of Ireland in Ulster affairs or give any concessions to the IRA. For unionists and loyalists, any such concessions were –and, for many, continue to be –signs of a slippery slope toward Irish unification. Often times, the

British government was confronted simultaneously with IRA terrorism and massive, violent loyalist protests (McKittrick and McVea 2002).

Thus, the conflict in Northern Ireland has historically been complex, sparked initially by colonization, but driven thereafter by unionist oppression of Catholics and melding of unionism and Protestantism; increased power of paramilitary groups from both communities over the latter half of the Twentieth Century; and the political manipulation and exploitation of working-class communities by political elite (Bew et al.

2002). On the unionist/loyalist side in particular, sectarian discourses promoting fear and the imagined threat of the entrenchment of the Catholic Church in all areas of life on the island and of the potential betrayal of British leaders in Westminster was not coincidental

28 to the reestablishment of the UVF and subsequent creation of the UDA (ibid; Bruce

2009). The fiery rhetoric of right-wing Protestant extremist about the inherent threats of the Catholic population is the most notorious example. As findings reported here will indicate, in addition to others, historical dynamics of the conflict continue today

–albeit in subtler forms –and in disjuncture with impressive gains in intercommunity cooperation at grassroots levels. Specifically, dynamics in structures and intersections in social class and gendered identities within the two ethno-religious communities and top- down political provocations and processes of marginalization underscore limitations in social and economic forms of reconstruction, having important, broader political implications.

The Peace Process: Successes and Challenges

In 1981, the deaths of several republican prisoners from hunger strikes represented a break in the IRA/Sinn Fein strategy, with a greater role allotted to the latter –the political wing of the IRA. Following the death of several leading IRA members –including Bobby

Sands, who died after winning a district election while on –strategies of non-violent politics, led by , increasingly paralleled violence in IRA/Sinn

Fein efforts toward ending the conflict and gaining concessions from the British

Government. While in prison, many IRA inmates obtained college degrees, furthering their capacities as community leaders (McAuley et al. 2010). Nationalists, moreover,

29 were more effective than unionists in garnering sympathy from the international community on the basis of a discourse around imperialism and historical oppression of

Irish culture (Smithey 2011:8). The turn in Sinn Fein’s main priority from Irish unification to equality for Catholics within the existing Northern Irish state challenged further the legitimacy of unionist intransigence. Such a process helped fuel power-sharing initiatives and international pressure on unionist leaders to negotiate.

After the establishment of the peace process, it became evident that Gerry Adams engaged in secret negotiations with British officials throughout the 1980s and 90s, playing a significant role in the onset of the 1994 IRA ceasefires, and subsequent signing of the Belfast/Good Friday Agreement in 1998. Unionist leaders were also instrumental in the negotiations that led up to the Agreement, including fundamentalist DUP leader Ian

Paisley, who was later forced out of that hardline party he had started. The commitment of the Clinton Administration, in cooperation with the Irish Republic and British governments, was pivotal in building the amount of trust sufficient for negotiations to move forward. The Agreement guaranteed continued joint commitment of the Irish and

British governments to cooperation in Northern Ireland affairs, as well as criminal justice reform and paramilitary disarmament. Importantly, however, the agreement is intentionally ambiguous concerning the future of the Northern Ireland province, indicating that it will remain part of the UK so long support for the union among a majority of the population continues. In a sense, then, the Agreement represents a truce 30 more than any comprehensive outline for a permanent peace, as a growing Catholic demographic is likely to become a majority in the near future (Nolan 2014), sustaining unionist’s “siege mentality.”

Numerous studies have documented the impressive gains made since the

Agreement. For example, lethal violence has gradually declined. 2013 was the first year in which no prison guard, police officer, or British soldier was killed (Nolan 2014). In fact, the homicide rate in Northern Ireland is now lower than in the UK as a whole.

Moreover the transition of the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) to the Police Service of

Northern Ireland (PSNI) in 2001 has remained successful. A once sectarian, near-total

Protestant police force is now comprised of 30 percent Catholics, with the numbers of female officers also growing. Moreover police oversight procedures in Northern Ireland are among the strictest in the world, far surpassing those of the United States and other developed nations. In 2010, the Hillsborough Agreement officially devolved policing and criminal justice matters to the Northern Ireland executive, following the establishment of the consociational, power-sharing government in 2007. IRA, UVF and UDA weapons were also successfully (but partially) decommissioned, and the release of thousands of former violent political prisoners has not resulted in widespread crime waves or any systematic re-mobilization (Rolston 2007).

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In earlier research, Mitchell et al. (2008) suggest that the growth of hardline ethno-political parties –the unionist Democratic Unionist Party (DUP) and nationalist

Sinn Fein –and concomitant loss in support for more “moderate” parties –such as the nationalist Social Democratic Labor Party (SDLP) –has not corresponded to increased polarization in policy preferences or a failure among elected officials to converge in policymaking. The same authors argue that the success of hardline ethno-political parties is a result of constituent efforts in ensuring that their concerns are adequately represented, as such parties, with histories of toughness in negotiations, are supposedly preferred by even more moderate voters for this reason (Mitchell et al. 2008). Such research, by focusing primarily on constituencies’ voting behaviors, is one example of how conventional political science approaches in analysis of political reconstruction is likely to downplay or minimize the more preeminent actions of political leaders in the construction of division. At the same time, there is evidence that challenges the stipulation that polarized ethno-political elite have prioritized cooperation in the moderation of policy, as implied by some, or that, like most post-conflict societies – supposedly –an increase in power leads to a transition from focus on cultural symbols of division to discursive and legislative concern with issues of economic and social development (McGrattan 2014). It is far from apparent that unionists or nationalists more generally have become more moderate in their policy preferences, especially regarding ethno-cultural issues underscoring Northern Ireland’s “culture wars” (Noble 2013; Nolan

32

2014), or that greater power among traditional, hardline ethnocentric parties has led them to prioritize issues of development and downplay emphasis on cultural symbols

(McGrattan 2014).

When “bread and butter” issues are addressed, it is often in counter-productive ways, and without agreement between the largest parties in each of the main Protestant and Catholic communities –the DUP and Sinn Fein, respectively. These two parties control a combined 62% of the vote in the Assembly in 2014, giving them “unchecked power” (Nolan 2014:142). Yet they rarely agree on legislation concerning either “bread- and-butter” issues or strategies to resolve disputes over the past and the “culture wars.”

The mutual veto accorded to Sinn Fein and the DUP has led to a “series of logjams,” as the other parties have expressed concern over being marginalized in the Assembly (Nolan

2014:142; see also Noble 2013). Disagreement over how –and whether –to implement

“welfare reform” provisions being imposed by Westminster has cost Northern Ireland five million pounds per month. The Assembly has not addressed education reform, “there has been no progress on an Act and the project for a Peace Building and

Conflict Resolution Centre has been jettisoned” (Nolan 2014:11). Moreover, mutual disdain between elected unionist and nationalist officials is reflected in the fact that the

NI Assembly has “the most illegal interventions of all the parliaments” in the UK, according to research by linguists from Middlesex University cited by Nolan (2014:142).

“Out of order utterances are frequent and confrontational” (ibid, 142). 33

Other examples reflect a relative failure of the main parties in the Stormont

Assembly to promote stronger intercommunity relations or better help underserved communities most impacted by legacies the conflict. Amid a growing Catholic, and declining Protestant, demographic, The DUP motioned to dismantle the Northern Ireland

Housing Executive, which “is widely credited with the depoliticisation of housing” so that it is allocated purely on the “basis of need,” and is respected for its promotion of

“community cohesion” (Nolan 2014:114). Even as numerous buildings in working-class urban neighborhoods in Belfast, for example, have become derelict, “the shortage of public housing is acute” (ibid, 114), exacerbating insecurity in marginalized communities. The Northern Ireland Equality Commission (2015) charged the government’s Department of Social Development with failing “to comply with its commitments” to equality of opportunity with respect to housing practices. Further, one senior member of the peacebuilding community reflected a similar point made by other participants in this study, when explaining the limited support given to community-based peacebuilding organizations by state bureaucracies (see also Fissuh et al. 2012; Creary and Byrne 2014a):

The peace money [coming from the Belfast-European Partnership] now goes through the councils, right. And there’s one body left –the Community Relations Council –which is under threat of being dissolved. I was on the board of it last year. So there is no real support for it from the DUP or Sinn Fein. That money is then controlled through councils and

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obviously the decision is political so… A political organization like this, we’re in serious risk of disappearing because of that.3 Finally, unionist support for policies which permanently criminalize and marginalize former paramilitary prisoners (Rolston 2006; Shirlow 2012), in line with their intention to punish “the IRA” and Sinn Fein, undermines the efficacy of community-based ex-combatant reintegration efforts.4 Certain elements within the loyalist and republican ex-prisoner communities, with few job prospects and limited social legitimacy (Mitchell 2008) –and who witness the stagnation of their communities amid shifts toward neoliberal modes of “development” –may feel inclined to ratchet-up political hostilities, as findings reported in chapter four suggest.

Further, it is undeniable that survey research reflects persistence –or even, in some cases, increases –in polarization between unionist and nationalist attitudes about the peace process and opposition on a variety of policies. Recently, Protestants have voiced increasing opposition to the peace agreement, following initial overwhelming support in

1998 (Smithey 2011:68), with a majority feeling that Sinn Fein has remained antagonistic towards unionists and that police reform “has gone too far” (Mitchell et al. 2008:416).

Declining employment prospects for working-class Protestants, and slow gains in

3 Interview with author, May 2014 4 Millions of pounds in funding from international donors have been allocated to community-based restorative justice initiatives often spearheaded by former political prisoners. Yet the criminalization of the same group via state policy has limited the meaning of ex-combatant reintegration, as many feel betrayed by their elected leaders. While most evident in loyalist communities (Rolston 2006), this phenomenon has also become an issue in republican areas to some extent (Holland 2016). 35 employment in the public sector for Catholics, has sparked discontent among the former, perceiving a relative loss in zero-sum terms. Ultimately, measures put in place as part of the peace process to promote equality are perceived by many unionists and loyalists as responsible for the loss of Protestant privilege or “rights.” Much of the problems with employment are due largely to global economic structures that have been gradually built over time, resulting in deindustrialization, and the loss of working-class jobs in the mainly unionist-employed shipbuilding and manufacturing industries (McGovern and

Shirlow 1997). Blame for consequent problems facing working-class unionist communities is often attributed to the Catholic population and increases in immigration from Eastern Europe, South Asia and Africa as a result of EU membership.

Thus, aforementioned policies and government dysfunction indicates that elected unionist officials, and nationalists to some extent at least settle for –if not outright promote –division. As Nolan (2014:11) points out, “a culture of endless negotiation has become embedded and, without a vision of a shared society to sustain it, the peace process has lost its power to inspire.” The economic situation contributing to rising suspicion and resentment of outsiders among working-classes from either community

(see chapter three) will only be exacerbated by the proposed conservative “welfare reform” provisions being imposed from Westminster that will eliminate hundreds of millions of pounds from Northern Ireland’s economy, increasing the prosperity gap with the other UK countries, and reflecting a broader neoliberal austerity project which 36 threatens the EU.5 The findings suggest that an inability and unwillingness of elected officials to effectively address issues of inequity contributes to the persistence of ethno- political polarization.

Finally, the Amnesty granted to paramilitary prisoners as part of the Belfast/Good

Friday Agreement remains an issue of contention in the country. Amnesty was ultimately necessary at the time in order to ensure that paramilitaries on both sides committed to the peace process. Yet no comprehensive mechanism for dealing with the violence of the past was implemented, and many former paramilitary combatants remain disenfranchised as a result of punitive, exclusionary policies which limit options for employment, social entitlements, and travel (Rolston 2006; Ritchie 2002). Somewhat paradoxically, in a likely attempt to cushion the effect of ex-prisoner disenfranchisement, government grants have at the same time continued to support paramilitary-linked organizations, such as the

Ulster Political Research Group, setting aside “3.5 million” pounds for “unemployed, disbanded UDA men,” among others (Hughes et al. 2007:48). Critics of such policies argue that funding known paramilitary organizations can “serve to reinforce the status and ‘legitimacy’ of the latter in the areas they control, thus perpetuating the problems of division and segregation” (Hughes et al. 2007:48; see also Edwards and McGrattan

2011). Overall, paramilitary violence has gradually declined. Yet as data reported here

5 (June 2, 2015) 37 indicate -in line with earlier research (Knox 2002; Harland 2011; Jarman 2004; Nolan

2014; Horgan and Morrison 2011) -it remains an ongoing problem.

The aforementioned trends threaten to undermine gains in inter-community cooperation on various levels (for examples of such cooperation, see Knox 2010;

Erikkson 2009; Jarman 2006; Smithey 2011), if commitment to such cooperation among elected political officials does not outweigh their political career interests and/or adherence to traditional ethno-political ideologies. Many discussions about political leaders in Northern Ireland, as well as other (post) conflict societies, assume that they are primarily reactive to constituency demands, which, given histories of intractable conflict, are inevitably mutually-exclusive (see, for example, McGarry and O’Leary 2006).

Consequently, the cessation of violence, and limited forms of cooperation, are posited as

“realistic” standards of a successful peace (see Ashe [2009] and Edwards and McGrattan

[2011] for similar critiques). Although political pandering is certainly part of the equation in Northern Ireland (and most places in which elections take place for that matter) the potential role played by political elite in proactively inciting tension is often –and surprisingly –overlooked with respect to post-conflict societies. (For an additional example see Kapferer 1998). My research illustrates how “toughness” in negotiation may be geared toward promoting the electoral interests of political elite as much as an effort to address disparate constituent policy concerns, as others implicitly suggest.

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The Paradox of Peace in Northern Ireland: Persistence of Ethno-Political Division

Somewhat paradoxically, while sectarian killing has steadily declined since the

Agreement, and reforms of state bodies has maintained, ethno-religious division remains.

Levels of tolerance had also steadily improved throughout the immediate post-Agreement period, although dynamics indicated here –and elsewhere (Smithey 2011:15-16, 68) – suggest that gains in interethnic relations are wavering. As indicated above, Protestants feel an increase in resentment about much social and political change, feeling that

Catholics have benefited at their expense. For loyalists and unionists, the increase in Sinn

Fein’s political power and a young, growing nationalist population enhances their “siege mentality” and underscores the continued prospect of a united Ireland. The political capacity of Sinn Fein –the largest nationalist party, headed by former IRA commanders – now mirrors that of the largest unionist party, the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), considered –along with their counterparts in the (UUP) –as right- wing extremists among Catholics and those unaffiliated with either of the traditional ethno-national ideologies.

Recent shifts in the demographic makeup of Belfast symbolize the likely future scenario for Northern Ireland as a whole. In Belfast –a traditionally Protestant-majority city –the Catholic population grew by four percent, while the Protestant population declined by nearly twelve percent between 2001 and 2011, due to the latter’s emigration

39 and lower fertility rates (Nolan 2014:21). For the first time, Catholics are the numerical majority in the city and growing, along with the immigrant population (nine percent of the city’s demography). And, perhaps most unsettling, “young people’s attitudes tend to be less favorable to integration than adults’, especially among Protestant youth” who witness a decline in the perceived status of their families and communities (Smithey

2011:15). Studies have shown that those who have even one friend from an outgroup have “lower levels of both blatant and subtle prejudice, greater support for pro-out-group policies and more generalized positive attitudes to the entire out-group” than those who do not (Hughes et al. 2007:38). Yet as of 2010, 68 percent of 18-25-year-olds in neighborhoods in Belfast separated by “” had never had a meaningful conversation with someone from the other community (Smithey 2011:16).

Other examples of the persistence of ethno-political division further highlight the challenges and paradoxes of peacebuilding in Northern Ireland. Eighty-one percent of interface residents surveyed by Harland (2011) say they would like to see peace walls removed, but 60 percent still felt that it was not yet safe to do so. Another survey of

Belfast residents indicates that 58 percent were not confident in the ability of the police to maintain order if the walls were removed, and 69 percent thought the walls were still necessary in preventing sectarian violence (Nolan 2014:68; Byrne et al. 2012). “Peace walls” refer to large structures physically separating Catholic and Protestant communities in mostly working-class areas. Some such structures stretch for miles and are up to 50 40 feet tall. As the author’s conversations with Belfast residents suggest, many rely on such structures for a sense of security. A loyalist from west Belfast cited a conversation he had with a group of elderly people from both Protestant and Catholic communities in explaining the important sense of security provided by the securitized gated structure separating the notorious loyalist Shankill and republican Falls roads.6 In that meeting, geared toward the prospect of removing the wall over time, one elderly person he paraphrased insisted that he “had better leave it be” because she “can get a good night of sleep” knowing that the gate physically keeps neighboring Catholics out. (This part of

Belfast experienced a disproportionate amount of sectarian killings during the Troubles – as much as 20 percent). The gate, locked every night before dusk, does not reopen until morning, regardless of any situation that might arise. As one resident described, a medical emergency would require him to drive several extra miles around the peace walls to reach a hospital, since the shorter route is obstructed by the gate. Many residents apparently prefer to maintain this arrangement, however, indicating the prevalence of fear still pervading working-class unionist/loyalist and nationalist/republican communities.

Surprisingly, the number of walls has increased since the 1998 Agreement to a total of 53 or 99, depending on how they are defined, and mostly in Belfast (Nolan

2014:67). (Some are quite small and may not be included in some estimates.) Half of the

6 Interview with author, May 2014 41 walls in north Belfast have been constructed since the 1994 ceasefires, while others across the city have been expanded. Those critical of the “peace walls” argue that they sustain a sense of danger and threat from the “Other” as much as they provide a sense of security and “peace,” and effectively prevent interactions which could entrench greater intergroup trust (Hughes et al. 2007). Some such walls are also painted with large ethno- political and sectarian murals which commemorate events and deceased paramilitary members, or project messages about the political objectives of the community in which it is located. Such murals also function to mark territory and intimidate individuals from the out-group (Shirlow and Murtagh 2006).

Issues of Segregation

Segregation in Northern Ireland persists regardless of the presence or absence of walls.

Urban areas in the country are more segregated now than they were 20 years ago, with two-thirds of the overall population living in neighborhoods that are either 90 percent or more Catholic or Protestant (Harland 2011:416). As striking, 95 percent of children attend religiously segregated schools (Smithey 2011:15). Indeed, segregation pervades most institutions in Northern Irish society. In research by Shirlow and Murtagh (2006), many residents acknowledge traveling relatively far distances to places of leisure, in order to avoid interaction with “the Other.” Even some cemeteries are segregated. In

1866 “the city fathers decided to open a cemetery and an underground wall, 9 feet deep,

42 was inserted to separate Protestant graves from Catholic graves” (Nolan 2014:67; see also

Smithey 2011, chap. 1). The prevalence of segregation has significant implications for prospects of peacebuilding, as it “ensures the long-term prevalence of…negative emotions by reinforcing mutual ignorance,” impeding the development of meaningful cross-community contact and interdependency pivotal for long-term conflict resolution

(Hughes et al. 2007:36).

The persistence of segregation and mistrust does not necessarily mean that there is not some degree of cooperation, however. Integration at workplaces, for example, has become relatively common since legislation to address the issue was introduced in the

Fair Employment and Treatment (NI) Order introduced in 1998 (NI Equality

Commission 2015). Workplace integration has been facilitated by rules requiring that political and religious issues not be discussed among workers.7 Moreover housing segregation in much of Northern Ireland is very local in form. In parts of North Belfast, for example, segregation is evident mostly between streets rather than entire neighborhoods, divided by intersections known locally as interface locations.

Nonetheless, this has not meant greater cross-community contact or cooperation, as north

Belfast experiences more violence than any other part of the city. Regular contact between Protestants and Catholics is common in the mundane course of daily interaction,

7 Personal conversation with Joe Law of Trademark, an organization working on facilitating employment for working-class residents of Belfast and offering educational programs on the history of Northern Ireland. 43 and remains “polite” so long as discussion of politics and religion is avoided. Yet, as my ethnographic research indicates, residents often look for clues in order to identify the religious identity of a person with which they converse, by asking for their name, to see if it is Catholic or Protestant (Sean versus John, for example, respectively) or their local residency. Indication that the person is an outgroup member likely leads to an end to further interaction beyond what is necessary given the context of the situation. Moreover, policies in place which restrict discussion of contentious ethno-religious issues do not always manage to reduce forms of separation within workplaces or other institutions wherein cross-community contact is relatively common and governed by policies of silence. Thus, the normality of such forms of interethnic contact by itself is not an indication of increasing ethno-political or -religious integration.

Also known as the “contact hypothesis,” several authors illustrate that direct and regular contact facilitates intergroup trust (Hewstone et al. 2006). Regular contact within institutions –such as, workplaces –wherein substantive interethnic interactions are repeated, and intergroup status differences are minimized, can reduce stereotyping and improve intergroup trust (Pickering 2006). Yet the interactions must take more than superficial or “polite” forms to have a meaningful impact; the development of cross- cutting interests in shared social institutions –or interdependency (Levin and Rabrenovic

2004:169-194) –is important in establishing commitment to processes of cooperation that, in turn, improve perceptions of “the Other.” Ethno-religious segregation within a 44 variety of institutions and the prevalence of mostly superficial interaction prevents the development of such interdependency needed to deepen commitment to cross-community cooperation and sustain long-term socio-political stability (see also Shirlow and Murtagh

2006). Particular dynamics of segregation and limited forms of interaction are, of course, rooted largely in broader social, economic and political conditions that transcend institutional-specific boundaries, and cannot be bracketed off from societal- or macro- level conditions and trends. How a willingness to risk participation in new, heterogeneous environments, and put trust in emerging, integrated political and civil institutions, is facilitated –or restricted –is less well understood than the impact of heterogeneous institutional participation on intergroup trust. As discussed further below, this is due –in part –to disproportionate focus on local- and institution-specific contexts of cooperation in post-conflict research and –more generally –a relative lack of attention to how broader deficits in social and economic reconstruction counter-act gains of localized peacebuilding organizations and networks.

The Grassroots Sector in Northern Ireland: The Foundation of Social

Transformation?

The aforementioned dynamics of division in Northern Ireland do not discount the work of the community sector in Northern Ireland in peacebuilding initiatives. Voluntary organizations in both unionist and nationalist communities have shown impressive

45 commitment to a variety of issues surrounding peace and conflict. Some of these organizations formed after the Agreement, while others, such as, Corrymeela, have been in operation since the early phases of the Troubles.8 These organizations are too numerous to name here, though an increase in literature on the role of the voluntary sector in peacebuilding has documented some of their impressive accomplishments.

There is a growing consensus that state-based institutional reform should coincide with

“fundamental social psychological and structural changes at the grassroots,” in order “to empower [local communities] and undermine alienation and fears” (Smithey 2011:42-

43).

Yet it is unclear to what extent grassroots peace work intends or is capable of transforming traditional ethno-political and sectarian ideologies and alliances. Much of the initiatives documented are geared primarily toward maintaining order and preventing violence, generally thought of as peacekeeping –rather than peacebuilding –projects.

Among such efforts include the development of community policing organizations

(Jarman 2006), and partnerships between unionist and republican community leaders in building cooperative relations with police at interface locations (Erikkson 2009; see also

Knox 2010). One exception to the disproportionate trend in peacekeeping is Smithey’s research on cross-community projects which reduce the sectarian nature of murals and

8 For in-depth, historical analyses of long-standing peacebuilding organizations, see Gidron et al. (2002) and Ben-Porat (2006). 46 bonfires, with the hope that “experimentation with a new conflict strategy or a new twist on a familiar tradition can trigger a reassessment of collective identity” (Smithey

2011:34). Smithey emphasizes the importance of “ethnic entrepreneurialism” in transforming conflict from violent to nonviolent forms. “Symbols closely associated with authority and tradition retain their power even when they are appropriated and modified

(within limits) to express new ideas and new iterations of collective identity” (Smithey

2011:21).

In one example, “noticeable shifts in the character of murals away from paramilitary and other contentious themes suggest a process in which cultural schemata are in flux” (Smithey 2011:80). The question remains, though, as to what extent sectarian symbols can be watered down in such a way that they retain the core in-group identity while still supporting cross-community integration. As Smithey himself acknowledges, changes in murals and other types of “culture work” have been somewhat ambiguous

(Smithey 2011, chap. 4). For example, murals that were changed from images of paramilitaries to memorializing victims of republican violence nonetheless re-inscribe sectarian divisions and blame, and may do little to alter the interpretation of “new” ethno- cultural representations by the other community.

More generally unclear from the breadth of research on the “community-level” approach to peacebuilding in Northern Ireland –or other post-conflict societies –is

47 whether the consistent contributions of non-state, community-based organizations to the peace process translate into greater forms of political cooperation between ethnic or religious communities, voluntary organizations, (former) combatants and state bodies and political parties. Moreover, whether the work of such organizations effectively deepens intercommunity trust, as opposed to keeping a lid on simmering sectarian and ethno- political tensions, is unclear, if not outright tenuous. For example, in Northern Ireland, while more than 5,000 grassroots community-based peacebuilding organizations have collectively received over four billion pounds from the International Fund for Ireland and the European Peace and Reconciliation Fund since the 1998 peace accord, the peace process has entered an increasingly liminal state at the time of writing (Fissuh et al.

2012). The hierarchical, “top down” and bureaucratic nature of the “peace industry” has come under criticism by some, who point out that many organizations receiving disproportionate support from international donors and the state remain limited in terms of the scopes of change in ethno-political identities they pursue, and work largely within a framework which subtly reconstitutes polarized ingroup and outgroup identities (Fissuh et al. 2012; Creary and Byrne 2014a). As a result of standardized approaches toward the promotion of voluntary peacebuilding organizations in post-conflict societies more generally, innovative grassroots organizations geared toward more fundamentally integrating divided communities hold inadequate power in framing definitions and objectives of “peace” (Mac Ginty 2011, 2008).

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Even those who emphasize the central role of voluntary organizations and ex- combatant peacebuilding in particular efforts nonetheless acknowledge that core ethno- political identities remain dominant. For example, McAuley et al. (2010), who emphasize the importance of former paramilitary leadership in “community-based restorative justice,” also acknowledge that the same ex-combatants remain generally committed to mutually-exclusive ethno-political objectives of loyalism or republicanism. Edwards and

McGrattan (2011) argue that re-centering such individuals in the peace process through voluntary organizations is detrimental to the production of a more transformative type of

“peace.” According to them, such approaches to peacebuilding risk replicating structures and cultures of paramilitarism, maintaining the power of hostile groups who hold counter-intuitive “ideological continuities of the past” under the guise of “community leadership” (Edwards and McGrattan 2011:363). Yet the limitations of ex-combatant peacebuilding and the more problematic behaviors of the ex-prisoner community should be considered –as with any group –with attention to the broader social, economic and political contexts which ultimately shape their attitudes and practices.

Strengths and Limitations of Post-conflict Research: A Critical Review of the

Literature

Literature on post-conflict societies has become increasingly comprehensive, putting needed attention on a variety of important issues effecting reconstruction, including the

49 reformation of political bodies and state institutions (Horowitz 2000; Lijphart 1999;

Norris 2008) and formal mechanisms of forgiveness and reconciliation, such as, truth commissions (Hayner 2002; Rotberg 2000). There has also been much research on the functions of social capital and interethnic contact in fostering trust and changing political attitudes (Hewstone et al 2006; Pickering 2006; Rydgren and Sofi 2011; Rydgren et al

2013; Svenson and Brouneus 2013; Tam et al 2009), and the potential leadership in peacebuilding and restorative justice of grassroots or “community-based” organizations

(Arriaza and Roht-Arriaza 2008; Knox 2010; Erikkson 2009; McAuley et al. 2010;

Parver and Wolf 2008). Yet how ethno-political divisions are reproduced or politically re-activated following the formalities of “peace” merits further critical and empirical attention. The relative lack of such attention is due largely to the inherently optimistic nature of post-conflict studies, the closed timing of much of the research to the initial resolution of conflict, and its disproportionate focus on localized, institution-specific forms of cooperation.

For example, cases of cooperation within particular institutions, networks or localities documented in the post-conflict/peacebuilding literature tend to be exceptional, not representative of general trends. Given the severity of political violence in the country at the time this was written, an obvious example is Rydgren and Sofi (2011) and Rydgren et al.’s (2013) research on the impact of cooperation between distinct ethno-religious groups in Iraq. Other examples include post-conflict research from Northern Ireland on

50 the impact of interethnic contact and trust on political attitudes (Hewstone et al 2006;

Tam et al 2009) or the promise of integrated education in reducing ethnic or religious intolerance and mistrust (McGlynn et al 2004). While the findings of such research are no doubt important in both theoretical and policy terms, approximately 95 percent of children in Northern Ireland attend segregated schools (Smithey 2011:15). In Northern

Ireland more generally, effective cooperation among grassroots peacekeeping networks on the neighborhood level (Erikkson 2009; Jarman 2006; Knox 2010) takes place, paradoxically, within a backdrop of deep polarization between Protestants and Catholics, as already discussed (Shirlow and Murtagh 2006:33-34). Pickering’s (2006) study of the capacity of workplace integration to foster interethnic trust also takes place within a backdrop of ethno-religious polarization in Bosnia-Herzegovina which exceeds pre-war levels (Gagnon 2004; Berdal et al. 2012). In Guatemala, East Timor, Rwanda, and elsewhere, moreover, interethnic tensions and violence continue to certain extents (see, respectively, Manz 2008; Dionisio 2012; Eide 2012). As often overlooked as central points of analysis, however, are whether –and how –limitations of ethno-integration in post-conflict societies are ultimately linked to social and economic conditions which become entrenched despite or –paradoxically –because of “peace.” In Northern Ireland, for example, the reduction of “horizontal inequalities” between Protestants and Catholics as part of the peace process has continued, and is evident in the considerable gains in opportunities for middle-class Catholics. Yet the working-classes from both communities

51 have seen few –if any –“peace dividends” apart from the cessation of violence. As findings show, this has important implications for the development of the peace process

(see also Fissuh et al. 2012; Creary and Byrne 2014a).

Research on “bottom-up” or grassroots peacekeeping has emphasized the need for a more holistic understanding of peace which emphasizes the role of civil-society

(Arriaza and Roht-Arriaza 2008; Parver and Wolf 2008; Knox 2010; Erikkson 2009), and challenges dominant paradigms which often implicitly restrict its meaning to the cessation of violence. Yet due largely to local, organization-specific focuses, the primary emphasis on community-based initiatives also tends to inadvertently reduce attention to obstacles to peacebuilding rooted in broader political and economic structures and processes, which shape or limit the transformative capacity of voluntary organizations, as already discussed.

Moreover, because a disproportionate share of research on post-conflict reconstruction is centered in traditional analytic frameworks from political science, attention to formal redesign of political bodies and trends in voting behaviors predominate over other, more critical approaches. Because formal state reforms generally mark the official advent of “peace,” it is not surprising that a general optimism pervades post-conflict literature on socio-political reconstruction (see, for example, Barnes 2001).

Northern Ireland is a prime example of this (Coakley 2008; McGarry and O’Leary 2006;

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Mitchell et al 2008). When recent violence and ethno-political hostilities are discussed, it is often with the implicit assumptions that they simply mark residuals of the past that will soon fade out or are primordial inevitabilities that must be accepted.

For example, some argue that those who recommend alternatives to the current consociational arrangement in Northern Ireland in particular are unrealistic because they do not take sufficient account of the extent to which the interests of Protestants and

Catholics are one-dimensional and polarized (McGarry and O’Leary 1995, 2006). Yet such arguments implicitly posit ethno-political identities as static rather than social constructions. For example, the same authors’ analysis implies that ongoing dominance of hardline parties in Northern Ireland is not the result of manipulative or “perverse” strategies of political elite but merely reflect elected officials’ need to respond to the mutually-exclusive demands of their respective ethno-constituencies. In another example,

Kapferer’s (1988) study of anti-Tamil riots in Sri Lanka reflect –supposedly –a situation in which “politicians are not manipulating the masses, but share an ontological ground with them” (Fearon and Laitin 2000:861). Other prominent authors implicitly shift attention away from more powerful political actors when suggesting that “ordinary folk

(not just elites) strategically construct ethnic boundaries” (Fearon and Laitin 2000:846) in pursuit of various interests at both collective and individual levels. Of course, “ordinary folk” are active in this sense; however, to frame the discussion in such a way risks neutralizing the contentious implications of disparate levels of power between certain 53 collective actors in shaping discourse, not to mention legislation. Political elite have greater power than “ordinary folk”; in most instances in (post) conflict societies (and societies more generally), men have greater power than women; middle- and upper-class people have greater power than the poor and working-classes. In implicitly primordial and patriarchal approaches to analyses of transitional societies, the greatest challenges to sustainable peace –or integration and interdependency –rooted in political constructions and performances, and “top-down” promotions of fear –for example –will be overlooked, and limited expectations regarding prospects of integration are likely to underscore the analytical approach (Ashe 2009). An example of such “realistic” approaches to peacebuilding and peacekeeping is reflected in the work of proponents of ex-combatant leadership in community-based enterprise, implicitly –albeit unwittingly –positing non- violent masculinities as central cultural bedrocks of social and political organization. This type of thinking is indicative of the way in which disparate interpretations of the roots of conflict –primordial versus constructivist, or rationalist versus feminist approaches, among others –underscore authors’ distinct interpretations and evaluations of the relative success of political and social reconstruction following conflict. Studies which inadequately incorporate factors of social class and gender, for example, are especially likely to yield findings which –if employed by governments or NGOs –risk tacitly contributing respectively to the replication of the same systems of stratification or patriarchy integral in shaping or underscoring in complex ways the more obvious

54 obstacles to peacebuilding commonly discussed in the literature (violent provocations, sectarian mentalities, etc.).

Further Remarks on the Analytical Framework

Social constructivist approaches increasingly document how escalations in ethnic or political conflicts generally result from the political construction of fear and threat, rather than ahistorical ethnic or religious hatreds (Levin and Rabrenovic 2004; Brubaker and

Laitin 1998). It is easy to assume that the polarization that persists in such societies after a negotiated peace is merely the result of the extreme violence of the past, and is symptomatic of the resentment and mistrust of perpetrators –or “the Other” –that remains. Memories and the past certainly matter in this respect; experiences of intergroup violence tend to become central in the construction of present ethno-political ideologies and the rationalization of ethno-specific myths and stereotypes (Rydgren 2007).

Sectarian, racist, and xenophobic beliefs, hardened by experiences of violence, tend to remain salient in times of peace. Such myths, in turn, help reestablish ethno-political boundaries and reinforce members’ sense of importance in belonging to “their” group.

However, exclusive focus on such phenomena, without simultaneous attention to ongoing dynamics of political and economic power tend, inadvertently, to underscore pseudo- primordial arguments which frame limitations of peace processes as consequences of

‘inevitable’ divisions between polarized ethno-constituencies (Nascimento 2011). Such

55 approaches, rooted in limiting assumptions about “realistic” forms of reconstruction, might preclude adequate recognition of certain structural and cultural dynamics which continue to construct –rather than merely reflect –ongoing conflict (Brubaker and Laitin

1998). In this sense, the line between “peace” and “conflict” is not as straightforward as many theoretical paradigms implicitly suggest; such conditions might be more accurately perceived as extremes on a “continuum of violence” and conflict (Cockburn 2004).

By illustrating how “‘identities are constructed, fluid, and multiple’” –along lines of class, religion, age, gender, and ethnicity or nation –researchers are “hard pressed to

‘understand the sometimes coercive force’ of identity” (Brubaker and Cooper 2000:1, quoted in Fearon and Laitin 2000:846). Following such logic, this study traces

(re)productions of ethno-political identities and the use of violence to structural class inequalities (income, education, etc.); intersectional gender and class identities; criminalization of politically volatile groups (i.e., ex-combatants); and the practices and discourses of ethnocentric political elite. In doing so, I illustrate how the “coercive” force of interlocking class, gendered and ethno-national identities are inextricably linked, and how processes in the reproduction of conflict mentalities and practices are underscored, in part, by social and economic inequalities within –as much as between –historically divided ethno-political communities.

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The constructivist approach to ethnic relations can be interpreted through

Bourdieu’s perspective that social boundaries are established and change “within an inherently conflicted field of rules that define the parameters of what is possible and yet, provide space for innovation” (Smithey 2011:27). In periods of peacebuilding, the very parameters of what is possible widen as “rules” or socially acceptable behaviors reinforced via everyday interaction change –to some extent –in accordance with institutional reforms and, for some, greater intergroup contact. Yet as the saying goes, the more things change, the more they stay the same. As already discussed, workplace integration has not led to a decline in segregation in other contexts, in Northern Ireland,

Bosnia-Herzegovina, and elsewhere. The establishment of the peace agreement in

Northern Ireland has opened up new opportunities for cross-community relation building, as well as greater heterogeneity in social and political attitudes and behaviors within each ethno-community. In east Belfast, for example, even as UVF elements remain influential and pose a threat to community relations, other phenomena suggest that the old rules governed by sectarian loyalties are broken to certain respects. One example is seen in

Gaelic courses offered to Protestants in east Belfast9; another is the broader community- based project geared toward integrating immigrant communities throughout Belfast

9 The recent phenomenon of Protestant interest in Gaelic courses was acknowledged by two interview respondents from my research. 57

(Geoghegan 2008) –contradicting the informal commitment to in-group loyalty and suspicion of outsiders historically common in both communities.

Moreover, symbolized by the replication of cosmopolitan shopping centers across

Europe, attracting increasing numbers of tourists, a general shift toward a consumerist trajectory of ‘post-conflict development’ is evident in the cities of Northern Ireland. In

Belfast city center, according to the author’s ethnographic research, people from

Protestant and Catholic communities have found a greater variety of safe spaces in which to congregate, opening new potential contexts in which traditional ethno-religious identities become altered –or even suppressed –in certain instances. In such contexts, the very rules governing what is possible in terms of intergroup interaction change with the development of such spaces. Increases in intergroup friendship still depend largely on the suppression of discussion about politics, religion, and identity, but nonetheless reflects a widening of parameters which regulate interaction. Yet as findings reported below also indicate, evidence of intermingling of young people across ethno-religious groups is restricted to the middle-classes, who tend to possess the cultural and linguistic capitals which ease cross-community interaction. They know that they “don’t know the language”

(Allan 2006:175), or are unable to view society from the perspective, of the ethno- religious “Other”; they also generally have no interest in knowing that language and may, like their parents, be quite resentful of it. Yet a class-specific type of cultural capital nonetheless exists and is important in understanding dynamics of class power in post- 58 conflict societies generally. Individuals in the space of middle-class cosmopolitanism increasingly reflect “attempt[s] to be correct, or to silence” -a silence which avoids recognition of ethnic or religious difference and subtly reifies common class interests and desires (Bourdieu 1991:97, emphasis in original).

In contrast to the relatively “safe” cosmopolitan urban spaces, to disclose your identity as a Catholic in most working-class neighborhoods of east Belfast, for example, still carries with it a significant risk of being harassed or even attacked, as would a

Protestant openly revealing his or her identity in the republican working-class strongholds of west Belfast –the second poorest district of the UK (Coulter 2014). In such contexts, “old” rules of silence and suspicion still guide everyday interaction. Thus the emergence of new “spaces of innovation” in the tradition of Bourdieu, does not mean that

“old” social rules and parameters governing the integrity of “pure” ethno-political space – both physical and virtual –have gone away. For example, even in efforts to help accommodate new immigrant populations, Protestant and Catholic voluntary actors reinscribe traditional ethno-political or sectarian divisions. Rather than assisting immigrant integration into “Northern Irish” society, efforts are often geared toward helping them enter either the Protestant or Catholic community (Geoghegan 2008). Such ongoing polarization between the main ethno-national communities, however, is also shaped by the reproduction of intragroup fields of power along intersecting lines of class and gender. 59

Gendered Relations of Power

Critical Studies of Men and Masculinities (CSMM) have emphasized the “historical, context dependent, shifting, and multi-faceted” nature of masculinist identities and ideologies (Ashe and Harland 2014:749; see also Butler 1990; Connell and

Messerschmidt 2005; Collins 1990; Kimmel 1996; Yuval-Davis 2006). Class

(dis)locations and racial/ethnic constructions are ultimately framed in gender-specific terms; likewise, masculinist or feminist practices and beliefs differ according to particular class and racial/ethnic contexts. “Gender is always constituted in a culturally specific form, and an ethnicity [or ethno-nationalism] always pronounces its norms for manhood or womanhood” (Cockburn 2004, 29). As Lysaght (2002, 52) points out, moreover,

“masculinities must be viewed as necessarily relational and contingent, and subject to transformation depending upon locational and positional change.” In Kimmel and

Ferber’s (2000) discussion of white supremacist groups’ framing of the “farm crisis” in the rural United States, for example, they illustrate how such groups serve as ideological and organizational channels through which lower-middle-class white men retake control of their masculinities over against socially constructed racial Others, and in contexts of economic loss.

In divided societies with histories of intractable conflict, it is especially critical to examine potential implications associated with similar transitions in the social locations or status of men whose core gendered identities –or masculinities –have been historically 60 constructed in ethno-national terms and in historical contexts of sectarian and political violence. Without alternative options in identity construction and avenues of social mobility, the agencies of such men will likely have problematic implications for post- conflict reconstruction. As Ashe (2009, 302) illuminates, the promotion of ex-combatant

Community-based Restorative Justice (CBRJ) by academic proponents has continued to conspicuously exclude attention to “gender [in]equality and power,” thus having important “gendering effects” as the voices of women are unwittingly sublimated (see also Gilmartin 2015). One objective of this dissertation is to put the voices of women at the forefront of analysis and, by doing so, offer important insight into intersecting gendered and class dimensions of power which operate on both the state and grassroots levels and undermine the transformative potential of peacebuilding.

Conclusion

As a society with a tragic, violent history that has established a relatively stable political environment, while still confronted with prolonged constraints of interethnic hostility, violence, and mistrust, Northern Ireland is an especially strategic research site: It’s current state of “peace” provides a strategic context in which to examine the unique impacts of social divisions common in most societies –along lines of social class, age, gender, and place –on post-conflict societies in particular. In undertaking such an analysis, I follow an emerging recognition of the importance of an intersectional, class-

61 centered and critical political economy approach in analysis of issues of post-conflict reconstruction. As Coulter (2014:773) suggests, with over two decades on since the 1994 ceasefires, “dismissal of class-based analysis remains akin to a doxa in academic accounts of political subjectivities in Northern Ireland” (ibid, 773), among other “post- conflict” societies. Gender has also remained a neglected variable in empirical approaches in research on post-conflict reconstruction in the North (Ashe 2009; Ashe and Harland 2014) which

I incorporate to the center of analysis (chapter four). Inequities along the lines of class, gender and place, and gradual demographic shifts and distributions of power and status within and between Protestant and Catholic communities provide strategic contexts in which to identity emerging structural constraints and/or openings in prospects of reconstruction and cooperation. How, and to what extent particular intra-group relations along various social fault lines (ethno-nationality, class, gender, age) shape processes of conflict and cooperation, and are appropriated or responded to by leaders, is a general question underpinning the research presented below.

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CHAPTER 2: DATA AND METHODS

Introduction: The Mixed Method Approach

The analysis utilizes a mixed-method, in-depth, qualitative case study approach, drawing on data retrieved from interviews with community leaders, newspaper reports about sectarian incidents in Belfast, and quantitative data on rates of sectarian violence retrieved from the Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI). The study also draws less systematically from ethnographic observations made by the author during his visit to

Belfast in May and June of 2014, to provide further substantive evidence of phenomena identified by respondents as important in explaining dynamics in intra- and intergroup relations. The author follows the broad definition of mixed-methods as a “systematic integration of quantitative and qualitative methods in a single study for purposes of obtaining a fuller picture and deeper understanding of a phenomenon” (Johnson et al.

2007:119). Although the author combines qualitative and quantitative approaches, the analysis –including that of quantitative police data –was undertaken primarily as an

“iterative” process, whereby theory is generated, rather than deductive in terms of testing theory (Teddie and Tashakkori 2009:79). Data generated from this method, combing analysis of trends in violence indicated in police data and themes generated from interviews and newspaper reports, is reported primarily in chapter three. As “Glaser and

Strauss believed… each form of data (QUAN, QUAL) is useful for both the generation

63 and verification of grounded theory” or in identifying “emergent themes… which evolve from the study of specific pieces of information that the investigator has discovered”

(Teddie and Tashakkori 2009:79, 252).

Thus, the research is disproportionately inductive in nature, falling mostly on the qualitative end of the “QUAL-MM-QUAN continuum” yet still deducing somewhat from the theoretical approach discussed in chapter one (Teddie and Tashakkori 2009:28). In this sense, I follow the epistemological rationale that “all research involve[s] induction and deduction in the broad sense of those terms; in all research we move from ideas to data as well as data to ideas” (Hammersley 1992:168; cited in Teddie and Tashakkori

2009:79). Because of the variety of data sources I used, I did not prescribe to one

“particular data analysis scheme” or epistemology (Terrie and Tashakkori 2009:252; see also Coffey and Atkinson 1996); rather, like most “researcher[s] analyzing QUAL data…

I employ[ed] an eclectic mix of the available analytic tools that best fit… [each] data set under consideration” (Teddie and Tashakkori 2009:252), and then identified how each fits together through a process of “axial coding” (discussed below). The primarily qualitative, mixed-method and exploratory approach helped enable data triangulation, while minimizing the extent to which the author’s preconceptions shaped data collection and analysis.

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Qualitative, in-depth case study methodology of the type employed here is especially appropriate in peace and conflict studies. Brubaker and Laitin (1998) suggest that such a methodological approach helps avoid problems common in more positivist oriented research, which tends to lose necessary attention to important, nuanced differences across cases. As they point out, “our operationalization of variables, or even the types of research questions we ask, may lead us to conclusions that do not capture the complexity of many cases that are in reality qualitatively different in form” (Brubaker and Laitin 1998).

PSNI Data

Data on rates of hate-motivated incidents in each region of Belfast were retrieved online from the PSNI, and were used as a proxy for interpreting fluctuations in sectarian tensions. Research sub-questions answered by analysis of the quantitative police data ask how frequencies of sectarian violence change both between regions of Belfast and over time, largely to help direct qualitative observation toward particular important events and dynamics which can contribute to a greater understanding of the reasons for shifts in intercommunity relations and tensions.

The annual PSNI incident-reporting period starts in April and ends in March of the following year. Such data is based on police reports and is sub-categorized according to police district, allowing for comparisons between each of the four parts of Belfast,

65 north and west (police district A) and south and east (district B). The PSNI data is also sub-categorized by incident type (sectarian, racist, homophobic, etc.). Like any police data, however, the frequencies of incidents recorded by the PSNI are underestimations, as many incidents are simply not reported. Moreover, the PSNI data on hate crimes is largely limited to individual incidents and does not include “public order incidents”; thus, most cases of intergroup clashes at interfaces, and rioting and disorder associated with parades and the flags, are not included. For this reason, data retrieved from newspaper reports (discussed below) were especially useful in the analysis of dynamics of intergroup violence.

Also, as Nolan (2014:32) points out –and is somewhat unique to divided societies like Northern Ireland –as sectarianism becomes increasingly entrenched, it becomes normalized to some extent and is less reported. This means that in periods of tension

PSNI numbers may especially underestimate the scale of sectarian tension. Also, some sectarian abuse, such as harassment on social media, simply does not meet the PSNI criteria for reporting. Further, it is important to recognize a history of bias in policing that may underscore skepticism about the validity of the data among some from within the province. Among Catholics specifically, the police continue to be commonly perceived as predominantly serving unionist/British interests, underscored by a near Century-long history of acute police repression of Catholics before the 1998 peace agreement.

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Interestingly, though, interviews and newspaper reports suggest that loyalist mistrust of the police has gradually increased, for reasons discussed below.

Notwithstanding these potential limitations, PSNI data contain the best quantitative estimates available, especially with respect to serious incidents involving firearms and explosives, as they are almost always made known to police. Generally, the author believes the data is sufficient for the purposes of the study and pose only minimal implications for validity and reliability. If anything, the trends reported in subsequent chapters, including increases in violence within predominantly loyalist locations, are likely more prevalent in reality than the data suggest.

Content Analysis of Newspaper Reports

The author also draws on newspaper reports about sectarian incidents from a variety of based predominantly in the United Kingdom and Republic of Ireland. Such reports were retrieved by the author from the LexisNexis academic database, using a limited set of search terms. These terms included “sectarian,” “violence,” “attack,”

“paramilitary,” “terrorist,” “Belfast.” Information from all reports discussing sectarian incidents were coded as variables and entered into a SPSS data file. Many variables were recorded, including location, time period, motive, perpetrator and victim identities (age, gender, religion, paramilitary membership), weapons, and community and political response. Although only a fraction of incidents recorded by the PSNI receive media

67 coverage, newspaper reports contain variables not available in police data. Thus, such data allowed for an examination of contextual factors, in order to identify why incidents occurred and why they escalated or not. This was especially true with respect to serious incidents which receive much press coverage and may thus have disproportionate impacts on on public mentalities (Glassner 2003). This data also allowed for comparisons between the frequency of incidents in a particular city district recorded in police reports and the frequency in the types of incidents reported in newspapers which occurred in the same locations.

The author is aware that combining analysis of newspaper reports with that of police data cannot establish patterns of causality per se. Yet combining such analyses allowed for an examination of contextual factors available in newspaper reports helped illuminate phenomena which are potentially important in explaining why escalations of tensions did or did not result. The variables identified as important in the aforementioned respects were able to be subsequently examined with more depth through qualitative discourse analysis of the newspaper reports. Such reports contain interviews with politicians, community leaders and witnesses, and the discourses of such persons give insight into contexts in which escalations or de-escalations of conflict occur, both on neighborhood levels and across the city as a whole. Discourse surrounding incidents that receive significant coverage often indicate which issues are most contentious and, thus, in many ways, significant for facilitating or hindering intercommunity cooperation. In order 68 to undertake an analysis of such discourses, every newspaper article containing quotes from any involved party (politician, witness, victim, community activist) associated with an event were retrieved, and then uploaded into NVivo 9 and analyzed using a grounded theory approach (discussed below).

There are limitations to this method, of course. First, different newspapers may report differently about a given incident. For example, is read predominantly by Catholics, and may be perceived as biased by some Protestants.

Similarly, the Letter is read mostly by Protestants. The , in contrast, is considered a more neutral newspaper (though Catholics tend to see it as a less vehemently unionist publication). Another potential limitation of reliance on newspaper reports is that some important actions or events which could significantly impact a dispute or incident of violence may simply not be reported by particular newspapers, if at all. It is for this reason that I decided to retrieve data from all newspapers in the same way, in order to obtain as much relevant information as possible. At the same time, this approach did not allow the author to account for potential reporting bias across newspapers.

Moreover, many variables were simply not included in most newspaper reports on incidents of violence, limiting the capacity of the author to establish trends through quantification of variables. For example, many variable categories had to be recorded as

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“unknown.” Yet, as evident in the reporting of the findings in subsequent chapters, some important trends could be established, albeit to a conservative and limited degree – including shifts in anti-police violence by paramilitaries and trends in politicians’ discursive responses to violence. Still, the newspaper reports were more helpful in generating themes via qualitative analysis regarding community and political leaders’ framing of contentious events and issues and their roles in conflict (de)escalation.

Interviews

The search terms we used to retrieve newspaper articles relate to incidents of violence in particular, and thus those which discuss important events or trends not framed in the context of a given violent incident might not be identified through this method. In order to overcome this limitation, the author also conducted in-depth, semi-structured interviews with community leaders in Belfast. Including interviews helped achieve a more in-depth analysis and enhance the validity of the study, increasing the likelihood of identifying important factors not adequately discussed in newspaper reports. Responses included here refer to semi-structured, qualitative or in-depth interview questions about the greatest obstacles to peacebuilding and the challenges faced by the respective public or non-profit peace organization in which each respondent worked.

Interview questions were broad so as to encourage respondents to shape the interview discourse, minimizing the potential of unwittingly leading responses. The same

70 questions were asked to all participants so that comparison between individuals and sub- groups could be made. The questions were typically asked in the same order, but not always, due to the fact that respondents had freedom to elaborate with depth and, at times, transitioned their discussion to topics which were planned to be addressed later in the interview schedule. Regardless, the concern of question ordering is not huge in the type of qualitative interviewing undertaken by the author (Bryman 2016). First, after thanking the respondents for agreeing to participate, explaining the general purpose of the study, and reading them the Informed Consent Form before asking them to sign it, I asked them to explain the work of their particular organization. Subsequently, the following questions were asked: what do you see as signs of progress in intercommunity relations recently? Do you think your organization has been relatively effective in its goals, and why or why not? What are the greatest problems encountered by your organization in reaching its goals? More generally, what do you see as the greatest threats to peace in Northern Ireland? What do you think is necessary to combat these threats in the long-term? Are any of these being done now in the country to your knowledge? How has the organization you work with approached any of these problems (if applicable)? Do you see evidence of any changes within each of the two main communities that are helping or hurting the peace process? How do you think former paramilitaries –or current paramilitaries –are contributing to the peace process? Do you feel they have had a more positive or negative impact? Could you explain why? Do you think that policing has

71 improved overall, including relationships between police and loyalist and republican communities? Could you explain? What do you think peace should mean in Northern

Ireland? Follow up questions by the author were asked in accordance with how respondents’ initial answers did or did not require further clarification and elaboration in meeting the author’s objectives. Overall, though, the need for follow-up questions was relatively minimal, as most respondents offered much depth in their answers.

The interviews were conducted in May and June of 2014 in the private offices of the interviewees, and were audio recorded, transcribed and coded by the author through

NVivo 9 and analyzed using a grounded theory approach (Strauss and Corbin 1990). The names of respondents were not recorded in the audio files, which nobody except the author had (or has) access to. Once recorded, those files were uploaded to the author’s private computer and transcibed via Express Scribe. The transcription documents did not contain the names of respondents, either, but code names. Information linking the code names with the real names of the respondents were stored in a separate Word document, also on the private computer of the author. Moreover, given that research questions did not ask respondents to reveal personal information about themselves, ethical dilemmas were minimal. Nonetheless, given that some respondents did discuss observations and experiences which might be considered controversial by some, including practices of

(former) paramilitary groups, the author decided not to use any of the respondents’ names, and provided only vague descriptions of their identities so as to protect their 72 privacy and confidentiality, and prevent the unlikely scenario that they experience retributive actions by either hostile groups or individuals or government agencies which make decisions about funding some of the organizations in which respondents work.

A fraction of interviews –only three –were not recorded because respondents (two republicans) did not agree to it10 or, with respect to the third, the conditions in which conversation was had did not allow for it. In this third instance, a young republican respondent, on two occasions, met with the author and offered to give personal, informal tours of the city, but did not seem interested in sitting down for a more formal interview.

During the time we spent together, he offered much in-depth insight into issues relevant to the study, which were paraphrased by the author via handwritten notes.

In line with phenomenological and cultural anthropological epistemologies, the author acknowledges that it would have been more ideal to insert himself within the society for a longer period of time in order to gain a greater variety of ethnographic observations and become more aware of the important nuances at play which are relevant in explaining dynamics of inter- and intra-group relations. Unfortunately, funding did not allow for a longer visit. Nonetheless, considering the specific research objectives and the

10 Gerry Adams had recently been arrested when the author arrived in Belfast, due to recordings from the Boston College “Belfast Project” wherein former IRA members implicated him in murders during the Troubles. Republicans associated with the IRA in the past refused to be recorded in order to ensure that the recordings could not be used against them by authorities. 73 strength of the data obtained through the interviews –the most compelling set of data, on which a disproportionate bulk of the subsequent analysis is based –I believe the validity of the findings is strong. On a different note, considering the high levels of suspicion of

“the Other” prevalent in Northern Ireland, being an American seemed to actually help the author’s ability to obtain meaningful responses from participants. I was surprised at how willing people were to discuss their views on controversial, ethno-political issues, especially those I met in casual settings who were interested in why I was visiting.

Without even asking them questions, many felt compelled to tell me their views once aware of my purpose in Belfast. My experience in this respect corresponded to a phenomenon joked about by one respondent, who –paraphrasing –said that “people here are really friendly and are happy to talk [to visitors from abroad] if they know you’ll be leaving.”

In total, the interview sample is comprised of 23 respondents. Interviewees were recruited first through contacts at Northeastern University (Boston, MA) and the Institute for Conflict Research, Belfast. Respondents were subsequently recruited via “snowball” or referral sampling. Respondents work across the ethno-political divide in a variety of leadership capacities at the grassroots and public levels and thus have keen insight into dynamics in both loyalist and republican communities relevant to the study. Fifteen respondents (twelve men & three women) came from grassroots peacebuilding organizations and five (two men and three women) work at public commissions on 74 various issues of equality. One current elected party official also participated in interviews, in addition to a former elected official and a high-ranking PSNI official. In addition to being active in peacebuilding, at least five respondents –four loyalists and one republican –are also ex-political prisoners. (Other republican respondents may have been as well, but did not acknowledge so to the author.) All interviews were one-on-one with the exception of one group interview with five members of a loyalist peacebuilding organization.

Grounded Theory Analysis of Interviews and Newspaper Reports

Throughout the coding process, themes were identified as inherent within the interview transcriptions, and not predetermined by the author (Miles and Huberman 1984).

Interview analysis first went through two stages of “open coding,” where the author entered each new categorical code into NVivo 9 in language used by respondents themselves. Some initial open codes were broad and then, following initial coding of the first several interviews, more specific sub-codes were developed. The same was done after subsequent analysis of the other interviews, if they contained new categorical codes not identified in the previous interviews. At the end of the open coding process, if a category or sub-category entered into the NVivo file had entries from less than five different respondents, that category or sub-category was discarded. I use both

“categorical” and subsequent “contextualizing (holistic)” strategies of data interpretation.

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Identification of categories via literal coding was followed by what has been described as a “categorical strategy,” in which “‘fractured data’ are put back together based on similarities…” (Teddie and Tashakkori 2009:252).

In the process of thematic coding, the “contextualizing” strategy was undertaken because “the interrelated elements in the data set are too complicated to be analyzed using categorical strategies [only].” The research questions guiding the study contain “an emphasis on context… such as how phenomena are different in different settings,” thus justifying this analytical approach (Teddie and Tashakkori 2009:253; se also Mason

2002). Throughout subsequent stages of analysis, I found that the process helps the researcher periodically evaluate the explanatory value of each category and theme in relation to others, and in particular social and political contexts.

Following the initial phases of open coding and categorical coding, thematic coding was subsequently undertaken. Eisner (1998:104) defines “emergent themes” identified through such coding as “dominant features of the situation or person, those qualities of place, person, or object that define or describe identity. In a sense, a theme is a pervasive quality. Pervasive qualities tend to permeate and unify situations and objects.” For example, in my analysis, particular components of inequality and poverty, masculinities, and ethno-nationalist perspectives are “pervasive” in this sense. In identifying such themes, the author recognized patterns in how each observation is

76 pertinent in shaping the more general views offered by respondents as well as the broader social realities they describe, and how each theme builds on others in this process.

Throughout the process, thematic codes referred both to respondents’ viewpoints and their more descriptive recall of events, while taking account of patterns unique to particular groups depending on religious, gender, and class identities. This type of analysis is described by Strauss and Corbin (1990:96) as “axial coding,” through which

“data are put back together in new ways after open coding, by making connections between categories” (Strauss and Corbin 1990:96). However, the connections made between categories were inherent within responses, not constructed or imposed by the author. At the same time, the author recognizes how, to some extent, “observation precedes understanding.” Following Boyatzis (1998:1), Teddie and Tashakkori

(2009:252) explain how “Recognizing an important moment (seeing) precedes encoding it (seeing it as something), which in turn precedes interpretation. Thematic analysis moves you through these three phases of inquiry.” Like any analysis, theories discussed in chapter one helped guide the author in identifying important phenomena emerging from the data.

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CHAPTER 3: INEQUALITY, ETHNO-POLITICS AND SECTARIAN

VIOLENCE, 2008-2013

Introduction

On December 1 2012, hundreds of loyalists protested the City Council vote to reduce the number of days the flag will fly at from 365 a year to 18, for national holidays. Protests turned violent as men forced their way inside city hall and riots ensued in surrounding areas, injuring police officers and shutting the city center down for several days. By the spring of 2013 more than 100 police officers were injured

–some seriously –and the cost of property damage was in the millions of pounds. New state restrictions on unionist ethno-cultural symbols and parades are perceived by many in the Protestant community as symptomatic of a more general erosion of unionist power, and as another indication of the eventual prospect of a united Ireland. The “flags crisis,” which continued to inflame inter-community division throughout 2014 (Nolan, 2014:11-

12, 154), pointed the world to the deep divisions that remain in Northern Ireland and the fragility of its peace process. As findings of this chapter suggest, the flags dispute, in addition to conflict over parading, illuminates the role played by ethno-political elite in promoting conflict, as well as underlying influences of poverty and class inequities on the conflict mentalities of both Protestant and Catholic communities. As this study shows,

78 lack of sufficient investment among leaders in social and economic reconstruction inflames political hostilities, fueling (low intensity) conflict.

Research which evaluates post-conflict reconstruction has been disproportionately concerned with political reconstruction, such as, legislative and criminal justice reform.

While necessary in providing legitimacy for post-war and power-sharing governments and providing a sense of public security, such an approach is, by itself, not sufficient in establishing long-term, sustainable peace. Peacebuilding efforts which also take into account the unique impacts on post-conflict communities of particular socio-structural conditions, shaped along various dimensions of power and identity, will have greater likelihoods of promoting a more transformational type of peace. For example, there has been increasing attention to the significant, limiting impact of unequal relations of political power across gendered lines on the scope of peacebuilding (Cockburn 2004;

Zuckerman and Greenberg 2004; Ashe 2009, 2012). Yet other socio-structural conditions which undermine post-conflict reconstruction have received less attention, including issues of social class and economic inequality.

A general question guiding the subsequent analysis asks how dynamics of class inequality shape intra-community relations, and how the subsequent impacts of such relations underscore intercommunity conflict and cooperation. Implications of class inequities, specifically, within ethno-communities for prospects of peace –or conflict –in

79 transitional societies remain under-examined, and warrant additional theoretical emphasis. “Horizontal inequalities” (Stewart 2008) which run along ethno-political fault lines, and exacerbate one-dimensional interpretations of “us” and “them,” have been implicated as important factors predicting initial escalations in conflict and violence

(Gurr 2000). Yet how reductions –if any –in the overlap of political, class-, gender-, and age-specific identities and interests after onsets of “peace” impact dynamics of conflict and/or cooperation has received less attention.

Moreover while research on initial escalations in mass violence emphasizes the integral roles of self-interested political and community leaders in processes of mobilization (Bowen 1996; Brubaker and Laitin 1998; Gagnon 1995; Fearon and Laitin

2000), surprisingly little empirical work has examined the potential for similar –albeit less extreme –processes in post-conflict societies. When ethno-political insecurities and resentments still linger from recent histories of violence, it is possible that they can be strategically appropriated by leaders in contentious political discourse. Of course, evidence exists which suggests that mutually exclusive ethnic and political identities and attitudes are capable of flux when the conditions or contexts In which intergroup relations are shaped are altered (Sonnenschein et al. 2010; McGlynn et al. 2004; Pickering 2006;

Hewstone et al. 2006). That sectarian hostilities persist does not necessarily imply that innovative forms of interethnic cooperation, and intra-ethnic heterogeneity, cannot take form (Fearon and Laitin 1996). Thus given that few survivors within societies emerging 80 from conflict desire a return to the violence of the past, the provocative political strategies might be especially instrumental in explaining escalations of ethno-political hostilities during periods of “peace.” In Northern Ireland in particular, the relative stability brought with state institutional reform has allowed more space for intra- community political debate; this can be viewed as both enabling the development of a greater variety of political relations and goals (Smithey 2011) while potentially threatening the sense of electoral security among ethno-political leaders. Attention to how elected leaders respond to provocations and violence will help illuminate their more general political strategies. At the same time, it is also important to identify the specific structural conditions which facilitate and/or hinder those strategies, including, but not limited to, issues of social and economic inequality, and intersectionalities of gender, class, age, and ethno-nationalism.

Specifically, this chapter offers an empirical account of the ways in which inopportunity and class inequalities within Protestant and Catholic communities in

Northern Ireland underscore or facilitate ethno-political provocations which threaten peacebuilding. Findings suggest that rising intra-group class divisions sharpen social and political anxieties and mentalities of loss in underserved, working class communities. At the same time, political leaders channel such anxiety toward the ethno-religious ‘Other’ for self-serving purposes, framing their discourses around culturally contentious signifiers that activate ethno-political or -sectarian schemata. Not coincidentally, 81 manipulation of such symbols elicits emotionally-charged, hostile responses and increases the likelihood of violence. By identifying such a dynamic, the author offers an empirical example of a “specific process by which identities are produced and reproduced in action and speech,” and through which (low-intensity) conflict is reconstituted (Fearon and Laitin 2000:850, emphasis in original). The (re)productions of ethno-political identities and uses of violence are traced to structural class inequalities (employment, education, place) and the practices and discourses of ethnocentric political elite. In doing so, the author illustrates how the “coercive” forces of class and ethno-nationalist identities are inextricably linked, and how processes in the reproduction of conflict mentalities and practices are underscored, in part, by social and economic inequalities within –as much as between –historically divided ethno-political communities.11

Before discussing with depth the underlying structural and ethno-cultural dynamics underscoring political fallout between Protestant and Catholic communities, the author first summarizes trends in sectarian violence and corresponding shifts in political discourses over time. By doing so, the intent is that subsequent discussion of interconnected dynamics of social class inequity and ethno-political provocation will be best illustrated.

11 This chapter refers to data obtained from each of the three methods discussed in chapter two, combining inductive and deductive methodologies. 82

Trends in Sectarian Violence, 2008-2012

In the 2008/2009 period (April 2008 through March 2009), 733 sectarian incidents were reported to the PSNI for police district A (north and west Belfast), with 566 reported in north Belfast alone. Although these numbers might not seem especially striking at first glance, it is important to consider that Belfast is a relatively small city, holding approximately 300,000 people. (Northern Ireland as a whole has a population no larger than 2 million.) Frequencies of sectarian incidents in north Belfast –typically the most violent part of the city, holding a disproportionate number of sectarian interfaces –then declined to 532 in 2009/2010 and 389 in 2010/2011 (see table 1). The number of incidents then declined again in the 2011/2012 reporting period to a low of 211. Sectarian incidents during the same time period also declined in west Belfast, from 124 in

2009/2010 to 99 in 2010/2011, and then 87 in 2011/2012. (These incidents do not include trends in intra-group violence, such as paramilitary “punishment attacks,” which are not uncommon in West Belfast.)

83

TABLE 1: INCIDENT RATES OF BELFAST SECTARIAN VIOLANCE BY

DISTRICT, APRIL 2009 – MARCH 2014

W Belfast N Belfast S Belfast E Belfast

2009/2010 124 532 74 67

2010/2011 99 389 74 101

2011/2012 87 211 90 172

2012/2013 103 288 106 131

2013/2014 74 246 102 152

Below, I first analyze what happened in 2010-2011 that explains the relatively low violent sectarian incident rates in Belfast –and district A in particular –over that period, especially the significant drop from previous years. I then discuss why tensions escalate in 2012-2013 throughout the city, and in north and east Belfast especially. I will then explain why, with some fluctuation, district A experienced a general decline in sectarian incidents since 2008, while East and South Belfast (district B) experienced the opposite –a consequence, in part, of simmering political, social and economic frustrations in working-class Protestant communities.

84

Conflict and Cooperation, 2008-2012

In February 2010, the Hillsborough Agreement marked the devolution of policing powers for the first time in decades, the success of which hinged on the new Policing

Commission co-chaired by representatives of both unionist and nationalist parties. The threat of dissident republican paramilitary organizations in 2010-2011 was considered

“severe” by the British security agency MI5, which warned for the first time that these organizations had the capacity to carry out an attack in England and were a greater threat to the U.K. than Islamic terrorists. The most active dissident republican paramilitary organizations at this time were the Real IRA, the Continuity IRA and Oglaigh na hEireann (ONH), led by former Provisional IRA members who saw –and continue to see

–the Belfast Agreement as a betrayal by nationalist leadership and an unjustifiable concession to Britain. These groups ramped-up their bombing campaigns across the province in 2010; of the 26 terrorist attacks in the UK between April 2010 and March

2011, 25 of them occurred in Northern Ireland (Nolan, 2014:37). Several attacks were intended to kill or injure police officers and deter Catholics from joining the PSNI, with the intention being to prevent the development of a fully integrated police service and thus obstruct the peace process.12 Despite the threat of dissident republican terrorism at

12 Belfast Telegraph (February 24, 2010); Belfast News (January 8, 2010) 85 that time, responses of elected leaders seemed to help restrain its potential in fueling an escalation in intercommunity violence.

For example, there were exceptionally violent riots instigated by the same armed republican groups in 2010. About 200 rioters –including children under 10, directed by dissident republicans –were responsible for the violence, which included one officer suffering injuries from a shotgun blast, and a policewoman being knocked unconscious when a breeze block was dropped on her head from a rooftop.13 The PSNI showed restraint and discipline in their response, while still identifying and arresting many riot participants in following weeks.14 Moreover, political leaders from across communities generally responded in unison in condemning the republican violence, including Gerry

Adams –the president of Sinn Fein and alleged former IRA commander –and DUP First

Minister Peter Robinson. Martin McGuinness also condemned dissident republican violence later that summer after a private meeting held with Ulster Defense Association

(UDA) leader Jackie McDonald.15 The fact that McGuinness, a former IRA leader, would be in private talks with a paramilitary leader signified a deep commitment to the peace process at a crucial time, when republican threats of violence were high. In another instance, after the home of a grandmother with a strong reputation for leadership in cross-

13 Belfast Telegraph (July 13, 2010) 14 The Guardian [] (July 15, 2010); Irish News (July 17, 2010); Belfast Telegraph (July 20,2010) 15 Irish News (August 4, 2010) 86 community work in north Belfast was attacked with pipe-bombs, a huge rally took place, attended by hundreds from both sides of the community and politicians from both the unionist DUP and nationalist Sinn Fein parties.16 In response to UVF-initiated riots in east Belfast in June 2011, moreover, Peter Robinson and Martin McGuinness jointly condemned the violence.17 Although the parade violence in July of the same year did provoke some tensions among leaders,18 the extent of public fallout resulting from the disorder was minimal. With some exceptions,19 the public display of unity between nationalist and unionist leaders is reported consistently throughout 2010 and 2011. The notable cooperation around policing in particular is important given that it has historically been one of the most contentious issues in Northern Ireland. Yet such signs of cooperation became increasingly rare in the following two years, having important implications for the long-term scope of political change.

Loyalist Paramilitaries and the State, 2010-2012

As the state’s responses to violent, dissident republican challenges to the peace process were generally successful loyalist paramilitary aggression posed an additional threat –and still does. How authorities responded to UVF violence in the 2011 period in particular is

16 Belfast Telegraph (April 21, 2010) 17 Belfast Telegraph (June 24, 2011) 18 Belfast Telegraph (July 13, 2011) 19 For example, see (London) (Feb. 24, 2010) 87 telling about the political influence of loyalist paramilitary organizations, and the challenge such influence poses for long-term stability and leadership strategies of political elite. It would be unfair, though, to excuse the pivotal roles played by loyalist paramilitaries in peace-making. For example, in 2007, UDA leadership “stood down” rogue factions, opting to generally work with the peace-process; later, (some) UVF and

UDA weapons were credibly decommissioned. Nonetheless, recent evidence suggests that the influence of paramilitaries constrains the development of cross-community politics, even while enabling grassroots cooperation in peacekeeping and some (limited) peacebuilding enterprise (see chapter four).

One incident in particular is telling about the paradoxical nature of relations between paramilitaries and the state. After a personal dispute with the main leadership of the UVF, estranged member –Bobby Moffet –was murdered on the staunchly loyalist

Shankill Road in the middle of the day. The Independent Monitoring Commission (IMC) later reported that the paramilitary organization executed Moffet in public with the intention of sending a message to the wider community. But the IMC claimed in the same report that the incident did not indicate the end of the UVF ceasefire, and that it believed the paramilitary organization remained committed to the peace process and to transitioning to a “civilian organization.”20 Thus, the aftermath of Moffet’s murder

20 (Sep. 16, 2010) 88 suggests that the UVF maintain some socio-political influence, albeit in the shadows of the political apparatus. Soon after the release of the IMC report, Dawn Purvis –the only member of the Progressive Unionist Party (PUP)21 serving in the Stormont Assembly at the time –resigned from the party, citing Moffet’s murder as a major factor in her decision. Purvis admitted that the UVF was restricting the political goals of the PUP and that she could not deliver to constituents properly as a result.22 Thus, even while maintaining “order” via important peacemaking and peacekeeping activities, influential sub-sets of paramilitary organizations constrain more transformative political developments.

Relations between paramilitary leaders and elected officials are viewed by some as integral for sustaining the peace as such groups hold much sway in their local communities, having influence among hardliners. Paradoxically, though, as extralegal paramilitary activity, and tacit state complicity, becomes systemic, the consequent control of local communities maintained by paramilitary leaders can backfire for the state when periods of political tensions rise and such groups perceive that escalating those tensions through violence and intimidation is in their immediate interests. In October 2010, in response to police investigations of ongoing criminality among its members, the East

21 The PUP was formed as the political wing of the UVF, and is known as the unionist party most representing working-class interests. 22 BBC News (June 3, 2010) 89

Belfast UVF organized riots. UVF gunmen were reported seen on the streets on the first night of rioting, which involved children as young as 10 years-old. In June 2011, police were attacked and gunfire was exchanged between loyalists and republicans at the Short

Strand interface in east Belfast, with at least three people shot, including a photographer, and others suffering burn injuries. “Senior loyalist sources told the Belfast Telegraph that the trouble was intended to be a show of force by the UVF against the Historical

Enquiries Team (HET) [which was investigating UVF murders during the Troubles]. It is also understood that the UVF hand-picked an area it felt had been moving forward in terms of cross-community co-operation and progress.”23 Thus, it is not coincidental that the number of reported incidents of sectarian violence in the 2011-2012 reporting period shows an increase from previous years (see table 1). The UVF wanted to illustrate that it was willing and able to derail the peace-process if its past violent offenses were exposed and prosecuted by the HET. They would also implicitly encourage violence two weeks later, as ex-prisoners refused to “police” loyalist marchers along the controversial

Ardoyne parade route.24 The aforementioned incidents indicate the sensitive nature of pursuing justice for victims of paramilitary violence during the Troubles, and are examples of the paradoxical implications which result from the promotion of (former) paramilitary “community leadership.” The very collective actors who “hold it together”

23 Belfast Telegraph (June 21, 2011) 24 The Guardian [London] ( July 11, 2011) 90

–or former prisoners and paramilitaries –often have the greatest hesitance to move forward in terms of cross-community politics and processes of truth and reconciliation, and remain largely opposed to any systemic turn toward institutional intergroup integration (see also chapter four).

At the same time, poverty and inequity in access to education and employment within each community contributes to the power of hostile collective actors by sustaining a pool of potential recruits and exacerbating working-class sentiments of “being left behind by the peace-process.”25 As respondents consistently emphasize, the lack of economic benefit –or “peace dividends” –for working-class communities as part of the peace process as resulted in the deepening of ethno-political frustrations, culminating in the “flags” crisis and parade violence in 2012 and 2013 respectively (discussed below).

The escalation of violence over flags and parades did not occur coincidentally with shifts to more divisive rhetoric –among polarized –and self-serving –ethno-political elite, and Unionists in particular. For example, analysis of newspaper reports suggests that Sinn Fein and the Social Democratic Labor Party (SDLP) –the two major nationalist parties in the North –condemn republican violence at higher rates than unionist politicians condemn violence by members of their ethno-constituency. For example, the author retrieved an annual average of 22 newspaper reports for each year between 2010

25 Interview with east Belfast community worker, May 2014 91 and 2013 in which Sinn Fein condemned republican violence and an annual average of only six such reports in which unionist officials condemned loyalist violence.26 In 2013, as violence was on the rise across Belfast (see table 1), only nine incidents of loyalist violence led to unionist condemnation, according to newspaper data retrieved by the author –some of which were ambiguous and haphazard, implying nationalists were largely to blame (see table 2). Between 2010 and 2013, there were in total 89 incidents of republican violence which led to condemnation by nationalist representatives, compared to 22 in which unionists condemned violence by their ethno-constituency. This would become an important dynamic underscoring the breakdown of community relations in

26 This is partly due to the fact that republican violence is reported at higher rates. Dissident paramilitary bombings and attacks on police officers, for example, typically receive media coverage and united condemnation is expected. Thus, it is partly the nature of dissident republican violence that explains this difference. Still, “less severe” violence by republican groups, such as, vigilante beatings and shootings, is –according to the newspaper reports retrieved by the author –reported at higher rates than similar violence by loyalist groups, and it is unclear whether this reflects disproportionate activity by republican paramilitaries or is a matter of bias.

Personal conversations with community leaders in Belfast suggest that loyalist paramilitaries are involved in a range of criminality and sectarian violence, but the author found far fewer newspaper reports about the latter such incidents in comparison with similar events involving dissident republican groups. (See also Knox [2002] and Jarman [2004].) In 2009, when the number of newspaper reports on paramilitary violence greatly increased from previous years, only 9 implicated loyalists while 46 implicated republicans; in 2010, 9 reports implicated loyalists and 51 implicated republicans (see table 3). Numbers stayed relatively consistent in the following years, except for a noticeable increase in loyalist attacks in 2012, with 24. But even for that year, republicans were reported at higher rates (33 reports). In 2013, reports on loyalist violence was relatively low given that tensions were extremely high over flags and parades; they were implicated in only 12 attacks, compared with republicans who were implicated in 42.

92 late 2012 and throughout 2013, where communities in or bordering loyalist working-class neighborhoods experienced a relatively high incidence of violence.

TABLE 2: RETREIVED REPORTS OF DUP/UUP & SINN FEIN/SDLP CONDEMNATION OF LOYALIST & REPUBLICAN PERPETRATORS, RESPECTIVELY, 2010-2013

DUP/UUP Sinn Fein/SDLP 2010 3 18 2011 1 21 2012 9 26 2013 9 24

TABLE 3: REPORTS OF REPUBLICAN AND LOYALIST PARAMILITARY

ATTACKS

Republican Loyalist Unknown 2007 9 6 41 2008 11 6 25 2009 46 9 45 2010 51 9 43 2011 39 7 34 2012 33 24 45

2013 42 12 51

93

The Flags Protest and the Crisis of Political Leadership, 2012-2013

After rates of sectarian violence reached a low in 2011/2012, they would then increase again in 2012/2013 in north Belfast and west Belfast to 288 and 103, respectively, up from 211 and 87 (see table 1). At the same time, even while sectarian incidents continued decline between 2008 and 2012 in north and west Belfast, the number of incidents actually increased most years in both east and south Belfast over the same period (though overall rates were highest in North Belfast). According to PSNI data, frequencies of sectarian violence increased each year in east Belfast from a low of 42 in 2008/2009 to a high of 172 in 2011/2012. A significant share of the increase over 2011 is linked to the

UVF riots over HET investigations. The number of sectarian incidents would then slightly decline to 131 in 2012/2013, and rise again in 2013/2014 to 152 (see table 1).

The relatively high incident numbers for East Belfast between 2012 and 2014 are attributed to fallout over flags and parades, according to newspaper reports from the same period.

Moreover, the number of retrieved reports about attacks on police in just east

Belfast in 2013 was higher than in all previous years, with at least ten –or half of all incidents –reported for that area, up from four each in 2012 and 2011. (There are likely more than ten from the data, as some reports failed to indicate the religious identity of perpetrators.) Retrieved reports about anti-police violence in East Belfast accounted for

94

37% of all such incident reports in 2013, up from 17% in 2012. Moreover, the number of incidents of loyalist paramilitary violence against police increased significantly from no more than 2 for each previous year, to 12 and 8 in 2012 and 2013, respectively. As additional data documented below further illustrates, such trends correspond with the gradual growth in loyalist distrust and resentment of “the state.” There was also a large increase in reports about anti-nationalist violence in both north and east Belfast between

2012 and 2013, from seven to nine, and one to twelve, respectively. (The true difference may be greater, as several reports fail to determine a motive.) There was an increase in reports about anti-loyalist attacks in west Belfast over this period as well; there were eight such reports retrieved for 2013, which refer mainly to attacks against property in a tiny Protestant enclave within a mostly nationalist area –up from four the previous year and just one in 2011. Collectively, such trends reflect the rise in tensions rooted in protests over increased restrictions on Unionist flags and parades.

According to respondents, the violence that erupted in late 2012 and continued throughout the following year seriously undercut progress in inter-community cooperation developed immediately prior, and highlighted systemic vulnerabilities of the peace-process. Sinn Fein brought the proposal to remove the Union flag to a vote, initially intending to remove it altogether. After deliberations with officials from the

Alliance Party –the largest political party in Northern Ireland with no ethno-religious affiliation –Sinn Fein agreed to compromise by accepting that it fly on British holidays, 95 being the standard policy across the United Kingdom. Unionist politicians responded aggressively, arguing that the vote was undemocratic and marked the beginning of the end of unionism. Alliance Party officials, blamed for selling out unionist interests to the benefit of Sinn Fein, were the primary recipients of the immediate loyalist backlash and

UVF-sponsored violence.

National flags hold much symbolic significance in Northern Ireland. Throughout some loyalist/unionist neighborhoods in Belfast, for example, Union flags are literally everywhere and fly year-round, meant to claim territory and intimidate nationalists. The hostile reaction to ’s legislation to take the flag down from city hall for most of the year illustrates the fragile political identity of loyalists/unionists and the insecurity they feel over their place in the UK. The DUP, the largest unionist party in the province, and holding a central leadership position, chose to focus public attention to the issue and failed to genuinely condemn the violence which subsequently occurred. As the flags dispute escalated, political rhetoric became increasingly divisive –bordering on sectarian in some instances –and contributing to escalations in ethno-religious tensions.

At the least, such antagonistic political discourse, which was spearheaded mostly by DUP and UUP officials, did nothing to reduce such tensions.

During the initial days of loyalist rioting in December 2012, most unionist leaders accused Sinn Fein of intentionally invoking unionist/loyalist hostility for political gain,

96 by “bulldozing” controversial decisions about culturally divisive issues.27 Blame for violent loyalist protests was largely deflected onto Sinn Fein and the Alliance Party by unionist leaders, fomenting a particularly hostile political climate that would sustain throughout 2013. For example, after Belfast’s Sinn Fein Mayor Mairtin O Muilleoir was attacked by a mob of 40 while attending the opening of a park in the loyalist Woodvale estate in summer of 2013, a DUP representative refused to condemn the incident on radio. UUP official Jim Rodgers essentially blamed the Mayor, saying “It seems that advice was given that the lord mayor should not go to Woodvale Park, but he decided otherwise.”28

DUP First Minister Robinson responded to early stages of the flag violence by saying that

The decision to pursue the removal of the flag from City Hall and other council buildings, despite warnings of the likely consequential impact on community relations, was foolish and provocative. Those who talk most about building community relations have by their actions in the council substantially damaged relations across the city.29

Other unionist leaders from the UUP and DUP made similar comments, condemning loyalist violence while nonetheless implying that blame lies largely with both major nationalist parties and the Alliance Party. After Mike Nesbitt’s condemnation of the

27 Morning Star (January 8, 2013) 28 The Irish Times (August 8, 2013) 29 Belfast Telegraph (December 4 2012) 97 loyalist attack on the home of SDLP councilor Claire Hanna in January 2013, he insisted that Unionism

needs a strategy for moving forward and, in the first instance, that can only be arrived at by engagement between all members of the unionist community. Violence distracts from the real source of many of the problems, which are being created by parties such as Sinn Fein.30

Unionist criticisms of loyalist paramilitary behavior takes place in a context wherein blame is attributed in oversimplified terms to the Other, and in which ethno-political division is subtly re-inscribed. In another example, the UUP’s Michael Copeland made the following comment in explaining the sense behind loyalist anger, after offering a

(limited) type of condemnation of the violence over the flag:

‘Equality' to Sinn Fein, in practice, appears to mean the removal of all things British from the state of Northern Ireland. I do believe that Sinn Fein's version of 'equality', ultimately, seems to amount to victory, a total eradication of all things British, while marching towards a united 31 Ireland in a zero-sum game.

During a heated exchange over Twitter with critics immediately following the first riots at city hall in early December, 2012, DUP First Minister Peter Robinson defended the decision of his party to disseminate 40,000 leaflets around east Belfast encouraging people to contact Alliance Party officials in protest of the decision to remove the Union flag from city hall. DUP leaflets also provided contact information of Alliance officials, who would later receive death threats and have their homes and offices

30 News Letter (January 7, 2013) 31 Belfast Telegraph (December 5 2012) 98 attacked. Alliance officials blamed the DUP and UUP leafletting for inciting tensions that would predictably turn violent. After having his constituency office burned down by loyalist protestors, Alliance member Stewart Dickson commented that “You can’t deliver

40,000 leaflets in Loyalist areas and not expect trouble.”32 Several interviewees make the same point. For example, an elected party official from east Belfast notes how the city council vote to limit the number of days the Union Jack would fly resulted in

all sorts of attacks. I don’t think the Alliance Party appreciated the response to what that decision would be. On the other hand, you had the DUP basically ensure [that] that would be the reaction by releasing 40,000 leaflets around East Belfast letting everyone know that according to them, the Alliance Party had torn down the flag from City Hall. That was very inflammatory and it certainly didn’t calm people down.33

A community worker in the Short Strand area of east Belfast makes a similar point, arguing that loyalists are

being fed by the DUP and the senior unionists. When they need friction stirred up and their votes enhanced, they stir it up a bit. It was the unionists who sent around letters when they asked for that flag to be taken down. They mixed it within those loyalist communities. , who is a [publicly visible] loyalist within the PUP, accepted that the flag should only be flown on designated days. The loyalists accepted it then. All of a sudden, these leaflets are going around saying “they’ve taken our culture.” Then the loyalists are going, “they’ve taken our culture, fucking Fenians!”34 It’s the old adage, “play the Orange card.”35

32 Financial Times (London) (January 10, 2013) 33 Personal Interview with author, May 2014 34 “Fenian” used to be a prideful term for Catholic warriors used within the Catholic community, but is now a derogatory term used towards Catholics by Protestants. 35 Personal interview with author, May 2014 99

In a subtler tone, a senior leader in the community sector of west Belfast corroborated the statements of others:

Here, sometimes it’s easier for the politicians not to lead and upset their own, and to pander a wee bit. Sometimes they do. Sinn Fein, and McGuinness, has done some amazing [symbolic] things; meeting the Queen, and… But the DUP had difficulty condemning, say, the flag dispute. They did after it started, but they already started it.36 At the same time the limited influence of unionist politicians in working-class loyalist areas and their reliance on loyalist paramilitary elements to quell disorder was noticeable during the flags protest. DUP officials began to enlist the political influence of paramilitary leaders following the initial escalation of violence over the flag ruling. For example, Peter Robinson met in private meetings with UDA leaders Jackie McDonald and and PUP leader, and former UVF prisoner Billy Hutchinson in early

December. At the same time, just prior to the meeting, these men were seen at protests in which Irish tricolor flags were burned. Other known paramilitaries were seen watching masked youth burn cars. McDonald commented that protestors they purport to represent

“would not be told what to do” and that “they hoped to give leadership about where we need to go next.”37 McDonald also “warned,” according to the same source, that those involved in the protests must be part of any solution. Billy Hutchinson similarly commented that

“The focus must remain on Sinn Fein. Politics is about the art of compromise, not the art of surrender.” Like McDonald, Hutchinson believes loyalists and not unionist political leaders

36 Interview with author, May 2014 37 Belfast Telegraph (December 12, 2012) 100

are best placed to try to bring this crisis to an end. Asked what he would be saying to Mr. Robinson, he said: “Leadership needs to be given. He needs to support others out there trying to bring this to an end.”38

Thus, while some do genuinely have the interests of their communities at heart, known loyalist paramilitary leaders nonetheless used the situation to advance their own influence and further embed themselves within the shadows of the broader political apparatus. DUP and UUP politicians, by promoting loyalist outrage against non-unionist leaders, created a paradoxical situation in which they became increasingly dependent on loyalist ex- prisoners and paramilitaries who resent compromise with nationalist interests, and may thus risk threatening the careers of the same politicians who contribute to political crises if the trouble that results is not contained. Still, by inciting such outrage, such leaders ensure that constituents remain focused on culturally divisive issues and that other parties with greater commitment to cross-community alliance remain relatively marginal. And despite discontent with elected Unionists among some paramilitary elements, they nonetheless have used their neighborhood influence –by way of both soft power and intimidation –to support the dominant Unionist parties (the DUP and UUP). One respondent explained that at the time of our interview (May 2014), the UDA was

“spreading leaflets demanding people vote for DUP and UUP.”

38 Belfast Telegraph (December 12, 2012) 101

The July 12th Parades, 2013

The escalation of violence around ethno-political rituals and emblems was especially intense in 2013, and corresponded with the proliferation of contentious public discourse about such issues. Twenty-five percent of all reports retrieved about violence in east

Belfast between 2008 and 2013 was linked with flags and parades, and 66% of these were in 2012 and 2013. A similar trend occurred in north Belfast. For each year between 2007 and 2011 there were no more than 3 reported incidents retrieved related to such issues in north Belfast. There were 9 in 2012 and 7 in 2013 (Although the actual number is much higher, reporting nonetheless reflects the general trend.). As already discussed, data on sectarian incidents retrieved from the PSNI show relatively high incident rates for east, south and north Belfast between March of 2012 and 2014.

In the summer of 2013, tensions that had been simmering since December 2012 again boiled over during the July 12th parades in north Belfast. Some loyalist elements attacked police after the PSNI, following the ruling of the Parades Commission (PC), restricted their bands from marching through the interface that crosses into a

Catholic part of north Belfast after residents, loyalist and republican community leaders and politicians failed to come to any agreement. The marchers were restricted from returning home through the Ardoyne interface in the evening, as excessive alcohol consumption among loyalist marchers and the presence of republican protesters typically result in violence. Loyalists clashed with police and riots took place over several days in 102 east and north Belfast. Blast bombs and petrol bombs were used against police and exchanged between loyalist and nationalist communities. Dozens of police officers were wounded throughout the trouble; police nonetheless again showed impressive restraint in containing the violence.39 Investigation of the violence led to the arrest of over 100 people later that year –mostly young, male loyalists –contributing further to loyalist mistrust and resentment of the police force.

Sinn Fein politicians immediately blamed the Orange Order for disobeying the

Parades Commission ruling. Elected DUP politician , in contrast, criticized the Parades Commission itself for creating an inevitably dangerous situation with its ruling.40 According to the same source, the Assembly was subsequently “recalled to debate a DUP motion which said efforts to build a shared future had been harmed by the decision to ban Protestant Orangemen from marching on a contested stretch of road in north Belfast on July 12.” Later, Peter Robinson (DUP) and Mike Nesbitt (UUP) were criticized by Sinn Fein officials for exaggerating the role of nationalist violence in east

Belfast while refusing to acknowledge the violence undertaken by loyalists, disclosed in official police reports.41 Immediately following the parade violence, a permanent protest camp was set up near the Ardoyne interface by loyalists, costing the state more than

39 Belfast Telegraph Online (July 17 2013) 40 Belfast Telegraph Online (July 12, 2013) 41 The Irish News (August 9, 2013) 103 seven million pounds to police by May 2014.42 At all hours of day and night, for nearly a year, there were always people from Belfast’s loyalist community monitoring the protest site, observed by the author during his visit in 2014.

Unionist officials did receive some criticism for promoting sectarian division from within the Protestant community, including a sub-set of more “moderate” elected officials.43 There were also more general signs of resistance to sectarianism during this period, including a surge of donations to Alliance Party and an increase in its membership enrollment, as well as support for Protestant victims of sectarian attacks by their nationalist neighbors.44 Nonetheless, signs of cooperation, while common enough to warrant mention, do not seemingly reflect a systemic shift toward greater intercommunity trust. The gradual rise in violence is also linked to a sense of disenfranchisement and alienation among the working-class Protestant population especially, contributing to the flag and parade disputes of 2012-2013. Newspaper reports document the same dynamic.

42 Author’s interview with public official, June 2014

43 For example, the DUP’s refusal to take responsibility for violent protests in July of 2013, and rather blaming the Parades Commission, was criticized by former DUP member and current N121 leader Basil McCrea. See the Belfast Telegraph (August 9, 2013). Former UUP member Jim McCallister also made public comments about the failure of the UUP and DUP to prevent fallout over the flags issue. See the Belfast News Letter (December 15, 2012). 44 Belfast Telegraph (July 30, 2013) 104

Michael Copeland of the Ulster Unionist Party explains from the perspective of the working-class Protestant community:

In my constituency of East Belfast, I continue to witness at first hand the impact of economic recession on an already deprived section of our society. Wages are low, costs are rising, employment is at a premium and not a day goes past when good, honest people are not losing their jobs. This may sound bad enough, but when we consider the high suicide rates in east Belfast, combined with the pending impact of welfare reform, some people can be forgiven for seeking solace in our national identity, which is represented by the Union flag.45

Rhetoric around the flag and parade rulings and the threat of Unionist and Loyalist cultural loss helped channel simmering frustrations rooted largely in feelings of anomie and economic and social hopelessness.

Inopportunity, Youth Violence, and Segregation

As indicated by both newspaper reports and interviews, various grassroots community leaders note the increasing, detrimental impact of economic strain on relations between working-class nationalist and loyalist communities. Every respondent emphasized that growing socio-economic inequity and the persistence of poverty and “underachievement” in both working-class loyalist and nationalist communities is one of the greatest obstacles to the development of positive cross-community interests and alliances. When asked if he thought that relations between young people from Protestant and Catholic backgrounds were improving, one UVF ex-prisoner who works with at-risk youth, answered that

45 Belfast Telegraph (December 5, 2012) 105

It depends where you’re coming from. It depends on the background of those young people. There are a lot of young people who just get on with life, because they’ve had an opportunity, and maybe they’ve gone to a better school, and they’re going to university and moving on and doing things properly. But in the broad republican and loyalist areas where younger people aren’t getting that opportunity, it’s just making things worse. Things are as bad now as I ever remember them to be, in terms of cross-community culture getting together, speaking to each other. It just doesn’t happen.46

Another loyalist community worker explained how, in her organization, “young people were stopping here to take part in the [cross-community] project. But after 18 months, they’re not.” Levels of participation in the project were high “before the riot situation…

[N]ow it’s not as successful as it was, after the flag situation.”

Other respondents elaborate on attitudes underscored by the intersectionality of class and gender, pointing out that working-class masculinity remains central in directing the choices of young males at a time in which they prove increasingly futile and contribute –indirectly –to ongoing sectarian tension and violence. According to a public commissioner in Belfast,

A number of men that I’ve met said to their sons, “build a pair of shoulders.” And I said, “What does that mean?” A couple of men said that it meant “stop doing that sissy stuff about handwriting and your brain.” A pair of shoulders is about bricklaying and carrying metal. And so their parents are saying to them, in an outdated way, “go and become a manual worker.” But there is no manual work. So they drop out of school. Then when they can’t get a job, someone political says to them, “you can’t get a job because the nationalists have educated themselves and they’re taking your jobs.” Staying in school would have been a good option. There are more jobs in computer programming than carrying a hod of bricks. But there’s a political game that has gone on. When you cut somebody off here, all they feel is anger and resentment and what happens? An explosion; you have the [flag] protests.

46 Interview with author, June 2014 106

The “political game” referred to by this respondent became especially apparent during the

“flags protest,” as political leaders ratcheted-up their divisive rhetoric and electoral strategies. As most respondents indicate, intercommunity relations have been significantly strained as a result. When commenting on the strain in cross-community relations among young people, one respondent refers to her preparation for a roundtable discussion with various leaders. As she explains,

We brought in the usual suspects, but we also brought some of the groups that worked at the interface areas, to talk about the impact of the Troubles on children and young people… It was looking at previous work that had been done, and questions that had been asked in the Life and Times survey here. And I think it was back in 2007, young people were optimistic and looking forward to the future. When we went back to them now, it was something totally different. Young people had become more pessimistic between 2007 and 2013. You’ve had the flags protest, economic decline, all of that. No jobs for young people; young people talking about leaving.

The economic paralysis facing many areas of Northern Ireland, in addition to ongoing problems of sectarianism often influences young people with mobility to leave the province, especially Protestants. In line with earlier research by others discussed in chapter one, findings suggest that young people in working-class areas are especially pessimistic about intercommunity relations. The persistence of sectarian fear compounds the impact of limited economic options on young people’s desire to leave or, if they cannot, to protect their community from the other. Poverty compounds feelings of insecurity, while entrenching commitment and loyalty to the ethno-religious community

107 and senses of meaning or purpose found therein. One senior woman from the loyalist community sector in west Belfast explains that

Young people get it into their heads in the interfaces… they’re not there just to fight the other side; they’re there to protect their community. Now if they’re prepared to go into the interfaces to defend their community, how much further could they take that? I don’t see the point of promoting cross community now, because I don’t see that it’s going to achieve anything… We just have to be careful of the example we set for young people. Similar to others, another respondent conveys the view that the violence and anti- social behavior of young people are linked to the broader neglect of structural problems of education, transportation and geographical inequalities more generally. Lack of investment in public infrastructure in ways designed to specifically improve working- class communities only exacerbate the effects of sectarian geographies of fear. As one respondent explains,

It’s not an accident that most of the combatants and most of the victims came from deprived working-class areas. Peace has to mean that places that have been on their knees economically and underachieving educationally –in terms of the social fabric –those areas have to change for the better. So I would argue that investment economically has to be targeted around some of these places… so the jobs can come quickly. The transport infrastructure in Belfast, the fact that you can’t just go from North to South Belfast in one bus, you have to go…. So peace has to mean that there’s a far easier flow around our small city, because there’s still a fear that if you go into a certain area, you’re going to be attacked. That’s not peace. Intergroup polarization and fear of the Other pervading segregated, working-class areas of Belfast was made apparent by the author’s ethnographic observations as well as interviews with various individuals from community-based organizations. One same respondent commented that the segregation in housing and contentious events surrounding the “culture wars” in Northern Ireland mitigates the gains made in cross-

108 community peacebuilding efforts, while also generally limiting their scope. Like most other respondents, one activist comments that “the goal [of cross-community projects] is both communities getting along, on occasions of scheduled meet and greets, not merging as one community.” Similar to other interviewees, he conveyed a pessimistic attitude about the prospects of intergroup integration, saying that “integration as a goal has been abandoned.”

There are exceptions to this general trend, however. A young and passionate community leader from a youth-focused, cross-community organization explains how the young people he works with are forced to discuss “tough political issues” with those from the other community, and learn that they can continue to “get on” even after disagreeing

–the apparent goal of the exercise. As he explains, Protestant “people 21 years old I work with didn’t talk to a Catholic until they joined this group.” One young Protestant he introduced the author to had some history of violence against Catholics and immigrants, and spent a significant amount of time “homeless… sleeping on different people’s couches… [and influenced by] the UDA” The respondent explains how a young African immigrant had recently given the troubled teen a birthday present. The response of the young Protestant –who previously would “have attacked [the African youth] because he was black… stood up and gave him a hug. That was probably the first time anyone gave him a present.” Yet the respondent also acknowledges that, while the young people he works with “learn to get along with people from… [other religious and ethnic] 109 communit[ies] … it doesn’t last because their families and friends are sectarian.” He goes on to explain how “some [Protestant] parents refuse to let their kids come here because there’s Catholic kids here.” Presumably, similar attitudes are shared among some

Catholic parents toward the prospect of their children socializing with Protestants.

Moreover while he sees great improvements in trust and interaction between some of the most at-risk youth from the two communities throughout the spring, he also claims to witness a “re-fragmenting” of such groups “as the parades season draws close.” With the tenser period of the summer months comes a reconsolidation of groupings around religious identity –a shift from greater heterogeneity in previous months. According to him, “it seems like all the progress we made during the year is lost during the summer.

Then we have to start all over.”

Pressures to be loyal to a particular ethno-religious community, in addition to annual, contentious ethno-political rituals (parades, bonfires) sustain or reproduce intergroup resentment. Several respondents, who elaborate on a common perception of the limitation of integrated education, suggest that a young person who has had contact with peers from the other community is more likely to be identified and attacked on the street than those who attend segregated schools. As another respondent explains,

we have integrated schools in Northern Ireland where kids enjoy each other’s company and it works well but they’re going back into segregated communities, so it doesn’t work because they’re getting the old traditional, “we hit them and they hit us,” or “they’re prods and we’re fenians”… once they’re getting [back] in their own community. So things like that put a

110

stop-gap in community co-operation and it’s the same with community projects. When they go away on work placements or residentials they get on.

Other respondents also emphasize the point that integrated education, while important, cannot by itself solve the problem of intergenerational issues of sectarianism, due to the physical separation of the communities and segregation in housing. One nationalist respondent, working on issues of education through grassroots organizations, suggests that

from young people’s perspective particularly, the issue was that we brought groups of young people together, and then when they were back in their own communities, [and] they were out with their friends, then these young people were easily identifiable, because they had known them from inter-community groups they had done. Similarly, another interviewee argued that “if you are asking children to integrate in school, and then go back into their segregated community, you’re actually asking them to live double lives. Because they’re going to go back into the culture of the community even though they know it’s wrong.” A different respondent elaborates on the same point. Referring to cross-community relations between Protestant and

Catholic young people, she noted hesitantly that

to some degree it may be getting better, but I’m not so sure about that. And I suppose when it comes to my role here is the worry of the number of mixed messages that we give our young people. So for instance we say to them on one side of the road, “Thursday night” – particularly around flags protests, and others –“it’s Thursday night go across to the other community and do your cross community work, but remember on Friday and Saturday night you have to be on this side of the road, and you have to be loaded with bricks and bottles and stones, and call them all the names of the day.” At the same time segregation in housing replicates division by preventing the development of intergroup interdependency. When clear physical markers of division 111

(peace walls, murals, national flags) maintain senses of suspicion and mistrust, young people perceive the need to protect the territory of their community, and look at counterparts in the opposing community in generalized terms when outside of “safe” places such as cross-community groups or integrated schools. And pressures for ethno- political or -religious loyalty at home often trumps gains made in forming regular contact with outgroup members.

Issues of Education, Immobility and Legacies of Conflict

In addition to the issues of neighborhood and school segregation, educational inopportunity among working-class children continue to impact both Protestant and

Catholic communities. Not surprisingly, students with the worst performing test scores are disproportionately Protestant and Catholic males from working-class families. At age eleven, children have an option to take the “Transfer Test,” which is used to decide on entry into grammar school. Later, at age 16, students are required to take the General

Certification of Secondary Education (GCSE) exam, which largely determines their career path. For working-class boys especially, who tend to score low on the GCSEs, prospects of upward social mobility are relatively weak. One respondent engaged in a variety of educational issues suggests that vocational schools do not offer strong training for jobs that are readily available and pay well, reflecting a larger issue of deindustrialization and neoliberalism as well. Various interviewees emphasize their

112 frustration with the lack of investment in schools and educational reform, and the deep inequalities that result. Apparently, such trends reflect the more general lack of concern about issues of inopportunity and inequity among elected officials. According to one active proponent of integrated education in Belfast, moreover, too many children from working-class backgrounds are

branded failures at the age of eleven… It’s ridiculous. But the government is not listening. They don’t care. When the government did away with the 11+ test that they [had previously] delivered, new schools popped up and started to have their own. So we sectarianized education even further, because the kids talk about the Catholic test and the Protestant test… We went out and asked young people what it was like for them, in their P7 year transitions, and they were saying “well we have to go to another school to do this test. We don’t know what the test is like. We don’t get any help in work anymore. It’s up to my mommy if she can help me or my daddy.” And sometimes they can’t do that. And kids just didn’t bother and they were being disadvantaged left, right and center. Similarly commenting on obvious inequities in education across lines of socio-economic status, another respondent described how

we have this very high level of academia in one end, and we have this huge teal of underachievement on the other, where young people at the age of 16 coming out of school and they can’t read or write. They read applications and can’t fill it out. The section on gender –where it says “male or female” –they ask “what am I”? Another advocate for young people argued that the lack of concern about this issue among elected officials is reflected in the lack of funding for programs intended to promote intergroup relations among young people. For example,

in terms of moving things forward, we’ve seen big investment from the likes of the European Union… but that hasn’t been backed up by money from the government of Northern Ireland – key money, anti-sectarian, anti-racist money. That hasn’t actually happened. I think that’s where we’re falling down in many ways as well. We haven’t brought young people together. We’ll do a short program and then it will go back to the way it was. It’s not really tackling the problem. 113

In addition to ongoing sectarian hostilities, young people experienced increases in the incidence of suicide since the 1998 Agreement, attributed to the “pressures” of living in a divided society that is still, in many ways, “stuck in the past.” “Pressures” on young people in this case refer to the combined problems of living in a society wherein many fathers (and mothers) suffer from psychological and legal consequences of violence and incarceration, and status is more difficult to obtain through the channels once pursued by their parents. The impacts of such pressures are potentially exacerbated by some young people’s lack of connection to the ethno-political meanings of “community” rooted in histories of conflict still central in the identities of generations born before the

Agreement. Domestic violence, addiction, and suicide have become increasingly evident social problems in Northern Ireland as the peace process continues, and are indicated by some respondents as symptomatic of legacies of conflict, incarceration, and the

“militarized masculinities” which have yet to disappear as a result of peace.47

Interestingly, although suicide rates in Northern Ireland were once the lowest in the UK, they have doubled over the last 30 years, and are now higher than rates in England and

Wales.48 Moreover, people in Northern Ireland who have experienced conflict or non- conflict related traumas are more likely to consider suicide than those who have not.49

47 See also Jarman (2004). 48 See Nolan (2014:111). 49 Ibid, 111 114

Some men, referred to by one respondent as “the somebodies of yesterday who are the nobodies of today” –or the former “protectors of their local communities” during heightened periods of violence –suffer from social alienation and depression. And so do younger people who see few ways in which to obtain the status once provided to paramilitaries during conflict, and who witness the decline in the social locations of older family members. Moreover, in such situations, violence against family members is also increasingly likely, impacting young people who are disproportionately witnesses and victims.50 As one woman who works with young people explains,

They haven’t grown up in an era where there was violence, but they’re still feeling the ripple effect of the conflict. When you go to a school up the road here [in south Belfast], a primary school, where an 8 year old is trying to hang themselves, and an 8 year old finds a piece of glass outside the school and cut himself 38 times, and another 9 year old finds his brother for the fourth time trying to take his life, then you’ve got to say, there’s something happening somewhere, from the community they’re from, because of the pressure that they’re under. And that is because you will have communities of the somebodies of yesterday who are the nobodies of today, and we know that, for a fact, the instances of domestic violence, all of that –control and power and everything within communities –is still there. Another respondent also discusses that young people in working-class communities remain highly affected by legacies of conflict and violence:

The victims commissioners, when there were four of them… brought together a group of people, some who were directly affected by the troubles. Some who were IRA; some who were LVF; a young girl whose father was a police officer; another whose brother died, through the Troubles. And they actually said at the end of it, it will take five generations before we stop feeling the ripple effect of the Troubles. And part of that is because our

50 Although reported incidents slightly increased after the 2010/2011 period, the change was relatively small (Nolan 2014:36). “The main reason for the increase in prevalence is usually given as the return of militarised males to a domestic environment” (Nolan 2014:35). 115

parliament or government isn’t dealing with those contentious issues, like victims and the past, and trying to find some mechanism to move on beyond that.51 The emergence of “peace” has indeed had mixed impacts on young people. The fact that sectarian murders are at an all-time low is paralleled –for working-class communities specifically –by “pressures” of living in a community in which older adults tend to still hold social and political perspectives and senses of meaning rooted in conflict, with which the new generation has less connection. During my time in Belfast, I saw graffiti in north Belfast which read “FAP,” or “Fuck all paramilitaries.” This message is apparently written by young people who do not find any meaning in the legacy of conflict and have little respect for paramilitary cultures of authority still active in Belfast. Some paramilitary elements still engage in “punishment attacks” on young people accused of “anti-social behavior,” such as, drug dealing or using, joy riding in stolen cars, etc. (But it is often used to intimidate and extort local communities and drug dealers, respectively, and consolidate paramilitary control.)52 A more general hyper- masculine culture among men in working-class communities, “outdated” in an era of neoliberalism –in which traditional, working-class jobs for men have mostly disappeared

–and in an era of “peace” –in which aggressive behavior in “defense” of communities is less accepted than it once was –leads some young people to feel alienated, depressed and angry. Thus some young people embrace “outdated” means in obtaining status in their

51 Chapter five discusses further the problem of dealing with the past. 52 These phenomena are discussed more thoroughly in the following chapter. 116 communities through sectarian behaviors and pseudo-paramilitarism; others, feeling little or no connection to Northern Ireland’s conflict culture, are more likely to turn to more introverted, self-destructive behavior. Not coincidentally, moreover, young people experiencing such problems are disproportionately working-class males from both

Protestant and Catholic communities.

At the same time, respondents also note that the young people engaged in sectarianism and violence are often framed by politicians, in over-simplified terms, as

“anti-social elements.” “You have politicians in the area saying, ‘stop the antisocial behavior or get them out of the area.’ Nobody is dealing with what those children are going through, or why they’re acting in the way they do. And they’re just being seen [too simply] as… ‘troublemakers.’”

Evidently, academic underachievement and lack of opportunity more generally among working-class boys and young men in communities most impacted by legacies of conflict, increases their risk of involvement in sectarian violence and recruitment into paramilitary organizations. For those young people with low levels of educational achievement, and little social mobility, highly-charged ethno-political rituals, such as,

Orange parades, provides opportunities to be “defenders of their communities,” and to feel power and solidarity within their ethno-religious community. As one respondent insightfully explains, “go watch the tapes [of the July 12th parade violence in 2013]. One kid hits the cop with a rock, and everyone cheers, he’s got his hands up in the air, you

117 know, like he did something great. He was probably waiting all year for that.” In portions of Belfast where boredom and poverty persist, sectarian incidents bring opportunities for young people to gain status in their communities, if only for a moment.

Emphasis on the connection between poverty and ongoing sectarian violence is offered by most interviewees, as well as various newspaper reports. Belfast’s Police

Constable comments that

“The suspicion and the mistrust that people hoped would be resolved very quickly has [sic] not been and I think those old (sectarian) views remain entrenched…” The chief constable observed that violence had happened in areas of high deprivation, tending to emerge in estates historically controlled by paramilitaries and among young people growing up without access to employment. "It is, frankly, young people without enough to do," he said.53

A nationalist woman who works in conflict resolution in Belfast similarly points out that

“People here are still poor and they live in a scarcity mindset and they believe that they still have to fight. They can’t cut this pie with any thinner slices… We have no vision of politics beyond this.” At the same time, the DUP and UUP receive a disproportionate share of criticism among respondents in terms of their support for neoliberal policies introduced by Westminster. As one activist from the loyalist part of west Belfast points out, “The greatest British achievement was the welfare state and the health service. And the leadership of unionism is now part of dismantling it, privatizing it.” A community

53 News Letter (January 24, 2013) 118 worker from Short Strand also suggests that social immobility compounds problems of sectarian violence, focusing on the republican community:

Young people are disaffected, that’s why they’re up there [at interfaces] throwing stones. They don’t feel they have any future. They feel like they’re being left behind in the education system. I’m meeting them and they have no GCSE’s (which is the exam you do when you’re finishing school and need to get a job). If you put on a chalkboard, one quarter plus a half, these kids couldn’t answer that question. I did that when I was ten in primary school.

It’s great that there are not bombs going off in the streets and kids are starting to mingle and go out in nightclubs and do different stuff. But if you haven’t got leadership bringing the working class with them, the working class is going to be left behind and be apathetic. They’ll be disaffected. So, what do young kids do? They could go into drugs. Or other kids say, “It’s the Brits’ fault that you’re like this, do you want to do something about it? Well, join a [paramilitary] group and we’re going to get the Brits out of Ireland.”

A senior activist similarly notes how, for young men in West Belfast with poor educational achievement and few job prospects, “the only way that you can become a lad or somebody within the community is usually through a [paramilitary] group.”

Paramilitary recruiters offer a simple explanation for the plight of their families and communities, and a route to positions of status and influence in a situation otherwise defined by boredom, immobility and fear. A woman from loyalist west Belfast adds that young people are “not just there to attack the other side; they’re there to protect their communities.” According to community leaders in loyalist neighborhoods, their ability to control young people engaged in rioting and other violence became increasingly restricted in 2013.54 Economic marginality, poor political leadership, and feelings of

54 News Letter (January 24, 2013) 119

“losing” from the peace process are reasons indicated by community leaders from both newspaper reports and interviews.

Dynamics of Intragroup Class Inequity

The broader neglect of working-class interests among elected party officials has contributed to the persistence of paramilitary influence in other ways as well. As a prominent community leader explains, the ongoing control paramilitaries exert in working-class loyalist neighborhoods partially “comes from the disconnect between

[middle-class] political unionism and [working-class] loyalism; the paramilitaries become the default to get things done, to make things happen in their community.”55 According to the same person, in comparison with loyalism, republican/nationalist communities have more effective grassroots

capacity building…They’re very strong in their [community organizing] capabilities whereas they’re not as strong in loyalist areas. Some of that also comes from the point that nationalist and republican politicians live in their areas. They live in working class areas. In unionism, there are very few councilors living in working areas. So there’s a disconnect between them. The community feels it’s being left behind a bit.56

Apparently, inequality within the Protestant and Catholic communities is becoming increasingly evident as a factor compounding problems of sectarianism in

55 Personal interview with author, May 2014 56 Personal interview with author, Belfast, May 2014. It is also important to recognize, however, that findings also suggest that Sinn Fein politicians are being increasingly criticized by some working-class republican groups as being a “middle-class party” and essentially “selling out,” discussed just below in this chapter. 120 working-class areas. As a prominent activist and elected official from east Belfast explains,

In terms of whether things are getting better or worse, my perception is that for some people in the community there’s become a much more pronounced class divide. It’s particularly evident in unionist communities. What I’m seeing is that there’s a section of society within unionist communities who have access to education and access to opportunities, and go to university to study and work and go different places. And there’s a section of the unionist community that doesn’t have those opportunities. It’s very evident. And there’s a whole section of our society that those opportunities don’t exist [for] and they’re being left behind. That’s kind of hardened opinions. So “unionism as a whole” can’t be said anymore.

According to another respondent (and several others) “in unionist communities

[especially], class politics is not discussed. There’s very, very limited discussion about it.

I think that reflects that there’s a lack of political articulation about the issues of concern for working class communities.” Another respondent makes a similar point. She indicates that “middle-class people feel it’s very comfortable here,” and points to examples from

Derry –such as, its success in hosting the City of Culture –which suggest that there is

“great confidence [in urban development] and people love it.” Yet she also acknowledges that for those from lower-income backgrounds, there is a “sense of hopelessness.”

Discussion of issues of social class and inequity are often avoided by those with the most economic influence. As she concludes, “class is the big white elephant in the room we’re

[the middle-class] not allowed to talk about.” Although avoidance of discussing and addressing social class inequities is common in many Western societies, the ethno- religious and sectarian dimensions intertwined with such issues in polarized societies such as Northern Ireland have distinct –and grave –implications. As one interviewee

121 elaborates, you see “anti-social behavior… [among marginalized young people] in

Manchester or Liverpool or Dublin. The difference here is that young people end up joining gangs that put bombs under people’s cars.” During the weekend prior to our interview, “there were two attempts that the guards stopped, with people bringing across bombs [from the Republic of Ireland]. So it brings with it a different level of threat.”57

Conversations with university students reflect some level of disconnect between middle-class and working-class teens and young people, in terms of their perceptions of peace and conflict and the role of their communities in addressing ongoing problems of sectarianism and ethno-politics. In some cases, young people remain silent about issues of religion and politics; as one young man put it, “I don’t know a lot about it… I just want to move on from it.” Interestingly, two young women sharing a room realized only after our conversation that they were both from “mixed” families, likely implying that discussion of such issues had never occurred between them. Respondents from both communities stress that people in Northern Ireland know to be “polite if you need to be with the Other.” Interestingly, the fact that the friendship develops among some college students, who are from mostly middle-class families, and who have no knowledge or interest in the religion of their peers can lead to meaningful relationships which transcend social barriers of religious identity faced disproportionately by working-class young

57 The “guards” the respondent is referring to here is the police force of the Republic of Ireland, An Garda Siochana. 122 people. Paradoxically, though, their minimal interest in issues of conflict potentially facilitates a type of political apathy that does little to contribute to systemic change at institutional or community levels.

Examples of middle-class silence around contentious political issues is apparently modeled by older adults in their communities who come together across the religious divide periodically, but without discussing sectarianism and other sensitive issues.

According to one respondent from a middle-class background, “the middle class can have meetings and organizations and things and the way they keep it safe is by not talking about things, not going into any of those difficult areas.” As one republican from west

Belfast similarly pointed out, working-class areas, on the contrary, have been forced to discuss contentious issues, since it was necessary to reduce the violence historically (and currently) centered in their communities. The paradox is that the working-class people often engaged in cross-community cooperation around efforts of reducing sectarianism and violence –such as, for example, many former paramilitary prisoners –are also some of the same people who hold particular loyalty to historical ideologies of unionism/loyalism and republicanism (discussed further in the following chapter).

Middle-class avoidance of issues of sectarianism and political conflict apparently pervades all age groups, and, according to respondents, exacerbates problems faced largely by less advantaged communities. One senior cross-community activist goes on to

123 explain how vested interests in the status-quo by those who benefit from it socially and economically –namely, the middle- and upper-classes –further undermines political transformation, shaping aforementioned dynamics of sectarian division:

The peace dividend hasn’t really hit poor communities in the way that we imagined in the wake of 1998. Secondly, the middle-class people in Northern Ireland have less recurrent costs in terms of water rents and housing rents then people living in England and . So the middle-classes have been cushioned in this society by the current political parties. Sinn Fein and DUP, who have historically presented themselves as an advocate for the poor and the disenfranchised, have, in my view, looked after and sought to maintain the support of middle-class voters. You’ve got a middle-class that conspires in silence to avoid contested issues. Everybody first of all assumes that they’re the people who are sectarian –the poor and working class – which I think is rubbish. And that they’re the people who should move first, which I think is ridiculous. Those who have position, those who have power, and those who have money, though, often don’t want to move because they would threaten those positions of power and money. They are the ones who have a place in this society, and they are the ones that tend not to use it.

Other respondents also argue that middle-classes from both Protestant and

Catholic communities are not necessarily more empathetic toward ‘the Other,’ but are rather “just not as overt” in their sectarian attitudes. As an elected official from east

Belfast similarly notes, “It’s not the case at all that middle class people are more outward looking. It’s a generalization. I just think there’s more insecurity in working class communities and that has manifested itself in levels of distrust.” Another respondent elaborates on how separation within Protestant and Catholic communities along class lines contributes to misunderstandings and stereotypes that furthers the social stigmatization and disenfranchisement of working-classes who struggle disproportionately with sectarian violence.

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I had the experience of people regularly implying that the violence happened in working class community and that these people are a bit less human than the rest of us. And I believed that for a long time, that if we became a bit more human, more sophisticated and a bit nicer, we wouldn’t do this to each other. But then I realized that we can say that whenever the issues which are creating fires in the experience of the working class are different for us. If you have a home, you can’t identify with being homeless. If you have money in your bank account, which means you can feed your children and send them to university, and buy a house next door to you, compared to having a child who’s going to end up in a struggling place where I can’t provide for them. But there are paramilitaries out there who can provide for them so my lack of money means you’re going to look for that from someone else and they’re going to lead you down a violent road.

Ironically, many political parties who rely largely on voters in working- class areas disproportionately serve the economic interests of the middle-classes, who tend to be more withdrawn from processes of political organizing. This dynamic sustains a tacit complicity among the middle-classes in maintaining the status-quo; not coincidentally, the same communities tend to live outside ethno- political locales most rife with overt sectarian tension. Ethno-political parties are thus able to gain sufficient support from the middle-classes in elections, while the relative disengagement of the same communities from issues of sectarianism and relative poverty help sustain the fear that politicians appropriate to rally their bases in working-class locations, as demonstrated in the case of the “flags crisis” and annual rioting over parades. Interestingly, the more hardline parties from unionism and nationalism –DUP and Sinn Fein, respectively –have seen exponential growth in support since the 1998 peace agreement, while the historically more “moderate”

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Social Democratic Labor Party (SDLP) and the Ulster Unionist Party (UUP) have seen corresponding declines in parliamentary seats.58

The social class separation both within and between communities has had important implications for increasingly apparent intra-group political divisions which paradoxically risk undermining political stability and growth.

The Overlap of Intra-Community Political and Class Divisions

Another problematic form of intra-group conflict within the Protestant community involved loyalist activists from working-class neighborhoods, who criticized the main unionist parties, the DUP and UUP, for neglecting their interests.

Working-class loyalists indicate feelings of alienation from their mainstream political leaders who they say only represent middle-class interests and are too willing, supposedly, to accommodate the agenda of Sinn Fein. , a loyalist protestor, argued that there

“needs to be a re-connection between the mainstream unionist parties and the working class. We don't feel we have adequate representation at Stormont. We do not see a peace process but a piece-by-piece process to surrender our Britishness." Key issues for him have been the loss of the RUC and UDR, the conversion of the Crown Prosecution Service to the Public Prosecution Service, restrictions on flying the Union Flag and parades, and continuing attacks on places of worship and Orange Halls.59

58 Belfast Telegraph (September 3, 2015). It is also important to note that, for dissenters within nationalist and loyalist communities, either pair of major parties are becoming increasingly similar, seen as “middle- class” parties. Such a view was conveyed by some republican and loyalist respondents in the study. 59 News Letter (Dec. 20, 2012) 126

In a group interview with UVF ex-prisoners involved in peacebuilding and two other loyalist community activists, respondents emphasized the marginalization and disenfranchisement felt by ex-prisoners in particular and the working-class loyalist community in general, identifying DUP and UUP neglect as largely responsible.

R1: Well the DUP doesn’t care about the working class community. They only care about us when it comes to getting the votes. They need to be coming in [to this community]. They need to walk in our shoes. They can ring us and say “there’s trouble at the interface.” Fine, we go. But if trouble goes on at the interface, “It was your fault” or “you didn’t help.” R2: Sinn Fein was involved in the conflict, and they know what the conflict is about, and how to address it, whereas the unionist politicians take a step back and [inaudible] for young people to go and do it. R1: And then they’ll disown you.60

One loyalist ex-prisoner claims that loyalists are considered “the lesser of two evils” and less of a threat than republicans, who, according to him, use their joint-authority over the police and the threat of violence to coopt police complicity in realizing their interests.

In my opinion, the police, the government, the justice system, it sees the Protestant community as the lesser of two evils, and easier to control, maybe. And this is the reason why you’re seeing the things that we’re seeing, the police brutality against Protestant people; parades being marshalled out with thousands of police. With a republican parade, you won’t see a policeman. They seem to be able to do and say whatever they want, when they want, and there’s not a word, even from our own politicians, the DUP and UUP. To me, they’re buttering up to the republicans also, and ordinary loyalists are suffering because of this. So until there’s change that way, there’s never going to be any strong community relations, with republicans or police. The preceding statement reflects loyalist disillusionment with Unionist politicians and suspicion that they are somehow complicit in the gradual rise in the influence of

60 Personal interview with author, June 2014 127 nationalist leaders. Ironically, even as DUP rhetoric contributed to the ratcheting-up of conflict at this time, some grassroots loyalists maintain that the largest unionist parties are doing little to reel-in the influence of Sinn Fein and nationalism more generally, while ignoring the interests of the working-class and ex-combatants who play important community roles. Even as working-class loyalists were effectively galvanized by the

DUP and UUP discourse about the flags decision in December 2012, they nonetheless prove capable of being critical of their ethno-political representatives. Evidently, however, such criticism does not correspond to a more general decline in sectarianism or greater cross-community working-class politics; moreover, loyalist communities remain influenced by the divisive rhetoric of unionist leaders. A nationalist community worker from east Belfast explains:

I went to a May Day parade a couple of years ago and [the] working class was carrying their banners for equal rights and all that. There was a small congregation from the PUP... And we had an Éirigí61 flag and the guys were standing with the PUP flag. And they took our banner down and walked out of the parade. I was thinking that we have more in common with those people than we do with the SDLP, who are a middle-class Catholic party. We’ve all got the same issues in our communities; we don’t have jobs, our kids are being left behind by the education system. It’s a sectarian mentality they have. Like Peter Robinson praising that pastor for making a racist comment about Muslims being the spawn of the Devil [in May 2014]. And these people are taking their lead from this guy? So my reasoning on this is: “we want you to vote for us, but we don’t give a shit about your kids, your poverty or your education.” And this is the way we’re going. It’s now happening with the nationalist community [as well].62

61 Eirigi is a socialist republican political party founded by former Sinn Fein members who became critical of Sinn Fein following the peace agreement. 62 Personal interview with author, May 2014 128

Other respondents point out that there also seems to be a growing number of working-class republicans disenchanted with the peace process. As one republican explains, some former IRA prisoners now serving as elected Sinn Fein officials and once referred to by his community as “blanket men, when they went on the dirty protests,” are now referred to by some republicans as “banquet men, as all they seem to do is go to banquets.” He goes on to explain how his “comrades that live [in West Belfast]… agree that the working class is being left behind by the so-called peace process,” and that Sinn

Fein leadership is accommodating British interests in advancement of their political careers:

I don’t agree with the Sinn Fein political leadership. I think they have taken republicanism down a road that no one ever envisioned they would go down. Meeting the British queen for example, when there are 5,000 British troops in my country. I don’t want them in my country. I will do anything possible to get rid of them. I would disagree with Sinn Fein. Maybe they would say they don’t want them either but they’re facilitating them now. I think they’ve gone from a working class socialist to a catch-all party. Now they have career politicians and are trying to get rid of their baggage.

Division within nationalist politics has become increasingly evident since devolution in

2007. With respect to support for power-sharing, a senior peace activist from west Belfast notes how “Sinn Fein were largely successful in that they took the large majority of republicans and activists with them, but there are still some left [who oppose cooperation with Britain]. There’s possibility of the old rhetoric and so forth.” Such “old rhetoric” refers to anti-British discourse and demands for a united Ireland.

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Other signs of evidence of republican dissent include the district election of

“dissident republican” Gary Donnelly in Derry in 2014,63 and rallies of hundreds of nationalists, led by masked dissidents at Republican Easter cemetery commemorations across the North.64 In one illegal commemoration, masked dissidents fired shots into the air in a “show of strength.” Similar to the loyalist community in a sense, internal political divisions within nationalism fall along class lines, with working-class communities disproportionately critical of mainstream ethno-political parties. Focusing here on the nationalist community specifically, one respondent explains how the end of armed conflict, while welcomed by a majority, has also opened ideological fissures that tend to run distinctly along lines of social class and thus risk being exacerbated by problems of poverty and inequity.

You had people who were left-wing and socialist, you had people who were conservative Catholics who just wanted the British Army out of Ireland and didn’t have an ideology as such. You had people who were neutral on most things and most debates within the Republican movement… So you had all these different ideologies in republicanism but the cement binding it all together was the armed struggle. But once that was taken out of the equation, and peace came into play, all these ideologies began to compete with each other. I did not like some of the things that the Republican movement was doing so I left six years ago and joined `eirigí, which is made up of a lot of ex-Sinn Fein members. And it’s a Republican socialist party.

Ironically, the cessation of violence and security established by the peace process more generally allows for growing ideological and political divisions within the

63 Belfast Telegraph (May 26, 2014) 64 Derry Now (April 6, 2015); The Guardian (April 10, 2012) 130 nationalist community to simmer, contributing to the intra-political grievances of

“dissidents” toward mainstream nationalist leadership.

Not coincidentally, ideological and political divisions within each community tend to run along class lines. The same respondent elaborates on the point:

I would agree with street protests to highlight working class inadequacies and how they’ve been left behind in the [peace] process… Kids can’t go to see the Belfast Giants [football team] because their parents can’t afford it… I know people who can’t send kids to school because they can’t pay for their lunch and this is in my [east Belfast] community. In west Belfast, child poverty is the second highest in the UK… West Belfast has an MP, they have countless numbers of assembly members and they have hundreds of councilors. And yet, that area is statistically second [in the UK] for child poverty levels. So all this is very alien to me because I’m a socialist republican and I don’t know what Stormont is supposed to be doing.

The fact that many of those who remain committed to the traditional goal of a socialist, unified Ireland and total exit of British influence also tend to reside in the communities benefiting least from institutional peace process reforms, driving their suspicion of the dominant parties from both sides of the religious divide. Although reforms of the PSNI and Stormont assembly remain in-tact, internal community fragmentations constitute new threats to the peace-process. Those with the least to lose in obstructing that process, and who feel “left behind” –as one respondent puts it –from the peace process are also typically the same persons committed to more

“hardline” ethno-political or constitutional interests. Growing evidence of political division between nationalist leadership and some working-class republicans can thus be interpreted, ironically, as both a threat to the peace-process and an 131 indication of its actual success, as mainstream nationalist leadership opts to reject internal critics from the far left, in order to preserve an image of relative political stability. Still, to those critics, such rejection confirms a sense of betrayal by their former IRA leaders, while doing little to dissuade their unconditional commitment to the historical prerogative of a united Ireland.

Moreover, according to most respondents, such intra-group dynamics have occurred simultaneous to recent declines in intergroup relations. Indeed, as already indicated in previous pages, “over the last few years… there’s [been] less and less cross- community activity,” as put by one respondent. As he further elaborates:

I actually work for a cross-community group... We work with ex-prisoners from loyalist backgrounds and republican backgrounds. And I work on the ground with both of them. But relationships now, compared to 2008, 2009, just aren’t the same anymore. The trust that was built up from 2007 is deteriorating year on year. Despite unique dynamics at play in each of the two major communities, points of agreement among Protestants and Catholics engaged in local-level peace work include the belief that a combination of contentious strategies among political elite and deepening class divisions within each major ethno-religious community are fueling conflict. At the same time the persistence of sectarianism, segregation and intergroup mistrust and resentment prevents a significant cross-community, working-class politics.

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In summary, there seems to be a vested interest among some ethno-political elite in sustaining –or at least accepting –socio-economic inequities, sectarian division and intergroup separation and segregation. Communities empowered socially, politically and economically, and with meaningful ties to outgroup members are less easily manipulated by discourses which promote sectarian fear and resentment. Such fear helps galvanize constituencies behind their respective hardline parties, in order to protect “their” interests over against those of “the Other.” At the same time, the social marginalization of working-class communities empowers paramilitary elements opposed to politics which transcend basic ethno-divisions, and which are willing and able to exercise serious violence in order to realize their interests. Moreover, young people experiencing anomie and who have few options economically and socially, are more likely to pursue hyper- masculine, pseudo-paramilitary practices in order to “protect their communities” and, in doing so, obtain some limited sense of status and recognition.

Conclusion

According to analysis of PSNI data, the frequency of sectarian incidents in north and west Belfast consistently declined each year between 2008 and 2012, while increasing in late 2012 and remaining relatively high throughout the following year across the city. In contrast, frequencies of sectarian violence increased exponentially in the predominantly loyalist areas of east and south Belfast up to 2012, also remaining high in 2013 and early

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2014. Intensive case study and analysis of interviews with community leaders and ethnographic observations suggest that sparks in sectarian tension and violence in the

2012-2014 period corresponds –not coincidentally –with a shift toward increasingly provocative political discourse, blamed by many for inciting fear and a sense of loss among loyalists and unionists. Political provocation is exercised via discursive and legislative emphasis on historically sensitive unionist ethno-political symbols and rituals which can be manipulated to promote fear and threat. Simmering loyalist discontent with the social and economic status of their working-class communities, and uneasiness with a growth in Sinn Fein and an increasing Catholic population (Nolan 2014), provide a condition especially rife for the promotion of tensions by those with the capacity to frame discourse in ways which highlight volatile dynamics between the two communities and de-emphasize or neglect discussions which prioritize cross-community cooperation and integration.

The escalation of ethno-sectarian discourses surrounding issues of parades and flags marked a departure from the more coordinated, less contentious politics of nationalist and unionist officials before the 2012-2013 period. Although tensions have always existed between the two ethno-political blocs, there seemed a more conscious commitment to unification in the 2008-2011 period, in order to support the development of new, fragile state institutions, and policing in particular. At this particular time, cooperation was the most rational choice, both for security purposes and for the political

134 interests of ethno-political elite; potential political consequences for unionists in particular, of failing to cooperate around major institutional reforms underway at the time likely outweighed any criticism they could receive for “surrendering” to “nationalist interests.” In contrast, following burn-out of the last phase of the “honeymoon period” top-down instances of elite-sponsored provocation, combined with paramilitary influence and persistent economic marginality of working-class communities explain at least in part the gradual increase in sectarian tension across Belfast, and in east Belfast in particular.

Even as Belfast city center comes to resemble other cosmopolitan cities across

Europe, the sense among working-class loyalists that they’re “losing” from the peace- process, symbolized by restrictions on ethno-political symbols and rituals (flags and parades, respectively) is magnified by persistent poverty and disadvantage. The gradual escalation in violence in loyalist east Belfast corresponds with a sense of being left behind from both the peace process and society more generally –an interpretation that is likely to persist as Westminster moves forward with “welfare reform.”65 The economic decline which aggravates political frustrations is largely a result of globalization and deindustrialization (McGovern & Shirlow, 1997), going beyond the control of local and national actors, as well as the entrenchment of a neoliberal culture and development model. Yet it is also a result of the neglect of socio-economic issues by representatives in

65 Belfast Telegraph (June 18, 2015) 135

Stormont, according to respondents cited here. At the same time, tacit middle-class complicity in both communities in the re-election of political officials who do little in addressing economic and educational inequities, contribute to tensions between working- class loyalists and republicans and thus contributes indirectly –yet significantly –to the reproduction of political and sectarian division. The “flags crisis” and periodic violence over parading are two obvious examples of the potential consequences of this dynamic.

Although more embedded within the unionist community, such implications of class inequity are increasingly apparent in the nationalist community as well, undergirding discontent with Sinn Fein among a sizable minority of the republican population (examined further in the following chapters). Class divisions increasingly apparent in both Protestant and Catholic communities are not leading to a cross- community, working-class politics; rather, deepening feelings of alienation from the state, mistrust of political leaders, and skepticism about the peace process are inextricably linked with working-class perceptions of being economically and socially excluded from the dominant, neoliberal mode of “development.” Periodically, such alienation and mistrust manifests in the forms of rioting and (low-intensity) sectarian violence. The resolve among disadvantaged boys to protect their communities and, at times, enact revenge against “the Other” –for example –is hardened by their relative deprivation and immobility, as explained by most respondents in the study.

Moreover, the same young people live in communities in which they are subject

136 to recruitment by “community leaders” who offer simple explanations for their problems, and a path to social status through what they perceive as the best or only means available, namely, cultures of paramilitarism. The restriction of ex-prisoners and -paramilitaries from access to state entitlements and employment –policies supported by their own elected, ethno-political leaders –further risks reconstituting this imperative of paramilitary membership, discussed further in the following chapter. Hence, findings also reveal the importance of accounting for the impact of collective actors which play uniquely important roles in fostering and/or sabotaging inter-community relations, and the more general importance of extensive case study and in-depth qualitative analysis in identifying such processes within particular sites of conflict (Brubaker and Laitin 1998).

The ongoing role of paramilitaries within both Northern Ireland’s political apparatus and smaller, informal community networks has had an important impact on the peace- process, for both better and worse. As illustrated above, it has enabled cooperation while constraining its transformative potential and providing a channel through which leaders can promote backlash and escalate tension.

Underscored by economic and social immobility, the “culture wars” over flags, parades and other ethno-political symbols, segregation in housing, and consistent pressures toward intra-group loyalty undercuts progress made in exceptional contexts of intergroup cooperation via community-based peacebuilding projects. With little else providing purpose or a “calling” for many young people in working-class areas of Belfast

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–and young males especially –the corresponding sense that one’s community is constantly under threat provides a trajectory by which some find meaning through

“protecting their community,” often translating into bouts of sectarian violence and rioting. Some rioting is not purely sectarian in nature and is carried out by those who have little connection to a culture still rooted in legacies of conflict, while receiving insufficient alternatives via education. For the latter group of young people, drug use and other forms of “anti-social behavior” are more common responses to feelings of alienation. Nonetheless, the violence of young people tends to arise at the intersections of conflict culture and inopportunity, and implicated as a consequence of the lack of any

“peace dividend” in socially and economically marginalized communities.

At the same time, while internal criticism of the main unionist and nationalist parties by some ex-prisoners and community leaders from the respective groups exists, it does not typically correspond to the development of any cross-community politics. For example, loyalist criticism of mainstream unionist leadership for neglecting important social and economic issues has done little to push the latter toward a more effective negotiating position vis-à-vis nationalist parties. Moreover, loyalist criticism of elected unionist leaders over their neglect of issues of equity is paralleled by the persistent fear of republicanism and the prospect of a united Ireland, sustaining a political culture in which voting across ethno-political lines is rare, and thus empowering the very elected officials seen as ineffectual on quality-of-life matters. In the 2014 elections, for example, Sinn

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Fein, the DUP and UUP dominated handily.66 The re-centering of political discourse in ways which play on unionist/loyalist fears and insecurities by ethno-political elite follows a pattern identified by research from the more immediate post-agreement period. As

Shirlow and Murtagh (2006:44) indicated in earlier observations of political disputes over policing, “the DUP... mobilised… [a] sense of loss and used political rhetoric to move the debate away from reform and accountability and towards the ownership of loss and memory.” More recently, my research illustrates how unionist leaders –and nationalists, to some extent –focus political discourse around cultural symbols (flags) and rituals

(parades) that predictably invoke fear, causing strife between Catholics and Protestants in order to undermine moderate opposition and retain power.

The ratcheting-up of the flags and parades crises in 2012-2013 suggests that traditional, ethnocentric fears remain integral to the political calculations of some leaders.

The inefficacy of those leaders, at the same time, reconstitutes the power of paramilitaries in the informal goings-on of social life in working-class communities. The very re- entrenchment of paramilitary influence in this way nonetheless provides an asset for leaders who opt to provoke tensions for self-serving political purposes. It is unlikely that

DUP and UUP leaders were unaware that the leaflets they disseminated in east Belfast

66 The Guardian (May 25, 2014), Belfast Telegraph (September 3, 2015) 139 about removal of the Union flag would incite anger among members of the east Belfast

UVF –the faction identified by several respondents as the most disruptive and dangerous.

Importantly, findings also illustrate the importance in dynamics of social stratification and marginalization both within and between divided communities for the capacity of political elites to appropriate sectarian fears and resentments. Middle-class disengagement from grassroots politics, and disassociation from problems which face mainly working-class communities, contribute to the continued realization of the former’s vested economic and social interests in the status-quo. Political leaders have benefitted from a dual strategy of appealing to middle-class voters through upholding their privileges via specific policy frameworks, while at the same time appropriating ongoing feelings of fear and threat disproportionately felt by working-class people through contentious, ethnocentric discourses. Although more historically consistent in the

Protestant community, such a trend has apparently emerged within the Catholic community as well. In a sense, class difference cuts-across ethno-political lines and might, in certain instances, result in the de-centering of ethno-nationalism in shaping social and institutional relations. Yet, according to the data, such a condition is disproportionate to middle-class Catholic and Protestant communities, which have benefitted materially from the status-quo, and opt to remain silent about contentious ethno-political issues in order to “get on.” At the same time, for less well-off

140 communities, a shared sense of unfair economic conditions does not translate into a cross-community, working-class politics.67 This is largely due to the compounding effects of deepening poverty and economic hopelessness on longstanding sectarian mentalities, and the incitements to conflict in the discourses of certain ethno-political elite.

More generally, results from this and the following chapters implicate the importance of conceptualizing societies undergoing conflict transformation as located somewhere between extremes of “war” and “peace” on a “continuum of violence”

(Cockburn 2004). Such theoretical presuppositions increase analytical attention to structural and cultural relations of power which pervade most societies to some extent but which potentially have unique consequences in “post-conflict” societies. As most of the persons I spoke with make clear, “peace” can be an ambiguous term, holding disparate meanings across communities, and having as much to do with varying degrees of difference in political subjectivities between and within distinct groups as any objective measures of (non)violence. One Catholic clearly summarized a similar attitude shared among several others when responding to my inquiry about his perception of the peace process. He said that “there is no peace.”

Finally, some findings reported above also implicate a phenomenon discussed

67 There are many grassroots and non-profit organizations in Northern Ireland within working-class communities which focus on cross-community cooperation. Yet few of these organizations intend to form new, political cross-community relations (McAuley et al. 2010; Edwards and McGrattan 2011). 141 further in the following chapter, that is, that disjuncture between (ethno) political subjectivities is not only evident along lines of social class, but also lines of gender.

Particular cultures linked historically to conflict are –in part –reified through social constructs of hyper and “militarized” masculinities and the systemic exclusion of women.

68

68 This message referencing the loyalist protest of the flag decision is found recently painted on the side of a building in a loyalist neighborhood in south Belfast. Pictures were taken by the author, June 2014. 142

69

69 On the left, a half-mast Union Jack blows in front of a derelict building in a loyalist, west Belfast neighborhood. On the right, what is left of a mural depicting a loyalist paramilitary shooter in the area of south Belfast. 143

70

71

70 Loyalist flag protesters from the Donegal road in south Belfast hold a Union banner at their weekly Sunday protest at Belfast city hall. Across the bottom, the banner reads “Our forefathers, as we and our children, will never surrender our national flag.” 71 This barrier was erected to block off a side-route to and from a divided republican and loyalist area of west Belfast. These walls were initially erected to prevent would-be sectarian attackers from committing an act of violence and easily retreating back into their own neighborhood. 144

72

72 This gate separates one of the entrance/exit points connecting loyalist and republican communities in working-class west Belfast. Planted on the peace wall separating the two neighborhoods –ironically –is the “Imagine” mural. 145

CHAPTER 4: EXCLUSION, ETHNO-SOCIAL POWER AND CONTRADICTIONS IN

EX-COMBATANT COMMUNITY-BASED PEACEBUILDING

Introduction and Plan of the Chapter

Ongoing scholarly recognition of the ethno-political divisions between Catholics and

Protestants is paralleled, somewhat paradoxically, by growing emphasis on the supposed integral role ex-paramilitary prisoner’s play in sustaining relative peace (McEvoy and

Shirlow 2009; Shirlow et al. 2005; McAuley et al. 2010). Such emphasis on ex-prisoner leadership in peacebuilding compliments a broader scholarly discussion about the imperatives of disarmament, demobilization and reintegration (DDR) campaigns and incorporating ex-combatants at the center of post-conflict reconstruction (Nilsson 2005;

Ginifer 2003). Yet the growth in attention to the subject has led to a corresponding increase in criticism of such ex-combatant “community leadership.” Skeptics argue that prioritizing approaches to peacebuilding which promote ex-combatant leadership ultimately privileges the interests of perpetrators over those of their victims, perpetuating the “terroristic narratives” and ideologies that underpinned the escalation of mass violence in the first place, and thus minimizing the scope and meaning of “peace”

(Edwards and McGrattan 2011; see also Knox 2002; McGrattan 2014).

Since the 1998 Agreement, both republican and loyalist ex-prisoners have become central players in grassroots peacekeeping, peacebuilding and transitional justice in

Northern Ireland. The Northern Ireland Association for the Care and Resettlement of 146

Offenders has been the most active voluntary organization involved in the promotion of offender-based cross-community restorative justice, facilitating the development of

Coiste an n-Irarchimi and EPIC –Irish Catholic and Protestant ex-prisoner coalitions, respectively. These organizations engage together in a variety of work, including cross- community peacekeeping and peacebuilding (McAuley et al. 2010), while also providing employment for ex-prisoners in the tourism industry, and guidance on problems common among ex-combatants, such as, unemployment and family reunification (Rolston 2007).

At the same time, however, loyalist paramilitary criminality and violence persist

(Nolan 2014; Harland 2011; Magill and Hamber 2010), and dissident republican terrorism remains a threat (Horgan and Morrison 2011). Rioting orchestrated by the UVF discussed in the previous chapter suggests that some paramilitary elements remain willing and able to use force to realize their political and personal interests. Loyalist paramilitary factions –in addition to dissident republican groups, to some extent –have also developed control over criminal enterprises, such as, extortion and drug trafficking

(Knox 2002; Smithey and Murtagh 2006). Purportedly, maintaining paramilitary ties among loyalist ex-combatants continues to also provide members with some degree of political protection and legitimacy. Leaders of the UDA, for example, have some level of private contact with unionist politicians, and receive government grants (Hughes et al.

2007:48). Some suggest that supporting such organizations is necessary in preventing ex- combatant disaffection by helping them feel that they are included in the emerging 147 society, mitigating the potential of remobilization. Yet others argue that such measures undermine the scope of social transformation by legitimizing the power of those who remain committed to counter-productive “ideological continuities with the past”

(Edwards and McGrattan 2011:363) and cultures of (semi) militarized ethno- masculinities (Ashe 2009, 2012). While local, ex-prisoner-led community-based projects geared toward promoting intergroup cooperation, preventing violence, and assisting at- risk youth have indeed had relative success, such achievements –paradoxically –persist amid ongoing political hostilities between the broader Catholic and Protestant communities fueled (in part) by (former) paramilitaries. According to Hughes et al.

(2007:48), for example, government grants supporting the UDA-linked Ulster Political

Research Group, “serve to reinforce the status and ‘legitimacy’ of [paramilitarism] in the areas they control, thus perpetuating the problems of division and segregation.”

Paramilitaries from both loyalist and republican communities also continue to engage in vigilantism. “Punishment shootings” and beatings, for example, are exercised in order to reduce “anti-social behavior” among young people, but as much so to intimidate those challenging the political interests of active, pseudo-paramilitary groups, or those suspected of informing their criminal behaviors to police. The same practices of intra-community violence have been exercised to extort drug dealers, among others

(Knox 2002). “Punishment attacks” are ultimately intended to sustain the control of paramilitaries over their respective communities and undermine public trust in the police 148

(Knox 2002; Harland 2011; Magill and Hamber 2010; Shirlow and Murtagh 2006), so as to maintain the organizational autonomy of those groups.

Although most ex-prisoners have abandoned paramilitary activities, it is far from obvious that no overlap persists. Loyalist ex-prisoners tend to reside in neighborhoods containing active pseudo-paramilitaries and generally share the same broader loyalist networks and ethno-political ideologies (Edwards and McGrattan 2013:351-52). On the republican side, dissident republican organizations, while relatively small (an estimated

300 members), remain armed and committed to disrupting the peace process in the interest of their traditional objective of a united Ireland (Horgan and Morison 2011). Such an objective, in addition to priorities of loyalty to fallen comrades and feelings of being betrayal by former Provisional IRA leadership now serving in elected office (documented here), underscores dissident republican’s hostility toward Sinn Fein’s peace strategy.

Thus, further empirical examination of the holistic nature of the combined ex-prisoner and paramilitary agencies within the Northern Ireland peace-process is warranted.

A disproportionate amount of research on ex-combatant agencies more generally focus on ideological dynamics of disengagement and “de-radicalization,” or processes of

“community-based restorative justice” (CBRJ). Surprisingly, relatively little empirical attention has been attributed to how intersectional gendered and class identities underscore or (re)shape ex-combatant, ethno-national mindsets, and facilitate or

149 undermine the scope of peacebuilding practices. Building on previous work which implicates cultures of masculinities in inhibiting conflict transformation and reconciliation (Ashe 2012; Bairner 1999; Harland 2011; Harland and McCready 2015), this chapter critically examines how masculinities and intersecting ethno-nationalist- and social class identities underscore the social and political agencies of ex-combatants in particular, and in the specific context of community-based peacebuilding. More specifically, by utilizing critical and feminist theoretical paradigms, the chapter identifies how such intersecting identities, in parallel with state-led practices of exclusion and long- standing grievances over the past and policing interact in restricting prospects of ex- combatant agencies in the community sector. Findings show how the perceived (and real) social exclusion of ex-combatants by elected officials and their more general “limits of legitimacy” (Mitchell 2008) help sustain the former’s political disaffection, and underscore the importance of ethno-masculinist cultures of paramilitarism in ex- combatants’ efforts in maintaining power and control on neighborhood levels. The chapter illustrates how structural forces constitute ex-combatant alienation and help shape their social agencies of “resistance,” which are underscored by desires for fulfillment, autonomy and recognition and channeled by cultural, gendered scripts rooted in both violent and “non-violent reconstituted masculinities” (Ashe 2009).

Moreover, in order to not “assist [in] the forgetting of women and the gendered power relations between men and women” when analyzing the behavior of this group of

150 men (Hearn 1997, 50), I also discuss the implications of the aforementioned dynamics in the re-silencing and re-displacement of women in working-class communities in particular. The “implications on women” of reconfigurations and/or reproductions of masculinities and their embeddedness within state and civil society institutions warrant greater empirical attention, in Northern Ireland and post-conflict societies more generally

(Ashe and Harland 2014:754). In contrast to most work on the prospects and limitations of male ex-combatant peacebuilding, this study puts the voices of women (among others) involved in peacebuilding at the center of analysis and, by doing so, offers important insight into gendered and class dimensions of power which operate on both the state and grassroots levels, and which undermine the transformative potential of community-based peacebuilding.

Ex-Combatants and Peacebuilding: Debates and Challenges

The disarmament, demobilization and reintegration (DDR) of ex-combatants have become increasingly central in peacebuilding interventions (Rolston 2007:260).

Providing leadership roles for ex-combatants in cross-community peacebuilding and transitional justice is one way in which governments and NGOs have sought to facilitate the reintegration of ex-combatants into their previous communities. Purportedly, ex- combatant participation in community initiatives is a relatively effective way of offering them a unique stake in the emerging society and minimizing their political disaffection

151 and likelihood of remobilization (Kingma 2001; Rolston 2007). Proponents even suggest that ex-combatants “can represent a major force for the reconstruction and rehabilitation of war-torn societies” as a result of their unique histories in conflict (Klingebiel et al.

1995:6; see also Shirlow et al. 2005; Dwyer 2012). Liberation armies in particular

“produce individuals who are committed, disciplined, and politically astute,” evidenced by the rebel forces of South Africa, Eritrea, and Northern Ireland, among others (Rolston

2007:263). Moreover, since ex-combatants tend to be respected by hardliners in their ethno-political communities, they’re particularly capable of convincing potential spoilers to stand down (McAuley et al. 2010).

Critics, however, argue that interventions by both governments and NGOs which attempt to balance objectives of finding justice for victims on one hand, and preventing re-escalations of conflict through offender-based restorative justice programs on the other, give undue power to perpetrators in shaping the emerging post-conflict society.

Academic critics of offender-focused transitional justice suggest that prioritizing the needs of ex-combatants stymies the voices of victims and other stakeholders who merit greater attention, and whose concerns should take precedence over those of “terrorists.”

Rather than solidifying the peace-process, they contend that empowering “extremists” through the “peace consultancy industry” only gives them more leverage to exploit the contingent nature of the peace process and hijack its institutional mechanisms for their

152 own ideological and/or criminal ends (Edwards and McGrattan 2011:363; see also Knox

2002; McGrattan 2014).

Supposedly, in Northern Ireland in particular, ex-terrorists tend to hold the same ideological goals pursued during the violence of the Troubles; thus, centering this group within NGO peacebuilding coalitions “militates against the stated goals of the British government and the community sector [of] encouraging some form of a shared future for

Northern Ireland” (Edwards and McGrattan 2011:363). Indeed, even proponents of ex- combatant participation in community-based organizations acknowledge that most IN this milieu continue to hold traditional ethno-political ideologies and goals, and that cooperation does not generally transfer to a political form (McAuley et al. 2010). In

Northern Ireland in particular, (former) paramilitary acquiescence to the peace process was “bought,” so to speak. As conditional for the successful implementation of the 1998

Belfast/Good Friday Agreement, Amnesty was given to violent political prisoners, without any concomitant mechanism for dealing with the past. As Horgan (2008:3) points out, ‘what keeps people involved with a terrorist movement may have surprisingly little, if any, bearing on what subsequently causes them to disengage from terrorist operations or from the organization… altogether.” Somewhat paradoxically, evidence of positive ex- combatant contributions in local peacebuilding efforts does not necessitate their political

“de-radicalization.” “Often there can be physical disengagement from terrorist activity, but no concomitant change or reduction in ideological support [for the historical

153 objectives of the terrorist organization]” (Horgan 2008:5). More empirical attention is needed to flesh out systemic cultural tenets and political dynamics, which have unique impacts on former combatants and minimize processes of ‘de-radicalization,’ underscoring the possibility of their dialectical re-engagement in political hostilities and violence.

The State and Community Sectors in Ex-combatant Peacebuilding

Significant differences in the polemic arguments regarding ex-combatant participation in social reconstruction are due largely to authors’ disparate political and cultural interpretations of a given conflict and restrictive analytical approaches regarding the state. Both proponents and critics tend to focus either on state- or grassroots-led approaches to peacebuilding and restorative justice, inadvertently restricting adequate attention to dynamics through which practices of state and extra- or non-state actors (i.e., ex-combatants) are inextricably linked in shaping –or undermining –peace process outcomes. Moreover, the research tends to examine either positive contributions of ex- combatant-led peacebuilding or practices and beliefs of former militants which undermine the given peace process. At the same time, absent in most empirical accounts of the post-conflict contributions of ex-combatants is examination of the unique impact on the agencies of this milieu of broader, interacting social and economic conditions which pervade the larger society, such as, gender and social class identities and

154 inequalities (for an exception with respect to gender, see Ashe 2009; Ashe and Harland

2014).

Moreover, while some governments have generally showed little initiative in supporting reintegration others have simply lacked the fiscal capacity to do so.

Nonetheless, suspicion about offender-based initiatives is commonplace among victims and their broader communities, who are apt to perceive such initiatives as rewarding the perpetrators of violence, rather than some form of “transitional justice” (Ginifer

2003:43). For this reason, elected officials often lack the political will to commit to ex- combatant reintegration programs substantively. In Northern Ireland –and elsewhere –the absence of any comprehensive state mechanism for dealing with contentious issues of the past –including paramilitary violence –put disproportionate responsibility on the voluntary sector in facilitating offender-based, cross-community restorative justice, as well as ex-combatant “community leadership” in peacekeeping and peacebuilding

(McAuley et al. 2010; Shirlow et al. 2010). Political prisoners held much leverage in peace negotiations throughout the 1990s, when the immediate goal was an end to mass violence. When Amnesty for political prisoners was subsequently implemented, there was no agreed form of transitional justice –such as, a truth commission, or some variant thereof –in an attempt to address the simultaneous need to provide a sense of justice for victims and preserve commitment to non-violent politics among (formerly) armed actors.

This was partially due to skepticism about the true objectives of any formal transitional

155 justice mechanism among loyalists especially, who felt they had little to gain in a situation in which nationalists were interpreted as more powerful in framing discourse about the past in support of their ideological and constitutional agenda (Rolston 2006).

Apparently, however, the more general inability of (most) elected government officials in

Stormont to find common ground in terms of who victims are and who perpetrators are

(see chapter five) puts de-fault responsibility disproportionally on the community sector in organizing cross-community peacekeeping and peacebuilding initiatives. In doing so, the same skeptical ex-prisoner and paramilitary elements found a niche in which to maintain their influence on local neighborhood levels, in both positive and negative ways.

Some critics of offender-based participation in peacebuilding charge that those rationalizing this specific form of ex-combatant reintegration (Shirlow et al. 2010;

Shirlow 2012; McAuley et al. 2010; McEvoy and Gormally 2001), based on “the lack of a comprehensive [state] mechanism for dealing with the past,” precariously posit the state in “Weberian terms” as a “malevolent,” external force, exaggerating the disconnect between state and civil society (Edwards and McGrattan 2011:363). Yet such theoretical critiques tend to downplay or overlook policies of the state which detrimentally impact former combatants and, more generally, the local communities in which they are embedded. Such authors tend to implicitly reject claims that former combatants or terrorists are often victims as well as perpetrators, restricting theoretical and empirical focus on potential practices of political exploitation and manipulation of former

156 combatants, in both the past and present. As research in critical criminology suggests, acknowledgement of state responsibility in shaping criminal violence or terrorism necessarily forces a reconceptualization of victimhood (McEvoy and Gormally 1997;

McGarry 2015), including recognition of the problems in distinguishing victims from perpetrators (see, for example, Moser 2007). On the other hand, those offering more optimistic analyses of ex-combatant “community leadership” acknowledge their historical disenfranchisement and victimization in certain respects (Shirlow 2012;

Shirlow et al. 2010), but not substantively in the particular context of cross-community peacebuilding and transitional justice. Ex-combatants in various conflict societies have been manipulated by provocations of political elite, and later used as pawns in the politics of blame. The “empowerment” of ex-combatants at the grassroots level –as my research suggests –might be countered or undermined at present by similar processes of disenfranchisement at the level of the state.

Research by Mitchell (2008) suggests that degrees of legitimacy attributed to the state and ex-combatants in (post) conflict societies generally continues to differ according to the historical identities and experiences of opposing groups –reflected, for example, in deficits in the moral monopoly on the right to use force (see also Rolston 2006). Utilizing a type of pseudo-Weberian approach in analysis of post-conflict relations between state and non-state actors –such as, ex-combatants –might be appropriate, insofar as conflicting notions of legitimacy have historically underscored dynamics of conflict

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(Mitchell 2008). For example, while middle-class unionism has typically posited the state as the sole legitimate user of force, loyalists perceived Britain’s unwillingness to properly protect their communities from republican violence as legitimation for their extra-state violence. Republicans, on the contrary, perceived the presence of British troops and their tacit complicity in loyalist violence as evidence of state illegitimacy and as justification for their terrorist insurgency (Tonge 2002). The persistence of such contradictory perceptions of legitimacy continues to underscore the agencies of competing groups following the establishment of peace.

At the same time, though, deficits in legitimacy in this sense do not persist in a primordial, historical vacuum, but are (re)shaped or (re)constructed by contemporary political and social practices and structures within a given post-conflict society (Smithey

2011; Brubaker and Laitin 1998; Fearon and Laitin 2000). In societies in which the political dispute underscoring conflict is unresolved, and there is no clear victor –such as,

Northern Ireland, Colombia and others –perceptions of ethno-political threat, potentially promoted by collective actors at either levels of state or civil society, might compound or exacerbate other social, economic and psychological insecurities rooted in the unique experiences of former combatants (or terrorists) and thereby increase the likelihood that such individuals take preeminent actions to thwart that threat (Cochrane 2008). As this study suggests –corresponding to conflicting notions of legitimacy –the state-sponsored exclusion of ex-combatants in one sense, and their empowerment at the “community”

158 level in another, has contradictory implications. Ex-combatants might experience disaffection while still maintaining enough power on local levels to take preeminent actions in countering perceived threats to themselves and communities.

In Northern Ireland, somewhat ironically, the strong participation of republican and loyalist ex-combatants in social reconstruction efforts have occurred despite weak investment among unionist political elite and the British government.73 In fact, it was the capacity of one local NGO –the Community Foundation of Northern Ireland –to secure funding from the EU to support ex-prisoner peacebuilding initiatives that facilitated their participation in the first place. Elected officials –and Unionists in particular –have played minimal roles overall in supporting DDR, establishing a variety of social and legal restrictions on ex-prisoners (Rolston 2007:272). The British government, at the same time, has generally neglected such issues (Nolan 2014). For example, ex-prisoners cannot claim compensation for injuries under the Criminal Injuries legislation; they are typically denied loans for small businesses and mortgages; they are denied visas to travel abroad; and are unable to adopt children (Ritchie 2002; Rolston 2007; Shirlow 2012). Such exclusionary practices remain common, and underscore loyalist ex-prisoner’s sense of insecurity and the “limits of legitimacy” available to them (Mitchell 2008).

73 Several respondents claimed that the British government has failed to properly follow through with various procedures meant to improve institutional dynamics of the peace process, including the transition to “human rights based policing.” Ultimately, many feel that the British government is not prioritizing institutional investment in Northern Ireland as much as was promised in the Agreement. 159

Moreover, just as being an (ex)paramilitary does not necessarily make someone an effective peacebuilder (Edwards and McGrattan 2013), that members from either ethno-religious community are inherent threats to the peace-process because they maintain basic ideologies of loyalism or republicanism is not self-evident, either; the processes which foster ex-combatant disengagement do not necessarily correspond with those which promote “de-radicalization.” In fact, “what keeps people involved with a terrorist movement may have surprisingly little, if any, bearing on what subsequently causes them to disengage from terrorist operations or from the organization… [T]he disengaged terrorist may not necessarily be repentant or ‘deradicalized’ at all” (Horgan

2008:4, 5). As already discussed (chapter one), “ideological continuities with the past” are not restricted to violent offenders from ‘the Troubles,’ but remain evident among political elite, as well as middle-class communities often absent from discussions about sectarianism in Northern Ireland (and elsewhere). Unionist political elite, with strong ties to the Orange Order –a (predominantly middle-class) pro-union, and, for many, anti-

Catholic, organization –have been quite resistant of meaningful steps toward broader

Catholic-Protestant integration in the post-conflict era, and have shown questionable leadership for the broader working-class Protestant and Catholic communities who suffer most from legacies of conflict (Shirlow and Murtagh 2006:7, 143-44, 169; Noble 2013; see also chapter three and five here). As my research suggests, the “limits of legitimacy” for ex-combatants are rooted, in part, in the political strategies of those intent on

160 capitalizing on broader societal resentment toward the ex-prisoner population, who are

(unfairly) seen as representative of the violence of the past (Gormally 2001). At the same time, neo-paramilitary cultures of hyper-masculinity and the avenues to social status provide an important motivation for continued engagement in hostile politics.

Issues of Gender and Social Class

The effects of exclusionary practices of the state do not continue independent of socio- structural conditions of gender and social class –among others –but are necessarily underscored by –and, in turn, reconstitute –such conditions. Generally, there has been discussion of “militarized masculinities” in sustaining cultures of violence (Ashe 2012;

Bairner 1999; Cockburn 2014; Cockburn and Zarkov 2002; Eichler 2014; Harland and

McCready 2015), as well as recognition of the importance of employment for ex- combatants in processes of reintegration (Ginifer 2003). Yet how intersecting gender-and class-specific identities and cultures simultaneously shape peacebuilding –and peace spoiling –practices among this milieu more specifically merits further examination. Ashe

(2009:302) illuminates how the promotion of ex-combatant “community based restorative justice” (CBRJ) among academic proponents conspicuously excludes attention to “gender equality and power,” thus having important “gendering effects.” Following a critical and feminist international relations theoretical approach, she goes on to point out that arguments which offer a “kind of in-depth positive evaluation of ex-paramilitaries

161 reflects a ‘realistic approach’ that accepts the importance of demilitarization and reintegration” without proper consideration to the counterproductive implications evident with explicit recognition of the importance of the gendered contexts of masculinity and patriarchy (Ashe 2009:304; see also Zuckerman and Greenberg 2004). Drawing from this framework, this study identifies how hyper-masculine cultures, preserved along with paramilitary networks empowered through the “peace consultancy industry” (Edwards and McGrattan 2011), has had limiting effects on the scope of peacebuilding. It is not so clear that there has been truly fundamental “changes in military masculinities to non- violent reconstituted masculinities” (Ashe 2009:306), as some implicitly suggest (see, for example, Shirlow et al. 2005) –or whether such non-violent masculinities have especially positive impacts on cross-community relations.

At the same time, concerns about their own social exclusion, as well as broader deprivation of ‘their’ communities, might underscore more problematic behaviors of ex- combatants and the more contradictory implications of their leadership in community- based projects at the same time. As findings here suggest, the class-specific locations and identities of former combatants, and personal perceptions of, and relations with, the state, ultimately influence their relative –and, for some, fluctuating –commitment to peacebuilding, while being inextricably linked to particular gendered norms and traditions (i.e., ethno-masculinities). At the onset of the Troubles and increase in sectarian violence, paramilitaries’ mobilization and self-ascribed roles as “defenders of the

162 community” overshadowed the integral community roles of women, having long-term implications in shaping dominant discourses and memories of the conflict. Women

“became framed as representing the vulnerability of the community that required male protection from the ‘enemy,’” displacing their political voice within their respective ethno-religious communities (Ashe and Harland 2014:752; see also Peterson 1999). More generally, “Sales [1997, 4] suggests that ‘sectarianism, and the construction of political and social life around [ethno-national] community loyalties, has been a powerful force in maintaining women’s subordination’” in Northern Ireland (Little 1999, 165; see also

Racioppi and O’Sullivan 2001). In societies emerging from conflict more generally,

“ethnicity appears in part to be created, maintained and socialized through male control of gender identities,” while “women’s fundamental human rights and dignity are often caught up in male power struggles” (Handrahan 2004, 429). In Northern Ireland, like other (post) conflict societies, “ethnic dividends” (Cockburn 2004, 35) –or the advantages that might accrue to individuals due to their membership in a particular ethnic or nationalist group –have also been moslty “patriarchal dividends.” Advantages accrue mostly to men, “as individuals and as a collectivity, from a gender order in which men and [semi-militarized] masculinity are dominant” (ibid, 34; see also Connell 2002).

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Methodological Considerations

Opposing analyses of the ex-prisoner/paramilitary community, framing their actions and intentions as either “good” or “bad” in the post-conflict era is also partly a result of the distinct methodologies of particular authors. It is not surprising that those who draw primarily from interviews with ex-paramilitary prisoners and observations of their roles in community organizations will have quite distinct interpretations from those focusing on the incidence and prevalence of paramilitary violence. This is important, as the debate so far around ex-prisoner peacebuilding initiatives has relied primarily on interviews with this group or secondary –and primarily theoretical –analysis. (Mitchell’s [2008] study is an exception, however.) Although their voices are integral, relying solely on the words of ex-combatants is likely to exaggerate the positive contributions they make and overlook or downplay the problems their behaviors pose. The remainder of this chapter will draw primarily from the interview data, in order to construct a more nuanced understanding of their role in Northern Ireland’s peace-process and their relative (in)efficacy as major players in the grassroots peacebuilding sector. Because the interview participants are all active in a variety of peacebuilding circles and interact on regular bases with numerous interest groups –including ex-prisoners/paramilitaries –they are especially capable of explaining important dynamics underscoring the implications of the former –however diverse –for the peace-process in Northern Ireland. A strength of the sample is that it comprises both ex-prisoners and others involved with them in the community and public

164 sectors, including a variety of perspectives. In this sense, convergences in their discourses contribute to the validity and reliability of the data, while divergences reflect conflicting interests pursued by the (former) paramilitaries and others involved in social reconstruction efforts.

RESULTS

Ex-Prisoner Peacebuilding and Ideological Continuities with the Past

Several respondents acknowledge that ex-prisoner leadership in cross-community initiatives has contributed to important developments which sustain relative peace in Northern Ireland. In line with previous research, some point out that many in the loyalist ex-prisoner community remain more willing to engage in cross-community work with republicans –including ex-IRA prisoners –than middle-class unionism and political elite. According to a senior participant in the peacebuilding community,

That’s totally normalized in a way in which it wouldn’t be for members of the Orange Order for example. They will be community leaders as well very often and have considerable respect in their communities – the ex-prisoners. What I’m trying to get at is quite a few of the Orange Order make a big deal about, “we wouldn’t sit down with a residents group because there might be terrorists involved.” Whereas people who were actually out killing Catholics are quite happy to sit down with IRA men now. Its routine, it’s normal.

The other area where it’s become so common as to be unremarkable would be in youth projects. I was chair of venture learning organization. Anyway, I was at Stormont for a presentation which was also attended by Alternatives, a loyalist search-for-justice organization that works intensely with young people in trouble… There were Protestants and

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Catholics all there and it was around Remembrance Sunday time when people wear poppies.74

Another respondent similarly indicated that ex-prisoner involvement in the community sector and in cross-community cooperation surpasses that of politicians in many respects. He suggests that EPIC and Charter –UVF- and UDA-oriented ex- prisoner community organizations, respectively –are “producing material for schools and all kinds of things. That is an area where people who were armed and active are cooperating in a way that you don’t find at a political level.”

In an especially insightful account, a republican community leader from north

Belfast discussed a variety of projects he has worked on in cooperation with loyalist ex-prisoners. Such projects include dual cooperation with a housing association to transform a derelict mill into an apartment complex housing both

Protestant and Catholic families. The project was meant to meet housing needs of both nationalists and unionists in a non-exclusionary manner.

The housing association built this property on the basis that myself and others did work within the area to make sure that that [absence of sectarian tension] was the case. So you have an area that, on Christmas day, had a riot, completely, utterly transformed over a few years, because of relationship building and because of breaking down barriers, and strong will powers of [republican and loyalist] people who are working together.

74 Red poppies are worn by Protestants in the spring in remembrance of British soldiers. This is the one time of the year where you can tell Catholics and Protestants apart. 166

The same respondent explained how he, in cooperation with loyalists from Tigers

Bay –a working-class Protestant estate –moved a loyalist sectarian bonfire away from a volatile interface, reducing the likelihood of sectarian violence.

So on the 11th of July for the last 2-3 years now, people in New Lodge know that something is going on, but they don’t see this big burning structure right at their doorsteps, or across their street… And that was a real great piece of leadership from loyalist people within Tigers Bay.

Although many respondents conveyed criticism of ex-paramilitary leadership in a variety of respects, many also felt obligated to admit that the work undertaken by this group at volatile interfaces has been integral for the peace process. The response of one woman is a case in point:

I say I’m involved in funding what is basically peace and reconciliation. But when things get really difficult, I’m at home watching TV like everyone else. The people who are out on the street at the interface, trying to stop the kids getting into rioting or situations are the ex- combatants, the ones that have already been to prison. They have a voice that can be heard. They’ve definitely played a role in that. Some parts of the community aren’t recognized for it. There’s also the thing about, why is the burden still on them?

Unlike other respondents, who suggest ex-paramilitary networks have intentionally made the peace process dependent on them in order to maintain control (discussed below), this individual suggests that ex-prisoners are subtly driven into fundamental community roles for which they receive inadequate recognition. (In reality, results documented here suggest that both of these trends are evident.)

A leader in the cross-community sector in West Belfast explained the long- term work she has done in coordination with the police service and both loyalist 167 and republican ex-prisoners to prevent interface violence. The work of InterAction

Belfast, led by Roisin McGlone, was integral in establishing the Mobile-Phone

Network, which facilitates the coordination of loyalist and republican ex-prisoners and the police service in preventing escalation of tension at the ‘peace walls.’75 Ex- prisoner-led initiatives in Derry were pointed to by a few respondents as additional examples of the important role played by former paramilitaries in grassroots level peacebuilding:

You’ve got the Derry [inaudible] project, Shared Remembrance. So there are grassroots initiatives. In Derry you’ve got a lot of agreements that have been made around parading. And parading goes off in Derry fairly peacefully now. And I mean you contrast that with the situation in North Belfast, you can see a very clear difference.

Local-level differences in frequency and scale of violence around parades illuminates the importance of the grassroots sector –often led by ex-prisoners –in sustaining relative stability in relations between the Protestant and Catholic populations.

The strategy of reducing parade violence also includes finding alternatives for youth, as one interviewee emphasized. In this case, young people are taken from Derry in buses to other places on the island for a variety of positive, cross-community activities, in order to preoccupy them and prevent rioting. As discussed in the previous chapter, boredom and inopportunity contribute to youth violence as much as sectarian attitudes. Even those republican respondents who openly resent loyalist ex-prisoners and paramilitaries admit

75 For publications by Inter-Action Belfast, visit peacewall.org (accessed September 25, 2015). 168 that some have played integral roles in sustaining relative peace. Only a few acknowledged that this corresponds to integration or a more transformational type of leadership. One such exception is indicated in my discussion with a republican community leader in north Belfast, who described a recent event in which a UDA leader he had been working with in cross-community initiatives was beaten by those opposing him within the organization. Rather than retaliating with force, the victim went to the police following the attack. Such examples reflect, perhaps, a sign that at least some within paramilitary networks have become increasingly committed to criminal justice reform and trusting of the PSNI. The simple fact that he went to the police –which would be taken for granted in other parts of the UK –reflect that positive developments in policing are at hand, if only apparent in subtle ways. (Ironically, though, the same UDA leader was previously arrested for a non-fatal shooting of a “dissident loyalist.” The subsequent attack he endured was likely related to the incident.)76 Yet the simultaneous demand of moderate ex-prisoner and paramilitary leaders to appease hardliners and reduce the power of those invested in criminal enterprise creates an ambiguous situation wherein contradictory interests must be compromised, inevitably creating bouts of discontent among competing groups and maintaining stasis in the meaning and construction of “peace.” As the same respondent asked: “how can he maintain following

76 See Rebecca Black, “UDA feud ratcheted up as rebel loyalist is shot: three arrested including rival duo,” Belfast Telegraph (22 August 2014). 169 from his more moderate supporters” if they perceive him as unable to control the organization and, ultimately, keep them safe from more criminal elements. In such situations, vigilantism and violence has been historically –if only tacitly – supported by working-class communities as necessary –in their minds –in providing justice and combating drug use, thus posing a difficult situation for leaders who want to move beyond such behaviors, and for police who struggle to obtain legitimacy (discussed further in the following section of the chapter).

Moreover, as a different respondent emphasized throughout our interview, it is impressive that those loyalist ex-prisoners who have shown positive community leadership have maintained their contributions to grassroots peacekeeping and peacebuilding given the threats they face from hostile individuals within their organizations. According to him, this is largely because of the ways in which drug dealing, extortion, and other criminal activities have become entrenched within loyalist networks since the height of the Troubles, which are difficult to expunge given the economic incentives and lack of alternatives (discussed below). Nonetheless, consistent support of cross-community projects has maintained despite such dynamics. As he explains,

You still openly have paramilitary organizations who were embedded in the conflict at the time and trying to get out of it. They haven’t really folded as the IRA has. And there’s different levels of it. You have the UDA and you have the UVF. In North Belfast, both, even with pressures from people who want to drive them back, tend to be, to a certain degree, out

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of conflict. But other parts of those organizations, like the UVF in East Belfast, is [sic] a completely different kind of fish. They’re up to their necks in racism. They’re up to their necks in drug dealing. And those organizations both survived during the conflict, when it came to making money, by harassing builders for protection money, getting involved in drugs. Getting out of that is a lot more difficult. So I think that’s where the tensions lie. And some people will try to drag them back, using an anti-peace argument merely to cloak a criminal intent. So it’s a different kind of fish in loyalist areas. And in fairness, there’s [sic] so many really good people in those organizations who are doing some great work to try to sustain the peace, and hats up to them for the pressures they are under because it’s a different pressure altogether than on the other side [among republicans].

(Importantly, though, paramilitary criminality also occurs in republican communities, albeit to lesser extents.)

At the same time, interviewees –including loyalist ex-prisoners –emphasize the limitations of community-based peacebuilding processes disproportionately. Firstly, the compartmentalization of political and “practical” activities among the former paramilitary community poses inherent obstacles to a more transformative peace process, as this milieu continues to wield significant social and political power on the grassroots level. Echoing a point made by other respondents, one republican community leader goes on to emphasize the “practical” nature of the work he does with loyalists, geared toward improving the everyday qualities of life for both loyalist and nationalist communities.

According to him, among others, cross-community work in transforming political ideologies among ex-prisoners –and their communities more broadly –is rare and, for most, undesirable.

Even though the constitutional question here, and your ethnicity, and whether your allegiance is to Britain or to an all-Ireland –even though that has been the basis that has driven us to 171

conflict over the years –they’re still genuine aspirations. So I don’t think any of us would want to work to an end goal where we water down our own aspirations. In fact, the trick in all of this is to intensify the partnership and working with people from another background. Intensify relationship building, so that we can understand each other better, so that we can work out our ultimate allegiances and our ultimate end goals politically, on the basis of mutual understanding and respect for diversity… At the end of the day, many people here fought, killed, went to jail for, died for, those beliefs. So why would you want to get rid of them?

Loyalty to dead comrades underscores much of the resistance to a transition to more political forms of cross-community cooperation. Another respondent comments on how “this notion of betrayal of former comrades or whatever… brings with it guilt. If you’re going to engage with another person who was formerly the enemy, there’s a guilt associated with that… But we can’t talk about that,” for fear of being labeled traitors.

According to a senior community leader, in terms of grassroots peacebuilding projects, the narrow, “practical” focus of ex-combatants in peacebuilding –in most instances –reflects a broader trend:

The question… really is, are these groups doing this through the lens of single identity? An imaginative peace –a peace beyond where we are now, beyond the simplified identities –I don’t think that’s a peace that most political parties or many civil society groups hope for, regretfully.

While former paramilitaries have contributed significantly to the peace-process in a variety of capacities, the transformation of traditional ethno-political objectives, for most, is not one of them. Cooperation does not generally translate into goals of transforming ethnocentric, political ideologies or building cross-community

172 political alliances with the traditional, ethno-religious Other. Importantly, though, the constant reproduction of mutually exclusive identities is not unique to ex- combatants, but cuts-across most “political parties and civil society groups.” At the same time, the reproduction of mutually exclusive politics and segregation on local levels is also a result of underlying cultural and gender-specific motivations, which transcend ethno-nationalist ideologies and histories, and reflect the marginalization of female influence following the initial establishment of “peace.”

Cultures of Masculinity and the Patriarchy of ‘Peace’

Many respondents also explain how ex-prisoner leadership in peacebuilding might mitigate broader and more transformative goals among the grassroots peacebuilding community. These include a limited range of skills among some such participants, as well as “crude” political ideologies. The latter view was especially common among female community leaders, exemplified by the following statement:

You know its leadership within the communities, and a lot of it is men, and a lot of it is people who were at war ten years ago and they’re still in learning curves. It makes a difference in that they are acknowledging that reconciliation is really important… But sometimes people can hamper the process if they’re not actually that skilled. And just because you happen to be a former paramilitary doesn’t make you good at this stuff. There’s [sic] been all sorts of development around former paramilitaries. But they still have a crude measurement of their politics and their ethnicity and all of those issues.

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In 2010, in response to the UVF murder of a former member following his dispute with the organization’s leadership, Dawn Purvis –the only elected official of the

Progressive Unionist Party (PUP) serving in Stormont at that time –resigned. She cited the obstruction the UVF poses to the PUP’s ability to serve its constituency effectively.

The widow of David Ervine –former UVF and PUP leader who sought to reduce the role of paramilitaries in the organization –added that Purvis “suffered from a macho culture where some loyalists might not have listened to the female politician.”77 The cooptation of the community work initiated by women from both communities is an additional criticism from female respondents in particular, who feel that patriarchal cultures of leadership are re-established in new, subtler forms.

I think they [ex-paramilitary prisoner groups] have good leaders. [But] they’ve been preceded by an army of female leaders who were moved out of positions of influence as the ceasefires happened gradually, [and] when jobs [in peacekeeping and peacebuilding] became available. And that was obvious when we were organizing community meetings, that it was women [leading]. After the ceasefires started… some of that was about people feeling safe and some of that was about people taking a step back and other people deciding that they needed to take more… [Consequently] there’s a whole history of [women] organizing and building work on common issues and soldiering along through difficult times that is therefore lost and not held by the new people… Fifteen years on, why is “ex combatant” the key determinant feature of why someone is seen as a leader in an area? That seems to be a very skewed form of analysis of political or civil leadership.

Similarly, according to another female community leader,

In terms of the peace process, there’s certainly a theory out there that a lot of the work was initiated by women and women’s organizations. And then men followed through and took over what was happening. Personally, I’m not sure if it’s that gender-bound but I do think a strong woman’s movement is a strong element of the peace process here. The movement doesn’t [exist] in the same way [as it had at the Agreement period], partly because society

77 Press Association Mediapoint (June 3, 2010) 174

has changed and partly because funding has changed. But certainly, I wouldn’t see the women still very much part of making things happen.

Speaking to a similar –yet more general –point, a prominent (male) leader in the community sector emphasized the imperative of getting

to a place where there’s a common vision and that vision doesn’t include paramilitary organizations. The IRA has moved off the stage. Even if there’s dissident republicanism or violent extremism… it can’t be a reason why the UDA and UVF are still as strong in their communities.

In a post-conflict situation in which facilitating hyper-masculine leadership and empowering groups and individuals with histories of leadership during heightened stages of conflict is considered by many as a “realistic” approach,78 investment in experimental or innovative organizations with distinct (female) leadership has been relatively weak. As much of the innovation in peacebuilding and peacemaking work has been spearheaded by women, the organizations they had historically led have not been empowered by recent trends in funding. Moreover, while political leadership remains divisive and reflects relatively minimal commitment to new, innovative political strategies and prerogatives –as highlighted in chapter four –greater control elected officials exercise over the allocation of peace money is unlikely to yield effective alternatives to the status-quo. As one senior activist and scholar explains, funding is

78 See Ashe (2009) 175

often now formed and shaped by the existing administration, including some large philanthropic funds that are in partnership with various arms of government. I mean, that’s welcome at some levels. But compared to 20, 30, 40 years ago, you don’t have the same cohort of, shall I say, unconditional funding, or funders that fund blue sky innovation to the same extent that we had then. So it’s interesting that at a time of less violence, less threat, you have a more invasive, or a more prescriptive form of funding.

Another respondent conveys criticism of the government’s lack of vision in how it allocates funding, and its failure to promote projects which could truly resolve issues in ways which eventually eliminate the need for peacekeeping projects in the future. Given the dynamics of political provocation promoted by ethno-political entrepreneurs –documented in the previous chapter –the restrictive nature of state-sponsored, top-down peace funding is not surprising. Moreover, eliminating the need for such work might threaten the social and economic interests of various actors within the broader “peace industry,” including the ex-prisoner community.

We have to look at them [peacebuilding projects] differently; it’s not always about throwing money at a problem, which is what we did. The government here uses the stick and plaster approach. Every time a crisis appears, throw money at it, stick a stick of plaster on it and go away for a while, instead of getting to the bottom of what’s going on and why communities feel the way they do and what we need to be able to do to help them out of that. How do you turn all that negative energy into something positive, so that they have a community that they’re proud of, that they want to regenerate, that they want to be part of, to be proper leaders in, rather than a dictatorship for want of a better word? And in some instances that has kind of happened, and it’s still about this control.

Several female respondents note that the disproportionate consideration given to

(ex)paramilitaries in post-conflict reconstruction efforts have unwittingly contributed to the perpetuation of a hyper-masculine culture of leadership, restricting the 176 transformation of identity politics and cross-community relations. One respondent commented on ongoing “punishment attacks” by paramilitary vigilantes as one example:

Remember, these [ex-paramilitaries] were the somebodies of yesterday who are the nobodies of today in the peace process. It’s because they weren’t a part of the political process, and they were used to having this power, and having that power base, and being able to keep control… [sic]. And it’s a better future for many of our young people. But we still have communities where there is huge paramilitary existence. And those people really haven’t seen peace because there is still that threat and fear. I, even as my time as a politician, had huge concerns around community restorative justice... I’ve seen that met out in totally inappropriate ways in my community. People pretending to be around community restorative justice [CRJ], you know, turning up where there was a group of young people standing, and then taking the baseball bats out and [with] the balaclavas on and just, you know, beating them nearly into submission. And even when CRJ got some respectability, then they brought in what I see as a new version of the old.

Several other respondents emphasized the issue of ex-prisoner/paramilitary desire for control and power as underscoring the participation of some members in community initiatives. According to one respondent, ex-prisoner participation in voluntary community restorative justice schemes “is still about this control within a community. So ‘we control the purse strings,’ so ‘we say what service goes in and what service doesn’t.’ It goes back to that rather than what is actually in need in the community.” Another respondent described a situation exemplifying how an emphasis on power and control is counter-productive for both intra- and inter- community development. She described how a young person who wanted to initiate an educational community project for underprivileged youth ultimately gave up due to resistance by a local paramilitary ‘community leader’ who was unhappy that the

177 young person did not go to him first for permission. After attempting to obtain funding for the project,

when they went back to their old community, the head boy from the paramilitary then put the form together that said, ‘we exclude these people, we don’t deal with them. They went above our heads, and they went to government, and they were blah, blah, blah.’ And that was it. And the young person who had no skills, who was trying to help support the young people in the area, all of a sudden didn’t bother any more. So that has to tell you something.

In another example, a respondent describes what she considers “the worst of community restorative justice [she had] ever seen.” According to her,

A pensioner’s house was broken into and the young person was identified, and [representatives from] the Community Restorative Justice, and the elderly person, went to the father, who was connected to paramilitaries. And the next thing was CRJ was putting a petition around the area to get the elderly woman out of her home. So the community, for once, was up in arms and saying “this is not happening. It’s not appropriate.” And the best part about it was the paramilitary person rang the police and said he was being harassed by these people.

The issue of control in (ex)paramilitary leadership on neighborhood levels is also exemplified by one respondent’s account of the organization of schools in the working-class loyalist community of Sandy Row and the Village in south Belfast.

Not only are schools generally segregated by religion, but there is a noticeable extent of separation or fragmentation between the different sub-groups within the working-class Protestant community, along lines divided by local paramilitary factions:

You have a Protestant community, but there’s [sic] three communities in the one community –Sandy Row area and the Village. You’ve got the LVF, UVF, and UDA and they’re all there… You have three separate schools. You have 400 children, [and] 155 of them have special needs, and 22 of them have been state listed. And what better way to break that cycle 178

than bringing those children together and educating them, because the schools aren’t fit for [their] purpose any longer. They can’t agree on a site. There’s room on one of the schools to build a big enough school for everybody, but the other two lots have to agree. Whose suffering? The children are suffering. But why do those adults not have a higher aspiration for wanting something better for their children? Is it because, “if it’s good enough for me it’s good enough for them?” And [because] “we’ve got to defend the cause, and we’ve got to defend the community, and we’ve got to… [sic]?”

The same respondent later elaborates on how voluntary peacebuilding and peacekeeping organizations are

competing now because the plots are getting smaller and smaller. Government should have said, “look, here’s what is needed in this area. If you can come together collectively, and work in partnership to make sure it’s delivered, then the money can be mainstreamed through government.” But it never happened. Because if you do away with three organizations into one, then whose going to head the one?

Others point out that the control wielded by paramilitaries goes beyond subtle forms. Some factions of the UDA and UVF continue criminal enterprise and are involved periodically in political violence. As one respondent explains,

“paramilitaries have a huge influence over the communities still. And it depends on the area and the community. The East Belfast UVF are [sic] extremely prominent still, and are very rogue’. A nationalist from a cross-community youth organization claimed that “the UDA and UVF are on a recruiting program in Belfast,” and that many young people he works with have “connections to the UVF” and are vulnerable to recruitment.

Still others admit that some residents in working-class communities in which paramilitary vigilantism continues have a difficult time transitioning to a form of

179 criminal justice that they perceive as too slow in the judicial process and too often ineffective. Accordingly, such attitudes underscore (limited) support for vigilantism. Historically, this trend has been especially evident in nationalist communities, but not uncommon in loyalist areas, either. Several respondents note that fear and intimidation by paramilitaries explains their ongoing influence more than voluntary support within ‘their’ communities, while some suggest that some level of support does still remain (although how much is questionable). As a leading woman in reconciliation work comments, paramilitaries currently

get some but it wouldn’t be substantial. But the difficulty is, when there’s somebody in your street and you’ve got young children around, dealing drugs and you want it stopped and the police want evidence to arrest the person, that takes time and by the time they get the person through the criminal justice system, your kid could be on drugs. You remember a time where you can go to a person up the street, and say, “can you deal with this guy who’s dealing my kid drugs?” and it’s dealt with there and then, you can understand why a community might not want to go back where we were but still might want some justice as it was before. And justice through policing doesn’t seem as effective. I can fully understand, why. If I was a parent of a teenage child, I’d want somebody to do something about that guy.

The paramilitary control of neighborhoods such practices may facilitate undermines the capacity of the PSNI to increase their effectiveness in building cases and getting convictions, due to cultures of silence entrenched within neighborhoods which host loyalist paramilitary and dissident republican groups.

Such groups are thus able to continue illicit activities and recruiting of young people, putting them at greater risk of physical harm and formal labeling by the

180 criminal justice system, and facilitating paramilitaries’ capacities to promote political violence.

As discussed in chapter four, moreover, paramilitary elements have inserted themselves into the political apparatus through their influence in local loyalist communities when political tensions or threats to their interests emerge, bringing opportunities to further entrench their influence. When the initial rioting over the flags decision in December 2012 occurred, leaders in the loyalist ex-prisoner community were reported to have been present while Irish tricolor flags were burned during protests.79 Some of the same “community leaders,” such as, Jackie

McDonald and Billy Hutchinson, were later present in private talks with elected unionist officials regarding potential solutions to the loyalist violence.

Despite periodic violence undertaken by particular paramilitary elements, findings suggest that many ex-prisoners –some of which allegedly maintain ties with active paramilitary organizations –do much work in promoting improvements in the quality of life of both loyalist and nationalist residents. Yet in most cases such cooperation does not translate into goals of constructing “pluralistic” ideologies or building cross-community political alliances with the traditional ethno-religious Other. Historical, mutually-exclusive goals of republican and

79 Belfast Telegraph (December 5, 201); Belfast Telegraph (December 12, 2012) 181 loyalist (ex)paramilitaries remain intact even among those committed wholeheartedly to community cooperation around every day, “practical” issues.

Considering the peace-process is approaching the twenty-year milestone, this trend points to a potential limitation in its scope which is unlikely to be addressed by ex- prisoner/paramilitary leadership. Moreover, the persistence of a hyper-masculine culture underscoring, to some extent, the behaviors of this group restrict the scope of change participants will pursue, and silences the voices of potential contributors to socio-cultural and -political transformation.

Paramilitary Disenfranchisement, Unionist Betrayal, and the “Peace Consultancy

Industry”

Several respondents suggest that the creation of the particular “industry” in “peace consultancy” in Northern Ireland has made the peace process overly dependent, paradoxically, on the perpetuation of (pseudo) paramilitary organizations historically opposed to political compromise with the opposing community, and thus inherently restrictive of a more systemic transformation of the meaning of

“cross-community relations.” As one female respondent asked, rhetorically,

How long are we going to have ex-prisoners for? I’ve been involved in the women’s sector and rights for women. And the peace monies... they’re spending something like 6lb 25 on children and 3lb 20 on women and 120lb on ex-prisoners. You know, so they’re creating an industry for ex-prisoners… But also, are we talking about prisoners in general or are we talking about ex-paramilitary prisoners, because if the paramilitaries have gone away, how can we still have this ongoing industry of ex-prisoners, you know?

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A statement by another senior peace worker and activist suggests a similar discontent with the state of the peace process:

But there is some evidence that those who have previous paramilitary connections are involved in community work, are employed by a lot from public money, in anticipation that they will move away from being violent. The question is, is that money… [sic]? I think it’s important that that money is given, but I think maybe there needs to be more monitoring, more challenges associated with that money. You know, what have we had, 45 years? That’s two generations. We’ve had peace walls up for two generations. You know, Northern Ireland is the most heavily funded peace process with benign governments outside looking on in the world. And it still hasn’t succeeded. Several other respondents similarly indicate that components of the peace-process involving ex-prisoners have reached a point of stasis, and that the concerns of ex- prisoners have overshadowed those of other stakeholders in the peace process. One interviewee suggests that even issues of “dealing with the past” are framed too often in terms of ex-prisoners rather than other victims, “who have been shot and blown up” by their (former) organizations.

At the same time, the perpetuation of the master status as ex- prisoners/paramilitaries risks incentivizing the reproduction of hyper-masculine culture and ethnocentric political attitudes, while the formal labeling of political ex-prisoners convicted of violent offenses cuts them off from alternative channels of social mobility, exacerbating such a risk. As one prominent public commissioner concisely summarized,

When we signed the Good Friday Agreement, one of the conditions was terrorists were allowed to be released. The problem is the promise we made that they would be part of the solution wasn’t realized. Between 30,000 and 50,000 people are living here with a politically motivated violent conviction that hasn’t been wiped and they have to disclose it. Our Equality legislation allows an employer not to hire someone if they have a conviction for a 183

politically motivated offense involving violence… That means we have 50,000 people who can’t get passports in the main, or home insurance and life insurance. We’re now finding siblings are having troubles getting jobs… I think on the Republican side there has been a concerted effort to reintegrate those people who were fighting the war as there’s a different view of them. On the Unionist side, loyalist terrorists were seen as pariahs. And their politicians don’t want anything to do with them.

Although the interests of the ex-prisoner community have remained high priorities among European funders, interviews with UVF loyalist ex-prisoners do not indicate that they feel empowered by their agencies in the voluntary sector, as many might assume. The structural restrictions on social mobility and the contempt they perceive from the broader society and from unionist political elite are fostering senses of alienation and resentment toward mainstream unionism among loyalist ex- paramilitaries. Such trends risk influencing the latter to opt out of important grassroots peacekeeping and/or peacebuilding work, or even exploit positions in the community sector for personal interests. At the same time, the greater socio-political opportunities available for nationalist ex-prisoners, along with Sinn Fein’s growth in political power, are seen as symptomatic of the “siege” facing loyalism and concomitant threat of the ‘nationalist agenda,’ exacerbating loyalist’s sense of disillusionment and threat. One ex-UVF prisoner’s statement is a case in point:

When it comes to ex-prisoners, there’s a lot of disillusionment. Recently there was a fella elected in Coleraine. I read the headlines: ‘a loyalist elected: ex long-term UVF prisoner elected in Coleraine.’ They know who Martin McGuinness is. They know who is. They are all ex-IRA prisoners. But that’s not what they’re seen as. They’re seen as the peacemakers. But when a loyalist steps forward and comes out, even DUP shuns them out. When it suits them they help them out, and when it doesn’t suit you, you shun them… People around this table over the years have faced down their own people trying to stop trouble at parades and everything else. But I wouldn’t do it no more myself. Why should I? 184

Another ex-prisoner makes a similar point regarding the social exclusion of ex-prisoners via policies supported by unionist political elite:

If you go to any part of this country where there is a restorative justice program going on, there will be an ex-prisoner or ex-combatant leading the way in it –West Belfast, Derry, anywhere across this country. That’s how much ex-prisoners have stood up and actually rose above the bar. It’s okay; they get a pat on the back from the justice minister, who says ‘good work.’ But that’s the same people who can’t go to America with their families; who can’t get house insurance; who can’t adopt a child –all because of their political background. While claiming to be leading the peace-process, the rejection they feel from elected unionist officials undermines loyalist ex-prisoner’s faith in that very process. One loyalist ex-prisoner critical of the major unionist parties elaborated on this point:

It was part of the Good Friday Agreement that things would be happening for ex-prisoners. And nothing has happened. No ex-prisoners can get health insurance. Ex-prisoners can’t do a number of things… unless you’re an elected representative. But for a majority of ex-prisoners from republican or loyalist persuasion, there’s a lot that hasn’t been done. It’s mostly [because of] the DUP and the Ulster Unionists who see that as coming down strongly against the IRA. But they do it with a nod and a wink to their own community. “Don’t think we mean you. It may affect you, but we don’t really mean you.” Basically they don’t care.80

Incidentally, referral to the “Good Friday Agreement” –typically a title used only by

Catholics –by a loyalist suggests that there may, in certain senses, be acceptance of a

“shared society” and some degree of fluidity in political perspective. An increasing acceptance of ‘the Other’ –if only subtly –is also implied by the framing of former violent loyalist and republican offenders as comprising one “ex-prisoner community,” rather than in mutually-exclusive terms. Yet there is little evidence that such subtle signs

80 Personal interview with author, June 2014 185 of intercommunity alignment in thinking and discussing issues of peace and conflict translates into a more general acceptance or tolerance of ‘the Other’ throughout either community.

According to some, (ex)paramilitaries –with limited capacity to enter the official political arena and few options economically –received some level of support in their participation in the community sector by elected leaders in order to reduce the former’s anxiety about the future and prevent potential aggression. Apparently, Unionist politicians sought to continue appearing tough on “terrorists” for political gain, while attempting –albeit haphazardly –to appease the (ex)paramilitary community through tacit

(and limited) support of community-based projects. The contradictory approach of political elite substantively underscores loyalist mistrust of unionist politicians which –in turn –risks making tenuous ex-prisoner/paramilitary commitment to the broader peace process. For some respondents, it is not coincidental that the personal interest in the continuation of peace funding among (some) ex-prisoners –allegedly –takes as much or greater priority than actually effecting conflict transformation. Thus, for many, the results of ex-combatant reintegration via “community based restorative justice” have been ambiguous at best. Apparently, ex-prisoners are essentially given the message not to

join the political process, but you can apply for a bit of funding and you can start this community organization, so you’ve got a job and an income... And you know, when we look at the thousands and thousands of pounds that have been pumped into West Belfast, and we’re no better off... So what was that money doing all those years? You know, when we pumped all this money into community relations, and we still have young people doing racist attacks and sectarian attacks, then what was it doing? What was it achieving?

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Other respondents –including loyalist ex-prisoners involved in peacebuilding – describe a situation in which “peace monies” are regularly extorted by hardline elements that use the threat of violence to sustain a stream of revenue. Apparently, it is assumed that if authorities witness bouts of violence and disorder, the threat remains real and thus the services of ex-prisoners/paramilitaries in peacekeeping remain warranted. As one loyalist ex-prisoner maintains, “If other ones [paramilitaries] are seeing that violence is being rewarded, what incentive does that give them to stop the violence?” A community worker from the Short Strand area of East Belfast offers his own allegation of paramilitary extortion. He explains (ex)paramilitary participation in the voluntary sector as

A double-edged sword. I see some of them who are very positive, without a doubt. But I see others, who are called ‘community leaders’ who are agitators. They just do what the UVF tell them to do. So if the UVF tell them to send kids down to smash cars up, they will do it. In fact, I was talking with them one time, and said ‘since you’re saying kids are causing trouble because there’s sectarian squabbling and you’re getting no money into your community, why don’t we make a joint effort to get money into our communities in general?’ When it comes to it, they don’t go through with it. They think that by causing trouble at the interfaces, the British Government will pour more money into their communities. They will get a community worker and a paid job.

Incidentally, this statement, among others, reflects a dynamic that is seemingly taken for granted but nonetheless important: the very fact that a self-proclaimed hardline republican would be conversing with loyalist (ex)paramilitaries, who might have killed him twenty years prior, reflects evidence of the impressive depth

187 of conflict transformation that has occurred. At the same time, the marginal social locations occupied by ex-prisoners outside community-based projects, restricting access to alternative agencies, help shape counter-productive, self-interested practices and motivations to maintain status within the shadows of the political apparatus.

A nationalist respondent from North Belfast, working at a youth-focused, cross-community organization, similarly acknowledged that it was rumored that an ex-prisoner/paramilitary community leader in North Belfast organized attacks on a

Protestant estate to escalate talks over peace money. Ironically, one loyalist he implicated was the same identified by another respondent as an important person in grassroots-level peacebuilding. The same interviewee referred to loyalist leaders’ supposed tenuous promise each summer to monitor the behavior of loyalist crowds in order to obtain funding and state permission for sectarian bonfires. He asserts that “Protestants are paid 2500 pounds to have bonfires, as long as they don’t burn tires” or other toxic materials, “though they do anyways.” He goes on to argue that

“the loyalists want violence [at contentious summer events such as parades and bonfires]. People will throw money at them to stop it” –a view implied by others as well. The same person points to the same UDA leader discussed above, who was assaulted by others in the organization, as someone who is “better than the other

188 nut jobs” but nonetheless motivated by his position as a “community worker” for financial reasons and to maintain the legitimacy of the UDA.

The same respondent claims that a somewhat similar dynamic takes place in republican communities, in which “some guys keep dissident groups going to keep their [British] informant positions.” He also argues that because informers have become so embedded in the conflict, “they need to keep doing it so they’re not exposed” in addition to financial reasons. As far as he is concerned, moreover, “the

British continue to not take responsibility for their role in sustaining problems” by their continued support of informants.

Most respondents acknowledged some progress made by loyalist ex- prisoners and paramilitaries in turning away from violence and cooperating with nationalist leaders, but remain skeptical about whether this reflects a general trend within loyalism. Continuing racist and sectarian violence –albeit mostly “low- intensity” –and, more specifically, UVF-led rioting over flags and parades in 2013, confirmed widespread suspicion of the priorities of the ex-prisoner/paramilitary community. Without rationalizing aggressive behavior, it is important to acknowledge that ex-combatant influence occurs within broader contexts of exclusion over which neither they nor their broader working-class communities have much control. Such contexts include not only state policies targeting former combatants specifically, but the broader persistence of poverty and inopportunity in

189 the communities in which they reside, and which have historically experienced disproportionate sectarian and political violence. Respondents emphasize how poor conditions in working-class communities substantively impact the political mentalities and practices of (former) paramilitaries. Loyalists, for example, while elaborating on the deprivation experienced within their neighborhoods, espouse a belief that the largest unionist party exploits them:

The DUP doesn’t care about the working class community. They only care about us when it comes to getting the votes. They need to be coming in [to our communities]. They can ring us and say “there’s trouble...” Fine, we go. But if trouble goes on…, “it was your fault” or “you didn’t help it.”

According to another respondent, “people know that politicians aren’t interested in fixing things… [Purportedly] they’re more interested in bickering about things that doesn’t really matter… [like] the education of our children.”81 According to respondents who observe (ex)paramilitary activities from the outside, moreover, the deficit in services and opportunities for working-class Protestants actually sustains a bedrock for pseudo-paramilitary power. According to one respondent, because of the neglect of working-class communities from Unionist and British politicians

(discussed in the previous chapter), there is “a level of community support or at least acquiescence that allows them [(ex)paramilitaries] to be in that place [of community influence].”

81 For example, working-class Protestant males rank lowest in educational ‘achievement’ in Northern Ireland, while only Roma students rank below them in the UK as a whole (Nolan 2014). Such trends are just examples of a more general neglect of working-class communities in the province. 190

Lack of economic investment is commonly indicated as evidence of the failure of the peace process for working-class communities specifically, further underscoring ex-combatant skepticism about that process as well as their inclination to remain autonomous political and social actors. The marginalization of working-class communities, while helping maintain some extent of paramilitary influence in one sense, also more broadly compounds the social and political exclusion of ex-prisoners, who are also targeted by particular policies intended to permanently criminalize and stigmatize them. The fact that there “has been no peace dividend” in terms of economic and social development for the working classes –as put by several respondents from both ethno-religious communities – combined with their perceived unfair treatment by elected officials, helps intensify

(former) paramilitaries’ resolve in maintaining power and control on neighborhood levels independent, or in spite of, the state.

Issues of Policing and the Past

In the spring of 2014, Gerry Adams –President of the nationalist Sinn Fein party and presumed former Provisional IRA leader –was taken into custody by the PSNI in response to new allegations that he had ordered the murder of Jean McConville. The mother of ten was alleged to have been a British informant by the IRA in 1972 before she was “disappeared.” Adams’ arrest came after the PSNI had successfully subpoenaed

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Boston College to hand over confidential tapes of interviews with republican and loyalist ex-combatants regarding the history of the Troubles, referred to as the “Belfast Project.”

The tapes contained interviews with former IRA combatants implicating Adams as having ordered the execution of McConville. After four days of detention, the nationalist leader was released without charge.

Predictably, loyalists and republicans had much different interpretations of the event. The latter saw Adams’ arrest as evidence that those in command at the highest levels of criminal justice and security remain committed to defeating republicanism. One respondent, for example, commented that “I do believe that there had to be some sort of political thought going into the timing of that arrest, and the fact that he was arrested altogether.” Some from both communities also argued that the incident was “stage managed” by nationalist politicians and the police, reflecting a deep mistrust of the criminal justice system and “the state” more generally. A self-proclaimed “dissident republican” respondent expresses disillusionment with mainstream republican leadership:

“The barrel is rotten the whole way down… Gerry Adams timed that for publicity. He was never going to be charged in my opinion. The political capital they got out of that was huge.” He, like other republican respondents, elaborates on how their elected leaders

–who have historically supported a socialist Irish republican agenda –have recently sought to become a “catch-all party… [and] get rid of their baggage,” appealing increasingly to middle-class voters while having little impact on issues of poverty, 192 inequality and security. Referring to mainstream republican leadership, one respondent claims that “they’re happy to go along with the status quo,” and that the reformed police service remains “an imperial police force. The RUC is still there. MI5 run the show.”

Such beliefs are apparently common among working-class, “dissident republicans,” who feel betrayed by former IRA leaders. Such a dynamic can only reinforce anti-agreement politics while potentially sustaining the prospect of future political violence in

“protecting” their communities.

At the same time, loyalists saw the failure to charge Adams, and his denial of ever participating in the IRA, as indicative of a broader trend wherein deceitful nationalist strongmen increasingly control state institutions. Such a situation underscores a deepening of loyalist alienation from, and distrust of, the state, responses to which at times take the form of threats and uses of violence.

According to one loyalist ex-prisoner, the “supergrass system82 within this country… [is] being used mainly against loyalists.” At the same time, Gerry

Adams, who “led a bunch of thugs who murdered and bombed this place to smithereens for years… won’t admit it. So why deal with the past or even

[inaudible] No chance.” Loyalists have little interest in participating in any legal or political mechanism to deal with the past; since they interpret republicans as

82 “Supergrasses” refers to trials based on the testimony of informers from within the organizations under investigation. 193 wielding increasing control over the state, loyalists interpret that their participation will contribute to legitimizing and furthering a republican agenda. Resistance to comprehensively dealing with the past is thus partly rooted in a determination to neutralize republican domination and exercise their own power over-against the historical Other. Of course, resistance to processes of truth and reconciliation is also due to their desire to stay out of prison, as prospects of prosecution remain a threat, further underscoring their interests in maintaining local autonomy from institutions of the state. For example, one respondent discussed plans for a former UVF perpetrator “to stand in court and identify certain individuals. So for some they think ‘what’s the point of us trying to get out of conflict if we’re going to end up back in jail?’”

Loyalist’s perceive supposed favorable treatment of republicans by state bodies as evidence of expanding nationalist power. Two ex-prisoners, for example, explain how

“IRA” elements had responded to Adams’ arrest by essentially extorting the criminal justice system, threatening to withdraw nationalist support for policing –and thus the peace-process –if Adams was not released without charge. Their claims are not unfounded, moreover.83 Threats of elected leaders to withdraw from institutions which

83 See the online Daily Mail article, ‘Peace Process in danger as Sinn Fein threatens to withdraw support for the police as detectives are given another two days to quiz Gerry Adams,’ http://www,dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2618479/Are-going-come-bullet-head-Well-know-I-live- 194 are foundational to the peace process when police target “their” community has been documented on both sides of the ethno-political divide,84 reflecting a broader politics of domination. One loyalist ex-prisoner elaborated on how republican ex-prisoners engage in similar practices, including threats of violence. According to one respondent, when

Gerry Adams was being questioned

on the murder of Jean McConville… [republicans] put the mural [of Adams] on the wall [in west Belfast]. And it just so happens that that mural overlooked the area where that woman was taken from. Now that wasn’t done by accident. A different loyalist respondent describes his experience during a republican protest over

Adams’ arrest, which reaffirmed his suspicion that

Sinn Fein, the IRA, has power over the police. It’s all based on the idea that, if we don’t get our own way, we’ll walk out. You see on the banners, when they had the protest by the mural of Gerry Adams on the Falls road, that if they don’t let him out the peace process would be in big trouble. One of the head men of the IRA stood up… and turned around and said “We still haven’t gone away, you know.” So what does that tell people within my community? They’re still there. According to another loyalist respondent,

the government, the justice system, it sees the Protestant community as the lesser of two evils, and easier to control… And this is the reason why you’re seeing…the police brutality against Protestant people. Loyalists also refer to examples of more general police bias against them and leniency given to serious republican offenders as justifications for their mistrust of any formal procedures in dealing with the past, and more general

Daughter-mother-ten-abducted-WILL-tell-police-killed-says-Gerry-Adams-involved.html (accessed April 15, 2016). 84 For example, see the online BBC News article, ‘Peter Robinson quit threat over IRA Hyde Park bomb case,’ www..com/news/uk-northern-ireland-26352967 (accessed April 15, 2016). 195 distrust of the state. The following statement by one loyalist respondent is a case in point:

In the past year we’ve had at least a couple hundred [loyalist] grown men go through the courts, and most of them now find themselves in jail… So how are these young men going to feel when they’re released? What job prospects do they have? Continually to the present day we are watching republicans go through the courts, who were found with guns. They get a suspended sentence, fines, community service. Nobody can tell me that we’re imagining this great big conspiracy against us. Elaborating on a similar point, another loyalist ex-prisoner implies that the influence of his paramilitary network remains –framing the comment as a warning –when stating that

“until there’s change [in policing of loyalist communities] there’s never going to be any strong community relations, with republicans or police.”

As objective measures suggest that impartiality in policing has improved (see

Nolan 2014), perceptions on the ground in working-class loyalist and republican communities remain skeptical; ironically, both feel that ‘the state’ is out to get them at the expense of the Other. For working-class loyalist and republican ex-prisoners –including those involved in cross-community initiatives –the new post-conflict society has little interest in their inclusion. Such a mentality is especially prevalent in loyalist communities, compounded by the ongoing threat of prosecution for past offenses and the perceived impunity given to their republican counterparts. Loyalist mentalities of impending loss are underscored in part by perceived experiences of police discrimination and the concomitant burgeoning of nationalist power, signified by the aftermath of

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Adams’ arrest, among other incidents. At the same time, some republican ex-prisoners and “dissidents” feel similarly “left behind by the so-called peace process” –as put by one such respondent –reflected by the supposed tacit complicity of elected nationalist leadership in the persistence of poverty and “imperial policing.” Such mentalities compound the commitment of (former) paramilitaries in both communities –and loyalists especially –in maintaining organizational autonomy and control on local, neighborhood levels, in order to exert power and protect themselves and their communities from what are perceived as prejudicial coercive powers of the state.85

Conclusion

In summary, data suggests that such contradictory implications of ex-combatants’ agencies is underscored by their exclusion from legitimate channels of mobility and dependence on positions in peacebuilding and paramilitaries for income and status; weak incentive for reconciliation and dealing with the past; the persistence of hyper-masculine culture and traditional, ethno-political ideologies; and mistrust of mainstream ethno- political elite. The social exclusion of ex-combatants and their more general lack of legitimacy (Mitchell 2008) helps sustain their political disaffection, and further underscores the importance of cultures of paramilitarism and “non-violent masculinities”

85 Issues of dealing with the past and ex-combatant mistrust of the state is examined with more depth in the following chapter. 197

(Ashe 2009) in their efforts to maintain power and control on neighborhood levels. At the same time, the broader neglect by elected officials in both the provincial and British governments of the broader working-class neighborhoods in which ex-combatants generally reside, and which have been historically most affected by violent conflict, compounds their determination to maintain autonomy in order to protect “their” communities.

Findings illustrate how ex-prisoners and paramilitaries serve both productive and disruptive functions for the socio-political stability of peace in Northern Ireland. Ex- paramilitary prisoners –including those still holding hardline loyalist ideologies – consistently show genuine effort in facilitating cross-community cooperation and assisting both loyalist and republican communities in every day, qualify-of-life matters.

The same group has also been pivotal in implementing and sustaining important cross- community peacekeeping mechanisms at interface locations, reducing threats of sectarian violence, and shown sincere commitment to at-risk youth initiatives. Importantly, however, the transformation of traditional loyalist and republican ideologies is rarely an objective sought by either ex-prisoner community. In this sense, to some extent, findings justify skepticism among Edwards and McGrattan, among others, about the positive potential of ex-prisoner/paramilitary-led peacebuilding. Their contention that funding community organizations run by ex-prisoners “replicates societal divisions” and reflect

“ethno-social power structures of paramilitarism” is, to some extent, supported by my

198 research (Edwards and McGrattan 2013:352). Moreover, the bureaucratic structure of peace funding limits room for innovation and reproduces both inter- and intra-community competition over resources. Such competition risks counter-acting cooperation and restricting innovative approaches to community-based social reconstruction, while simultaneously reconstituted segregated social structures and institutions. Yet dynamics of competition in such respects are also underscored by other dynamics, including

(former) paramilitaries’ socio-political marginalization and embedded cultures of both violent and non-violent masculinity.

(Ex)paramilitaries tend to rely on the voluntary sector for income and social status, which is largely a result of their formal exclusion from employment, social entitlements, and travel. Moreover, the capacity to obtain elected party positions is weak for loyalists in particular due to their stigmatization from across communities –unlike their republican counterparts. Ethno-political elites, by excluding ex-prisoners from legitimate institutions, ensure not only the reliance of the latter on peacebuilding and community leadership positions for income and social status, but also sustains the very paramilitary networks to which they are variably linked, and thus the capacity – paradoxically –to disrupt broader peacebuilding processes. Former and current paramilitaries remain both “inside” and “outside” the political apparatus, deprived of formal channels of social status; hence, such status remains contingent on sustaining

199 paramilitary networks and their strategic place in the “peace consultancy industry.”

Somewhat paradoxically, as several respondents acknowledge, being a former paramilitary prisoner has become, in itself, a qualifying rationale for participation in community-based initiatives. Yet their over-dependency on the voluntary sector raises the incentive for (ex)paramilitaries to sustain the very need for their “peace work,” which may be effectively communicated to state authorities and external funders through extortion and violence.

Hence, the over-reliance on employment in the community sector, in addition to their entrenchment within hyper-masculine cultures and sustained commitment to historical ethno-political objectives, will likely obstruct the maturation of the peace process even if ex-combatants remain generally opposed to sectarian violence. In this sense, a turn to “non-violent reconstituted masculinities” (Ashe 2009:306) do not necessarily correspond to a deepening cross-community trust or political alliance.

Motivations in seeking or maintaining status are underscored fundamentally by hyper- masculine cultures specific to working-class communities, inextricably linked with ethnocentric ideologies and traditions, and sought through practices in the re- entrenchment of paramilitary power and control on neighborhood levels. The class- specific, cultural motivations in this sense thus vary on a continuum between

“militarized” and “non-violent” masculinities, and underscored by the social marginalization of ex-prisoners and working-class communities more generally.

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Moreover, the “limits of legitimacy” are experienced by ex-prisoners as much in respect to their exclusion from basic social entitlements as in terms of denial of acknowledgement for their roles in the conflict. Ex-prisoners cite their inability to work, travel and adopt children, and discrimination experienced even by their family members as evidence of their exclusion from “civil society” in general, rather than from either

“unionist” or “nationalist” communities. In some instances, ex-prisoners are often discussed as a single group, implying that some extent of recognition of former enemies as legitimate political actors exists. Yet simultaneous, counter-acting dynamics nonetheless contribute to the reproduction of ethno-political divisions which often trump

(subtler) signs of shared interests and identities among ex-combatants.

Moreover, whereas Sinn Fein officials come from, and remain embedded within, working-class communities,86 the detachment of middle-class unionist elite from working-class loyalist communities produces a power vacuum and need for leadership on local levels which (ex)paramilitary “community leaders” strategically move in to fill. At the same time, the persistent polarization between middle-class unionism and working- class loyalism only adds to the latter’s sense of marginalization, possibly contributing to the feeling among ex-prisoners and paramilitaries who reside in the latter communities that they must remain self-reliant and take precaution against potential threats from both

86 However, as discussed in the previous chapter, several respondents explain how there is a significant number in the republican community who feel Sinn Fein politicians are “selling out” to Britain in exchange for a secure place in government, abandoning the historical trajectory of . 201 nationalism and unionist state betrayal (Rolston 2006:668-69). Thus, at different levels, they are simultaneously marginalized and empowered, producing a condition that proves detrimental when political tensions or perceived threats to the (ex)paramilitary and/or broader working-class loyalist communities emerge, increasing the risk of violence.

As results show, subjectivities of both ex-prisoner respondents and others engaged in the peace sector correspond –to some extent –to “a Weberian vision of the dominant state” (Edwards and McGrattan 2011:366), impacting their ethno-political ideologies and practices. Perceived (and real) state hostility toward the ex-prisoner community exacerbates resentment and hardens their resolve to remain self-reliant and in control of ‘their’ communities. Notwithstanding the assumptions of those who see the state as inherently embedded within local communities, and more capable than the voluntary sector in leading in reconstruction, respondents perceive many public officials deciding policy –or “the state” –as largely responsible for the persistence of sectarian division via their supposed neglect of both ex-prisoner and broader working-class interests. This is a trend rooted, in part, in historical ideologies of loyalism and the persistence of a “siege mentality” and mistrust of both nationalism and unionist and

British political elite (Shirlow 2012). Yet contemporary loyalist paranoia is not unfounded. Because ex-combatants are the “most visible concentration of everything that people feel about the conflict,” including resentment and blame, political discourse surrounding “prisoner release and reintegration is one that tends to highlight and

202 exacerbate the differences between the dominant ideologies” of opposing ethno-political groups, and is symptomatic of the “struggle to resolve these differences in a common vision of the future” (Gormally 2001:6, cited in Mitchell 2008:2). For example, according to loyalist ex-prisoners I interviewed, Unionist politicians support exclusionary policies in order to target “the IRA” while accepting that loyalist ex-prisoners are also impacted in similar, detrimental ways. Such a trend is not coincidental to the ideological and historical differences between the mainstream Unionist and Nationalist parties: while the former have historically kept arms-length distance from armed combatants and are overwhelmingly middle-class, the latter are comprised largely of former IRA insurgents.

Due to corresponding, disparate perceptions of ex-prisoners from within the two communities, the criminalization of ex-prisoners intends to serve one set of ethno- political parties (Unionists) over the other (Nationalists). The disenfranchisement of ex- prisoners is an example of an attempt to institutionalize power of one ethno-political bloc and give it “moral grounding” (Mitchell 2008:2) over-against claims of legitimacy by

“the Other.” In this sense, ex-prisoners have served as pawns in a zero-sum ethno- politics, and they are aware of it (see also Shirlow 2012).

Finally, as proposed by Shirlow and colleagues, the “lack of a comprehensive mechanism for dealing with the past” does “create an imperative to engage critically with former terrorist “community involvement”’ (Edwards and McGrattan 2011:363). Yet this is largely due to ex-prisoner mistrust and alienation, which must eventually be placated

203 by voluntary actors and, less commonly, the very state officials who show questionable leadership on such issues. It is the very lack of state action on reconciliation and the past

–discussed in the following chapter –as well as poverty and cultures of hyper-masculinity that sustains the power and control of “ex-terrorists.”

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CHAPTER 5: DEALING WITH (DENIAL OF) THE PAST

Introduction

For residents across Northern Ireland, the past and present remain intimately intertwined in psychosocial (re)constructions of truth and blame. Nearly every day during my stay in

Belfast, there were newspaper reports about a past murder or bombing incident from the

Troubles, and related complications in the administration of justice. Regardless of whether victims of a particular incident were loyalist or republican, a common theme in the reports I retrieved indicate an intentional avoidance on the part of police in uncovering evidence that could lead to prosecutions. Moreover, depending on whom I spoke with –nationalists/republicans or unionists/ loyalists –it was clear that the bases of mistrust of police were rooted in reconstructions of the past, with reference to persistence of an “old element of the RUC” or to the burgeoning of nationalist power, respectively.

In one case, “a solicitor for the family of a man shot dead by the British army more than 40 years ago has voiced concern about continued police delays in producing documents… [T]he PSNI have [sic] not been forthcoming with disclosure in many legacy cases.”87 In another example, a 2014 report in The Irish News notes that “the mother of a

Co Armagh teenager shot dead by loyalists almost 20 years ago is to take legal action against police for failing to property investigate the case.” The teen was one victim of a

87 The Irish News (May 20, 2014), 8. 205 double killing by a UVF killer and M15 agent alleged to have been responsible for up to twelve murders. In the newspaper report, the mother is quoted as saying “I am not afraid of M15 –the police… I am not afraid of the UVF. Nobody can hurt me any more than I am already hurt.”88

Cases that reflect mistrust of police investigations of past violence are almost too numerous to list. In another, a brother of a man killed in the 1974 UVF bombing of the

Rose and Crown pub is quoted saying he, unlike most other victims’ families he knows, is “not interested in anybody doing time… But I do struggle with the fact that during the police interviews, they did not divulge the names of the UVF men who planned and organized the bombing,” which was carried out by two 16 year-old boys. He “feel[s] that if we are going to move on from the past, that needs to happen.”89 With respect to the most lethal bombings of the Troubles –the Dublin and Monaghan bombings by loyalists, which killed a combined 34 people and wounded nearly 300 more –one report suggests that British and Unionist authorities are incapable of “allowing the full facts of the dreadful events of 1974 to be established.”90 Apparently, doing so would risk implicating possible British complicity. Moreover, investigations which target the specific UVF persons responsible could lead to similar bouts of loyalist rioting as occurred in 2010 and

88 The Irish News (May 16, 2014), 6 89 (May 17, 2014), 22 90 The Irish News (May 20, 2014), 18 206

2011 in response to Historical Enquiries Team (HET) investigations of other UVF murders.91 The hesitation of authorities to comprehensively examine killings of Catholics by loyalists and security forces in other cases led to small payouts to some families.92 In

2014, the police Ombudsman –an independent actor responsible for enforcing police accountability –launched legal action against the PSNI for “having stalled” in their investigations into deaths from the Troubles.93 The PSNI responded by saying that their decision in many cases to not disclose information related to such deaths is due to their need to “fulfill… legal obligations with the primary consideration being that of protecting life.”94 Efforts by authorities to remain silent about the names of alleged former terrorists are often justified by the priority of preventing retaliations which could threaten the peace process.

Indeed, according to my ethnographic observations and interviews, many unionists and nationalists tend to agree with one general viewpoint, namely, that the

“bitterness between the main groups over legacy issues has been steadily growing, and is strangling any prospect… [of] mov[ing] away from a dysfunctional stalemate at

Stormont.”95 Such examples illuminate the fragile structure upon which the peace process

91 Belfast Telegraph (June 21, 2011) 92 The Irish News (May 21, 2014), 4 93 The Irish News (June 4, 2014), 10 94 Belfast Telegraph (June 4, 2014), 2 95 The Irish News (May 26, 2014), 18. 207 in Northern Ireland is based, and the contradictory responsibilities put on the police in balancing enforcement of the law with maintaining relative political stability. As Sisson

(2007:2) explains, “As a societal process, dealing with the past involves a number of different approaches and instruments, which at times may seem to be based on antithetical, even contradictory principles –the pursuit of ‘peace,’ ‘justice,’ ‘truth,’ and

‘clemency’…” This chapter of the dissertation shows how ethno-political contentions which escalate as a result of the pursuit of such “contradictory principles” by criminal justice authorities are inextricably linked with the inability –or unwillingness –of elected leaders to resolve long-standing resentments over trauma of the past. Utilizing a critical, social constructivist framework, the chapter builds on previous studies (Beristain 2007;

Musemwa 1995; Edwards and McGrattan 2011; McGrattan 2014; Sisson 2007; Gagnon

2004; Hamber and Wilson 2002; Payne 2004) of processes in (post) conflict societies more generally wherein unresolved, contested issues of the past are appropriated in discourses and practices geared toward maintaining or restructuring relations of political and social domination. In addition to the interviews, the author undertakes critical discourse analysis96 of the newspaper reports from the UK and Republic of Ireland about contentious events in Northern Ireland linked with unresolved issues of the past and policing. The articles examined for this chapter focus specifically on the 2014 arrest of

96 The author follows a critical discourse methodology detailed in T.A. van Dijk, “Discourse as Interaction in Society,” ed, T. A. van Dijk, Discourse Studies: A Multidisciplinary Introduction, volume 2 (Newbury Park, CA: Goodyear, 1997). 208 nationalist leader Gerry Adams, and the 2013 “Haass Talks” which failed to reconcile

Unionist and Nationalist interests over parading, flags and “dealing with the past.” The analysis identifies discursive and political processes through which the past is reconstructed in attempts at reconstituting and/or restructuring power relations in the present, and identifies dynamics and discourses which help explain why greater efforts to resolve disputes over the past in Northern Ireland have not occurred, and why those that do occur, ultimately falter.

Policing Politics and the Politicization of Policing

In addition to the more traditional policing responsibilities, the PSNI has also inherited by de fault the literal responsibility of policing the past. Like most post-conflict societies, most murders from the height of violent conflict in Northern Ireland remain unresolved, putting the police in a contradictory position. Prosecutions often come with significant risks of exacerbating former combatants’ alienation from the peace process and their potential return to hostile political behaviors. The Historical Enquires Team (HET) –a unit of the PSNI charged with investigating murders during the Troubles, set up in 2005 – had only two successful prosecutions up to 2014, both of loyalists (Nolan 2014:56).

Moreover, disparities between the relatively low numbers of military and police killings reviewed in comparison to republican and loyalist cases led republicans to accuse the

HET of being “too soft on state violence” (Marijan and Brennan 2014; see also Nolan

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2014:56-57). At the same time, “Unionist politicians criticized the police for focusing on past loyalist violence while ignoring republican crime.” Unionist elected officials referred in one instance to the initiation of an investigation into the notorious 1972 killing of 14

Catholic civilians by British soldiers on “Bloody Sunday,” when citing “‘the perversity at the heart of dealing with the past,’ where old and retired soldiers will be prosecuted while former republican combatants will evade investigations into [their] historical crimes”

(Marijan and Brennan 2014).

The contradictory responsibilities given to the criminal justice system in “dealing with the past” and enforcing the law undermines the development of a “human rights” approach to policing, advocated by many academics and NGOs across post-conflict societies. Put simply, such an approach is mainly geared toward equality in treatment of individuals regardless of their ethno-religious or -political identities and histories, and with appropriate oversight bodies, codes of conduct, and independent accountability procedures (O’Neil 2005). Brian Gormally, director of Northern Ireland’s Commission on the Administration of Justice, explains the “goal” of such an approach as moving

toward a[n individual] rights-based society, which includes equality and in general, a situation where a set of standards which are actually international standards, not specific to Northern Ireland, can be a way of resolving disputes and giving people confidence in social and political institutions. So, we would argue that reconciliation can only be possible on the basis of equality otherwise its dominance and subservience. Unless you’ve got a clear equality of treatment, how can you have reconciliation?97

97 Interview with the author, May 2014, Belfast. 210

Without individuals –including leaders –from both sides being treated equally under the law, perceptions of persecution by the state might become increasingly acute among one community or the other –or, in this case, both –threatening development in peacebuilding.

It is unclear, moreover, whether an objective increase in police impartiality will ultimately lead to reconciliation. According to my research, political dynamics geared toward the “dominance” of one ethno-political bloc and “subservience” of the other –as termed by Gormally –remain at the forefront of Northern Ireland’s politics. Doubtless, a human rights approach to policing is ideal; however, when perpetrators of violence hold some degree of legitimacy in state positions (such as former IRA combatants in Sinn

Fein), or even at more local, informal levels (such as, former loyalist paramilitaries), concerns of stability are inherently linked with balancing the ethno-political interests of both communities which continue –paradoxically –to be framed in mutually exclusive or zero sum terms. In such a political context, in which unresolved debates about policing are inherently linked with contentions about the past, and periodically put at the center of public discourse, the police force itself is responsible for monitoring the situation and – also paradoxically –tacitly facilitating the very process of their politicization. To do otherwise would risk the potential of greater fallout in the political stability of power sharing, and the potential for violence. In the longer term, though, such cautious policing practices risk unintentionally undermining efforts toward the separation of state powers 211 critical for greater democratic transition, and reducing public trust in the police and –by extension –“the state.” (O’Neil 2005).

Moreover, in such political contexts in which inconvenient truths are repressed by the state and motivations of retribution among victims are ignored, “those who suffered violence are re-silenced, re-marginalized, and displaced from political discourse”

(McGrattan 2014:390; see also Hamber and Wilson 2002; Payne 2004), contributing to

“traumatic recurrence” (Levi 2010:12). Too often, as a result of the contradictory imperatives of policing approaches geared toward security on one hand, and “truth” and

“justice” on the other, victims feel that their interests take a backseat to those of perpetrators and political leaders. As McGrattan (2014:390) elaborates,

Victims of violence, then, are at risk from suffering under the presumption that a line can be drawn under the past or from pressure to conform to the societal imperative to “move on” for the sake of stability in the present and prosperity in the future. In post-conflict situations with clear winners and losers and in which authoritarian regimes had monopolized the mass killing of civilians –such as, Nazi Germany –coming to terms with the past has relatively clear moral implications for society as a whole (see

Adorno 2003); the cause of injury is generally understood in similar ways across the different groups. On the contrary; in societies emerging from intractable, intra-state, ethno-political and sectarian conflict, finding common ground in interpretations of the

(im)moralities of past violence is particularly difficult and, in most instances, rare. In such political contexts, there is little potential for the “assimilation of memory,” or the 212 construction of a shared, collective understanding of past crimes (Beristain 2007:36), evidenced in examples from Guatemala, Bosnia-Herzegovina, and elsewhere (Sisson

2007; McGrattan 2014).

In Northern Ireland in particular, the uncertain constitutional future of the province and ongoing risk of prosecution for ex-paramilitaries minimize the likelihood that polarized political and community leaders will engage systematically in dealing with issues of the past on their own (see, for example, Rolston 2006). In her study of South

Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, Ross (1997:10) suggests that formal mechanisms of truth telling enables “a process of shifting a new framework of description and definition into place, creating, if not a cohesive narrative of past pain, then at least the beginnings of a framework within which moralities can be placed and debated.”98 Without such a mechanism, lack of open debate about the legitimacy of particular ethno-political moralities mean that the multiple and sometimes contradictory meanings encased within each community’s ideological place remain closed off to “the

Other.” Consequently, the potential of developing cross-cutting ideologies and political interests is minimized, and mutual mistrust and ignorance are likely to persist, only exacerbating long-standing resentments. Reconstructions of memories which implicitly

98 There has been an increase in criticism of the relative lack of efficacy of truth commissions, however. See Payne (2004) and Hamber and Wilson (2002), for example. 213 dichotomize experience into “us” and “them” categories are integral in processes of socio-political domination.

Analytical Framework: Social Memory, Framing and Dynamics in Political and

Social Domination

Work in social memory studies has illustrated how particular interpretations of the past impact social agencies, and how individuals and groups actively reconstruct memories in ways which help them make meaning of the present (Schwartz 1991). In Olick and

Levy’s (1997) study of post-Holocaust politics in Germany, they illustrate how politicians use the past to pursue particular interests, but are also constrained by the cultural and moral imperatives it underscores. Ethno-political leaders in divided societies are unlikely to engage wholeheartedly with new interpretations of the past which challenge the fundamental bases of their long-standing claims to political and moral superiority throughout the conflict. Doing so would risk them being alienated from their respective communities, who still feel victimized by legacies of violence. “Political leaders’ abilities to make compromises and embrace new initiates are enabled or limited by the legitimacy they derive from their constituencies, which may fear their traditions and sense of identity are under threat” (Smithey 2011:25). Political elite are not in complete control in reconstructions of social memory and identity, then; rather, the

“political opportunity structures” which encase “cultural access points” are especially

214 contracted in polarized societies, in which the “discursive field” is itself largely split along ethno-religious or -political lines (Ferree et al. 2002:62). At the same time, though

–as this study suggests –political leaders do not only pander in this respect, but are proactive in shaping discourse in conscious and often self-serving ways. In fact, such discursive strategies might be especially likely because of the restrictive nature of the ethno-cultural access points available in connecting leaders and their respective, polarized communities; leaders’ disputes over blame for the past help reconstitute among polarized groups the same ethnic or religious solidarities they invoke.

Mead (1959) argues that particular understandings of the past persist in relation with the needs and objectives of the present. Attention to how the past is reconstructed is thus useful in analyses which intend to identify subtle yet important dynamics of power and domination inherent in discursive processes. Quoting Pocock (2009:126), McGrattan

(2014:392) notes how “[d]isinterested historiography is possible only in stable societies, where the present is fortified by means other than the writing of histories.” In polarized societies, on the contrary, the “writing of histories” or representation of the past is itself fundamental to attempts at political and social domination. Power is inherent in discourse, and a prevailing knowledge is always dependent not only on what is included within discursive representations, but also on what is excluded from them (Foucault

1977).

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For example, Zerubavel (1995) describes how Palestinians have been ultimately erased from memories of the Israeli landscape through ethno-nationalist discourse, shaping interpretations of the past in ways which constitute or legitimate current political strategies of exclusion and domination. In Northern Ireland, IRA murals and literature frame their violence as morally necessary, anti-imperialist, and non-sectarian –as the bravery of underdogs fighting one of the world’s most powerful militaries (Elliot 2009).

Such perspectives were echoed in the author’s conversations with one former high-level

IRA man, and other nationalists affiliated with the broader Sinn Fein movement.

Different respondents explain how unionists tend to receive much criticism for not recognizing the systemic oppression of Catholics throughout the Twentieth Century which led –in part –to escalations of violence. Yet they also acknowledge that nationalists are similarly guilty of misrepresenting the past by excluding inconvenient truths. One

Catholic respondent interviewed by the author, for example, referred to the IRA “fish shop bombing” on the which killed several innocent people –including an infant – when suggesting that republicans, too, engaged in explicitly sectarian crimes. In an additional example, Shirlow (2012) documents the ideological transgressions of loyalists from the UVF, who demonstrate sophisticated re-interpretations of their histories of violence through critical lenses, implicating unionist political leadership as much as republican threat in previous loyalist escalations of mass violence. In

Zerubavel’s (1995) study from Israel, moreover, memories which exclude recognition of

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Palestinians have also been challenged by those intending to promote more inclusive discourses and political practices. The aforementioned examples reflect, importantly, how dominant discourses promoted by political elite and other powerful actors are subject to counter interpretations which challenge one-sided or incomplete social memories. As

Gamson (1992) suggests, any given frame implicitly contains a counter-frame. Analyses which inherently recognize the power of discourse in these respects, and the

(re)production of memory and politics it entails, will be especially likely to identify how representations of the past are reconstructed in efforts at social control and domination, as well as “resistance.”

Drawing on discourse analysis of newspaper reports and interviews, the remainder of this chapter examines how recent, controversial events in Northern Ireland, linked with unresolved issues of the past and ongoing problems of policing, reflect processes through which the past is reconstructed in attempts at reconstituting –or restructuring –power relations in the present. More generally, the chapter identifies dynamics and discourses which help explain why greater efforts to resolve disputes over the past have not occurred, and why those that do occur, ultimately falter. Frankly, similar to issues of parades and ex-prisoner scapegoating, disputes over policing and the past reflect additional dynamics in the broader efforts of elected leaders –and former

“terrorists” –toward extending their respective mechanisms of ethno-political domination.

Findings also illustrate how the detrimental consequences of the contradictory police 217 responsibilities of justice and security are exacerbated by such mechanisms, undermining intercommunity consensus on issues of policing and the past, and hindering public confidence in “the state.”

The Murder of Jean McConville and Arrest of Gerry Adams, 2014

In the spring of 2014, Gerry Adams –President of Sinn Fein and presumed former

Provisional IRA leader –was taken into custody by the PSNI in response to new allegations that he had ordered the murder of Jean McConville. The mother of ten was alleged to have been a British informant by the IRA in 1972 before she was

“disappeared” the same year. Adams’ arrest came after the PSNI had successfully subpoenaed Boston College to hand over confidential tapes of interviews with republican and loyalist ex-combatants about their histories in the Troubles, referred to as the “Belfast

Project.” The tapes contained interviews with former IRA combatants implicating Adams as having ordered the execution of McConville. Well known republicans, such as,

Delores Price, , and Richard O’Rawe –among others –were recorded in interviews implicating Adams in McConville’s death. Before his impending death,

Brendan Hughes –a close friend of Adams during the Troubles, and prominent IRA gunman –resented him following the discovery that Adams had secretly cooperated with

British officials while the violence of the Troubles was ongoing, and after witnessing

Adams’ denial of ever participating in the IRA.

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After Hughes’ death in 2008, the tapes of his interview were aired on a documentary about the Troubles, “Voices from the Grave.” After the PSNI discovered that additional statements from former members implicating IRA leaders in McConville’s murder were available in the recordings, they successfully subpoenaed Boston College to hand over the tapes, despite the confidentiality agreement that the interviews would not be released until after the deaths of those who participated. O’Rawe, among others, experienced intimidation following the publicity of the investigation. Around his home in west Belfast, various graffiti could be found branding him and others who gave statements on the tapes as “touts” –a derogatory term for informants.99 The controversy over Adams’ arrest and subsequent release without charge temporarily brought ongoing tensions within Northern Ireland back to the global headlines, while heightening debate within the province about the importance of “dealing with the past” and the contention over whose past should be at the forefront of public concern.

Predictably, loyalists and republicans had much different interpretations of the event. The latter generally saw Adams’ arrest as evidence that those in command at the highest levels of criminal justice and security remain committed to defeating republicanism and exercising revenge against those responsible for Irish republican

99 Belfast Telegraph (May 13, 2014), 6 219 terrorism. Elected Sinn Fein official describes how her constituency sees Adams’ arrest as

an attack on democracy and an attack on the peace process… They are questioning how come the British Government has been negotiating with Gerry Adams for 20 years and then they arrest him now –it’s truly bizarre.100 A former IRA leader argues that “British romance with unionists is rekindling,” and is not coincidental to the timing of Adams’ detention.101 Jude Collins, a Catholic journalist, suggests that the Jean McConville case has been a consistent topic of media focus because it has “potential for political damage of Sinn Fein.” Not coincidentally, according to him, the murder of Joan Connolly, “a mother of eight, [who] was shot in the back by British Paratroopers in Ballymurphy a year before the abduction of Jean

McConville… [has not] been kept in the headlines for the past forty years.”102 By invoking the case of Connolly, this response exemplifies a common trend wherein those representing one ethno-religious group point to evident hypocrisies of the other, while ignoring their own. For any discussion of a republican or loyalist murder is immediately neutralized by respective reference to a crime by “the state” or IRA. Thus frames and counter-frames do not generally cut-across ethno-political and -cultural lines; the counter to each frame is typically rooted in the ideological “space” of the Other. Although republican responses are examined here, loyalists and unionists reflect a similar dynamic

100 The Irish News (May 17, 2014) 101 Interview with author (May 15, 2014) 102 North Belfast News (May 10, 2014), 12 220

(documented below). Another Catholic respondent suggests that Adams’ arrest is just another example of the deficit in justice supposedly experienced by nationalists, and the

“hypocritical” behavior of the British government. To make his point, the republican cites the absence of any comprehensive investigation into the in 1971, in which British troops killed several Catholic civilians who breached the curfew imposed at that time. Numerous other examples from my conversations with Catholics reflect the same phenomenon, with few exceptions. Such observations do indicate that the

British government has been ambiguous, inconsistent and haphazard in its approach in investigating atrocities of the Troubles. The 2010 public apology for the Bloody Sunday massacre of Catholic civilians by British soldiers and the subsequent arrest of one of the paratroopers involved suggests that they do have the capacity to push investigations and prosecutions forward it they so choose. Yet such initiatives have been exceptional, and have followed neither a transparent nor consistent model. Moreover, little evidence suggests that Westminster has maintained a comprehensive effort to promote solutions to unresolved disputes over the past more generally by providing sufficient incentives for the main unionist and nationalist parties to negotiate an agreed framework or holding those parties accountable for their failure to do so. Because of the British government’s lack of transparency and consistency in its approach toward dealing with the past, and the responsibility for security issues still resting with the secretive British security agency

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MI5, both unionists and nationalists feel validated in their claims of persecution. The fallout over the arrest of Gerry Adams is only one of many cases in point.

Reflecting a similar point made by other republican participants, one commented on how the arrest of the Sinn Fein president was based on academically flawed research, which “was always sort of a get Gerry Adams project anyway.” According to Adams himself, the “so-called Belfast Project was conceived by Paul Bew, a former advisor to

UUP leader …” The project was run by Ed Moloney and Anthony

McIntyre103, two “opponents of Sinn Fein leadership and [their] peace strategy,” who undertook the interviews with “dissident” republicans.104 Thus, most see the research as academically flawed, especially after the Boston College History Department denied ownership of the research.105 A republican respondent from north Belfast similarly suggests that “that particular arrest was decided on a level well beyond [the local police]… I do believe that there had to be some sort of political thought going into the timing of that arrest, and the fact that he was arrested altogether.”106 Other nationalist respondents, including a former IRA leader and advisor at Coiste, made the same argument concerning the so-called “get Adams project.”

103 Moloney was a journalist and opponent of Sein Fein, while McIntyre was a former member of the IRA who felt betrayed by the peace strategy of Sinn Fein leadership. 104 North Belfast News (May 10, 2014), 15 105 Ibid, 15 106 Interview with author (May 2014) 222

Sinn Fein Deputy First Minister, Martin McGuinness, claimed “that a ‘dark side’ of the PSNI was behind [Adams’] detention.”107 Similarly, in an op-ed about the incident,

Adams wrote after his release that his arrest was part of “a sustained, malicious, untruthful and sinister campaign [against him] going back many years,” and geared toward charging him with “membership of the IRA… [in order to] link… [him] to the

McConville case.”108 McGuinness’ accusation was nonetheless rejected by senior PSNI official Nigel Grimshaw shortly thereafter, who argued that the PSNI was simply doing its duty “without fear or favor,” and that “politicians must work for consensus on contentious issues such as parades and the past.”109 Although most from both communities assume Adams was an IRA leader, he only admits to membership in its political wing, Sinn Fein. Apparently, according to some nationalist respondents, this is legitimate, corresponding to the IRA code of silence respected by many in the broader community, and former members especially.

Both loyalist and nationalist respondents suggest that Adams’ arrest was an example of “political policing,” though their definitions of the term largely differ. Most nationalists who voiced their views in the local news media agreed that Adams’ arrest

“was a sham,” as Jib Gibney put it in one exemplary newspaper report. “Republicans

107 Belfast Telegraph (May 13, 2014), 12 108 North Belfast News (May 10, 2014), 14 109 Belfast Telegraph (May 15, 2014), 6; A similar comment was conveyed by Chief Superintendent Nigel Grimshaw during a private interview with the author in Belfast, May 2014. 223 believe that the timing was political because the PSNI has had the Boston tapes since last summer and waited until an election campaign was under way” to arrest Adams.110 Such accusations only help to reconstitute nationalist suspicion that PSNI leaders remain intimately tied to unionism.

Members from both communities argued that the incident was “stage managed” by nationalist politicians, British officials, and the police. One of the more neutral respondents –a senior leader in the community sector of west Belfast –explained how the incident helped Sinn Fein in general and Adams in particular in the subsequent elections.

Shortly after Adams’ release, in fact, “Sinn Fein… secured the single biggest number of first preference votes in Northern Ireland’s local government elections,” while also winning 15 percent of the vote in the Republic of Ireland. Overall, Sinn Fein dominated the nationalist vote, winning 105 seats, while the DUP and UUP won 130 and 88 seats, respectively.111 As one respondent asked, rhetorically,

If you can’t charge people with a crime from 20 years ago why would the police arrest you? So I can’t understand what that was about. Did they think Gerry would break? That’s a man who said he was never in the IRA, and he got away with it. And he is an acute political operator. So what’s he going to do say “yea I did it?” Never… Supergrasses from both communities for years, they always collapse, because of the lure of the herd. You can’t convict somebody if there’s no evidence… It gave the Shinners a bit of a boost… He’s held for four days, and when he come out, his press conference was excellent. Excellent, wasn’t he?

110 The Irish News (May 15, 2014), 21 111 The Guardian (May 25, 2014). Last accessed February 19, 2016 at www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/may/25/sinn-fein-gains-elections-gerry-adams 224

Gerry Adams himself acknowledged that his arrest “has galvanized the Sinn Fein party and the broader republican family… Now they are focused, there is an alertness that the process here cannot be taken for granted and people are looking to the work that… our other representatives have done around raising peace process issues.”112 Interestingly, the fact that “the process…cannot be taken for granted” was made evident by the subtle threats of certain nationalist officials to withdraw from the Policing Board if Adams was not released.113 In this way, Sinn Fein exercised the politics of “domination and subservience” in ways not unfamiliar to their Unionist counterparts. This incident (among others) reflects how the lack of clarify around how decisions to arrest and investigate particular crimes from the past are made –a result of the sensitive nature and potential political implications of such decisions –facilitates the appropriation of public mistrust by leaders of a particular ethno-political or -religious group in the interests of themselves and their parties. The lack of willingness to engage in some mechanism of truth telling among former combatants –including those serving as elected officials on the republican side –maintains a situation in which discourses about divisive issues of

112 Belfast Telegraph (May 13, 2014), 12. 113 The Telegraph (May 3, 2014). Last Accessed February 19, 2016 at www.telegraph.co.news/uknews/northernireland/10805252/Northern-Ireland-tensions-at-boiling-point- over-Gerry-Adams-arrest.html 225 the past can be used in strategically and periodically reconstituting long-standing resentments of the outgroup.

Loyalist Alienation

Adams claims to be an ongoing leader with respect to “peace process issues” but denies his apparent role in past IRA violence. Such a dynamic is cited by unionists and loyalists as an example of the “hypocrisy” of republicans who demand inquiries into the killing of their “comrades,” while refusing to acknowledge the legitimacy of the same demands made by victims of IRA violence. The dispute over the mural commemorating the 25th anniversary of the murder of prominent

Catholic lawyer is one example.

In the spring of 2014, at the bottom of Glen Road in west Belfast, a mural was erected of the prominent Catholic lawyer, who was murdered by UDA informers working for the British government. Finucane was shot in front of his wife and children at their home in 1989. Since, one British agent has been convicted for the killing. The two UDA men assumed as directly responsible have since died, while two other “leading loyalists” accused by republicans have not been charged. Next to a photo of the lawyer, the mural – formally approved by Sinn Fein –reads “25 Years On & No Truth.” In smaller letters it also reads “collusion,” “cover-up,” and “state murder,” along with pictures of several

UDA militants. UDA spokespeople charged republicans with “brazen hypocrisy,”

226 pointing to their denial in admitting Adams’ role in the murder of Jean McConville. The paramilitary-linked Ulster Political Research Group (UPRG) claimed that republicans were unfairly “convict[ing] untried [UDA] men of murder,” while contrarily holding to the “presumption of innocence status” with respect to Adams’ detention.114

Moreover, loyalists saw the failure to charge Adams, and his denial of ever participating in the IRA, as indicative of a broader trend wherein deceitful nationalist strongmen increasingly control state institutions through the implicit threat of violence. Such a situation compounds a deepening of loyalist alienation from, and distrust of, “the state,” and reflects again how leaders’ avoidance of

“dealing with the past” contributes to mistrust and resentment of the outgroup.

According to one loyalist ex-prisoner,

There was a failed supergrass system115 within this country. Once again I find there’s a supergrass system being used, mainly against loyalists, during this period of time. So they will never learn that these supergrasses are only out to save their own skins, and will lie about you, me, or anybody else. Do you see it in the republican side? I don’t see it. I see dead people who were significant republicans [such as] Harvey Hughes, who came out and made a statement against Gerry Adams. What did Gerry Adams say? “Liar.” He led a bunch of thugs who murdered and bombed this place to smithereens for years, but he won’t admit it. So why deal with the past or even [inaudible]? No chance.116 Loyalists perceive supposed favorable treatment of republicans by state bodies as evidence of expanding nationalist power –a perception compounded by the aftermath of

114 The Irish News (May 16, 2014), 1 115 “Supergrasses” refers to trials based on the testimony of informers from within the organizations under investigation. 116 Interview with the author, June 2014 227

Adams’ arrest. Several respondents, for example, note how Sinn Fein and “IRA” elements had responded to Adams’ arrest by essentially extorting the criminal justice system, threatening to withdraw nationalist support for the PSNI –and thus the peace- process –if Adams was not released without charge. According to a loyalist ex-prisoner, when Gerry Adams was being questioned “on the murder of Jean McConvcille, they

[republicans] put the mural [of Adams] on the [peace] wall [in west Belfast]. And it just so happens that that mural overlooked the area where that woman was taken from. Now that wasn’t done by accident.”117 Loyalists continue to believe in the ongoing threat posed by the “IRA.” A different ex-prisoner elaborated on how, in the minds of loyalists,

Sinn Fein, the IRA, has power over the police. It’s all based on the idea that, if we don’t get our own way, we’ll walk out. You see on the banners, when they had the protest by the mural of Gerry Adams on the Falls road, that if they don’t let him out the peace process would be in big trouble. One of the head men of the IRA…118 stood up… and turned around and said “We still haven’t gone away, you know.” So what does that tell people within my community? They’re still there. The contradictory responsibility of balancing basic principles of justice with concerns over political stability essentially rests with local criminal justice authorities, who are ultimately required to police politics even as they are used as political pawns.

Paradoxically, this dynamic reopens space for ethno-political and sectarian provocations or threats which undermine broader police authority and efficacy. As one respondent

117 Interview with author, June 2014 118 The respondent identified the “IRA man” by name, but I chose to not include it due to concerns about issues of confidentiality. 228 commented, similar to several others, “Now you have to let the police be the police and let the law be the law. But if there’s not an agreed framework across the political spectrum, then you are always leaving the police vulnerable to accusations.” The politicizing of policing, in turn, threatens to undermine the legitimacy given to police by local communities –especially working-class neighborhoods disproportionately impacted by legacies of political and sectarian violence. Others similarly suggest that accusations of “political policing” from either side of the religious divide is a reoccurring theme among both communities in general and politicians in particular. One respondent describes how politicians from both ethno-religious communities are guilty of exploiting the fragility of criminal justice reforms and manipulating their power over policing boards in order to capitalize politically:

If you have an agreed policing system, police have to follow evidence and test it out, whether or not it’s politically sensitive or not. But what we’ve seen now with Sinn Fein… we’ve [also] seen last year at the flags protest… [T]he DUP and unionism also threatened to withdraw its support for policing. And again the executive has to be different from the public systems of justice… Just because you’re in political power does not give you the right to withdraw when it suits you because your side is under some investigation. But it is not a Sinn Fein only thing. This has been a reality on all sides, on different themes.

A community activist, focused on issues of education, similarly points to

how quickly people will jump off the bandwagon if the police do something that doesn’t suit them. And even Martin McGuinness threatened, you know, that Sinn Fein would drop the policing board. So, no, I mean that was a litmus test that clearly shows [that] there is not unconditional support of police. It is very conditional. And you could argue that it is conditional on them [the police] to not dig up things that, you know, could hurt [the peace process].

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Elaborating on how the police have been forced to take the central role in balancing investigations of ethno-political and sectarian violence, and the need to maintain investment in power-sharing bodies by both nationalist and unionist politicians, one

Catholic interviewee explains how:

The Historical Enquiries Team assessed past incidents and investigated them to determine if they would go ahead with new prosecutions. What is the process by which they decide which crimes to investigate? I don’t know the answer. I think they do it themselves. That is a huge amount of power to put into the police’s hands. You could argue that an independent panel could say, this year, we want you to open up this case, this case, and this case, so that there’s some kind of balance. You can check this out, but I think there’s probably too much power invested in the police’s hands in terms of what they investigate… Another respondent who works on issues of criminal justice reform, described that comprehensive policing reform, wherein investigations of previous paramilitary murders can carry on in an independent and unbiased fashion, is yet to be established, “because even the police are not independent from the past police.” Another individual makes a similar point, explaining how, for example, “during the flags protest, republicans say ‘if it had been us, we’d have been beaten off the streets,’ and loyalists saying ‘republicans can do whatever they want.’ So you still get that attitude.” Likewise, a different respondent suggests that politicians use

the police as a political football. That’s always been the case in many different points but it’s become much more [entrenched]. It’s all you hear now from both sides, depending on whose arrest it is. It used to be that the police in the past were assumed to be associated with the unionists. That was always the assumption and now it’s a case where neither side is trusting of the police. It could be a sign that the police are doing the right thing if neither side trusts them!

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Incidentally, the increasing similarity in extents of distrust of police among loyalists and republicans might lend support to the notion that policing reform and neutrality, at least in certain respects, is moving forward successfully. Apparently, however, evidence of neutrality does not necessarily correspond to deeper intercommunity trust or faith in the police.

Internecine Nationalist/Republican Division

As already discussed above, several participants in the study emphasize that the surge in public discourse around the murder of Jean McConville was not coincidental to the onset of upcoming elections, and apparently illustrates another example of a broader process in the re-centering of ethno-political issues and – implicitly –the suppression of others which cut-across the ethno-religious divide.

Some “dissident republicans” critical of mainstream nationalist leadership and opposed to cooperation with Britain believe that the events surrounding the arrest of Gerry Adams are further confirmation that he and other Sinn Fein officials have become more concerned with their own interests than the historical, socialist trajectory of Irish republicanism. A republican from east Belfast contends that many of his comrades from nationalist west Belfast agree with him that the arrest was

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Stage managed. Gerry Adams made arrangements with the PSNI that he would present himself to the barracks for questioning. It was the timing of it; he could have stayed in the South and waited until after the elections. He knew that he was going to be arrested, possibly. That boosted their morale. The barrel is rotten the whole way down. There may be good policemen. I wouldn’t dispute that for a second but the system is rotten. They’re colonial police. They’re here to enforce Britain’s rule in Ireland. Gerry Adams timed that for publicity. He was never going to be charged in my opinion. So the political capital they got out of that was huge.

Following the logic of this respondent, this event confirms that Sinn Fein has ultimately been co-opted by British interests. Interestingly, political division within the Catholic community between Sinn Fein and “dissident” republican networks is illustrated by intra-group divisions over policing in other ways as well. When asked if he thought that policing overall was improving, he answered by claiming that

It’s a political police force, without a doubt. And it’s okay if you’re going about your normal business and maybe you’re stealing something but if you start challenging these people and exposing them, they will revert to the same tactics. These Special Powers Acts haven’t been written off the statutes books. It used to be that you’d go to Castlereagh for seven days. They can still take you out and practically intern you. There was a guy they said broke the conditions of his parole and [British authorities] kept him in [prison] for four years. They wouldn’t tell his defense team what charges were against him. He had been seen to be frequenting places where dissidents were and [so they] put him in prison for four years. So if you don’t comply with the status quo, you’re deemed as dissidents and taken off the street, if you’re a big enough threat to them. Now, ordinary people like me would be no threat to them. But people who would be in groups like Oglaigh na h-Eireann or Irish Volunteers [would].

The same respondent further argues that the integration of Catholics into the

PSNI does not correspond to a neutral police force, and perceives the ongoing control of British authorities over security and macro-economic policies as symptomatic of the persistence of an ongoing illegitimate colonial situation.

Indeed, there remains deep mistrust of the criminal justice system among the 232

“hardline” republican community, who see the PSNI as “old wine in different bottles” –as put by one respondent –and policing boards co-chaired by Sinn Fein and unionist officials as resembling a consolidation of British power through covert means. According to some republicans, apparently, “the Assembly is not a government; it doesn’t function as such. They have no power over issues of security or economics… MI5 [and the British government] runs the show.”

Importantly, “dissident republican” political activity and protest is, at times, more so geared toward opposing Sinn Fein than combating unionism. As one senior peace activist suggests, “dissidents are against them [the PSNI] because of the

Sinners [or Sinn Fein], because they sit on the policing boards.” He explains how the dissident organization Republican Action for Unity, in particular, contends that the “PSNI [are] not welcome” in republican communities in west and north Belfast for largely this reason. During the author’s stay in Belfast, it was not uncommon to find messages painted on walls, such as, “RUC Out” and “PSNI not welcome.” The former message suggests that the current police force is not significantly different from the Protestant Royal Ulster Constabulary. While indicating the fragility of the peace process and the dissident republican grievances underscoring their continued rejection of the legitimacy of the power sharing government, such a phenomenon also implicitly suggests a greater extent of variation in the politics of the broader nationalist community. Though not quite resembling pluralism per se, such a 233 dynamic is nonetheless important to recognize. Hardline republicans seemingly protest their own ethno-nationalist representatives as much as leadership from “the other” community. Similar to dynamics outlined in chapter three, however, greater intra-group political difference does not necessarily correspond to greater intergroup cooperation.

The seeming overlap in the interests of Sinn Fein and British officials is evident to many hardline republicans by the apparent adoption of particular

“British” strategies by the former in repressing internal critics, or “dissidents.”

Some dispute the very nature of the use of the term “dissident,” suggesting that it is used as a broader discursive strategy to stigmatize any person or organization that challenges the mainstream nationalist political parties. Some respondents point to the very power of discourse in this respect in shaping political boundaries and closing of “dissidents” from legitimate access to the discursive field, and preventing expansion of the ethno-specific “political opportunity structure.”

According to one respondent,

Republicans were always dissidents. They’re [Sinn Fein] using it as a derogatory term to say “these people want to go out and blow you up and kill you.” I’m in a political party, `eirigí, that doesn’t have a paramilitary wing, but we’re classed as dissidents to try and downplay us and [precariously suggest] we want to kill Brits and Peters and stuff… The British used to do it and now the Republicans are doing it and the Unionists are doing it. The dissident thing is a word which is used to undermine people’s thoughts and what they’re doing [that might conflict with the political concerns of Sinn Fein and the SDLP].

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As already indicated, four “dissident republicans” were elected to local government in the 2014 elections, suggesting that some level of support for their anti-agreement position does exist among republicans, and might contain the potential to grow. As

Sein Fein attempts to “get rid of their baggage” and become a “catch all party” –as one “dissident republican” respondent put it –the positive implication for the peace process such phenomenon reflects is paralleled, paradoxically, by a further cementing of anti-agreement ideologies among those hardline republicans intent on challenging the legitimacy of the power sharing process. While dissident republicans feel betrayed by mainstream nationalist politicians and remain suspicious –if not outright scornful –toward the PSNI, a similar trend is undergoing within the Protestant community as well. Loyalists hold mentalities of a double threat, coming from nationalists as well as unionist and British elite. Their senses of political alienation and resentment, already discussed in the previous chapters, is compounded by perceptions that the police are turning on the working-class

Protestant community.

Policing and Loyalist “Siege Mentalities”

Loyalists refer to examples of more general police bias against them and leniency given to serious republican offenders as justifications for their mistrust of any formal procedures in dealing with the past. The following statements by two loyalist ex- prisoners are examples. The first refers to the “letters of immunity” received by “almost 235

190 republicans who had left the UK jurisdiction” since 2000, which ultimately gave

“assurances they were not being sought by the British authorities.” Evidence of one such letter led to the collapse of the trial of former IRA man John Downey, accused in the

Hyde Park bombing which killed four British soldiers in 1982. In response to the controversy over the incident, and threat of resignation by DUP First Minister Peter

Robinson, Northern Ireland Secretary and others asserted that the amnesty letters did not “have any value anymore,” and that “they should not be relied on” by former republican terrorists in avoiding prosecution for murders during the Troubles.

A judge further commented that the ruling which resulted from the letter amounted to a

“catastrophic” error on the part of the state.119 Apparently, some republicans received the letters by mistake, when in reality they were wanted by British authorities. Nonetheless, for many loyalists and unionists, such incidents reaffirm their suspicion and “siege mentality.” This incident reflects yet another example of the ambiguity of the British approach toward issues of the past, contributing to suspicion about the intentions of

Westminster among the former paramilitary community especially. As one loyalist ex- prisoner describes,

There’s a lot of people who can’t be prosecuted again unless they find new evidence. You see that program they did a month or so ago about the fella who was [inaudible]? That guy can’t be arrested, who had a real part [in republican violence]. So who pays for that part of the past? Should we just forget about that part of the past? How are we ever going to deal with that, when [republican] people are receiving letters of immunity for their parts?120

119 Belfast Telegraph (September 3, 2014) 120 Belfast Telegraph (September 3, 2014) 236

Another loyalist reflected similar skepticism about the prospect of “dealing with the past,” underscored by perceptions of police bias against his community:

Dealing with the past? In the past year we’ve had at least a couple hundred [loyalist] grown men go through the courts, and most of them now find themselves in jail… So how are these young men going to feel when they’re released? What job prospects do they have? Continually to the present day we are watching republicans go through the courts, who were found with guns. They get a suspended sentence, fines, community service. Nobody can tell me that we’re imagining this great big conspiracy against us.

While there was some acknowledgement of respect for republican grassroots and political leaders in terms of their organizational abilities and commitment to cross- community projects, in other instances, loyalist respondents demonstrate a more general distrust and resentment toward them and the broader nationalist community. For example, loyalists explain how they have little interest in “dealing with the past” due to the supposed increase in nationalist influence over public discourse and the state, of which perceived trends in discriminatory policing of loyalists are symptomatic. Others allege (without much factual support) that state enquiries into IRA violence have been infrequent in comparison to investigations of loyalist murders:121 “To take all the atrocities caused by the IRA… People have been trying for years to get enquiries into these. There’s one or something they’ve even looked into.” Observing dynamics in neighboring loyalist areas, and among his loyalist counterparts in the community sector, a republican community leader emphasized how the inability of any transitional justice

121 This allegation is not supported by research on the issue, however. See Nolan (2014). 237 mechanism to help resolve long-standing issues around violence of the past has undermined the prospect of loyalist participation in restorative justice, despite their commitment to specific community-based projects:

If you’re a paramilitary organization that is trying to get out of conflict, and there is no set agreed way of how we deal with the past, and therefore the authorities just go after certain people… Take the UVF for example. There’s going to be a trial coming up where a guy, who was inside the UVF, is going to stand in court and identify certain individuals. So for some they think “what’s the point of us trying to get out of conflict if we’re going to end up back in jail?” One loyalist ex-prisoner referred to an alleged parading incident which turned violent in conveying his view about the “power over the police” increasingly wielded by Sinn Fein and “the IRA.” The following statement, among others, not only reflects loyalist mistrust of the police, but also indicates that, for many, Sinn

Fein leaders remain thought of more so as “terrorists” than elected politicians. Such perceptions indicate that nationalist political leaders are yet to receive a general level of acceptance as legitimate electoral representatives from the loyalist community, despite some subtle signs of mutual respect on individual levels. As one loyalist ex-prisoner explains,

The other [example of political policing] I will refer to is last year, in East Belfast, when a parade was attacked on the back of the [inaudible] road. When we spoke to the police after, they told us that republicans had given him assurances that the police didn’t need to be in Short Strand because they would police their own area. So what does that tell me? The police said that republicans gave them assurances that they would police their own area, and there would be no violence from that end, and then we were attacked by republicans. But that just shows you that Sinn Fein, the IRA, have power over the police. Another loyalist respondent claims that

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the police, the government, the justice system, it sees the Protestant community as the lesser of two evils, and easier to control, maybe. And this is the reason why you’re seeing the things that we’re seeing, the police brutality against Protestant people… [Nationalists] seem to be able to do and say whatever they want, when they want, and there’s not a word, even from our own politicians, the DUP and UUP. To me, they’re buttering up to the republicans also, and ordinary loyalists are suffering because of this. So until there’s change that way, there’s never going to be any strong community relations, with republicans or police. Loyalists emphasize their view that republican violence remains a greater threat to authorities and that such a threat has worked to compel the state to “butter up” the latter in order to placate them. To some loyalists, this is another sign of the further entrenchment of nationalism in the political apparatus, and is unacceptable.

According to a Protestant activist, in terms of attitudes about the PSNI “within the

Protestant working class, it got worse” since the flags protest, and the HET investigations before it. As described by one elected east Belfast official, the loyalist population is disaffected “at the moment because of the flags protest, and the fact that people are now coming before the courts and getting serious sentences for rioting. It’s like ‘what’s happening to us?’” A woman from a west Belfast loyalist community organization focusing on at-risk youth makes a similar point, also implying that loyalists have been subject to increasing repression by the criminal justice system, and ignored by their elected leaders:

We’ve put hundreds of young people through the criminal justice system, from last year. I think we have a proven track record as a restorative justice program, according to those higher up. Why do they not refer to us? Would it not have been better to let us work with those young people? Would it not have been better for those young people to be doing a lot of restitution and reparation within the communities they were arrested in? No, it’s simpler to put them through the courts, irrespective of the cost…

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Many loyalists –like republicans, somewhat paradoxically –increasingly believe that “the state” in general and police in particular are targeting their communities indirectly via elected leaders’ failure to represent their interests, and more directly through coercive powers of the police. Like the rulings over the Union flag and parading discussed in previous chapters, criminal justice practices are perceived in zero-sum terms as disproportionately concerned with appeasing republicans in order to stabilize the peace process at the expense of the loyalist community. Contention over policing, driven by the apparent leniency given to serious republican offenders, and increases in prosecution of young loyalist men for rioting offenses, compounds their mentalities of loss, while maintaining the future prospect of escalations in sectarian and ethno-political violence.

The Haass Talks

Amid escalations in sectarian violence in 2013, US Diplomat Richard Haass visited

Belfast to help develop a political compromise in re-establishing inter-community cooperation, focusing on issues of the past and contentious ethno-political rituals

(parades) and emblems (flags). His visit in December of 2013, along with Harvard professor Meghan O’Sullivan, marked the fifth round of talks with the five major parties in Northern Ireland (UUP, DUP, Sinn Fein, SDLP, and Alliance.) Yet attempts to come to an agreement before Christmas faltered, and Haass and O’Sullivan left the province in

240 disarray over lack of progress. Essentially, they gave up. “Asked if this was his final effort, Dr Haass used an American phrase: ‘You either fish or you cut bait.’ He said that time had come.”122 The seventh draft of a document he developed, intended to resolve outstanding divisions, was unable to garner consensus among the five parties. Talks were eventually abandoned after “Peter Robinson, Northern Ireland's first minister and leader of the DUP, said some elements of the proposals were ‘unworkable.’”123 Similarly,

“Ulster Unionist leader Mike Nesbitt said the former diplomat's proposals ‘are not viable or acceptable.’” While Sinn Fein and SDLP both formally announced that they would recommend their party executive’s endorse Haass’ document, unionist leaders looked increasingly at fault for the failure of the talks.124

Northern Ireland's justice minister accused the two main unionist parties of putting their electoral fortunes above any deal that could have resolved key post-peace process issues like controversial parades and flags. claimed the unionists had failed "to face down the extremes over flags – but parties who ducked it clearly rely on those extremes to sustain their vote. It is time that parties stopped hiding behind process and committed to product.” The Alliance leader and justice minister singled out the unionist parties' failure to support a legally binding code of conduct on loyalist marches as one of the main reasons for failure in the early hours of Tuesday morning.125

Moreover, as approximately 3,000 killings during the Troubles “remain unsolved… the Haass talks… [failed in] the creation of a new police-investigative body

122 BBC News (December 28 2013), “NI Haass talks: No agreement after Saturday meeting.” 123 Ibid 124 BBC News (January 7, 2014), “Haass talks: DUP says proposals ‘need much more work’” 125 The Guardian (December 31, 2013), “Northern Ireland talks collapse as main unionist parties reject Haass proposals” 241 to re-examine these cases.” Nationalists apparently accused unionist politicians of being

“led by the nose” by loyalists, as UUP and DUP officials blamed each other and – predictably –elected nationalists. DUP official defended his party's meeting with former “loyalist [paramilitary] … [as] part of consultation with a range of groups across the community, including many from the victims sector.”126

Donaldson extended his criticism to Haass himself, asking rhetorically, “How do you compromise on something as stark a reality as the fact that 90% of the deaths in Northern

Ireland were caused by terrorism and Dr. Haass can't even bring himself to acknowledge that?”127 Similarly, “Ulster Unionist leader Mike Nesbitt said the Haass document had

‘airbrushed terrorism out of history.’” Nesbitt explained how he had spoken with “many victims and survivors who encouraged me not to go near the Haass deal, including

Innocent Victims United who represent thousands of victims….”128 Fundamental disagreement over blame for the violence remains, and is reflected in language which intends to delegitimize the negotiating position of the Other. In this case, the pejorative nature of the term “terrorism,” and unionism’s corresponding belief in the state’s moral monopoly over the use of “legitimate” violence, underscores their intransigence in negotiation, and their purported representation of victims. Agreement on dealing with the

126 BBC News (January 7, 2014), “Haass talks: DUP says proposals ‘need much more work’” 127 Ibid 128 BBC News (January 12, 2014). “Northern Ireland churches: Haass Talks ‘missed Opportunity.’” 242 past is unlikely as interpretations of that past remain based on mutually exclusive ideological premises concerning the (im)moralities of the state.

At the same time, UUP official Mike Nesbitt commented at one point that the talks “were 90 percent of the way there with Haass,” while later blaming the First and

Deputy First Ministers for creating a “mess” when both the UUP and DUP failed to subsequently approve the agreement. The UUP was immediately criticized by nationalists; an SDLP official commented that “Washing their hands of Haass/O'Sullivan is not an act of leadership… To then suggest handing it all over to the first and deputy

129 first ministers where issues and politics are so stuck is plain bad judgement.” Several respondents pointed to the ultimate failure of the “Haass talks” as illustrative of the entrenched sectarian pandering in Northern Irish politics and a more general failure in ethno-political leadership. One cross-community leader explains:

You’ve seen the reaction from the Protestant/unionist community [to the Union flag coming down], and then you’ve seen the Haass protest, which is particularly bad because the First Minister and Deputy First Minister asked him to come... And he left quite disillusioned. And to me, looking at it I thought, from the DUP and Sinn Fein perspectives, they didn’t even put, like, a face on it. You know, they could’ve got together and said, we couldn’t agree on everything... But then, Sinn Fein said we accept the proposal, and DUP said no we don’t. And that caused a split. McGuinness blamed the DUP and the paramilitaries and the Orange Order. So that caused a whole riot… [Their behavior] compounded the feelings on the ground within the Protestant/loyalist community –you know, from the Good Friday Agreement –that they lost.

And as I was saying, Martin and Peter flew about the world [for trade talks], but on the ground things are not very good, not very good at all. And you have divisions now around the election: three or four different anti-agreement republican groups who are standing for

129 BBC News (January 7, 2014) “UUP Haass rejection 'shows disdain' says Alliance Party”

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election. And you have the splits in the paramilitary organizations, the UDA and UVF, and internal violence. Like last week up in the Limestone road [in north Belfast], there was a dead body and [inaudible] the UDA. Referring to the incident, one respondent claimed the UUP was “looking very ridiculous… because on the last day of the [Haass] talks, I think he said we were 90 percent there. And now he just won’t turn up to the party leaders’ discussion on the thing.” Apparently, this change in attitude is due to the onset of elections and the intention of politicians to appear protective of unionist or nationalist interests at the exclusion of the Other. Almost every respondent acknowledged that political leadership in Stormont is failing to address the most important issues which continue to drive ongoing sectarian division, including both social and economic inequality and contentious issues of the past. The same participant went on to say that he is “hoping we just get the elections out of the way and people re-focus and re-dedicate themselves, because it’s very important” to resolve such contentions. According to another respondent, the “great momentum” behind discussion about strategies to begin “dealing with the past… slowed down because… [of the] election. You couldn’t really talk too much about Haass when there’s an election coming up.” Similarly, other respondents elaborate on how upcoming elections, and the fact that elections occur relatively frequently, entrenches dynamics of ethno-political and -sectarian pandering, undermining the capacity to develop a systematic mechanism of truth telling and reconciliation.

Politicians preeminently reconstruct narratives of blame which posit ethno-specific

244 interpretations of the past in mutually-exclusive ways, in order to reconstitute polarized political identities and discourses, or –at the least –re-center such narratives of blame which already pervade ‘their’ broader ethno-religious communities.

You saw with the Haas talks, the fact that we have so many elections at spread out times, means that the government parties are in election mode. And in that mode it is very difficult to be cooperative. You might get a year and a half where there’s not something on the horizon, where it’s possible, but that’s just not good enough. If you look at the government recently, there’s been very little legislation. Very little actual legislation happening. Which means that you just have a series of things moving around and around in circles or whatever, and it can be controversial and contentious. More generally, a different interviewee elaborates on how the unwillingness of political leaders to “deal with the past” only exacerbates problems linked to legacies of political violence on local community and family levels, as resentments and mentalities of victimization and injustice are left to fester:

And of course we’ve seen through some of the issues… of mental health and domestic violence, and suicide, and living in families where other family members have died… [how] it’s just difficult for some people… People think for the majority of time things are fine. But there’s [sic] always these underlying currents somewhere until the next crisis. And again I think it’s about our government not dealing with the contentious issues, because they can’t agree, so they bury it, rather than dealing with it. And Haass came over here, he spent all of that time, he made recommendations about parades and dealing with the past, and we haven’t moved on any further. We won’t even talk to each other about it. A different interviewee, from a community-based youth-advocacy organization explained how the legacies of the Troubles, being generally ignored by the largest ethno-political parties, has also contributed to ongoing sectarian resentment among young people which is likely to continue for some time:

And the victims commissioners, when there were four of them, did a huge piece of work around a number of… they brought together a group of people, some who were directly affected by the troubles. Some who were IRA, some who were LVF; a young girl whose

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father was a police officer; another whose brother died, through the Troubles. And they actually said at the end of it, it will take five generations before we stop feeling the ripple effect of the Troubles. And part of that is because our parliament or government isn’t dealing with those contentious issues, like victims and the past, and trying to find some mechanism to move on beyond that. Another respondent similarly notes how “it’s still going to be hard for younger generations to move on, because of pain from violence of the Troubles. Both sides said we’ll stop killing but don’t admit fault. And this remains on a family level.”

So far, few signs exist that political leaders at top levels intend to commit to new strategies in resolving divisions over interpretations of the past or most structural obstacles to integration for that matter. As a senior peace activist notes –as is implied by most other respondents as well–Northern Ireland remains in danger of “settling for non- violent division” rather than constructing a “truly shared society.” He elaborates on the issue of the past and the persistence of disadvantage in loyalist and republican communities, while emphasizing, like many other respondents, the failure of political leadership on these issues:

It’s not that they haven’t addressed them because they’ve brought in Together: Building a United Community130 but it’s desperately slow to get change in any of these areas. And if we don’t deal with these issues, they are a breeding ground for people who see physical force as a means of moving forward. We’re also creating separatism in society, particularly in working class areas.131 I don’t get the sense that anyone’s leading this. Over the next ten years, there are a series of 100 year-old anniversaries coming up: the Ulster Covenant, the 1916 rising, the War of Independence and the Partition of Ireland Act. If they’re not handled properly, they’ll be celebrated by one community to the exclusion of the other and that will cause further division.

130 This is a government strategy designed to improve community relations, supported by both Stormont First Ministers. 131 According to the same respondent, 90% of social housing is segregated by religion and 95% of children attend segregated schools. 246

Some folks I interviewed emphasized how the lack of desire to admit fault and concede to some extent to the historical enemy is inextricably linked with the moral importance given to maintaining loyalty to friends, family and “comrades” who were killed. As one republican put it, “At the end of the day, many people here fought, killed, went to jail for, died for, those beliefs. So why would you want to get rid of them?”

Another respondent comments on how “this notion of betrayal of former comrades or whatever… brings with it guilt. If you’re going to engage with another person who was formerly the enemy, there’s a guilt associated with that… But we can’t talk about that,” for fear of being labeled traitors.

The lack of work geared toward promoting integration and processes of truth and reconciliation at multiple levels among both unionists/loyalists and nationalists/republicans is not coincidental to the fact that ethno-specific interpretations of the past continue to govern leaders’ agencies in various contexts. To many, this dynamic reflects a fundamental limit of the peace process. My conversations with nationalists and republicans illuminated an air of confidence on their part, in terms of controlling the political direction of the country. Such confidence was implied along with rationalizations for past republican violence, including the murder of Jean McConville specifically, and civilian deaths more generally. Somewhat paternalistically, what is

247 implied is that because the nationalist path to equality, and objective of uniting the North and South of Ireland for some, has moved forward as a result of nationalist leadership in transforming the conflict from a violent to non-violent form. According to a leader at

Coiste and former upper-level IRA member, his former organization “was never about

[defeating] loyalism”; rather, the imperative of IRA violence was always the expulsion of

British forces from the island, in an anti-imperialist war. He goes on to explain how he

“ha[s]… no problem with unionism itself or Protestantism as a religion,” and is happy to work with unionists in constructing a shared future. However, like other nationalists I spoke with, he believes that they, rather than unionists, are central leaders in the future development of the society. Even some loyalists acknowledge that nationalists “have vision;” however, assumptions among the latter that it is primarily their “responsibility to create a new project… [or] a new agreed Ireland,” is potentially problematic.

Importantly, an agreed Ireland is not something most Protestants would accept, and may in fact reaffirm their suspicion that nationalists continue to sneakily promote the end goal of a united Ireland.

Some respondents refer to their conversations with republican leaders and ex- prisoners as exemplifying the same trend I personally observed in my interviews with the same group, while suggesting that the dynamic is similarly common among unionists, though without the same air of confidence in the future. One Catholic respondent explained accordingly: 248

They will say we made mistakes and that kind of thing. I mean you also remember 1972 we went to direct rule, so you really don’t have anybody left from it. But there are some folk… By 1998 or 2000, you still had cabinet members and politicians who were still running in 1998. But its about saying that, we did something… Whenever we apologise for anything, its always done in relationship to what somebody else has done. It might be “we killed Jean McConville and we wish we didn’t do it, but we had to do it because we were fighting a war against the Brits.” I’m thinking of an example where unionists would say, “we shouldn’t have discriminated against Catholics, between 1922 and 1972.” And stop. And then we can go into the debate about why “we did it because we thought the state was under threat. You were a threat and we needed to keep you...” And then you open the possibility for dialogue. There are other examples, but look at the IRA. Sinn Fein will write everything off to context. You know, “what we did… we wish we didn’t do that but we were fighting a war against British occupation.” Well, let’s strip that back. There was huge oppression of nationalist communities, of course there was. But dragging a woman out in front of her kids and murdering her doesn’t look like something you do when you’re fighting a war to me. So, you begin to strip it back, and that’s peace. Like most respondents, this individual perceives that the peace process might be reaching a point of paralysis, and that “peace” itself must mean more than simply the cessation of violence. Yet many also argue that, in the broader communities, most people want “maybe a little bit more than we have now but not too much

[change],” in terms of intercommunity relations –as put by a different interviewee.

Such potential limitation in social transformation and peacebuilding are rooted largely in the mistrust linked to victimization by the outgroup, compounded or exacerbated by the refusal of leaders from either community to admit genuine guilt without “writ[ing] it off to context” or emphasizing the disproportionate immorality of outgroup perpetrators. The mutual refusal to admit fault is inextricably linked to lack of trust that the Other will do the same, risking at least symbolic defeat. While both unionists/loyalists and nationalists reflect this phenomenon in their discourses, the former –consistent with the historical-specificity of their place in the province –

249 espouse a sentiment of impending loss, whereas the latter reflect a greater sense of confidence in terms of their capacity to shape the political and constitutional future of the province.

Respondents from both Catholic and Protestant backgrounds suggest that the ultimate political goals of each community more generally remain largely mutually exclusive, and that “putting aside the constitutional question” is not something they are willing to do. For example, a nationalist community leader acknowledges that even as he works with loyalists in cross-community work, he

“ultimately want[s] to remove Britain’s interest in Northern Ireland.” Such attitudes, as a different nationalist explains, underscore a broader politics in which there is “no overarching, real framework of where we want to go, with a government that works together as one community… Of course for the political parties, their direction of travel is more of the same. For republicans, the journey is toward a united Ireland.” Although many sympathetic to the nationalist cause see little wrong with this political goal, he warns that the likely outcome of a constitutional change in that direction would be serious sectarian violence.

CONCLUSION

Through analysis of interviews with Catholic and Protestant community leaders and ex-prisoners as well as newspaper reports about contentious political events in

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Northern Ireland, this chapter described dynamics in the constitution of ethno- political power through discursive reconstructions of the past and –as one respondent put it –the “politicization of policing.” Legacies of violence and victimization, remaining unaddressed by leaders in any systematic way, continue to be integral in sustaining intercommunity polarization and distrust, and are appropriated in contentious discourses of elected leaders in politics of blame and resentment. Most families in the province have been affected in some way by the violence of the Troubles, and mentalities of injustice resulting from the lack of any mechanism to deal with the past compounds long-standing ethno-political hatreds.

Perceptions of being “re-silenced, re-marginalized, and displaced” sustain feelings of resentment and a more general distrust of the state (McGrattan 2014:390), potentially resulting in “traumatic recurrence” (Levi 2010:12) among victims and former combatants.

As objective measures suggest that impartiality in policing has improved

(Coakley 2008), perceptions on the ground in working-class loyalist and republican communities remain skeptical; both feel that the state is out to get them at the expense of the Other. For loyalist ex-prisoners –including those involved in cross- community initiatives –the new post-conflict society has little interest in their inclusion, a phenomenon signified by the ongoing threat of prosecution for past offenses, and compounded by the perceived impunity given to their republican 251 counterparts. Loyalists seem especially skeptical about their place in the future of the society; mentalities of impending loss are underscored in part by perceived experiences of police discrimination and the concomitant burgeoning of nationalist power, signified by the aftermath of Adams’ arrest, among other incidents.

Moreover, nationalist confidence in their political trajectory, and increases in their power over coercive functions of the state –whether real or perceived among loyalists –risks compounding the latter’s insecurity and fear about the prospect of a united Ireland. The threat of a united Ireland is compounded at the same time by the continued growth of the Catholic population and simultaneous decline of the

Protestant community (Nolan 2014). For pro-state ex-terrorists –as findings here suggest –such a transition would mean that their ongoing trauma and the sacrifices of dead colleagues would have been in vain, and the physical and existential security of their community would be threatened. For many Catholics, sacrificing the historical trajectory of Irish republicanism would imply a similar betrayal. Such a dynamic can only exacerbate contentious ethno-politics discussed in the previous chapters. The apparent lack of interest among elected British politicians in

Westminster in establishing a comprehensive, transparent and consistent strategy in facilitating cooperation between unionist and nationalist officials regarding contentions over the past is only exacerbating intercommunal tensions in this respect.

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Moreover, the heightened tensions over Adams’ arrest and other contentious ethno-political incidents discussed above serve as examples of the inherent danger when contradictory responsibilities of enforcing law and concerns over political stability are forced on local criminal justice authorities. In such situations, judicial actors are ultimately required to “police politics” even as they are used as political pawns.

Paradoxically, this dynamic reopens space for ethno-political and sectarian provocations which undermine broader police authority and efficacy, potentially undermining efforts toward the separation of state powers critical for greater democratic transition. Not coincidentally, politicians preeminently reconstruct narratives of blame which posit ethno-specific interpretations of the past in mutually-exclusive ways, in order to reconstitute polarized political identities and discourses, or at least harness narratives of blame already pervading their broader ethno-religious communities. As both sides believe that the constitutional future of the province is uncertain, there is little incentive to risk undermining the “legitimacy” of their respective narratives about the superior morality of their political motivations by admitting guilt (Rolston 2006). “Guilt” itself is framed disparately along ethno-political and ideological lines, limiting the potential development of some mechanism in dealing with the past which could help bridge a conceptualization of a specific shared future. Public discourses surrounding unresolved murders in the past typically contain accusations of blame and claims to victimhood based on ethno-political orientation. According to the data reported here, such discourses

253 undermine trust in leaders of the outgroup, contributing to the mutual exclusivity of ethno-religious identities. Yet they are also (re)constructed by the same leaders; contentious discourses about the past are exercised as yet another tactic through which to maintain a dual polity, minimize moderate opposition, and retain dominance among the largest unionist and nationalist parties.

132

132 This mural of Gerry Adams, created by artist Danny Devenny, was erected while the Sinn Fein leader was being questioned. It was taken down shortly thereafter, at Adams’ request. The mural was located on the Falls road, not far from the former home of Jean McConville, the mother of ten who was allegedly murdered by the IRA in 1972. 254

133

134

133 The Sandy Row area of South Belfast, May 2014. 134 Left, on a wall in a republican area of West Belfast, “RUC Out” is spray painted; it implies that the PSNI is not much different from the old, sectarian police force comprised mostly of Protestants –the Royal 255

135

Ulster Constabulary. On the right, this message corresponds to the anti-agreement ideology of “dissident republicans.”

135 On the left, in a republican neighborhood of west Belfast, graffiti reads “support the POWs,” referring to the former IRA members implicated by their former comrades in “the Boston College tapes.” On the same wall, those former comrades are deemed “touts” –a derogatory term for informants. On the right, a republican memorial dedicated to republicans who were killed during the Troubles in West Belfast. All photos taken by the author in Belfast, May and June 2014. 256

CONCLUSION

This dissertation sought to provide an empirical illustration of how dynamics of social class inequality both between and within historically polarized (post)conflict communities in Northern Ireland undermine the scope of peacebuilding, and how deficits in social and economic dimensions of post-conflict reconstruction threaten political stability in post-accord societies. The study also sought to examine the implications of such dynamics for strategies of political elite and the consequences thereof. The importance in accounting for intra-group, political divisions (Gagnon 2004), as well as

“horizontal inequalities” (Stewart 2008) in explaining escalations of mass violence has been well documented. Yet specific structures and processes of intra-group class and gender inequality within communities after violent conflict have received less empirical attention. Moreover, while contentious political strategies of leaders geared toward the promotion of fear has been well documented in the context of escalation in mass violence, little research has considered whether and how similar political behaviors might persist following peace negotiations.

Dynamics of Political Leadership and the Historical Contexts of Unionism and

Nationalism

Chapter three illustrated how intra-community class inequities contribute to the persistence of intergroup, ethno-national hostilities by facilitating (re)constructions of

257 fear and threat by political elite in a “post-conflict” situation. Broadly, findings indicate how structural economic inequality and immobility among communities historically and most directly impacted by conflict facilitate aggressive leadership strategies designed to restrict the formation of cross-community coalitions and undermine opposition from moderate parties. More specifically, the analysis identified the following conditions which facilitate the promotion of conflict in this respect: (1) leaders’ ability to manipulate readily-available, ethno-cultural symbols in the promotion of fear; (2) the economic marginalization of communities historically most susceptible to violence; (3) the ongoing influence of independent factions unique to that society (such as, paramilitaries in

Northern Ireland) on local politics and community relations; and (4) distinct political priorities of middle- and lower-classes within ethno-specific communities.

In Northern Ireland, ethno-political leaders –and unionists especially – intentionally focus political discourses around cultural symbols (flags) and rituals

(parades) that predictably cause strife between Catholics and Protestants, in order to undermine moderate opposition and retain power. At the same time, their inability and/or unwillingness to properly address quality-of-life matters which cut-across ethno-religious lines sustains openings for paramilitaries to exert influence in working-class communities. The very re-entrenchment of paramilitary influence, in turn, provides an asset for leaders who opt to provoke sectarian tensions for self-serving political purposes.

It is unlikely that unionist leaders were unaware that the leaflets they disseminated in east 258

Belfast would incite anger about the removal of the Union flag from city hall in 2012 and embolden the east Belfast Ulster Volunteer Force –the loyalist paramilitary faction identified by several respondents as the most disruptive and dangerous. On the other hand, nationalist officials are not completely innocent with respect to the flags dispute, either. Respondents acknowledge that few people were even aware that the Union flag was flying over City Hall before the measure to remove it was introduced. Nationalist officials did not need to bring attention to the issue, but chose to.

This dynamic is not unlike others documented in periods of initial conflict escalation elsewhere, in which leaders “transform… politics from an issue on which they are likely to lose power into one on which they can retain power” (Figueiredo and

Weingast 1997:1). Apparently this holds true not only for leaders who risk losing power and in turn opt to “gamble [for] resurrection” through the promotion of violent conflict

(ibid, 2; see also Tilly 2003). Even in Northern Ireland –a post-conflict society which has achieved impressive peacebuilding milestones –leaders prove capable of similar –yet subtler –provocative strategies. Thus, rather than merely responding to residual hatreds, leaders play a more proactive role in reconstituting division. To some extent, the increasingly contentious nature of ethno-political posturing in the time period covered in the analysis –marking a departure from a relatively more cooperative phase during the devolution period (2007-2010) –might partially reflect what Gormley-Heenan (2006:54)

259 terms “chameleonic leadership,” or a contradictory and “inconsistent form of political leadership which shift[s]… according to the opinion of others and the climate in which it exist[s].” Pressures to cooperate in the implementation of the devolved, power sharing

Assembly in 2007, and in the subsequent creation of the cross-community Policing

Commission in 2010, is likely reflected in the less contentious discourse identified by the author during that time period. Such pressures seemed to dissipate following the successful implementation of the devolved institutions, and as discontent among working-class communities deepened following the 2008 recession. Nonetheless, the findings, while limited in time and place, suggest that leaders took strategic, proactive roles in reconstructions of ethno-political threat.

Signs of the possibility of moving toward greater ethno-religious integration in certain respects, and fears of being perceived as having little consequence in the lives of their ethno-constituencies in terms of “bread-and-butter” issues might elicit anxiety among leaders who fear losing their niche in the political landscape. The manipulation of ethno-political symbols reflects how leaders might simply use what is readily available to them in preeminently promoting the electoral interests of themselves and their parties. It is also possible that as post-conflict stability is taken for granted and peace process reforms remain in place, leaders may underestimate the extent to which tensions they promote may rise or overwhelm the capacity of the state to deter violence when opting for provocation. For example, the consequences of DUP leafleting and other provocative 260 actions spiraled out of their control as street violence escalated, putting them in difficult position and garnering some significant intra-community debate over the legitimacy of their leadership. At the same time, though, they continued to dominate the unionist vote in the following elections.

Sectarian provocations by elected unionist leaders in particular is nothing new in

Northern Ireland, and was a significant factor in the escalation of the Troubles (Bew et al.

2002; Shirlow 2012). Since the partition of Ireland in 1920, populist unionist leaders have strategically prevented a working-class political alliance between Catholics and

Protestants by inciting sectarian fear and resentment (Bew et al 2002). Ian Paisley was perhaps the most notorious of such figures, whose fiery rhetoric about the impending unification of Ireland and the threat of “Popism” incited loyalist violence (Bruce 2009;

Elliot 2009). Unionist political alliance across classes had also been historically reinforced throughout the Twentieth Century through the combination of “token privileges… [offered by] the perpetually governing Unionist Party to its [working-class] supporters” (Tonge 2002:28). Due to their status as an oppressed ethno-religious minority and the influence of socialist, Irish republican ideology, nationalist politics and violence have historically corresponded –in part –with objectives of economic justice and equality.

On the contrary, loyalist sectarian violence was reactionary, geared primarily toward combating republicanism and maintaining Northern Ireland’s constitutional status as an independent entity, having little association with economic grievances. Not 261 coincidentally, today, there is relatively little correspondence between unionist political culture and class identities and ideologies, especially when compared with their nationalist counterparts. The stand-off over “welfare reform,” moreover, reflects one example of how problems which cut-across the ethno-national divide are often framed in ethno-political terms, as well as the relative disconnect between unionist class identities and its distinctively reactionary political culture, geared largely toward undermining nationalism. Even while many working-class Protestants are economically reliant on state entitlements, DUP officials use the language of “welfare dependency” to justify their support for cutbacks, while criticizing Sinn Fein for using their support of a strong welfare state to expand the nationalist political base while ignoring their responsibilities of governing within the UK.

More generally, historically and contemporaneously, the lack of any secure cultural identity beyond evangelical Protestantism (Bruce 2007) and of any distinct political identity which transcends narratives about being against something –namely, a change to the constitutional status of the North and, by extension, the historical nationalist/Catholic “Other” (Peatling 2004; Finlayson 1999) –compounds the likelihood that unionist ethno-political insecurities remain or even deepen, and is not coincidental to the particular importance given to ethno-cultural (or -political) symbols and rituals such as flags and parades respectively. In many respects, forms of unionist cultural expression are also forms of political expression, and this phenomenon transcends class difference to 262 some extent. At the same time, numerical decline of the Protestant population vis-à-vis

Catholics and shifting geographical borders are likely to only exacerbate the cultural and political insecurity of the former and, in addition to economic uncertainties, “culture wars” and contentions over the past, help in bolstering ethno-political provocations

(Miller 2007).

Britain’s membership in the European Union, and the concomitant reduction in clear national borders, has distinct implications for unionist/loyalist and republican communities in terms of their respective ethno-national agendas. The loosening of border restrictions between the South and North of Ireland contributes to Protestant fears that the constitutional integrity of the North is in disarray. It is thus not coincidental that only a minority of Protestants –only 24 percent according to one poll –support UK membership in the EU, compared to a strong majority of Catholics (up to 90 percent) (McGowan

2016). The European Union’s idea of the Europe of the Regions, which facilitated greater collaboration between the British and Irish governments in promoting supranational identities which transcend the traditional ethno-national mindsets has had some –albeit limited –success (Hayward 2009). The vote by the British electorate to withdraw from the

EU could lead to a further re-entrenchment of historical, mutually-exclusive identities, undermine British-Irish fluidity and help in reconstituting old concepts of sovereignty in

Ireland. The decision to leave the EU might reduce funding for peacebuilding initiatives currently stemming from EU donors, exacerbating economic problems. Given the 263 conservative political climate in Westminster at present, it is unlikely that the British government will make-up for such cuts by increasing its share of peace funding.

Moreover, nationalist confidence in their relative power in shaping the society in the future –reflected in the discourses analyzed in chapter five –combined with refusal of former terrorists/combatants/politicians (Gerry Adams, among others) to genuinely admit guilt, likely exacerbates loyalist/unionist insecurity and resentment. As Rolston (2006) points out, and is further supported by data reported here, loyalist ex-combatants are particularly weary of any involvement in formal mechanisms of truth and reconciliation, due to feelings of state betrayal, abandonment, and suspicion of the growing influence of the “republican agenda.” Republican ex-prisoners are also weary of participating in any form of truth telling, as the prospect of prosecution remains; the defense of Adams’ decision to deny involvement in the IRA was justified by his supporters by a strong sense of solidarity and commitment to codes of silence. Yet nationalists have been a bit less intransigent than unionists in pushing a one-dimensional interpretation of the past, since their violence is often understood in contexts of state oppression, and their very participation in state attempts to address the past reflects –for them –the effectiveness of their peace strategy. For example, Sinn Fein agreed on the final Haass proposals, whereas the DUP and UUP did not. Unionists tend to feel that they have nothing to gain by measures meant to “deal with the past” when their conception of legitimate state violence over against the illegitimacy of republican “terrorism” is necessarily put into question by 264 efforts intended to promote a compromise between the two ethno-political blocs on how to move forward in addressing legacies of violence. As one unionist official claimed,

Haass tried to “airbrush terrorism out of history” –something they refuse to allow without jeopardizing the legitimacy of one of their core political ideologies.

Hence, findings from chapters four and five lend additional empirical support for the notion that, in Northern Ireland –and post-conflict divided societies generally –“the state remains a contested concept and the attempt by competing groups to inscribe it with ethnicized memories is a key characteristic of political dynamics” (McGrattan 2014:391).

Such a process of inscription, intimately tied to disputes over policing and the past, is part of the broader political project of remobilizing “‘regimes of continuity’… [which] seek to eliminate certain elements of the past while preserving others” (McGrattan 2014:392, citing Cohen 2008:243). As my research indicates, the past is “filtered through the lens of communal politics,” but for strategic and practical purposes as much as ahistorical, ethno- nationalist ends (ibid, 392). Unionist leaders refused to support Haass/O’Sullivan proposals in dealing with the past and addressing “culture war” issues in order to maintain an image of strength vis-à-vis Sinn Fein in the eyes of their constituents

(unionist victims’ groups, for example). Once again, the historical context of unionism allows for fewer options in placating ethno-constituents who still hold strong resentment and mistrust of “the Other,” in comparison with nationalists, who have moved forward in terms of their place in the North as a precondition of the peace, and have embraced more 265 inclusive narratives. Yet nationalist officials seemingly also are quite strategic in their political posturing, illustrated by Adams’ decision to turn himself in for questioning to the PSNI shortly before elections, as well as threats by Martin McGuinness and Gerry

Kelly to withdraw their support for the Policing Commission, threatening the peace process. Sinn Fein officials have also formerly endorsed controversial ethno-nationalist republican murals which provoke anger from the unionist/loyalist community.

The debate over Adams’ arrest and subsequent release without charge not only reinscribed ethno-national divisions but implicated the fragile nature of the peace process.

In situations in which polarized leaders engage essentially in forms of political extortion, the police are put in a particularly vulnerable position, as was evident in the aftermath of

Adams’ arrest. They were criticized by republicans for arresting Adams, and criticized by unionists for not charging him. Ultimately, in such contexts, criminal justice authorities might feel forced to undertake ambiguous approaches toward justice in order to maintain the co-existence of a dual society. In the long-term, such a dynamic leads inadvertently to legitimizing communal, ethno-politics even as it risks undermining broader public trust in the criminal justice system. Correspondingly, findings implicate the potential impacts of the politicization of policing on collective political mentalities of threat and loss, and the utility of such politicization for ethno-national parties whose power largely depend on the persistence of a dual society. Similar to the politicization of issues of parades, flags, and others, issues of the past have been manipulated in the interests of ethno-political leaders 266 to varying degrees. Ethno-political emphasis on issues of the past helps in re-centering emotional attachment and solidarity of ingroup members in loyalty to “their” victims while potentially bolstering favorable attitudes about leaders who are not willing to abandon “their” community’s interests. In Northern Ireland, given the limitations of

Stormont’s power over a variety of issues, such political practices might be especially tempting.

Whether promoted by elected leaders or other ethno-political entrepreneurs, my findings from Northern Ireland suggest that “collective action frames” in transitional, divided societies continue to draw disproportionately on “injustice components in the political consciousness” which are rooted in mutually-exclusive interpretations of the past

(Gamson 1992:31). In order for new forms of cross-community collective consciousness to emerge, political movements need to develop “new diagnosis and remedy for existing forms of suffering” which extend the boundaries between who constitutes victims and who or what is to blame for ongoing oppression or injustice, and in ways which transcend mutually exclusive, ethno-political or -religious frames (Moore 1978:88). My research shows that the development of new collective action frames which can potentially redefine the past in accordance with understandings of shared suffering among polarized groups in the present is obstructed by discourses which posit unfairness in ways which inherently attribute blame, in zero sum terms, to the outgroup. In divided societies like

Northern Ireland, discourses that draw on violence of the past and victimization at the 267 hands of the ‘Other’ is especially strategic in eliciting the necessary “emotional component of an [effective] injustice frame,” since the “undeserved suffering… [is inextricably linked] to malicious or selfish acts by clearly identifiable persons or groups” for whom pejorative labels and myths, linked with stories about the past, have generally remained historically consistent (for an in-depth analysis of the psychosocial dimensions of such a process, see Rydgren 2007). With respect to issues of poverty and inequality as well as so-called police misconduct and state injustice, such frames tend to direct collective mentalities of threat and blame “away from the real causes of hardship”

(Gamson 1992:32); as my research shows, leaders and communities more broadly -and not coincidentally -opt for the convenience of the “concreteness in the target,” due both to ethno-political loyalties and interests, and the challenge of addressing the complexities of a globalized, neoliberal capitalist social economy which reconfigures class and, in turn, ethno-cultural, relations. The “concreteness of the target” is nonetheless inextricably linked to the pain and loss from past victimization at the hands of the Other, and appropriated by self-interested political elite.

(Dis)juncture between Ethno-political and Class Identities

The distinct dynamics in relations between elected unionists and their working-class constituencies vis-à-vis those in the nationalist community is also important in explaining why loyalists have been more visible in street violence over flags and parades, especially

268 considering that the most disadvantaged areas of Belfast –and Northern Ireland generally

–are disproportionately occupied by working-class Catholics (Nolan 2014), and that unionist symbols are still most visible in public space. Unlike Sinn Fein, with many of their elected officials being former Irish Republican Army (IRA) associates –coming from, and often still residing within, relatively deprived working-class communities – most unionist politicians come from middle-class areas less affected by legacies of conflict. At the same time, loyalist paramilitary prisoners are generally treated as pariahs by middle-class unionism; the latter has historically believed in the state’s monopoly over the use of “legitimate” violence, corresponding not only to their claims of moral superiority over republicans, but also their disdain for loyalist paramilitarism (Rolston

2006; Shirlow 2012). Not coincidentally, the impacts of “progressive” elements which do exist within the Protestant community have been minimal. For example, the Progressive

Unionist Party (PUP), which is most representative of working-class loyalist interests, is invisible in parliament; their association with the UVF undermines their credibility among unionists. Accordingly, most people vote for the main, right-leaning unionist parties –and DUP in particular –to ensure that they maintain sufficient power vis-à-vis

Sinn Fein and thus protect unionist interests (Mitchell et al. 2008). Yet Unionist leaders also tend to be conservative in their economic and social views; right-wing, reactionary

Protestant populism is infused with a combination of Christian fundamentalisms and ethnocentrism. policies they support, then, will likely only exacerbate problematic

269 dynamics of inequality and poverty experienced by their loyalist and working-class unionist constituencies. The centrality of identity politics, then, continues to obstruct any emergence of a cross-community working-class politics, as undermining Sinn Fein -a relatively left-wing party -takes priority for even most of the economically worst-off

Protestants.

The lack of voting across ethno-national lines is a limitation of consociational political systems in divided societies more generally (Horowitz 2000), and has become an increasingly evident problem in Northern Ireland as the “extremes” of both ethno- national communities have mutually benefited in recent elections. Yet while opposition to nationalism unites unionists across classes, the disconnect between middle-class unionism and working-class loyalism limits the ethno-cultural and -social channels elected unionist political elite can tap into in galvanizing support from their more fragmented ethno-constituency. This is a significant dynamic impacting the more noticeably contentious unionist political tactics, and is not coincidental to their disproportionate role in manipulating culturally sensitive ethno-political symbols. On the contrary, and notwithstanding the ongoing influence of small –though committed –anti- accord dissident republican terrorist groups (Kearney 2016), Sinn Fein leaders and associated former republican paramilitary prisoners are relatively more capable of steering the behaviors of their working-class communities in ways which are commensurate with the party’s more diversified political strategy vis-à-vis the main 270 unionist parties, with emphasis on inclusion of moderate Catholics, immigrant communities and others unaffiliated with either of the general ethno-national identities.

At the same time, however, the Catholic working-class communities have still participated in sectarian violence, with intergroup hostilities inextricably linked with deepening frustrations over the lack of “peace dividends” experienced by the working- classes more generally. One of the more compelling findings, perhaps, are that structures and dynamics of class difference within each ethno-political bloc are instrumental to the aforementioned processes of political manipulation.

Issues of Social Class, Poverty and Conflict

Generally speaking, dynamics of social stratification and increasingly acute economic inequality impact the capacity of political elites to appropriate sectarian fears and resentments. Although Protestants still score higher on socio-economic measures overall, the gap between them and Catholics is narrowing, especially for working-class males

(Nolan 2014:85-100), with few options for employment and education. Because (some) politicians and hardline community leaders frame problems in ways which channel frustration toward the traditional ethno-political or -religious Other, general feelings of loss underscored by poverty and inopportunity are directed toward the so-called failures of the peace process, and interpreted in zero-sum terms: perceived gains for “them” automatically translate into losses for “us.” Among both Catholics and Protestants, the

271 resolve among disadvantaged boys to protect their communities and, at times, enact revenge against the Other is hardened by their relative deprivation and immobility, as well as pseudo-paramilitary influence (see also Creary and Byrne 2014b; McAlister et al.

2014). Recent increases in racist attacks against a growing immigrant population –the new “Other” –are also symptomatic of such phenomena. An article by Michael McHugh and Claire Cromie in the Belfast Telegraph (May 12, 2015) notes that “A racist hate crime was reported every three hours on a typical day in Northern Ireland” the previous year, disproportionately in loyalist neighborhoods in which many immigrant families can find vacant homes. Yet republicans have also engaged in violence against growing immigrant populations in a displacement of anger and insecurity over their lack of opportunities (Fanning 2012).

Economic problems facing working-class communities are, in large part, due to globalization and deindustrialization (McGovern & Shirlow 1997). Yet they are also results of the neglect of socio-economic issues by elected representatives both in

Stormont and Westminster, and the disengagement from grassroots politics among middle-class communities with vested, economic and social interests in the status-quo.

Political leaders have benefitted from a dual strategy of appealing to middle-class voters through upholding their privileges via specific policy frameworks, while at the same time appropriating ongoing feelings of threat disproportionately felt by working-class people through contentious, ethnocentric discourses. Although more historically consistent in the 272

Protestant community, such a trend is increasingly apparent within the Catholic community as well. In a sense, class difference cuts-across ethno-political lines and might, in certain instances, result in the de-centering of ethno-nationalism in shaping social and institutional relations. At first sight, internal divisions which parallel ethno- religious polarization may be an indication that cross-cutting interests along lines of social class are evidence of a turn to a more “pluralistic” society, in which one- dimensional political or religious identities determine social structures and ideologies to decreasing extents. Yet, according to the data reported here, this is disproportionate to middle-class Catholic and Protestant communities, which have benefitted materially from the status-quo, and opt to remain silent about contentious issues of sectarianism in order to “get on.” The ability of middle-class residents to “conspire in silence” and “be polite” to avoid contentious issues and situations –as put by one respondent –and work together in mixed social and institutional settings without mention of divisive ethno-political issues reflects a distinct type of cultural and linguistic capital. Such cultural capital – inextricably linked with economic and social capitals –has, in addition to investments in privatized, cosmopolitan centers in Belfast and Londonderry/Derry, contributed to the construction of safe, shared spaces. Yet for working-class residents who continue to reside in segregated neighborhoods, physically separated by securitized gates and “peace walls,” and whose movements are physically regulated by territorial boundaries and the real threat of sectarian abuse and violence, such spaces are difficult to access. The same

273 individuals who reside in communities which remain gripped by fear and limited in spatial mobility are –not coincidentally –also those who remain underserved by public institutions and “the state.”

Hence, for less well-off communities, a shared sense of unfair economic conditions does not translate into a cross-community, working-class politics.136 This is largely due to the psychosocial effects of deepening poverty and economic and social hopelessness on longstanding sectarian mentalities, and the incitements to conflict in the discourses of certain ethno-political elite which appropriate such mentalities in the language of cultural loss or threat. Rather than resulting in a productive reconfiguration of political identities, it is more likely that increasingly similar levels of relative deprivation within both main communities will threaten the stability of the peace process, as feelings of abandonment and betrayal among working-class young men from loyalist and republican communities fester. From the evidence documented here, political fissures within both major religious communities do not correspond to a reduction in the centrality of ethno-political or -religious identities in shaping social structures and interests along their traditional boundaries, because they are largely class-specific.

Loyalist suspicion about the arrest of Gerry Adams, and its implication that republicans

136 There are many grassroots and non-profit organizations in Northern Ireland within working-class communities which focus on cross-community cooperation. Yet few of these organizations intend to form new, political cross-community relations (McAuley et al. 2010; Edwards and McGrattan 2011). 274 yield increasing power over the criminal justice system, is surprisingly similar to the analysis offered by some “dissident” republicans. Yet overlap in views about the police and Sinn Fein does not translate into a decline in suspicion and mistrust between loyalist and republican communities, whose senses of threat are magnified by social and economic hopelessness and framed within contexts of ethno-national difference and sectarian threat.

Guy Standing’s (2014) conceptualization of the “precariat” class, which continues to grow with the global entrenchment of neoliberalism, is relevant to understanding how socio-economic displacement compounds socio-political frustrations. Working-class republicans and loyalists increasingly “have insecure labour, being in and out of jobs, without long-term employment contracts… [T]he modal situation for the precariat may be described as… habituation to a life of unstable labour and unstable living” (Standing

2014:969). One respondent from the interview sample described the unstable and inadequate work opportunities afford the young men in his part of the city. As he rhetorically asks, “What jobs are they getting? Ten or twelve hour contracts at shops.

There’s some temporary jobs… But [inaudible] sitting by the phone hoping you’ll get a day’s work. So that compounds [sectarian and ethno-national anger]. Poverty obviously compounds it.”

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Exponentially, working-class communities from both ethno-national blocs, who are severely underserved by their educational systems in an economy in which low- skilled work is increasingly redundant, lack “both enterprise and” –as evidenced by

“welfare reform” provisions –“rights-based state benefits” (Standing 2014:970). Lack of such benefits is especially consequential for former paramilitary combatants, who experience unprecedented unemployment rates and a variety of restrictions on social entitlements. The transition from a “conflict” to “post-conflict” has also brought with it

“the demise of old forms of social reciprocity and solidarity that had always underpinned working-class communities,” and in loyalist communities disproportionately (ibid, 970;

Shirlow 2012). The entrenchment of the dimensions of the “precariat” class in Northern

Ireland “feed into a distinctive consciousness, that of status frustration.” In Northern

Ireland, working-class Protestant “precariats” best correspond to Standing’s first sub- group comprising this distinct class, “who relate their frustration to a denial of what their parents had as members of the proletariat” (Standing 2014:971; Smithey 2011, chapter 1).

Working-class Catholics –unlike their middle-class counterparts –also suffer from “acute status frustration because they have no sense of future” and thus also feel abandoned by promises of the 1998 peace accord (Standing 2014:972). The status frustration of both groups is compounded by the stigmatization of young, working-class men who engage in hostilities and violence, and whose roles as “protectors” of their communities hold much less legitimacy than those held by previous generations who came of age during the

276 height of the conflict. As findings suggest, the effects of the economic marginalization of communities historically most affected by legacies of the conflict will compound and exacerbate socio-political anxieties and anger. In divided societies transitioning from conflict, “status frustrations” over the growth of the “precariat” class and a more general dislocation of underprivileged groups will likely be framed in ethno-political terms, undermining the stability of “peace.”

Moreover, impending “welfare reform” imposed by Westminster and generally supported by elected unionists is likely to only exacerbate the impact of economic frustrations on intergroup and intragroup relations, as hundreds of millions of pounds will be eliminated from Northern Ireland’s economy, deepening the prosperity gap between

Northern Ireland and the other three countries of the UK. Given that the public sector comprises a disproportionate share of Northern Ireland’s economy –or approximately 70 percent of GDP (Archick 2015:19) –such provisions will have especially dire consequences.

It is important to emphasize here that the British government is failing in various ways to meet its obligation of promoting positive social change in Northern Ireland. In addition to the large budget cuts which will disproportionately hurt Northern Ireland and the referendum vote allowed which initiated British exit from the EU, Westminster has also failed to hold leaders in Stormont accountable for their own shortcomings and

277 intervene in order to effect important legislation. Nolan (2014) explains how Stormont leaders’ inability to compromise on important issues, such as education reform and dealing with the past, has gone mostly unaddressed by Westminster, which has the leverage to withhold finances as a way of incentivizing more efficacious legislative practices in the Assembly. Further, the British government continues to be ambiguous in its approach in handling periodic disputes over prosecution of terrorist offenses during the Troubles. According to British government officials, the ”immunity letters” sent to various former IRA terrorists living abroad was a mistake; at the same time, loyalists never received similar a comparable letter indicating that their past crimes are no longer of interest to prosecutors, contributing to the latter’s sense of betrayal and alienation.

Moreover, the arrest of a former British paratrooper in relation to his role in the 1972

Bloody Sunday massacre, and public apology by Prime Minister which came following the Saville Report, suggests that the British government is capable of exercising an impartial pursuit of justice if it has the political will to do so (BBC 2010).

Unfortunately, though, a more general, balanced, transparent, and consistent approach by

Westminster toward addressing long-standing grievances from the Troubles has not come to fruition, opening up room for allegations of bias from both ethno-religious communities. It was established in the 1998 Agreement that Westminster would maintain an active, leadership role in post-conflict reconstruction in collaboration with the

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Republic of Ireland; yet, according to several respondents in this study, many feel as though the interest of British leaders in meeting that obligation has wavered.

Finally, in addition to issues of class inequity and failures of political leadership, the ongoing entrenchment of ethno-cultures of hyper-masculinity and the corresponding exclusion of women from positions of power on both formal and informal contexts marks another obstacle to social transformation.

Cultures of Masculinity, Exclusion and Contradictions of Ex-combatant Leadership in Community-based Restorative Justice

In chapter four, findings illustrate how ex-prisoners and paramilitaries serve both productive and disruptive functions for the socio-political stability of peace in Northern

Ireland. Ex-paramilitary prisoners –including those still holding hardline loyalist and republican ideologies –consistently show a genuine effort in facilitating cross-community cooperation and assisting both loyalist and republican communities on every day, qualify- of-life matters. The same group has also been pivotal in implementing and sustaining important cross-community peacekeeping mechanisms at volatile interface locations, reducing threats of sectarian violence. They have also shown sincere commitment to improving the prospects of at-risk youth. Importantly, however, the transformation of traditional loyalist and republican ideologies is rarely an objective sought by either ex- prisoner community. To some extent, contention that funding community organizations

279 run by former combatants “replicates societal divisions” and reflect “ethno-social power structures of paramilitarism” is, in this sense, supported by my research to some degree

(Edwards and McGrattan 2013:352).

(Ex)paramilitaries tend to rely on the voluntary sector for income and social status, which is largely a result of their formal exclusion from employment and social entitlements. Ethno-political elites, by excluding ex-prisoners from legitimate institutions, ensure not only the reliance of the latter on peacebuilding and community leadership positions for income and social status, but also sustains the very paramilitary networks to which they are variably linked, and thus the capacity –paradoxically –to disrupt broader peacebuilding processes. Former and current paramilitaries remain both

“inside” and “outside” the political apparatus, deprived of formal channels of social status; hence, such status remains contingent on sustaining paramilitary networks and their strategic place in the “peace consultancy industry.” Their over-dependency on the voluntary sector raises the incentive for (ex)paramilitaries to sustain the very need for their “peace work,” which may be effectively communicated to authorities or “the state” and external funders through extortion and violence. Hence, the over-reliance on employment in the community sector, entrenchment within hyper-masculine cultures, and loyalty to historical ethno-political objectives will likely obstruct the maturation of the peace process even if pseudo-paramilitary leaders remain generally opposed to sectarian

280 violence. In this sense, “reconstituted non-violent masculinities” (Ashe 2009) do not necessarily correspond to deepening cross-community trust or political “progress.”

At the same time, the marginalization of “terrorists” through exclusionary state policies hardly corresponds to supporting victims, as some seem to implicitly suggest. I emphasize this point only to put the agencies of (ex)paramilitaries in a proper socio- historical and -political context. Loyalist mistrust and resentment of both elected unionist and nationalist leaders and frustration over exclusionary policies targeting former violent political offenders can only harden the resolve of the latter to sustain their informal power and control on neighborhood levels available through paramilitary networks. The subjectivities of both ex-prisoner respondents and others engaged in the peace sector correspond –to some extent –to “a Weberian vision of the dominant state” (Edwards and

McGrattan 2011:366), impacting their ethno-political ideologies and practices. Perceived

(and real) state hostility toward the ex-prisoner community exacerbates resentment and hardens their resolve to remain self-reliant and in control of ‘their’ communities. In certain respects, such dynamics reflect some similarities to the consequences of the criminalization and formal disenfranchisement of racial minorities in the United States

(Rios 2011). Yet given the distinct political ramifications in Northern Ireland with respect to the criminalization of former paramilitaries, the consequences –at least for political stability –are starker. Notwithstanding the assumptions of those who see the state as inherently embedded within local communities, and more capable than the voluntary

281 sector in leading community-based reconstruction, respondents perceive many public officials deciding policy –or “the state” –as largely responsible for the persistence of sectarian division via their supposed neglect of both ex-prisoner and broader working- class interests.

Because ex-combatants are the “most visible concentration of everything that people feel about the conflict,” including resentment and blame, political discourse surrounding “prisoner release and reintegration is one that tends to highlight and exacerbate the differences between the dominant ideologies” of opposing ethno-political groups, and is symptomatic of the “struggle to resolve these differences in a common vision of the future” (Gormally 2001:6, cited in Mitchell 2008:2). For example, according to loyalist ex-prisoners I interviewed, Unionist politicians support exclusionary policies in order to “target the IRA” while accepting that loyalist ex-prisoners are also impacted in similar, detrimental ways. Such a trend is not coincidental to ideological differences between the mainstream Unionist and Nationalist parties: while the former have historically kept arms-length distance from extra-state combatants and are overwhelmingly middle-class, the latter is comprised largely of former IRA insurgents.

Due to corresponding, disparate interpretations of ex-prisoners from within the two communities, the criminalization of ex-prisoners is intended to serve one set of ethno- political parties (Unionists) over the other (Nationalists) –even as it poses contradictory implications for the former. The disenfranchisement of ex-prisoners is an example of an

282 attempt to institutionalize power of one ethno-political bloc and give it “moral grounding” (Mitchell 2008:2) over-against claims of legitimacy by “the Other.” In a sense, then, ex-prisoners have served as pawns in a mutually-exclusive, ethno-politics, in which unionists intend to obstruct the gradual growth in the legitimacy of nationalist leaders to the detriment of ‘expendable’ groups. Loyalist ex-paramilitary alienation and mentalities of state betrayal is further compounded by the favorable treatment they perceive is given to republican ex-prisoners.

Ex-prisoner perceptions of exploitation can only hamper their commitment to cooperate with state authorities, such as, the police, and thus have significant consequences for peacebuilding. Hence, maintaining simply that the concerns of former terrorists should be sidelined in favor of victims, or that their empowerment, in certain respects, reifies “terroristic narratives” –no matter how tempting –do not suffice when, in practice, the political disaffection of this group constitutes a real threat. Of course, such narratives and ideologies do persist; yet they do so within a particular political apparatus which shapes the very processes at play in the reproduction of such narratives and ideologies, undermining simultaneous efforts toward ex-combatant “de-radicalization” and dis-engagement from political hostilities and violence.

Moreover, the colonization of public space in working-class communities and of

“community leader” roles by men whose very qualifying bases for taking up such positions is inextricably linked to histories of violence further marginalizes the social and

283 political locations of others –namely, women. The exclusion of women from grassroots,

“community-based” organizations, corresponding to the re-entrenchment of the power of

(former) male paramilitaries is especially worrisome when considering that women had dominated grassroots peace work prior to the 1998 Agreement (Ashe and Harland 2014,

754; on the central role of women in peacemaking more generally, see Levin and

Rabrenovic 2004, 187-194). Such women could thus offer potentially valuable perspectives on important challenges to cross-community peacebuilding efforts while bringing the concerns of women to the forefront of political discourse. Women are especially capable of articulating the limitations in how “conflict resolution is currently devised and conducted,” with particular insight into related problems connecting the private and public spheres (Gilmartin 2015, 72). An increasing prevalence of domestic violence and alcohol abuse, for example, are highlighted by nationalist women ex- combatants in Gilmartin’s study as indicative of the limitations of the peace process and the internal community struggles which pose negative implications for social and political transformation. Thus, their marginalization and silencing on both state and grassroots levels undermines “a more transformative and inclusive approach towards conflict resolution” (ibid, 72). While Sinn Fein has put more emphasis on gender equality than the unionist parties, moreover, feminist politics has not gained significant traction even among this relatively “progressive” nationalist party (Gilmartin 2015).

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The marginalization of women from working-class communities will only be exacerbated by impending budget cuts imposed by the British government, which will have “a disproportionate impact on women’s access to resources, security and safety,” according to the Women’s Policy Group of Northern Ireland (2016, 4). The problems experienced by women in working-class communities already match –and in some cases exceed –the same facing men and former combatants. A study by Lazenbatt et al. (2001) on women’s health in a socially and economically underserved area of Belfast found that

“mental health difficulties were self-reported by over half of the survey group, ranging from severe stress (62 percent), depression (53 percent) to anxiety-worry (24 percent)”

(Ashe and Harland 2014, 754). Yet the prevalence of such problems among women –and women’s problems generally –receive little priority among politicians and non-state organizations alike (Gilmartin 2015). The structures of power between groups of men – namely, between ethno-political elite and most ex-paramilitary prisoners137 –is inextricably linked to the double exclusion of women; they comprise marginal positions in the major political institutions constitutive of the “peace” while relegated mostly to secondary and more hidden roles in the community sector. The re-entrenchment of localized, pseudo-paramilitary power presupposes women’s exclusion in this double

137 Former republican prisoners, however, comprise a significant portion of elected Sinn Fein officials. Serving in elected office is the one way in which those previously detained for political violence can circumvent structures created to marginalize them. Loyalists generally do not have this option, though, due to the stigma associated with paramilitarism in the broader Unionist community. 285 sense. Considering this phenomenon, it is important to emphasize that terminating the policies targeting former paramilitary prisoners by itself will unlikely result in the de- centering of ethno-cultures of hyper-masculinity and a reversal in the corresponding marginalization of women. Broader investment in working-class communities’ social and economic infrastructure, systematic efforts to change the normativity of ethno- masculinist cultures and empower the political voices of women, and cooperation between political elite from both of the main communities on dealing with the past will all be essential in transforming Northern Ireland –and transitional societies generally –to a truly “post-conflict” state.

Finally, as proposed by Shirlow and colleagues, the “lack of a comprehensive mechanism for dealing with the past” does “create an imperative to engage critically with former terrorist ‘community involvement’” (Edward and McGrattan 2011:363). Yet this is because unresolved issues of the past fuel escalations in ex-prisoner mistrust and alienation which must, in turn, be placated by voluntary actors and, eventually, the very state officials who typically show questionable leadership on such issues. It is the very lack of state action on reconciliation and the past, as well as poverty and immobility that sustains the power and control of former terrorists –including the “non-violent masculinities” exercised in ex-combatant “community leadership.” It is important to acknowledge that ex-combatant interest in exerting such power is not only in the service of personal gain, though, but also in response to perceived threats to themselves and their

286 community. As already discussed, the re-assertion of (former) paramilitaries’ control over local communities is unlikely to end as long as issues of poverty, the persistence of ethno-cultures of (semi) militarized masculinities, and contentions over the past are not addressed by leaders in both Stormont and Westminster.

Conclusion

This study provides one example of how changing dynamics of social class, both within and between polarized ethno-political communities, can help construct a more critical theoretical understanding of ongoing dynamics of conflict in “post-conflict” situations. It is very likely that the theoretical implications of social class and contentious leadership are similarly relevant for other post-conflict societies as well.

While findings are specific to Northern Ireland, they nonetheless have potentially important implications for analyses of other (post)conflict sites. For example, as discussed in a lecture by Roxanne Krystalli, as part of University of Massachusetts-

Boston’s Consortium on Gender, Security and Human Rights (2016), recent observations from Colombia –a “post-society” with deep class, ethnic, and gender hierarchies – document how many demobilized insurgents and extra-state paramilitaries later join criminal “neo-paramilitary” groups, moving in and out of conflict. At the same time, class inequality in the country’s cities “are Latin America’s most unequal, according to the United Nations” (Howlett 2015), a trend owed largely to neoliberal restructuring of 287 the economy since the 1990s (Hylton 2006). Such a dynamic signals the possibility that similar socio-structural and cultural dynamics documented here are at play there as well as other societies emerging from conflict. In other (post) conflict societies, such as Sri

Lanka, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Israel-Palestine, and others, rates of class inequality have remained or increased in recent years, with historically deprived ethnic groups remaining disproportionately impacted. In Sri Lanka, for example, “The country’s rich have been able to maintain their relative position undiminished while the poor have been worse off”

(Wijewardena 2014). At the same time, Ramakrishnan (2016) cites a World Bank report that indicates that the minority Tamil population remains marginalized, suffering disproportionately from poverty. Similar to most societies shaped by conflict, it was the extreme marginalization of Tamils by political leaders from the majority Sinhalese population that led to the civil war in Sri Lanka in the first place.

Poverty has increased slightly in Bosnia-Herzegovina, moreover (World Bank

2015), while the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been exacerbated in certain respects by

Israel’s liberalization agenda. As a result of economic liberalization policies, working- classes in Jewish Israeli territories lost economic security while the conditions of

Palestinian workers improved little. In the 1990s and early 2000s, liberalization was sold as a way to seal the floundering peace process, but was counter-productive in the sense that it led to feelings of insecurity among Israeli working classes who saw the privileges once guaranteed according to national and religious identity under threat (Ben-Porat 288

2006), resulting in a nationalist backlash toward the Palestinian minority. At the same time, the same societies (like most others) contain stark gender inequalities, with women being marginalized from positions of political and social power. More generally, the simple fact that all societies in general, and those emerging from conflict in particular are characterized by structures of social class and gender underscores the importance of centering such variables in comparative analyses of the related obstacles to social change and reconstruction.

On a global level, the ever deepening entrenchment of neoliberal globalization has produced great wealth for some while exacerbating the marginalization of a much greater number of the world’s poor (Davis 2007). The increase in a “precariat” class of insecure and redundant workers risks exacerbating “status frustrations” (Standing 2014:971) of those already struggling with legacies of violence in “post-conflict” societies. The consequent growth in class inequalities within post-colonial societies with histories of ethno-political or -religious conflict thus hold the potential to fuel simmering mentalities of threat and loss which risk taking sectarian, racist or otherwise dangerous forms – especially when promoted by ethno-political entrepreneurs. Post-war societies in the

Balkans, Latin America, Africa, South Asia and elsewhere continue to experience both serious economic problems and ongoing ethnic/religious hostilities (for examples, see

Berdal et al. 2012; Eide 2012; Manz 2008). Other studies should examine whether similar dynamics documented here are evident in other post-conflict sites as well, and whether 289 more global theoretical conclusions regarding intra-group class divisions, redistributions of power across ethno-national groups, former combatant/terrorist agencies and social

(dis)locations and (re)constructions of conflict can be drawn. As Brubaker and Laitin

(1998) suggest, generalizations about specific theories are best supported through comparison of qualitative, in-depth case studies of particular (post) conflict societies.

Through such comparisons, wherein unique geographical and cultural phenomena are accounted for, the explanatory capacity of the combined evidence of social processes which cut-across diverse societies will be enhanced. Additional studies should critically assess the more global applicability of theoretical implications of findings documented here regarding issues of exclusion/inclusion and relations of power along intersecting lines of class and gender for prospects of peacebuilding and restorative justice.

290

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