Why dissident groups will fail in Northern Ireland

The ideology of terror is a fading force.

An innocuous photo emerged after the Omagh bomb of 1998, showing a Spanish tourist posing with his daughter atop his shoulders on Market Street, Omagh. The picture was taken just minutes before the maroon Vauxhall Cavalier shown parked behind them exploded, leaving a three-metre-wide crater in the road and killing 29 people.

Ronan Kerr was 12 years old at the time of the tragedy, but 14 years later, on 2 April 2011, he became the victim of another bomb in Omagh, planted by an anonymous paramilitary group. Kerr was from a Catholic family and a newly qualified officer in the Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI), which many Catholics would never have considered joining until just recently.

Since the 1998 Good Friday Agreement, the peace process in Northern Ireland has suffered several attempts at violent destabilisation, but these acts have never found popular legitimacy. After decades of civil conflict and more than 3,500 deaths, the people of Northern Ireland no longer want violence, but instead support peaceful, diplomatic resolutions to any further conflict between Catholics and Protestants.

The attack has been denounced throughout Ireland and beyond, including by all four of Northern Ireland's main unionist and republican parties, the Gaelic Athletic Association, the Presbyterian Moderator and the Irish Methodist Church, along with the US secretary of state, Hillary Clinton, and David Cameron.

The disgust at the bombing expressed across Northern Ireland's religious divides indicates that the country is embracing power-sharing, and is almost completely detached from the influence of any sort of subversive political group. The ideology of terror and nationalism on either side of the Catholic-Protestant divide is a swiftly fading force in Northern Ireland, and despite disturbing attempts by groups such as the Real IRA to reignite tensions, the country has stood firm and proved its commitment to peace.

Nevertheless, active dissident groups clearly remain in Northern Ireland and continue to oppose the peace process, despite appeals on both sides of the religious divide and the efforts of security forces in both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. Among the most dangerous are Oglaigh na hEireann, or the Continuity IRA, and the aforementioned Real IRA. Oglaigh na hEireann claimed responsibility for a car bombing in January 2010 that left another Catholic police officer, Peadar Heffron, severely injured.

The Continuity IRA were found to be the perpetrators of the fatal March 2009 shooting of a PSNI constable, Stephen Carroll, in Craigavon, County Armagh. The incident occurred just two days after the Real IRA shot dead two British soldiers at the Massereene army base in County Antrim.

Despite this, the Northern Ireland Assembly completed its first full mandate last month, and the Kerr murder has united the country, which will further strengthen the peace process. This was exemplified poignantly by the fact that Kerr's funeral was attended by Martin McGuinness, deputy First Minister of Northern Ireland, the Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams, the new Irish prime minister, Enda Kenny, and the First Minister of Northern Ireland, Peter Robinson.

It is clear that a cross-section of Irish society is horrified by the events of last weekend, Consider the following quotes:

Robinson said:

The murder of this young Catholic policeman newly recruited to the PSNI is shocking and deplorable . . . The people of Northern Ireland have rejected violence and this act will not further the cause of dissidents one iota.

The SDLP chairman, Joe Byrne, stated:

Those responsible have no support in the town of Omagh. Nobody wants them . . . Omagh is a mixed town and we're proud of our Catholic police officers. The amount of anger and stunned sadness from across every section of the community shows that.

Tom Elliott, leader of the Ulster Unionist Party, said:

I totally condemn the evil and cowardly attack which took place in Omagh this afternoon. The people responsible for the attack have one aim and one aim alone – to take Northern Ireland back to the dark days of the past. All of us have a duty to ensure they do not succeed.

Martin McGuinness stated:

Nothing these people will do will break Peter Robinson's, or mine, indeed, or the other political leaders in our society north and south['s] . . . determination to ensure that this peace process continues to go from strength to strength. Our position is one of defiance. We stand here united, there is nothing can be done which will break that. And ultimately we are the people who will prevail.

Liam McLaughlin is a freelance journalist who has also written for Prospect and the Huffington Post. He tweets irregularly @LiamMc108.

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism