by Penn Rhodeen
If we had been told by the IRA that ninety days was all that was on offer, we would not have walked away, because we were in it for the long haul. We didn’t have the high standards of John Major, which were that the only ceasefire worth having was a permanent ceasefire. That, of course, is malarkey. Anything, any positive step, is better than no step, because you can build on it.
But Reynolds would have none of it; for him, it was all or nothing. So as the Americans headed to Belfast the next day, they discussed the best ways to get the IRA to agree to an unlimited ceasefire. It wasn’t a good sign that the Belfast rumor mill was dominated by talk of a limited one or even no ceasefire at all but just a pullback to a “defensive posture.” The Americans ultimately decided that they would simply ask straight out when there would be a ceasefire and how long it would last.
Shortly after arriving in Belfast and checking into their hotel, the Americans were taken to Sinn Féin’s Connolly House headquarters above Falls Road. It was a media mob scene, with questions being shouted from every direction, and the Americans literally had to force their way into the building. After appearing briefly before the press with Adams and other top Sinn Féin leaders, they were ushered into a small room for a private meeting. They were completely geared up to make every argument they could in favor of an unlimited ceasefire. Feeney and Flynn, the businessmen, were confident that the IRA would do exactly that, but Morrison didn’t share their certainty; his world was practical, political, where you strive to get as much as possible but know that if you overreach, you may well get nothing.
During the meeting, Morrison pressed hard for as much of a ceasefire as Adams could get. He also addressed the question of how Sinn Féin and the IRA should present whatever ceasefire they ultimately declared to the world. He returned to the basic point he had made at Conway Mill the year before: It was necessary to do whatever they could to take away the terrorist label that the British used so effectively against them. The only way he saw that happening was for the IRA to just say, “We’ve stopped.” He was sure that any attempts to embellish or explain further would result in endless semantic entanglements with the masters of the English language. In essence, his message was that less is more: “I told them that nobody has to listen to you because you’re terrorists. The day you say, ‘We’ve stopped,’ you change the world, because the British have no other language with which to deal with your grievances, other than to keep calling you terrorists.”
As always, Adams and the others listened carefully, making no direct response to Morrison’s entreaties. When Adams did speak, he said simply, “The Army is going to call a complete cessation.” He made no mention of a time limit, but he didn’t say unequivocally that there wasn’t one. And he quickly added that there were still problems to be resolved before the IRA would make an official announcement and asked the Americans not to tell the media what he’d told them. There was no further clarification and no time for questions or additional discussion. Then they were ushered out to face the media. “We had to say something without saying anything,” Morrison recalls. “We beat around the bush as only good politicians could.”
As the Americans left Connolly House, Feeney and Flynn remained confident that the only feasible decision was an unlimited ceasefire. O’Dowd concluded from Adams’s confident and relaxed demeanor that the IRA’s decision was a very good one. Morrison, perhaps now more lawyer than politician, knew what had been said and what hadn’t been said, and he knew that the term “complete cessation” didn’t answer all of his questions—it certainly seemed to imply that as long as the cessation was on, there would be no military operations. But it didn’t say how long it would last or if it had any kind of conditional expiration date. He would have to wait for the official IRA announcement to learn more.
Morrison flew home where he waited . . . and waited—saying later that it was the longest weekend of his life—for the announcement. He knew it would come only when—and if—the problem Adams had only alluded to was resolved. Once he was back in the United States, Morrison learned that the issue was indeed serious, with the potential to derail the ceasefire. The IRA was offering the ceasefire only on the condition of receiving another controversial visa, this time for Joe Cahill, someone whose terrorist status was beyond any doubt. They wanted Cahill, an elderly IRA man, to go to the US to explain the ceasefire directly to the IRA’s hard-line American supporters. (Some unionists later insisted that the real reason Cahill had to go was to formally stand down IRA units that were rumored to be operating in the United States.)
It’s unlikely that any visa applicant ever had a more appalling record: Cahill had been sentenced to death by the British in 1942 for his part in the shooting of a Northern Ireland policeman. He escaped the noose with a reprieve from the British when one of those arrested with him took responsibility for the crime and was hanged, and he later made his way to the United States, where he helped establish Noraid. In 1973 Cahill was arrested off the coast of Ireland on a ship carrying five tons of weapons and explosives that had been donated to the IRA by Libyan dictator Colonel Muammar el-Qaddafi. The Irish sentenced him to prison, and after getting an early release because of ill health, he snuck back into the United States, where he’d been barred as a terrorist since 1971. Once there, he began raising money for the IRA. The US deported him again in 1984.
This new visa request was preposterous on its face, but both Albert Reynolds and Jean Kennedy Smith became convinced that unless it was granted, there would be no ceasefire. Nancy Soderberg vividly remembers their efforts to persuade her:
Jean Kennedy Smith started calling me, telling me that we had to give them another visa. I was on vacation in LA, and I said, “You’re crazy, go away, no way.” By the time I was back in DC, Albert Reynolds was calling me. I still didn’t believe him. He faxed me the text of the ceasefire agreement and then, I’m like, “Whoa, this is real!” It wasn’t the usual mumbo jumbo. This was unequivocal. It was very different than normal statements that were coming from the IRA.
I sent the text to Clinton and said, “I really think this is going to happen.” I got on the phone with Albert Reynolds and told him Clinton agreed to give Cahill the visa, and they announced it the next day.
Cahill collected his visa at the American embassy the morning of August 30 and immediately flew to the United States to begin explaining the ceasefire decision. The way was now clear for the long-awaited IRA announcement.
Shortly before noon on Wednesday, August 31, 1994, a muffled cassette recording by an IRA spokeswoman interrupted a broadcast on Irish radio and announced “the complete cessation” of operations by the republican fighting force. It wasn’t limited in any way whatsoever. Morrison recalls hearing the announcement at last:
It was my wake-up call. It’s five hours earlier over there, so it was on the news at seven o’clock in the morning. It was great, but as with most good news in this process, there was always, “Well, what’s next?” We made these promises, some of them requiring persuasion at the highest levels of the American government, and so the first thing on my mind was, “Oh my God, our bluff has been called.” We had a lot of work to do, so there wasn’t a whole lot of time for celebration, except getting invited to be on Larry King. I was accused by one caller of being a Catholic, although for the most part it was a very celebratory show.
Much of the world responded with unqualified jubilation. Morrison was named ABC News’s Man of the Week. Political leaders who had gotten on board with the new American policy felt vindicated, and some who had opposed it so strenuously, like House Speaker Thomas Foley, graciously acknowledged the breakthrough. It was an unqualified triumph of Clinton’s radical new policy on Northern Ireland.
The joy the ceasefire engendered was felt and expressed in Catholic neighborhoods throughout Northern Ireland. Morrison saw the response as confirmation of Sinn Féin’s political acuity:
On the ground in Belfast it was seen as a very positive event, and it really was the first example of
what I would say was the ultimate skill that Adams and others working with him, have exhibited in this process, which is knowing their own community—being in one sense ultra-cautious, but in another sense ultra-smart about preparing the ground for movement, such that whatever dissenting voices there were would be drowned out by the bang of garbage cans on the street. It really was celebratory, a sense of victory, and not at all the sense of being backed into a corner and forced to do something.
Ironically, that response would, in months to come, seriously complicate Britain’s ability to respond constructively to the ceasefire. The nationalist joy aroused destructive suspicions among the unionist community that if the Catholics were happy, the Protestants must have somehow gotten screwed or that maybe there was a secret deal in which the British sold them out.
But all of that would be a problem for another time. On Day One of the ceasefire, the overriding question was whether the British would, in Morrison’s succinct phrase, “take yes for an answer.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The British Respond to the Ceasefire: Words, Words, Words
It was generally accepted by participants and observers alike that the peace process would never move forward to all-inclusive political negotiations and settlement without the IRA taking the crucial step of declaring an unconditional, unlimited ceasefire. When the IRA finally did take that action in late August of 1994, it was announced in four brief paragraphs. The first kept it simple:
Recognizing the potential of the current situation and in order to enhance the democratic peace process and underline our definitive commitment to its success, the leadership of Óglaigh na hÉirann [Soldiers of Ireland] have decided that as of midnight Wednesday, August 31st, there will be a complete cessation of military operations. All our units have been instructed accordingly.
The next paragraph paid tribute to IRA fighters and supporters and reiterated their “commitment to our republican objectives.” The third expressed their belief that a settlement of the underlying issues was within reach, and the last acknowledged the Downing Street Declaration while asserting that, as Morrison and many others had maintained, “a solution will only be found as a result of inclusive negotiations.” The statement concluded with a declaration that the purpose of the ceasefire was “the creation of a climate which will encourage” a political settlement.
Now that the IRA had taken the action so long sought by those who wanted the conflict resolved by politics and not warfare, all attention turned to London: What would the British do in response?
British prime minister John Major’s first reaction came the very afternoon of the announcement. In response to questions asked during an interview, he said:
Firstly, let me say I think the statement that has been made today is very welcome and it is a very great advance, and to have this cessation of violence is a remarkable move forward. But I think we do have to be clear that this is permanent, that it isn’t a temporary ceasefire that will be turned over at some stage and the armed conflict, as the Provisionals call it, will begin again. We must be certain it has ended.
[Gerry Adams] doesn’t actually have to use the words I did, but I think he has to make it clear unambiguously that this is the end of the use of violence, that they aren’t going to return to violence in pique if they don’t get their way at some future stage . . .
Major’s words left little doubt that the wait for reciprocal British action to advance the peace process would be a long one. In fact, there was reason to worry that instead of any action, the British response would amount to nothing but words, words, and more words. Major, like so many of his illustrious predecessors, had an impressive arsenal of words at his disposal—words capable of defining, deflecting, demeaning, disparaging, avoiding, and reframing anything or anyone.
While no one begrudged the British a reasonable period of time for the ceasefire to show itself to be genuine, Major’s primary plan of action seemed to be the constant deployment of torrents of words, many of which systematically erected obstacles to all-party talks. This alarmed and discouraged those who had for so long called for the ceasefire, which they expected would lead quickly to real negotiations. Major’s words are a more accurate indicator of the way the British responded to the ceasefire than any actions they took. By insisting that the ceasefire be “permanent,” Major was demanding something much more than a ceasefire. By its very nature, a ceasefire involves a decision by a combatant to suspend fighting in order to pursue something else—anything from collecting the dead and wounded to celebrating a holiday to discussing settlement of a conflict. Major’s insistence that the IRA completely renounce the use of force forever, no matter what the British, the RUC, or the Ulster paramilitaries did, was worlds away from any credible notion of what a ceasefire is, as well as a practical impossibility given the mission and history of the IRA. Even though he regularly denied it, Major was essentially demanding a surrender.
His words were also noteworthy for their belittling tone, suggesting that the IRA might return to violence “lightly” or “in pique.” That was a powerful indication that it would be a far distant day before this British prime minister would be ready to deal with these old adversaries with any measure of respect and awareness of the challenging circumstances they faced, which would be essential to productive negotiations.
Less than a week after the IRA declaration, Major repeated the same demand for a “permanent” ceasefire, but this time he added that he might see things differently after the ceasefire had been in place for three months:
We need two things, don’t we? We firstly need it to be made clear that this is intended to be a permanent cessation of violence, and then of course we need to see those words carried out, we need to see the deeds, we need a period in which violence actually ceases. And as we set out in the Joint Declaration, if it is clear that it is permanent and if the violence then ceases for a period up to three months, within that three-month period we will begin to talk to Sinn Féin about how we bring them into the constitutional talks, and that is a great prize for everyone.
These words offered some hope that Major would no longer cast a cold eye on the ceasefire and that all-party negotiations could really begin at the end of three months. But then his statement on October 13—two-and-a-half months after the ceasefire began—again made it crystal clear that he was in no hurry to move things ahead:
We still have to reach the situation where we are satisfied it’s permanent. When we have reached that situation, I will make a judgment upon those matters. But I repeat the point I made a moment ago: if we snatch at these things, it is going to slip away. We need to retain the confidence and trust of all the people in Northern Ireland, and they expect us to be cautious. They have had 25 years of misery, with bombings and killings in Northern Ireland. I think it is right to take this at a measured pace, and I propose to continue doing so.
For Morrison, Major’s steadfast avoidance of all-party talks, even as the ceasefire was showing itself to be the genuine article, was sad confirmation of Britain’s inability to adjust to the new world created by the ceasefire:
The cessation unsettled the expectations that the British had over the decades developed about the republicans: that they would always do the wrong thing, that they would always be on the outside, and that at the end of the day peace would be made by excluding and by marginalizing them. When the republicans stopped doing that and started a campaign to make peace rather than a campaign to make war, the British weren’t ready. They hadn’t thought it through; they didn’t have a strategy. I think you hear Major being called upon to say things and having nothing to say. But of course politicians can never have nothing to say, so he filled the air with words he had learned before the facts changed.
By December 13, the three months were long gone. The ceasefire held, but there were still no all-party talks on the horizon. Instead, Major moved the goalposts by introducing the precondition of decommissioning IRA weapons before beginning all-party negotiatio
ns.
Sinn Féin and the political representatives of Loyalism have declared that they wish to enter the political arena as peaceful democratic parties. It is a declaration that people across the communities in Northern Ireland had longed for for more years than they care to remember. And so Sinn Féin and the political representatives of Loyalism are now beginning an historic dialogue with the government about how this should come about and how their weapons and explosives may be safely taken out of commission.
Although Major made it sound like something the republicans had agreed to, his new precondition was a nonstarter. There was no possibility the IRA, which saw itself as an army that hadn’t been defeated, would ever agree. To them, giving up arms before talks began would be surrender, plain and simple. But Major nevertheless clung to it repeatedly, ultimately at great cost to the peace process.
Morrison found Major’s unwillingness to get all-party talks under way disappointing, but he wasn’t entirely surprised:
The British view always was that there is no legitimacy to the IRA’s war and therefore that there is no legitimacy to their peace terms. All there was for them to do was acquiesce to the British view of what they must do to cleanse themselves of their sins. I’m sure the British aren’t the first people to think that way about an enemy, but it’s not an operational thought; it’s a moral thought or something for a speech. It’s nothing for the negotiating table.
On May 3, 1995, nine months after the ceasefire and still with no prospect for all-party talks, Major introduced yet another reason why they couldn’t start: Until Sinn Féin met the ongoing British demands of permanency and of prior decommissioning of IRA weapons, the unionist parties would never agree to negotiate with them, even if Britain itself were willing to do so.