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the most part, been dormant
throughout the years of the
decommissioning deadlock, to enter
the political fray and raise objections to
the proliferation of sectarian violence?
Not included: Loyalist
dilemmas
The UDA demonstrated its growing
identity crisis, engendered by the
changing political landscape, in their
immediate defiant response to the
IRA’s historic decommissioning
announcement: “We’ll keep our
guns…The IRA will never hand over
their weapons. Nobody will. They’ll
hand over some as gesture, but that’s
it”(The Times, 23 October 2001); Jackie
McDonald, a former commander of
the UDA who spent ten years in the
Maze prison for terrorist offences, said
that the paramilitaries would keep their
weapons to defend Loyalist
communities against the threat of
Republican attacks (ibid.). The ardent
determination of Loyalists to hang on
to their arms is reinforced by their
conviction to maintain a “narrative of
defence” (Zurawski, 2001), an outdated
pattern of identity that serves to justify
incitement, retribution, and retaliation,
and thereby encourage the
perpetuation of the self fulfilling cycle
of violence.
A broad public debate has been
triggered, due to the continued
sectarian tension and confrontation in
the Ardoyne and elsewhere, about the
deep-rooted frustration that exists
within Loyalism. The shift in attention
towards the grievances, fears and
disillusionment that are commonplace
within impoverished Protestant
working class areas, should be
interpreted as a positive reflex of the
Northern Irish peace process. Moving
beyond the customary provision of
sympathy for the victims and the
issuance of stern condemnations of
the perpetrators, efforts to encourage
public understanding of the root
causes of violence is a relatively new
and progressive approach to the
complexities of peacemaking.
The demise of the UDA’s political arm,
the Ulster Democratic Party (UDP) on
26 November 2001 signalled—in a
highly disturbing fashion—the inability
of a dominant strand of the Loyalist
movement to achieve legitimate and
credible political representation. The
feeling of political irrelevance and
exclusion has haunted working-class
Loyalists since the beginning of the
Troubles; electoral failure strengthened
those forces within the UDA who were
unhappy with the political direction the
peace process had taken, writes
commentator Jack Holland. According
to Holland:
“The UDA, never as well organized as the
Ulster Volunteer Force, began to fragment. A
faction under Johnny Adair wanted to resume
violence while using the UDA’s resources to
run a profitable drug-smuggling operation.
Several “brigades” threatened to go independent.
…The respectable Protestant workingclass
vote eluded it, and there was never any
chance that middle-class Unionists would be
tempted to a party with such criminal links.
In the end, the UDP manifested all the
contradictions that were inherent within the
UDA from the start … and men who
aspired to real politics stood alongside pure
criminals. Unfortunately, it was this, the dark
side of the UDA, that finally won the battle
for the soul of the organization” (Irish Echo,
14 December 2001).
One hopeful aspect of this kind of
public analysis is that some of the
central findings are gaining increasingly
mainstream acceptance, both
internationally and within Ulster
Unionism. In early 2002, President
Bush’s envoy to Northern Ireland,
Richard Haas, called for more
“sensitivity” towards Loyalist violence,
as it stemmed “from painful
transition”; Haas warned of the
dangers posed by a reversal of
historical trends, creating a “cold
house” for Protestants (Irish Independent,
10 January 2002; Guardian, 12 January
2002). Personal advisors to David
Trimble, such as Alex Kane
(NewsLetter, 4 February 2002 ) and
Steven King, have recently stressed the
political relevance of the socioeconomic
aspects of the Loyalist
B·I·C·C
cultures and markets of
violence
A poster campaign to reverse the focus on
Republican arms (1999). Photo: Corinna
Hauswedell
dilemma, which have traditionally been
overlooked and neglected in Northern
Irish society:
“For a whole swathe of young working-class
Protestants, rioting provides an exciting
interlude in otherwise hopeless lives….
Economic prospects are correspondingly poor.
Housing conditions are, arguably, worse in the
Protestant areas. The relatively flourishing
Catholic community is growing numerically
while the Protestant community contracts.
What many middle-class Protestants can
rationalise as symbolic issues marginal to the
constitutional position are seen by poor
Protestants as erosion of their intrinsic
identity” (Irish Times, 17 January 2002).
The Protestant middle class opted out
of the gloomy and sloping route
through the Troubles. For the Loyalist
working class—who joined
paramilitary organisations in larger
numbers than their Republican
counterparts—it was this route that
served to scatter the community and
dilute its identity. This route led the
community into social and political
exclusion, transforming its fundamental
outlook and purpose from one that
valued the honourable calling of
“defending the community” into one,
devoid of morality and ethics, which
engaged in ordinary crime. While a
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