Irish Author and Journalist - Danny Morrison

That IRA Statement

The good news is that the Ulster Unionist Party has agreed to convene a meeting of its army council next Saturday to decide whether to enter the IRA's competition for a free tour of its dumps (which is a bit of a fix, since the names of the two winners are already known, and one of them, Cyril, again against the rules, is a relative of Kelloggs, the organisers).

The bad news is that David, out of a personality/leadership defect, will probably attempt to oversell last week's IRA statement by claiming that it merely represents the opening of the cardboard box and that once deep inside the cornflakes you will be able to start putting your hands on your first Action Man (an obscure reference, no doubt, for those under the age of fifty).

Should Trimble be so foolish as to do that, then a year from now, when a lorry-load of decommissioned armalites is not delivered to Glengall Street, we could be back to where we were in February when the Assembly and the Executive were suspended by the English. The IRA offer, which came unexpected, was brilliant. It was honest. It was conciliatory but firm. There will not be decommissioning. There will not be a surrender. London, Dublin, the world, accepted it. What it did offer to unionists was a proof that IRA guns will be silent, will be put beyond use. It is in the spirit of those words and assurances that hope lies, even though, understandably, unionists have great trouble accepting that the guerrillas fought and the guerrillas are in government. Some defeat!

I have read and listened to several journalists who in the most authoritative terms have declared that this is decommissioning, the dumps will be compromised, no IRA Volunteer will ever be able to go near them again, once Cyril Ramaphosa and Marttie Ahtisarri have looked down the barrels. Firstly, I hope that no Volunteer will ever feel compelled to go near an arms dump again. Secondly, I lie. It was not several journalists I heard, but two. Singing from the same hymn sheet. Faith of Our Fathers. Oh, the Black and Tans, Like lightning ran, From the pencils of the NUJ! You know the old saying about becoming more Irish than the Irish themselves? Well, these two are more IRA than the IRA. Yep. For years we thought there were seven on the Army Council when all along there was nine.

These two experts know more about the modalities that the IRA and the two gas meter inspectors will agree upon than stupid you and me and the Chief of Staff. But two things strike me. Firstly, for years the Sunday Times/MI5 (indeed, even our two NUJ hawks) have been suggesting that certain photogenic Sinn Fein leaders are alleged members of the IRA's army council and as far as I know an army council meeting has never been compromised or caught. Secondly, would Cyril and Martti, who have reputations and personal credibility to protect and defend, really want to know the addresses of the dumps? Want to plant bugs in the rifles? Want to be traced by satellite?

But let's move away from all this talks of guns and get back to me. I want a thirty-two county, democratic, socialist republic - but I am in a minority. I don't believe the British government has any right to be in Ireland, never will, but I can't be persuaded that a return to an armed struggle can increase the chances of achieving my objective. I don't believe the unionists should have a veto over political progress. When I am nice to unionists I am still thinking of a united Ireland and I think they know that. But a united Ireland and a socialist republic should make social, political and economic sense. It should be an attractive proposition. It has to be worked for, not wished for. It has to be argued for and it has to be based on a persuasive if not an irrefutable argument. I have to laugh at those up in heaven, on Bacardi, or coke, who say, 'What happened to the socialist republic, you sell-out, revisionist, baldy bastard?'

Yes, and I see you in your dungarees are working hard for it. People are what count. Their lives and their livelihoods. People. Now, what I really want to hear are some good Karl Marx jokes. Because, apparently, when you laugh the world can be yours.

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