The voice of reason

When the 16-year-old Brice Dickson sat the Oxford University entrance exams in 1970 his plan was to study French and German. At the 11th hour he changed his mind and opted for law. His reasons were neither heroic nor idealistic. "Obviously I was interested in languages - and still am - but the practical side of me became alert to the fact I'd be up against people who were bilingual by birth. And the competitor in me decided to try something else. I wanted a more level playing field, and law at university is new for everyone."

Currently on secondment from his post as professor of law and head of legal studies at the University of Ulster, Dickson, who acted as a consultant to the Forum for Peace and Reconciliation, is the first chief commissioner of the Northern Ireland Human Rights Commission, a body established under the Belfast Agreement to advise the British government. The commission is viewed with some suspicion by the unionist population despite being composed of six perceived Protestants and four perceived Catholics. Observers suspect the liberal tendencies of its unionist members.

The son of working-class Protestant parents from the Shankill Road area of Belfast, Dickson, now 45, applied for the job because the area of human rights abuses has long interested him. He believes the commission can and will work. "It represents an opportunity for all sections of the community here to develop greater confidence in the administration of justice." At his appointment he stressed priority would be given to the consultation process on what should be contained in the promised Bill of Rights for Northern Ireland."

There is nothing defiant about his attitude and Dickson rejects the constant references to the two traditions. "There are more than two, that's part of the problem." In the midst of the cultural and political complexities of Northern Ireland, he is the voice of reason.

Rhetoric and emotionalism do not impress him. Although called to the Northern Ireland Bar in 1976, Dickson never practised and sees himself as a teacher, not a lawyer. "I'm not a theoretician. Anyhow, the life at the bar, the lifestyle, never appealed to me. I thought I could be more active as an academic than as a barrister. I think I would have been a bad advocate. Also, there would not have been time for joining organisations and being on committees." Asked to explain the attraction of law, he says, "I have a logical mind and was good at maths. Knowing the law has helped me to understand society and also what happens in a society."

Human rights law has always been important to him and he was appointed a lay visitor for police stations in Belfast from 1990 until 1995 and also served from 1990 until 1996 as a commissioner on the Equal Opportunities Commission for Northern Ireland, which included a three-year stint as joint deputy chair. As a member of Amnesty International since the 1970s - "I joined because I believed what they said about Northern Ireland" - he is well informed on human rights abuses in other countries and was in South Africa in 1994 on a Winston Churchill Fellowship and watched the elections unfolding. He returned there in 1996. "Human rights law is international. It has allowed me to travel and also to learn from the situations prevailing in other countries such as Burma, Thailand and East Timor."

As the marching season approaches, he admits to feeling uneasy. When he says "people have a right to march, just as people have a right not to be intimidated" his tone is neutral. Taking sides appears as alien to his personality as it should be to his official brief. "We have comparative peace at the moment, in that it is better than it has been during any period in the conflict. Of course there are outbreaks of violence, most of it directed against the nationalist community, but I am optimistic." Stressing that the murder of solicitor Rosemary Nelson must be investigated as "independently as practicable", he recalls hearing the news of her death as he returned to Belfast on the Dublin train. Although commentators have made much of the commission's having made a statement about it, the Nelson killing happened when the commission was only 15 days old. His comments are positive, yet he is under few illusions and, referring to the support for the Belfast Agreement, remarks that 72 per cent voted in favour of it, but there were 28 per cent against. And 28 per cent is a sizeable number.

People like Brice Dickson as much as they admire him, describing him as modest, easygoing and he is far more inclined to discuss contemporary fiction and sport than himself. His wife Patricia Mallon speaks of his naturalness and ability to bypass cultural constraints. Despite his academic pedigree, he wears his learning lightly. He is unpretentious, direct and immensely likeable; he is also witty and highly intelligent. On his CV he describes himself as British and Irish. This duality holds no difficulty for him. "I'm proud to be both, but like many Northern people, when abroad I'm more inclined to say, `I'm from Ireland, rather than `I'm Irish'."

Ultimately, though, he is an Ulster-man. He grew up in the unionist tradition, albeit a moderate one. Is it still important to him? He shrugs. "Not really." How about being Protestant?

"On the commission I'm a `perceived' Protestant. But, to be honest, I am an atheist." It is not that he is trying to shock, but the various crimes against humanity perpetrated in the name of religion has succeeded in turning him away from it. "I rejected religion when I was at Oxford. I remember reading all of Bertrand Russell, I was so struck by his honesty and integrity; he impressed me with his logic and scientific approach." As for his politics, Dickson says, "I'm apolitical. I vote - but my voting goes across party politics."

Watching Manchester United lift the FA Cup on Saturday, he looked much like any other fan, albeit one wearing a suit. His voice is soft, he has a boy's grin packed with teeth and his abiding expression slightly absentminded - the one thing he most patently is not. He does not seem particularly driven but his academic record is a chronicle of success. He and his sister Joanne, two years his senior, were the first members of their family to attend university.

Dickson mentions that his mother Maisie, who died last year at 89, was into her 40s before she had children. "We were her world," he says. His father, Sidney, was a seaman. He had become a captain at 32 and was away from home for long periods. There had been something of a family tradition and Dickson's father used to describe going down to Belfast Port to see the tall ships docked there in the early years of the century. Did his father's long absences have an effect on him? "I don't know. I began to think they had . . . he was a kind man, very quiet. A man's man. Also very cosmopolitan, mainly through all the travel. He also had a smattering of languages - I suppose that might be where my interest comes from."

The family had moved from east Belfast to Newtownards when Dickson was six. "It was - it is - a nice, quiet market town. Our life there was plain, ordinary." He attended Regent House Grammar School, where he was head boy. "Don't mention that," he says with a look of horror. He enjoyed school and did well. As he says: "I was good at exams, well able to jump through the hoops." He also liked rugby and played on the wing, where he got as far as playing for north Down schools: "There were only about four schools and my rugby career stopped there." Up until the age of 14 he played cricket, only to abandon it. "It's too technical. It's also very dangerous."

Arriving at Oxford University in 1971 seemed the most natural thing in the world. "My school was anxious to have its brightest students sit the Oxbridge exams. I happened to sit the Oxford one but there were others of my year who sat the Cambridge ones." While there, he worked very hard and as he says, "17 is too young. Looking back I think no one should go to university before the age of 19." He refers to the French and German writers he had read as a teenager. "I was reading books about powerful life experience - I Love Racine, I like his rigour - but I didn't have the emotional experience to fully understand them." At Wadham he played rugby and tennis for the college - and studied. He does not glamorise his time there, candidly suggesting that Dickson the college student was more or less an extension of Dickson the diligent schoolboy.

In common with many of his generation. Dickson became aware of the tribalism in his country through the emerging news coverage of the North. "I have to admit I'd never thought anything much about Catholics and Protestants. Then I saw the conflict on the news. For us in Newtownards, only eight miles from Belfast, 50 or so from Derry, it could have been anywhere." Just as people in the South felt at a remove, so too, he explains, did people in the North.

In 1972 he was awarded a distinction in law moderations and for the next two years held a college scholarship. In 1974 he won the Martin Wronker Essay Prize and also graduated with first class honours.

On completing the first leg of his postgraduate studies, he returned to Belfast and Queen's as well as the Inn of Court of Northern Ireland. From Belfast he went to Paris, where another scholarship enabled him to study French private international law. His first academic post was at the University of Leicester. He spent two years there before taking up a lecturship at Queen's University in 1979. He was appointed Professor of Law at the University of Ulster in 1991.

When he speaks about equality he means it to be as all-embracing as possible, including gender as well as politics. "I'm thinking of making a personal policy of refusing to speak at a function if there is not wheelchair access." The rights of the disabled remain insufficiently regarded. "There are so many public places with impossible access." He attributes his awareness of this to his stepson Jonathan, who suffered from muscular dystrophy. Despite his illness Jonathan was extremely involved and was a member of the Alliance Party. He died in 1993 at the age of 20 and is survived by his sister, Brice's stepdaughter.

When asked about the commission, Dickson smiles and produces a list of the commission members, five men and five women, and with it, a fact sheet outlining its duties and powers. Aware of the many misconceptions about the North prevailing in the South, he admits: "I'm constantly amazed about how little the people in the South of Ireland know about the North. But the level of ignorance is matched the other way round." Funding is a problem. At present the commission receives an annual budget of £750,000, and Dickson is the only full-time member. To put the amount into context, he points out: "It is about equivalent to what the RUC, with its annual funding of £650 million spends in about 10 hours." The Commission on Decommissioning, which was set up almost two years ago under General De Chastelain, has already spent £1.6 million, on the decommissioning of a handful of weapons.

Does Brice Dickson hope to see a united Ireland? "I want to see a pluralist Ireland." He refers to the increasing number of refugees coming to Ireland and wants to see ethnic minorities have a "full and enriching role" in the community.

Fiction dominates his reading; last year he completed an M Phil in English literature, writing a thesis on the English writer Penelope Lively and the presence of the past in her novels. He also admires Anita Brookner. Both writers, he points out, are unafraid to write about the ordinary lives of characters who are perceived as narrow and middle class. His academic work has always included writing papers and essays but he has sustained his involvement with a book club. He still works at his German and French. Does he read history? "No, very little on a personal level. I might just look up something." But he qualifies this on a wider level, "a lot of people on the North have suffered personally in the Troubles and it is important that this suffering is acknowledged and memoralised." What does history mean to him? "Not much. I'm not that interested in the past. I live in the present, I look to the future. In Ireland, we've never been good at letting go of the past. It's a problem."

His appointment as chief commissioner is for three years. After that, he says, "I might well be told `Thank You and Goodnight' but he has hopes. "Traditionally the very concept of human rights was perceived as a nationalist one" - this is yet another misconception he is determined to change. Equality should know no tradition. As for his vision of Northern Ireland, he says: "It could become very exciting. I look forward to a time when there is proper politics and real issues rather than arguments about political allegiances and talk about the Border."