Loyalists by Peter Taylor, Bloomsbury. 278 pages, £16.99 in UK
Striking candour and unprecedented access provided by the loyalist paramilitaries are the first things which attracted me to this, a damned good read. A piece of our history unfolds which, while examining some old material, creates a decisive chronology. Through the eyes of the loyalist "involved", we are shocked, repulsed and yet riveted as Taylor unfolds an untold story. This book and the author's Provos between them create for the reader an understanding of the domino effect of events in Northern Ireland.
Don't worry if you haven't read Provos. It's all there in a clear, almost simplistic, overview threading linkages between politics, religion and paramilitary relationships through the examination of the perceptions, actions and reactions of loyalists.
Non-natives of Northern Ireland might be shocked or even offended by the matter-of- fact way in which Taylor' s interviewees relate horrendous death and injury to strategy. But, in all truth, they reflect a matter-of-fact attitude prevalent in a society where the abnormal has become the norm. Trauma upon trauma is visited, tracing brutal, deadly acts and also communal reactions, rallies and times of nationalist or unionist deep frustration. I contend, and I believe Taylor concurs that they are, indeed, linked in cause and effect. Communities create conditioning. Divided communities have special forms of conditioning. "The fox of Rome" so vigorously opposed by Protestant fundamentalists at the time of the Civil Rights Movement was easily sold to the unionist community. It was so because the them-and-us conditioning on both sides had never ceased since the creation of The Irish Free State. Add to that the sporadic violent campaigns of the IRA and one is sadly delivered an explosive mix of defensive insecurity and downright paranoia.
No man is an island, particularly no young man whose history is littered with political insecurity and blood-sacrifice. The discrimination to which O'Neill proposed relatively minimal reform provoked wrath and clairvoyance of Armageddon. With O'Neill in political trouble, notwithstanding the IRA infiltration of the Civil Rights Movement, many Catholics believed Northern Ireland was not reformable. The scene was set. The arguments would never again be as basic as the violence really took hold. Hope has visited us seldom. The British government tried various initiatives, each with little likelihood of success. Not only was it the case that one set of politicians or another wouldn't play, but the paramilitary groups on both sides detested each and every effort, making the outcome a foregone conclusion. More violence - begetting more violence.
Jail years, of course, are a punishment. However, although it is hard to advocate them as such, they were formative and reflective and powerfully beneficial to exploration that potentially our society might live at peace with itself. Could it be that the "wretched", the "irredeemable" had something constructive to offer by way of enlightening analysis to a seemingly interminable problem? Taylor most certainly believes this. This writer agrees. Of course, as a former inmate I would say that, wouldn't I?
The unknown is a scary place. It is clear the UVF leadership faced with the unknown, the dust-clouds of speculation before and after the signing of the Downing Street Declaration, were mindful of the carpet-fitter's decree . . . "measure twice, cut once". They dispatched agents to gather and glean whatever information was available in relation to the thinking of all the main players - especially the two governments. Contacts were made which previously we all would have thought impossible. Loyalism was still killing and importing weapons as the emissaries shuttled. There were no guarantees, and no one could deny or ignore the brutality of the time. However, the loyalists were developing a new dynamic. Representatives of "new political parties" won representation at talks. The recent history is somewhat of a roller-coaster ride and continues on into tomorrow. Sadly, however, watching the implacability of the decommissioning wrangle and the sea of young faces, probably no older than about 15 when the 1994 cease-fires were called, gung-ho at a recent Paisley rally - can you blame me for a feeling of deja vu?
Perhaps in all that Taylor comments on, what he really means is: surely you can't go back?
David Ervine is spokesperson of the Progressive Unionist Party