Belfast News Letter, 21 October 1968

Reaction to the civil rights movement among the protestant community in Northern Ireland was no more unified than that of the catholic, and ranged from active involvement in the campaign to ouright hostility towards it. Between these opposite poles there existed a broad and subtly shaded ideological spectrum of thought that gives the lie to any idea of a monolithic protestant or unionist polity.

The divide within the unionist camp was illustrated at the beginning of the period by the controversy surrounding the expulsion of the liberal-minded north Antrim MP, Phelim O'Neill, from that most traditional of protestant institutions, the Orange Order, following his attendance at a civic function requiring his presence at an act of catholic worship. The controversy reveals something of the mood of unionism before the onset of large-scale civil rights protest. On the eve of the Order's decision, rumours of the MP's possible expulsion were already in circulation, such that even the normally cautious News Letter ventured to point out that

any institution which hopes to retain the confidence of the country does not forever preserve its rigidity and it would be no sign of weakness if the Orange Order were to broaden in conformity with the mood of the times.

Changing patterns of thought within unionism were not confined to a small clique of well-meaning journalists. The Belfast Telegraph, for instance, reported that many Unionist MPs at Stormont were uneasy at the expulsion decision, which they deemed 'an open challenge to one of the main objectives of government policy - improvement of community relations by involvement at local level.' For progressives, the expulsion decision went right to the heart of O'Neill's attempts to improve community relations; for the more outspoken critics of the Orange Order, it was absolutely vital that the Unionist Party sever its links with the institution. For one commentator, the north Antrim MP had been 'elected to represent a constituency and not one section of it.' Public representatives were duty-bound to take into consideration the concerns of all their constituents: in a democracy, 'consideration for one-third of our population' should not be seen as 'appeasement.'

The fact however that concerned Unionist MPs felt constrained not to speak out against the expulsion decision was illustrative of the persistent power of the more conventional school of unionist thought. One outspoken exponent of this more hard-line position wholeheartedly condemned the 'Romeward trend' of the press in its support for liberalisation, and asserted that 'Orangeism and politics must go hand in hand.' At the bottom of this uncompromising stance lay the fear that significant change in Northern Ireland might place in danger the constitutional status quo, that 'the enemies of our heritage realise it is the Orange Institution which maintains the British heritage and democracy in Ulster. They realise it is upon the Orange Institution that Ulster depends for its continued existence.' It was felt that a 'leaning-over-backwards policy' would not 'transform nationalists into loyal and responsible citizens of Northern Ireland,' because of their ultimate opposition to the existence of the state. Minister of home affairs William Craig believed that catholics had 'no grounds whatever for feeling that they get less than justice…[and] could not expect much consideration or generosity' from the government if they refused to accept 'the democratically elected government of Northern Ireland.' A Warrenpoint Orange demonstration was advised that catholics 'get far more than their fair share of new houses,' and that the opposition parties were attempting to establish that '100 pc of all houses built by councils and the Housing Trust go to Roman catholics.' The fear that the movement was merely a front for traditional nationalist activity was illustrated by the assertion that 'Ulstermen and women…are resolutely determined to remain as an integral part of the United Kingdom, under the British crown and protestant constitution.' Quite clearly, many protestants refused to countenance the possibility that reform might be required; those demanding change were merely trouble-makers who, 'while masquerading as leaders in the cause of civil liberty, are fomenting civil strife.'

Many unionists, even of the more progressive variety, were in broad agreement with the idea that catholics were receiving a fair deal. While they were prepared to admit that injustices might exist, they did not constitute a problem unique to one small area of the United Kingdom, and could be addressed through policies inducing material progress in the socio-economic field. Terence O'Neill's vision of a united community was founded on the belief that increased prosperity and a gradual modernisation of the institutions of state would bring about a healing of sectarian divisions and eliminate discontent. Those legitimate grievances that did exist, he believed, were at root economic rather than political in character, and should be addressed, over time, with prosperity as the aim. For the prime minister, Northern Ireland was being held back by

men who are unable to see a large new reservoir because they are looking straight ahead at the parish pump...men who care more about some squabble over a single house than they do about a housing programme which is booming as never before.

For O'Neill, though it was possible that injustices did exist, they were not the norm, and should not be permitted to obscure the greater vision of a progressive and united community. Those with legitimate grievances should be aware that the government had already made tremendous strides forward and 'it will take time to ensure that every Ulster family is housed as we would wish.' That the fruits of such activity were likely to show only as mutual trust grew over the longer term was a distinct disadvantage of O'Neill's vision, given the climate of growing discontent.

Reaction to the first civil rights marches among the Unionist community was not generally favourable. Marches in Northern Ireland, so often a vehicle for the expression of political or religious identity, were now being adopted by a movement that drew the bulk of its support from the catholic and nationalist community. The effect of this was to confirm rather than negate suspicions that had their roots in long-standing communal mistrust. The movement's resort to extra-parliamentary protest, in which opposition figures took a prominent part, equated in some observers' minds to a desire to destroy the constitutional status quo and end the partition of Ireland by undermining the state. Whatever sympathy there might have been from some quarters for the protest, many felt that an escalation of tensions, by damaging prospects for economic advancement, would mean a lessening of the government's capacity to address the housing issue that lay at its root. The civil rights movement, by supposedly exaggerating the extent of Northern Ireland's difficulties and demanding swift remedial measures to address problems that were by their very nature soluble only in the long term, was seen to be raising the stakes in a dangerously irresponsible manner. As one observer put it, 'there is certainly still a good deal of prejudice against Roman catholics, and in some cases protestants, getting certain jobs or houses, but it would be taking too gloomy a view to claim that discrimination is on the increase.' Aggressive legislative action against malpractices, such as the extension of the Race Relations Act to cover religious discrimination in Northern Ireland, would do much more harm than good, and 'might well give rise to a bigoted brand of militant protestantism which would set us back forty years.' The answer was not street protest, but a gradual evolutionary process involving 'education in the broadest sense, including greater social integration,' and the reduction, over time, of shortages in both jobs and housing.

The Belfast News Letter's prediction that the first civil rights march, from Coalisland to Dungannon, might be perceived in sectarian terms was borne out by the pronouncements of some leading Unionists and writers to the correspondence columns of the newspapers. For one such writer, the fact that republicans, including members of Sinn Féin, had allegedly taken part in the march, and that a section of the demonstrators had concluded proceedings with a rendition of the national anthem of the Republic of Ireland, was an indication that there lay behind the civil rights movement something other than a 'real concern and demand for houses.' The minister of home affairs was still more assertive in contending that

from the conduct and behaviour of some of the speakers and organisers at the Dungannon parade it was clear that the civil rights organisation was allowing the platform to be used by extremists and trouble-makers for the purpose of preaching violence and stirring up hatred among people.

The violence that occurred on 5 October in Derry served further to reinforce perceptions of the civil rights movement as inescapably political and sectarian in character. Even the normally measured O'Neill evidently felt obliged to react in uncharacteristically strong terms to the movement's refusal to confine its march to catholic areas of Derry; by insisting on a breach of tradition, organisers had indulged in an act of 'pure provocation,' since 'no republican parade has ever marched down this road in the history of Northern Ireland.' Belfast Young Unionists dismissed the Derry protesters as 'the type of destructive rabble, anti-Ulster, and anti-law and order, who took part in the attempt to introduce civil strife in Londonderry under the guise of civil rights.' Westminster MP Capt L P S Orr asserted, along much the same lines as the minister of home affairs, that the Derry demonstration 'represented an alliance between nationalist, extreme republican and IRA elements with extreme Labour elements. It sought to exploit certain real or imaginary grievances for the purpose of creating a situation of serious tension.' At the root of such assessments lay the conviction that whether or not there were legitimate complaints to be answered,, 'violent agitation about houses, jobs and votes are [sic] only weapons in the battle to end partition and destroy Ulster,' a conviction that indicated to hard-line unionists that 'if every family in Northern Ireland were housed and every adult person in employment the agitation for a united Ireland would continue.' Those outside the Unionist Party hierarchy, unimpeded by considerations of party unity, could afford to display a greater degree of forthrightness in their criticism of what the Voice of Ulster's Christian Ladies considered 'Captain O'Neill's appeasement policy…[which] has brought us to this crisis that the republicans will never be satisfied and…that discrimination is being used as a means of achieving a united Ireland.' It was this feeling of pent-up resentment among more fearful protestant elements, represented most assertively by Rev Ian Paisley and Major Ronald Bunting, that motivated significant numbers to adopt their own form of street protest, the counter-demonstration, as a method of foiling the civil rights movement in its presumed campaign to destroy, by means of mass-agitation or violence, the constitutional stability of Northern Ireland. Though turn-out on these occasions was comparatively small, indicating a lack of broad-based support for this form of action comparable with that for civil rights marches, the attitudes that underlay it if not the methods by which it was characterised were representative of more mainstream traditional unionist reaction to the acceleration of the civil rights drive. The blustering hyperbole of Bunting's claim that 'I will be [in Derry] with 5,000 men, and I will do my very best to ensure that the integrity of Londonderry's walls, which are symbolic of unionism, will be preserved, should it cost me my life' should not by its fantastic proportions be permitted to obscure the very genuine sense of fear and resentment that was shared not only by his supporters, and which was exemplified in Paisley's call for 'every loyalist in Ulster' to assemble in Armagh in order to prevent the planned 30 November march by 'a front movement for the IRA.' Hard-liners could agree with the sentiment - though their language was generally less emotive than that of the Paisleyite faction - that compromise with 'a republican army of murderers and looters' (as Paisley reportedly chose to characterise the Armagh demonstration) was equivalent to the surrender of Northern Ireland's constitutional status as part of the United Kingdom. It was quite possible both to disagree vehemently with the Paisleyite movement, and to maintain the underlying suspicions which fuelled its more militant stance. Thus there was no contradiction in the expression by a correspondent in the Belfast Telegraph of regret that the Paisley 'monster' had been dragged from its lair by recent happenings, with the idea that it was 'civil rights - a popular phrase today, especially among those least inclined to earn rights by hard work and co-operation - [that had] had the power' to hand to the free presbyterian moderator the mantle of protector of protestantism.

The perceived threat of a republican conspiracy was however not the only basis for large-scale unionist hostility to the civil rights drive, and as time progressed, it became increasingly evident that there existed among some protestants a well of opposition towards the increasingly radical methods and ever more insistent demands of opposition groups. The feeling that there had been a great deal of sympathy shown for 'the people who were marching and rioting' in Derry, while little consideration had been extended to those 'whose windows were broken and goods looted by people who have no respect for law and order' led one correspondent to comment in the columns of the Belfast Telegraph that 'if this is what those who march call civil rights it is time they went home and hid with shame.' A number of other correspondents voiced their opinion that the present movement was straying far from the non-sectarian principles it claimed to espouse. There existed a marked sense of bitterness at the fact that it was abuses against the rights of the minority that most often appeared to be highlighted by the civil rights movement. The sight of Derry dockers participating in a march against discrimination angered one writer, who pointed out that their profession in the city was composed entirely of workers from the catholic community. For another contributor, the seeming emphasis on the state of catholic housing and employment in Derry was a matter for considerable resentment, since protestants in the city also had to face poor housing conditions and discrimination in seeking employment. A third, and otherwise largely sympathetic writer on events in Derry, asserted that 'many protestants feel themselves discriminated against when they see the bulk of new houses being allocated to Roman catholics.' For a fourth, the difference between the conditions in which the two communities lived stemmed not from a disparity in their treatment or any favour shown by the authorities to the one over the other, but from the fact that protestants living in poor conditions had worked hard and saved sufficiently to buy their own houses, whereas, 'if catholics have to have large families and live in overcrowded conditions, that is their problem and I would suggest they protest to their church leaders, instead of crying out against Captain O'Neill.' The essential difference between catholic and protestant was 'that when protestants are badly off they just keep quiet and do the best they can for themselves.' Joseph Burns MP, in the context of a hard-line speech in which he attacked the Derry unemployed as 'work-shy' and living on the fruits of the welfare state, asserted that four out of every five houses built in the city since the war had been allocated to catholics. A similar point was brought up in the course of a contribution appearing in the News Letter, where it was claimed that 'the underprivileged minority has been conspicuously enjoying unlimited abundance in the form of family allowances and other state benefits,' while contributing nothing in return to the state save a higher birth-rate. If there really were substantial problems in Northern Ireland of the kind outlined by the civil rights movement,

one would expect to see hordes of deprived, down-trodden, suffering, persecuted citizens fleeing for their lives on the road to Buncrana. At times I wish I was one of the "deprived" in our city of Londonderry. What bliss to draw up to £13 per week for doing nothing! What bliss to rise at noon and commute to bookmaker's shop and pub!

As the above examples illustrate, long-established sectarian antagonisms, though playing a central role in the growth of protestant hostility to the civil rights movement, do not in and of themselves provide sufficient explanation for the genuine sense of resentful bewilderment felt by those who argued that catholics within the Union were in a much better position than their counterparts living outside it in the Republic of Ireland. Opposition to civil rights demands was conditioned in many instances, at least in part, by the conviction that protestants and unionists were being maligned and deliberately misrepresented for political gain and without regard to the improved community relations that, it was widely maintained, had come about during O'Neill's prime ministerial tenure.

Those unionists who felt some sympathy for civil rights claims could nonetheless be alienated by the means chosen to highlight them. O'Neill's assertion that 'people here have their democracy. Let them use it properly and put aside methods of action which are in essence undemocratic. Let us have a proper debate not a monologue,' expressed sentiments that rang true for many protestants, who failed to grasp the sense of alienation and frustration that lay behind the civil rights movement's change in tactics. While those with grievances had the legitimate right to have them redressed, no possible justification could be seen for a campaign that it was felt could only threaten progress. O'Neill's vision of gradualist and non-threatening change was perceived as the only realistic way in which the issues at the centre of contention could be tackled, a vision that depended above all on stability and, crucially, time. The prime minister articulated with particular clarity these concepts in a speech made at Stormont following the Derry disturbances of 5 October, when he stated that

the place for political arguments is in parliament, not in the streets. Disorder is the way, not to equal rights, but to an equal share of misery and despair…In the last resort change has to be acceptable change. Living happily together in a mixed community depends not upon legislation but upon a growth of trust and confidence.

Such a growth - indeed, an evolution - could, by its very nature, occur only in the long-term. By carrying protest outside the parliamentary system, opposition groups according to this interpretation risked a radicalisation of opinion and consequent growth in hostility that could easily threaten the achievement of a more united and prosperous community by rekindling the old communal antagonisms. A realistic and responsible solution could be achieved by 'the accepted and civilised method of influencing public opinion by reasoned argument, not by provocation and coat-trailing demonstrations leading to riot and violence.' The most effective manner in which the genuine grievances of civil rights supporters could be answered was to provide for them 'a good house, a fair wage and security for…[their] children,' ideals which could not, according to the O'Neill vision, be attained in the short term or as the result of unseemly extra-parliamentary pressure. Indeed, many unionists were convinced that progress was already ongoing: houses were being built, new factories brought to Northern Ireland, and community relations were improving. It seemed therefore incomprehensible that those who stood to benefit from the politics of O'Neillism should, by taking to the streets, place prospects for further development at risk. Achievements to date, it was held, had been made possible by a careful and considered plan of development, the success of which was indicative of the merits of careful, evolutionary change over an extended period. That genuine problems were still enountered by some people living in Northern Ireland was not in dispute; however, it was widely assumed that these were being wilfully exaggerated out of all proportion to reality, with the aim of creating a sensational impact in the media and ultimately scoring political points against Unionism. Brian Faulkner, as minister of commerce, expressed sentiments common to many colleagues and supporters when he argued that

the difficulties of one family living in overcrowded conditions make a more dramatic story than the statistics of 250 Ulster families moving into modern homes every week. The complaints of one man out of work for a long time gets [sic] massive coverage; the satisfaction of thousands of others earning good wages in government-sponsored industries is not considered newsworthy.

Evidently, the admission by some unionist elements that the civil rights movement expressed a number of genuine concerns did not by any means constitute an acceptance of all that its advocates stood for. A careful distinction was often drawn by those who cared to accept that some claims were justified, between 'the social grievance which is real and largely affecting catholics, and the political demand for changes in franchise which has largely been whipped up and manufactured for party purposes.'

For an increasingly vocal element in the protestant community however, it was not sufficient for Unionist Party politicians to adopt even a half-hearted stand on the matter of basic human rights. Liberal unionists favoured what was on the whole a less ambiguous approach to the questions raised by the recent manifestations of discontent, If the government truly had nothing to be ashamed of, then it was natural for some to conclude that 'the honest, democratic and Christian thing to do is to invite an impartial inquiry into these allegations…If the allegations have some substance they can then be rectified. If not the government and local authorities will be publicly vindicated.' This attitude was not confined to well-meaning liberal clergymen; Basil Kelly, Unionist MP and Northern Ireland attorney-general was reported on 26 October to have stated that

when charges of unfairness and injustice are levelled at us by even a small section of the community; by even any group whose long-term motives may be impure and destructive, no matter how ill-informed or immature they are as people - even if they are outsiders who have no care for, or stake in this country - we must scrutinise the complaints as thoroughly and as objectively as we can.

For Unionist MP Edmond Warnock, who ironically had earned in previous years a somewhat less than moderate reputation in Northern Ireland politics,

fifty years of one-party government, with an immensely strong government in power, and a relatively weak opposition has had the almost inevitable result. Government has very gradually become less democratic, and more autocratic. Granted that most of the allegations of discrimination and the like have generally had a larger content of exaggeration than of truth, it should be remembered that the complaints (not always devoid of substance) were made on the floor of the house of commons, the proper forum, and the government might and should have done more by way of inquiry. If the complaints were substantially devoid of substance, that would have been demonstrated. If they were justified a remedy for any injustice might have been devised.

If injustices existed, then the government should address itself to them; it was the message, regardless of the motives of the messenger, that must be heeded. For the pro-Union Northern Ireland Labour Party (NILP) 'the fact that communists and perhaps IRA joined with members of other opposition parties in these civil rights demonstrations, does not invalidate the objectives of the demonstrators.'

For some therefore, the issue of civil rights, as it was for John Hume, was not a political but a moral consideration, and some protestants were waking to an uneasy sense of shame that 'for years we have known of various forms of social injustice and political discrimination within our community, and we have found it mentally more comfortable, politically more acceptable, and socially more convenient to acquiesce in these things.' For other elements, Unionist Party reluctance to press ahead with reforms must take second place to the ideal represented by the link with Britain and all that it was believed to signify. It was essential that 'if there be injustice or inequality in Londonderry it must be put right, not because of the riot, not because of the possibility of intervention by the British government, but in order to preserve the integrity and good name of Northern Ireland.' Dr Robert Simpson, Unionist MP for mid-Antrim, was reported by the Belfast Telegraph to be 'of the opinion that we can no longer stay British on our terms alone, but that we must accept in full British standards of democracy and electoral procedure.'

While there was a recognisable growth in the vocal expression of protestant sympathy for the civil rights cause following the Derry disturbances, considerable significance must also be attached to a corresponding trend, highlighted by the reported warning offered by Phelim O'Neill to what he considered the 'nucleus of reasonable and sensible people in the civil rights movement,' whom he advised against alienating 'those people in the Unionist ranks, and there was [sic] a number, who were not unsympathetic to some of their views.' This counsel was evidently not offered without reason, for just as growing frustration with traditional methods of political expression drove the civil rights movement to adopt a more radical stance in the shape of marches that in some cases entailed defiance of the authorities, so the potential for the alienation of those generally sympathetic to the cause of civil rights, but fearful of the effects of more confrontational methods, grew. As one writer put it, in illustration of the point,

a short time ago many people approved of the ideals of student, and other demonstrations while condemning the violence which inevitably accompanies them. Now, however, large sections of the rate-paying public would support more strenuous control over student activities and even the removal of student grants…I would, therefore, appeal to student demonstrators to consider the damage that will ultimately be done to their colleagues and indeed to their cause if they persist in marches, sit-ins and violent demonstrations.

Although many people, as one correspondent put it, 'loathe extremism and detest the unthinking use of sectarianism,' it was nonetheless felt that 'further marches and meaty confrontations can do nothing but drive men of goodwill further right.' As tensions grew, and the spectre of possibly violent confrontation loomed ever more menacingly on the horizon, it was perhaps inevitable that moderate support for civil rights demands would be increasingly qualified by fear and abhorrence of the potential consequences of a continued extra-parliamentary campaign. As one correspondent bitterly commented in the News Letter, 'if the civil rights marchers were only trying to make a point as they would have us believe that point has been made long ago. To threaten and intimidate further by mob rule can only hamper negotiations and reform.' Even the generally sympathetic editorial column of the Belfast Telegraph on 5 December 1968 saw fit to caution sincere civil rights organisers that

one of the present dangers - and the moderate civil rights leaders must be aware of it - is that the price of further reforms at this time is too high. There is a risk that trouble-makers on both sides begin to set the pace, plunging us even further into civil disturbance.

Disturbances in the streets might well serve to push the government further in the direction of reform, but they carried with them their own set of dangers, to which the threatening actions of the supporters of Ian Paisley in Armagh on 30 November stood as testament. Although it was, for the writer concerned, eminently understandable that 'when a group in society cannot find expression through the parliamentary process, the natural inclination is to look to other methods of achieving goals,' the need now above all else was for caution. By relentlessly pressing the government until all its demands were met, the civil rights movement risked a resurgence of communal violence leading to a profound instability within the state that would render valueless any gains produced by its efforts, and by the O'Neill premiership as a whole. The News Letter's professed preference for 'the high road with the moderate liberalism of Capt O'Neill' over 'the low road with all its out-dated milestones of recrimination, sectarianism and bigotry' was tempered by a belief that marches, their point made, were destructive and unrepresentative, an infringement of the rights of 'the majority of the people who do not march in the streets,' who, it was argued, 'have their civil rights too.' Whatever their political inclinations, most people had by now experienced 'more than enough of civil strife and violence not far removed from anarchy in their streets.' The civil rights movement, in adopting a campaign of sustained extra-parliamentary pressure, was leading not only its followers, but all the people of Northern Ireland down a potentially catastrophic path. Even if, as some unionists were prepared to accept, there remained within Northern Ireland legitimate grievances that ought to be addressed, it was unrealistic to expect from Stormont an overnight cure-all solution. Cries on the one hand of 'too little, too late' were balanced by fears on the other of too much, too soon. Hard-line dissenting voices, not only in the Unionist ranks but also at cabinet level, placed O'Neill in an extremely difficult position, whereby he was forced to walk a precarious tightrope between minority frustration and majority fear. His ability to address the concerns raised was seriously curtailed by the limitations of vocal support for reformist ideas that tended, by its very nature, to be less insistently expressed than pressure from the extremes. Even with the support of a substantial section of the public however, O'Neill, as party leader rather than dictator, was answerable in the end both to his fellow Unionists and to that large section of public opinion that significant numbers of his parliamentary and local government colleagues were elected to represent. It was in order to provide himself with some breathing-space in an arena filled with the competing voices of opponents both to his right and left, that the prime minister made the decision to address a televised appeal to what one correspondent in the Belfast Telegraph labelled that 'great swathe of moderate opinion, unionist and nationalist...which shrinks in abhorrence from the excesses of the hotheads of either party.' By securing a popular mandate from this section of opinion, the existence of which had been guessed at by many but never accurately measured, O'Neill hoped to stabilise the situation, driving home to people his conviction that reform, while desirable, must be a gradual process predicated upon socio-economic regeneration and the healing of old divisions that would accompany Northern Ireland's entry into a more prosperous age.

I more than welcome discussion of any kind on these or related topics, and anyone who writes will be guaranteed a reply. Whatever comments, ideas or questions you may have, don't hesitate to e-mail me