POLITICS
Londonderry's walls have a dual symbolism: both hold Ulster in their grip
BRUCE ANDERSON
Lndonderry is the second city of Northern Ireland, and recently it has enjoyed something of an economic revival, largely because of Government expendi- ture. For several years, the Northern Ire- land Minister responsible for industry was Richard Needham. Mr Needham, an unre- constructed Keynesian, was the unlucky fel- low whose car phone conversation was taped; he had referred to Mrs Thatcher as 'a cow'. If he had been discussing her eco- nomic views, he would not have been so polite. He was able to use the Province's special circumstances as an excuse to imple- ment defiantly pre-Thatcherite policies.
But they worked, albeit at a high cost. New investment and new jobs came to Lon- donderry and, with them, a Catholic middle- class has emerged. Mr Needham's hope was that these people would be a powerful force for peace. He argued that they would not tolerate continued violence, for they would have too much to lose and that they and their political leader, John Hume, would wrest the initiative away from Sinn Fein. That was always a fanciful scenario. It ignored the obstinate bigotry of the Catholic ghettos of Londonderry, such as the Bog- side, where there is little middle-class influ- ence, and little interest in the new jobs. Over decades, a culture of work-shyness has been entrenched among people whose dislike of Great Britain is only equalled by their enthusiasm for British welfare benefits.
But the history of Londonderry long antedates both the middle classes and wel- fare payments. It is a place steeped in sym- bolism, right to its very name, a fusion of Deny, the old Gaelic place-name, with London, after the merchant company which financed the plantation of Ulster. In the 17th century, the new British stronghold was endowed with walls which enabled it to withstand a siege by King James II's forces in 1689: a milestone along the road to the ultimate Williamite — and Protestant — victory.
Ever since then, Derry's walls have sym- bolised Protestant power: they are 'No Sur- render' set in stone. But Londonderry has long had a large Catholic population; by this century, they were in a sizable majority and ought therefore to have dominated local government. It is easy to understand why the Unionists were reluctant to allow the Province's second largest city to become a nationalist bastion, especially as it is only a few miles from the border. So the Union- ists gerrymandered the local government boundaries to guarantee Protestant control. In the embattled Twenties, that was under- standable behaviour; it was also far from the worst atrocity that was taking place in Ireland at that time. But even when peace came to the Province, Londonderry contin- ued to be gerrymandered. This was skilfully exploited by republican propagandists to discredit Ulster's democratic legitimacy. One still meets otherwise well-informed Englishmen who believe that the Stormont Parliament was gerrymandered, which was never the case.
Ulster's Protestants saw Londonderry as the symbol of that heroic defiance which they believe to be the essence of their char- acter and history. The Catholics saw Deny — they would never use the 'London' bit as a symbol of the confiscation and oppres- sion which they believe marks their history.
The two versions are irreconcilable, and every August they are liable to clash. The Apprentice Boys of Derry take their name from the apprentices who are reputed to have secured the City gates and helped to prevent a pusillanimous Governor Lundy, still a potent term of Unionist politi- cal abuse — from surrendering. Today's Apprentice Boys are mostly middle-aged figures, who bear as little resemblance to apprentices as the average member of a liv- ery company does to its tradesman founders.
There have been ugly incidents during previous Apprentice Boys parades. The his- toric walls on which they march overlook the Bogside, and some members did use the vantage point to taunt the papists below. But the leaders of the Apprentice Boys are respectable, which explains their eagerness to find a compromise; an eager- ness shared by John Hume and the SDLP. Before Drumcree, there was no contact between the Orangemen and local resi- dents; both sets of leaders were determined to avoid that mistake.
They did a deal, but Mr Hume has been unable to sell it in the ghetto. The Bogside Residents' Association is an unlovely body. Its main spokesman, Dunncha Nelis, is a former IRA prisoner, and he comes of mili- tant stock. His mother, a Sinn Fein council- lor, once described her feelings when her convict son was involved in the H-Block protest in the early Eighties. Although she had already lost another son in a road acci- dent, she got so wound-up during the protest that 'even my son's death paled into insignificance'. Chilling stuff.
Some commentators, noting the IRA's success in capturing Catholic residents' associations in hard-line areas, attribute it to infiltration. Would that this were so, but there is no reason to doubt these IRA men's democratic credentials. The Bogside and other such areas are Sinn Fein heart- lands; it is hardly surprising that their spokesmen should be Sinn Fein members. This helps to explain Mr Hume's activity over the past week; it is many months since he last expended so much energy. It is gen- erally believed that he will not contest the next Westminster election. His chosen suc- cessor is Mark Durkan, the ablest man in the SDLP, but the fears are that Mr Durkan would be unable to hold the seat against a challenge from Martin McGuin- ness of the Provos/Sinn Fein. The events of the last few days increase these fears: it is a long time since Mr Hume lost a power- broking contest in Londonderry.
There are more immediate anxieties than election results. Sinn Fein has blocked a deal because it wants violence this week- end. In 1968/69, violent demonstrations in Londonderry led to an over-reaction by the then under-trained RUC, which helped the IRA to move events onward from civil rights protests to a terrorism. It may well be that the Provos are hoping that this week- end's clash will accelerate the final collapse of the peace process.
As of Wednesday morning, the mood in Ulster was bad. Rumours and counter- rumours were sweeping across the Province causing deep disquiet and foreboding. On Friday evening, there will be a big republi- can demonstration in Londonderry, with reports of thousands of Sinn Fein support- ers — including Southerners — preparing to blockade the city: a Drumcree in reverse. The tension is mounting hour by hour. The same was true after Drumcree, however, and, thus far, the despair which gripped the Province in those black days has not been justified by subsequent events. But there is still time.
If the last act in this summer's marching season passes off without serious blood- shed, there will at least be grounds for qualifying one's pessimism. At the time of writing, that seems an enormous if.
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