The One That Got Away
I mentioned in a recent post that I would like to interview Van Morrison.
Maybe I will one day, but in the meantime here's what I wrote many years ago about two of his old school chums - Brian Keenan and David Ervine.
Van the Man (24/03/14)
But if you don't ask you don't get - and I've never been put off a challenge in my life, so here goes because just maybe all the tumblers will click into place.
Apart from enjoying Van Morrison's music for as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to interview him ever since Brian Keenan told me that he went to school with Van the Man in Belfast - along with David Ervine, a politician from Northern Ireland who played a key role in the 'Good Friday' Peace Agreement.
Apart from enjoying Van Morrison's music for as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to interview him ever since Brian Keenan told me that he went to school with Van the Man in Belfast - along with David Ervine, a politician from Northern Ireland who played a key role in the 'Good Friday' Peace Agreement.
So my pitch to Van will be that he's the one that got away, so far at least.
Now what a great day to look forward to that would be - I'll let you know how I get on.
I wrote about my love of Van Morrison's music the other day - which reminded me of an interview I wrote about Brian Keenan - for one of the Sunday newspapers 10 years ago.
Brian Keenan went to school in Belfast with Van Morrison - which he told me at the time when I met him in the bar of the Balmoral Hotel in Edinburgh - where we chatted very amiably over a few glasses of good red wine.
Brian Keenan also went to school with another well-known public figure from Belfast - David Ervine - one of the key figures in reaching the Good Friday Agreement.
I interviewed David Ervine as well some time later - and I enjoyed the company of both men - so Van Morrison is the one that got away - for the moment at least.
So here's the interview I wrote after my meeting Brian Keenan.
If I can find it, I'll post the one with David Ervine as well though - sadly - David Ervine has since died.
Hope for everything, expect nothing
Brian Keenan was kidnapped and held hostage in the Lebanon for five years. He was chained like an animal, alone, in the dark, denied his freedom and, for much of the time, all human contact. “Hoping for everything, expecting nothing was the key to surviving”, says Keenan. The words would make a fitting epitaph for a man who is now very much alive and kicking, his life transformed by a mixture of tenacity and fate.
The horrors of Keenan’s captivity are described in ‘An Evil Cradling’. Published in 1992 this powerful book tells of the struggle to hold on to his sanity. “Most prisoners have their release date outside the cell doors”, says Brian. ”Mine was different. I was caged behind lots of different doors, but the finishing post was never in sight. Hoping without expecting was the only way to carry on. I had to find a source of inner strength I never knew existed”.
Smaller in stature than expected, Keenan looks an unlikely person to strike fear into armed guards. He has a slightly crumpled exterior and a ready smile, his manner calm and assured, watchful and attentive, drinking in his surroundings. Brought up in Belfast, from a Protestant working class background, Keenan has always retained a strong Irish identity. Hostages were kidnapped to punish America for its role in the Middle East; Britons became targets because of the Thatcher Government’s support for America’s bombing of Libya. Keenan was in Beirut only a few months before being bundled into the boot of a car, on his way the American University, where he taught. An innocent Irishman abroad was mistaken for an Englishman in a cruel twist of fate.
“The biggest problem was the sheer monotony”, says Keenan. ”The door opened every morning and I was allowed out to shower and use the toilet. After that I was locked up again for the rest of the day. No conversation, no friendly voices or human kindnesses, were allowed. I had to wear a blindfold all the time. The mind numbing routine never changed. The isolation was terrible; my only visitors were those who came unseen and unheard by the guards. I made them welcome, they became my friends; we would talk for hours. I held on to them, they pushed back my prison walls”.
“One of my visitors was Turlough Carolan, a blind harpist who lived and died in Ireland three centuries years ago. I knew little of the man, a few scraps of information from my youth, but for some reason he jumped into my mind. We talked and talked, about his music, Irish culture and history. I made him a promise: I would write his life story when I got home. I made one other promise which was to tell the tale of my captivity”.
Keenan was finally released from his living nightmare in 1990. For five years the Irish government had kept up the diplomatic pressure. The British Foreign Office, meanwhile, was accused of dragging its feet. Keenan continues to hold them in cold contempt. ”British politicians thought they could draw a line under things by welcoming the hostages back. The truth is they could and should have done more to get people home”, he says.
Keenan headed for Dublin as soon as he was released. He underwent a thorough health check where he met his future wife, Audrey, who was assigned as his physiotherapist. He describes their first encounter with affection. ”I thought I was in great shape. I exercised every day in my small confined space, countless press up and the like, and had the impression I was very fit. But Audrey brought me back to earth with the observation that while my muscle tone was OK, my coordination had gone all to hell.”
“I disappeared as soon as I finished the hospital checks. I headed for a remote cottage in Co. Mayo half way up a mountain where no one could find me, particularly the press. Offers to write my story had come flooding in, but I had already decided to do nothing until the others were released. I was worried about John McCarthy and the friends I’d left behind. I found it hard to live with the possibility of John being held on his own, without company or companionship. We grew very close in our shared hell, which must have been down to luck or something. Our sense of humour and different personalities clicked straight away. If they hadn’t, who knows what might have happened? As things turned out John was moved in with the remaining American hostages, though I had no way of knowing this at the time”.
“I threw myself into the kind of hard manual labour that’s good for body and soul, or mine at least. I wanted to be on my own; I craved the peace and solitude. I had no TV, radio or electricity or newspapers which I had been deprived of for so long. But I had a monkey on my shoulder. When the hostages came home it insisted that I kept my bargain and that I write the book that became ‘An Evil Cradling’. I didn’t know where to start or how. I had never written anything like a book before. I went for a drive and a walk along a desolate beach to summon up inspiration. Nothing stirred. On the way back I stopped at a ruined priory trying to call up my some of my old spirits. I scribbled notes down, words and headings, whatever came into my head and sorted them into piles back at the cottage.”
“I started to tell my story to a tape recorder and the words came pouring out, in a torrent. As I spoke, the tears were running down my face: I was listening to a man confronting his demons and I paused only for breath until I had finished both sides of four tapes. I decided to treat myself to a pint in a local bar and the barman, Seamus, asked me if I had been away. I looked relaxed, he told me, as though I had just got back from a good holiday. He was very observant; a great burden had just been lifted from me. After that, finishing the book was easy, like writing with a feather in my hand.”
Keenan continued his writing career once ‘An Evil Cradling’ had been published, but at his own pace. ”I am now in a very fortunate position: life is not a race for me, I can take the time to enjoy the journey”, he says. A travel book with his friend John McCarthy followed and has gone to the top of the best-seller list in the UK. ‘Between Extremes’ tells of their prison fantasy about starting a Yak farm in Patagonia (Southern Chile), which allowed them to escape the dreadful reality of their situation. They vowed to visit their make believe world after gaining their freedom, but it led to another strange occurrence.
On his return from Lebanon the first gift Brian received was a book of collected poems by Pablo Neruda, the famous Chilean poet and Nobel Prize winner. “You can’t explain something like that”, he observes with a wry smile. ”Coincidence maybe, but no other living soul could have known of our fantasy world in South America, as we lay in chains in Beirut”. Neruda and his book of poems became a spirit guide for Keenan on his journey to Patagonia.
The last debt to pay is to the blind harpist, Turlough Carolan, who befriended Keenan in his darkest days. “I swore I would write his story, but it was like trying to describe the early life of Jesus Christ at times”, says Keenan. ”There were no records or witnesses. I had to find the child, start from scratch and piece the jigsaw together. Turlough fascinated me; he lit up my mind though I knew only a few bars of his music. Why he should have appeared is a mystery, but he got me through some very tough times; he helped me stay sane."
The book is finished and is being published as ‘Turlough’ a fictional account of the bard’s life. Keenan, just turned fifty, is proud of his achievement. He is at peace with himself and life generally. He lives outside Dublin now and is married with two young boys, 3 years and 10 months. His life has changed beyond all recognition as once it did before, but he looks forwards not back. He winces visibly at being asked to speculate about being separated from his new family.
The spell is broken as John McCarthy arrived with the news about ‘Between Extremes’ becoming top of the pops. He is Yin to Keenan’s Yang: slim, clean-shaven, the youthfulness of Peter Pan and dress sense of James Bond (Pierce Brosnan version). “Fate and friendship can take you on some extraordinary journeys” says Keenan. “I met John under incredible circumstances, but we have a gigantic level of understanding about ourselves and the human spirit. So, some good came of it after all”.
Mark A. Irvine
November 2000
More than 10 years ago I interviewed David Ervine - the leader of the Progressive Unionist Party (PUP) - who was one of the key figures involved in the negotiations which led to the Good Friday Peace Agreement.
I have to say that David Ervine seemed like a thoughful, intelligent man to me - so imagine my surprise when I read an article in The Herald newspaper recently - which suggests to me that his party seems to have fallen into the hands of a bunch of 'nutjobs' these days.
The Herald report said that the PUP is to visit Scotland after a productive meeting with a Rangers Football Club supporters group - known as the Vanguard Bears apparently - so that the PUP can throw its 'weight' behind the No Campaign in the 2014 independence referendum.
Now quite what Scotland's independence referendum has to do with football or the PUP is a mystery to me - and I can't imagine someone like David Ervine having anything to do with such a madcap scheme.
Yet in a statement following its meeting with the Vanguard Bears, a PUP spokesman said:
"In what was seen as a very positive and productive meeting many issues were discussed, from maintaining the union, the development of a vibrant and strong political Unionist presence in Scotland, the negative role of 'Lundy' type individuals [traitors] and the impact they are having on Unionist co-operation in Scotland, to the deliberate untruths being peddled by media outlets and so-called academics.
"Both parties have agreed to continue to work together through maintaining the union, and the Progressive Unionist Party will send a delegation to Scotland, in the coming months, to address Scottish Unionists on the issues discussed."
Here's my interview with David Ervine - I have little doubt that under his leadership the PUP would be having nothing to do with the Vanguard Bears - because the whole business is completely embarrassing.
Clear and present danger
“I spent four years in the 1990’s staying one step ahead of the IRA”, says David Ervine. “Now the death threats come from other unionists which is a reflection of the times we live in”. Ervine is the leader of the Progressive Unionist Party, born and brought up in Protestant East Belfast. He went to the same school as Brian Keenan and Van Morrison, though at 47 he is the youngest of the trio by a few years. He arrives at his office in Newtownards Road unaccompanied. He greets the women in the small reception area warmly, with affection. A party worker tells of similar intimidation: a death threat from the Real IRA last year didn’t worry her unduly. But ones from within your own community are different: these people know where you live.
David Ervine burns with passion and sincerity, in between puffs on his pipe. His body language and dark eyes convey conviction. “There is no room whatever in our philosophy for violence of any description, from whatever source, for whatever reason”, he says. He speaks from his heart and his head, but from experience as well. Ervine spent five and a half years in the Maze Prison alongside unionist leaders like Gusty Spence. The youngest of five children, he recalls his father with pride and respect. “My dad was a naval officer. He encouraged us to all to ask questions, to challenge things and not just to accept them at face value. He would ask out loud why people didn’t just go to church quietly, minding their own business, instead of parading up and down the street signalling their presence to the world. My mum (an ex-factory worker) can’t believe I’m a Member of the Legislative Assembly. She laughs and teases me about being on the TV, which keeps my feet firmly on the ground”.
Ervine left school at fourteen like most working class boys of his generation. He followed his father’s advice and trained as a pattern maker: a skilled trade, intended to be of lasting benefit. Living and working in Belfast City centre he drifted into the street culture of paramilitary violence. Aged twenty-one he was arrested in possession of a bomb and sentenced to eleven years in jail. Like all political prisoners he believes he is innocent of any crime. “The choice was pretty stark in the Maze”, says Ervine. “Either you got on with your life or languished in your cell. Prison provides plenty of time for reflection, if nothing else. A progressive view of the penal system is that being sent to prison is someone’s punishment, not what goes on once you’re inside. So, I set about acquiring the education I missed at school. I learned to read and write properly and took up the foundation courses for an Open University degree”.
“After a while, prisoners from the Official IRA were moved into the same block as the UVF. We faced a dilemma over shared facilities like the library. Either we found a way of using them together or we would have been unable to use them at all. We came up with practical solutions. We negotiated non-violence pacts so prisoners could share the same space without the constant fear of attack. We found ways of living together inside prison that encouraged us to start thinking about life on the outside. But the authorities wanted to portray us all as mindless criminals; they were threatened by what was the start of a peace process inside the jail. Merlyn Rees, Roy Mason and Margaret Thatcher were devoid of vision and imagination: their blind determination to criminalise the prisoners set the peace process back years”.
“The Maze had a kind of hothouse effect on people like me”, says Ervine. “I realised gradually that the political system in Northern Ireland manipulated society. I was just cannon fodder until then. Arguing and debating issues in prison politicised me, changed my outlook on life. I could identify with the anger of people who were outraged at the fact that only 12% of working class Catholic children passed their 11 plus exams. I began to wonder why no one was making a lot of noise about the fact that only 3% of kids from a Protestant working class background passed the same exam. I became a committed socialist in prison and turned my back on bigotry, sectarianism and hypocrisy”.
“When I was released I owed a huge debt to my wife and young son. Many marriages and relationships fell apart under the strain, but my wife stuck with me and survived by taking all kinds of skivying jobs. I wanted a quiet, normal life and became a milkman then a manager in the business. In 1984 I had a knock on the door and two men asked me to join the Progressive Unionist Party. Becoming involved in politics was another big turning point in my life, but I knew that if things were going to change people like me had to change them from the inside. Critics of unionism from the outside have no effect. Verbal Exocets from the outside harden the bunker mentality and stiffen its resolve. I drew inspiration from the old saying about evil triumphing when good men do nothing. It felt like the right thing to do then and still does today, despite all the difficulties”.
“Being a committed socialist is difficult anywhere. In Northern Ireland it brings you into conflict with some powerful prejudices, but the big difference is that some people have grown used to settling differences with a gun. Being pro-choice on abortion, standing up for people’s human rights on issues of gender and sexuality is not just controversial. There are people who would hurt you for holding such beliefs”.
The Good Friday Agreement is in a continual state of crisis, but Ervine draws comfort from visible signs of progress. “Punishment beatings make the headlines these days in place of sectarian murders. We still have a long way to go to achieve our aim of a decent and just society. But the fact the guns have stayed silent for so long is a sign of how far we’ve come. The negotiations between the political parties and the British and Irish Governments were regularly interrupted with news of atrocities and murders. Before the negotiations got underway people refused to shake hands or meet one another. Now it’s an everyday occurrence and the world hasn’t come to an end”.
Ervine’s mobile phone rings continually: the press are looking for confirmation about rumours of an end to the violence that has broken out between the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF) and the Ulster Freedom Fighters (UFF). He is cautious and knows nothing of a cease-fire, but believes the gunmen from the UFF to be nothing less than gangsters fuelled by drug money and maverick elements within the security services.
During the peace negotiations Ervine and the others were whisked away to South Africa for a meeting with the African National Congress (ANC), which negotiated a peaceful transfer of power in an apartheid state. “Nelson Mandela is an impressive character”, he says. “Surrounded by politicians of all kinds, army generals and suchlike he gave good advice: ‘you don’t make a peace with your friends, but with your enemies’. We are still making that peace now though sometimes it seems to be hanging by a thread. The reality is there’s nowhere else to go. The pro-agreement parties need to keep moving forward. Implementing things like the Patten report needs give and take all round. It’s not in anyone’s interest to have people come away from the negotiating table completely empty handed”.
The new Assembly has made politicians more accessible: the focus now is Belfast not Westminster. The phone rings again, this time a woman victim of domestic violence. “You are at your most vulnerable just now”, he tells her. “Don’t expose yourself. Keep your friends around at all times and make sure you’re safe” Later he adds with grim honesty, ”Thirteen women have died from domestic violence in the past year, but there’s not many demonstrations about that. The politics of Northern Ireland focus on religion and sectarianism for obvious reasons, but there are plenty of other problems for us to tackle such as education, jobs, health and housing. Once the people and the politicians start to tackle these issues together, we’ll have turned a corner”.
The PUP punches far above its weight in the peace process. For a small party it has played a crucial role by being prepared to stand in other peoples’ shoes. Ervine has rubbed shoulders with world leaders, Presidents and Prime Ministers but remains completely unfazed and down to earth. “Whatever happens things will not go back to how they were in the 1960’s, 70’s and 80’s. I was born, brought up and have lived my whole life in Belfast. I am in the business of making the world a better place for everyone regardless of race, colour or creed. One day we will succeed”, he says.
Mark Irvine
4 October 2001
Brian Keenan (3 January 2012)
I wrote about my love of Van Morrison's music the other day - which reminded me of an interview I wrote about Brian Keenan - for one of the Sunday newspapers 10 years ago.
Brian Keenan went to school in Belfast with Van Morrison - which he told me at the time when I met him in the bar of the Balmoral Hotel in Edinburgh - where we chatted very amiably over a few glasses of good red wine.
Brian Keenan also went to school with another well-known public figure from Belfast - David Ervine - one of the key figures in reaching the Good Friday Agreement.
I interviewed David Ervine as well some time later - and I enjoyed the company of both men - so Van Morrison is the one that got away - for the moment at least.
So here's the interview I wrote after my meeting Brian Keenan.
If I can find it, I'll post the one with David Ervine as well though - sadly - David Ervine has since died.
Hope for everything, expect nothing
Brian Keenan was kidnapped and held hostage in the Lebanon for five years. He was chained like an animal, alone, in the dark, denied his freedom and, for much of the time, all human contact. “Hoping for everything, expecting nothing was the key to surviving”, says Keenan. The words would make a fitting epitaph for a man who is now very much alive and kicking, his life transformed by a mixture of tenacity and fate.
The horrors of Keenan’s captivity are described in ‘An Evil Cradling’. Published in 1992 this powerful book tells of the struggle to hold on to his sanity. “Most prisoners have their release date outside the cell doors”, says Brian. ”Mine was different. I was caged behind lots of different doors, but the finishing post was never in sight. Hoping without expecting was the only way to carry on. I had to find a source of inner strength I never knew existed”.
Smaller in stature than expected, Keenan looks an unlikely person to strike fear into armed guards. He has a slightly crumpled exterior and a ready smile, his manner calm and assured, watchful and attentive, drinking in his surroundings. Brought up in Belfast, from a Protestant working class background, Keenan has always retained a strong Irish identity. Hostages were kidnapped to punish America for its role in the Middle East; Britons became targets because of the Thatcher Government’s support for America’s bombing of Libya. Keenan was in Beirut only a few months before being bundled into the boot of a car, on his way the American University, where he taught. An innocent Irishman abroad was mistaken for an Englishman in a cruel twist of fate.
“The biggest problem was the sheer monotony”, says Keenan. ”The door opened every morning and I was allowed out to shower and use the toilet. After that I was locked up again for the rest of the day. No conversation, no friendly voices or human kindnesses, were allowed. I had to wear a blindfold all the time. The mind numbing routine never changed. The isolation was terrible; my only visitors were those who came unseen and unheard by the guards. I made them welcome, they became my friends; we would talk for hours. I held on to them, they pushed back my prison walls”.
“One of my visitors was Turlough Carolan, a blind harpist who lived and died in Ireland three centuries years ago. I knew little of the man, a few scraps of information from my youth, but for some reason he jumped into my mind. We talked and talked, about his music, Irish culture and history. I made him a promise: I would write his life story when I got home. I made one other promise which was to tell the tale of my captivity”.
Keenan was finally released from his living nightmare in 1990. For five years the Irish government had kept up the diplomatic pressure. The British Foreign Office, meanwhile, was accused of dragging its feet. Keenan continues to hold them in cold contempt. ”British politicians thought they could draw a line under things by welcoming the hostages back. The truth is they could and should have done more to get people home”, he says.
Keenan headed for Dublin as soon as he was released. He underwent a thorough health check where he met his future wife, Audrey, who was assigned as his physiotherapist. He describes their first encounter with affection. ”I thought I was in great shape. I exercised every day in my small confined space, countless press up and the like, and had the impression I was very fit. But Audrey brought me back to earth with the observation that while my muscle tone was OK, my coordination had gone all to hell.”
“I disappeared as soon as I finished the hospital checks. I headed for a remote cottage in Co. Mayo half way up a mountain where no one could find me, particularly the press. Offers to write my story had come flooding in, but I had already decided to do nothing until the others were released. I was worried about John McCarthy and the friends I’d left behind. I found it hard to live with the possibility of John being held on his own, without company or companionship. We grew very close in our shared hell, which must have been down to luck or something. Our sense of humour and different personalities clicked straight away. If they hadn’t, who knows what might have happened? As things turned out John was moved in with the remaining American hostages, though I had no way of knowing this at the time”.
“I threw myself into the kind of hard manual labour that’s good for body and soul, or mine at least. I wanted to be on my own; I craved the peace and solitude. I had no TV, radio or electricity or newspapers which I had been deprived of for so long. But I had a monkey on my shoulder. When the hostages came home it insisted that I kept my bargain and that I write the book that became ‘An Evil Cradling’. I didn’t know where to start or how. I had never written anything like a book before. I went for a drive and a walk along a desolate beach to summon up inspiration. Nothing stirred. On the way back I stopped at a ruined priory trying to call up my some of my old spirits. I scribbled notes down, words and headings, whatever came into my head and sorted them into piles back at the cottage.”
“I started to tell my story to a tape recorder and the words came pouring out, in a torrent. As I spoke, the tears were running down my face: I was listening to a man confronting his demons and I paused only for breath until I had finished both sides of four tapes. I decided to treat myself to a pint in a local bar and the barman, Seamus, asked me if I had been away. I looked relaxed, he told me, as though I had just got back from a good holiday. He was very observant; a great burden had just been lifted from me. After that, finishing the book was easy, like writing with a feather in my hand.”
Keenan continued his writing career once ‘An Evil Cradling’ had been published, but at his own pace. ”I am now in a very fortunate position: life is not a race for me, I can take the time to enjoy the journey”, he says. A travel book with his friend John McCarthy followed and has gone to the top of the best-seller list in the UK. ‘Between Extremes’ tells of their prison fantasy about starting a Yak farm in Patagonia (Southern Chile), which allowed them to escape the dreadful reality of their situation. They vowed to visit their make believe world after gaining their freedom, but it led to another strange occurrence.
On his return from Lebanon the first gift Brian received was a book of collected poems by Pablo Neruda, the famous Chilean poet and Nobel Prize winner. “You can’t explain something like that”, he observes with a wry smile. ”Coincidence maybe, but no other living soul could have known of our fantasy world in South America, as we lay in chains in Beirut”. Neruda and his book of poems became a spirit guide for Keenan on his journey to Patagonia.
The last debt to pay is to the blind harpist, Turlough Carolan, who befriended Keenan in his darkest days. “I swore I would write his story, but it was like trying to describe the early life of Jesus Christ at times”, says Keenan. ”There were no records or witnesses. I had to find the child, start from scratch and piece the jigsaw together. Turlough fascinated me; he lit up my mind though I knew only a few bars of his music. Why he should have appeared is a mystery, but he got me through some very tough times; he helped me stay sane."
The book is finished and is being published as ‘Turlough’ a fictional account of the bard’s life. Keenan, just turned fifty, is proud of his achievement. He is at peace with himself and life generally. He lives outside Dublin now and is married with two young boys, 3 years and 10 months. His life has changed beyond all recognition as once it did before, but he looks forwards not back. He winces visibly at being asked to speculate about being separated from his new family.
The spell is broken as John McCarthy arrived with the news about ‘Between Extremes’ becoming top of the pops. He is Yin to Keenan’s Yang: slim, clean-shaven, the youthfulness of Peter Pan and dress sense of James Bond (Pierce Brosnan version). “Fate and friendship can take you on some extraordinary journeys” says Keenan. “I met John under incredible circumstances, but we have a gigantic level of understanding about ourselves and the human spirit. So, some good came of it after all”.
Mark A. Irvine
November 2000
PUP Peacemaker (18 June 2013)
I have to say that David Ervine seemed like a thoughful, intelligent man to me - so imagine my surprise when I read an article in The Herald newspaper recently - which suggests to me that his party seems to have fallen into the hands of a bunch of 'nutjobs' these days.
The Herald report said that the PUP is to visit Scotland after a productive meeting with a Rangers Football Club supporters group - known as the Vanguard Bears apparently - so that the PUP can throw its 'weight' behind the No Campaign in the 2014 independence referendum.
Now quite what Scotland's independence referendum has to do with football or the PUP is a mystery to me - and I can't imagine someone like David Ervine having anything to do with such a madcap scheme.
Yet in a statement following its meeting with the Vanguard Bears, a PUP spokesman said:
"In what was seen as a very positive and productive meeting many issues were discussed, from maintaining the union, the development of a vibrant and strong political Unionist presence in Scotland, the negative role of 'Lundy' type individuals [traitors] and the impact they are having on Unionist co-operation in Scotland, to the deliberate untruths being peddled by media outlets and so-called academics.
"Both parties have agreed to continue to work together through maintaining the union, and the Progressive Unionist Party will send a delegation to Scotland, in the coming months, to address Scottish Unionists on the issues discussed."
Here's my interview with David Ervine - I have little doubt that under his leadership the PUP would be having nothing to do with the Vanguard Bears - because the whole business is completely embarrassing.
Clear and present danger
“I spent four years in the 1990’s staying one step ahead of the IRA”, says David Ervine. “Now the death threats come from other unionists which is a reflection of the times we live in”. Ervine is the leader of the Progressive Unionist Party, born and brought up in Protestant East Belfast. He went to the same school as Brian Keenan and Van Morrison, though at 47 he is the youngest of the trio by a few years. He arrives at his office in Newtownards Road unaccompanied. He greets the women in the small reception area warmly, with affection. A party worker tells of similar intimidation: a death threat from the Real IRA last year didn’t worry her unduly. But ones from within your own community are different: these people know where you live.
David Ervine burns with passion and sincerity, in between puffs on his pipe. His body language and dark eyes convey conviction. “There is no room whatever in our philosophy for violence of any description, from whatever source, for whatever reason”, he says. He speaks from his heart and his head, but from experience as well. Ervine spent five and a half years in the Maze Prison alongside unionist leaders like Gusty Spence. The youngest of five children, he recalls his father with pride and respect. “My dad was a naval officer. He encouraged us to all to ask questions, to challenge things and not just to accept them at face value. He would ask out loud why people didn’t just go to church quietly, minding their own business, instead of parading up and down the street signalling their presence to the world. My mum (an ex-factory worker) can’t believe I’m a Member of the Legislative Assembly. She laughs and teases me about being on the TV, which keeps my feet firmly on the ground”.
Ervine left school at fourteen like most working class boys of his generation. He followed his father’s advice and trained as a pattern maker: a skilled trade, intended to be of lasting benefit. Living and working in Belfast City centre he drifted into the street culture of paramilitary violence. Aged twenty-one he was arrested in possession of a bomb and sentenced to eleven years in jail. Like all political prisoners he believes he is innocent of any crime. “The choice was pretty stark in the Maze”, says Ervine. “Either you got on with your life or languished in your cell. Prison provides plenty of time for reflection, if nothing else. A progressive view of the penal system is that being sent to prison is someone’s punishment, not what goes on once you’re inside. So, I set about acquiring the education I missed at school. I learned to read and write properly and took up the foundation courses for an Open University degree”.
“After a while, prisoners from the Official IRA were moved into the same block as the UVF. We faced a dilemma over shared facilities like the library. Either we found a way of using them together or we would have been unable to use them at all. We came up with practical solutions. We negotiated non-violence pacts so prisoners could share the same space without the constant fear of attack. We found ways of living together inside prison that encouraged us to start thinking about life on the outside. But the authorities wanted to portray us all as mindless criminals; they were threatened by what was the start of a peace process inside the jail. Merlyn Rees, Roy Mason and Margaret Thatcher were devoid of vision and imagination: their blind determination to criminalise the prisoners set the peace process back years”.
“The Maze had a kind of hothouse effect on people like me”, says Ervine. “I realised gradually that the political system in Northern Ireland manipulated society. I was just cannon fodder until then. Arguing and debating issues in prison politicised me, changed my outlook on life. I could identify with the anger of people who were outraged at the fact that only 12% of working class Catholic children passed their 11 plus exams. I began to wonder why no one was making a lot of noise about the fact that only 3% of kids from a Protestant working class background passed the same exam. I became a committed socialist in prison and turned my back on bigotry, sectarianism and hypocrisy”.
“When I was released I owed a huge debt to my wife and young son. Many marriages and relationships fell apart under the strain, but my wife stuck with me and survived by taking all kinds of skivying jobs. I wanted a quiet, normal life and became a milkman then a manager in the business. In 1984 I had a knock on the door and two men asked me to join the Progressive Unionist Party. Becoming involved in politics was another big turning point in my life, but I knew that if things were going to change people like me had to change them from the inside. Critics of unionism from the outside have no effect. Verbal Exocets from the outside harden the bunker mentality and stiffen its resolve. I drew inspiration from the old saying about evil triumphing when good men do nothing. It felt like the right thing to do then and still does today, despite all the difficulties”.
“Being a committed socialist is difficult anywhere. In Northern Ireland it brings you into conflict with some powerful prejudices, but the big difference is that some people have grown used to settling differences with a gun. Being pro-choice on abortion, standing up for people’s human rights on issues of gender and sexuality is not just controversial. There are people who would hurt you for holding such beliefs”.
The Good Friday Agreement is in a continual state of crisis, but Ervine draws comfort from visible signs of progress. “Punishment beatings make the headlines these days in place of sectarian murders. We still have a long way to go to achieve our aim of a decent and just society. But the fact the guns have stayed silent for so long is a sign of how far we’ve come. The negotiations between the political parties and the British and Irish Governments were regularly interrupted with news of atrocities and murders. Before the negotiations got underway people refused to shake hands or meet one another. Now it’s an everyday occurrence and the world hasn’t come to an end”.
Ervine’s mobile phone rings continually: the press are looking for confirmation about rumours of an end to the violence that has broken out between the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF) and the Ulster Freedom Fighters (UFF). He is cautious and knows nothing of a cease-fire, but believes the gunmen from the UFF to be nothing less than gangsters fuelled by drug money and maverick elements within the security services.
During the peace negotiations Ervine and the others were whisked away to South Africa for a meeting with the African National Congress (ANC), which negotiated a peaceful transfer of power in an apartheid state. “Nelson Mandela is an impressive character”, he says. “Surrounded by politicians of all kinds, army generals and suchlike he gave good advice: ‘you don’t make a peace with your friends, but with your enemies’. We are still making that peace now though sometimes it seems to be hanging by a thread. The reality is there’s nowhere else to go. The pro-agreement parties need to keep moving forward. Implementing things like the Patten report needs give and take all round. It’s not in anyone’s interest to have people come away from the negotiating table completely empty handed”.
The new Assembly has made politicians more accessible: the focus now is Belfast not Westminster. The phone rings again, this time a woman victim of domestic violence. “You are at your most vulnerable just now”, he tells her. “Don’t expose yourself. Keep your friends around at all times and make sure you’re safe” Later he adds with grim honesty, ”Thirteen women have died from domestic violence in the past year, but there’s not many demonstrations about that. The politics of Northern Ireland focus on religion and sectarianism for obvious reasons, but there are plenty of other problems for us to tackle such as education, jobs, health and housing. Once the people and the politicians start to tackle these issues together, we’ll have turned a corner”.
The PUP punches far above its weight in the peace process. For a small party it has played a crucial role by being prepared to stand in other peoples’ shoes. Ervine has rubbed shoulders with world leaders, Presidents and Prime Ministers but remains completely unfazed and down to earth. “Whatever happens things will not go back to how they were in the 1960’s, 70’s and 80’s. I was born, brought up and have lived my whole life in Belfast. I am in the business of making the world a better place for everyone regardless of race, colour or creed. One day we will succeed”, he says.
Mark Irvine
4 October 2001
