Clear and Present Danger
My post about Brian Keenan's 'An Evil Cradling' and his kidnapping in Lebanon reminded me I also interviewed David Ervine, a key figure in the Good Friday peace agreement in 2001.
A fascinating character and intelligent man whose company I enjoyed for a short while in Belfast on my way to Omagh.
At the time David was leader of the Progressive Unionist Party (PUP) and an MLA into the bargain - a Member of the (Northern Ireland) Legislative Assembly.
David Ervine lived under constant threat - the menace surrounding him that day was palpable, yet he had a marvellous sense of humour and a warm, charming manner.
Reading the interview after all this time, 20 plus years later, is an eerie feeling, but I'm glad we met and shared some time together.
David Ervine lived under constant threat - the menace surrounding him that day was palpable, yet he had a marvellous sense of humour and a warm, charming manner.
Reading the interview after all this time, 20 plus years later, is an eerie feeling, but I'm glad we met and shared some time together.
Brian Keenan told me that he went to the same school as David Ervine and Van Morrison - so maybe one of these days I'll get to interview Van the Man, as I am a great fan of his music.
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 A. Irvine
“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 A. Irvine
