A Sudden Rush of Peace

According to an old story, the pilot of an airliner flying into Belfast once advised his passengers to turn their watches back to local time — 1690. The Irish on board surely savored this morsel of black humor. But last week, as the sorrows of centuries marched in review before Irish eyes, the gallows wit gave way to the fugitive elixir of hope. In Northern Ireland, 25 years of civil strife punctuated by acts of mayhem seemed nearer than ever to expiring, when one side in the struggle agreed to lay down its arms.

In announcing “a complete cessation of military operations,” the Irish Republican Army apparently undertook to turn legitimate and pursue its goals by peaceful means. Suspicions about the I.R.A.’s motives coursed through British-ruled Ulster’s majority Protestants. But the balance of judgment fell on the side of optimism: a belief that this promising scent of peace could help end a long-running conflict carried to explosive extremes with bullets, bombs and bigotry.

“We’ve won! Up the I.R.A.!” cried cheering paraders in impromptu motorcades down the Falls Road, home ground of Belfast’s Roman Catholics. The celebrators took the brightest possible view of things. Said Maura Collins, 28: “I have known little else but the Troubles. I am optimistic this will bring peace for my children to grow up in a better environment.” Conversely, the unseen hand of some Protestant militant scrawled an ominous piece of graffiti: WAR HAS ONLY BEGUN.

Begun? With 3,168 killed and more than 36,000 wounded in political violence since 1969, this brutalized society could hardly expect the momentum of vengeance to shift gears sharply as the result of a single proposal. The next day, assailants from the Protestant paramilitary Ulster Defense Association shot dead a Catholic in northern Belfast, and claimed responsibility for an attempt to kill a taxi driver. Unsurprisingly, the Rev. Ian Paisley, the firebrand Protestant orator, rejected the I.R.A. truce offer as pure eyewash.

But apprehensiveness was not confined to the extreme fringes. Unionist mutterings last week found no joy in the prospect that the I.R.A.’s political wing, Sinn Fein, may soon have a say about the six counties’ future. Dark talk about a secret agenda was widespread.

The Loyalists would be wrong, however, in thinking that defiance remains their ultimate trump. What distinguishes this latest chance for peace is the opinion among all the players that they should grope for understanding. In the Republic, most Irish have grown sick of the bloodshed and its drain on the island’s energies and conscience. In the U.S., public feeling ran in favor of President Bill Clinton’s words of encouragement and more substantial offer of reconstruction aid. In fact, the Administration was rightly claiming some credit for helping the process along.

If the cease-fire holds, it will qualify the Sinn Fein as an accepted partner in talks with Dublin and London about the North’s future. Such a course was outlined in broad brushstrokes last December in the Downing Street Declaration, under which Prime Ministers John Major of Britain and Albert Reynolds of Ireland offered Sinn Fein a seat at the bargaining table if the republican guerrillas permanently renounced violence. But a lingering question hovered over just how far the armed brotherhood had really gone. I.R.A. cease- fires in 1972 and 1975 seemed promising but collapsed after only a few weeks or months. Near the end of the week, Sinn Fein vice president Martin McGuinness spelled out more plainly that the offer was for a “complete” cease-fire “under all circumstances,” which seemingly ruled out even “defensive” reprisals for any Protestant acts of terrorism. The I.R.A. has to live up to its promise for three months before talks will begin. London has yet to say whether it is satisfied with the I.R.A. truce statements. A spokesman for the British government would only say, “We felt the I.R.A. was nudging toward meeting our concerns.”

At midweek Downing Street was furious at the transfer from Britain to Belfast of four I.R.A. terrorists convicted of key roles in the 1984 Brighton bombing that nearly killed Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. In Sinn Fein’s cease-fire announcement, Adams had called for the return of Irish prisoners. To Major, the shifts — which officials said had been approved last June — looked certain to inflame suspicions that he had cooked up secret deals with the I.R.A.

Any immediate British pullout of its 17,500 troops there — another demand by Sinn Fein — on the basis of a frail promise of peace would only increase the Unionists’ fear of abandonment. The British government emphasized that no withdrawals would occur anywhere near so prematurely. But the crux of Protestant alarm was that Britain’s publicly avowed and consistently re- emphasized support for majority rule in Northern Ireland would become fatally diluted. The I.R.A. has never made any secret of its ultimate goal — unification with the Republic.

Perhaps the most telling verdict on last week’s initiative was handed in by John Carmichael, a Catholic businessman in Belfast. Said he: “I can’t see that the Provisional I.R.A. will go back. They are answerable to me. They are answerable to the people. We have had enough.” Crossed fingers, unspoken prayers: it may be that three centuries after the Battle of the Boyne, when the British established dominion over Northern Ireland, the silent majorities of Catholics and Protestants see within their grasp their wish to turn the clock forward.