Northern Ireland returned the favour by dripping venom into the Conservative party’s civil wars. Brexit, which reopened debates about identity and sovereignty, is partly to blame.
It delivered peace, a monumental achievement, but lack of reconciliation bequeathed a toxic polity unable to govern itself. Little wonder, then, that a pall hangs over plans to celebrate the agreement’s anniversary on 10 April. Nationalist protesters confront riot police in west Belfast after a loyalist parade passed close to a Catholic area in Springfield Road, Northern Ireland in June 2000. Civil servants run the region on a sort of administrative autopilot, unable to take big decisions. Power-sharing has again collapsed – the Stormont executive has not functioned for 40% of its existence since 1999 – and this time the assembly is also in mothballs. The Social Democratic and Labour party and Sinn Féin are overwhelmingly Catholic. The Democratic Unionist and Ulster Unionist parties are overwhelmingly Protestant. More than eight in 10 people still vote along tribal – or constitutional, to use a fancier term – lines. One at Cupar Way, between the Falls and Shankill, stands 45-feet tall, three times higher than the Berlin Wall, and in place for twice as long. Peace walls still proliferate, especially in Belfast. Children still tend to go to Catholic or Protestant schools, and families still tend to live in Catholic or Protestant areas. Loyalist and republican paramilitaries still wield control in some communities. Society and politics are sectarian and dysfunctional. The dawn glow of 25 years ago when the British, Irish and US governments shepherded the region’s political leaders to a breakthrough deal, ending 30 years of violence and winning a joint Nobel peace prize for David Trimble and John Hume, seems to have given way to darkness at noon. But Northern Ireland seldom feels like this. It evokes a government advertising campaign from around the time of the Good Friday agreement that used a line from Van Morrison’s feelgood song Coney Island: “Wouldn’t it be great if it was like this all the time?” It almost sounds like a fable, darkness giving way to light, suspicion blossoming into friendship. She supported the recent removal of a barrier on Flax Street separating the area from Shankill Road.
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