Martin McGuinness's Long Game / New Statesman
In late 2011 Martin McGuinness stood as Sinn Fein’s candidate in Ireland’s presidential election, raising all sorts of intriguing possibilities.
Raised in a tiny terraced house in Derry’s bogside, he would have ended up living in a 92-room presidential mansion in Dublin had he won. A former IRA commander, he would have become Supreme Commander of Ireland’s defence forces. Once banned from Britain under the Prevention of Terrorism Act, he would have received the credentials of the next British ambassador to Dublin. Were he invited to pay a state visit to London, a man who spent much of his youth shooting or bombing British soldiers would have found himself inspecting an honour guard at Buckingham Palace.
McGuinness would certainly have shaken the hands of the English team before the Ireland-England rugby match at Dublin’s Aviva stadium every other year. “I’d have no problem with that,” he told me, grinning, as he campaigned in Cavan one day that autumn. Though a staunch republican, he enjoyed the ‘Protestant’ sports of rugby and cricket, just as he supported Manchester United and enjoyed BBC nature programmes and ‘Last of the Summer Wine’. He wrote poetry and loved fly-fishing, too. Unlike Gerry Adams, the coldest of cold fish, McGuinness was hard to dislike – provided you overlooked his brutal past.
In the event McGuinness, weighed down by IRA baggage, came a distant third in that election, but his story was astonishing enough in any case.
He was the 15-year-old butcher’s assistant who rose to become the IRA chief of staff responsible for numerous atrocities including Lord Mountbatten’s assassination and the Warrenpoint slaughter of 18 British soldiers in 1979.
Then, in 1981, a IRA prisoner named Bobby Sands won a parliamentary by-election while starving himself to death in the Maze prison. McGuinness and Adams saw mileage in pursuing a united Ireland through the ballot box as well as the bullet. Their long, tortuous conversion to democratic politics led to the Good Friday accord of 1997, with McGuinness using his stature and ‘street cred’ to keep the provisionals’ hard men on board. McGuinness became Northern Ireland’s improbable new education minister, and later its deputy first minister for a decade.
His journey from paramilitary pariah to peacemaker was punctuated by any number of astounding tableaux – visits to Downing Street and Chequers; the forging of a relationship with Ian Paisley, his erstwhile arch-enemy, so strong that they were dubbed the ‘Chuckle Brothers’; his denunciation of dissident republican militants as “traitors to the island of Ireland”; White House talks with Presidents Clinton, George W. Bush and Obama; and, most stunning of all, two meetings with the Queen plus a state banquet at Windsor Castle at which he toasted the British head of state.
Following his death on Tuesday McGuinness received tributes from London that would have been unthinkable 20 or 30 years ago. Tony Blair said peace would not have happened “without Martin’s leadership, courage and quiet insistence that the past should not define the future”. Theresa May praised his “essential and historic contribution to the extraordinary journey of Northern Ireland from conflict to peace”.
What few noted was that McGuinness died with his ultimate goal of a united Ireland arguably closer to realisation – albeit through peaceful methods - than at any time since the island’s partition 96 years ago.
Last June’s Brexit vote has changed the dynamics in Northern Ireland. The province voted 56 per cent to 44 in favour of remaining in the EU, and may suffer badly when Britain leaves. It fears the return of a ‘hard border’ with the Irish Republic, and could lose £330 million in EU subsidies.
Dismay at the Brexit vote helped boost Sinn Fein’s performance in this month’s Stormont Assembly elections. The party came within 1,200 votes of overtaking the Democratic Unionists, who not only campaigned for Leave but used a legal loophole to funnel £425,000 in undeclared funds to the broader UK campaign. For the first time in Northern Ireland’s history the combined unionist parties no longer have an overall majority. “The notion of a perpetual unionist majority has been demolished,” Adams declared.
Other factors are also working in Sinn Fein’s favour. It is refusing to enter a new power-sharing agreement at Stormont unless the DUP agrees terms more favourable to Irish nationalists. It will win if the DUP agrees, but it will also win if there is no deal - and London further inflames nationalist sentiment by imposing direct rule.
McGuinness’s recent replacement as Sinn Fein’s leader in Northern Ireland by Michelle O’Neill, a personable, socially-progressive 40-year-old mother unsullied by the Troubles, marks another significant step in the party’s move towards respectability. As Patrick Maguire recently wrote in this magazine, “the age of the IRA old boys at the top is over”.
More broadly, Scottish independence would make the notion of Northern Ireland leaving the UK seem less radical. The Irish Republic’s economic recovery and the decline of the Roman Catholic church has rendered the idea of Irish unity a little less anathema to moderate unionists. And all the time, the province’s Protestant majority is shrinking: just 48 per cent of the population identified itself as Protestant in the 2011 census and 45 per cent Catholic.
The Good Friday accord provides for a referendum if a majority appears to favour Irish unity. Sinn Fein is beginning to agitate for exactly that. When Adams and McGuinness turned from violence to constitutional politics back in the 1980s they opted for the long game. Unfortunately for McGuinness it proved too long for him to see Irish nationalism victorious, but it is no longer inconceivable that his four grown-up children might.