By Zanny Begg
DUNLOY — When you drive across the border from the south of Ireland into the north, the marks of political conquest and struggle are obvious. The road signs revert from bilingual Gaelic and English to English, heavily armed and fortified outposts sit on the edges of the towns, and political graffiti, flags and posters adorn the telegraph poles, immediately identifying whether you are passing through a Unionist or nationalist area.
Driving into the north from Sligo, Union Jacks fly from shops and street lights; posters cover the entrance to towns demanding "Keep Ulster tidy; Tykes [Catholics] out"; the kerbs are painted red, white and blue. This region is in Ian Paisley's electorate and militantly loyalist and anti-Catholic.
Our destination was Dunloy, a small town of Catholics, situated in the middle of Ian Paisley's seat. The town was so small it barely featured on the map, and the loyalists had scrubbed its name out of all the road signs, making it difficult to find. But as we drove over the crest of a hill, we knew immediately that Dunloy lay before us.
The first Irish flag we had seen for miles was flying above the town. As we got closer, graffiti celebrating the IRA appeared on walls, and posters condemning sectarian marches were attached to street poles.
We went to Dunloy to attend the 13th commemoration of two IRA fighters, Henry Hogan and Declan Martin, who were shot dead by the SAS as they lay bleeding on the ground, their weapons lying beside them. Both were local boys; each year on the anniversary of their death the town gathers to lay wreaths at their graves.
The Martin family invited us home after the commemoration, and we spent the evening with them. The family discovered Declan was an IRA volunteer only when he was killed. Although this discovery was a shock, their pride at his bravery was obvious. Everybody kept repeating that Dunloy was "staunch", a fighting town that stood up to Unionist encirclement and British occupation.
At the end of last year, Ian Paisley attempted to lead an Orange Order parade through the town. The locals organised a defence committee and refused to let the march pass.
They pointed out that they had nothing against Protestants coming into the town; they let them come every Sunday to attend church. But they were not going to let a sectarian march storm through their town and intimidate them. They held firm, and the march was banned.
In response, loyalist thugs attacked Catholics and burned houses and chapels across the region. A loyalist picket was established outside the Church of Our Lady in nearby Ballymena.
This picket is still running. Young loyalists, with Glasgow Rangers scarves tied tightly around their faces, gather outside the church to hurl abuse and stop Catholics from entering. Although the picket is described as "peaceful" in the press, the protesters chant about "Billy Boys up to their knees in Fenian blood", and their bands play loyalist songs right outside the church when people inside are trying to worship.
The artificial border makes confrontations like these inevitable. Across northern Ireland, people are immediately divided into those who support British occupation and those who oppose it. The northern Ireland state is a "Protestant state for a Protestant people". Catholics are politically and economically excluded.
The loyalists are defined by reactionary nationalism. In Protestant areas, graffiti and murals identify with British imperialism. Union Jacks fly from every available pole. Protestant workers are taught that their slightly better living conditions depend on keeping out the "Tykes".
To preclude the development of social solidarity, a form of apartheid is maintained. Catholics and Protestants don't live or work together. Not very long ago, Catholics were regularly burned out of Protestant areas.
Extreme loyalist groups regularly direct violence against Catholics. When we went to the pub in Dunloy, the windows were boarded up and no lights were on at the front. Loyalist gangs had attacked the pub enough times for the locals to be careful.
Militant loyalism is strongest in working-class areas, yet Protestant workers have little to gain from an identification with Britain. They are told that their lower unemployment rates and better living conditions depend upon the border that divides Ireland. But the strong identification as pro-British blurs identification with their class; they see more in common with their Protestant bosses than with Catholic workers. Protestant workers rarely organise independently of their rulers.
In contrast, the nationalist community in the north is strongly opposed to British occupation and identifies with the struggle against imperialism. Murals celebrate the history of Irish resistance to British rule, women's role in struggle, socialism, other liberation movements around the world, Celtic mythology and so on.
The Catholic population have been severed from the rest of Ireland and trapped in a Protestant state. Every day their lives are affected by the British occupation. All the people we met in Dunloy had stories about families and friends who had been killed by British troops or loyalist death squads. The young Catholic workers told stories of being driven out of jobs in majority Protestant areas. They see the political system in northern Ireland as having no legitimacy.
Although withdrawal of British troops will leave a lot of Protestant workers waving Union Jacks and shouting betrayal, in reality this will also be in their interests. Without a foreign army occupying Ireland, the loyalists outside Ballymena church may start to realise they have more in common with the young people in Dunloy than with those who profit from their poverty.
In Dunloy the locals were keen to point out that the Protestant people who surround them are almost as poor as they are. One of the Sinn Féin members who attended the commemoration told us that he thought they were the unluckiest people in the world, to live in the conditions that they do and to spend their time marching behind Ian Paisley rather than marching for their own rights.