Last night's IRA statement follows outrage over the killing of Robert McCartney. Kathy Sheridan reports from Belfast on the brave families who are speaking out against violence.
In the republican heartlands, the ripples of dissent are spreading. An appalling vista is rolling out before Sinn Féin and the IRA. This week, as the McCartneys of Short Strand in Belfast stunned the nation with their calm exposé of Northern existence and of the depths to which the freedom fighters have fallen, another grieving family from another Sinn Féin/IRA stronghold was striking out on its own separate journey.
Only 36 hours after burying her husband in Ardoyne, in Belfast, recently, Josephine Milnes lost her son, Stephen Montgomery, in what appeared to be a hit-and-run accident. Locally, few believe that it was as simple as it appeared; the persistent rumour is that influential local people were involved. But not a single witness has come forward.
"No one knows nothin'. As per f**kin' usual," snorted a local man. But Milnes, another strong, articulate woman, was not prepared to mourn in silence.
In addition to having her own area festooned with posters headlined "Murder!", she composed a deeply personal two-page letter, appealing directly to "the ordinary, decent people of Ardoyne, the Bone, the Lodge, the Markets", for help in finding her son's killers. Then she circulated it to every household.
In the lengthy letter, she recalls feeling "blessed" in the community in which she was raised: "Nobody could break us and, by God, we have been sorely tried throughout the years, from the B-Specials, to the H-blocks, to the hunger strikes, to the so-called peace process. We have held our heads high and stood shoulder to shoulder through it all."
She described her "four good kids . . . not a single angel among them, thank God"; how "they could lean on me because I could lean on my wider family, my community. Like each one of you, my sense of belonging, my sense of strong community has enabled me to overcome all the obstacles. Never, in my life, did I have to ask my community for support. It was always there . . . Today, unfortunately, I have no other choice but to ask, to beg, to plead, to make a direct appeal for your help. I know you will once again come through for me".
What her letter made clear was that in her cry for justice, she was bypassing the republican channels, what, for nationalists, might once have been considered the normal route: "When did it happen? When did we hand over our right to run our own community? When did we sell out our own birthright and allow others to deal with our problems? And why can't these others do anything about this situation? Why can't they stop the thugs who roam our streets and terrorise us? Why can't they stop the joyriders, the drug dealers and the hoods? I think we all know the answer to that one. Shame on them.
"They have left us without protection and without justice. They only respond to our needs when they want our vote in the ballot box to keep them in charge. But in charge of what? A broken, beaten and shattered community? A broken and shattered people, wearied by years of non-action against the thugs who are destroying what was once a proud and safe place to live? I do not appeal to these others. I will never put my name on their ballot paper. I will never again allow them to be in charge of my life or the life of any ordinary, decent kid who can be mowed down and killed as he mourns the loss of his father."
On Thursday, a loyalist organisation, The Red Hand Defenders, claimed to have killed Stephen Montgomery.
"But no code word was given during the call. That's very unusual," mused a sceptical local. "And there hasn't been a sectarian killing in this area for a long time. What would you think?"
That afternoon, in their lonely household, the Montgomerys were anxious to quell what they called "speculation" about Stephen's death, adding that they were "not getting much help from the police". The kind of criticism of the IRA and Sinn Féin offered by Stephen Montgomery's mother in her open letter is still rare in the republican community.
"I'm sick of them", said a 26-year-old Ardoyne man quietly. "What sort of freedom is this? Freedom is about saying what you think, good, bad or indifferent. I'm just sick of being afraid to say what I think."
Although the IRA could not have known it, the courage to speak out is what made the McCartney siblings different. The great- grandchildren of a Presbyterian called Robert McCartney, taken away to the country every year to avoid the marching season, they grew up a quiet, hard-working family, reared and educated to have minds of their own.
FOR ALL THEIR vaunted intelligence, the local senior IRA men clearly had no inkling of this when they kicked and stabbed Robert McCartney to death up an alley beside Magennis's Whiskey Café, a gold-and-black-liveried pub which serves pan-fried scallops for lunch to lawyers and court officials from the High Court across the road, and is situated just a few minutes drive from McCartneys' home in the Short Strand.
The row began, by all accounts, when an IRA man who saw McCartney make a jokey hand gesture, insisted that it was directed at his girlfriend and started shouting at McCartney and Brendan Devine, who had just joined him. Devine tried to smooth things over by offering the woman a drink, which was accepted. But honour had not been satisfied and the IRA man demanded an apology, which McCartney refused to give, believing he had done nothing wrong.
At some point, Devine was attacked and grievously injured with a broken bottle and McCartney took him out and called a taxi. While Devine and McCartney were waiting on the street, some 15 to 20 men descended on them, driving them up the dark alley beside the pub. There, McCartney was kicked repeatedly in the head, had one eye gouged out and was stabbed to death while he had his hands in the air. Devine, too, was left for dead.
No ambulance was called. The attackers went back inside the pub, which was cleansed of forensic evidence. Security videos were removed. It seems that none of the 72 people present that night - including bar staff, customers and half a dozen doormen - is prepared to give evidence capable of being used in court, nor is Devine certain of his attackers' identity.
" 'Sure, who are they?' is what they probably thought," says Paula McCartney. "And after killing Robert, they were leaving behind an all-female family without - as they thought - a protector."
What they may think now is "we didn't realise they'd be so annoyed", says another of Robert's sisters, Gemma.
Or "we didn't think they'd have the cheek to be annoyed", adds another sister, Catherine, with a short laugh.
The McCartneys claim no special status for themselves in the bravery stakes.
"Had this happened five or 10 or 15 years ago - at the height of the Troubles - we as a family would have spoken out," says Paula. "But the difference is we would not have been listened to - because a lot of families who suffered injustice and spoke out were not listened to. No time is a good time for your brother to be slaughtered but yes, the timing is probably in our favour."
"There have been things going on in this area that people have not been happy with," says Catherine. "There hasn't been justice at the hands of the local IRA. The people who did this to Robert wouldn't have had the respect of the people of this area anyway."
Nonetheless, when the stunning graffiti, "PIRA scum", suddenly appeared on a Short Strand wall, it was gone within hours and replaced this week with a hastily scribbled "Up the 'Ra". A letter to the Irish News, headlined "Short Memories", responded to the "scum" offensive by asking people to remember 1972, "when members of the IRA defended the Short Strand and St Matthew's Church from being burned to the ground. The end result - a young man from the Falls Road paying the price with his life". The writer of another letter imploring nationalists "not to sit in silence . . . or live in fear" is clearly too fearful to sign it. So much for speaking out.
One man with IRA links, when asked about his view on the continuing need for an armed wing, wrestles openly with his feelings. He talks about "having your emotions and feelings bounced around by everything you see or hear. One minute you're thinking: 'Ah yeah, there's no need for them lads any more; in a normal society, why would you need an armed force?' And the next minute you see a film about the Birmingham Six, or the police do something, or somebody from the other side is making noises or worse . . . And then you think: 'Can we be without them?' It goes back to a mindset. It's fear, fear, fear . . . When is the right time to give up the weapons? Will you hold on too long? Or give up too soon?"
IN THE NORTH, a journalist asking political questions has to tread gingerly. In the Short Strand, a little nationalist enclave of about 3,000 people with one elected Sinn Féin councillor (the other five are unionist), everyone knows everyone. It's best, if you're a stranger, not to knock on doors or to approach people in groups. Between the odd snow flurry, a couple of women pushing buggies politely decline to comment when asked if Robert McCartney's death has altered their voting intentions.
Later, when alone, one of them declares flatly: "I'll never vote for Sinn Féin again. I always did before, but this is the last straw. It's disgusting."
A smartly dressed woman, walking a dog, goes further.
"I definitely will not be voting for them," she says. "I always voted Sinn Féin and I still see the need for them. We need somebody to look out for us here - it's a small place and very few people trust the police even now. But that party are a disgrace. The people who killed young McCartney are just thugs. This isn't about politics or the police. If Sinn Féin had any shame, it wouldn't run a candidate here at all and leave it open to that poor woman [ Paula McCartney, who plans to run for election if her brother's killing has not been resolved]."
Another woman looks around uneasily before replying grimly: "Has my view changed? Oh yes. Oh yes, you could say that. You could definitely say that. This has turned my stomach."
A well-built man in his late 30s stops reluctantly, then starts a tirade against the leadership, and the direction of the "armed struggle". He turns out to be a highly disillusioned "ex-prisoner", who believes that all the "round-table discussions and talks" are really about big jobs and money for the big boys.
"It's about two years since I decided I would not be voting Sinn Féin again," he says. "But this latest thing is disgusting. A lot of people think that they're getting very heavy-handed. Yes, that includes me and a lot of people like me." So who will he vote for in May's election? "I won't vote for anyone. I'll spoil my vote."
Another man, with inside knowledge of the IRA, is convinced that there has been a palpable shift of opinion.
"I can't see the local people here letting them get away with what they've been getting away with," he says. "You're talking about a man who attempted a rape and a suspected paedophile, among God knows what else. Who in God's name would want people like that in their organisation? Certainly, in the Troubles, the RUC were involved in collusion, and let there be no doubt that we supported the IRA because they were protecting us - but it's all different now. I'd say it [ the discipline and calibre of members] has been going downhill for the last 10 years. I believe those thugs jumped on the bandwagon and saw an opportunity for their own gain. They joined the IRA, stuck their chests out and got plastic spines.
"I'd say Bobby Sands and the hunger strikers must be turning in their graves. I know good men in the IRA, and they're disgusted. Ten years ago, those thugs would have been afraid to step out of line but then . . . maybe the peace made them a bit lackadaisical. Fellas from the old IRA [ meaning more than 10 years ago] are saying 'this is disgusting, they've really stepped over the line'."
But, as this man puts it, "feeling disgust and speaking about it" are two very different things. "Many republicans and ex- prisoners turned up at the vigil and the funeral for young McCartney. That was showing disgust, but no one will speak it. To tell you the truth, I feel uncomfortable myself talking like this, disloyal . . . It's a mindset, we're conditioned, and that needs to be broken - and I don't know how that's going to happen for men of our age."
FURTHER UP THE Short Strand, a woman in her late 50s says cheerfully that she will continue to vote Sinn Féin.
"These things come and go, everyone jumps up and down - but you have to watch the big picture," she says. "People have short memories. Who protected us when we were being slaughtered by loyalists? There's bad apples in every barrel . . . Every organisation has good and bad."
Then this mother of five pauses, sighs and continues: "These kinds of men, maybe they're what was needed back then. The thing we'd be asking now, though, is how do you get them out? They're not needed now, but what do you do with them? How do we get that thinking out of this whole generation of youngsters?"
But some remain in denial. Sinn Féin councillor Joe O'Donnell, the only elected nationalist representative in East Belfast, simply restates the position that "no one, not even the family, is blaming Sinn Féin" and that "the people involved were acting completely as individuals".
On the basis of this vox pop, however, locals seem convinced that Sinn Féin holds the solution in its hands. O'Donnell says he is aware of three or four people who have been interviewed by the police and given statements.
"I don't know if they were helpful," he says. "I don't know if those guys were IRA members."
Really? "You're the journalist. Ask the IRA."
But O'Donnell comes across as honest and sincere, insisting that the reason people vote for him is because of his work as a politician, "and not for any linkage to the IRA". As evidence of his own empathy with the McCartneys, he cites the case of his own young son, who went for a drink in Ardoyne one evening and ended up on a life-support machine with a fractured skull, after a brutal kicking.
"No one was ever charged. I wanted justice too," O'Donnell says. "I would have been looking for answers if I had been told that the area had been cleaned up and evidence taken away."
O'DONNELL WON'T BE running for election again but believes, in any event, that Paula McCartney "is entitled to do what she sees as necessary". And he doesn't try to suggest that "attacks" on Sinn Féin and the IRA are merely an electioneering stunt perpetrated by the combined forces of Fianna Fail and/or Fine Gael and the SDLP, although a number of his constituents do.
Almost everyone who was questioned laughed at any mention of the Northern Bank heist or money laundering and trotted out the same jokes about Martin's head being on the £20 note and Gerry's being on the tenner. (Why is Gerry cheaper? "Because Gerry knew nawthin," they drawl hilariously.)
"Do ye think I lie awake worrying about the Northern Bank's money," says a woman incredulously, before calming down. "But I would like to know what they needed that amount for. Was it for self-gain or something more sinister?"
It's a concern that is echoed by several others.
"If the IRA admit they did it, then they'd have to say why, wouldn't they? I'd like to know why too," says one man thoughtfully. "I don't think I'd like the answer."
Another man, asked about his voting intentions in the light of recent developments, immediately launches into a rant against police "harassment, up and down, about this. Where's the evidence that Sinn Féin or the IRA were involved in any of this? But they're getting hammered at every turn. Sure, there's more corruption in the South than you'll ever see up here".
Meanwhile, in Belfast, more "peace walls" - there are 20 already - are on the horizon, according to the Housing Executive. The UUP's new campaign leaflet trots out the old, sectarian "they're getting more than us" verbiage. The SDLP - in the words of some of its own insiders - is floundering and out of touch with grass-roots constituents who might now be ready to turn away from Sinn Féin. In our vox pop, only one voter said she might turn to the SDLP.
The potential for the PSNI toscore "own goals", as one Short Strand resident put it, is highlighted when a Co Tyrone family at the centre of a massive search linked to the bank robbery receives all-party backing from Omagh District Council in their call for an apology.
And back at Magennis's trendily named Whiskey Café behind the High Court, where the McCartneys' via dolorosa began, a man who identifies himself as the owner refuses to answer any questions about the removal of security cameras and the cleansing of evidence from his pub on the night of Robert McCartney's killing.
"I paid a million for this pub and it's now worth about £100,000 because of the lies told by the press," he says. "They said it happened inside. It didn't. It happened a quarter of a mile down the road."