A momentous week in Belfast began with a poignant piece of street art. Alastair MacLennan, a lecturer in art and design at the University of Ulster, listed the name of every person who has died in the Troubles over the past 30 years and tied the sheets of paper to the railings on both sides of the Ormeau Bridge. Over the next few days, as word got around about the installation, relatives came and laid small bunches of flowers on the pavement. It was an understated and eloquent tribute.
Among the names of the victims were those of the GAA members who have been killed since 1969. Aidan McAnespie's name was one of those on the list. On February 21st, 1988, he was shot dead by a British soldier as he walked through a border checkpoint from his home in Aughnacloy to a Tyrone league game against Killeshill.
A soldier was charged, but those charges were then dropped and the hurt and pain still runs deep through the McAnespie family. It is in the context of hurt and pain like this that the current debate about the removal of Rule 21 from the GAA rule book has to be viewed. Aidan McAnespie's sister, Eilish McCabe, is one of the main opponents of the proposed change.
"If it's removed it would be a step backwards," she says. "Some of the people in the south underestimate the level of mistrust there is towards the security forces here."
She rejects the suggestion that the removal of a ban on the security forces joining the organisation, a ban that lays the GAA open to charges of sectarianism and cultural apartheid, would be an important gesture in the context of the cataclysmic changes in the wider Northern Ireland society.
"The GAA's opponents are always going to have a stick to beat it with because the association aspires to a 32-county national identity," she says. "Gestures are no use to the GAA people at grass-roots level here. It is okay for people in the south to make gestures left, right and centre - but we then have to live with them."
McCabe's opposition is a reflection of the concern in Ulster GAA circles that they are being forced into an emotive corner, one where any element of dissension is portrayed as being backward-looking and obstructive. Joe McDonagh, the president of the GAA, raised the issue of Rule 21 at Congress just after the Good Friday agreement when emotions were running high and where, given the political movements, almost anything seemed possible.
But the Ulster delegates made their feelings quite clear and the president relented, postponing a decision until next Saturday's special congress. Since then the waters have been muddied by some unseemly wrangling and confusion over the majority required for deletion.
The shunting of the issue into a special congress was seen, at the time, as a piece of clever procedural manoeuvring because it was thought only a simple majority and not a two-thirds margin would be needed. But during last week it was confirmed that the normal two-thirds vote will apply.
Faced with a likely situation where the Ulster counties - certainly those six within Northern Ireland - vote against his proposal, Joe McDonagh faces a potentially embarrassing day on Saturday if the GAA rank and file, who have up to now wholeheartedly embraced his popular presidency, go against him. He would then need every other county and affiliate to support him. There is sure to be some pretty desperate headcounting as the vote approaches.
Among senior GAA officials here in Ulster there is a certain degree of bemusement that it has come to this, an unseemly scramble for the support necessary to stagger over the 66 per cent line. There is also surprise at the perceived undue haste of the president's approach. It is believed he did take soundings before bringing the contentious issue up at congress, but then seemingly ignored what he had been told and pressed ahead with the moves for change.
Much was made at Congress, during those heady few days in April, of the mooted quid pro quo where the deletion of Rule 21 would be counterbalanced by some movement on the British army occupation of the Crossmaglen Rangers pitch in South Armagh. Interestingly, little or nothing has been heard of any army withdrawal in the past few weeks, reinforcing the belief on the ground in Armagh, and in Ulster at large, that they are in fact two separate issues and that any attempt to link them is political mischief-making.
The preferred option among the higher echelons of the GAA in Ulster would have been to adopt a "wait and see" approach and - to import an expression from the wider political debate - allow the rule to become "decommissioned by rust" over a period of time as the planned changes to the security forces are made.
There is still room for a fudge of sorts by opting to suspend Rule 21, rather than deleting it. But this in a sense would bring the worst of both worlds - technically speaking the rule would still be in place, lurking in the background like an unwelcome guest at the GAA's party.
Another compromise that has been bandied about in the confusing landscape of the past week is to delay any decision until a special hurling congress scheduled for Wexford in the autumn. But at this stage procrastination would send out signals of a president unsure about his authority.
Whichever option is chosen next weekend, Eilish McCabe warns against the dangers of being railroaded into what she regards as premature change. "I think Joe McDonagh has misjudged the mood at the grass roots and that is what really makes the GAA. I don't know if the other counties will go against Ulster on Saturday. My personal preference would be to suspend any decision until after the marching season. That would have been more sensible and that's what most people would have preferred."
Accusations from the rest of the country, directed at perceived diehards in Ulster, that Rule 21 is another piece of unnecessary Nationalist baggage serve only to harden attitudes here. The Ulster delegates are not looking for special treatment, but they believe passionately that they have a right to have their voices heard. They know that deletion would make very little difference in real terms - clubs in west Belfast or in south Derry would hardly be bracing themselves for an influx of policemen or army corporals eager to hurl or to play football - but that is no reason to go for change for change's sake.
Most, if not all, GAA activists would concede that the rule will have to go at some stage, if only because of the potential funding problems that could rear their head if it is retained after a high-profile, bitter public debate. Even Eilish McCabe concedes that in an ideal world it would have no place in the rules and regulations of the country's biggest sporting organisation.
"No it wouldn't," she says. "But at this stage it's all too premature to be thinking about its abolition. We know all the arguments, but there are still massive changes needed in the whole system of law and order here."
For the outsider looking in, Ulster's clinging to a seemingly outmoded rule that appears to symbolise a very different political age looks at best wilful and at worst positively antediluvian. But that ignores the reality of a society where symbols are the hard currency of political and cultural debate. That is why Alistair McLennan chose the contentious Ormeau Bridge for his installation. And that is why Joe McDonagh may be unpleasantly surprised by the level of opposition he faces next Saturday.
