My Lords, it is a great privilege to follow the noble and right reverend Lord, Lord Eames, and in particular that quote, which I recall from WB Yeats. It is a profound moment to recognise that many noble Lords who have taken part in this debate have devoted their lives to peace and reconciliation in Northern Ireland, and I pay tribute to them.
I first visited Stormont as a young Parliamentary Private Secretary to the then Security Minister in the Northern Ireland Office 25 years ago. I returned in April and took my seat in the Northern Ireland Assembly. Before noble Lords get a little confused, I was sitting alongside my wife and a number of Japanese tourists, because we were on a public tour of the parliament buildings in Stormont. We were told about this amazing building there and about the significance of six—the six counties, the six pillars, the 60 steps and the six chandeliers. We were told about the 365-foot façade of the building—one foot for every day of the year. It was an incredible tour, until the tragedy dawned upon you
that this was not a museum; this was a place of work. It was a functional pillar—an essential pillar—of life in Northern Ireland, which had fallen into disuse.
I was in Belfast because I had stepped down as a Minister, as I am wont to do every now and again, so that I could go on a walk. This time, the reason for the walk was, to be frank, that I was despairing at the toxic nature of the debate surrounding Brexit in this country. I could not cope with the hostility, anger and intolerance, and I wanted to go out in search of some common ground. I set off from Belfast, with my wife, to walk to Brussels in search of common ground—and probably a couple of ferries on the way. We found the ferries but did not find a great deal of common ground; none the less, we went.
We chose to start our walk on Good Friday. Why? Because to me, that is the high-water mark of what is possible in peace and reconciliation. It shows that it is possible for people with centuries of distance—of grievance and reasons to be offended or to hate—to sit down, come together and agree with one another. That was what that Good Friday was, and it is an honour to share this debate with so many who were party to that historic agreement. Before I could set off from Belfast on Good Friday morning, however, I woke to the news of the murder of Lyra McKee, the young journalist—29 years old—who was shot in Londonderry. That was a stark reminder of the fragility of peace there. It was a reminder that peace is not permanent and that we have to be vigilant and fight for it literally every day.
It is welcome that, almost two-and-a-half years after the Assembly had stopped meeting, the parties got together as a result of that shooting. The Taoiseach, the Prime Minister and the five party leaders came together and they agreed, and announced on 7 May, a programme for moving forward. But I cannot help recalling the words of Father Magill in the cathedral at Belfast, when he asked at Lyra McKee’s funeral: why, in the name of God, did it take the death of a brilliant 29 year-old woman to bring them all together under one roof? The talks involving the UK Government started after Lyra’s funeral. We are told that there have been 150 meetings since, and that the progress is encouraging. Yet 83 days after the murder of Lyra McKee, and the pledge and commitment made after it, public tours are still taking place in the Stormont Parliament every day at 11 am and 2 pm. This is a tragedy because, as the noble Lord, Lord Alton, reminded us, that Assembly was an excellent one. It was not a failing Assembly but an effective one and it is deeply missed.
Is that a reason to despair? I believe not because, when I went off on my walk, I walked down from Belfast along the Lagan valley—there is the most beautiful footpath there—and at the end of the second day, I arrived in the great city of Newry. The noble and right reverend Lord, Lord Eames, will know that city well for straddling the great counties of Down and Armagh. I arrived in the town at the end of 20 miles, looking for a rest; at my age, I get a little tired. I was struck to see outside the town hall a large and growing gathering of people, and I was drawn towards it. When I arrived, I realised that it was a crowd—it
probably numbered 700 or 800, or perhaps 1,000—who were there as a vigil for Lyra McKee. The significance of that will not be lost because, while I do not know the exact politics of that area and ought to be very careful about presuming it, I assume that there was a strong nationalist community present there. That was certainly my feeling from the conversations that I had.
As we waited after the vigil had taken place—an impeccable vigil—outside the town hall, we waited in a long, orderly line for some two hours to sign a book of condolences. During that two hours, I had the opportunity to have conversations with people around and behind me, and I was struck by the absolute resolve in those communities that they were not going back to the days of violence—that this murder had not happened in their name. They completely rejected it, in the same way that those amazingly courageous ladies in Creggan had confronted the organisations and painted red hands on the wall murals and said, “This is not in our name” and “We are not going back”. That strength—that passion—should give us the confidence to believe that, whatever the Members of the Assembly might say about their irreconcilable differences, there is a will among the people that it should not be so—that they should be represented and have the institutions that can guarantee peace.
Back on my tour, as we were being led out of the Assembly room, I noticed that on my left and right there were two framed quotations from two great literary figures of the island of Ireland: the poet Seamus Heaney and CS Lewis. I was drawn to those quotations. Seamus Heaney’s was:
“Believe that a further shore is reachable from here”.
On the other wall, CS Lewis’s quotation was this:
“There are far better things ahead than any we leave behind”.
They were from different traditions, different schools and different times, but they spoke of one thing in common: a relentless expression of hope. That is what we have to cling on to at these times—the hope that, whatever is raised against us, people can rediscover the spirit of the Good Friday agreement, restore the functioning Assembly and Executive, and help to build peace in Northern Ireland.
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