I
was working as a reporter in the province and covered much of his campaign. It
was the beginning of what became to be known as the “Troubles”, with the long-dormant
Irish Republican Army (IRA) finding new life on the back of the Catholic
community’s legitimate demand for civil rights.
Paisley
led the Protestant resistance to the Catholics’ campaign and the subsequent
crackdown, first by the Royal Ulster Constabulary, then supplemented by the
Protestant-dominated ‘B Specials’ began the spiral into violence.
At
the time of his campaign for Westminster, Paisley was already a member of the
Northern Ireland Parliament, having won a by-election for the Bannside
constituency a couple of months earlier, but he had set his sights on
Westminster.
Despite
the relative closeness of the final result Paisley was undaunted and in typical
fashion told his cheering supporters that “the hand of God had been at work” in
the Province to ensure his election.
Paisley
was never again seriously challenged for the seat and held it for 40 years;
standing down in 2010 when his son, also called Ian, was elected in his place.
At one point he was a member of three Parliaments – the Northern Ireland
Assembly, Westminster and the European Union in Strasbourg (although he opposed
the United Kingdom’s EU membership).
It
was in Strasbourg that he caused outrage when he interrupted an address by Pope
Paul II to the Parliament, calling him the “antichrist” — in the subsequent
uproar he was ejected.
But
Paisley mellowed as he aged, and in 2005 agreed that his Democratic Unionist
Party should share power with Sinn Fein, in the past referred to as the
political wing of the IRA. He became First Minister, with Martin McGuinness, a
man he had once denounced as a terrorist, as his deputy.
The
two worked well together and at news of Paisley’s death last week, McGuinness
described him as a friend.
While
I knew Paisley only in his early days, I had always thought there were two
sides to his character. The firebrand orator, denouncing the Pope as “old red-socks”
and the Dublin administration as “that priest-ridden banana republic” was, in
personal conversation, quiet-spoken, reflective and witty.
That
he loved Northern Ireland there is no doubt. But it was always to be a Protestant
Ulster, tied to the British Crown forever.
For
that reason there will be many who have celebrated his death, but in the end perhaps
his most important legacy will be his pragmatic decision to lead the fierce ultra-loyalist
Protestants he represented into mainstream politics, giving reasonable hope
that the bitter antagonisms that have plagued the province for so long will
gradually fade into history.
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