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This is an archive article published on July 21, 1997

IRA peace offer met with cynicism

BELFAST, July 20: An air of exhausted relief had fallen over Belfast as news of the Irish Republican Army's (IRA) new cease-fire slowly san...

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BELFAST, July 20: An air of exhausted relief had fallen over Belfast as news of the Irish Republican Army’s (IRA) new cease-fire slowly sank in.

Unlike in 1994, when news of the first IRA cease-fire brought thousands of jubilant and Irish flag-waving Catholics onto the streets, few in Catholic West Belfast thought they’d won anything this time. A rally outside Sinn Fein’s well-armoured headquarters drew only a few hundred stalwarts.

Flak-jacketed soldiers kept patrolling the area’s sprawling Catholic housing estates, knowing that the truce doesn’t come into effect until midday today. Residents looked forward to the day soon when the troops would be withdrawn to local barracks again, but thoughts of uniting Ireland — the traditional IRA goal — were far from their minds.

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“What I remember from the last cease-fire was that there was no police, no soldiers and, best of all, no army helicopter hovering overhead every night,” said 25-year-old west Belfast resident Bronagh Toner. “I’m delighted, right enough,” said another resident Maureen Kelly, adding, “Maybe now we can get a bit of peace and relax.”

So long as the IRA maintained attacks, many Catholics feared retaliatory shootings by pro-British paramilitary groups that operate from nearby Protestant areas.

“But we will have to get the politicians to start talking, we’re fed up listening to the same old story over and over again. Maybe they should give the young ones a chance,” said another resident of the area.

In pro-British Protestant areas, many people took the view that IRA commanders had promised to hold a cease-fire once before and couldn’t be trusted. “I think it’s magic,” said William Thompson, 60, a factory worker recovering from a triple bypass operation. “But whether they’ll keep it up or not, that’s a different thing.”

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“I don’t believe them. I think they’re just a bunch of lying sods,” said 48-year-old fireman Brian Mcallister, cradling his one-year-old daughter in his arms.

“We’ve seen many lives lost since the last cease-fire, and we’ll probably see many more unless the government has promised them the world. If that’s the case, I think they’re going to get egg on their face,” he added.

At least one Protestant couple weren’t prepared to let scepticism sour their wedding day in Londonderry. Charlie MacDermott, standing beside his white-gowned bride Pauline, said with a smile, “If this cease-fire lasts as long as our marriage, Northern Ireland should be all right.”

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