THE really uncomfortable truth about the Reconciliation event in Belfast last week is that those two screaming, bereaved relatives finally shook hands. Danny Bradley was the bald man shouting at the angry, red-jacketed Michelle Williamson in the midst of placard-waving objectors at the Consultative Group on the Past launch.
The cameras loved it. And the picture on front pages appeared to confirm what most people still believe – Northern Ireland is deadlocked, despite all the fancy talk of forgiveness.
But later, the full story emerged. Williamson and Bradley had sh
aken hands and parted on good terms. "I was there on behalf of my mum and dad and I went about it the wrong way," Williamson said later. "I was just angry, I was hurt. We had an angry exchange and it cleared the air." Afterwards, she and Bradley chatted and shook hands. "We parted on good terms," she said. "If I see him again, I will say 'Hello, how are you doing, Daniel?' and move on."
Bradley was transformed: "I'd never talked to relatives of Protestants who had been killed by the IRA before. This was a new thing. I had only met victims within my own community. Seeing the pain of Loyalist victims gave me a new perspective. I was filled with compassion for Michelle and apologised."
Their rapprochement didn't end all hostility or create a sea-change in the polarised identities of Northern Ireland. But it was important. TV viewers saw only half the story – and rarely has a half-story created a more distorting lie. We believed the public airing of hurt served only to divide. Instead, every venom-spitting, full-blooded minute of their encounter was part of a life-changing experience for those particular bereaved relatives.
The outside world saw what it wanted to see; Northern Ireland trying to put the past behind it, and failing. Why do we so badly need the Irish to remain at each other's throats? Fingers can be pointed at the TV journalists who switched their cameras off prematurely. But their pessimism was widely shared. The "real story" of Northern Ireland will always be deadlock in the minds of people with an emotional investment in the impossibility of change – and that includes many Scots.
All the "Celtic" nations of the UK, to some degree, have learned to become passengers in the UK. We have all been governed remotely and immobilised to varying degrees by centuries of anger, resentment and exclusion.
The Scots' experience has not (recently) been bloody or completely unsuccessful. But we have become passengers – used to another class and nationality taking big decisions. "Just say no" was the cry of Ulster Protestants. Scots may not chant the slogan but we have adopted the behaviour. During the long decades of "London" rule, Scots dug in, opposed, condemned, withheld consent and endured. Times have changed. In the new devolved UK, Northern Ireland, Wales and Scotland have all to play for.
Endurance and resistance may have got the Scottish nation where it is now, but these qualities alone won't get it where it needs to go.
All passengers have a vested interest in fellow passengers remaining inert, hurt, bitter and immobilised by the past. If Northern Ireland stays stuck in the past, Scots can behave like stubborn old refuseniks as well.
In the old days, everyone knew where Northern Ireland was – bottom. If they are now going to raise their game and face the future, so must we.
Last week, as that momentous handshake was made away from the cameras, Holyrood was filled with grand-standing, righteous anger, breast-beating and posturing over absolutely nothing.
Do Labour and the SNP disagree fundamentally about the need for apprenticeships? Does anyone in the chamber think Patrick Harvie's insulation scheme isn't a good idea? Of course not.
Ironically, the less there is monumental difference between political "brands" at Holyrood, the more politicians behave like washing powder manufacturers spending millions to differentiate essentially similar products.
But there were interesting and important points of distinction in last week's budget debate – ignored amidst the eye-catching mutual recrimination like the overlooked handshake in Belfast.
The Greens' proposal will insulate every home in Scotland irrespective of income – so low earners will subsidise wealthy Scots.
On the other hand, Patrick Harvie's model means that energy-saving, bill-reducing, job- creating work will get done fast. Should the public purse subsidise green improvements to private homes for the public good? Indeed, how private are homes these days with councils rejecting smokers as foster parents, e-mails stored by the state, and householders fined for failing to separate rubbish? All of this is part of a new, wider debate about the private realm that needs some fresh thinking.
Equally, the row over apprenticeships hinges on the SNP belief that Labour created too many in relatively unproductive sectors like hairdressing. Would kids be better trained on the job? Why limit apprenticeship places anyway? It's a debate worth having. But it's not one voters heard last week.
In Scotland (like Northern Ireland), the electorate, media, government and opposition have become hooked on the discovery of Big Differences. Yet independence apart, few policies completely and consistently divide one party from another. We've lived through times where political differences blazed like primary colours – now politicians are expending time and energy creating and inflating them. We inhabit a pastel world populated with shades of grey.
Do we want drama or do we want change? Do voters really regard kneejerk opposition as a political strength? Nursing wrath to keep it warm has become an essential skill for Irish, Welsh and Scottish politicians. Last week, on both sides of the Irish Sea, it was laid to rest.
The full article contains 962 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
