Introduction:Forgiveness
Derek Poole

Let the church be church
Brian Moore

From the Director - Statement in response to IRA and IICD Announcements
David Porter

Decommissioning - How do I feel?
David Clements

Embodying Forgiveness
Patrick Mitchel

Forgiveness in the New Testament
Bill Addley

Better than Bitterness
David Clements

Necessary Miracles - Thoughts on Forgiveness and Politics
Duncan Morrow

Faith and Practice - Moyna Bill
Ruth Hutchinson

Embodying Forgiveness Project
Stephen Graham

Tutu Book Review
Stephen Graham

Jones Book Review
Alice Swann

Transformation 2002

< Past Issues Archive

DECOMMISSIONING - HOW DO I FEEL?
Over the long years of the troubles journalists, mostly of the broadcast variety, have been forever asking victims of terrorism – how do you feel? This has often, though not always, been insensitively done in the immediate aftermath of some terrible atrocity when the victim feels nothing but shocked and numb. Sometimes the ‘noble answer’ given in the numbness of the moment has left victims feeling trapped in a whirlpool of angry emotion that does not seem to fit with the words spoken and perhaps even broadcast.

It seems to me that politicians think (or should that be scheme?), church leaders talk, paramilitaries act and victims feel. In the wake of the much-hailed act of decommissioning by the IRA I have already been asked live on-air, “How do you feel?’ It is not an easy question to answer with a cleaver sound bite and so I am glad of the chance to reflect a little on the question in the luxurious space of the print media.

How do I feel? The first thing I feel is a bit numb. It is not the same shocking numbness I felt on that cold, dark December night when my friend came to tell me, “Dave, your Dad’s been shot …… yes, dead.” Nevertheless, it is hard to take in. The ‘not a bullet and not an ounce’ brigade have given way to ‘a substantial amount of ammunition, weapons and explosives’. Everyone, apart from those saturated in Provo propaganda from their birth could see that decommissioning was the right and proper thing to do. Politically, morally and even pragmatically the argument was over a long time ago. But hey! They have actually done it! It does take time to sink in.

How do I feel? I feel cross. It is not the burning anger that I have felt too often sitting in the presence of a widow and her children while Daddy lies cold in his coffin in the corner of the room. But, what was the point? Why did it take so long? Has it all been some silly game? And then there was the eleventh of September. Is this what it took to shift the balance of opinion in the IRA army council? I suspect it was. I further suspect that it had more to do with pragmatic political consequences than any moral revulsion at what happened in New York and Washington. And so I do feel cross.

How do I feel? I feel sore. The announcement came on the twenty-third of October. On that day eight years ago I was working as a Methodist minister on the Shankill Road. I remember digging in rubble. I remember taking family to hospital and waiting with them and crying with them as they were given the news they least wanted to hear. I remember one funeral after another. I remember visiting the homes of lovely Catholic people caught up in the evil cycle of revenge. I remember the most moving article ever to appear in this or any other paper when, on New Years Day 1999, Lindy McDowell wrote about the letter Michelle Williamson tried to give to Sean Kelly, the bomber responsible for her parents’ deaths. Michelle wrote, “You are like a disease in my bones and the only cure is justice. To say I hate you doesn’t begin to describe how I feel.” I understand (at least in part). I remember sitting in Crumlin Road Court beside Michelle and her brother and a number of other families devastated by the bomb. I remember watching in disbelief as Kelly sneered at us as he was being taken down. How can I not feel sore?

How do I feel? I feel a strange sense of relief. I will not hear a single word of criticism against victims who have been sorely afflicted and who may be trapped by their pain. Too much has always been expected from them and too little given to them. However, as one (and only one out of many) who has been given the grace to contribute something (however small) to the process of healing and reconciliation in this divided place, I do feel relieved today. For years I have called for decommissioning. For years I have argued that it would be an invaluable plank in the healing and trust-building process. And now it has happened, I welcome it. I don’t think a fanfare of trumpets is appropriate but it is polite to say thank you. And so I do. I hope the process continues. I plead with loyalist paramilitaries and their political friends to respond quickly and positively to the move by the IRA. We need momentum and, who knows, perhaps, in a short space of time the process will be completed by all, and then we can bring out the trumpets! Then we can all feel relieved.

How do I feel? The last thing I feel (at the moment) is apprehensively hopeful. I know it is a clumsy and contradictory phrase. But it is how I feel! This has been a long and slow process and there is still a long way to go. I am not sure that it will work in the end, but I hope that it will, and this week I have more reason for that hope than I had last week. I don’t always exhibit it, but I do believe in the principle of perseverance (it was my old school motto!). For people of faith we must persevere in prayer. For all in political life, they must persevere in trying to make the process work. For those who seek to combine the two the Word is: ‘Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.’ (Galatians 6 v.9)

David Clements is a Methodist minister working in Dungannon and a member of WAVE’s management committee. First printed in the Belfast Telegraph on 29 October 2001.